Again he grinned, thinking Mary had not gone to
bed after all.
But, going forward more unconcernedly, Sanderson's smile faded and was
succeeded by a savage frown. For in the shadow formed by the little
"L" at the junction of the house and porch, he saw a horse saddled and
bridled.
Suddenly alert, and yielding to the savage rage that gripped him,
Sanderson stole softly forward and looked closely at the animal. He
recognized it instantly as Dale's, and in the instant, his face pale,
his eyes blazing with passion, he was on the porch, peering through one
of the darkened windows.
Inside he saw Dale and Mary Bransford. They were in the sitting-room.
Dale was sitting in a big chair, smoking a cigar, one arm carelessly
thrown over the back of the chair, his legs crossed, his attitude that
of the master.
Standing perhaps a dozen feet from him was Mary Bransford.
The girl's eyes were wide with fright and astonishment, disbelief,
incredulity--and several other emotions that Sanderson could not
analyze.
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