For several years of her life Corydon had carried a trying burden--once each month she would have to lie down for three or four days and be a semi-invalid. And last month this had not happened; the time had come and gone, and she was as well as ever. She had told Thyrsis about it, and how it disturbed her; it might mean nothing, it had happened several times before to her; but then again--it might mean that she had conceived. The idea had been too frightful to contemplate, however, and they had put it aside. It was not possible--the doctor had told them how to prevent it; he had told them that “everybody” did it, and that they could feel safe. But now came the second month; and Corydon, filled with a vague terror, waited for the day. And horrible beyond all telling--the day came and went once more! And two days came--three days! And so finally Corydon went to see the doctor. When she came home again, and entered the room, Thyrsis saw it all in her face, without her uttering a word. He went sick, all at once; and Corydon sank down upon the bed. “Well?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. “It’s true,” she said. “And what did he say?” “He said--he said I was in splendid shape, and that I would have a fine baby!” And Thyrsis stared at her, and then suddenly burst into wild laughter, and hid his head in his arms. Such was their mood that she could not feel sure whether he was laughing or crying. Now, indeed, they were facing the reality of life. All the problems with which they had ever wrestled were as child’s play to this problem; they could sit and read the deadly terror in each other’s eyes. Corydon’s lip was trembling, and her face was white and drawn and old. So swiftly had fled her young dream of joy! “Thyrsis,” she said, in a low voice, “it means ruin!” “Yes,” he answered. And she clenched her hands tightly. “I will kill myself first!” she whispered. “I will not drag you down!” He made no reply. “Listen, Thyrsis,” she went on. “There is only one thing to be thought of. I must get rid of it.” “Get rid of it?” he echoed. “How?” “I don’t know,” she said. “But women often do it.” “I’ve heard of it,” he replied. “But isn’t it dangerous?” “I don’t know,” she said, “and I don’t care.” There was a pause. “Why don’t you ask the doctor?” he inquired. “The doctor? There was no use us asking him, Thyrsis.” “Why not?” “Because--he doesn’t understand. He likes babies. That’s his business.” They argued this. But in the end Thyrsis resolved that he must see the doctor himself. He must see him if it was only to pour out his anguish. It was the doctor’s fault that this fearful accident had befallen them!