Both loving one man, one of the two must give way to the other.
Carmel has done her part; she must now do hers.

She has brought poison; she has brought glasses--three glasses, for three persons, but only two are on the scene, and so she fills but two.

One has only cordial in it, but the other is, as she believes, deadly.

Carmel is to have her choice; but who believes that Adelaide would ever have let her drink the poisoned glass?
"And this man looks on, as the two faces confront each other--one white with the overthrow of every earthly hope, the other under the stress of suffering and a fascination of horror sufficient to have laid her dead, without poison, at the other one's feet.

This is what he sees--_a brother!_--and he makes no move, then or afterwards, when, the die cast, Adelaide succumbs to her fear and falls into a seemingly dying state on the couch.
"Does he go now?
Is his hate or his cupidity satisfied?
No! He remains and listens to the tender interchange of final words, and all the late precautions of the elder to guard the younger woman's good name.