Gilead could not guess why he thus, and so obviously, fled to escape him. He felt his own task to be a gentle and propitiatory one, and he had no intention of imperilling its object by assuming any impertinently censorious attitude. Moreover, how was his intention foreseen--unless, indeed, the girl herself had recognised and explained him? He saw her, just an instant, standing at the door; and then she too vanished. A score of strokes now, and they were across the intervening space, when, at the moment the boatman unshipped his left scull, to run under the _Dragonfly’s_ counter, sudden and startling a shot slammed out from within. The man, gripping at the gunwale, slipped his hand in the shock, then caught on again and held. “God of mercy, sir!” he exclaimed. “What’s that?” He had hardly spoken when Gilead, with a white face, was up and on board. He ran round, and was out of sight in an instant. Immediately a faint cry came to the ears of the waiting man. He hallooed in answer, but shakily, and sat sweating in his place. Suddenly his fare reappeared, but approaching agitated from the further end. “He’s shot himself through the head,” said Gilead hoarsely. “The revolver’s in his hand. You must fasten on and come up. Good God--the girl! What’s become of her? I’ve been right through the boat.” The man heaved himself, like a rheumatic creature, to his feet. His cheeks were patched with yellow; he fancied the job the least in the world. But he came, and saw; and was very sick by and by. “Dead!” he whispered. “A man can’t live without a head.” “But what’s become of her?” “She must be hiding--she can’t have got away; or did he--no, there was only one shot.” They hunted high and low; they ransacked every corner. “I saw her standing there--at the door--but a moment ago,” said Gilead, gulping. The boat lay moored in its placid pool; everything around slept quiet and unruffled; not a ripple, not a swaying in the reeds was there to account for the instant disappearance. The punt swung by its painter; the skiff floated as it had been run in, its nose wedged under the counter. Suddenly the man gripped Gilead’s sleeve, and pointed. “Look, sir,” he said--“them cushions where she sat!” [image: images/img_243.jpg caption: “‘LOOK, SIR,’ HE SAID--‘THEM CUSHIONS WHERE SHE SAT!’”] They were soft, silken, well-rounded things; and they showed no least impression of anybody having recently rested on them. “I’m off, sir,” said the man. He went scrambling for the boat, white to the lips. Once secure in his seat he looked up. “I understand now,” he said, “what he was a’trying to escape from. There’s more somewhere here than meets the eye. Come along, sir, in God’s name!” “No,” said Gilead. “Go you, while I wait, and fetch assistance. Supposing that we both went, and somebody not knowing were to board here and look in?” Merciful and considerate for others as always, he set himself resolutely to endure his vigil. * * * *