The pangs came, each one worse than the last. They built themselves up in his soul in a symphony of terror; they lifted him out of himself, they swept him away beyond all control, like a leaf in the autumn wind. He had never known such a sensation before--his soul seemed whirled into pieces. His feeling was apart from his action; he could not control his thoughts; he was going mad! He loved her so--she was so beautiful; and to see her thus, in the grip of horror! He tried to get hold of himself again--he talked to himself, pinning his attention on the task of his hands. Perhaps maybe it was his fancy--it did not really hurt her so! Maybe-- He spoke to her, calling to her, in between the crises. She turned her eyes upon him, looking unutterable agony; she could not speak. And then again came the spasm, and she reared herself to meet it. She seemed to loom before his eyes; she was no longer human, but in her agony transfigured. She was the suffering of being, made flesh; a figure epic, colossal, worthy of an Angelo; the mighty mother herself, the earth-mother, from whose womb have come the races! And then--“Perhaps she would be more comfortable with another pillow,” said the doctor, and the spell was broken. Corydon shook her head with swift impatience. This was her conflict, the gesture seemed to say. They had only to let her alone--she had no words to spare for them. “How long does this last?” Thyrsis asked, his voice trembling. The doctor made a motion to him to be silent--evidently he did not wish Corydon to hear the answer to that question. Section 9. For the girl’s soul was rising within her; perhaps from the deeps of things there came comfort to her, from the everlasting, universal motherhood of life. Nature must have told her that this at least was pain to some purpose; something was being accomplished. And she shut her jaws together again, and closed with it--driving, driving, with all the power of her being. A feeling of awe stole over Thyrsis as he watched her--a feeling the like of which he had never known in his life before. She was a creature consecrated, made holy by suffering; she was the sacredness of life incarnate, a thing godlike, beyond earth. It came as a revelation, changing the whole aspect of life to him. It was hard to realize--that woman, woman who endured this, was the same being that he had met in the world all his life--laughing and talking, careless and commonplace. This--this was woman’s _fate_! It was the thing for which woman was made, and the lowest, meanest of them might have to bear it! He swore vows of reverence and knighthood; he fell upon his knees before her, weeping, his soul white-hot with awe. Ah what should he do that he might be worthy to live upon the earth with a woman?