Edmund Clarke stifled an imprecation between his teeth, then demanded earnestly:
"Have I ever failed in love and sympathy to you, dear Elinor?"
"Never, my darling husband," she answered, fondly clasping his hand.
"And never will my love fail you, dearest; but I cannot say as much for Roma, whose nature is so unlike yours that I confess she repels instead of attracts me," he exclaimed, reaching out for the medicine and exclaiming impatiently on finding the glass broken and the draught lost.
Ah, how nearly it had been a fatal draught, had not Heaven interposed to save his life!
As he set it back on the table, he added:
"Why, here is a broken vial on the table beside the glass. I wonder how it came there!"
"I do not know; but it really does not matter, dear. There, now, shut your eyes, and try to sleep," advised his wife, knowing the importance of sound, healthful sleep to the convalescent.
But to her dismay he arose and turned the key in the lock, saying as he lay down again: