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As soon as he had left, he rushed to the screen and drew it back.

No; there was no further change in the picture. It had received

the news of Sibyl Vane's death before he had known of it himself.

It was conscious of the events of life as they occurred. The

vicious cruelty that marred the fine lines of the mouth had, no

doubt, appeared at the very moment that the girl had drunk the

poison, whatever it was. Or was it indifferent to results? Did it

merely take cognizance of what passed within the soul? He

wondered, and hoped that some day he would see the change taking

place before his very eyes, shuddering as he hoped it.