When she rose from the ground she saw a tall, gaunt figure passing away like a shadow.

'What a horrible man… he attacked me, ill-treated me… what for?' Her thoughts turned aside. 'He should be put in prison…. If father knew it, or John knew it, he would be put in prison, and for a very long time…. Why did he attack me? … Perhaps to rob me; yes, to rob me, of course, to rob me.' To rob her, and of what?… of her watch; where was it? It was gone. The watch was gone…. But, had she lost it? Should she go back and see if she could find it? Oh! impossible! see the place again—impossible! search among the gorse—impossible!

Then, as her thoughts broke away, she thought of how she had escaped being murdered. How thankful she ought to be! But somehow she was not thankful. She was conscious of a horror of returning, of returning to where she would see men and women's faces. 'I cannot go home,' thought the girl, and acting in direct contradiction to her thoughts, she walked forward. Her parasol—where was it? It was broken. She brushed herself, she picked bits of furze from her dress. She held each away from her and let it drop in a silly, vacant way, all the while running the phrases over in her mind: 'He threw me down and ill-treated me; my frock is ruined, what a state it is in! I had a narrow escape of being murdered. I will tell them that… that will explain … I had a narrow escape of being murdered.' But presently she grew conscious that these thoughts were fictitious thoughts, and that there was a thought, a real thought, lying in the background of her mind, which she dared not face; and failing to do so, she walked on hurriedly, she almost ran as if to force out of sight the thought that for a moment threatened to define itself. Suddenly she stopped; there were some children playing by the farm gate. They did not know that she was by, and she listened to their childish prattle.