He listened to the murmur of running water.

Then, while the sweetness of joy pervaded him, there seemed to rise from below or across the river or from somewhere the same strange misgiving, a keener dread, a chill that was not in the air, a fatal portent of the future.

Why should this come to mock him at such a sacred and beautiful moment?
Passers-by stared at Lane, and some of them whispered, and one hesitated, as if impelled to speak.

Wheeling away Lane crossed the bridge, turned up River Street, soon turned off again into a darker street, and reaching High School Park he sat down to rest again.

He was almost spent.