For
a moment it yielded, tautened and snapped back, tearing his tight grip
loose. At the pace he was riding it plucked him from the saddle as a
hawk lifts a chick from the brood, flinging him backward to the earth.
He struck it heavily on his shoulders and the back of his head. He had a
dim impression of somebody or something leaping on him, of a blow, and
then darkness shut down absolutely.

CHAPTER XLI

TERROR

Toward five o'clock, her bread being baked, Faith put in the oven a pan
containing two young mallards and a blue grouse, all overlaid with
strips of bacon. She made her vegetables ready and set the table. Now
and then she glanced from the window expectantly, but saw nothing of
Angus. When dusk came she lighted the lamps.

Finally she ate her own supper alone, slightly annoyed. Angus had
promised to be back in time. Something must have detained him. She put
his meal in the warming oven, sat down and tried to read. But somehow
the book failed to interest. She had recourse to the banjo, but that
little sister of the lonesome failed of charm. The wind rose until it
was blowing a gale. Once she went to the door and looked out. The
darkness seemed intense.

Ten o'clock came. What on earth was keeping Angus? She began to worry,
which she told herself was absurd. Resolutely she sat down and picked up
a book. She would not allow herself to be stampeded by nerves. She made
up her mind to sit on that couch before the fire until her husband
returned.

She found it hard to keep this resolution. She craved movement. She
wanted a drink, an apple, a different book--anything, to get up and move
around. But she resisted these assaults on her will.

Her thoughts reverted to the foolery of the preceding night. She had
pretended to be a cave woman with her man. Now she was alone. What
happened to those ancient women whose men went out never to return? How
long did they feed the fire o' nights, and listen alone to the noises of
the dark? The fancy proved more attractive than the book. She leaned
back comfortably, enjoying the play of her imagination, constructing the
life story of an unknown sister in the dawn of the world and presently,
in proof that there was nothing seriously wrong with her nerves, she
fell asleep before the fire.

She woke with a start. There were footsteps in the house. Angus, then,
had come back. She smiled, contented. She would scold him--in fun. But
as she listened the footsteps seemed to