In a few moments, their preparations were concluded. Laurence was seated upon his mule in the most commodious manner that could be devised, and the party rode slowly off down the valley, the guides looking back with muttered execrations as long as the old house was in sight.
From an upper window the woman watched them start, shivering and white, with her hands pressed hard against her lips to keep back the moans that shuddered from her heart.
As the cavalcade reached a turn in the road, and began to disappear from her sight, she extended her arms with a low cry:
"Laurence! Laurence!"
The words were pronounced in a whisper, but to her affrighted senses they sounded strangely clear. She cowered into a seat, and covered her face with her hands. No tears fell from her eyes; she could not even weep—could only sit there, trembling at every sound, looking eagerly out to be certain that the travelers had indeed disappeared, then glancing up the valley, as if expecting each moment to see some one approach by the path which led from the mountains.
[CHAPTER III.]
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
Night had come on; the full moon was up, filling the valley with a flood of radiance and lending a mysterious beauty to the scene. As the silver beams shot against the mountain sides, the streaks of quartz and glittering minerals emitted long rays of light that shone so brilliantly the cliffs seemed encircled with flame. Above rose the jagged trunks of the fir-trees, looking like wierd shapes holding counsel upon the summit of the peaks.