"Not of that kind of suicide," she answered. "You see, we have the divine example. Christ committed suicide to all intents and purposes by deliberately putting himself into the hands of his executioners; but his motive makes them responsible for the crime; and my motive would place society in a similar position."
"Your view of the great sacrifice would startle theologians, I imagine," was my answer. "But, even allowing that Christ was morally responsible for his own death, and thereby set the example you would have followed to save others from suffering; tell me, do you really see any comparison between an act which had the redemption of the world for its object and the only result that could follow from, the sacrifice of one little mother and child?"
"What result, Don?"
"Breaking your husband's heart, spoiling his life, and leaving him lonely forever."
She started up and threw herself on her knees beside me, clasping her hands about my neck.
"O Don, don't say that again!" she cried, "Don't say anything like that again—ever—will you?"
"You know I should never think of it again if I could be sure—"
She hid her head upon my shoulder, but did not answer immediately.
"I am seeking for some assurance in myself to give you," she said at last; "but I feel none. The same train of thought would provoke me again—no, not to the same act, but to something desperate; I can't tell what. But I suffer so, Don, when such thoughts come, from grief, and rage, and horror, I would do almost anything for relief."
"But just think—" I began,