Together they had
played their pranks, had trod the common path; together they
went--Farwell paused, then returned Ledyard's sneering gaze
defiantly,--"To God who alone can understand and judge!" This was
flung out boldly, recklessly.
With ceremony and the sound of sobbing, the empty graves were refilled,
and the strange company turned away.
Then, alone and spent, Farwell returned to his cottage with a sure sense
that before he slept he would know his fate, for he acknowledged that his
fate lay largely, now, in the hands of the man who no longer had any
doubt of his identity.
It was half-past eight when the buggy passed Farwell's window bound for
the Hill Place. Young Travers was driving and the seat beside him was
empty! Nine o'clock struck; the lights went out in the village, but
Farwell rose and trimmed his lamp carefully. Ten o'clock--all Kenmore,
excepting Mary McAdam, slept. Still Farwell waited while his clock ticked
out the palpitating seconds. The moonlight flooded the Green. Where was
he, that waiting man who was to come and give the blow?
It was nearly eleven when Farwell saw him advancing across the Green.
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