"Belleville," I said at last—I forced myself to say it, for his face had grown ink-black, "are you not wasting precious time? Is there not something I can get to counteract the acid? It appears to——"
"Hush!" he interrupted. "There is nothing. It is eating into my brain. Besides, I am blind and do not wish to live. But let me think. This pain—I cannot use my wits—it dazes me! Ah! now! I must. I must. How can I die with all—Pinsent! Pinsent!"
His voice was a piercing scream.
"Yes—yes," I answered. I was shaking like a reed.
"Is there not a big jar of yellow spirit near the coffin somewhere?"
"Yes."
"Then, for God's sake, lead me to it."
I caught him by the hand and guided him forthwith to the jar.
"Take out the stopper," he entreated. I did so and thereupon he plunged his hands into the vessel and began to lave his neck and face, sobbing raucously the while. The odour of the stuff, however, was so nauseous to me that I stepped back in order to escape it.