herself, even in this strait; but ah! a sudden 
thought. She would take poison. 
Yes, that would be best, and though she 
would never see Tom again, he would see 
her and remorse would sting him. Here 
she made a great mistake. 
A man who is coolly treacherous to wom¬ 
en never has any remoise. Remorse in 
love affairs is a pure feminine quality, and 
even the worst of the sex are not without 
it. However, it is natural to believe that 
remorse is possible to a man whom one has 
heretofore believed to be an angel in human 
form, and Eve took a little miserable com¬ 
fort from the thought that Tom would kneel 
beside her coffin and burst into tears and 
passionate exclamations of regret which 
she perhaps might see from some spiritual 
post of observation. So, having put on a 
hat and a thick veil, Eve betook herself 
down the street and round the corner to 
the chemist. 
The chemist was an old German, a benev¬ 
olent looking one, with red cheeks and a 
smiling mouth, and when she asked for 
poison for rats, he said: “So !” and beamed 
mildly upon her. 
“I want it very strong,” said Eve. 
“So !” said the chemist. 
“But not to give more pain than is nec¬ 
essary,” said Eve. 
“To the rafs?” asked the chemist. 
“Yes,” said Eve, of course; and it must 
be quick and not make one black in the 
face.” With a grave countenance he com¬ 
pounded a powder and handed it across the 
counter. Eve took it, passed him the few 
coppers he asked, and walked off. Once 
home, she went at once to her room, taking 
the powder with her, and threw herself on 
the bed. Once or twice she tasted the pow¬ 
der with the tip of her tongue, hoping it 
was not very disagreeable. Then, finding 
it sweet, she bravely swallowed it. 
“It is all over,” she said. “Oh, Heaven, 
forgive me, and forgive Tom !” And then 
she laid herself down upon her pillow. 
Just as she did so the familliar sound of 
a latch-key in the door below startled her. 
It was Tom, and now he was calling hef. 
“Eve—Eve—Eve—where are you?” 
Never before had she refused to answer 
that voice. Why had he come to torture 
her dying moments ! Now he was bouncing 
upstairs. He was in the room. 
“What is the matter? Are you ill, Eve?” 
he exclaimed. 
“No,” said she faintly, “only tired.” 
“Ah ! you look tired, little one,” said he. 
“I came home to get the overcoat. I suppose 
you’ve found out by this time that that in 
the hall is not mine. I wore Johnson’s 
overcoat home from the office last night by 
mistake, and he is anxious about it. He 
asked me if there was any one in the house 
who would be apt to meddle with papers in 
his pocket. I said I thought not. I hadn’t 
a jealous wife—eh? What’s the matter, 
Eve?” 
“O, Tom,” cried Eve, hysterically. “O, 
Tom, say it again ! It was not your coat 
O, Tom, kiss me.” 
“Why, what’s the matter, Eve?” he 
cried out. “You must be ill.” 
“Oh, I am a wicked woman, Tom !” she 
cried. “There were letters in the pocket- 
love letters. I read them. I thought you 
were false to me. I—I took poison, Tom. 
I’m going to die—and I long to live so. O r 
Tom, save me!” 
“Yes, yes !” cried Tom. “O, good heav¬ 
ens ! What poison ?” 
“Mr. Hoffman will know. I bought it 
of him. Perhaps he can save me!” cried 
Eve. 
Away went Tom, white as death, to the 
chemist’s shop. He bursts in like a whirl¬ 
wind. 
“The lady !” he gasped. “The lady who 
bought poison here just now. She took it 
by mistake. You must save her. She is 
dying!” 
“No, no!” said the old German. “Be 
calm. Be at rest. She cannot die of dat t 
When a lady asks me for poison dat will 
not turn a rat black in de face, I say to my¬ 
self, ‘so !’ I smells some ding, and I give 
her shust a little sugar. She could take a 
pound. Go home and tell her dat I never 
sells poison to women dat cry, and do not 
wish de rat to become black in de face. So 
—be calm.” 
So Tom flew home again, and Eve re¬ 
joiced; and hearing that Johnson was a 
single man who admitted himself to be 
engaged, she did not rip the patch off his 
coat, as she at first intended. 
