If the clock struck again
Priscilla felt that she might go mad.
It was after midnight when Nature laid a commanding and relentless touch
upon the girl, and, crouching by the hearth, her head in her arms folded
upon a chair, she slept.
Outside the storm sobbed itself into silence; the rain dripped
complainingly from the roof of the porch and then ceased. At five o'clock
the new day, rosy and full of cheer, made itself felt in the dim room
where Priscilla, breathing evenly and softly, still slept. No gleam of
brightness made its way through the heavy shutters or curtains, but a
consciousness of day at last roused the sleeper. At first the experience
through which she had passed made no demand upon her. She got painfully
upon her feet and looked about. The fire was but embers, the air was hot
and stifling, and then, with the thought of opening a door or window, the
grim spectre of the black hours lay warning touch upon her. She shrank
back and began again to--wait! Of course McAlpin would return--and what
lay before her when he did? Her strength was spent, lack of food----And
here her eyes fell on the broken fragments of stale bread and meat that
Jerry-Jo had tossed aside.
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