"Yet he adores me," she confessed. "It is not just that he should suffer—as he does. His heart is breaking. He feels it a sin to love me—to go on with happiness."
"And you?" said Dr. Judkin.
She tried to smile. "Women can bear more than men." Her voice broke.
The man by her side felt her charm, knew that she was valiant in love. Still he saw disappointment in her tense resistance. "I am afraid that you, too, will soon need attention," he abruptly told her. "Sometimes a wife spoils her husband without realizing it. Men who think a great deal about themselves are not considerate."
She was offended and replied coldly, "You do not know him. It is unjust to judge of a patient before you have seen him."
"I stand reproved," the doctor admitted.
Isabel forgave him. His very bluntness brought her hope. Suddenly she felt faith in the man whom she had summoned. She believed that he was masterful, and she must turn to some one.
"Please come," she invited, "you shall see my husband."
Dr. Judkin stood aside for her to pass, and she went above, choosing words which should explain his early call. Then at the top of the staircase she stopped.
"Be good enough to wait," she begged. "I must prepare him—go in first." Then she flew forward, for the smell of burning paper had caught her nostrils. The door to Philip's apartment was fastened. She had been locked out! She rushed to a balcony running before the windows of her husband's room. In an instant she stood within. And she had not come a moment too soon. A fresh tragedy faced her. She hardly breathed. Philip, on his knees in front of the fireplace, did not hear her enter. The ecstasy of delirium possessed him. His whole body trembled as he showered an igniting pile with his rejected manuscript. "The Spirit of the Cathedral" was smoking. Isabel saw rising flame desert a blackened sketch of a famous duomo but to lick a painting of great St. Peter's. Once more dominant Romish power appeared to threaten. The curse of the Church seemed about to blaze anew for Philip.