On each side of the door was a panel of leaded glass, and she pressed her face to one of the little square panes, and peered anxiously out.

The light from the newel-post behind her emphasized the darkness, so that she could distinguish only the dim outline of the buggy.
Twice she touched the knob before she turned it again; then she resolutely gathered her long white dress in her hand, and passed down the broad stone steps.

The wind blew sharply against her, and the pavement was cold to her slippered feet.
"Carter," she called again and again--"Carter, is it you ?" At the gate her scant supply of courage failed.

Some one was in the buggy, half lying, half sitting, with his face turned from her.

She looked back to the light in the cabin, where the servants would hear if she called.