Don't bother about that old white
scarecrow. That's all it was. Good-night, dear, good-night."
"Good-night, dear," answered a plaintive little voice. Helen's hot cheek
pressed the pillow and tossed from side to side. By and by she turned the
pillow over; it had grown wet. The wind blew about the eaves and blew
itself out; she hardly heard it. Sleep would not come. She got up and
laved her burning eyes. Then she sat by the window. The storm's strength
was spent at last; the rain grew lighter and lighter, until there was but
the sound of running water and the drip, drip on the tin roof of the
porch. Only the thunder rumbling in the distance marked the storm's
course; the chariots of the gods rolling further and further away, till
they finally ceased to be heard altogether. The clouds parted
majestically, and then, between great curtains of mist, the day-star was
seen shining in the east.
The night was hushed, and the peace that falls before dawn was upon the
wet, flat lands. Somewhere in the sodden grass a swamped cricket chirped.
From an outlying flange of the village a dog's howl rose mournfully; was
answered by another, far away, and by another and another. The sonorous
chorus rose above the village, died away, and quiet fell again.
Helen sat by the window, no comfort touching her heart. Tears coursed her
cheeks no longer, but her eyes were wide and staring, and her lips parted,
for the hush was broken by the far clamor of the court-house bell ringing
in the night.
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