"Then I recrossed the ridge, and crawled down again, and, waiting
until evening, walked slowly up the path. As I came in view of the
house she saw me, and waved her handkerchief to me, and in answer I
waved my hat, and shouted curses at her that the wind whirled away
into the torrent. She met me with a kiss, and I breathed no hint to
her that I had seen. Let her devil's work remain undisturbed. Let
it prove to me what manner of thing this is that haunts me. If it be
a spirit, then the bridge wilt bear it safely; if it be woman -

"But I dismiss the thought. If it be human thing, why does it sit
gazing at me, never speaking? why does my tongue refuse to question
it? why does all power forsake me in its presence, so that I stand as
in a dream? Yet if it be spirit, why do I hear the passing of her
feet? and why does the night-rain glisten on her hair?

"I force myself back into my chair. It is far into the night, and I
am alone, waiting, listening. If it be spirit, she will come to me;
and if it be woman, I shall hear her cry above the storm--unless it
be a demon mocking me.

"I have heard the cry. It rose, piercing and shrill, above the
storm, above the riving and rending of the bridge, above the downward
crashing of the logs and loosened stones. I hear it as I listen now.
It is cleaving its way upward from the depths below. It is wailing
through the room as I sit writing.

"I have crawled upon my belly to the utmost edge of the still
standing pier, until I could feel with my hand the jagged splinters
left by the fallen planks, and have looked down. But the chasm was
full to the brim with darkness. I shouted, but the wind shook my