"Mamie," he said to his wife, when he came out of the spare room half an hour later, "will you take Mrs.Alexander the things she needs?
She is going to do everything herself.

Just stay about where you can hear her and go in if she wants you." Everything happened as Alexander had foreseen in that moment of prescience under the river.

With her own hands she washed him clean of every mark of disaster.

All night he was alone with her in the still house, his great head lying deep in the pillow.

In the pocket of his coat Winifred found the letter that he had written her the night before he left New York, water-soaked and illegible, but because of its length, she knew it had been meant for her.
For Alexander death was an easy creditor.