"Why not?" she protested. "I am sure I thought it a beautiful lecture,
and I'm not keen on churches and ruins myself," she added, with a laugh
which somehow grated upon me. "What are you doing here?"

"Watching the dead," I answered grimly.

She looked at me for an explanation. I pointed to the dark object by
the side of the creek. She gave a violent start. Then she screamed and
caught hold of my arm.

"Mr. Ducaine!" she cried. "What is it?"

"A dead man!" I answered.

Her face was a strange study. There was fear mingled with unwholesome
curiosity, the heritage of her natural lack of refinement. She leaned
over the palings.

"Oh, how horrible!" she exclaimed. "I don't know whether I want to look
or not. I've never seen any one dead."

"I should advise you," I said, "to go away."

It was apparently the last thing she desired to do. Of the various
emotions which had possessed her, curiosity was the one which survived.

"You are sure he is dead?" she asked.

"Quite," I answered.