ad seen life and death in many forms, but never
anything quite like this: a delicate creature floating away upon a
summer current travelling in those valleys which are neither of this
life nor of that; but where you hear the echoes of both, and are visited
by solicitous spirits. There was no pain in her face--she heard a
little, familiar voice from high and pleasant hills, and she knew, so
wise are the dying, that her husband was travelling after her, and that
they would be all together soon. But she did not speak of that. For the
knowledge born of such a time is locked up in the soul.

Pierre was awe-stricken. Unconsciously he crossed himself.

"Tell him to come quickly," she said, "if you find him,"--her fingers
played with the coverlet,--"for I wish to comfort him.... Someone said
that you were bad, Pierre. I do not believe it. You were sorry when my
baby went away. I am--going away--too. But do not tell him that. Tell
him I cannot walk about. I want him to carry me--to carry me. Will you?"
Pierre put out his hand to hers creeping along the coverlet to him; but
it was only instinct that guided him, for he could not see. He started
on his journey with his hat pulled down over his eyes.

One evening when the river was very high and it was said that Brydon's
drives of logs would soon be down, a strange thing happened at the
Bridge House.

The young doctor had gone, whispering to Mr. Rupert that he would come
back later. He went out on tiptoe, as from the presence of an angel. His
selfishness had dropped away from him. The evening wore on, and in the
little back room a woman's voice said:

"Is it morning yet, father?"

"It is still day. The sun has not set, my child."

"I thought it had gone, it seemed so dark."

"You have been asleep, Judith. You have come out of the dark."

"No, I have come out into the darkness--into the world."

"You will see better when you are quite awake."

"I wish I could see the river, father. Will you go and look?"

Then there was a silence. "Well?" she asked.

"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;