nd shivered
as the driving wind swept across the platform. It surprised him that
there was a wind, although at every station down the line he had seen
people straining against it. He gave up his ticket mechanically, and
walked aimlessly away into the darkness, turning with momentary
curiosity to watch the train hurry on again, a pillar of fire by night,
as it had been a pillar of smoke by day.

He passed the blinking station inn, forgetting that he had put up his
dog-cart there to await his return, and, hardly knowing what he did,
took from long habit the turn for Vandon.

It was a wild night. The wind was driving the clouds across the moon at
a tremendous rate, and sweeping at each gust flights of spectre leaves
from the swaying trees. It caught him in the open of the bare high-road,
and would not let him go. It opposed him, and buffeted him at every
turn; but he held listlessly on his way. His feet took him, and he let
them take him whither they would. They led him stumbling along the dim
road, the dust of which was just visible like a gray mist before him,
until he reached the bridge by the mill. There his feet stopped of their
own accord, and he went and leaned against the low stone-wall, looking
down at the sudden glimpses of pale hurried water and trembling reed.

The moon came out full and strong in temporary victory, and made black
shadows behind the idle millwheel and open mill-race, and black shadows,
black as death, under the bridge itself. Dare leaned over the wall to
watch the mysterious water and shadow run beneath. As he looked, he saw
the reflection of a man in the water watching him. He shook his fist
savagely at it, and it shook its fist amid a wavering of broken light
and shadow back at him. But it did not go away; it remained watching
him. There was something strange and unfamiliar about the river
to-night. It had a voice, too, which allured and repelled him--a voice
at the sound of which the grim despair within him stirred ominously at
first, and then began slowly to rise up gaunt and terrible; began to
move stealthily, but with ever-increasing swiftness through the deserted
chambers of his heart.

No strong abiding principle was there to do battle with the enemy. The
minor feelings, sensibilities, emotions, amiable impulses, those
courtiers of our prosperous days, had all forsaken him and fled. Dare's
house in his hour of need was left unto him desolate.

And the river spoke in a guilty whispe