Part 30 (1/2)

Julie was as usual on the sofa, which was pushed close up to the table.

Her sister was sitting doing some needlework.

Rather annoyed at the interruption Ida got up, and fetched bread and b.u.t.ter out of the kitchen. With a large bread-knife she cut two slices, b.u.t.tered them, and carried them off.

The bread and the knife had been left lying close to the edge of the table. The knife swayed a moment on the round crust, then it slipped slowly off the loaf, and fell flat upon the rug in which the invalid was wrapped.

At first Julie let it lie there unnoticed; Ida could take it away when she returned. Suddenly, however, an inspiration, as it were, flashed through her mind. It was fate that this knife should have fallen on her sofa; it was to be the instrument of her revenge! She took it quickly in her blanched hand and examined it. It had a sharp, pointed blade, fit to go through flesh and bone; it seemed to have been freshly sharpened. She felt the edge, and in so doing cut her finger slightly.

A few drops of blood spurted on to the s.h.i.+ning steel, and near them were the marks left by the bread which it had cut. Julie felt as though she could not take her eyes off the blade.

But she heard the outer door close, and swiftly hid the knife under her coverings.

Ida came in, and began to get her own breakfast. She looked about the table.

”Have you the bread-knife, Julie?” she asked. ”It was certainly here.”

The invalid answered sullenly: ”I?--No.”

”Didn't you see it lying here, Julie?” Ida asked again. ”Just here on the bread?”

”No,” replied the invalid, ”It wasn't there. I should have seen it if it had been. Perhaps you took it with you to the orderly-room by mistake.”

”Perhaps I did,” said Ida; and in the afternoon she asked her brother-in-law: ”Otto, can you tell me whether I left the bread-knife lying in the orderly-room this morning?”

The sergeant-major answered: ”Perhaps so. I'll see.” After which nothing more was said about the missing knife.

Julie Heppner felt strangely strong and well as she held the formidable weapon in her hand. Now at last the hour had come in which she would be revenged for years of suffering, and for the acc.u.mulated disgrace of her married life. And she regarded her husband and sister with triumphant glances, as two victims who must fall under her hand without chance of escape.

There was so much to pack up and arrange during the evening that no one thought of giving the invalid her morphia.

”Otto, will you give me the medicine?” she requested at last. ”I can prepare it for myself.”

The sergeant-major started, and glanced at his sister-in-law, smiling cynically. The devil! In all this silly excitement they might have sacrificed the last night before their long separation, if the very person they were deceiving had not herself come to the rescue.

Ida smiled back at him.

He gave the bottle and a spoon to his wife with a ”Mind you don't take too much.” But he thought to himself, ”Perhaps she will take a little more than is ordered, and so sleep the sounder.”

Then he went back to his sister-in-law and the packing.

”There!” said Julie, as she held out the spoon. ”I believe I did take just a little more than usual. Ida, will you help me to bed? I begin to feel tired already!”

Just then it struck ten o'clock. The tattoo sounded.

”So late already?” exclaimed the sergeant-major. ”I must be off at once with this to the baggage-waggon.”

He took up his box and turned to go. In the doorway he paused once more and said, ”I shall only just go through the battery and then come back to bed, for I must be up betimes in the morning.”

The sick woman lay waiting. She had taken the knife with her into the bedroom hidden under her shawl, and now held it grasped convulsively in her hand.