No, never! Something he must do to prevent this, but what?
Is there an evil spirit at hand ready to answer such a question from the man or woman who hesitates to follow the right path?
Alas! too often yes. At least, it was so in the case of Arthur Franklyn; at this moment an evil suggestion arose in his mind from which he recoiled with a shudder. Ah! had he then fallen on his knees and prayed for power to resist the fearful temptation that now presented itself, that power would have been given him, and by peaceful sleep the nerves which were overwrought after the exciting events of the day would have been calmed and soothed.
But Arthur Franklyn had yet to learn the weakness and treachery of his own heart, through a fiery ordeal which he was now about to prepare for himself.
A gas burner projected from the wall on either side of the dressing-table; one of these only he had lighted on entering, and shrinking from the glare, he had lowered it nearly out while pacing the room in an agony of thought.
Now he approached the dressing-table, turned the one gas burner on full, and lighted the other. Then he started back at the reflection of his own face in the glass; pale and haggard, eyes aflame with excitement, and lips reddened and parched with fever. For a moment fear made him pause—only for a moment. Flinging sober thought to the winds, he drew a chair to the table, pushed aside pincushion, toilet-cover, and ornaments, and took from his pocket a pencil and two letters.
For at least an hour he continued to write on scraps of paper torn from his pocket-book.
The dawn of a May morning was stealing through the staircase windows as Arthur Franklyn descended cautiously to the hall. On a table, near the entrance, as he well remembered, stood an inkstand and pens; these he carried upstairs and re-entered his room, in which the gas still burnt brightly, and closed the door carefully, to exclude the fast-increasing light of day. He was white now even to the lips as he again seated himself at the table, and drew from his breast coat pocket a document on which he signed, two names with different pens.
Even in the midst of his evident excitement his hand was firm. Then he dashed down the pen, to the great detriment of the toilet-cover, turned off the gas, and threw himself on the bed dressed as he was, to try and lose in the sleep of forgetfulness for a time a memory of what he had done.
The old school-bell for breakfast woke him next morning from a heavy sleep, and also awoke in him painful memories of olden times, when a happy innocent lad, he had so often answered its summons.