“Ah,” she cried, in the silence of the room, “how it runs along my veins; I hear the rushing of the stars, I see strange worlds, my soul leaps through infinite spaces, the white light of immortality strikes upon my eyes and blinds me. Come, life unending, I have conquered death.”
Seizing the poison, she swallowed what remained of it, and dashed the glass down beside her. Then she fell heavily on her face, once she struggled to her knees, then fell again, and lay still.
CHAPTER LXI.
After throwing George Caresfoot into the bramble-bush, Arthur walked steadily back to the inn, where he arrived, quite composed in manner, at about half-past seven. Old Sam, the ostler, was in the yard, washing a trap. He went up to him, and asked when the next train started for London.
“There is one as leaves Roxham at nine o’clock, sir, and an uncommon fast one, I’m told. But you bean’t a-going yet, be you, sir?”
“Yes, have the gig ready in time to catch the train.”
“Very good, sir. Been to the fire, I suppose sir?” he went on, dimly perceiving that Arthur’s clothes were torn. “It wore a fine place, it wore, and it did blaze right beautiful.”
“No; what fire?”
“Bless me, sir, didn’t you see it last night?—why, Isleworth Hall, to be sure. It wore burnt right out, and all as was in it.”
“Oh! How did it come to get burnt?”