The long monotony of the sound became a lullaby to
the girl, tired in body and mind. Last night, and the night before, she
had slept little; now, with a sense of security, she closed her eyes,
only that she might think the more clearly. There were many things she
must think of. Gilbert Crosby would not easily let her go, this she
knew, and to-morrow, perhaps, she would have to answer his question,
would have to decide which way she would take. The lullaby of the
grinding wheels became softer, more musical; the corner of the coach
seemed to grow more comfortable; once she started slightly, for she
seemed to have stepped suddenly back into her prison in Dorchester, then
she smiled, knowing that she was free, that Lord Rosmore was bound and
helpless, that Gilbert Crosby was near her. The smile remained upon her
lips, but she did not move again. She was asleep. Even the jolting upon
the rougher by-road along which the coach was driven presently did not
rouse her. She did not see the dawn creeping out of the east, she was
not conscious that the highwayman came to the window and looked at her,
that he stopped the coach for a moment, nor did she feel the touch of
gentle hands as he folded her cloak more closely about her lest the
chill breath of the morning air should hurt her.
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