Judith stood up, her eyes dark and big in a pale face, for far away, over yonder, something moved amid the trees. She pressed her hands over her bosom and waited. And then she saw a galloping horse, and a man bending forward in the saddle, a little figure, distant in the morning light.
Which was it? She strained her eyes, but could not satisfy her suspense. Twice had Royce Severn ridden to her in just such a fashion, to make mocking love to her and to tell her that he had left a rival cowed and beaten.
Suddenly her heart leapt in her. The man had galloped near; he had seen the figure on the terrace; he waved his hat.
She gave a strange cry, ran to the terrace steps and down them to the path that led through the wilderness.
They met where a climbing rose trailed in the branches of a half-dead almond tree. Blake had left his horse at the wicket-gate.
She saw the grim radiance of his face.
“Hilary!”
“I have killed Royce Severn.”
She swayed forward, and he had her in his arms.
“Oh, my beloved, you are as white as death.”