At my desk I seem to see those low shores and woods and marshes, on the
other side, and the chatter of children, going all day, laps and eddies
up like dirty waves between me and that indistinct boundary. I am
floating on the river current, drowning as I feel, reaching out for
nothing, for nothing is there. All day long it is so. I was the best
teacher in my rank, with certainty of promotion. I feel that I am losing
confidence. It is the river, the river, and has been so since it gave up
those dead bodies to bring us only ghosts and desolation."
"It was a faithful witness," spoke Duff Salter, still harsh, as if under
an inner influence. "Yes, a boy--a little boy such as you teach at
school--had the strength to break the solid shield of ice under which
the river held up the dead and bring the murder out. Do you ever think
of that as you hear a spectral river surge and buoy upward, whose waves
are made by children's murmurs--innocent children haunting the guilty?"
"Do you mean me, Mr. Salter? Nothing haunts me but care."
"I have been haunted by a ghost," continued Duff Salter. "Yes, the ghost
of my playmate has come to my threshold and peeped on me sitting there
inattentive to his right to vengeance. We shall all be haunted till we
give our evidence for the dead.
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