Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

5

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing: she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to
her love's refrain.

6

_Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot!_ Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs
ringing clear--
_Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot_ in the distance? Were they deaf that
they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up
straight and still!

7

_Tlot-tlot_, in the frosty silence! _Tlot-tlot_ in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,