She dreaded it. For all her two years of life in the
meagre home her husband had provided her with, it required all her
courage and fortitude to endure it. The hills haunted and oppressed
her, and her only hope lay in the active prosecution of her work.
She breathed a profound sigh. There was relief in the expression of
her face. The drooping corners of her mouth and the tight compression
of her well-formed lips told their own story of her emotions. She had
passed through an anxious time, and only now was she beginning to feel
reassured.
Yes. All was well, she believed. She had lost her pursuers, thanks to
the staunchness of her pony, and her knowledge of the country about
her. With another sigh, but this time one of weariness, she left her
doorway and moved over to the barn. There was still the dreary round
of "chores" to which her life seemed dedicated.
* * * * * *
A solitary horseman sat gazing out through a leafy barrier across the
narrow valley of the little mountain stream.
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