The darkness was gathering in, yet nothing was done. Then the clock struck four, and Rotha drew on her shawl once more, and walked to the bridge.
Willy was there, a saddled horse by his side.
“You look jaded and out of heart, Rotha,” he said.
“Can you stay four hours longer?” she asked.
“Until eight o'clock? It will make the night ride cold and long,” he answered.
“True, but you can stay until eight, can you not?”
“You know why I go. God knows it is not to be present at that last scene of all: that will be soon after daybreak.”
“You want to see him again. Yes; but stay until eight o'clock. I would not make an idle request, Willy. No, not at a solemn hour like this.”
“I shall stay,” he said.
The girl's grief-worn face left no doubt in his mind of her purpose. They parted.