Here all at once it occurs to her that she has read somewhere of the power of the human eye. She has an eye, and it is human; she will use it!  She leans forward and half closes her lids (presumably to concentrate the rays within), and casts upon Gower a glance that she herself would have designated “fell.”  The effect is, perhaps, a little destroyed by the fact that her big hat has fallen over her left ear, and that she has put on a diabolic grin—­meant to be impressive—­that gives all the gold with which the dentist has supplied her, to public view.  Quite a little fortune in itself!  She speaks.

“How dare you!” says she, in a voice meant to be thunder, but which trembles like a jelly.  “Take me back at once to the house!  What madness is this!”

She is frightened when she utters the word “madness.”  But the present madman does not seem to care about it.

“Not madness, aunt,” says he, still with unutterable sadness in look and tone, “but sober, terrible truth! Life has ceased to have charms for me.  I have therefore resolved to put an end to it!”

“But what of me, Randal!” cries the spinster in an agonized tone.

“I cannot bear to die alone, dear aunt.  To leave you to mourn my memory!  Such misery I am resolved to spare you.  We—­die together!"

“Randal—­Randal, I say, you are out of your mind.”

She has forgotten the power of the eye—­everything.

“You are right, dear aunt, I am out of my mind,” says Mr. Gower, with the utmost gentleness.  “I am out of my mind with misery!  I have, therefore, bored a hole in the bottom of this boat, through which I”—­sweetly—­“am glad to see the water is swiftly coming.”

He points gently to where he has removed the plug, and where the water is certainly coming into the boat.

“It is rising, I think,” says he softly and very pleasantly.

Miss Gower gives a wild scream.

“Help! help!” yells she.  She waves her hands and arms towards the shore, but there is no one there to succour her.  “Oh, Randal, the water is coming in—­it’s wetting my boots.  It’s getting on to my petticoats!  Oh, my goodness!  What shall I do?”

Here she picks up most of her garments; nay, all of them, indeed, and steps on to a loose bit of wood lying in the boat.

“Don’t look! don’t look!” screams she.  There is a flicker of something scarlet—­a second flicker of something that might be described as white tuckers of white embroidery.

“Look!” says Mr. Gower reproachfully.  “What do you take me for?  I’d die first.  Ah!”—­turning modestly aside—­“how I have always been maligned!” He sighs.  “I’m going to die now,” says he.  “Go on, aunt,” in a melancholy tone.  “There is little time to lose.  Perfect your arrangements.  The water is rising.  I admire you.  I do, indeed.  There is a certain dignity in dying nicely, and without a sound.”