Suddenly he released the enormous tension with which he held her. Like a
man who has exerted all his strength to some end, the victory won, he
loosened his muscles, with a faint sigh of exhaustion. Margaret did not
speak, but she knew that something horrible was about to happen. Her
heart beat like a prisoned bird, with helpless flutterings, but it seemed
too late now to draw back. Her words by a mystic influence had settled
something beyond possibility of recall.
On the stove was a small bowl of polished brass in which water was kept
in order to give a certain moisture to the air. Oliver Haddo put his hand
in his pocket and drew out a little silver box. He tapped it, with a
smile, as a man taps a snuff-box, and it opened. He took an infinitesimal
quantity of a blue powder that it contained and threw it on the water in
the brass bowl. Immediately a bright flame sprang up, and Margaret gave a
cry of alarm. Oliver looked at her quickly and motioned her to remain
still. She saw that the water was on fire. It was burning as brilliantly,
as hotly, as if it were common gas; and it burned with the same dry,
hoarse roar.
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