A spasm of uncontrollable anguish convulsed his features for a moment; but Cheniston was too intent on his own self-revelation to notice.
"Life--without--Hilda seems impossible somehow." He laughed drearily. "We have always been so happy together ... I can't imagine going on without her."
He paused, but Anstice said nothing. He did not know what to say.
"I wonder--can I go on? Is it really required of me that I should continue to hang on to an existence which is absolutely devoid of all attraction, of all meaning?" He fixed his blue eyes on the other's face. "You're a doctor, aren't you?"
Anstice nodded.
"Yes."
"Well, I daresay it has happened in your experience that some poor devil doomed to a lifetime of torture, condemned, perhaps, to bear the burden of the sins of his ancestors, has begged you to furnish him with the means of escape ... there must be cases in which death is infinitely preferable to life, and a doctor must know plenty of safe ways of setting free the poor imprisoned wretch as one would free a miserable caged bird. Tell me, has such an experience ever come your way?" He spoke almost irritably now.
"Well," said Anstice, "and if it has? What then?"
"How have you answered such entreaties, I wonder? Even you can't pretend that life is always a sacred thing; that a man isn't sometimes justified in turning his back on the existence he never desired and yet has to endure." He paused, and his eyes held a queer blue glitter. "Well, have you nothing to say?"
"No," said Anstice resolutely, moving a step forward as he spoke. "On such a subject I have nothing to say--to you. If, as seems possible, you are suggesting that I should furnish either you or myself with an easy solution of the problem of our respective lives, I fear I must decline the suggestion. I'm a doctor, not a murderer, although"--suddenly he bit his lip and his face turned grey--"you, of all men, may be pardoned for thinking me ready to act as one."
The passing softness which had given him back his youth faded out of Cheniston's face; and when he spoke even his voice sounded years older.
"Well, it's no use talking, I suppose. After all"--his lip curled--"no man is dependent on another's good offices if he decides to cut short his sojourn on this delightful planet. Though it strikes me that if, as you say, you feel you owe me a debt, you might perhaps allow me to fix the method of payment."