By this time it was quite dark. The warm air was sweet with woodsy odors. Fireflies were flitting here and there among the trees. No sound broke the stillness but his own footfalls. As he hurried forward, his heart palpitating wildly, he murmured under his breath:
“At last—at last, Amy! Soon I shall press you to my breast, and kiss away your tears. Perhaps I shall stand before you as one from the grave—but you will be glad to see me—will understand all instantly. With the devotion of a lifetime, I’ll repay you for whatever you may have endured in my absence. And I’ve been true to you, my darling! I could have loved La Violette, had I not loved you. When I leave you again, I’ll leave you my wife. Then temptation will not dare to assail me. I’ll brook no opposition now—no delay. You shall be mine—mine at once. Ah, the old love wells up in my heart!”
Then, sighing, he shook his head and whispered very softly:
“But poor little La Violette—dear, sweet, little wild violet! How my heart bleeds for her! But I mustn’t think of her now. No—no! I must have but one thought in my mind—Amy!”
He had reached the farther margin of the strip of woodland that skirted the river. The clearing was before him. The stars were shining brightly. By their faint radiance, he dimly discerned the house standing in the middle of the cleared space. But no welcoming light streamed from window or door. All was darkness—silence. His heart almost stood still; a sense of suffocation came over him. A thousand mad thoughts and fancies ran riot in his brain. He leaned heavily upon his rifle and shivered—though the evening air was warm.
The red rim of the moon rose above the tree-tops beyond the clearing. Then, big and round, it floated upward and shed its gentle light upon the scene.
But still Ross did not stir. He stood with his eyes riveted upon the cabin—now clearly outlined in the moonlight. To his sensitive ears, came the faint, faraway echo of laughter from the village above. It seemed to mock him, like the eerie voice of a departed spirit. Of a sudden, Duke tilted his nose aloft and howled mournfully. The sound startled Douglas and recalled him from his reverie. He glanced apprehensively into the surrounding shadows, as if expecting to see a ghost. A sense of utter loneliness such as he had never known took possession of him. The hound crept to his side and whimpered; and, in the woods beyond, a screech owl thrice repeated its petulant, mournful cry.
Impatiently shaking himself, Ross muttered angrily:
“Bah! I’m a nervous fool. I’ll know the worst—and at once.”