“If you knew definitely which one was poisonous,” asked she, “would that make you certain of the other?”
“Yes,” he answered, not at all understanding. “But without the means of making qualitative analyses, or the time for them, how can I find out?”
She had come close, and now stood at his left side. Before he could advance a hand to stop her, she had caught up, between thumb and finger, a little of the powder nearest her and had put it into her mouth.
“Holy Lord, girl!” shouted the old man, springing up. His chair clashed to the floor. “How do you know which—”
“I’ll know in a few moments, won’t I?” she asked. “And then you’ll be able to give the right one to Hal?”
The old doctor could only stare at her. Then he groaned, and began to cry. The tears that had not flowed in years were flowing now. For the first time in all that long and lonesome life, without the love of woman to soften it, he had realized what manner of thing a woman’s love can be.
She remained there, smiling a little, untroubled, calm. The doctor blinked away his tears, ashamed.
“Laura,” said he, “I didn’t think there was anything like that in the world. I didn’t think there was any woman anywhere like you. It’s too wonderful for any words. So I won’t talk about it. But tell me, now, what sensations do you get?” His face grew anxious with a very great fear. He came close to her, took her hand, closely watched her. “Do you feel anything yet?”
“There’s a kind of stinging sensation on my tongue,” she answered, with complete quietude, as though the scales of life and death for her had not an even balance. “And—well, my mouth feels a little numb and cold. Is that the poison?”
“Do you experience any dizziness?” His voice was hardly audible. By the lamp-light his pale face and widened eyes looked very strange. “Does your heart begin to accelerate? Here, let me see!”