In the moment of that movement, half-dragged by the fast and firm hold upon her, half pushing her captor, and notwithstanding the horror and panic of her arrest and discovery, Letitia had time to form in her mind the explanations she would give to John, if it were John: or if it should happen to be Letty (which was impossible--but all things are possible to guilt and mortal terror--) the indignant superiority with which she would send her away. But when she twisted herself round and confronted in the light of the ante-room, which seemed a brilliant illumination after the dark chamber within, the face of Mary! Mary! Letitia’s strength collapsed, her self-command abandoned her, the gasping breath came in a hoarse rattle from her throat, her jaw fell, her eyes seemed to turn upon their orbits. She hung by the hand that held her half insensible, helpless, overwhelmed, like a bundle of clothes, as if she had no longer any sensation or impulse of her own. The only thing that kept her from falling was the grip upon her hand, and the support of the arm which Mary had put round her to reach it. She was stunned and stupefied, scarcely alive enough to be afraid, though there began to grow upon her mind by degrees a consciousness that this woman who held her had been mad--which even when she had full command of herself was what Letitia feared most in all the world. Mary was taller than her prisoner. She seemed taller now than ever she had done in her life, her eyes were shining like stars, her nostrils dilated with excitement and strong feeling, her color coming and going. She did not speak, but with her other hand held the milk to Letitia’s lips, always with her arm supporting her, as one might offer drink to a child. “Drink it,” she said at last, “drink it!” in a keen whisper that seemed to cut the silence like a knife. No mercy, no pity were in Mary’s eyes. She held Letitia’s wrist in a grip of iron, and pressing upon her, forcing her head back, held the glass to her lips, “drink it!--drink it!” The struggle was but a momentary one, and noiseless. They were like two shadows moving, swaying, forming but one in their speechless conflict. Then came the sudden crash of the shattered glass, as Letitia, recovering her forces in her desperation, with a sudden twist of her arm dashed it from her antagonist’s hand. The contents were spilled between them, and formed a white pool upon the floor, from which, instinctively, each woman drew back; and there they stood gazing at each other again.