Mystery fiction; Race relations -- Fiction; Southern States -- Fiction
He threw himself upon the bed to sleep, but the gray of dawn was already
over the city; there came a rumbling vehicle in the street; he heard the
sound of a softly closing door--and then he arose and went out. The
early morning air and exercise brought back his physical equipoise. He
returned for breakfast, with a good appetite, and though grave, was
tranquil again.
Neither of the ladies brought up the painful subject; they went with him
to see the learned oculist and came back silent and oppressed. There was
no hope.
The diagnosis corresponded with Dr. Campbell's; the blind eye might have
been saved years ago, but an operation would not have been judicious
under the circumstances. Continued sight must depend upon general
health.
All their pleasures and hopes buried in one brief day, they turned their
backs on Paris and started homeward.
Edward saw Cambia no more; Mrs. Montjoy called alone and said farewell.
The next day they sailed from Havre.
In New York Norton met them, grave and embarrassed for once in his life,
and assisted in their hurried departure for the far southern home. There
was no exchange of views between the two men. The paper Norton had sent
was acknowledged; that was all. The subject was too painful for
discussion. And so they arrived in Georgia. They mere met by the Montjoy
carriage at a little station near the city. It was the 11:20 p. m.
train. Gen. Evan was waiting for Edward.
The handshaking over, they rapidly left the station. Evan had secured
from the sheriff a temporary exemption from arrest for Edward, but it
was understood that he was to remain out of sight.
They arrived within a couple of miles of the Cedars, having only
broached commonplace subjects, traveling incidents and the like, when a
negro stopped them. In the distance they heard a hound trailing.
"Boss, kin air one er you gentlemen gi' me a match? I los' my light back
yonder, and hit's too putty er night ter go back without a possum." Evan
drew rein. He was a born sportsman and sympathetic.
"I reckon so," he said; "and--well, I can't," he concluded, having tried
all pockets. "Mr. Morgan, have you a match?" Edward had one and one
only. He drew all the little articles of his pockets into his hand to
find it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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