It was between two and three in the morning when at length the travelers climbed stiffly out of the car at the gateway of Sunnyside and made their way up the little tiled path that led to the front door. The latter opened noiselessly at their approach and Jane, who had evidently been watching for them, stood on the threshold.
Her small, beady eyes were red-rimmed with sleeplessness—and with the slow, difficult tears that now and again had overflowed as hour after hour crawled by, bringing no sign of the wanderers' return—and the shadows of fatigue that had hollowed her weather-beaten cheeks wrung a sympathetic pang from Sara's heart as she realized what those long, inactive hours of helpless anxiety must have meant to the faithful soul.
Jane's glance flew to the drooping, willowy figure clinging to Garth's arm.
“My lamb! . . . Oh! Miss Molly dear, they've brought 'ee back!” Impulsively she caught hold of Garth's coat-sleeve. “Thank God you've brought them back, sir, and now there's none as need ever know aught but that they've been in their beds all the blessed night!” Her lips were shaking, drawn down at the corners like those of a distressed child, but her harsh old voice quivered triumphantly.
A very kindly gleam showed itself in Garth's dark face as he patted the rough, red hand that clutched his coat-sleeve.
“Yes, I've brought them back safely,” he said. “Put them to bed, Jane. Miss Sara's fallen out of the car and Miss Molly has tumbled out of heaven, so they're both feeling pretty sore.”
But Sara's soreness was far the easier to bear, since it was purely physical. As she lay in bed, at last, utterly weary and exhausted, the recollection of all the horror and anxiety that had followed upon the discovery of Molly's flight fell away from her, and she was only conscious that had it not been for that wild night-ride which Molly's danger had compelled, she would never have known that Garth loved her.
So, out of evil, had come good; out of black darkness had been born the exquisite clear shining of the dawn.