XXVI. — AFTERWARD.
“When I opened my eyes, the sun was shining in my face.
“I was lying on a mass of drift-wood, caught by a ledge of rock, jutting out into the river. I had apparently been hurled there, by the force of the current, stunned and bruised; the sunshine had aroused me, bringing me back to that life which was a burden and a mockery.
“And where was she? I shuddered as I asked myself that question. Had she been thrown from the boat? Had it been overturned? Was she drowned? I closed my eyes with a shudder which traversed my body, chilling my blood as with the cold hand of death.
“For a moment I thought of throwing myself into the river, and thus ending all my woes. But I was too cowardly.
“I turned toward the shore, groaning; dragged my bruised and aching limbs along the ledge of jagged rocks, through the masses of drift-wood; and finally reached the shore, where I sank down exhausted, and ready to die.
“I will not lengthen out the gloomy picture. At last I rose, looked around, and with bent head and cowering frame, stole away through the woods toward Fonthill. On my way, I passed within two hundred yards of the grave—but I dared not go thither. He was dead, doubtless—and he had been slain in fair combat! It was another form that haunted me—the form of a woman—one who had dishonored me—attempted to poison me—a terrible being—but still a woman; and I had—murdered her!
“I reached home an hour or two afterward. Nighthawk was sitting in the library, pale, and haggard, watching for me.
“As I entered, he rose with an exclamation, extending his arms toward me, with an indescribable expression of joy.