The woman turned and went to the closet to get another spoonful of the article in question; when Frank, with the rapidity of lightning, _changed the tumblers_, placing the deadly dose designed for him, in the same spot where the woman's tumbler had stood. This movement was accomplished with so much dexterity, that when she advanced to the table with the sugar, she failed to notice the alteration. 'Well, old gal--here's to the wind that blows, the ship that goes, and the lass that loves a sailor!' And delivering himself of this hackneyed nautical toast, the pretended seaman drank off the contents of his glass, an example which was followed by the female miscreant, who responded to Frank's toast by uttering aloud the significant wish-- 'May your sleep to-night be sound!' 'Ay, ay, I hope so, and yours, too,' grumbled our hero, placing an enormous quid of tobacco in his cheek, in order to remove the unpleasant taste of the vile liquor which he had just drank. There was a pause of a few minutes; when suddenly the woman grasped Frank convulsively by the arm, and gazed into his countenance with wildly gleaming eyes. 'Tell me,' she gasped, like one in the agonies of strangulation--'tell me the truth, for God's sake--_did you change those tumblers_?' 'I did,' was the answer. 'Then I am lost!' she almost shrieked--'lost, lost! The liquor which I drank contained a powder which will within half an hour sink me into a condition of insensibility, from which I shall only awake a raging maniac! I am rightly served--for I designed that to be _your_ fate!' 'Wretched woman, I pity you,' said Frank, in a tone of commiseration. 'I deserve not your pity,' she cried, writhing as if in great bodily torment--'my soul is stained with the guilt of a thousand crimes--and the only reparation I can make you, to atone for the wrong I intended, is to warn you to fly from this house as from a pestilence! This is the abode of murder--it is a charnel-house of iniquity; fly from hence, as you value your life--for an hour after midnight my husband, the terrible Dead Man, will return, and although you frustrated me, you cannot escape his vengeance, should he find you here. Ah, my God! my brain burns--the deadly potion is at work!' And thus the miserable woman continued to rave, until the powerful drug which she had taken fully accomplished its work, and she sank upon the floor in a state of death-like insensibility. 'Thou art rightly served,' thought Frank, as he contemplated her prostrate form--'now to penetrate into some of the mysteries of this infernal den!' Taking the candle from the table, he began his exploration in that fearful house.