"Curse the
wretch!" he muttered, "does he court all night? How many hours have I been
here waiting for my chance for a shot at him? It's getting to be no joke,
hungry, cold, tired enough to lie down here on the ground. But I'll stick
it out, and shoot him down like a dog. He thinks to enjoy the prize he
snatched from me, but he'll find himself mistaken, or my name's n----" The
sentence ended with a fierce grinding of the teeth. Hark! was that the
distant tread of a horse? He bent his ear to the earth, and almost held
his breath to listen. Yes, faint but unmistakable; the sounds filled him
with a fiendish joy. For years he had nursed his hatred of Travilla, whom
he blamed almost exclusively for his failure to get possession of Elsie's
fortune.
He sprang up and again placed himself in position to fire. But what had
become of the welcome sounds? Alas for his hoped-for revenge; they had
died away entirely. The horse and his rider must have taken some other
road. More low-breathed, bitter curses: yet perchance it was not the man
for whose life he thirsted. He would wait and hope on.
But the night waned: one after another the moon and stars set and day
began to break in the east; the birds waking in their nests overhead grew
clamorous with joy, yet their notes seemed to contain a warning tone for
him, bidding him begone ere the coming of the light hated by those whose
deeds are evil.
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