Macfarlane fell back disconcerted. "I was thinking of your father's safety," he muttered.
"I will watch over him myself," she said. She went swiftly up the stairs.
Ambrose sat by himself on a chair at the junction of the side passage with the stair hall. Naturally, after what had passed, he avoided the other men—and they him.
It was growing light. He saw the panes of the side door gray and whiten. Later he could make out the damaged front of the store across the square.
Macfarlane was again upon watch by the door. Strange and Pringle were in the library. Giddings was with Colina and the sick man up-stairs.
Ambrose watched the coming of day with grim eyes. He had had plenty of time to consider his situation. True, Colina had not failed him, but he did not minimize the dangers ahead.
He knew something of the uncertainty of men's justice. Out of the tumult of rage that had at first shattered him had been born a resolve to guard himself warily.
Daylight had an odd effect of novelty. It seemed to him as if years separated him from the previous day.
Strange came out of the library to take an observation. At the sight of him Ambrose's eyes burned. If scorn could kill the half-breed would have fallen in his tracks.
"They're still quiet," remarked Macfarlane.