His plans were mature. His presence there would be a complete
surprise. He could not fail so long as the coach came, and it would
come. Yet, in spite of this conviction, he began to grow anxious and
restless as the time passed slowly and no sound broke the stillness of
the night. It was not the first time he had waited by the roadside
listening for his victim. Excitement he had experienced before to-night,
but never such anxiety, nor such restlessness. To-night's adventure was
a thing apart. A woman's happiness depended on his success, a woman with
a crown of golden hair like an aureole about her, who must even now be
shrinking from the villain in whose company she travelled.
Presently he started. Most men would have discovered no new sound upon
the night air, but his ears were experienced and keen. For a moment he
stood beside the mare, his hand upon her neck, then he sprang lightly to
the saddle.
"The time has come, my hearty. Here is our place, in the shadow."
Out of the silence grew the sound of distant wheels grinding the road,
and the beating of horses' hoofs. A coach travelling rapidly. Each
moment the sounds became more distinct, and then loud as the horses
plunged down the incline into Lonely Bottom.
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