She would keep the thought before her that every drop she
swallowed was taken from her dying husband, for whom there was barely
enough. She could only taste it, and she did it for his sake, not her
own.
She lifted the little horn to her lips; but before tasting the
stimulant, she glanced round, as she had often done before, to see if
any one was looking at her; a stealthy cunning movement, born of the
sense of shame she had never quite lost. Every nerve was quivering with
excitement, and her heart was beating quickly. But her glance fell upon
her husband's face turned toward her, yet with no watchful, reproachful
eyes fastened upon her. The eyelids half closed; the pallid, hollow
cheeks; the head fallen back upon the pillow, looked like death. Was he
then gone from her already? Had she suffered his flickering life to die
out altogether, while she had been dallying with temptation? With a wild
and very bitter cry Sophy Chantrey sprang to his side, and forced a few
drops of the eau-de-vie between his clenched teeth. Again and again,
patiently, she repeated her efforts, watching eagerly for the least sign
of returning animation.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149