ked, still occupied with her employment at the fire.
Jack saw his opportunity in those words. "Please let me give the
medicine," he said.

"Bring it here," she answered; "I mustn't trust anybody to measure it
out.

"Surely I can give it to her, now it's ready?" Jack persisted.

The woman handed the glass to him. "I can't very well leave what I am
about," she said. "Mind you are careful not to spill any of it. She's as
patient as a lamb, poor creature. If she can only swallow it, she won't
give you any trouble."

Jack carried the glass round to the farther side of the bed, so as to
keep the curtains as a screen between himself and the fire-place. He
softly dropped out the contents of the glass on the carpet, and filled it
again from the bottle concealed under his coat. Waiting a moment after
that, he looked towards the door. What if the housekeeper came in, and
saw the blue-glass bottle? He snatched it up--an empty bottle now--and
put it in the side-pocket of his coat, and arranged his handkerchief so
as to hide that part of it which the pocket was not deep enough to
conceal. "Now!" he thought to himself, "now I may venture!" He gently put
his arm round Mrs. Wagner, and raised her on the pillow.

"Your medicine, dear Mistress," he whispered. "You will take it from poor
Jack, won't you?"

The sense of hearing still remained. Her vacant eyes turned towards him
by slow degrees. No outward expression answered to her thought; she could
show him that she submitted, and she could do no more.

He dashed away the tears that blinded him. Supported by the firm belief
that he was saving her life, he took the glass from the bedside-table and
put it to her lips.

With painful efforts, with many intervals of struggling breath, she
swallowed the contents of the glass, by a few drops at a time. He held it
up under the shadowed lamplight, and saw that it was empty.

As he laid her head back on the pillows, he ventured to touch her cold
cheek with his lips. "Has she taken it?" the woman asked. He was just
able to answer "Yes"--just able to look once more at the dear face on the
pillow. The tumult of contending emotions, against which he had struggled
thus far, overpowered his utmost resistance. He ran to hide the
hysterical passion in him, forcing its way to relief in sobs and cries,
on the landing outside.

In the calmer moments that followed, the fear still haunted him that
Madame Fontaine might discover the empty compartment