She chafed his thin wrists, which her fingers could span; she tenderly smoothed his face as it lay gray against the pillows; then she caught up his hand and held it to her breast with a quick, motherly gesture. "Take him soon, God!" she prayed. "He is too weak to try any more." At midnight she slipped away to her own room and took off the dainty gown she had put on for Sandy's coming. For long hours she lay in her great canopied bed with wide-open eyes. The night was a noisy one, for there was a continual passing on the road, and occasional shouts came faintly to her. With heavy heart she lay listening for some sound from Carter's room. She was glad he was home. It was worse to sit up in bed and listen for the wheels to turn in at the gate, to start at every sound on the road, and to wait and wait through the long night. She could scarcely remember the time when she had not waited for Carter at night. Once, long ago, she had confided her secret to one of her uncles, and he had laughed and told her that boys would be boys. After that she had kept things to herself. There was but one other person in the world to whom she had spoken, and that was Sandy Kilday. As she looked back it seemed to her there was nothing she had withheld from Sandy Kilday. Nothing? Sandy's face, as she had last seen it, despairing, reckless, hopeless, rose before her. But she had asked him to come back, she was ready to surrender, she could make him understand if she could only see him. Why had he not come? The question multiplied itself into numerous forms and hedged her in. Was he too angry to forgive her? Had her seeming indifference at last killed his love? Why had he not sent her a note or a message? He knew that she was to leave on the early train, that there would be no chance to speak with her alone in the morning. A faint streak of misty light shone through the window. She watched it deepen to rose. By and by Rachel came in to make the fire. She tiptoed to the bed and peeped through the curtains. "You 'wake, Miss Rufe? Dey's been terrible goings on in town last night! Didn't you hear de posse goin' by?" "What was it? What's the matter?" cried Ruth, sitting up in bed. "Dat jail-bird Wilson done shot Jedge Hollis. 'Mos' ebery man in town went out to ketch him. Dey been gone all night." "Sandy went with them," thought Ruth, in sudden relief; then she thought of the judge. "Oh, Rachel, is he dangerously hurt? Will he die?" "De las' accounts was mighty bad. Dey say de big doctors is a-comin' up from de city to prode fer de bullet." "What made him shoot him? How could he be so cruel, when the dear old judge is so good and kind to everybody?" "Jes pore white trash, dat Wilson," said Rachel, contemptuously, as she coaxed the kindling into a blaze.