The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Part of her even believed that her mother would have wanted her to stop feeling guilty and to be happy. Murder had become nothing to her. The will to live had returned. "He left Dollis Hill at ten o'clock on that night, and has not since returned. And since then, he has openly avowed his determination of cutting his master's throat on the slightest inkling of treachery. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia. Sebastianus gave Marina tonics and barred Lucia from touching her mother, who yelled in her Gypsy tongue at Lucia to stay away, save the baby.
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