She wondered why, of all places, she chanced to come to the Basin in her dream.

She might have gone to the saw-mill, and been caught and whirred to death in the machinery.

She might have gone to the bridge over the river, and thrown herself off, not knowing what she did.

Or, what if the pond had been a river, and she were now floating away, helpless, out of reach of any who came to save her, to some far-off dam where the water roared and splashed on cruel rocks.

Or she might, in her dream, have tipped over the boat where the water was deep, and been unable to swim, encumbered by her clothing.