She had a distinct consciousness, for the moment, of seeing herself
crouched down there under the aspens and the shadow, a humpbacked white
creature, with distorted face and wide eyes. She remembered a picture
she had somewhere seen of a little chattering goblin in a graveyard, and
was struck with the resemblance. Distinctly, too, she heard herself
saying, with a laugh, she thought, "I might have known it; I might have
known."

Then the blood came through her heart with a hot rush, and she saw Del
on the log, smoothing the red feather of her hat. She heard a man's
step, too, that rang over the bridge, passed the toll-house, grew faint,
grew fainter, died in the sand by the Everett Mill.

Richard's face! Richard's face, looking--God help her!--as it had never
looked at her; struggling--God pity him!--as it had never struggled for
her.

She shut her hands, into each other, and sat still a little while. A
faint hope came to her then perhaps, after all; her face lightened
grayly, and she crept down the bank to Del.

"I won't be a fool," she said, "I'll make sure,--I'll make as sure as
death."

"Well, where did _you_ drop down from, Sene?" said Del, with a guilty
start.

"From over the bridge, to be sure. Did you think I swam, or flew, or
blew?"