All too suggestive in itself was the shape of the hole
the girl was digging; there was no need of the silent
proof of its purpose which lay beside her to tell the
watchers that she worked alone in the midst of the for-
est solitude upon a human grave. The thing wrapped
in an old quilt lay silently waiting for the making of its
last bed.
And as the three watched her other eyes watched
them and the digging girl--wide, awestruck eyes, filled
with a great terror, yet now and again half closing in
the shrewd expression of cunning that is a hall mark of
crafty ignorance.
And as they watched, their over-wrought nerves sud-
denly shuddered to the grewsome clanking of a chain
from the dark interior of the hovel.
The youth, holding tight to Bridge's sleeve, strove to
pull him away.
"Let's go back," he whispered in a voice that trembled
so that he could scarce control it.
"Yes, please," urged the girl. "Here is another path
leading toward the north. We must be close to a road.
Let's get away from here."
The digger paused and raised her head, listening, as
though she had caught the faint, whispered note of hu-
man voices. She was a black haired girl of nineteen or
twenty, dressed in a motley of flowered calico and silk,
with strings of gold and silver coins looped around her
olive neck.
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