She darted away across the flower-beds, through thickets and over the lawn, which lay moist and heavy under the fog. Her wet feet got entangled among clusters of dead heliotrope and crysanthemums, still blooming in defiance of storm and frost. The shawl blew loose from her hands, which unconsciously huddled it close to her bosom, and was torn by the thorny rosebushes. Fragments of her dress were left behind. She plunged into a swampy hollow where clusters of tall catstail, sweet flag and sedgy rushes grew around a little pond, swarming with trout and gold fish. Her feet sank into the marsh till the water gurgled over her gaiters. She stood a moment, looking out upon the black pool, tempted to throw herself in; but some water-rat or frog, frightened by her approach, made a great leap, and plunged into the black depths, giving out a horrible idea of reptile life. Not there, not there; no one should find her after she was dead. The ocean, the great heaving ocean had called her; why was she lingering by that miserable pool of black water, full of living things? Again she plunged forward, broke through the tangled sedges, and trampled down the spicy peppermint, till she reached firm land again. Then on--on--on till she stood under the beetling cliff which frowned over the shore tavern. It was the dark hour now which comes just before daylight. The gleam of a candle shone through one of the tavern windows, and this faint idea of warmth drew her that way. She crept up close to the building, and through the little panes of glass saw Benson with his daughter and her children at breakfast together. When the days grew short it had always been the old man's habit to eat his breakfast by candlelight. It was a pleasant, homely picture that the wretched woman looked upon. Her haggard eyes grew wild at the sight of so much warmth, while her teeth chattered with cold, and terrible chills shook her from head to foot. A noble wood fire blazed on the hearth, filling the small white-washed room with its golden glow. The soft steam from the tea-kettle curled up the chimney, broiled fish and hot Indian cakes sent a savory odor through the ill-fitted sash. Elizabeth had eaten nothing for the past two days, and with the sight of this comfortable breakfast, an aching desire for food seized on her. Food and warmth; let her have them and she was ready to die. This animal want drew her close to the window. A child at the table saw that white face with its wild burning eyes, and pointed its finger, uttering frightened shrieks. Elizabeth darted away, crying out to the storm, "They will not have me; even his menials drive me forth."