She
ran, shuddering, back to the house. The murderer followed her into the
parlor. She seized the candle and went up into her room. The vision of
her own distempered fancy followed her to the place where the laudanum
was hidden, and vanished there.
It was midnight, and there was no sign yet of the captain's return.
She took from the writing-case the long letter which she had written
to Norah, and slowly read it through. The letter quieted her. When she
reached the blank space left at the end, she hurriedly turned back and
began it over again.
One o'clock struck from the church clock, and still the captain never
appeared.
She read the letter for the second time; she turned back obstinately,
despairingly, and began it for the third time. As she once more reached
the last page, she looked at her watch. It was a quarter to two. She
had just put the watch back in the belt of her dress, when there came to
her--far off in the stillness of the morning--a sound of wheels.
She dropped the letter and clasped her cold hands in her lap and
listened. The sound came on, faster and faster, nearer and nearer--the
trivial sound to all other ears; the sound of Doom to hers.
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