red with a
thick veil; she stood for some time watching the farmhouse, her
beautiful face white and set as the face of the dead; she threw back her
veil as though she was gasping for breath, and then she stood still and
motionless as a marble statue.

The blue and white pigeons were cooing loudly, as though they would tell
each other it was time to rest, the birds were singing their vesper
hymn, the cattle had all been driven to rest, the laborers had ceased
their toil, in the garden the white lilies had opened their cups to
catch the dew; it was all so sweet and still, as though a blessing from
Heaven lay on it.

The silent watcher stirred when she heard the baying of a hound.

"That is Rover," she said to herself, "and he would know me. What would
Uncle Robert say if he knew his lady lass was so near?"

She walked on through the green lane, where the hedges were one mass of
wild rose bloom, through the fields where the clover lay so sweet and
fragrant, until she came to the mill-stream. Her heart gave one bound as
she saw it.

The picturesque old mill, half hidden in foliage, and the great round
wheel, half hidden in the clear stream. There were the water-lilies
lying quite at rest now; there were the green reeds and sedges; the
nests of blue forget-me-nots; the little water-fall where the white rock
rose in the middle of the stream, and the water ran over it; the same
green branches dipped in the water, the same trees shaded it. She sat
down in the same spot where she had last sat with him. She remembered
how the ring had fallen into the little clear pool and he had found it.
The same, and yet how different. And sitting there, with the wreck of
her life round her, she sung in a low voice the words that to her had
been so full of prophecy:

"In sheltered vale a mill-wheel
Still sings its tuneful lay.
My darling once did dwell there,
But now she's far away.
A ring in pledge I gave her,
And vows of love we spoke;
These vows are all forgotten,
The ring asunder broke."

How true and how cold the prophecy had been. As she sat there she saw a
light in the mill, and the wheel began slowly to turn.

Foaming, laughing, singing, the water ran away shining in the red light
of the setting sun, golden in the little wavelets that kissed the banks.
Slowly the falling water set itself to music, and the rhythm was always:

"I would the grave could hide me,
For there alone