e with him," she thought,
"the light is there." And the light seemed to her to become alive,
something sweet and friendly, to which she owed gratitude. There was
more life in this little flame than in all the wide night about her. It
seemed almost as if this light was a protection for her, a protection
against the terrible pale man who lay on the ground beside her. She
stared into the light until her eyes wavered and the flame began to
dance. Suddenly she felt herself awake--wide awake. She sprang to her
feet. Oh, this would not do! It would not do at all--no one must find
her here with him. She seemed to be outside of herself, looking at
herself standing there on the road, the corpse and the light below her;
she saw herself grow into strange, enormous proportions, high up into
the darkness. "What am I waiting for?" she asked herself, and her brain
reeled. "What am I waiting for? The people who might come? They don't
need me. They will come, and they will ask questions--and I--why am I
here? They will ask who I am--what shall I answer? I will not answer
them--I will not say a word--they cannot compel me to talk."

The sound of voices came from the distance.

"Already?" she thought, listening in terror. The voices came from the
bridge. It could not be the men the driver was bringing with him. But
whoever it was would see the light--and they must not see it, for then
she would be discovered. She overturned the lantern with her foot,
and the light went out. She stood in utter darkness. She could see
nothing--not even him. The pile of % stones shone dimly. The voices came
nearer. She trembled from head to foot; they must not find her here.
That was the only thing of real importance in all the wide world--that
no one should find her here. She would be lost if they knew that
this--this corpse--was her lover. She clasps her hands convulsively,
praying that the people, whoever they were, might pass by on the farther
side of the road, and not see her. She listens breathless. Yes, they are
there, on the other side--women, two women, or perhaps three. What are
they talking about? They have seen the carriage, they speak of it--she
can distinguish words. "A carriage upset--" What else do they
say? She cannot understand--they walk on--they have passed
her--Ah--thanks--thanks to Heaven!--And now? What now? Oh, why isn't
she dead, as he is? He is to be envied; there is no more danger, no more
fear for him. But so much--so much for her