The trappings of horse, the grey-green uniform of the man, left no room for speculation; a trooper of the State Constabulary was seated there.
His cap was off; his head rested on his palm. Elbow on knee, he sat there gazing at the water -- watching the slim fish, perhaps, darting up stream toward their bridal-beds hidden far away at the headwaters.
A detour was imperative. The girl, from the shelter of a pine, looked out cautiously at the trooper. The sudden sight of him had merely checked her; now the recognition of his uniform startled her heart out of its tranquil rhythm and set the blood burning in her cheeks.
There was a memory of such a man seared into the girl's very soul; -- a man whose head and shoulders resembled this man's, -- who had the same bright hair, the same slim and powerful body, -- and who moved, too, as this young man moved.
The trooper stirred, lifted his head to relight his pipe.
The girl knew him. Her heart stood still; then heart and blood ran riot and she felt her knees tremble, -- felt weak as she rested against the pine's huge trunk and covered her face with unsteady fingers.
Until the moment, Eve had never dreamed what the memory of this man really meant to her, -- never dreamed that she had capacity for emotion so utterly overwhelming.
Even now confusion, shame, fear were paramount. All she wanted was to get away, -- get away and still her heart's wild beating, -- control the strange tremor that possessed her, recover mind and sense and breath.
She drew her hand from her eyes and looked upon the man she had attempted to kill, -- upon the young man who had wrestled her off her feet and handcuffed her, -- and who had bathed her bleeding mouth with sphagnum, -- and who had kissed her hands---She was trembling so that she became frightened. The racket of the brook in his ears safeguarded her in a measure. She bent over nearly double, her rifle at a trail, and cautiously began the detour.
* * * * *
When at length the wide circle through the woods had been safely accomplished and Eve was moving out through the thickening ranks of tamarack, her heart, which seemed to suffocate her, quieted; and she leaned against a shoulder of rock, strangely tired.
After a while she drew from her pocket his handkerchief, and looked at it. The square of cambric bore his initials, J.S. Blood from her lip remained on it. She had not washed out the spots.
She put it to her lips again, mechanically. A faint odour of tobacco still clung to it.