The Death of a Man

Wyatt Gifford had mysteriously disappeared two days ago. The country was being patrolled night and day, a hundred keepers and workmen were beating the woods and poking the bogs on the moors. Weigold did not believe for a moment that his friend was dead. Instead of going to bed early with the other men, he determined to walk until ready for sleep. He went down to the river and followed the path through the woods. There was no moon, but the stars sprinkled their cold light upon the pretty belt of water flowing placibly past wood and ruin between green masses of overhanging rocks.