Then a strong fear seized her. She felt a
profound distrust of this beautiful savage with the coarse garments,
rough speech, and strangely marred visage. Perhaps to revenge herself
for Edward's suspected unfaithfulness she had killed him in the
forest, and wished now to satiate her appetite for vengeance by taking
the woman who loved him to view her ghastly work. Perhaps the whole
story was a fabrication to lure her to some lonely spot in the
boundless woods, where she would be horribly murdered. Perhaps--
"Come!" urged Wanda, with passionate entreaty. "He is dying."
"Is it you who have killed him?" demanded Helene, sternly voicing all
her fears in that black suspicion.
The girl turned away with a quick writhing motion. "No," she groaned,
"it is he who has killed me--with two words--_bring Helene_." She
darted to the house with the news of Edward's accident, and then to
the beach, where Helene was already before her. The tiny skiff was
pushed off, and the two girls were alone together.
As long as she lived Helene DeBerczy remembered that swift boat ride
across the bay. Great masses of black clouds still hung heavily in the
western sky, occasionally pierced by a brilliant flash of sunshine,
that emphasized by contrast the dreariness succeeding it.
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