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as she turned to leave him。 His horror of what might happen when
she was left by herself forced the words to his lips which he
would have feared to speak to her at any other time。
〃Don't；〃 he pleaded； in a whisper； 〃oh； don't； don't； don't go
downstairs to…night！〃
She released her hand； and signed to him to take the candle。 〃You
shall see me to…morrow；〃 she said。 〃Not a word more now！〃
Her stronger will conquered him at that last moment； as it had
conquered him throughout。 He took the candle and waited；
following her eagerly with his eyes as she descended the stairs。
The cold of the December night seemed to have found its way to
her through the warmth of the house。 She had put on a long； heavy
black shawl； and had fastened it close over her breast。 The
plaited coronet in which she wore her hair seemed to have weighed
too heavily on her head。 She had untwisted it； and thrown it back
over her shoulders。 The old man looked at her flowing hair； as it
lay red over the black shawlat her supple； long…fingered hand；
as it slid down the banistersat the smooth； seductive grace of
every movement that took her further and further away from him。
〃The night will go quickly；〃 he said to himself； as she passed
from his view； 〃I shall dream of her till the morning comes！〃
She secured the staircase door； after she had passed through
itlistened； and satisfied herself that nothing was
stirringthen went on slowly along the corridor to the window。
Leaning on the window…sill； she looked out at the night。 The
clouds were over the moon at that moment； nothing was to be seen
through the darkness but the scattered gas…lights in the suburb。
Turning from the window； she looked at the clock。 It was twenty
minutes past one。
For the last time； the resolution that had come to her in the
earlier night； with the knowledge that her husband was in the
house； forced itself uppermost in her mind。 For the last time；
the voice within her said； 〃Think if there is no other way！〃
She pondered over it till the minute…hand of the clock pointed to
the half…hour。 〃No！〃 she said； still thinking of her husband。
〃The one chance left is to go through with it to the end。 He will
leave the thing undone which he has come here to do； he will
leave the words unspoken which he has come here to saywhen he
knows that the act may make me a public scandal； and that the
words may send me to the scaffold！〃 Her color rose； and she
smiled with a terrible irony as she looked for the first time at
the door of the Room。 〃I shall be your widow；〃 she said； 〃in half
an hour！〃
She opened the case of the apparatus and took the Purple Flask in
her hand。 After marking the time by a glance at the clock； she
dropped into the glass funnel the first of the six separate
Pourings that were measured for her by the paper slips。
When she had put the Flask back； she listened at the mouth of the
funnel。 Not a sound reached her ear： the deadly process did its
work in the silence of death itself。 When she rose and looked up；
the moon was shining in at the window； and the moaning wind was
quiet。
Oh； the time！ the time！ If it could only have been begun and
ended with the first Pouring！
She went downstairs into the hall； she walked to and fro； and
listened at the open door that led to the kitchen stairs。 She
came up again； she went down again。 The first of the intervals of
five minutes was endless。 The time stood still。 The suspense was
maddening。
The interval passed。 As she took the Flask for the second time；
and dropped in the second Pouring； the clouds floated over the
moon； and the night view through the window slowly darkened。
The restlessness that had driven her up and down the stairs； and
backward and forward in the hall； left her as suddenly as it had
come。 She waited through the second interval； leaning on the
window…sill； and staring； without conscious thought of any kind；
into the black night。 The howling of a belated dog was borne
toward her on the wind； at intervals； from some distant part of
the suburb。 She found herself following the faint sound as it
died away into silence with a dull attention； and listening for
its coming again with an expectation that was duller still。 Her
arms lay like lead on the window…sill； her forehead rested
against the glass without feeling the cold。 It was not till the
moon struggled out again that she was startled into sudden
self…remembrance。 She turned quickly； and looked at the clock；
seven minutes had passed since the second Pouring。
As she snatched up the Flask； and fed the funnel for the third
time； the full consciousness of her position came back to her。
The fever…heat throbbed again in her blood； and flushed fiercely
in her cheeks。 Swift； smooth； and noiseless； she paced from end
to end of the corridor； with her arms folded in her shawl and her
eye moment after moment on the clock。
Three out of the next five minutes passed； and again the suspense
began to madden her。 The space in the corridor grew too confined
for the illimitable restlessness that possessed her limbs。 She
went down into the hall again； and circled round and round it
like a wild creature in a cage。 At the third turn； she felt
something moving softly against her dress。 The house…cat had come
up through the open kitchen doora large； tawny； companionable
cat that purred in high good temper； and followed her for
company。 She took the animal up in her armsit rubbed its sleek
head luxuriously against her chin as she bent her face over it。
〃Armadale hates cats；〃 she whispered in the creature's ear。 〃Come
up and see Armadale killed！〃 The next moment her own frightful
fancy horrified her。 She dropped the cat with a shudder； she
drove it below again with threatening hands。 For a moment after；
she stood still； then in headlong haste suddenly mounted the
stairs。 Her husband had forced his way back again into her
thoughts； her husband threatened her with a danger which had
never entered her mind till now。 What if he were not asleep？ What
if he came out upon her； and found her with the Purple Flask in
her hand？
She stole to the door of Number Three and listened。 The slow；
regular breathing of a sleeping man was just audible。 After
waiting a moment to let the feeling of relief quiet her； she took
a step toward Number Four； and checked herself。 It was needless
to listen at _that_ door。 The doctor had told her that Sleep came
first； as certainly as Death afterward； in the poisoned air。 She
looked aside at the clock。 The time had come for the fourth
Pouring。
Her hand began to tremble violently as she fed the funnel for the
fourth time。 The fear of her husband was back again in her heart。
What if some noise disturbed him before the sixth Pouring？ What
if he woke on a sudden （as she had often seen him wake） without
any noise at all？ She looked up and down the corridor。 The end
room； in which Mr。 Bashwood had been concealed； offered itself to
her as a place of refuge。 〃I might go in there！〃 she thought。
〃Has he left the key？〃 She opened the door to look； and saw the
handkerchief thrown down on the floor。 Was it Mr。 Bashwood's
handkerchief； left there by accident？ She examin