of the lamp her watch told her that it would soon be daybreak and time to begin making preparations for continuing their journey. Mr. Morton would be punctual, she was sure. She would get up and dress now.
Throwing aside the voluminous quilts she stepped out of bed, though not without some pain, for her limbs were still sore and aching from the previous day’s exertions, and in a few minutes had clothed herself in the garments of the stout Rossika.
Stepping softly so as not awaken her companion, she left the room, walked into the outer room in which Morton lay, and stood looking through the window. In the darkness behind her Morton, who slept lightly, had heard her soft footsteps. He looked up from where he lay and saw her head and slender neck silhouetted against the lattice-work of the window. He could but faintly distinguish her outline, but, faint as it was, it was