The next instant, as though in obedience to some
mental change, it came quickly forward and faced the miller with an
upward movement of the hands to shelter a weeping face.
"I believe--I really believe it is Judy Hatch," said Molly to herself,
and there was a faint displeasure in her voice. "I wonder what she is
doing in the willows?"
Judy Hatch it was, and at sight of Abel she had sprung up in terror from
the edge of the brook, poised for flight like a wild thing before
the gun of the hunter. He saw that her eyes were red and swollen from
weeping, her face puckered and distorted. The pain in his own heart was
so acute that for a moment he felt a sensation of relief in finding that
he was not alone in his agony--that the universal portion of suffering
had not been allotted entirely to himself, as he had imagined. Had she
smiled, he would have brushed past her in silence, but because of her
agitated and despairing look, he called her name, and when she turned
toward him in bewilderment, held out his hand. It was a small accident
that brought them together--nothing more than the fact that she had
stooped to bathe her eyes in the stream before going on to the turnpike.
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