"Just a very little," she murmured, "that can do no harm. Only make me a few years younger. She would never have ventured to give me anything dangerous or poisonous."
Her hands trembled.
Can one fancy the impatience of an old woman who had missed the joys of life, to be young? A woman with the means in her grasp? Miss Semaphore panted with excitement; her heart thumped like a steam hammer. Twice she took up the bottle from the table. Twice she laid it down again.
"Just a very little," ran her thoughts, "a few drops to see what it is like."
Alas for her nervousness! By some untoward movement the frill of her sleeve caught the bottle, and knocked it over. For one terrible moment she sat as if petrified, watching the Water of Youth flowing across the table, and dribbling on to the floor on the side farthest from her. Then, quick as lightning, she jumped out of her bed, got down on her knees, and received the little stream into her open mouth as the liquid gushed over the edge. That her position was undignified did not trouble her, did not even enter her mind. The overwhelming nature of the misfortune, and how to rectify it, as far as possible, alone
