The Russellville Democrat., 1880-05-27
HIS ONE DARK HOUR.

HIS ONE DARK HOUR.
 It was a fair, starlit evening in June, early evening, for the purple breeding twilight had not yet deepened into night. A few miles out from the busy city a train was steaming along stopping so often at little way stations to deposit passengers, that it had no chance to get up more than a medium rate of speed. One car contained now only three oc- Cupants, two gentlemen who were con versing together in quite loud tones, and another, who sat in corner of the car, with his hat down over his fore head. His hair was iron gray, and there was something peculiarly suggestive about him. Every now and then he would start up and glance through the window at the objects still discernable in the twilight He did not seem to be paving much attention to the remarks of the other occupants, until this frag- ment struck his ear:
 "Yes, she was married last week made brilliant match they say"
 "How long has she been widow?p
 "About five years. Her husband was one of the passengers in the ill-fated "Sarnia."
 Sad affair. that, wasn't it?" remarked the other. "I had a nephew on it. His mother never got over the loss, died of a broken heart"
 At the word ''Sarnia," the man started violently, and there was strange pained look upon his face. He was evidently affected strangely, but his back was to- wards the others, and they took no mo- tice of him. The train halted again, and the con- dnctor called out "Mapleside." Then the gentleman arose, and grasping a small valise, walked out with unsteady steps half leaning on the seats for sup port, as he passed along. He had a strongly-made frame, which was, how ever, considerably stopped, and now that he had pushed up his hat, one could see that his face had a history written upon it, painful one. evidently.
 The other two got off also, and the train puffed on again. The two in com pany moved off briskly in the direction of the village, as though they expected home welcome. The solitary one stood few moments on the platform looking around, as if he were stranger there, and then struck into quiet street that led over hill. On one side was a grove of tall trees, distiliing their balsa- mic odors upon the night, On the other were several handsome suburban resi- dences at intervals, standing in the midst of well-kept grounds, and suggest ing home comfort and happiness. The gentleman was Ryan Phelps, returning to his home after having been n nuurned as dead, for five years by his 0iends. He had been passenger on board the NGornsa ha farril,la ,Rs1bt rxyh haf she went down. he had clung to a piece of the wreck with wonderful power of endurance, and had been washed ashore upon an island. One, only, the first mate, had been providentially picked up by hemeward bound ship, and he had brought the intelligence that not one but himself had survived. But Ryan Phelps had lived on the island for nearly five years keeping lite within him by the subsistence it afforded, and watching day by day, Enoch Arden like, for friendly sail. But though he sig nailed many, none answered the lonely exile, until the sickness born of hope de- ferred, and lonliess, and longings for the dear ones left at home, seemed to be surely sapping the strong vigorous life that had buoyed him up when he had embarked on the voyage. But at last his waiting was rewarded, his signal was answered from a friendly homeward bound ship which took him on board, and in few weeks he once more set his loot upon his native shores. He lost no time, but having made himself, with the aid of barber and tailor once more pre- sentable in civilized life, he sought his home. He had left behind young and beautiful wife, the bride of one ehort happy year, hoping for speedy return as soon as the business that had called him to Europe was transacted. And now he was returning to her with a thousand fears, and dark forbodings chasing each other through his mind. She had believed him dead, had she formed new ties? And the fears that had haunted him, had been confirmed m measure by the scrap of conversa- ton he had heard in the car. It might not be her to whom they referred. There had been more than a score of widows left by that disaster, but they had stopped at Mapleside, and he did not know of any one but himself who had gone from there. Nevertheless he pushed his way onward with dogged determination 10 know the worst. He had not encountered any one he knew since his return, and he had shrunk from making himself known or asking questions. As he walked along the fla mlliar scenes began to grow upon him There had been little change evidently since he had left. Mapleside had always been sort of Sleepy Hollow" and the onward march of progress had seemed to affect it little. The principal inhabi tants were raiher exclusive and aristo cratic, and had no desire to have its sacred precincts invaded. II they wanted excitement, they could steam into tho city Tn twenty-five minutes, and minele Tn it. His eyes wandered around hun Rrlly, resting upon each familiar obiec as seen in the clear light of the stars those ever constant silent sentiDel