man were lost to my sight. Then I sat down, scowling at
the hurrying water, chin on fist, for my black humour, banished awhile
by the child's innocent faith in me, was returned and therewith an
added bitterness. Scowling yet, I plucked forth my knife and seizing
my staff, set to trim and shape it to a formidable weapon; and as I
worked I cursed this woman deep and oft, yet (even so) knew she had the
right on't, for truly I was a rogue, an outcast of unlovely look and
unlovely ways, a desperate fellow unfit for the company of decent folk,
much less an innocent child; and yet, remembering those fearless
child-eyes, the kiss of those pure child-lips I sighed amain betwixt my
muttered cursings.

At last, having trimmed my bludgeon to a nicety, I laid it by, and sat
brooding, the knife betwixt my knees; now a beam of sun falling athwart
the leaves lit upon the broad blade of the knife and made of it a
glory. And beholding this and the hand that grasped it, I took
pleasure to heed how strong and sinewy were my fingers and how the
muscles bulged beneath the brown skin of my forearm; and turning the
glittering steel this way and that I fell to joyous thought of my enemy
and of my vengeance, now so near.

"To-night!" says I to myself, "Death ever cometh with more terrors in
the dark! To-night!" But now, little by little, my joy gave place to
anger that the night must be so long a-coming; and, glancing up, I
cursed the sun that it must needs shine and the gladsome day that it
was not grim night. And presently to anger was added a growing fear
lest mine enemy might (by some hap) elude me at the eleventh
hour--might, even now, be slipping from my reach. Now at this a sweat
brake out on me, and leaping to my feet I was minded to seek him out
and end the matter there and then. "Why wait for to-night?" I asked
myself. "Surely in the gladsome light of day Death findeth an added
bitterness. Why wait for night, then?"

So I stood awhile debating within myself, then, catching up my knotted
bludgeon, I set off along the stream incontinent, following a path I
had trodden many a time when but a lad; a path that led on through mazy
thickets, shady dells and green coppices dappled with sunlight and glad
with the trilling melody of birds; but ever as I went, before my eyes
was a man who twisted in my grasp and died, over and over again, and in
my ears the sounds of his agony. And ever as I went trees reached out
arms as if to stay