moan, and Sir Charles fell heavily, striking his head against the edge
of the sofa. She looked round--as she knelt, and saw him, black in the
face, rolling his eyeballs fearfully, while his teeth gnashed awfully,
and a little jet of foam flew through his lips.

Then she shrieked with terror, and the blackened deed fell from her
hands. At this moment Polly rushed into the room. She saw the fearful
sight, and echoed her sister's scream. But they were neither of them
women to lose their heads and beat the air with their hands. They got
to him, and both of them fought hard with the unconscious sufferer,
whose body, in a fresh convulsion, now bounded away from the sofa, and
bade fair to batter itself against the ground.

They did all they could to hold him with one arm apiece, and to release
his swelling throat with the other. Their nimble fingers whipped off
his neck-tie in a moment; but the distended windpipe pressed so against
the shirt-button they could not undo it. Then they seized the collar,
and, pulling against each other, wrenched the shirt open so powerfully
that the button flew into the air, and tinkled against a mirror a long
way off.

A few more struggles, somewhat less violent, and then the face, from
purple, began to whiten, the eyeballs fixed; the pulse went down; the
man lay still.

"Oh, my God!" cried Rhoda Somerset. "He is dying! To the nearest
doctor! There's one three doors off. No bonnet! It's life and death
this moment. Fly!"

Polly obeyed, and Doctor Andrews was actually in the room within five