. 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. And if he won’t—” But she did not give even unspoken words to the alternative at that time. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. "Do you still refuse to make one!" "I have made one," replied Lady Trafford. "Your gratitude will vanish with your danger.
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