He got up. Jude with the old panama over her face had stiffened out as if dead. He tried to turn her over with his foot. Then he felt half frightened. Had the sun got to her head, and was all that nonsense talk delirium?
He knelt down beside her and shook her.
“Jude, what’s the matter with you?”
No reply.
He took the panama from the face. The eyes were closed and the features were in repose.
Now, really alarmed, he jumped up, ran down to the boat, seized the baling tin, and filled it with sea water. He had never seen a case of sunstroke, but he had heard cold water on the head was a remedy.
As he turned back with the tin the corpse was sitting up putting on its boots.
“What’re you doing with that baling tin?” said Jude.
“I’ll jolly soon show you!” said he, making toward her. “Shamming dead!”
But before he could reach her she was gone among the bushes, one boot on, the other off. Then, flinging the baling tin away, he joined her, helped her on with the boot, and they started. Jude, as if to make up, put her hand into his in a trusting and loving manner. She swung his hand as they walked. Then, near their destination, she flung it away and made off, hunting like a dog among the bushes till she found what she was in search of,—a long, knotted rope.