Judith knew in a flash of instant cognition that this was Miss Colebrooke.  Amazement seemed to have dulled her powers of action—­amazement that she, who had stolen to this place and crouched close to earth that she might see the triumph of this preferred woman, and, having seen and paid her grievous dole, steal away and take up the thread of endless little things that spun for her the web of life, was forced instead to be an unwilling witness of the other’s distress.  Judith had risen with her first impulse, which had been to go to Kitty, but half-way through the thicket she hesitated and reconsidered.  Undoubtedly Peter would come soon, and Peter’s consolation would be more potent than any she could offer.  She shrank in shuddering self-consciousness at the thought of her presence at their meeting, the uninvited guest, the outgrown friend and confidante, blundering in at such a time, pitifully full of good intentions.  She recoiled from the picture as from a precipice that all unwittingly she had escaped.  What madness had induced her to come on this expedition?  A sudden panic at the possibility of discovery possessed her; suppose Peter should find her skulking like a beggar, waiting for broken meats?  She looked at the image of herself that she carried in her heart.  It was that of a proud woman who made no moan at the scourge of the inevitable.  Many burdens had she carried in her proud, lonely heart, but of them her lips gave no sign.  In her contemplative stoicism she felt with pride that she was no unworthy daughter of her mother’s people, and catching a glimpse through the trees of the abjectly waiting woman who, though safe and sound, could but wait, wretched and dispirited, for some one to come and adjust her to the situation, Judith felt for her a wondering pity at her helplessness.  She waited, expectant, for the sound of Peter’s horse.  Surely he must come at any moment, overcome with apologies, and she—­Judith hid her face in her hands at the thought—­she would steal away through the thicket at the first sound of hoofs.  But as the minutes slipped by and still no sign of Peter, a sickening anxiety began to gnaw at her heart.  Had something happened to him?

She did not wait to ask herself the question twice.  She crawled the length of the thicket with incredible rapidity, gained the pine forest, and made her way beneath the low-hanging boughs; without stopping to protect herself from them she gained the open space and ran quickly to Kitty.

“Are you hurt?  What has happened?”

Kitty looked up, startled at the voice.  She had not heard the sound of the moccasined feet.  Her wandering, forlorn thoughts crystallized at sight of the woman before her.  A new lightning leaped into her eyes as she recognized Judith.  There was between them a thrilling consciousness that gave to their mutual perception a something sharp and fine, that grasped the drama of the moment with the precision and fidelity of a camera.  And through all the wonder of the meeting there was in the heart of each an outflowing that met and mingled and understood the potential tragedy element of the situation.