He leant absently on the railing and watched her. She had no idea that he was anywhere in the neighbourhood. She bent low over the water, the muscles in her neck and arms strained by her exertions, and shook the wet clothes with a will, sending up a spray of glistening drops. From time to time she chanted the song on two notes, that he had heard her hum while digging the grave, breaking off abruptly when the water spurted into her nose and mouth. What a hard worker she was! He had imagined her long ago gone to bed, and here she was instead, at this time of night, washing as if her life depended on it! She started in alarm. His foot had disturbed some small pebbles, which fell splashing into the water close to where she stood. Her first thought was that some one was lying in wait for her among the shrubs, and she moved suspiciously nearer the opposite bank. When at last it occurred to her to look up at the Cats' Bridge, she gave a startled cry. "Don't be frightened, Regina," he called down to her. "I am not going to hurt you." Whereupon she returned calmly to her washing. "How do you get down there?" he asked. She wiped her face with her naked arm. "I'm a good climber," she said, looking up at him for a moment with blinking eyes. "Doesn't the water freeze you? So late in the year, too!" She made some response that he did not understand. He was curious to see how she would clamber up the steep declivity with her burden, so remained where he was and continued to watch her. In a few minutes she packed up her washing and climbed on the bank. The moonlight cast a flashing halo round the masses of her hair, which to-day had been combed till it was almost smooth. She looked as if she wore a coronet. With one shy glance to ascertain that he was still standing there, she dived into the shrubs, and he saw her dart rapidly from branch to branch with the agility of a wild-cat. At the top she let down her skirts, and would have flown with her basket, had he not called her back. "Why do you do your washing at night?" he inquired, making an effort to look friendly disposed towards her. "Because in the daytime they give me no peace." "The villagers?" "Yes, _Herr_." "What do they do to you?" "What they always do--throw things at me." "Over the river?" "Yes, _Herr_." "The next time any one assaults you, come and fetch me." She did not answer. "Do you understand?" She folded her hands, and looked at him beseechingly. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Please, _Herr_, don't shoot at them," she stammered. "They like you to do that. He--the _gnädiger Herr_, I mean--tried it once. Then they began to shoot too, from the other side, and there was firing here and firing there; the wonder was no one got shot. Don't you see, if they get into the habit of carrying guns about with them always, they are certain to hit me one day, for I'm obliged to go off the island sometimes?"