So she dwelt on the joys of earth. Each night she lifted the earth, threw it into space, and watched it come home to her. She saw its whiteness take on colors. She saw it draw near with cracking and crying of thunder till it yielded the impression that she willed—hues that do not blind, sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not. It swam into her ken all misty green, bedashed with mosses and herbs and trees, the lowliest forms of living lightning. By day they eat the rock and breathe what we cannot breathe, by night they laugh and whisper and breathe like us. She saw their marriage flowers, and loved them with a sacred love. All among the green roved the red of animals, seen roseate through its veils of hyaline restraint and organized in batteries, ready to fly, swim, dive into fire, ride on the curled clouds, or run upon the sharp winds of the north. It moved in lines of living force around some pole called home. Here was a hive, encircled with brief honey-seeking flights. Here was a nest, encircled for ten thousand miles with flash of wings. And here was a polar point beside the sea, a slender peninsula encrusted with clays, a city of towers, the work of wonderful males. From it sprang rootlets of lightning over all the earth, freighted with friendliness. And whether on land or sea, men often worked as one. They were fierce and dangerous creatures, and she did not intend to increase their numbers, but she could not help thrilling at their loyalties. They slew their enemies on the slightest provocation, but what they did for their friends was simply glorious. They stood by each other with contempt of death. Chapter 87 When August came and she knew that any day might bring the test, she felt her courage ebbing just a little. As a panting man longs for more alkali in his blood, so she longed for new courage. She fancied ways out. Suppose she fled from her lover and hid herself in a city. But that would leave her father alone, a desertion not to be thought of. Suppose she carried her father off and earned a living for them both. But that would break his heart. Suppose she lied to Marvin and said that she had ceased to love him. But she really did not know how to lie. She turned back to history and harrowed her soul with horrors. She reminded herself that excess of population has driven every race to expose its children. She saw Sicilian graveyards opened and hundreds of babies that had been buried alive in earthen pots. She saw the silver sails of Athens unloading excess of life on every island, and the rock called Tyre unloading its slums on Africa. She saw Europe unloading itself on America. She even hunted up in Plato and Aristotle the passages in which both those noble writers sanction abortion for the good of the state. Chapter 88. Radium