Before I went
out, I turned again to look at them, and, as I did so, my eye fell on the
window against which the wind and rain were beating. And through the wet
there appeared a face, shocking in its paleness and misery--the face of
Mrs. Falchion. Only for an instant, and then it was gone.
I opened the door and went out upon the verandah. As I did so, there was
a flash of lightning, and in that flash a figure hurried by me. One
moment, and there was another flash; and I saw the figure in the beating
rain, making toward the precipice.
Then I heard a cry, not loud, but full of entreaty and sorrow. I moved
quickly toward it. In another white gleam I saw Justine with her arms
about the figure, holding it back from the abyss. She said with
incredible pleading:
"No, no, madame, not that! It is wicked--wicked."
I came and stood beside them.
The figure sank upon the ground and buried a pitiful face in the wet
grass.
Justine leaned over her.
She sobbed as one whose harvest of the past is all tears. Nothing human
could comfort her yet.
I think she did not know that I was there. Justine lifted her face to me,
appealing.
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