The night passed slowly, and still Noémi sat at the opening in the rock. The moon had mounted high in heaven and sailed down the western sky. It no longer peered into the rock-chamber, no longer flooded her form as she sat motionless at the opening. Her brain had no rest. Thoughts turned and twisted in her head. Again and ever again she asked whether for her sake her father would yield up his prey--sacrifice the opportunity offered him of putting his foot down at once on and crushing the Del' Peyra family in the persons of father and son together. She knew the implacability of his temper, the ruthlessness with which when offended he pursued his revenge to the end. Dear she might be to him, but was she dearer than vengeance on such as had humiliated him as he had never been humiliated before? The air became raw and chill, with that rawness and chill which precede dawn. Noémi rose and went to the door and looked across the chasm to the guard-room, which, it will be remembered, was an excavation in a rocky buttress. Holding the jambs she looked and listened. She could hear no sound. Amanieu and Roger were asleep. They had not been disturbed during the day, and in confidence that no danger menaced, they had cast themselves on the bed and slept. Still holding the jambs, she leaned forward and looked down. Below all was dark. The moon was behind the hill, and its shadow lay black along the slope. There was so much light in the sky that she was able to distinguish in the depths masses of white rock, lying about faintly discernible like high up vaporous white cloud in a summer sky--rocks there on which her head would dash and her limbs be broken within a few hours, unless Jean and his father appeared--white rocks there that would be splashed with her blood. If Le Gros Guillem would not yield up his victims this would be the end of her young life. To him she would, she could not return. Her honour--her word was engaged--here she would perish. The night was chill, she drew a mantle about her, and resting her head against the stone jamb of the window, looked out dreamily--and slipped into unconsciousness, to start to full life and activity of thought at a sound, the whistle of Roger or Amanieu in the guard-room rock. These men were awake. Day was broken. In the east the sky was white. The church-bell began to toll for Mass. From her window she could see the village. The hills opposite were black, hard as cast-iron against the whitening sky. A halo already stood over the place where the sun would mount, and a cloud high up was shot with gold. Noémi was shivering with cold. She rose and paced the chamber, but ever and anon returned to the window to look out. The white light was changing to amber, the sun was at hand.