The old man lay upon the bed in a slight doze, looking aged and pitiful in his gray hairs and wrinkles, but no pity stirred the heart of the girl who hated him now with a deadly hate.
Leaning over the table, with her back to the bed, she emptied into his wine-glass the white powder hidden in her dainty glove, her eyes flashing with a resolute glare.
Then she turned back to the bed and touched her victim gently. He started up in a dazed fashion, leaning on his elbow.
“Amber, is that you? How you startled me! I must have been asleep.”
“I am sorry that I startled you; but I came to tell you that I am ready to go for Cecil,” sweetly.
“Ah, yes; bring him quickly, Amber. Tell him it is important,” he sighed, wearily.
“Grandpapa, how faint your voice sounds, and how terribly ill you look! Let me give you some wine,” and the beautiful fiend poured the ruby liquid upon the white powder in the glass, furtively shook it up, and presented it with a faltering hand, although she was determined to playfully force it down his throat if he refused it.
But the unsuspecting judge took the glass in his hand, and drained a third of its contents before he paused, and said:
“Ugh! it is very strong! It burns my throat!”
“But it will make you strong. Drink it all, grandpapa,” pleaded Amber, solicitously.