“If one bedevils oneself,” he argued, “with drugs and potions one may lose control of one’s reason altogether. And that will mean a state of aphasia compared with which death is more than kind. Hell is a mental condition. And there is none to equal that of the man who longs for death and yet has not the nerve to ensue it.” Helen had felt bound to respect this attitude of mind. But dressing now in the wintry dawn of Friday, the question that harrowed her was, Could unaided nature hold him to his course for another four-and-twenty hours? Immediately their pretense at breakfast was over, they went to a church close by. Here they stayed nearly three hours. And when they emerged from its precincts into the December gloom, they felt far down in their hearts that at the back of everything was still a Friend who was surely helping them to keep their sanity. As evidence of this strength that had been given them both were able to take a little food. And then for Helen came the facing of the grim problem--How did John propose to spend the afternoon? She had hoped that he would go down to the House of Commons. But as soon as luncheon was at an end he retired to the room in which he worked. An hour passed and yet he made no sign of going out. Presently the clock struck three; and Helen, no longer able to bear the suspense, came in and found him sitting apathetically at his table, not attempting to write or to read. Her instinct for the practical showed her now the paramount need of making up his mind for him. She determined to take a strong line. “It’s such an unpleasant afternoon that I am going to get you a taxi.” The eyes he lifted to hers seemed to have scarcely a spark of life in them. “Why--a taxi?” he asked dully. “To take you to the House.” He shook his head. “I’m not going there again.” “Oh, but you are,” she said quickly. “Just once more--to please me.” The eyes that looked at her were those of a man who was near the end of his tether. “But I said good-bye to it yesterday,” he muttered. Plain sense now told her that all must depend on the imperious exercise of her own strong will. She left the room, to return almost at once with his coat and hat. “Ferris has gone for a taxi,” she said. “No, no,” he said wearily, “I don’t feel up to it to-day.” “Make the effort, my darling--if only because I ask you.” Loving her as he did, it was hard to refuse. The spirit was willing, but alas he was no longer in command of himself. “You needn’t stay long,” said Helen beguilingly. “But in the name of that in which we both believe and for the sake of the work we have still to do----” As one compelled by sheer magnetism he got up slowly from his chair. With resolute deftness she fixed him up with his overcoat. “Promise me that you will take a taxi home again.” He didn’t say anything.