She had sat at the window for, it seemed to her, many hours before she became aware that the moon had risen and was directly overhead, flooding the ground in the vicinity of the ranchhouse with a soft, silver radiance.
She got up with a start, remembering that she had left Harlan standing outside the door in the rear. She had almost forgotten that!
She went to a window that opened into the patio, and looked downward. Every nook and corner of the patio was visible now; the dark, somber shadows had been driven away, and in the silvery flood that poured down from above the enclosure was brilliant, clearly defined—and deserted.
And yet as the girl looked, a presentiment of evil assailed her, whitening her cheeks and widening her eyes. The quiet peace and tranquillity of the patio seemed to mock her; she felt that it held a sinister promise, a threat of dire things to come.
The feeling was so strong that it drove her back from the window to the center of the room, where she stood, holding her breath, her hands clasped in front of her, the fingers twining stiffly. It seemed to her that she was waiting—waiting for something to happen—something that threatened.
And when she heard a slight sound, seeming to arise from the room below her, she caught her breath with a gasp of horror.
But she did not move. She stood there, with no breath issuing from between her lips, for many minutes, it seemed—waiting, dreading, a cold paralysis stealing over her.
And then again it came—an odd sound—slow, creaking, seeming to come always nearer. It was not until she heard the sound directly outside her door that she realized that what she heard was a step on the stairs. And then, convinced that Harlan had gained entrance, she slipped noiselessly across the room to the front wall, where she took down a heavy pistol that hung from a wooden peg.
With the huge weapon in hand she returned to a point near the center of the room, and with bated breath and glowing, determined eyes, faced the door.
And when, after a time, she heard the door creak with a weight that seemed to be against it—after she saw it give; heard the lock break, and saw a man’s form darken the opening as the door was flung wide—she pressed the trigger of the weapon once—twice—three times—in rapid succession.