swiftness down the swollen stream.

* * * * *

Before noon Sylvie and Pete moved slowly across the open space and
went back along their forest trail. They walked like lovers, and
Sylvie's arm helped to support him. Just before he stepped in among
the trees he turned for a long, desolate, backward look.

Now the hoop of green, once white as paper under the noon sun, and
the level, circular rim of the forest are empty and silent except
for the rattling of the river and the moving of the pines against
the fixed, grave stars. The human tragedy--or was it comedy?--has
burnt itself out like the embers of a camp-fire that will never again
be kindled in that lonely spot.

THE END