Though she was not looking into the canister now, she felt that thought stealing back into her mind.

There was but one hope for her: she resolved to get rid of the poison.
How?
At that period of the year, there was no fire in the grate.

Within the limits of the room, the means of certain destruction were slow to present themselves.

Her own morbid horror of the canister made her suspicious of the curiosity of other people, who might see it in her hand if she showed herself on the stairs.

But she was determined, if she lit a fire for the purpose, to find the way to her end.