"'God, I do not know!' cried Raymond, hoarsely.
"'It meant that you murdered my father, Raymond—that you murdered the man who taught you all that you now know—that you murdered the man who in nine months made of you, a raw student, the most learned alchemist, but one, in Europe.'
"There was a long pause of dead silence. 'Agnes,' cried Raymond, in that same hoarse, dry voice, 'Agnes—I love you!'
"The smile never left her lips. 'Very good,' said she; 'but stay, I have not yet done. All that my father had showed me so far was past and gone; now he showed me what was to come. I saw us both pass through that long, dark, narrow way; I saw the dark, vaulted cellar above us; I saw us descend and stand together in the farther room yonder and look upon those phials; I saw myself burning that accursed book by the light of the candle in the lantern; I saw us seated together upon this couch as we are now. What next do you think I saw, Raymond?'
"'I do not know.'
"'I saw this!'
"HE LEANED OVER AND LOOKED INTO HER FACE."
"There was a movement as quick as lightning, a flash, a blow, a deep sigh. Agnes sat for a moment with the smile still resting upon her white lips, and something bright glistening upon her bosom. It was the handle of a dagger, and she had stabbed herself. Then she lay slowly down upon the pillow beside her.