What he was doing, what he meant to do, he hardly knew. Mid-day
passed; the sun fell toward the mountains, and once more came the
fierce impulse to see her, even though he must stalk into the
Brayton cabin. Again, half-crazed, he started impetuously
through the brush, and shrank back, and stood quiet. A little noise
down the path had reached his ear. In a moment he could hear
slow foot-falls, and the figure of the girl parted the pink-and-white
laurel blossoms, which fell in a shower about her when she
brushed through them. She passed quite near him, walking slowly,
and stopped for a moment to rest against a pillar of the porch. She
was very pale; her face was traced deep with suffering, and she
was, as old Gabe said, much changed. Then she went on toward
the garden, stepping with an effort over the low fence, and leaned
as if weak and tired against the apple-tree, the boughs of which
shaded the two graves at her feet. For a few moments she stood
there, listless, and Rome watched her with hungry eyes, at a loss
what to do. She moved presently, and walked quite around the
graves without looking at them; then came back past him, and,
seating herself in the porch, turned her face to the river. The sun
lighted her hair, and in the sunken, upturned eyes Rome saw the
shimmer of tears.

"Marthy! " He couldn't help it-the thick, low cry broke like a groan
from his lips, and the girl was on her feet, facing him. She did not
know the voice, nor the shaggy, half-wild figure in the shade of the
laurel; and she started back as if to run; but seeing that the man did
not mean to harm her, she stopped, looking for a moment with
wonder and even with quick pity at the hunted face with its white
appeal. Then a sudden spasm caught her throat, and left her body
rigid, her hands shut, and her eyes dry and hard-she knew him. A