He caught me by the arm, as I was leaving the room in my turn.
"Poison!" the doctor whispered in my ear.

"Keep it a secret; that's what he means." I ran to my own bedchamber and bolted myself in.

At that one word, "Poison," the atrocious suggestion of Frau Meyer, when she had referred to Doctor Fontaine's lost medicine-chest, instantly associated itself in my memory with Madame Fontaine's suspicious intrusion into Mr.Keller's room.

Good God! had I not surprised her standing close by the table on which the night-drink was set?
and had I not heard Doctor Dormann say, "That's unlucky," when he was told that the barley-water had been all drunk by the patient, and the jug and glass washed as usual?
For the first few moments, I really think I must have been beside myself, so completely was I overpowered by the horror of my own suspicions.

I had just sense enough to keep out of Mr.Engelman's way until I felt my mind restored in some degree to its customary balance.
Recovering the power of thinking connectedly, I began to feel ashamed of the panic which had seized on me.
What conceivable object had the widow to gain by Mr.Keller's death?
Her whole interest in her daughter's future centered, on the contrary, in his living long enough to be made ashamed of his prejudices, and to give his consent to the marriage.