ower and wealth, the artist neglectful of all but
a narrow artifice, each one limited by excess or want, by intellect or
passion, by vanity or lust, and all struggling with one another to wrest
some special gift for himself. In the intricacy of civilization there
are no real divisions, but every man is merely a brain cell, a nerve, in
the great organism, and what one man gains, some other must lose. It was
a world he got a glimpse of quite different from that sharp twofold
world of the workers and the money-power, a world of infinite
gradations, a world merely the child of the past, where high and low
were pushed by the resistless pressure of environment, and lives were
shaped by birth, chance, training, position, and a myriad, myriad
indefinable forces.

All of this confused him at first, and it had been so long since he had
dealt with theories that it was some time before the chaos cleared, some
time before the welter of new thought took shape in his mind. But it
made him humble, receptive, teachable, it made him more kindly and more
gentle. He began a mental stock-taking; he began to examine into the
lives about him.

Myra was there--the new Myra, a Myra with daily less to do in that
office, and with more and more time to think. From her heart was lifted
the hard hand of circumstance, releasing a tenderness and yearning which
flooded her brain. It was a tragic time for her. She knew now that her
services were nearly at an end, and that she must go her own way. She
would not be near Joe any longer--she would not have the heart's ease of
his presence--she could no longer brood over him and protect him.

It seemed to her that she could not bear the future. Her love for Joe
rose and overwhelmed her. She became self-conscious before him, paled
when he spoke to her, and when he was away her longing for him was
insupportable. She wanted him now--all her life cried out for him--all
the woman in her went out to mate with this man. The same passion that
had drawn her from the country to his side now swayed and mastered her.

"Joe! Joe!" her soul cried, "take me now! This is too much for me to
bear!"

And more and more the thought of his health oppressed her. If she only
had the power to take him to her breast, draw him close in her arms,
mother him, heal him, smooth the wrinkles, kiss the droop of the big
lips, and pour her warm and infinite love into his heart. That surely
must save him--love surely would save this man.