It
was suddenly weak, but from suspense and excitement rather than from
fear.
"I saw you last night with him, by the river. I saw what you did. I
heard you say, 'Yes, to-morrow, for sure.' I saw what you did."
Her eyes were busy with the knitting now. She did not know what to say.
Then, he had known all since the night before! He knew it when he
pretended that his head ached--knew it as he lay by her side all night.
He knew it, and said nothing! But what had he done--what had he done?
She waited for she knew not what. George Masson was to come and inspect
the flume early that morning. Had he come? She had not seen him. But
the river was flowing through the flume: she could hear the mill-wheel
turning--she could hear the mill-wheel turning!
As she did not speak, with a curious husky shrillness to his voice he
said: "There he was down in the flume, there was I at the lever above,
there was the mill-wheel unlocked. There it was. I gripped the lever,
and--"
Her great eyes stared with horror. The knitting-needles stopped;
a pallor swept across her face. She felt as she did when she heard the
court-martial sentence Carvillho Gonzales to death.
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