The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-03-04
DARK DAYS
II G 60 Y,
Author OF Called Back"
CHAPTER III.-"TuE WAGES OF SIN"

III w SlAAA DONtS "A
rangements to make. Farewell to my
moody, sullen life. Farewell to m!
aimles', selfish existence. Hence
forward 1 should have something
worth living for-worth dying for. il
needs be-! Philippa was coming to mt
to-day; coming in grief, it is true; com
ing as a sister comes. to a brother. All
after all the weary, weary waiting,
shall SEE her to-day--to-mcrrow, every
dayl If a mans devotion, homage
worship, and respect can in her OWL
eyes reinstaIe my queen. l shall some
day see the bloom come back to hel
cheek, the bright smile play once more
round her mouth, the dark eyes AGAR
eloquent with happy thought. And
then - and then what should
I care for the world or its
sneers2 To whom, save myself
should I be answerable? Their
l might whisper in her ear, Sweet
let the past vanish from our lives as s
dream. Let happiness date from to
day."
Although Philippa would grace my
poor cottage for n night only, l had
a thousand preparations to make fol
her comfort. Fortunately I had a
spare room, and, moreover, a furnished
one, Not that I should have troubled,
when I went into my %seclusion, about
such a superhuity as a guest-chamber;
but as it happened I had bought the
house and the furniture complete; so
could offer my welcome guest fair &C
commodation for the night.
summoned my stolid man. l told
him that my sister was coming on a
visit to me; that she would sleep here
tonight, but that most likely we
should go away tomorrow. He could
stay and look after the house until
returned or sent him instructions what
to do with it. William manifested
no surprise. Had I told him to make
preparations for the coming of my
wife and five children, he would have
considered it all a part Of the days
work, and would have done his best to
meet my requirements.
He set to work in his imperturbable,
m%ethodical, but handy way to get
Philippa's room in trim. AS soon us
this was done, and the neglected cham
Der made cosy and warm-looking, /
told him to borrow a horse and cart
somewhere. ard fetch the luggage
from Mrs. Wilson's. He was to men
ton no names; simply to say that he
had come for the luggage, and to ask
If the lady had any message to send.
Then I sat down in the room which
my love would occupy, and unused
Upon the strange but unhappy chance
which was bringing her beneath my
roof. wished that I had an enchant-
er's wand to turn the humble garni-
ture of the chamber into surroundings
meet for my qneenly Philippa. 1
wished that l had, at least. flowers
with which 1 could deck her resting
place; for I remember how passion
ately she loved flowers. Alas! I had
not seen a flower for months.
Then l drew out Sir Mervyn Fer
rand's letter, read it again and again,
and cursed the writer in my heart.
William was away about two hours;
then he made his appearance with
some boxes. I was delighted to see these
tangible signs that Philippa meant to
keep her promise. Till that moment
I had been troubled by something like
the doubt, that after all she might,
upon calm reflection, rescind the resO-
luton formed in her excitement. Now
her coming seemed to be a certainty.
Nevertheless, William brought no
message; so there was nothing for me
to do but to wait patiently until she
chose to cross my threshold.
Although my pleasing labors Of love
were ended, l was not left idle. There
was another taskto be done to-day. l set
my teeth and satdown, thinking quiet
" as to the way in which it might be
best performed. Tonight I meant to
stand face to face with that black
hearted scoundrel known as Sir Mer-
vyn Ferrandl
consulted the timetable. His let
ter named no particular hour; but I
saw that if he carried out his express
ed intention of being here tonight,
there was but one train by which he
could come; there was but one way
from Roding to the house at which
Philippa had been staying. He meant
to walk, his letter said; this might be
in order to escape observation. The
train was due at Roding at Z o'clock.
The weather was cold; a man would nat
urally walk fast. Mrs. Wilson's house
must be four miles from the station.
Let me start from there just before the
train arrives, and 1 should r'hably
meet him about half way on his jour
ney. 1t would be dark. but 1 should
know him. I should know him among
q thousand. There on the open lonely
road Sir Mervyn Ferrand, coming
gayly, and in his worldly cynicism GER
tain Of cabling, buying off, or in some
other way silencing the woman who
had in an evil day trusted to his honor
and love, would meet, not her, but tn:
man who from the first had sworn
that a wrong to Phillppa should be
more than a wrong to himself! He
would meet this man, and be called to
account.
Stern and sinister as were my
thoughts-freely and unraservedly as
I-recOrd them: as indeed I endeayor in
this tale to record every thing-1 dc
not wish to be misjudged. 1t is true
-tbaSM nrypresent mood 1 was bent
upon avenging Philippa with my own
hand; true that 1 meant, if possible, tt
take at some time or another this
mans life; but at least nc thought OF
taking any advantage of an unarmet
or un%suspecting nan entered into my
scheme of vengeance. ! designed nc
murderous attack. But IL was my
intention to stop the maj on his path
to confront him and tell hin
that his villany was known to me
that Philippa had fed to me for aid
that she was now in my custody; ant
that J, who stood in the position O
her brother. demanded the so-callet
satisfaction, which, by the old-fash
toned code Of honor. was due from tn
man who had ruthlessly deceived
awoman. Well knew that it was
probable he would laugh at me-tel
me that the days of duelling wer
over, and refuse to grant my request
Then I meant to see if insults coul'
warm his noble bloo /; if my hand OF
his cheek could bring about the re
suit which l desired. If this failed.
would follow him abroad, cane hin
and spit upon him in public place;
Truly, as 1 said, l had now plent
to live for!
The hours went by, yet Philip
came not. I grew restless and uu
easy as the dusk began to make tn
road, up which I gael almost con
tinually, dim and indistin t. Whe
the short winters day was over, an
the long dark night had fairly begun
my restlessness turned into fear.
walked out of my house and pace
my garden to and fro. l blamed m!