I am sick of the sight of you."

As he closed the door he cast one parting glance on the room and its
occupant. She stood leaning against the back of a large arm-chair, her
clasped hands resting on the top, and her white, rigid face set in the
fixed calmness of total despair.

Thus left alone, she remained standing for some time as motionless as
though she were a marble statue and not a living woman. Suddenly she
seemed to take some desperate resolve: she threw back her head with a
bitter, mirthless laugh, and going to the bell she rang it. Her maid
quickly appeared.

"I have a wretched headache, Christine," she said. "I shall not come down
to dinner, and do not disturb me till nine o'clock: that will give me time
enough to dress for Mrs. Winchester's ball. I will wear the pale-blue
satin and my point-lace tunic. Be sure you change the white roses that
loop it for pink ones, and lay out my parure of pearls and diamonds, and
my point-lace fan and handkerchief. Now bring me the two phials that stand
on the third shelf of the closet in my bed-chamber."

Christine departed on her errand and soon returned, bringing with her two
bottles, the smallest of which was labeled "Solution of Morphia--POISON.
Dose for an adult, ten drops;" while the largest Was simply inscribed
"Sulphuric Ether." These she placed on the chimney-piece, and then
proceeded to arrange the cushions of the lounge and to draw the curtains.
"I will now leave madame to her repose," she said. "Does madame need
anything more?"

"No, I shall want nothing more," was the reply. The door closed upon the