The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1892-03-02
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TRAGEDY,

Twas alone. T looked at my watch.
Il was o'clock. I pulled back the
shades to let in the daylight. 1t was
wild March morning; clouds scuddine
before the wind, and now and again the
pattering Of sudden rain-showers against
the panes. went to my dressing-room,
packed my portmanteau, then threw my.
self into a chair to wait. For Edna's
sake-and for hers only-I postponed my
departure until noon.
Once knock came to the door. It was
0 servant bringing me some breakfast.
signed to him to set it down and begone
quickly, and locked the door against
further intrusion. It mattered little OF
nothing now what the household might
choose to think Of my self-imposed se-
clusion.
I sat near window that commanded
magnificent view of hill and dale and
winding river. The lights and shadows
seemed chasing one another-ever chas.
ing; and as I watched them the principal
events of my life during the last few
months passed before my mental vision
like the phsntssmegoria of disturbing
dream. Nothing seemed real except the
blessed truth that Edna loved me. I re.
peated to myself o thousand times, She
loves me-loves me-my darling loves
me-"
A few minutes before twelve I went
downstairs to keep my appointment.
The library was dull. dark room. with
painted windows, through which no sun.
light ever penetrated. The walls were
lined with we'll filled book-shelves from
the floor to five feet upward. Above,
dingy tapestry reached to the low oab
beams Of the ceiling. I had never likec
the room. There was ghostliness about
it that would have impressed even the
stanchest disbeliever in the supernatural
could only imagine that Edna's reason
for appointing TO meet me there must be
that, as it was the least frequented roor
in the house, we were the less likely tc
be. disturbed.
There was sliding panel behind the
tapestry in one part, which had been
pointed out to me on my first coming tc
the Orange, but I had only noticed il
casually, for, as I have sad, did moi
like the room, and only entered it ir
search of books, which I invariably car.
ried away to read elsewhere.
A cheerful fire was this morning burn
ing in the low, old-fashioned CRATE, bu,
instead of going toward it, some strange
unaccountable attraction seemed to draw
my thoughts toward that part of the
faded tapestry which hid the sliding
panel.
The desire to investigate it took such
strong hold Of me that I almost laughed
aloud at the absurdity of the idea
What could fifty sliding panels or secre,
doors matter to me now? Why should
they even interest me. when in anothe'
half hour I should have left Langdale
Grange forever?
Nevertheless, I walked resolutely
toward the spot. Another moment and l
should have reached it, but the door be-
hind me opened and Edna Lynton en-
tered
The sight Of her sweet, sad face, the
consciousness of her dear presence,
changed the whole current of my
thoughts. She advanced slowly, I might
almost say solemnly, toward me. After
one swift, searching glance her downcast
eyes refused to encounter mine. By a
slight gesture she declined the straight
backed oak chair had pulled forward.
We stood, perhaps, yard apart. Her
lips moved as though she strore to
speak, but no sound came.
You have come to tell me-" said
tie words su9gestingly, to help her.
Yes, but ! am In great trouble. she
answered, almost in a whisper. Your
wife refuses me permission to explain"
You felt bound to ask her frst?"
yes. was bound"
Then let the matter rest. l want no
explanation. I have seen and know
enough"
But DR.. Gascoigne SAYS the time has
come when the truth can no longer be
concealed, she said, looking at me sadly
and wistfully, but speaking in o frmel
voice. He is here now, and if you will
not listen to me he insists on explaining
everything himself"