ht before had crawled over it like a slug,
poisoning it. The knife lay beside her; she picked it up and looked at
it; there were red traces upon the hilt and the lines in the palm of her
right hand were red. She rubbed it clean with the damp leaves of the
bushes, then she stood up, shaking and weak, heedless of everything but
the friendly touch of the sun. Her fear was gone, but the effect of it
remained in a sense of bruising and injury.

Out on the beach there was nothing, nothing but the breaking sea and the
flying gulls and lines of long legged gulls stalking or standing on the
sands, the 'get-away--get-away' of the kittiwakes came across the water
and the barking of brent geese from beyond the rocks of the Lizard
Point. The boat lay there on its side, everything was the same.

She drew towards the caves. Nothing stirred there. Then she halted and,
changing her course, came right down to the water's edge. From here she
could see the three cave mouths dark cut in the cliff. She watched them
for a moment as though expecting something to appear, then she came up
towards them, walking more cautiously as she drew near, just as she had
walked on the plain where the death traps were.

The light shone into the cave where she had slept. She saw a naked foot
with toes dug into the sand and beyond the foot a form lying on its
side.

Then she drew back with a cry; something was moving there. A rabbit
dashed out of the cave and scuttered away along the cliff base. Then she
knew.

La Touche was dead, he would never crawl again. She had killed him. She
cast the knife on the sand and wiped the palm of her hand on her dress
half unconsciously, gazing at the foot.

The terror of him had burned away anything in her mind that might have
fed remorse. She had not killed him consciously. Searching her memory
she could vaguely recollect having struck out against something
appalling in the darkness. Now she knew and guessed all, and she could
have hated him only that death kills hatred.

She came to the mouth of the men's cave and sat down in the sun, the
soreness of her throat, the weariness of her very bones, the feel of her
horrible wet clothes, all these filled her with a craving for the sun
and its warmth and light, fierce as the craving for drink. She spread
out her hands to it, then, with shaking fingers she began to take off
her clothes. They clung to her like evil things. Had this been a day of
pouring rain she might just h