happy life with such wealth of beauty, by filling her careless hands
with this one best, last gift? Why, the child could not hold such golden
love! She would throw it away by and by. What a waste it was!

Not that she had these words for her thought, but she had the thought
distinctly through her dizzy pain.

"So there's nothing to do about it," said Del, pinning her shawl. "We
can't have anything to say to each other,--unless anybody should die, or
anything; and of course I'm not wicked enough to think of _that._--Sene!
Sene! what are you doing?"

Sene had risen slowly, stood upon the log, caught at an aspen-top, and
swung out with it its whole length above the water. The slight tree
writhed and quivered about the roots. Sene looked down and moved her
marred lips without sound.

Del screamed and wrung her hands. It was an ugly sight!

"O don't, Sene, _don't!_ You'll drown yourself! you will be drowned! you
will be--O, what a start you gave me! What _were_ you doing, Senath
Martyn?"

Sene swung slowly back, and sat down.

"Amusing myself a little;--well, unless somebody died, you said? But I
believe I won't talk any more to-night. My head aches. Go home, Del."

Del muttered a weak protest at leaving her there alone; but, with her
bright face clouded and uncomfortable, went.