Cora was lying on the floor, and Alan, with white face and bloody hand, was drawing the fatal weapon from her breast.
Mrs. Gorman's first act was to rush to the open window, and call for the police. Then she knelt by Cora's body, and tried to staunch the flowing blood.
A lodger from the floor beneath, who had come in behind the landlady, was looking at the prostrate body. He was a medical student, and perhaps thought it necessary to give his opinion in a case of this sort.
"She cannot live ten minutes," he said; but that did not prevent him from assisting Mrs. Gorman in her work.
Alan had staggered back against the wall, still holding the dagger in his hand. He scarcely knew what had happened, but the words of the last speaker forced themselves upon him with terrible distinctness.
"My God," he cried, "am I a murderer?"
And he fell upon the chair, and buried his face in his hands.