Her lips are parted, but she never speaks. There was a way that she had with her hands, holding them one within the other, thus” —
I stopped him with a cry for silence, and I leaned trembling against the table. “Thou wretch!” I cried. “Thou art her murderer!”
He raised his head and looked beyond me with that strange, faint smile. “I know,” he replied, with the dignity which was his at times. “You may play the headsman, if you choose. I dispute not your right. But it is scarce worth while. I have taken poison.”
The sunshine came into the room, and the wind from the river, and the trumpet notes of swans flying to the north. “The George is ready for sailing,” he said at last.