British -- Canada -- Fiction; Love stories; Ranchers -- Canada, Western -- Fiction
Then a shadow detached itself from the rest, and its contour did not
suggest that of a slender tree. It increased in length, and, remembering
Devine's papers, she rose with a little gasp. Her sister, as he had
pointed out, had delicate nerves, Mrs. Wilkins was dull of hearing, and,
as the men's shanty stood almost a mile away, it was evident that she
must depend upon her own resources. She stood still, quivering a little,
for almost a minute, and then with difficulty repressed a cry when the
dim figure of a man appeared in the clearing. Two minutes later she
slipped softly into the room where Katty Devine lay asleep, and opened a
cupboard set apart for her husband's use, while, when she flitted across
the stream of radiance that shone in through the window, she held an
object, that gleamed with a metallic lustre, clenched in one hand.
XVII.
BROOKE ATTEMPTS BURGLARY.
The half-moon Barbara watched from her window floated slowly above the
serrated tops of the dusky pines when Brooke groped his way through
their shadow across a strip of the Englishman's swamp. The ranch which
he was making for rose darkly before him with the willows clustering
close up to that side of it, and he stopped and stood listening when he
reached them. The night was very still, so still, indeed, that the deep
silence vaguely troubled him. High above the climbing forests great
ramparts of never-melting snow gleamed against the blue, and standing
there, hot, breathless, and a trifle muddy, he felt their impressive
white serenity, until he started at a faint rattle in the house. It
ceased suddenly, but it had set his heart throbbing unpleasantly fast,
though he was sensible of a little annoyance with himself because this
was the case.
There was nothing he need fear, and he was, indeed, not quite sure that
the prospect of facing a physical peril would have been altogether
unpleasant then. Devine was away, the women were doubtless asleep, and
it was the fact that he was about to creep like a thief into a house
where he had been hospitably welcomed which occasioned his uneasiness.
It was true that he only meant to acquire information which would enable
him to recover the dollars he had been defrauded of, but the reflection
brought him no more consolation than it had done on other occasions when
he had been sensible of the same disgust and humiliation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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