The light fell on the red quilt, and the little hands that were clasped over the head.

The wide-open eyes were looking up, and the heavy drops fell slowly from them.
"I cannot bear any more, not any more," she said in a deep voice.

"Oh, God, God! have I not borne in silence?
Have I not endured these long, long months?
But now, now, oh, God, I cannot!" Gregory knelt in the doorway listening.
"I do not ask for wisdom, not human love, not work, not knowledge, not for all things I have longed for," she cried; "only a little freedom from pain! Only one little hour without pain! Then I will suffer again." She sat up, and bit the little hand Gregory loved.
He crept away to the front door, and stood looking out at the quiet starlight.

When he came back she was lying in her usual posture, the quiet eyes looking at the lion's claw.

He came close to the bed.
"You have much pain tonight ?" he asked her.
"No, not much." "Can I do anything for you ?" "No, nothing." She still drew her lips together, and motioned with her fingers toward the dog who lay sleeping at her feet.