“Wait, then; I will open it; to be sure--I will open it; because I know whoever you are that if there was not something extraordinary in it, it isn't at this hour you'd be coming to me.” “Open the door I say, and then I shall speak to you.” The window, which the old herbalist had opened, and, in the hurry of the moment, left unshut, remained unshut, and Barney, after Woodward had entered, stood close to it in order to hear the conversation which might pass between them. “Now,” said Woodward, after he had entered the hut, “I want a dose from you. One of my dogs, I fear, is seized with incipient symptoms of hydrophobia, and I wish to dose him to death.” “And what hour is this to come for such a purpose?” asked Sol Donnel. “It isn't at midnight that a man comes to me to ask for a dose of poison for a dog.” “You are very right in that,” replied Woodward; “but the truth is, that I had an assignation with a girl in the town, and I thought that I might as well call upon you now as at any other time.” The eye of the old sinner glistened, for he knew perfectly well that the malady of the dog was a fable. “Well,” said he, “I can give you the dose, but what's to be the recompense?” “What do you ask?” replied the other. “I will dose nothing under five pounds.” “Are you certain that your dose will be sure to effect its purpose?” asked Woodward. “As sure as I am of life,” replied the old sinner; “one glass of it would settle a man as soon as it would a dog;” and as he spoke he fastened his keen, glittering eyes upon Woodward. The glance seemed to say, I understand you, and I know that the dog you are about to give the dose to walks upon two legs instead of four. “Now,” said Woodward after having secured the bottle, “here are your five pounds, and _mark me_----” he looked sternly in the face of the herbalist, but added not another word. The herbalist, having secured the money and deposited it in his pocket, said, with a malicious grin, “Couldn't you, Mr. Woodward, have prevented yourself from going to the expense of five pounds for poisoning a dog, that you could have shot without all this expense?” Woodward looked at him. “Your life,” said he, “will not be worth a day's purchase if you breathe a syllable of what took place between us this night. Sol Donnel, I am a desperate man, otherwise I would not have come to you. Keep the secret between us, for, if you divulge it, you may take my word for it that you will not survive it twenty-four hours. Now, be warned, for I am both resolute and serious.” The herbalist felt the energy of his language and was subdued. “No,” he replied, “I shall never breathe it; kill your dog in your own way; all I can say is, that half a glass of it would kill the strongest horse in your stable; only let me remark that I gave you the bottle to kill a dog!”