Page:Ethel Churchill 2.pdf/330

328 approached the furnace. The strange-looking chamber, the red glare of the charcoal, her tall form, and long black hair loose, realised the wildest dream of one of the sorceresses of old, bending over herb and drug, to form their potent spells. Once she grew faint; and, springing to the outer room, she hastily undid the mask, and gasped for breath at the open window. She was deadly pale; but the exquisite features were even stern in their expression of unconquerable will. Again she resumed her fearful task, and hours passed by; and she started as a red glimmer fell on the open page—it was the crimson coming of daybreak that gleamed through a crevice in the closed shutters. But her task was done! She snatched up two tiny vials, and poured into each a few drops, like singularly clear water; but in each of those drops was—death! The glass stoppers were inserted; the bottles hermetically sealed; and, depositing them in a secret drawer of a small casket, she locked it, put the little key on a