He fished it out.

It was Marette's little pack, and for many minutes before he opened it Kent crushed the sodden treasure to his breast, staring with half-mad eyes down where he had found it, as if Marette must be there, too.

Then he ran with it to an open space, where the sun fell warmly on a great, flat rock that was level with the ground, and with sobbing breath he opened it.

It was filled with the things she had picked up quickly in her room the night of their flight from Kedsty's bungalow, and as he drew them out one by one and placed them in the sun on the rock, a new and sudden rush of life swept through his veins, and he sprang to his feet and faced the river again, as if at last a hope had come to him.

Then he looked down again upon what she had treasured, and reaching out his arms to them, he whispered, "Marette--my little goddess--" Even in his grief the overwhelming mastery of his love for the one who was dead brought a smile to his haggard and bearded face.