The roar of the river came up on the wind from below—now loud as the surf on reefs at sea, then soft and soothing as a murmur of marketers returning from fairing, heard from far away.
Something—Bessie knew not what—induced her to turn her head aside, when, with a start of alarm, she saw, standing on a platform of rock, not a stone's throw distance, the tall full form of Julian. Her face was turned towards her and Urith. She had been watching them. The sun was on her handsome, richly-coloured face, with its lustrous eyes and ripe pouting lips.
Bessie's first impulse was to hold up her hand in caution. She did not know what the effect produced on Urith might be of seeing suddenly before her the rival who had blighted her happiness; and the position occupied by Urith was dangerous, on the overhanging ledge.
Bessie rose from her place and walked towards Julian, stepping cautiously among the crags. Urith took no notice of her departure.
On reaching Julian Crymes, Bessie caught her by the arm and drew her back among the rocks, out of sight and hearing of Urith.
"For heaven's sake," she entreated, "do not let her see you! Do you see what has fallen on her? She is not herself."
"Well," retorted Julian, "what of that? She and I staked for the same prize, and she has lost."
"And you not won."
"I have won somewhat. He is no longer hers, if he be not mine."
"He is not, he never was, he never will be yours," said Bessie, vehemently. "Oh, Julian! how can you be so cruel, so wicked! Have you no pity? She is deranged. She thinks she has killed Anthony—dead; but you have seen—she cannot speak and think of anything now but of her sorrow and loss."