"For your eyes?" she said. "I did not know--" "Yes, really," he answered. "Give it me." But she held it hidden in her two hands, and laughed. "No, no; I will not give it you. Why are you so uneasy? I shall not break it. Does it smell? I want to open it, but the stopper has stuck." "Eva, I entreat you give it me," he implored her, and the perspiration stood on his brow. "It is nothing but drops for the eyes, and it has no scent. You will spill it, and it stains." But she put her hands behind her back. "It is not for the eyes, and you have nothing the matter with yours," she said positively. "Yes--really--" "No; you are deceiving me. It is.... it is something else--is it not?" "Eva, give it to me." "Does it take effect quickly?" she asked. "Eva, I insist. Give it me!" he repeated, angry now, and at his wits' end. He threw his arm round her, and tried to seize her wrists; but he only grasped one empty hand, while the other flung the phial over his head on the floor. There was a little clatter of falling glass, and before he could rise she had thrown her arms round him again, dragging him down among the cushions. "Let it lie there," she murmured with a smile. "It is broken. I have broken it for you. Tell me, why did you carry that about with you?" "It is not what you fancy," he replied, still on the defensive. "So much the better.--Why did you have it?" He sat silent for a moment. Then, yielding to her insistence, he said: "To take it--when all was at an end between us--in the evening, of course." "And now you cannot do so." "Perhaps I can manage to buy some more," he said, with a gloomy laugh. "But why is everything to be at an end between us?" He was suddenly quite serious, mocking no more at life and death. "For your sake, my angel; for your happiness. I beseech you, let it all be ended. Let me feel that I no longer need make you wretched. You may yet be happy; but I--I feel that everything in me hinders my ever being happy, and all happiness must begin in ourselves alone." "And do you think I shall let you go now, that you have just told me what you would do in the evening?" "But you are not to think that I should do it only for your sake. I always go about with that in my pocket. I have often thought of doing it; but then I have thought of you, and I lacked courage; for I know that you love me only too well." "Not too well. I have lived in you. But for you I should never have truly lived." "But for me you might have lived with another, and have been happy." "No. Never with any other. That could never have been. I had to live with you. It was Fatality." "Ay, Fatality. Bertie used to say--" "Do not mention Bertie." As she spoke the rain dashed against the window panes in a perfect torrent. "It is always raining," she murmured. "Yes--always," he mechanically repeated. She shuddered and looked in his face. "Why do you say that?" she asked quickly.