"How simple it really is!" she thought, looking round, yet seeing
nothing.
She walked faster now; and though hindered by her wide skirts, she
almost ran, it seemed to her as if her progress were intolerably slow.
"Here's a house, and yonder there's another one, with green shutters;
and then, an open space."
The river, the bridge, and what was to happen there--she had no clear
conception of this. It was as a cloud, a mist that covered all. But
such a state of mind only lasted until she reached the bridge.
As she leant over the parapet and saw the greenish, turbid water, her
confidence instantly forsook her. She was seized with fear and a wild
desire to live. Now her perception of living things came back to her.
She heard voices, and the twittering of sparrows; she saw the sunlight,
the daisies in the grass, and the little white dog, that evidently
looked upon her as his rightful mistress. It sat opposite to her, put
up a tiny paw, and beat the ground with its tail.
Lida gazed at it, longing to hug it convulsively, and large tears
filled her eyes. Infinite regret for her beautiful, ruined life
overcame her. Half fainting, she leant forward, over the edge of the
sun-baked parapet, and the sudden movement caused her to drop one of
her gloves into the water. In mute horror she watched it fall
noiselessly on the smooth surface of the water, making large circles.
She saw her pale yellow glove become darker and darker, and then
filling slowly with water, and turning over once, as in its death-
agony, sink down gradually with a spiral movement to the green depths
of the stream. Lida strained her eyes to mark its descent, but the
yellow spot grew ever smaller and more indistinct, and at last
disappeared. All that met her gaze was the smooth, dark surface of the
water.
"How did that happen, miss?" asked a female voice, close to her.
Lida started backwards, and saw a fat, snub-nosed peasant-woman who
looked at her with sympathetic curiosity.
Although such sympathy was only intended for the lost glove, to Lida it
seemed as if the good-natured, fat woman knew all, and pitied her. For
a moment she was minded to tell her the whole story, and thus gain some
relief, but she swiftly rejected the idea as foolish. She blushed, and
stammered out, "Oh, it's nothing!" as she reeled backwards from the
bridge.
"Here it's impossible! They would pull me out!" she thought.
She walked farther along the river-bank and followed a smooth foot-path
to the left between the river and a hedge. On either side were nettles
and daisies, sheep's parsley and ill-smelling garlic. Here it was calm
and peaceful as in some village church. Tall willows bent dreamily over
the stream; the steep, green banks were bathed in sunlight; tall
burdocks flourished amid the nettles, and prickly thistles became
entangled in the lace trimming of Lida's dress. One huge plant powdered
her with its white seeds.