The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1885-02-25
DARK DAYS
H UGH GO Y,
Author Of Called Back"
CHAPTER IA VILLAINS BLOW.

their lives. All! not such love as mine
Time, they say, can heal every wound.
Not such a wound as mine! My whole
existence underwent a change when
Philippe showed me the wedding.ring
ON her finger. No wonder it did. Hope
was eliminated from it. From that mo-
ment I was a changed man.
Life was no longer worth living. The
spur of ambition was blunted; the de-
sire for flme gone; the interest which I
had hitherto felt in my profession van
ished. All the spring, the elasticity,
seemed taken out of my being. For
months and months I did my work in a
%pcrfunctory inner 1t gave me no sat
isfaction that my practice grew larger. I
worked, but I cared nothing for my work.
Success gave mt no pleasure. An in
crease to the number of my patients was
positively unwelcomc to me. So long
as I made money enough to supply my
daily needs, what did it matter2 Of
what use was wealth to me2 1t could
not buy me the one thing for which I
craved. Of what use was life2 No
wonder that such friends as l had once
possessed all but forsock me. My mood
at that time was non of the sweetest.
I wanted no friends. | was alone in the
world; l should always be alone.
So things went on for more than c
year. 1 grew worse instead of better.
My gloom deepened; my cynicism grew
more confirmed; my life became more
aimless.
These are mot lovers rhapsodies. I
would spare you them if I could; but it
is necessary that you should know the
exact state of my mind in order to I'M
derstand my subsequent conduct. Even
now it seems to me that / am writing
this description with my hearts blood.
Not a word came from Philippa. I
made no inquiries about her, took no
steps to trace her. I dared not. Not
for one moment did I forget her, and
through all those weary months tried to
think of her as happy and to be envied;
yet, in spite of myself, l shuddered as l
pictured her lot as it might really be.
But all the while l knew that the day
would come when I should learn whether
I was to be thankful that my prayer had
been answered, or to be prepared to keep
my VOW.
In my misanthropical state of mind I
heard without the slightest feeling of
Joy or citation that q distant relative of
mine, a man from whom I expected
nothing, had died and left me the bulk
of his large property. l cared nothing
for this unexpected wealth, except for
the fact that it enabled me to free myself
from a round of toll in which by now I
took not the slightest interest. Had it
but come two or three years before! Alas!
all things in this life come too late.
Now that l was no longer forced to
mingh with men in order to gain the
means of living, I absolutely stunned
my kind. The wish of my youth, to
travel in far countries, no longer existed
with me. disposed of my practice-or
rather I simply handed it over to the
first conner. I left the town of my adop-
ton, and bought a small house-it was
little more than a c~ottage-some five miles
away from the tiny town of Roding.
Here I was utterly unknown, and could
live exactly as I chose; and for months
it was my choice to live almost like a
hermit.
My needs were ministered to by a man
who had been for some years in my en-
ployment. He was a handy, faithful
fellow; honest as the day, stolid as the
Sphinx; and, for some reason or other,
so much attached to me that he was will
ing to perform on my behalf the duties
of housekeeping which are usually rele-
gated to female servants.
Looking back upon that time of seclu-
sion, as a medical man, l wonder what
would eventually have been my fate if
events had not occurred which once more
forced me into the world of men? I
firmly believe that brooding in solitude
over my grief would at last have affected
my brain; that sooner or later 1 must
have developed symptoms of melancholia.
Professionally speaking, the probabilities
are I should have committed suicide.
Even in the depth of my degradation I
must have known the dangers of the
path which l was treading; for after hav-
ing passed six dreary months in my lonely
cottage, I was trying to brace myself to
seek a change of scene. shrsnk from
leaving my quiet abode; but every day
formed afresh the resolve 10 do so.
Yet the days, each the same as its fore
runner, went by, and l was still there.
I had books, of COURSE. l read for days
together; then I would throw the volumes
aside, and, with a bitter smile, ask my
self to what end was I directing my
studies. The accumulation of knowl-
edge? Tush! l would give all the learn
ing / had acquired, all that a lifetime Of
research could acquire, to hold Philippa
for one brief moment to my heart, and
hear her say she loved me! If in the
whirl of men, in the midst of hard work,
l found it impossible to conquer my
hopeless passion, how could l expect to
do so living as I at present lived2
There! my egotistical descriptions are
almost over. Now you know why l said
that you must sit by the fire and think
with me; must enter, as it were, into my
inner self before you can understand my
mental state. Whether you sympathize
with me or not depends entirely on your
own organization. If you are so con-
structed that the love of one woman, and
n only, can pervade your very being,
fill your very thought, direct your every
action, make life to you a blessing or
a curse-if love comes to you in this
guIse, you will be able to understand
me.
That night, when I first presented my
self to you, my wounds seemed less
likely than evcr to heal; forgctfulncss
seemed further and further away. Some
how, as my thoughts took the well-worn
road to the past, every event seemed re-
cent as vest rday, every scene vivid as II
I had Just left it. Hour after hour | sal
gazing at the glowing embers, but seeing
only Philippa's beloved face. How had
life Jared with herr Where was she al
this moment? The resolve to quit nay
seclusion was made anew by me. l would
90 into the world and find her--not fol-
any selfish motive. I would learn from
her own lips that she was happy. If un'
happy, she should have from me such
comfort as the love of a true friend car
give. Yes, I would leave this wretched
life tomorrow. My check flushed as
contrasted what I was with what | ought
TO be. No man has a right to ruin hi:
life or hide his talents for the sake of
woman.
had another inducement which urged
me to make o change in my mode OF
life. l am ashamed that l have moi
spoken of it. That morning l had re.
ceived a letter from my mother. ] had
not seen her for six years. Just as l en-
tered mans estate she married for thu
second time. My step1ather was al
American, and with my tears my mothc'
left me for her new home. Some months
ago her husband died. l should have
gone to her, but she forbade me. Sh'
had no children by her second husband
and now that his affairs were PRACTICAL.
wound up she proposed returning t.
England. Her letter told me that she
would be in London in three days time,
and suggested that l should meet ho'
there.
Although of late years we had driftec
apart, she was dear, very dear to me-.
hated the thought of her seeing me, he