She drew close, closer, could hear the words they said .... that ‘he must have been drinking, by what some folk had seen’ .... could see them bend over something that lay upon the ground .... could distinguish the countenance of a villager, and by him her brother’s face. And then, all at once, as the crowd made way for her, her senses came back with a rush, and she understood it all .... the night-time, the staring eyes, her own loose dress, streaming hair, the amazement of the by-standers .... on the ground, her husband’s face .... For one instant she saw, and then everything forsook her, she could hear herself scream .... then her limbs gave way, and she fell. And, as she fell, sinking, as it seemed, in unfathomable darkness, scarcely conscious of the arms put out for her support, she could hear a voice at her ear, speaking low and clearly, with a sound as of words that we hear even through our dreams. It seemed to be speaking of her, to be explaining who she was, to tear from her misery the last poor veil away. She heard the words; and then, as if nothing further could be borne, her consciousness deserted her and she knew no more. ‘_This is Annie, Jenny Salter’s daughter, who lives by the Thackbusk!_’ CHAPTER XXXIV A PARTING IN THE STREET THE words which rang in Annie’s ears were heard also by her brother, who stood almost unrecognised amidst the crowd of men, bewildered, gasping, scarcely knowing where he was, or that all was not some confusion of a dream. The terrible sight of the body taken from the river which had encountered him as soon as he reached the town, the more terrible recognition of its face, the realisation of a death that had nearly been his own--these things were overwhelming enough without the appearance of his sister, inexplicable as that was, unlooked for by any one, and yet affording, to other eyes besides his own, a clue that might serve to unravel a tragedy. He wished to help her, but he could not move his limbs, he appeared to be rooted to the ground on which he stood; but strong arms were round her, and the workmen who supported her seemed disposed to treat her with pity and tenderness. He saw her carried past him, pallid as a corpse, with the lamplight on her white face and streaming hair. He heard them say she was ‘only in a swounding; that in a little while she would be right again.’ And then, when he would have followed her he found that he could not stir; he could only watch, as if fascinated, all the preparations that surrounded one who would not wake and be ‘right.’ There were doctors present who had been summoned hastily; there were workmen eager to be relating all they knew; he could hear their voices, and the sound of women’s murmurs, and the tale that the better informed poured out upon the rest--this tale of the man who had been his sister’s lover, who was the brother of one whom he had loved. They said he had been drinking in