I was terribly frightened.
For a moment wild thoughts raced through my brain--foolish impulses of
flight lest I be found with the body and somehow be held responsible.
Then, with scorn for my folly, I ran out into the hall, crying for help.
The janitor rushed in, and seeing what had happened, went for the nearest
physician, who came at once and knelt by the fallen man's side. But before
he closed the staring eyes, rose from his examination of the prostrate
figure and slowly shook his head, we both knew that Prof. Darmstetter was
dead.
"His heart--." he began, turning for the first time toward me, whom as yet
he had not noticed; and then he started back and stood open-mouthed,
transfixed, staring at me--at my beauty.
In that sweet instant, call it wicked or not, I was glad that Darmstetter
was dead! I could not help it. So long as he lived, I was not safe.
I did not blame him for planning to experiment with others, any more than
I would have blamed a cat that scratches or a snake that stings. I will be
just. His love of learning overbore his honour. He could not have kept
faith. I should never have been safe with him in the same world.
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