He turned and fled. One meeting him, with fierce, wild eyes full
of the fire of madness, with pale, haggard face full of despair,
would have shunned him. He fled through the green park, out on
the high-road, away through the deep woods--he knew not whither
never looking back; crying out at times, with a hollow, awful
voice that he had been all night by her grave; falling at times
on his face with wild, woeful weeping, praying the heavens to
fall upon him and hide him forever from his fellow men.
He crept into a field where the hedge-rows were bright with
autumn's tints. He threw himself down, and tried to close his
hot, dazed eyes, but the sky above him looked blood-red, the air
seemed filled with flames. Turn where he would, the pale,
despairing face that had looked up to him as the waters opened
was before him. He arose with a great cry, and wandered on. He
came to a little cottage, where rosy children were at play,
talking and laughing in the bright sunshine.
Great Heaven! How long was it since the dead girl, now sleeping
under the deep waters, was happy and bright as they?
He fled again.
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