The tempest of his wrath subsided as suddenly
as it had risen, and he stood short-sightedly, his head thrust forward,
peering into my eyes, helpless, panting, disarmed.
"You will not--ah, you will not!" I whispered.
"Ach, Du!" he murmured. "Du bist mein Frankenstein! Ich kann nicht--ich--
ich habe alles verloren, verloren! Ehre, Ruhm, Pflicht, Redlichkeit, den
guten Namen! Verloren! Verloren!"
A touch of colour that I had never seen there before grew slowly in his
cheeks. It was the danger signal; but I did not know; indeed I did not
know!
"Come," I said, shaking him lightly, playfully; "promise me that you will
not do it for a year."
"Delilah!" he whispered from behind set lips, his breath coming quicker, a
hoarse rattling in his throat.
Then he snatched my hand and began pressing kisses upon it--greedily, like
a man abandoning himself to a sudden impulse.
But the next moment, before I could move, he threw back his head and
tottered to a chair, where he sat for an instant, breathing heavily. Just
as I sprang toward him his frame stiffened and straightened and he slipped
from the chair and fell heavily to the floor, where he lay limp,
unbreathing, sprawled upon the bare boards in all the pitiful ugliness of
death.
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