Little Fay slept; but Jane lay with strained, aching eyes.

She heard the wind moaning in the cottonwoods and mice squeaking in the walls.

The night was interminably long, yet she prayed to hold back the dawn.

What would another day bring forth?
The blackness of her room seemed blacker for the sad, entering gray of morning light.

She heard the chirp of awakening birds, and fancied she caught a faint clatter of hoofs.