There is a pause. In shrinking doubt she awaits the moment that shall make him take advantage of her words. But that moment never comes. In vain she waits. At length she lifts her eyes, and he, flinging the parchment at her feet, cries, roughly,—,
Hurriedly she gets into her furs, and, twisting some soft black lace around her throat, runs down the stairs, and, opening the hall door without seeing any one, makes her way towards the appointed spot.,
Then she gathers up her gown and runs swiftly back to the farm..
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