"It is beautiful," he said, "and the sun is still bright."

"You see as far as Indian Island?"

"I can see the white comb of the reef beyond it, my dear."

"And no one--is coming?"

"There are men making for the shore, and the fires are burning, but no
one is--coming this way. . . . He would come by the road, perhaps."

"Oh no, by the river. Pierre has not found him. Can you see the Eddy?"

"Yes. It is all quiet there; nothing but the logs tossing round it."

"We used to sit there--he and I--by the big cedar tree. Everything was so
cool and sweet. There was only the sound of the force-pump and the
swallowing of the Eddy. They say that a woman was drowned there, and that
you can see her face in the water, if you happen there at sunrise,
weeping and smiling also: a picture in the water. . . . Do you think it
true, father?"

"Life is so strange, and who knows what is not life, my child?"

"When baby was dying I held it over the water beneath that window, where
the sunshine falls in the evening; and it looked down once before its
spirit passed like a breath over my face. Maybe, its look will stay, for
him to see when he comes. It was just below where you stand.... Father,
can you see its face?" "No, Judith; nothing but the water and the