He opened his eyes widely, and it was as if it took some moments for him to grasp her words. Then, with a little laugh, he said softly—
“How will you stop me?”
“I would sooner see you dead.”
“Well, then—dead—dead—at rest. Why not! You are mistress of all his secrets—all his drugs. Why not? I have injured you; kill me now—at once.”
“Are you really mad, Armstrong?” she said, looking at him wonderingly.
“Yes—I suppose so—my head swims. I can’t—can’t think. But it is time to go.”
“Go?—go where?” she cried excitedly.
He uttered a low laugh and shook his head, as if to clear it again, but the vertigo increased.
She started and looked wildly round with her eyes flashing; and a strangely set look of determination came over her face, as she took a step to a table upon which stood a carafe of water and a glass, which she rapidly filled. Then, going toward him again, she hesitated once more, and her whole manner changed.
“Armstrong!” she cried, but he did not hear her; “Armstrong!”