I had prepared everything.

I had written my last letter, and had now only to drink the fatal draught, and lie down to my last sleep.

I heard the old village clock strike eleven.

'I may as well do it now as ever,' I said mentally, and my hand moved towards the glass.

But my courage failed me; my hand shook, and some moments elapsed before I could sufficiently quiet my nerves to lift the glass containing the fatal liquid.