But--and she gave a cry of pain as the thought
struck her--perhaps it was only his lifeless body that was lying there.
Perhaps the ruffian had killed him, and thrown him down there
afterwards. She started up and paced the walk hurriedly, trying to think
what she had best do. Her first impulse was to fly at once to the glen;
but that was impossible, as she must not, she felt, leave Dame Hartley.
No one was near: they were quite alone. Again she said, "I must wait; I
_must_ wait till Farmer Hartley comes home." But the waiting was harder
now than it had been before. She could do nothing but pace up and down,
up and down, like a caged panther, stopping every few minutes to throw
back her head and listen for the longed-for sound,--the sound of
approaching wheels.
Softly the shadows fell as the sun went down. The purple twilight
deepened, and the stars lighted their silver lamps, while all the soft
night noises began to make themselves heard as the voices of day died
away. But Hilda had ears for only one sound. At length, out of the
silence (or was it out of her own fancy?) she seemed to hear a faint,
clicking noise. She listened intently: yes, there it was again. There
was no mistaking the click of old Nancy's hoofs, and with it was a dim
suggestion of a rattle, a jingle. Yes, beyond a doubt, the farmer was
coming. Hildegarde flew into the house, and met Dame Hartley just coming
down the stairs. "The farmer is coming," she said, hastily; "he is
almost here.
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