Ann’s eyes were full of terror, that terror that lives after terror, the anguish of terror remembered.  “It’s awful to be alone with awful thoughts,” she whispered.  “To be shut in with something you’re afraid of.”

“I know—­I know,” he soothed her.  “But you’re going to tell me.  Tell me.  And then you’ll never be alone with it again.”

“I’ve been afraid so much,” she went on sobbingly.  “Alone so much—­with things that frightened me.  That night I was alone.  All alone.  And afraid.  You see I went and went and went.  Just to be getting away.  And at last I was out in the country.  And then I was afraid of that.  I went in something that seemed to be a barn.  Hid in some hay—­”

He gripped her arm as if it were more than he could stand.  His face was colorless.

“I almost went crazy.  Why I think I did go crazy—­with fear.  Being alone.  Being afraid.”

He looked away from her.  It seemed unfair to her to let himself see her like that—­her face distorted—­unlovely—­in the memory of it.

“When it came daylight I went to sleep.  And when I woke up—­when I woke up—­” She was laughing and sobbing together and it was some time before he could quiet her.  “When I woke up another man was bending over me—­an old man—­so old—­so—­

“Oh, I suppose it was just that he was surprised at finding me there.  But I thought—­I hadn’t got over the night before—­

“So again I went.  Just went.  Just to get away.  And that was when I saw it was life I’d have to get away from.  That there wasn’t any place in it for me.  That it meant being alone.  Afraid.  That it was just that—­those thick awful lips—­that old man’s eyes—­Oh no—­no—­not that!”

She was fighting it with her hands—­trying to push it away.  It took both tenderness and sternness to quiet her.

“So I hurried on,”—­she told it in hurried, desperate way, as if fearful she would not get it all told and would be left alone with it.  “To find a way.  A place.  I just wanted to find the way—­the place—­before anything else could happen.  I thought all the people who looked at me knew.  I thought there was nothing else for me—­I thought there was something wrong with me—­and when I remembered what I had wanted—­I hated—­hated them.

“I saw water—­a bridge.  On the bridge I looked down.  I was going to—­but I couldn’t, because a man was looking up at me.  I hated him, too.”  She paused.  “Though I’ve thought of it since.  It was a queer look.  I believe that man knew.  And wanted to help me.

“But I didn’t want to be helped.  Nothing could help.  I just wanted to get away—­have it over.  So I hurried on—­across your Island—­though I didn’t know—­just looking for a place—­a way.  Just to have it all over.”

She changed on that, relaxed.  Her eyes closed.  “To have it all over,” she repeated in a whisper.  She opened her eyes and looked up at him.  “Doesn’t that ever seem to you a beautiful thing?”