“Already?” she thought, listening in terror. The voices came from the bridge. It could not be the men the driver was bringing with him. But whoever it was would see the light--and they must not see it, for then she would be discovered. She overturned the lantern with her foot, and the light went out. She stood in utter darkness. She could see nothing--not even him. The pile of stones shone dimly. The voices came nearer. She trembled from head to foot; they must not find her here. That was the only thing of real importance in all the wide world--that no one should find her here. She would be lost if they knew that this--this corpse--was her lover. She clasps her hands convulsively, praying that the people, whoever they were, might pass by on the farther side of the road, and not see her. She listens breathless. Yes, they are there, on the other side--women, two women, or perhaps three. What are they talking about? They have seen the carriage, they speak of it--she can distinguish words. “A carriage upset--” What else do they say? She can not understand--they walk on--they have passed her--Ah--thanks--thanks to Heaven!--And now? What now? Oh, why isn’t she dead, as he is? He is to be envied; there is no more danger, no more fear for him. But so much--so much for her to tremble for. She shivers at the thought of being found here, of being asked, “Who are you?” She will have to go to the police station, and all the world will know about it--her husband--her child. She can not understand why she has stood there motionless so long. She need not stay here--she can do no good here--and she is only courting disaster for herself. She makes a step forward--Careful! the ditch is here--she crosses it--how wet it is--two paces more and she is in the middle of the street. She halts a moment, looks straight ahead, and can finally distinguish the gray line of the road leading onward into darkness. There--over there--lies the city. She can not see it, but she knows the way. She turns once more. It does not seem so dark now. She can see the carriage and the horses quite distinctly--and, looking hard, she seems to see the outline of a human body on the ground. Her eyes open wide. Something seems to clutch at her and hold her here--it is he--she feels his power to keep her with him. With an effort she frees herself. Then she perceives that it was the soft mud of the road that held her. And she walks onward--faster--faster--her pace quickens to a run. Only to be away from here, to be back in the light--in the noise--among men. She runs along the street, raising her skirt high, that her steps may not be hindered. The wind is behind her, and seems to push her along. She does not know what it is she flees from. Is it the pale man back there by the ditch? No, now she knows, she flees the living, not the dead, the living who will soon be there, and who will look for her. What will they think? Will they follow her? But they can not catch up with