"Yes. It's she who used morphia—but not on herself. She gives it to other people. She gave an overdose to Mrs. Amherst."
Amherst looked at him confusedly. "An overdose?"
"Yes—purposely, I mean. And I came into the room at the wrong time. I can prove that Mrs. Amherst died of morphia-poisoning."
"John!" Justine gasped out, pressing between them.
Amherst gently put aside the hand with which she had caught his arm. "Wait a moment: this can't rest here. You can't want it to," he said to her in an undertone.
"Why do you care...for what he says...when I don't?" she breathed back with trembling lips.
"You can see I am not wanted here," Wyant threw in with a sneer.
Amherst remained silent for a brief space; then he turned his eyes once more to his wife.
Justine lifted her face: it looked small and spent, like an extinguished taper.
"It's true," she said.