"And where was _she_? I shuddered as I asked myself that question. Had
she been thrown from the boat? Had it been overturned? Was she drowned?
I closed my eyes with a shudder which traversed my body, chilling my
blood as with the cold hand of death.
"For a moment I thought of throwing myself into the river, and thus
ending all my woes. But I was too cowardly.
"I turned toward the shore, groaning; dragged my bruised and aching
limbs along the ledge of jagged rocks, through the masses of
drift-wood; and finally reached the shore, where I sank down exhausted,
and ready to die.
"I will not lengthen out the gloomy picture. At last I rose, looked
around, and with bent head and cowering frame, stole away through the
woods toward Fonthill. On my way, I passed within two hundred yards of
_the grave_--but I dared not go thither. He was dead, doubtless--and he
had been slain in fair combat! It was another form that haunted me--the
form of a woman--one who had dishonored me--attempted to poison me--a
terrible being--but still a woman; and I had--murdered her!
"I reached home an hour or two afterward. Nighthawk was sitting in the
library, pale, and haggard, watching for me.
"As I entered, he rose with an exclamation, extending his arms toward
me, with an indescribable expression of joy.
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