edge
when--when all was over.

She crashed into the undergrowth.

But she could not go far; the mould was too soft, and the rotting leaves
too thick and plentiful. She was forced to retrace her steps.

There was the dry track of a streamlet, along which a faint trickle
oozed to the surface here and there. She tried it, but the sharp stones
hurt her feet, and again she sprang into the path.

Then the sprawling arms of a bramble caught and ripped a bad tear in her
skirt. Her new, black skirt--and just where a darn would show! How
tiresome--how vexatious! And Bessie could not darn decently. She frowned
and examined, condemning already Bessie's incapable hand, and slipshod
work.

Till--remembrance came, and the torn edge flapped unheeded.

From below, where a frequented road came near at the point, there broke
upon her ear sounds and voices,--children returning late from school,
lingering and playing by the way--laughing and singing over their game.
She crouched till they were past--then hurried forward.

At length she came to an opening in the woods; a spot whose view of the
surrounding country often attracted her thither--and from habit she
paused and gazed.

It was such an afternoon as she loved; a red sky, a misty landscape, the
near trees still ablaze with autumn tints. In the distance a flying
train threaded its way whistling; the white steam appearing and
disappearing behind wooded heights and promontories.

How often had she stood thus; how familiar was the scene!--but she could
not linger now.

There was something she was searching for which she did not find. She
had only seen it once, and then by chance,--in the present confused
whirl of her brain she could not remember landmarks, nor identify
localities.

But it was there, somewhere,--and she must look, look till she found
it.

A branch snapped behind, and she spun round, terrified. Who--what was
that?

The woods were almost silent, birds had ceased to sing, and rabbits were
in their holes. After a minute's breathless suspense, she crept on a
pace or two, and listened again,--but there was not a rustle, not a
sound. She fled onwards.

A pile of logs and a rough saw-pit,--yes, yes,--she knew the saw-pit,
she had passed the saw-pit that other day, and Val and she had sat upon
the logs. Val had kicked about the splinters at his feet, and formed
them into heaps. And it was close, close by, that--oh, it was so close
that she shivered and trembled,