Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1892-12-25
CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVL
let us rise ND and part: she Will not know
Let US 20 seaward as the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam. What help i:
there?
There is no help. for all these things are So
And all the world is bitter as tear.
And how these things are, though ye strove
to show,
She ewould not know.
Evening has fallen upon the earth. A
dewy August evening, rich in beauty. The
light is still with us, bGt tempered gerer,
ousy BY a soft shading that falls from the
darkening heavens. Rhoda standing be-
meath the clump of elmS in the old quiet
garden glances with touch of rapture to-
ward the still glowing horizon.
The guests had arrived in due course by
the GAO train, and had found everything in
readiness for them. After that crowning
act of folly of hers Chat perhaps would not
have been such folly after all, if she had
not been discovered) Rhoda had torn off
her inery, now hateful to her (for had it
not brought her cold and questioning looks
from him?), and given her whole mind to
the business before hers The result was un-
qualified success! Dinner is now over, and
there has been no flaw, no fault anywhere
Once assured on this point, she has gladly
caught up a white shawl and escaped to the
light shadows of the garden, there to think,
and think, and think.
The sun is not vet quite dead-though his
glory has derarted-and there is a wonder
lul rose-red light in the western sky. The
sunset is gorgeous, glowing like tire-opal,
and even now, lat shut of evening flowers"
it seems to cast splendid heat upon the
earth Rhoda, throwing her wrap upon an
old bench near her, lifts her head as if to
draw in the sweetness of that lovely light.
Even here over her head the clouds
though grav-are tinged with brilliant pink:
and over there, behind her, there are GRIM
son streaks that look like stains of blood.
What an evening! Beautiful as heaven
itself As heaven might be, if one could
dream of it. a sense of delight, of Joy,
possesses Rhoda's soul Never perhaps in
all her young lite hitherto has she felt so
entirely, go spiritually happy. Not sus-
pcion, not thought of evil to come, mars
the brightness Of her thoughts.
But now she must return to the house,
though
The air was q long sweet dream
And the earth was a sweet vide smile,
for other duties lie before her Her joy,
the curious glad uplifting of her spirit,
light, but lingering footsteps, she moves
over the mossy sward of the garden toward
that old door, that has grown to be her
usual means OF exit and entrance.
She goes slowly, feeling safe from the
thought of meeting anyone. Mr.. Drayton
and his guests must still he in the dining
room, or, If they wish TO smoke in the open
air, would certainly move out to the bal
coHy. And here, where she is, at the back
OF the house, there is no lear of her being
seen.
She has reached the door dear to her-the
little door that leads to the armory. From
it runs up long stone passage, at the end
OF which is another passage that leads to
her own sitting room. As she reaches the
angle that divides the first passage from the
second, the sound of coming feet hastens
her own steps Hurriedly turning the
corner, she steps into tine shadow of door
way (always with that fear upon her that
someone out OF her own life NAV See and
recognize and denounce herr and so stands
lost in the growing darkness waiting until
the guests NAV 60 bv.
She mas hardly time to SO hide herself
when they come round the corner laughing
and talking. Certainly she would not have
had time to reach her own door q little
further on, so it was well she had stopped
here-here in this safe seclusion. She is
cOngra.ulating herself upon this, whilst
blaming herself tor never having asked old
Peter the names of the expected guests
(though indeed he would not have known,
so hurried had been the manner of their
cOming) all at once
Great Heaven! Not this! She staggers
back, an awful icy touch, the touch of
death, upon her heart. Oh, worse than
death! Gladly would she have welcomed
that grim fend at this momenti
. Fear! irlgbtful, overpowering, seizes upon
her, and holds her in its grip. Struggling
with herself, she clutches the liutels of the
door and bends forward face, SO leaden-
hued, so devoid OF all the brightness and
youth that but a second ago made it SO
lovely, that 4 beholder seeing it would
scarcely have known her
1es-yeE 1t is he. Gastonl CASTOR
here! She watches him from her shadow
like one stricken into stone. He is gone
now, but his face lives so in her memory
that almost her burning eyes still seem to
see him. She gazeS blindly toward the
spot where he had been!
As she thus gazes, someone else sees her.
Drayton! He had been the last to follow
his guests into the garden, and he alone
had seen that slight figure, leaning forward
in the passage at his right. Perhaps he
alone had thought OF looking in that direc-
tion. He had stayed behind to get box of
cigarettes, and was hurrying after the men
who had gone on before him, when he saw
her
And seeing her. he comes to a standstill.
Even in the gloom the agony of her face,
the strained-the rigid attitude of her, be-
comes known TO him. He can hear now
the wild sigh that is almost q sob with
which, like a wounded thing, she steps
from the threshold of that darkened door,
and drags herself to the safer shelter of
her own room.
He casts one glance in the direction of
his friends They are now in the open air
aud the sound of their gay laughter comes
back 20 him-they can wait He turns and
walks deliberately TO the door of Mrs.
Clarke's sitting room.
1t is Open She has perhaps had no
power to close it behind her With a |
feeling at his heart that he scarcely analvz |
then, but that he knows is the worst pain
he ever ielt in his life, and that really |
means despair, he pushes the door a little |
farther open and goes in.
Nes. She is here. But is this she? This |
crouching figure in the corner with down. |
bent head. and body descriptive of nothing |
less than sbject terror? What terrible evil |