Still
she had only used caution in the grove because she had promised Slone to do
so. This night she forgot or disregarded it. And the shadows were
thick--darker than at any other time when she had undertaken this venture. She
had always been a little afraid of the dark--a fact that made her contemptuous
of herself. Nevertheless, she did not peer into the deeper pits of gloom. She
knew her way and could slip swiftly along with only a rustle of leaves she
touched.
Suddenly she imagined she heard a step and she halted, still as a tree-trunk.
There was no reason to be afraid of a step. It had been a surprise to her that
she had never encountered a rider walking and smoking under the trees.
Listening, she assured herself she had been mistaken, and then went on. But
she looked back. Did she see a shadow--darker than others--moving? It was only
her imagination. Yet she sustained a slight chill. The air seemed more
oppressive, or else there was some intangible and strange thing hovering in
it. She went on--reached the lane that divided the grove.
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