Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1896-12-07
Dead. Sir Mervyn Ferrand dead, and

| be true! Yet / shuddered as l remem-
| bered the passion she had thrown into
those words, Basil, did you ever hate
| man?" I gave low cry of anguish as
| / remembered how / had hurled from
| me the pistol she had let fall-the very
| weapon which had done the dreadful
| deed.
Killed by Philippa. Not a sudden
burst of uncomfortable passion, but with
deliberate intent. She must have gone
armed to meet him.. She must
have shot him through the
heart; must have seen him fall.
| Then, only then, the horrible
deed which she had wrought must have
turned and fed from the spot i'll a
frenzy. Oh, my poor girl! my poor girl!
/ Utterly bewildered by my anguish, |
rose from my knees and stood for awhile
beside the corpse. 1t was in that mo
ment / learned how much l really loved
the woman who had done this thing.
Over all my grief and horror this love
rose paramount. At all cost | must save
her-save her from the hands of justice;
save her from the fierce elements which
! her tender frame was even at this mo-
ment Drawing. And as / recalled how
she had sought me yesterday with the
tale of her Wrong-hOW she had wildly
| fled from me- a few minutes ago, madly,
blindly into the night; as | thought of
the injuries she had suffered, and which
had led her to shed this mans blood; as
| | contrasted her in her present position
with what she was when first | knew
| her and loved her, the pity began to fade
from my heart; my thoughts toward the
| lifeless form at my feet grew stern and
somber, and | found myself beginning,
by the old code of an eye for an eye, to
! Justify. although [ regretted Philippians
| fearful act. Right or wrong, she was
the woman | loved; and | swore | would
save her from the consequences of her
crime even-Heaven help me!-if the
| accusation, when made, must TALL upon
my shoulders.
Yet it was not the beginning of any
| scheme to evade justice which induced
me to raise the dead body and bear it to
the side of the road, where [ placed it
under the low bank on which the hedge
/ grew 1t was the reverence which one
pays to death made me do this. could
| not leave the poor wretch lying in the
very middle of the highway, for the first
| passer-by to stumble against IOmor-
row he would, of course, be found. TO.
morrow the hue and cry would be cut!
Tomorrow Philippa, my Philippa, would
i oh, heavens! never, never, never!
SO [ laid what was left of Sir Mervyn
Ferrand reverentially by the side of the
lonely road. I even tried to close his
| CLASSY eyes, and 7 covered his face with
his own handkerchief. Then with heart
holding fear and anguish enough for
lifetime, | turned and went IN search Oh
the poor unhappy girl.
Where should / seek her? Who knew
what her remorse may have urged Der
to do? Who knew whittier her horror
| NAV have driven her? 1t needs
but to find Philippa lifeless on
the road to complete the heavi-
est tale of grief which can be
eXacted from one man in one short night
I clinched my teeth and rushed on.
[ had the road all to myself. No one
was abroad in such weather. Indeed,
few persons were seen at night III any
weather in this lonely part of the coun-
| try. [ made straight for my own house
The dismal thought came to me, that
| unless Philippa kept to the road she was
lost to me forever. If she strayed to
the right or to the left, how on such a
night could | possibly find her? My one
hope was, that she would go straight to
Of my way. IF she had not arrived, /
must get what assistance / could, and
seek for her in the fields to the right and
| left of the road. 1t was a dreary COM
fort to remember that all the ponds and
spaces of water were frozen six inches
| thick!
| hesitated moment when I reached
her late residence. Should [ inquire if
she had returned thither? No; when
morning revealed the CHASTITY event of
the night, my having done so would
awake suspicion. Let me first go home.
Home at last! In a moment / shall
know the worst. | opened the slide of
my lantern, which was still alight, and
threw the rays on the path which led to
my door. My heart gave a great bound
of thankfulness. There on the snow, not
yet obliterated by more recent flakes,
were the prints of a small foot. Philip
pa, as | prayed but scarcely dared to
hope she might, had come straight to
my house.
Ny man opened the door for me- 1t
was well | had seen those footprints, as
my knowledge of Philippa's arrival en-
abled me to assume a natural air.
My sister has come? / asked.
Yes, sir; about a quarter of an hour
ago."
I'VE missed each other on the road
What night!'' [ said, throwing off my
| snoW-coyered coat.
Where is she now?' [ asked.
In the sitting room, sir" Then, low
ering his voice, William added. 'She
seemed just about in a tantrum when
she found you weren't at home. | expect
we shall find her hard lady to please"
William, in spite of his stolidity, occa-
i Sionally ventured upon some liberty when
addressing me.
His words greatly surprised me.
forced myself to make some laughing re-
joinder then | turned the handle of the
| dOof and entered the room IN which
Phhppa had taken refuge.
Oh, how my heart throbbed! What
would she say to me? What could I,
fresh from that dreadful scene, say to
her? Would she excuse or pal
late, would she simply confess or boldly
justify her crime? Would she plead her
wrongs in extenuation? Would she as
sert that in a moment of ungovernable
rage she had done the deed? No matter
what she said; she was still Phillippa,
and even at the cost of my own life and
| homer | would save her.
Yet as / advanced into the room a
shudder ran through me. Fresh to my
mind came the remembrance of that
white face, that still form, lying as had
left it, with the pure white snow falling
| thlckly around it,
Philippa was sitting in front of the
ire. Her hat was removed; her dark
hair disheveled and cleaning wet with
the snow which had melted in it. She
must have heard me enter and close the
door, but she took no notice AS [ ap-
| preached her she turned her shoulder