He lifted her hand; it fell again like a lump of lead—and Dr. Williamson looked very grave. Then he applied a current of electricity.
“Do you feel that?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Why cannot I move? Do not trifle with me, tell me quick.”
Dr. Williamson was a young man, and had not quite conquered nervousness. In his confusion, he muttered something about “paralysis.”
“How is it that I am not dead?”
“I have brought you back to life, but pray do not talk.”
“You fool, why could you not let me die? You mean that you have brought my mind to life, and left my body dead. I feel now that I am quite paralysed.”
He could not answer her, what she said was only too true, and his look told her so. She gazed steadily at him for a moment as he bent over her, and realized all the horrors of her position, and for the first time in her life her proud spirit absolutely gave way. For a few seconds she was silent, and then, without any change coming over the expression of her features—for the wild gaze with which she had faced eternity was for ever frozen there—she broke out into a succession of the most heart-rending shrieks that it had ever been his lot to listen to. At last she stopped exhausted.
“Kill me!” she whispered, hoarsely, “kill me!”