She had plotted a wicked and a cruel thing, and she had succeeded in carrying it out, but no remorse touched her as she thought of her nefarious work.
“I have my revenge on her now, the little baby-faced beauty,” she whispered to her exulting heart.
Suddenly she heard in the distance coming toward her, the sound of a horse’s feet, in a hard gallop over the road.
Her heart leaped into her throat, and she involuntarily drew rein in terror, exclaiming:
“It is he! just a moment too late!”
Nearer, nearer sounded the thunderous hoofs as of one riding for his dear life. Amber’s guilty heart told her too surely who was coming, and the cold dew of terror beaded her brow.
“I have the worst task to go through yet, but I will not flinch. A little courage, and it will be over!” she thought, resolutely.
The approaching rider thundered into view, mounted on a splendid black horse, satanically beautiful and powerful. He was coming straight toward her, but the animal shied suddenly at sight of the phaeton waiting in the moonlighted road, and reared upward, almost throwing its rider.
The gray pony Beauty whinnied with fear, and Amber held the reins tight while she called, eagerly:
“Cecil! Cecil!”