On
that side where I stood ancient oaks thrust their gnarled roots into the
water, and these knees were bridged by treacherous platforms of moss. As
I sought for a safe resting-place a dull splash startled me, the
pink-and-white water lilies danced on the ripples, and a long, black
snout pushed its way to the centre of the bayou and floated there
motionless.
I sat down on a wide knee that seemed to be fashioned for the purpose,
and reflected. It may have been about half-past five, and I made up my
mind that, rather than return and risk explanations, I would wait where I
was until Mrs. Temple appeared. I had much to think of, and for the rest
the weird beauty of the place, with its changing colors as the sun fell,
held me in fascination. When the blue vapor stole through the cypress
swamp, my trained ear caught the faintest of warning sounds. Mrs. Temple
was coming.
I could not repress the exclamation that rose to my lips when she stood
before me.
"I have changed somewhat," she began quite calmly; "I have changed since
you were at Temple Bow."
I stood staring at her, at a loss to know whether by these words she
sought to gain an advantage. I knew not whether to pity or to be angry,
such a strange blending she seemed of former pride and arrogance and
later suffering. There were the features of the beauty still, the eyes
defiant, the lips scornful.
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