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Updated: May 25, 2025
"No," said Pinckney, "carelessness, the telegram would not have drowned you, but your carelessness in going too close to the well." "Suppose," said Phyl, "instead of that, Mr. Silas Grangerson had shot me by accident with a gun the telegram would have brought me to that without any carelessness of mine."
She had saved Richard from death at the hands of Silas Grangerson, her love for him had met Fate face to face and won, but Fate has many reserve weapons. She is an old warrior, and the conqueror of cities and kings does not turn from her purpose because of a momentary defeat.
Richard Pinckney had not come in to luncheon, he rarely returned home for the meal, yet all the same, his absence made her uneasy. Suppose Silas Grangerson had met him suppose they had fought? She called to recollection Silas's face just after she had struck him, the insane malevolence in it, the ugliness that had suddenly destroyed his good looks.
I told Seth Grangerson, right out flat, he ought to get away from there into the world somewhere, but there he sits clinging to his rheumatism and the past. I declare I nearly cried last night as he was showing me all those old pictures." "He's not very ill then," said Richard. "Ill! Not he. It was that fool Silas sent the telegram. Just an attack of rheumatism."
Silas moved towards her, but in the next moment they had for a snatch of conversation, she did not refer to the subject, nor did he. The Vernons people were late, so late that when they arrived they were the last of the guests; dancing was in progress and, on entering the ballroom, Richard Pinckney was treated to the pleasing sight of his fiancée whirling in the arms of Silas Grangerson.
"I hope it is not a warning," said she; "wouldn't be a bit surprised to find Seth Grangerson in his coffin waiting for the flowers to be put on him; what put it in to the darkey's head to give me them! I don't know, I'm sure, same thing I suppose that put it into his head to give me impudence." "You've taken him back," said Phyl.
Just as on the day when she had arrived with Phyl, Colonel Grangerson, hearing the noise of the car, came out to inspect. He came down the steps, hat in hand, saw the occupant, started back, and then advanced to open the door. "Why, God bless my soul, it's you," cried the Colonel. "What has happened?" Miss Pinckney without a word got out and went up the steps with him.
So Silas came to Charleston driving a pair of absolutely matched chestnuts, a coloured manservant in the Grangerson livery in attendance. After dinner he strolled into the bar of the hotel, met some friends, made some bets on the forthcoming races and at eight o'clock retired upstairs to dress. He was one of the first of the guests to arrive.
Then he mastered himself, but if murder ever showed itself upon the countenance of man it showed itself in that half second on the countenance of Silas Grangerson. "You'll be sorry for that," said he. "Don't speak to me," said Phyl. "You are horrible bad wicked I will tell Richard Pinckney." "Do," said Silas. "Tell him also I'll be even with him yet.
Years and years and years ago I'm telling you this though I've never told it to any one else Seth Grangerson, Silas's father, seemed to care for me, not much, still he seemed to care. Then one day all at once he came into the room where I was, through the window, and told me to come off and get married to him, wanted me to go away right off.
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