He uncorked a small flask and held it to her lips.
"What is it?"
"Brandy—the best."
"And water?"
"Half and half. Remember that other night!"
"He is right," muttered the woman: "there must be no fainting this time."
She sipped from the bottle and felt revived.
"Now we will go," she said, sternly.
They crossed the meadow, and so over the stile into the potato-field that came next. Then Pound began to lag behind and watch his companion. When they reached the gate she was reeling; she clung to the gate-post, and waited for him to come up.
"You fiend!" she screamed, glaring impotently upon him. "Poisoner and fiend! You have—you—"