It was in this retrospective, peaceful mood that I pushed aside my plate, and tilting my chair back against the wall, fell to studying the label upon the bottle, and watching the light as it glistened upon the wine, as I turned the bottle this way and that. No such liquor as this had I seen since I drank the wine of the King of Spain with DeNortier, that night in the far-away isle of Eldorado.
Opening the bottle, I poured out a glass of the noble fluid, and held it up to the light; it sparkled as though it held imprisoned within itself the sunlight of merry France. Such wine was for kings and nobles, and not for a friendless and forgotten man, alone and deserted; it should grace the banquet board where mirth and laughter rang, and the toasts were drank to the clink of the glasses.
The goblet still stood upon the table in front of me, as I sat there. Idly I jostled the wine to and fro in the bottle, as I absently toyed with it. I started abruptly. What was that? A little grain of some white substance for an instant rose to the surface, and then sank out of sight as though eager to be lost from view. A sudden thought came into my mind, and like a flash I turned the bottle upside down. Yes, in the bottom, clinging to it, was some whitish powder which had not yet dissolved in the liquor. It was some poison I doubted not. The villainous Marsden had taken the hint of the carpenter, and had chosen the quieter way.
At my feet lay a great black cat, which White had brought out with him from England, and which had grown quite friendly with me. Leaning over I took from the platter, in which lay the remains of my meal, a bit of meat, and dipping it into the glass, I threw it to the animal. She snatched it up greedily and gobbled down most of it; then lying down again, she resumed her nap. I sat there silently watching her; five minutes she lay there, asleep. Perhaps after all I had been mistaken, had misjudged the man—but no, with a wail of agony the cat sprang to her feet, and with staring eyes and trembling body began to run around the room, uttering cry after cry of dumb brute pain. For a minute she ran thus, and then sinking forward on her paws, she lay quiet. I touched her with my foot—she was dead.
And so I would have been by this time, had I not tardily delayed drinking the wine. Would have lain cold and stiff in my agony, with outstretched limbs and staring eyes, for the powerful drug lost no time in accomplishing its deadly work. Rising I took the bottle and glass in my hand, and carrying them to the window, cast them out into the ocean, and as I did so the door opened and the Indian appeared. At one glance he took in the room, my pale face, and the dead cat, as it lay in the middle of the floor.
"What is it, my brother?" he asked.
"The pale one has poisoned my wine," I answered. "It was only by chance that I discovered it in time; and to make sure, I soaked a piece of meat in the wine and gave it to the cat. Thou canst see the result," and I pointed to the animal.
The Indian's eyes flashed.
"The pale one shall suffer," he answered, "let not my brother fear. Manteo will, when the time is ripe, bury his hatchet in his skull, and his scalp shall dry in the lodge of Manteo."
"Do nothing rash," I said, "the time is not yet ripe."