The boat, hidden in the reeds, was her destination; she loosed it, and taking the oars rowed down the creek.  When she came to the garden wall, she bent her head and shut her eyes; but when she had left the creek for the great dim river, she looked at Fair View house as she rowed past it on her way to the mountains.  No light to-night; the hour was late, and he was asleep, and that was well.

It was cold upon the river, and sere leaves, loosening their hold upon that which had given them life, drifted down upon her as she rowed beneath arching trees.  When she left the dark bank for the unshadowed stream, the wind struck her brow and the glittering stars perplexed her.  There were so many of them.  When one shot, she knew that a soul had left the earth.  Another fell, and another,—­it must be a good night for dying.  She ceased to row, and, leaning over, dipped her hand and arm into the black water.  The movement brought the gunwale of the boat even with the flood....  Say that one leaned over a little farther ... there would fall another star.  God gathered the stars in his hand, but he would surely be angry with one that came before it was called, and the star would sink past him into a night forever dreadful....  The water was cold and deep and black.  Great fish throve in it, and below was a bed of ooze and mud....

The girl awoke from her dream of self-murder with a cry of terror.  Not the river, good Lord, not the river!  Not death, but life!  With a second shuddering cry she lifted hand and arm from the water, and with frantic haste dried them upon the skirt of her dress.  There had been none to hear her.  Upon the midnight river, between the dim forests that ever spoke, but never listened, she was utterly alone.  She took the oars again, and went on her way up the river, rowing swiftly, for the mountains were far away, and she might be pursued.

When she drew near to Jamestown she shot far out into the river, because men might be astir in the boats about the town landing.  Anchored in midstream was a great ship,—­a man-of-war, bristling with guns.  Her boat touched its shadow, and the lookout called to her.  She bent her head, put forth her strength, and left the black hull behind her.  There was another ship to pass, a slaver that had come in the evening before, and would land its cargo at sunrise.  The stench that arose from it was intolerable, and, as the girl passed, a corpse, heavily weighted, was thrown into the water.  Audrey went swiftly by, and the river lay clean before her.  The stars paled and the dawn came, but she could not see the shores for the thick white mist.  A spectral boat, with a sail like a gray moth’s wing, slipped past her.  The shadow at the helm was whistling for the wind, and the sound came strange and shrill through the filmy, ashen morning.  The mist began to lift.  A few moments now, and the river would lie dazzlingly bare between the red and yellow forests.  She turned her boat shorewards,