“Why, yes, of course!” she answered, composedly. “You would not give such gifts to me because you had any desire to make me happy—nor would you give them if you could secure them for yourself without endangering your life! If you succeed in your attempts they would fall to my lot naturally as part of your ‘experiment,’ and would prove your triumph. But as far as my personality is concerned, you would not care what became of me, though with youth and beauty I might turn the tables on you!” She laughed,—then said again: “Give me my dose!”
“I told you before that it would be better to take it when we go outside the laboratory,” he answered. “Suppose you became insensible! I could not leave you here.”
“Why not?” she demanded, recklessly. “It would not matter to you. Please give it to me!—Whether I live or die I like doing things quickly!”
With a certain sense of mingled compassion, admiration and reluctance, he handed her the phial. She looked with intent interest at the shining drop pent within, which glowed like a fine topaz, now fiery orange, now red, now pale amber, and moved up and down as rapidly and restlessly as quicksilver.
“How pretty it is!” she said. “If it would only condense and harden into a gem one would like to wear it in a ring! It would outshine all Professor Chauvet’s jewels. Well, Dr. Dimitrius, good-night! If I fall into your dark pool don’t trouble to fish me out!—but if not, don’t leave me here till morning!”
And, smiling, she put the phial to her lips and swallowed its contents.
Dimitrius stood, silently watching. Would she swoon, as she almost did the last time?—or would she be convulsed? No!—she remained erect,—unswerving:—but, as if by some automatic movement, she lifted her arms slowly and clasped her hands above her head in an attitude of prayer. Her eyes closed—her breathing was scarcely perceptible—and so she remained as though frozen into stone. Moved beyond his usual calm by wonderment at this unexpected transformation of a living woman into a statue, he called her,—but she gave no answer. And then another remarkable thing happened. An aureole of white light began to form round her figure, beginning from the head and falling in brilliant rays to the feet,—her dress seemed a woven tissue of marvellous colours such as one finds painted for the robes of saints in antique missals, and her features, outlined against the roseate mist that filled the laboratory, were pure and almost transparent as alabaster. Thrilled with excitement, he could not speak—he dared not move,—he could only look, look, as though all his forces were concentrated in his eyes. How many minutes passed he could not determine, but he presently saw the light begin to pale,—one ray after another disappeared, quite slowly and as though each one were absorbed by some mysterious means into the motionless figure which had seemingly projected them,—then, with equal slowness, Diana’s upraised hands relaxed and her arms dropped to her sides—her eyes opened, brilliant and inquiring.
He went to her side. “Diana!” he said, in carefully hushed tones. “Diana——”
“Why did you wake me?” she asked plaintively, in a voice of melting sweetness. “Why take me away from the garden I had found? It was all mine!—and there were many friends—they said they had not seen me for centuries! I should have liked to stay with them a little longer!”
He listened, in something of alarm. Had she lost her senses? He knew it was possible that the potent force of his mysterious distillation might so attack the centres of the brain as to reverse their normal condition. He touched her hand,—it was warm and soft as velvet.