What would he have given at that time to be possessed of a conscience as pure and untroubled as his servant girl!
The dinner things were cleared away, and Bourne took a medical book, which for some time he appeared to peruse with interest.
The grey dusk of the evening was succeeded by the gloom of night, and the girl lit all the branches of the chandelier.
Her master was busily occupied with his book and did not appear to be aware of her presence, or if he was, he did not care to take any notice of her. The night wore on. Bourne left the front parlour and entered his surgery.
His countenance was pale and haggard. It was indicative of some settled and defined purpose. There was a fixed and rigid expression about the mouth, and an almost savage look darted from the flaming eyes.
He sat himself down in his chair, and then bent his body forward, resting his head on his hands, while the elbows were supported on the table before him. His breathing was heavy and troubled, and his whole attitude was one of abject despair. Presently he rose from his seat, went towards the bottles, which were ranged on some shelves at the side of the room. He took one after another in his hand, and examined their contents with the eye of a connoisseur.
He selected one and placed it on the table near to a medicine glass, then he sat down again.
The terrible and appalling nature of his thoughts at this time it would be impossible to describe.
He took the glass stopper out of the bottle, emptied the contents of the bottle into the medicine glass, and swallowed the liquid with one gulp.
And then? Well, there was silence in the room—silence deep, dark, and impenetrable.