hat the continuity of life, after all, is purely physical.
Behind--there is a woman slain--up there a woman created."

Trowse, for a moment, was bewildered. A searching glance into the
other's face showed him that Powers was in earnest. He became
contemplative.

"I am not sure that I understand you, Powers," he said slowly. "In fact,
I am sure that I do not. We have watched operations together, when, to
our certain knowledge, the knife has gone a little deeper, has gone a
little more to the left or right, in order that some addition might be
made to the sum of human knowledge. You have never blenched. We have
seen men die whose lives might have been prolonged, if not altogether
spared, that the race to come might benefit. Tacitly, you and I have
always recognized the principle that the individual must be the servant
of humanity. Therefore, as I say, I do not understand your present
attitude."

"I am not sure, Trowse, that I can make you understand," Powers
answered. "Only remember this: Our point of view is probably not the
same. You are a materialist pure and simple. I am not!"

"Proceed!"

"In the cases which you have mentioned it is the body only which has
suffered. In this case, the body has survived, but something else--has
been destroyed. You know the danger which still exists."

Trowse nodded.

"Lunacy! That, of course, is a possibility."

Powers shivered slightly.

"It is a possibility," he admitted. "Even if she remains sane, will you
tell me this? What connection can there be between the mind of the girl
of a month ago and the woman of a month to come?"

"It is an interesting psychological problem," Trowse answered, "which we
shall know more about shortly. I must admit, though, that your position
is inexplicable to me. Fortune has given you a marvelous opportunity. I
cannot conceive how you could have acted differently. I cannot
understand your present hesitation. If you wish for any sort of
cooperation on my part, tell me how you first met this young woman, and
under what circumstances you persuaded her to become your patient."

In a few words Powers told him.

There was a short silence. Trowse was regarding his friend with cold
surprise.

"All that you tell me," he said, "makes your present hesitation the more
extraordinary. Your scruples are unworthy of you. They would be unworthy
of you even if you belonged to that sickly order of sentimentalists who
would shrink from killing a poisonous s