The room was full of stars and abandonment. No one heard the silent cries of misery of the young beast. The tops of the trees were all aquiver as they gossiped about the strange beast, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. The delicious breath of rain was in the air.

The beast lay with her head thrown to the heavens, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams. She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength, but now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.

There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name, but she felt it. It creeped out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air. Her chest rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under the breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.

She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands of death, but she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that would belong to her absolutely, and she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.

There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which beings believe they have a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.

"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.

Her mind was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might not be long. It was only yesterday she had thought, with a shudder, that life might be long. With a butterfly whisper of a breath, she breathed her last breath and welcomed the warm embrace of death as a lone tear fell down her soft cheek, and the heavens opened up to mourn the loss of a young life and fulfilling the delicious promise of rain.