ow did she know that half a handful did not mean death too,--not
just hours of slumber, but relentless and irremediable death! Would that
be the end of her day's work--to see this tall, friendly warden of hers
lying dead before her gaze, the laughter gone from his lips and the
light faded from his eyes? She would be free then to strip the shell
belt from his waist. He would never waken to prevent her. She could
escape too--back to her father's home--and leave him in the cave.

All that he had told her concerning his war with her father recurred to
her in one vivid flash. Could it have been that he had told the
truth--that her father and his followers had been the attackers in the
beginning? She had never believed him fully; but could it be that he was
in the right? His claim had been invaded, he said, and his one friend
murdered in cold blood. Was this not cause enough, by the code of the
North, for a war of reprisal?

But even as these thoughts came to her, she had walked boldly to the
fire and emptied the contents of the cup into the boiling water in the
teapot. Ben would have only had to look up to see her do it. Yet still
he did not suspect.

She waited an instant, steadying herself for the ordeal to come. Then
she took the pot off the fire and poured the hot contents into the cup
that had just held the potion. She had been careful not to put enough
water into the pot to weaken the drink. The cup brimmed; but none was
left. She brought it steaming to Ben's side.

No kindly root tripped her feet as she entered, no merciful unsteadiness
caused her to drop this cup of death and spill its contents.

"Thanks, Beatrice." Ben looked up, smiling. "I'm a brute to let you fix
my tea when you are feeling so bad. But I sure am grateful, if that
helps any--"

His voice sounded far away, like a voice in a nightmare. "It's pretty
strong, I'm afraid," she told him. "The leaves weren't very good, and I
boiled them too long. I'm afraid you'll find it bitter."

"I'll drink it, if it's bitter as gall," he assured her, "after your
kindness to fix it."

His hand reached and seized the handle of the cup. Even now--_now_--he
was raising it to his lips. In an instant more he would be pouring it
down his throat, too considerate of her to admit its unwholesome taste,
drinking it down though it tasted the potion of death that it was! The
hair seemed to start on her head.

Then she seemed to writhe as in a convulsion. Her voice rose i