Allie lay in the dark, praying for the dawn, shuddering at this
strife of sound, fearful that any moment the violence of Benton
would burst through the flimsy walls of her room to destroy her. But
the roar swelled and subsided and died away; the darkness gave place
to gray light and then dawn; the sun arose, the wind began to blow.
Now Benton slept, the sleep of sheer exhaustion.
Her mirror told Allie the horror of that night. Her face was white;
her eyes were haunted by terrors, with great dark shadows beneath.
She could not hold her hands steady.
Late that afternoon there were stirrings and sounds in Durade's
hall. The place had awakened. Presently Durade himself brought her
food and drink. He looked haggard, worn, yet radiant. He did not
seem to note Allie's condition or appearance.
"That deaf and dumb fool who waited on you is gone," said Durade.
"Yesterday was pay-day in Benton ... Many are gone ... Allie, I won
fifty thousand dollars in gold!"
"Isn't that enough?" she asked.
He did not hear her, but went on talking of his winnings, of gold,
of games, and of big stakes coming. His lips trembled, his eyes
glittered, his fingers clawed at the air.
For Allie it was a relief when Durade left her. He had almost
reached the apex of his fortunes and the inevitable end.
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