Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1890-02-07
WITHIN THE SHADOW Or THE
SCAFFOLD.
By MAJOR JAMES FRANKLIN Fits.
CHAPTER VII.
WHAT SHE SAW IN THE NIGHT.

appointed for the wedding was still
tWenty-fOur hours of; he had probably
been subjected to some small delay, and
would come In ample time. And whether
he came or not, the matter was regarded
with much Indifference by all but
Blanche. The hOusekeeper and the ser
wants no doubt wished the wedding to
proceed, as they had been put to a great
deal of trouble about it; but the feeling
was very much that Of people who like to
participate in a show. Blanche was
liked by all of them, and all wished her
well; but the GOODNESS of her father to-
ward the bridegroom was well known. and
there had been much whispering and talk
below stairs as to how the affair was
likely to end.
To Blanche Pembroke her lovers fail
ure to arrive promptly at nightfall. as he
had promised, was serious thing. She
declined to come down to supper. She
heard the house shut up, the usual lock-
ing and barring of doors, and felt the
silence that followed, when all but she
were wrapped in sleep.
But she could not sleep. Fears of
harm or mishap to him she loved better
than all the world besides possessed her. |
The circum ances of her engagement
had, as it were, left her alone with him.
Her fathers tardy and reluctant consent,
her sisters open diasapprOval, had, in a
way, alenated both Ralph and herself
from them. She felt that by the step
she was taking she might be severing her
self forever from home and relatives.
And she was willing-O, how wiIIing!-
to go anywhere, to do anything, with him,
with hGmt But if accident had hap
pened TO him?-if his horse had thrown
and fallen on him?-if he were to be
brought to her dead or dying?-then
what would life be worth to her?
She had lain down on the outside Of
her bed, dressed as she was, and tried to
sleep. The effort was useless; her fears,
her love, her boundless longings banished
rest from her eyelids.
She rose, threw on a shawl, and seated
herself by the window. She raised it;
she softly Enclosed the blinds.
The sky was cloudy; a star glimmered
family, here and there. Her chamber
looked out upon the river. There was
wide stretch of lawn between the house
and the water, much Of which was visible
to her as she sat there.
The air was chill but she needed it not.
- She sat with her hands clasped on the
window-sill, intently gazing out. The
highway ran IN rear of the house; when
Ralph should come, she knew he would.
as usual, come round TO the front, and
enter by the great door.
The things of which We are now to
speak, the sights which Blanche Penn
broke in those night hours SAVIOR
thought she saw are of the kind that are
VariOusly treated by men. By some,
doubted, by others scOffed at, what can
We say of them except to repeat the words
of the witness herself, as she uttered
them again and again, to all who wished
to talk of these things, until her dying
dayl
mo" she was wont to say, "I did not
dream. L was looking ont upon the lawn,
wide awake, eagerly expecting Ralph. 1
saw them; they passed before my sight, l
know not what they were, but plainly
saw them"
M, -T,,4 oh,
A broad pebbled walk led down to the
river-bank from the front porch.
From the end of the house, between
some trees that grew there, figure came
slowly across the lawn and reached the
front walk. It was the figure of man.
The dress was disordered, the head bare,
the hair tumbled. She recognized the
figure; it was that of Ralph COurtenay.
She leaned from the window; she was
wont to say that this act, perfectly re-
membered by her, was proof positive
that she was awake. She was about to
speak his name when, as the figure
slowly walked down to the water, the
face was turned up to her. over the shout
der. His face; but o, how troubled, how
sad it looked!
Yet she might have called to him, but
at that instant another figure came in
view, coming from the same direction
and following directly after the first
This was also a mans figure. The
clothes were threadbare and dusty, but
this one also she knew. She shuddeTed
to recognize him, for it was Robert Barn
we'll, whom of all men she feared and
dreaded.
And he, walking on toward the river
also turned his liyid, passion-distorte6
face up to her.
She shuddered, but could not look
away. A nameless fascination held her
she continued to look.
She saw the first figure reach the edge
of the bank. 1t turned about. The
clenched hand Of the other was shaker
toward it. Then the first disappeared
over the edge, and, slowly follow.
ing, the second went the same way.
The watcher fell on her knees there by
the window. She did not reason then as
to whether this might be a vision, a real
ity, or a dream. She knew that Ralph
was In danger. She knew it as we'll as
though the peril had been made known tt
her by the evidence of her own eyes. Per
haps it had been; she knew not is to that
What these appearances pOrtended she
could not tell, but her heart gave her the
warning-he is in danger2 And on he,
knees she prayed Tor him, and asked Goo
to send him safe to her.
She knew not how long she prayed, no
how long she was awake. With the shaw
mufied about her head, she certainly slep
there some hours, and awOke with the frs
blush of dawn. Eagerly she looked from
the WINDOW. On the steps OF IuS plaLZ
below a man was sitting. 1t was Ralpi
Courtenay.
She spoke his name. No apparitiol
now, He looked up and answered. Sh
few down stairs; she unlocked the door
he entered, and she was clasped in hi
arms
20 Ralph" she said, Il have had sucl
dreams. I have been so frightened abOu
YOU. Is it you-really?"
She held him of from her, with bot
hands on his shoulders. His dress, tn
fatigue uniform of a line officer. was nea
and tidy; his face, though pale and worn
was smiling. He looked as she Nigh
expect he would look.
1You don5 deserve to be let in, sh