Far back in the deep shade in the corner she did not see me; she did not
suspect that any one was near. I saw her give a hasty look down the
pier, but her glance never fell on the corner where I sat. She went to
the railings--one or two of them were broken and had not been repaired;
in a more frequented place it might, perhaps, have been dangerous. She
did not seem to notice it. She stood for some minutes in silence; then I
heard again bitter weeping, passionate sobs, long-drawn sighs. I heard a
smothered cry of "Oh, Heaven; oh, Heaven have pity!" and then a sickly
gleam of light came from the sky, and by its light I saw that she took
the bundle from under her arm. I could not see what it was or what it
held, but she bent her head over it, she kissed it, sobbed over it with
passionate sobs, then raised it above the railings and let it fall
slowly into the water.

There was a slight splash; no other sound. As she raised the bundle I
saw distinctly that it was something wrapped in a gray and black shawl.

I swear before Heaven that no thought of wrong came to my mind; I never
dreamed of it. I had watched her first because the rare grace of her
tall figure and of her walk came to me as a surprise, then because she
was evidently in such bitter sorrow, then because she seemed so desirous
of being alone, but never did one thought cross my mind that there was a
shadow of blame--or wrong; I should have been far more on the alert had
I thought so. I was always of a dreamy, sentimental, half-awake kind of
mind; I thought of nothing more than a woman, desperate, perhaps, with
an unhappy love, throwing the love-letters and presents of a faithless
lover into the sea--nothing more. I repeat this most emphatically, as I
should not like any suspicion of indolence or indifference to rest upon
me.