She started to her feet; despair
strengthened her with a headlong fury against herself. In one moment she
was back at the table; in another, the poison was once more in her hand.
She removed the cork and lifted the bottle to her mouth.
At the first cold touch of the glass on her lips, her strong young life
leaped up in her leaping blood, and fought with the whole frenzy of its
loathing against the close terror of Death. Every active power in
the exuberant vital force that was in her rose in revolt against the
destruction which her own will would fain have wreaked on her own life.
She paused: for the second time, she paused in spite of herself. There,
in the glorious perfection of her youth and health--there, trembling on
the verge of human existence, she stood; with the kiss of the Destroyer
close at her lips, and Nature, faithful to its sacred trust, fighting
for the salvation of her to the last.
No word passed her lips. Her cheeks flushed deep; her breath came thick
and fast. With the poison still in her hand, with the sense that she
might faint in another moment, she made for the window, and threw back
the curtain that covered it.
The new day had risen.
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