The
usual dim light was burning behind the window that looked out on the
road. Nothing, absolutely nothing, that was suspicious could I either
hear or see.
I walked on, by what we called the upper bank of the river; leading from
the village of Kylam. The night was cloudy and close. Now the moonlight
reached the earth at intervals; now again it was veiled in darkness. The
trees, at this part of the wood, so encroached on the bank of the stream
as considerably to narrow and darken the path. Seeing a possibility of
walking into the river if I went on much farther, I turned back again in
the more open direction of Kylam, and kept on briskly (as I reckon) for
about five minutes more.
I had just stopped to look at my watch, when I saw something dark
floating towards me, urged by the slow current of the river. As it came
nearer, I thought I recognized the mill-boat.
It was one of the dark intervals when the moon was overcast. I was
sufficiently interested to follow the boat, on the chance that a return
of the moonlight might show me who could possibly be in it. After no very
long interval, the yellow light for which I was waiting poured through
the lifting clouds.
The mill-boat, beyond all doubt--and nobody in it! The empty inside of
the boat was perfectly visible to me. Even if I had felt inclined to do
so, it would have been useless to jump into the water and swim to the
boat.
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