The night wore on. Midnight came and passed. She had not moved again.
Her straining eyes had watched the starry groups as they set beyond the
horizon. There was no moon to create shadows upon the wide, rolling
pasture before her. Everything was in shadow, just as her every
thought was similarly enwrapped. There was no relief anywhere.
Once she heard a sound that set her jarred nerves hammering. It was a
distant sound, and, to her fancy, it was the rapid beat of horse's
hoofs sweeping across the wide valley. But it died out. She had been
caught by the thought of the possibility of her husband's return,
suddenly, in the night. She pictured for one brief instant the
headlong race of the man to charge her with the crime of his brother's
life.
She saw that keen, stern face with its cold blue eyes and the grimly
tightened lips. She had seen some such expression there before, and
she knew there were depths within his soul which she had never probed,
and hoped that she might never have to probe.
It was the mystery of these unknown depths which had inspired her
passion.
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