“'Down where?' said Hawke, solemnly. And the tone and the words struck a chill over us.
“We did not rally for some time, and when we did, it was with an effort forced and unnatural. Hawke took something on his plate, but ate none of it, turning the meat over with his fork in a listless way. His wine, too, he laid down when half-way to his lips, and then spat it out over the carpet, saying to himself something inaudible.
“'What's the matter, Godfrey? Don't you like that capital sherry?' said Towers.
“'No,' said he, in a hollow, sepulchral voice.
“'We have all pronounced it admirable,' went on the other.
“'It burns,—everything burns,' said the sick man.
“I filled him a glass of iced water and handed it to him, and Towers gave me a look so full of hate and vengeance that my hand nearly let the tumbler drop.
“'Don't drink cold water, man!' cried Towers, catching his arm; 'that is the worst thing in the world for you.'
“'It won't poison me, will it?' said Hawke. And he fixed his leaden, glazy gaze on Towers.
“'What the devil do you mean?' cried he, savagely. 'This is an ugly jest, sir.'