sand had drifted over his boots and ankles I knew that he had been there
for some hours. There was blood upon his collar, and the fingers of his
right hand were tightly clenched. I told myself that I was a coward,
and I set my teeth. I must lift his head from the water, and cover him
up with my own coat while I fetched help. But when I stooped down a
deadly faintness came over me. My fingers were palsied with horror. I
had a sudden irresistible conviction I could not touch him. It was a
sheer impossibility. There was something between us more potent than
the dread of a dead man--something inimical between us two, the dead and
the living. I staggered away and ran reeling to the road, plunging
blindly through the creek.

"About two hundred yards further down the road was a small lodge at one
of the entrances of Rowchester. It was towards this I turned and ran.
The door was closed, and I beat upon it fiercely with clenched fists.
The woman who answered it stared at me strangely. I suppose that I was
a wild-looking object.

"It's Mr. Ducaine, isn't it?" she exclaimed. "Why, sakes alive!
what's wrong, sir?"

"A dead man in the marshes," I faltered.

She was interested enough, but her comely weather-hardened face
reflected none of the horror which she must have seen on mine.

"Lordy me! whereabouts, sir?" she inquired.

I pointed with a trembling forefinger. She stood by my side on the
threshold of the cottage and shaded her eyes with her hand, for the