Chapter XIV
The dawn was breaking when Harriet Floyd stole up to her room under the slant of the roof. She had no idea of trying to sleep. She sat down on the side of the bed, shivering with cold. Through the small-paned dormer window the gray light fell, bringing into vague relief the different objects in the room. Down in the back yard the chickens were flapping their wings and crowing lustily. Through the dingy glass she could see the cow-lot, the sagging roof of the wagon-shed, the barn, the ricks of hay, and the bare branches of the apple-trees still holding a few late apples. Her shoes were wet with dew and her dress and shawl hung limply about her.
There was a sudden step in the hall; a hand touched the latch; the door opened cautiously.
"Harriet!"
"Yes, mother."
Mrs. Floyd glided across the floor, sat down on the bed by her daughter, and stared at her in wonder.
"Where on earth have you been? I have been watching for you all night. Oh, my child, what is the matter? What has gone wrong?"
"I have been out trying to save Mr. Westerfelt. Toot led the Regulators down an' they took him out. I warned him, but he would not go in time and they took him to the mountain."