"What dress did she wear that night?" he inquired, examining the shred in his hand.
"I remember well, it was purple," answered Mellen, without lifting his weary eyes from the ground.
"Come this way, for she has been here," said Tom. "This path leads to the fishpond."
They walked on, Tom searching vigilantly all the thickets he passed, and Mellen looking around him in terror lest the dead body of his wife should appear and crush his last hope for ever.
"She has been this way," said Tom, when they reached the pond. "See, that tuft of cat-tails has been broken. No, no, don't be afraid to look; see yonder where the bushes are swept down; she went away towards the shore."
Mellen groaned aloud. This was his most terrible fear. They walked on, taking a path that curved round the bay, and leaving the shore tavern on the right, went down to the beach. It was now sunset, and a golden glow lay upon the waters till they broke along the beach like great waves of pearls and opals drifting over the Sound together, and melting in the sand. Near the two men was a winrow of black seaweed, on which great drops of spray were quivering. Something in the appearance of this dark mass arrested Tom's attention. He went up to the pile of weeds and kicked them apart; a dark sodden substance, compact and heavy, lay underneath. He took it in his hands, gave the weeds that clung to it a shake, and held it up. Mellen came forward, his white lips parted, his breath rising with pain. He reached forth his hand, but uttered no word.
It was the ample shawl that Elizabeth had worn that night.