The times and democrat. [volume] (Orangeburg, S.C.) 1881-current, 1886-04-29
.SI,LNGS AND ARROWS
Autlvyr of "Called Back," "Darf; Days."
70 "A Family Affair."" Etc.
CHAPTER VII
By HUGH CONWAY.
FACE TO FACE.

rest, took tbs first train to Rennes- From
Rennss had to go to EOtient, which l
found was as Ear as the rail way could carry
me toward my destination.
Rennes Ireached in the evening. Here
was compelled to spsud the night, there
being no train to L'Orient until the next
morning. The morning train was pain
fully slow one; it was not until late in the
afternoon of the second day chat reached
the fortified port on the Bay 0; Biscay.
There ! inquired as to the best way Of
getting to St Seurin. found the place
was nearly twenty miles away. A diligence
which passed it left BOrient every other
morning at 10 o clock must wait and 60
by that.
I chafed at the time which must elapss
before mot my enemy, and was on the
point of ordering carriage and borses to
take me to st. Seurin at once. But redec-
ton told me that the arrival Of @ travelsr
in such way, at a village SO small as
ascertained st. Seurin to be, must excite
curiosity. People would gossip, and the
man whom longed to meet might hear of
my arrival, and once more fly and leave no
trace. So curbed my impatience, staid
the night at L Orient, and started in the
morning by the lumbering old diligence.
Why is it, that when one is burning to
reach certain place, the sole available
mode Of progression seems not only the
slowest, but in many cases actually IS the
slowest that can we'll be hit upon. Those
twenty miles, or their equivalent in kilo-
metres, seemed longer than all the rest Of
the journey. True, the road was In many
places steep, and the heavy vehicle not ade-
quatelY hotsed; and very likely no one save
myself was in a hurry.
But the most wearisome journey ends at
last. A snail, if allowed time, will arrive
at his goal The diligence reached St Seu-
rim, and as I dismounted in front of mis-
erable- looking little ian coald scarcely re-
press cry Of exultation. Eustacs Grant
was all but within my grasp.
7 entered the inn, where / was received
with Joyful faces. Guests were, no doubt.
few, and their visits far between. I asked
if could have accommodation, and was as
sured I could count upon the best out Of
Paris At another time this grandiloquent
assertion would have amused me- Now
nothing amtged me, and cared for moth
ing so long as I could have food and drink
and place to lay my head until had &C.
complished my mission.
I dined, for was beginning to feel the
effects of the exhausting journey. Then
walked out and took stock of my surround
ings. .s
st. Seurin was, as had been informed,
small decaying village. SCane of tue
house; were picturesque in their way, but
many were half in ruins. There was
church, whose size was, of course, utterly
disproportioned to tho village. There vera
the shops necessary to supply the needs OF
the scanty population So far as could
see there was nothing else.
7 struck my heel on the dusty, sandy path.
Was it for a life in such plao, as this that
Viola had left ME! Had she given up all
the comforts and luxurics with which
would siave sur tsounded her TO hide with tho
partner of her flight in q wretched bole
where she could see no one save rough
ishermen,i peasants, and such likea If so,
her love for Grant must be more thon NOR
tai to f.ring about such q sacrifice OF all
that woman, from the time of Eve down.
ward, have been credited with longing
after These questions, and the only answer
could give to them, did not improve the
state OF my mind.
It was now growing dusk. walked
back to the little inn, Went to my room,
and asked for lights and coffee. A broad.
faced, broad -shouldered Breton lass minis
tered to my wants. I entered into con-
versation with her, and in spite of her
patois managed to understand her.
asked about the place and the people.
She shrugged her shoulders. All! but the
place was decaying-going down-gone
down. Once, she had beard that people
could live there and make money; but that
was hundreds of years ago. Now, every one
was poor as poor could be. Parents could
not give their daughters dots-girls could
not save them Besides, many Of the
young men went away. They went to
L'Orient and became sailors. It was
rare thing for girl to get married in st.
Seurin.
Were there no visitors-no English, for
misunderstanding in the neighborhooi! No
yes. There was one nlonsieur-hc was
English. He lived at Pierre Boulay's farm
the farm just over the sea cliff yonder;
the house nearest to the sea.
His name9 Ahl she forgot those strange
names. He was tall and handsome. He had
been here, Off and On, many months He
was a hereto, but kind to poor people
What did be do with himself in this DESC
late places Ah! she knew not True, young
Jean, old Pierre's son, said that the gentle
man shut himself up for hours and hours
writing, and the cure. who knew him, said
he was a learned man.
1t was he! Ny journey had not been in
vain. longed to ask the girl if lady
lived with him, but I forced the question
back When had finished with Eustace
Grant could then think of Viola.
Where was he to be found! Was. he at
the farm nowG She Thought not She had
not seen him for some days. Most days he.
came down the hill and walked along the
coast-far, far along the coast. If monsieur
wished to meet with him he would surely
find him there. -"
Yes the coast was very fine. Sometimes
artists came to paint it Perhaps monsieur
was an artistl
She glanced at me- No doubt my coming
had created curiosity. The question sug-
gested an excuse for my staying at such a
place as St Seurin.
Yes; she had guessed right was a1
artist. had come to draw pictures OF the
coast. She seemed pleased at having
guessed the nature of my occupation, and