A cold wind wailed in the pine-tops, dark branches tossed and big drops fell. Torn clouds rolled across the sky and hid the moon. The uneven trail was wet, and Helen, stealing through the gloom, heard the Whitewood creek brawl in the woods. In front a row of small houses faintly cut the dark background.
Helen was tired. To push through the timber on the broken hill benches was a strenuous undertaking, and she had crossed treacherous rocks where she had not thought a horse could go. Sometimes she was forced to get down, and her long boots were muddy and her clothes were torn. Moreover, if her plan worked, she must face another long and awkward ride.
But fatigue was easier to bear than the suspense she had known when she waited in the woods for dark. All was flat and dreary, cold rain fell
