Dawn

by H. Rider Haggard

  All that night, too, George Caresfoot paced, hungry-eyed, up and down,up and down the length of his great room, his gaze fixed on thewindows which commanded Bratham, like that of some caged tiger on adesired prey.

  "To-morrow," he kept muttering; till the first ray of the rising sunfell blood-red upon his wasted form, and then, bathing his thin handsin its beams, he sank down exhausted, crying exultingly, "notto-morrow, but _to-day_."