There was a slight splash; no other sound. As she raised the bundle I saw distinctly that it was something wrapped in a gray and black shawl.
I swear before Heaven that no thought of wrong came to my mind; I never dreamed of it. I had watched her first because the rare grace of her tall figure and of her walk came to me as a surprise, then because she was evidently in such bitter sorrow, then because she seemed so desirous of being alone, but never did one thought cross my mind that there was a shadow of blame—or wrong; I should have been far more on the alert had I thought so. I was always of a dreamy, sentimental, half-awake kind of mind; I thought of nothing more than a woman, desperate, perhaps, with an unhappy love, throwing the love-letters and presents of a faithless lover into the sea—nothing more. I repeat this most emphatically, as I should not like any suspicion of indolence or indifference to rest upon me.
A slight splash—not of anything heavy—no other sound; no cry, no word—a moment's pause in the running of the waves, then they went on again as gayly as ever, washing the wooden pillars, and wreathing them with fresh seaweed. The tall figure, with the head bent over the rail, might have been a statue for all the life or stir there was within her.
Quite a quarter of an hour passed, and she did not stir. I began to wonder if she were dead; her head was bent the whole time, watching the waves as they ran hurrying past. Then the lady moon relented, and showed her fair face again; a flood of silver fell over the sea—each wave seemed to catch some of it, and break with a thousand ripples of light—the white cliffs caught it—it fell on the old pier, and the tall black figure stood out in bold relief against the moonlit sky.
I was almost startled when she turned round, and I saw her face quite plainly. The same light that revealed her pretty little face and figure, threw a deeper shade over me. She looked anxiously up and down, yet by a singular fatality never looked at the corner of the wooden building where I sat. I have often wondered since that I did not cry out when I saw that face—so wonderfully beautiful, but so marble white, so sad, so intent, so earnest, the beautiful eyes wild with pain, the beautiful mouth quivering. I can see it now, and I shall see it until I die.
There was a low, broad brow, and golden-brown hair clustered on it—hair that was like a crown; the face was oval-shaped, exquisitely beautiful, with a short upper lip, a full, lovely under one, and a perfectly modeled chin. But it was the face of a woman almost mad with despair.
"Oh, Heaven! if I dare—if I dare!" she cried. She flung up her hands with the gesture of one who has no hope; she looked over at the sea, once more at the pier, then slowly turned away, and again quite plainly I heard the words, "Oh, Heaven! if I dare—if I dare!"
She then walked slowly away, and I lost sight of her under the silent arches; but I could not forget her. What a face!—what beauty, what passion, what pain, what love and despair, what goodness and power! What a face! When should I ever forget it?
Impelled by curiosity, I went to the railings, and I stood where she stood. I looked down. How deep and fathomless it seemed, this running sea! What was it she had dropped there? In my mind's eye I saw a most pathetic little bundle made of love-letters; I pictured them tied with a pretty faded ribbon; there would be dried flowers, each one a momento of some happy occasion. I could fancy the dried roses, the withered forget-me-nots, the violets, with some faint odor lingering still around them. Then there would be a valentine, perhaps two or three; a photograph, and probably an engagement ring. She had flung them away into the depths of the sea, and only Heaven knows what hopes and love she had flung with them! I could understand now what that cry meant—"If I dare—if I dare!"
It meant that if she dare she would fling herself into the sea after them! How many hopes had been flung, like hers, into those black depths!