There was only one other matter of which she had asked, namely, the effect of the new decree; but the nurse did not seem to know much about that.  It appeared that there had been an outrage or two, but the law had not yet been enforced to any great extent; a week, after all, was a short time, even though the decree had taken effect at once, and magistrates were beginning the prescribed census.

* * * * *

It seemed to her as she lay awake this morning, staring at the tinted ceiling, and out now and again at the quiet little room, that the heat was worse than ever.  For a minute she thought she must have overslept; but, as she touched her repeater, it told her that it was scarcely after four o’clock.  Well, well; she would not have to bear it much longer; she thought that about eight it would be time to make an end.  There was her letter to Oliver yet to be written; and one or two final arrangements to be made.

As regarded the morality of what she was doing-the relation, that is to say, which her act bore to the common life of man—­she had no shadow of doubt.  It was her belief, as of the whole Humanitarian world, that just as bodily pain occasionally justified this termination of life, so also did mental pain.  There was a certain pitch of distress at which the individual was no longer necessary to himself or the world; it was the most charitable act that could be performed.  But she had never thought in old days that that state could ever be hers; Life had been much too interesting.  But it had come to this:  there was no question of it.

* * * * *

Perhaps a dozen times in that week she had thought over her conversation with Mr. Francis.  Her going to him had been little more than instinctive; she did just wish to hear what the other side was—­whether Christianity was as ludicrous as she had always thought.  It seemed that it was not ludicrous; it was only terribly pathetic.  It was just a lovely dream—­an exquisite piece of poetry.  It would be heavenly to believe it, but she did not.  No—­a transcendent God was unthinkable, although not quite so unthinkable as a merely immeasurable Man.  And as for the Incarnation—­well, well!

There seemed no way out of it.  The Humanity-Religion was the only one.  Man was God, or at least His highest manifestation; and He was a God with which she did not wish to have anything more to do.  These faint new instincts after something other than intellect and emotion were, she knew perfectly well, nothing but refined emotion itself.

She had thought a great deal of Felsenburgh, however, and was astonished at her own feelings.  He was certainly the most impressive man she had ever seen; it did seem very probable indeed that He was what He claimed to be—­the Incarnation of the ideal Man the first perfect product of humanity.  But the logic of his position was too much for her.  She saw now that He was perfectly logical—­that He had not been inconsistent in denouncing the destruction