“It was poison—why not?” she answered. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Terror had laid a paralyzing hand upon her, fear kept her almost unconscious of the curious glances which she was continually attracting. “It is very doubtful,” he said. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. And then the fetters, which were still upon his legs:—how was he to get rid of them? Tired and dispirited, he still wandered on.
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