“Looks well! The tatterdemalion!” And Elizabeth came from the door, as if loathing further sight of him.
But Miss Sally continued to look after the riders, as their dark forms were borne rapidly towards the post-road. “Nay, I think he is quite handsome.”
“Pah! You think every man is handsome!” said the niece, curtly.
Miss Sally turned from the door, quite shocked.
“Why, Elizabeth, you know I’m the least susceptible of women!”
Old Mr. Valentine nodded sadly, as much as to say, “I know that, all too well!”
As the racing clouds now rushed over the moon, and the horsemen’s figures, having become more and more blurred, were lost in the blackness, Miss Sally closed and bolted the door. The horses were faintly heard coming to a halt, at about the junction of the branch road with the highway, then moving on again rapidly, not further towards the south, as might have been expected, but back northward, and finally towards the east. Meanwhile Elizabeth stood in the hall, her rage none the less that its object was no longer present to have it wreaked on him. Such hate, such passionate craving for revenge, had never theretofore been awakened in her. And when she realized the unlikelihood of any opportunity for satisfaction, she was exasperated to the limit of self-control.
“If you had only had some troops here!” she said to Colden.
“I know it! May the rascal perish for finding me at such a disadvantage! ’Twas my choice between denying my colors and becoming his prisoner.”