CHAPTER XVI.
AUGUST THIRTIETH.
Were Death so unlike Sleep, Caught this way?
Death's to fear from flame, or steel, Or poison doubtless; but from water--feel! _Robert Browning_.
I met no one in the hall or on the piazza.

The house was silent and deserted: one of the maids was closing the parlor windows.

She did not look at me with any surprise, for she had not probably heard that I was ill.
Once in the open air I felt stronger.

I took the river-path, and walked quickly, feeling freed from a nightmare: and my mind was filled with one thought.

"In a few moments I shall be beside him, I shall make him look at me, he cannot help but touch my hand." I did not think of past or future, only of the greedy, passionate present.