Powers answered as one who makes a confession.
"I might believe that of some men," he said, "not of you. Besides, the risk is over. The girl will live. You know that as well as I do."
"She will live," Powers answered, "yes! That is certain. And yet, since she opened her eyes, since I heard her speak, I have felt myself nothing less than a murderer. That is what I am. A murderer, Trowse."
Trowse stared at his friend for several moments without speaking--a cold, deliberate inspection. Then he sighed.
"You are not the man you were, Powers," he said, speaking softly, and as though to himself. "It isn't drink, and you don't smoke much. What has happened to your nerves?"
Powers looked steadfastly and gloomily out of the window.
"I cannot tell you," he answered. "You know me better than most men, Trowse. You have never seen me turn a hair at any operation yet. Together we have watched death come to strong men and to beautiful women. These things have never troubled me. I have never felt anything more than curiosity. Yet there is a weak spot somewhere. I have learned what fear is."
"If the girl were dead," he remarked meditatively, "it might have turned out awkwardly for you. As it is, you seem to have stumbled across a very nearly perfect physical creature. She is less likely to die than you or I. In a fortnight she will be recovered."
"You have not made a study of this thing as I have, Trowse," he said. "Yours is the purely scientific point of view. You do not see--what lies beyond."
"I do not understand you," he said simply.
"I want you to understand," Powers declared. "We have talked of this thing many times, until it has grown to seem a simple thing. We forgot!"
"Forgot that 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."