The color deepened in Judith's face. "Sleep well—" she said softly, and turned away.
Baird had no intention of sleeping. He changed into his riding clothes and lay down fully dressed. He also was waiting and listening; he would sleep as little as any one else in that house; he had never felt less like sleeping.
There were steps and voices for a time; some of the family were taking leave. Then, gradually, the house settled into watchful quiet; now and then carefully silenced movements on the stairs, and the steady ticking of the clock in the hall. Baird had already thought of every possibility, so he was without conjectures, but sometime before daylight those who had ridden away would return. He was waiting for that.
They came during the stillest hour, just after the clock struck three. Baird heard a stir at the stables and went to the window. He could not see the stables, the kitchen wing of the house shut them off, but he could hear cautious voices and the movement of horses. Would they come in by the front or by the veranda?
They rounded the kitchen, a compact group which was in full view for a moment or two, then drew in so close to the house that the veranda roof hid them. They passed along, moving slowly, to the other wing of the house, evidently to what had been the old plantation office. Then sounds ceased.
Baird drew a short breath. He had not been able to see very clearly, but the group kept together in a fashion he knew well; they were carrying some inert burden.
And he had to stay where he was till morning!