Weekly expositor. (Brockway Centre, Mich.) 1882-1894, 1892-05-27
CHAPTER IN.


Thou shalt set love TO rhyme"
How dark it il walking along this
silent road Dark, though only 3
o'clock. How quickly the day dies
when it is December! Such me as
this is hardly worth talking about; and
vet, without Vt, OSscured as 1t is, how
much more dismal would the night be!
Was there ever before SO silent a
nightp Are all the dogs in the farm
steads dead? There is no sound at
all, anywhere, save the stir Of sea in
the starlight. far, far below, down
there where all things seem to sink
into one.
Bridget-what is Bridget thinking
nowp Has she found out she is gomez
No; not yet. 1t is early, really, though
it looks so late. Oddly enough, it is
to the servant the girls mind first
turns as in her mad, angry folly she
runs along the road that leads to the
little wayside station o which Eyre
had spoken to her. Her hint to Andy
that she would let lover and father
and cousin see what she could do is
now in process of full completion.
When Eyre had suggested to her to
run away with him and be married by
special license, she had certainly, at
the moment, though seem ng to daily
with the idea, no real intention IL
following it up. But Sir Ra ph's I'M
fortunate GOODNESS o the day before,
her fathers STERN command, and,
finally, her cous MS mocking de-
to mination not to help her to her
folly. had been all TOO niue for her
child sh pride. She had revolted,
once for all. She wnuld show them!
Eyre's last words about the $3.50
train. his earnest, really honest ex-
preston as he spoke, had fingered in
her memory. and, waiting, locked up
in her own room, she had, when night
grew, dressed herself in her warmest
clothing, and slipping out at the side
door began her journey to Denygra
station.
Was there ever so long a mile or q
road 40 deserted? At first she had
prayed that no one might see her on
her way to the station; but now she
would have given good deal to hear
the sound of cart-wheels, or the jog
trot of u farmers horse. But there is
no fair anywhere to-day in the neigh
| borhood, and SO the road remains
empty and quiet.
The moon, coming out at last from
| behind % bank of dark clouds, serves
only TO heighten, rather than TO lessen,
her sense OF loneliness. Now each
| hillock and tree and bunch OF furze
takes shape and action, and threatens
to attack her on every side. The
terrors of the night are great TO those
who know nothing of it. safe within
carefully closed doors of house or
carriage To Dulcinea, running along
through the dull darkness, sense OF
despair, mingled with active fear, is
uppermost.
silence how dead; and darkness, how
profound
Nor eye, nor list'ning car an object finds"
In vain she tells herself that it is
not really night: that it is only
O'clock; that few months ago. this
very hour and time and darkness
would still be called day. 1t is. with
sigh that grows into sob OF
passionate relief, that at last she sees
the lamps shining in the little ST. ton
before her, with, over there quartz
Of mile 10 the left, the glimmern2
lights OF the small town that has given
its name TO the station.
Hurriedly she enters it, and, reach
ing the dim platform, that seems en-
veloped n a cloudy mist, stands
irresolute. Only for Il moment, how
ever, Eyre has come to her, has seized
her hand, is drawing her into the
fuller light hey nd.
Let us stay here" says she in o
choking tone. mo one can see us
here. And-Oh, Il little wildly, was
a long walk! How far-how far am
from bome!"
"YOu are nervous" says he,
sensibly; land it is my fault. l forgot
when l suggested to you that the walk
here was only II mile, that it would be
undertaken in midwinter. 1t never
occurred 10 me that 6 O'clock would
mean night at this time OF year. You
must try to forgive me that. What i.
that you have? Your bagP Give it to
me-"
The station 4, is such a minor one
that, at this hour, 1t is given up to alb
sol to soil u1e almost. In the fan
distance a sturdy farmer Is trudgino
to and fro, putting and blowing, an6
seeking, by eager marchings from the
gate to the statiOn-house, to keeI
some warmth in his body; and JUS
here, where Dulcinea stands, a aborel
goes by on his homeward way; ant
there-over there. where the gloom i,
thickest-stands, by all the worst lucl
in the world. Ralph Anketell.
He had been lunching in this par,
Of the neighborhOod during the after.
noon, and. expecting n parcel by thi,
train, had decided to wait and take II
home with him. He had seen Eyre's
arrival, and wondered at his punct.
ualty, the train not being due for d
quarter OF an hour or so. had felt 9
sense OF satisfaction in the though,
that he was really leaving-a though,
justified by the amount Of lugga c
lying on the platforms; had designedly
withdrawn so far into the shade that
he should be unseen by him, not feel.
ing equal to a tete-a-tete with the man
he suspects TO be his rival; and had
teen Dulcinea's nervous entrance, and
Eyre's eager greeting her.
is shaking her. 1t grows too dread
full to be borne. Eyre is talking to
har. che "a oancoinno IF fV,at. hut