happened near the bridge I had left the bridge behind."
"But you were in sight———"
"For five minutes," Dennis said. "I was in sight perhaps even for ten. I strolled there, I turned things over, I watched the stream and, finally—just at the sharp bend—I sat a little on the stile beyond that smart new boat-house."
"It's a horrid thing." Mrs. Beever considered. "But you see the bridge from the boat-house."
Dennis hesitated. "Yes—it's a good way, but you've a glimpse."
"Which showed you nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all?"—his echo of the question was interrogative, and it carried him uneasily to the window, where he again, for a little, stared out. The pink of the sky had faded and dusk had begun in the room. At last he faced about. "No—I saw something. But I'll not tell you what it was, please, till I've myself asked you a thing or two."
Mrs. Beever was silent at this: they stood face to face in the twilight. Then she slowly exhaled a throb of her anguish. "I think you'll be a help."
"How much of one," he bitterly demanded,
