personal aid. Now he felt barred out, and fiercely helpless.

He sat ten minutes longer. Then he arose. He could reach the kitchen
by another way which did not lead past the stairs. He went out there,
treading on tiptoe. The cat had looked up, stretched, and lazily
gotten upon his feet and followed him, tail waving like a pennant. He
brushed around Von Rosen out in the kitchen, and mewed a little,
delicate, highbred mew. The dog came leaping up the basement stairs,
sat up and begged. Von Rosen opened the ice box and found therein
some steak. He cut off large pieces and fed the cat and dog. He also
found milk and filled a saucer.

He stole back to the study. He thought he had closed all the doors,
but presently the cat entered, then sat down and began to lick
himself with his little red rough tongue. Von Rosen looked at his
watch again. The house shook a little, and he knew that the shaking
was caused by Jane Riggs, walking upstairs. He longed to go upstairs
but knew that he could not, and again that rage of helplessness came
over him. He reflected upon human life, the agony of its beginning;
the agony, in spite of bravery, in spite of denial of agony, the
agony under the brightest of suns, of its endurance; the agony of its
end; and his reflections were almost blasphemous. His religion seemed
to crumble beneath the standing-place of his soul. A torture of
doubt, a certainty of ignorance, in spite of the utmost efforts of
faith, came over him. The cat coiled himself again and sank into
sleep. Von Rosen gazed at him. What if the accepted order of things
were reversed, after all? What if that beautiful little animal were
on a higher plane than he? Certainly the cat did not suffer, and
certainly suffering and doubt degraded even the greatest.