Lewiston teller. [volume] (Lewiston, North Idaho) 1878-1900, 1891-11-19
DARK DAYS.
DY HUGH CONWAY.
CHAPTER NIL. --COSTINtE ED.

Hnlle 1Or moment GlOTSlHS III INC pS"u'y
of the world, to remember what TINS nnorll-
Ing meant to us. Giving ourselves ample
time to reach the railway-station, we crept
from our room, and, with eyes full OF bind
4, ing tears, crossed the patio. paused III the
center, and pluciing lovely spray from the
great orange tree. kissed it and gave it to
my wife. Without word she placed it In
the bosom of her dress. AS she drew her
mantle aside to do so, for the first time l
noticed that she wore the very dress which
clad her Oh that fatal night. Although it
was utterly unsuited to the almost tropical
heat through which we should have to trav-
ell, dared not demonstrate with her. Now,
of all times. her slightest wish should be my
law.
Noiselessly undid the massive studded
wooden gate. which at nighttime closed the
entrance to the patio. Unseen, we stepped
into the shady, narrow street. Our luggage
was light. could carry it with ease to the
station, which was not a great distance of.
We were there only too soon.
We had to wait some time ere the train,
which, following the example of the true
Spaniard, declines on any consideration to
be hurried, male its appearance. We took
our seats in silence. At last the dignitied
|
sat side by side, and gaz.d in the direction
Of the beautiful city from which we were
flying; gazed until We saw the very last Of
it, until even the great towering Giralda was
lost to view. Then. and only then. think
| we fully realized to what end we were speed
ing.
The next three days and nights seem now
little more to me than whirling dream.
On and on we went to work out our fate !;
over the same ground which had traversed.
with scarcely less agitated feelings, some
months ago. l ground my teeth when
thought how little my strenuous and SEEM
ingly successful efforts had awaited. Now,
not from any omission of precaution; not
because the law compelled; not BY the eNer-
else of force; but simply on account OF the
great dictum of right and wrong. we were,
of our own accord retracing our steps to
face the danger from which we had He'd.
On. bitter irony of destiny!
What was money to me now: Nothing
but so much dross! 1t could do one thing,
only one. that gold which lavished so free
ly on that journey. 1t could assure that
Philippe and might travel alone. 1t could
give lis privacy for the time that journey
lasted that was all!
Yet although alone, We spoke but little.
Our thoughts were not such as can be ex-
pressed by words. Her hand in rhine, her
head on my misunderstanding when we
could sleep, waking and looking into each
| others faces-knowing that every mile OF
sunny or stariit country over which we pass
ed brought us nearer to the end. All! UNI
derstoOd then how it Is that lovers who are
lhenaced by some great sorrow can kill
arms! We might have done so; but our
deaths would have left to perish that strang-
cr whom We were speeding to save.
So, as in dream. the hours. the days, the
nights, went by. We might have been trav-
cling through the fairest scenery in the
world, or through the most arid desert. l
scarcely troubled to glance out OF the car
rage window. The world for me was in
side.
1t was after we left Paris--Paris. which
to-day seemed all but within stones throw
of London--that l aroused myself, and
braced my energies to discuss finally with
Philippe our proper plan of action. l felt
that my right course would be to 90 straight
to some solicitor. tell the tale, and ask him
to put matters in train. But could not
bring myself to do this. Our secret was as
yet our own. Moreover, through the misery
of those hours, one ray of hope had broken
upon me. II Phlippa could be brought to
yield to my guidance, to follow my instruc-
lions, 1t was not beyond the bounds of p0ssi-
bility that We might be saved with clean
! hands.
Dearest" l whispered, "to-night we
shall be In London"
Her fingers frightened on mine. And at
TcwnhaMT' she said. I'VE shall be in tme"
"In ample time. But, Philippa, listen
sBasil, as you love me, not one word to
tempt, to disSnade mel"
Not one; but listen. Sweetest, il you
will be guided by me- even now all may go
we'll. This nah"
1.-THE poor man who is standing in my
place."
Yes; listen. Heaven forbid that should
tempt you. Think; he is. no doubt, man
| Of q lowly station in life. Philippe, am
rich, very rich.'
II do not understand You. she said, press
ing her hand to her brow.
Money will compensate for anything.
Let him stand his trial. He is innocent. If
there is justice in the land, he may, he must
be found not guilty"
but the agony of mind he must pass
through!'
For that will pay him over and over
again. He may be but country boor, ia
whom thousand pounds would be mex
haustible wealth. But, whatever his station,
the compensation sent to him by all I'M
known hand shall make him bless the day
which laid him under the false accusation.
Reflect, look at the matter in every light
swear to you that in my opinion We may.
with clear conscience, await the result Of
the trial"
She sighed. but made no answer. Her ST.
lence was joy to me. 1t told me that my
speciOus argument carried weight. l took
her hands and kissed them. told her again
land again that loved her; that my life as
well as hers depended OH her yielding.
1t was long before she yielded. The
thought Of fell0w-creature lying in prison,
perhaps for months. and tomorrow to stand
| in shame before his judges, OH account Of a
deed which she herself had done. was an
guish to her noble nature. Then, growing
desperate at seeing the only plank which
could save us from the wreck spurned for
the sake of what, in my present mood, l was
able to believe too finely strained a scruplr.
used my last and, as rightly judged, NV
most powerful argument. l told her that il
WOULD ma not only she WIN yvould 81. Ror for