The candle-ends had burnt out in the store; the moon no longer shone in through the skylight; but the latter was taking new shape, and a harder outline filled with an iron-gray that whitened imperceptibly, like a man's hair. The strange trio within sat still and silent, watching each other grow out of the gloom like figures on a sensitive film. The packet of meat and bread was reduced to a piece of paper and a few crumbs¹; the little flask² was empty, and the water-bag half its former size; but now that all was over, the horror of the night lay heavier upon them than during the night itself. It was Naomi who broke the long silence at last.  
"They have evidently gone," she said. "Don't you think we might venture now?"
 
"It is for you to decide," said Engelhardt.
 
"What do you think, Mrs. Potter?"
 
"If you ask me, Miss Naomi, I think it's beneath us to sit here another minute for a couple of rascals³ who will be ten miles away by this time."
 
"Then let us go. I will take the Winchester, and if they are still about we must just slip in again quicker than we came out. But I think it's good enough to chance."
 
"So do I," said the piano-tuner, "most decidedly."
 
"Then down with the props⁴. They have served us very well, and no mistake! You must keep them in your kitchen, Mrs. Potter, as a trophy⁵ for all time."
 
The old woman made no reply. Of what she was thinking none ever knew. Her life had run in a narrow, uneventful groove⁶. Its sole adventure was probably the one now so nearly at an end. Ten years ago she had been ear-witness of a somewhat similar incident. And now she had played a part, and no small part, in another and a worse. At her age she might have come out shaken and shattered to the verge⁷ of imbecility, after such a night. Or she might have felt inordinately⁸ proud of her share in the bushrangers' repulse⁹. But when at last the battered¹⁰ door stood wide open, and the keen morning air chilled their faces, and the red morning sky met their eyes, the old woman looked merely sad and thoughtful, and years older since the day before. Her expression touched Naomi. Once more she threw her young arms about the wrinkled neck, and left kisses upon the rough cheek, and words of grateful praise in the old ears. Meanwhile Engelhardt had pushed past them both and marched into the middle of the yard.
 
"It's all right, I think," said he, standing¹¹ purposely between the women and the hideous¹² corpse¹³ by the well-palings. "Yes, the coast is clear. But there's the horse you rode, Mrs. Potter, and Bill's horse, too, apparently¹⁴, tied side by side to the fence."
 
"May God forgive them all," said Mrs. Potter, gravely, as she walked across the yard at Naomi's side.
 
They were the last words she ever uttered. As she spoke¹⁵, the crack of a rifle, with the snap of a pistol before and after, cut the early stillness as lightning cuts the sky. Naomi wheeled round and levelled her Winchester at the two men who were running with bent¹⁶ backs from a puff¹⁷ of smoke to a couple of horses tethered among the pines beyond kitchen and wood-heap. She sighted the foremost runner, but never fired. A heavy fall at her side made her drop the Winchester and turn sharply round. It was Mrs. Potter. She was lying like a log, with her brave old eyes wide open to the sky, and a bullet in her heart.
 
"Take me away," said the girl, faintly, as she got up from her knees. "I can bear no more."
 
"There are the horses," answered the piano-tuner, pointing to the two that were tied up t............