The sick man noticed nothing of this. He took the cup and drained it of its contents, as a matter of course.
"Thank you, Paul," he said.
Paul Morton could not find anything to say in reply to the thanks which fell upon his soul like a mockery.
He took the glass from the trembling hand of the sick man, and looked into it to see if in the depths there might be any tell-tale trace of the powder which he had dropped into it; but he could see nothing.
"Well, I must leave you for a time. Perhaps you can sleep," he said.
"Perhaps so; I will try," was the answer.
Paul Morton left the sick chamber, and shut himself up in his own room. He wanted to screen himself from the sight of all, for he knew that he had taken the fatal step, and that already, in deed, as well as in heart, he was a murderer!