She desired light, light that she might witness the
whole drama she hoped--yes, hoped--would be played out down there in
the valley. A sort of dementia had taken possession of her. She had
no thought of the blood to be poured out at her bidding. She thought
nothing of the strong lives to be given up in sacrifice for her
well-being. She thought only of herself, and all that the success of
that night's affairs would mean to her.
But the dragging minutes extending upward of half an hour wore her
fever down. And slowly depression replaced her more tense emotions.
It all seemed so long in happening that failure began to loom, and to
become a certainty.
It was too good to hope. Ten thousand dollars! The amount bulked in
her mind. It grew greater and greater in its significance as delay
thrust hope further and further from her thought. Again impatience
grew, hot, angry impatience, and drove depression out. What were they
doing down there? Why did they not surround the bluff? There were
enough of them. Look! The light was still shining.
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