The violent perspiration began again; he had to put on more wraps.
His terror took possession of him: he was forced to contemplate
the most awful possibilities--to picture to himself what death his
mother would choose!
He sprang to his feet and paced up and down. He longed to throw
himself into somebody's arms, to cry aloud. But he knew well that
he must not let such words escape him.--He HAD to picture her as
she handled the guns, until she relinquished the idea of using any
of them. Then he imagined her recalling the deepest hiding-places
in the woods--where were they all?
HE recalled them, one after another. No, not in any of THOSE, for
she wished to hide herself where she would never be found! There
was the cement-bed; it went sheer down there, and the water was
deep!--He clung to the rigging to prevent himself from falling. He
prayed to be released from these terrors. But he saw her floating
there, rocked by the rippling water. Was it the face which was
uppermost, or was it the body, which for a while floated higher
than the face?
His thoughts were partially diverted from this by people coming up
to ask him if he were ill.
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