The Breton Mills

opyrighted by the Author, and published by arrangement with kim. CHAPTER XII. A NEW CALATEA. Bertha rose from her chair slowly, liko odb in a dreara, and lookurl loug and earnestly at Philip as he eame toward lier There was a red spot od pitlier choek, and hor eyes seemed preternaturally large and bright. first befaneied it was out of joy ut seeing him. Then sbe smiled as ïf she had not thought f H before, but n itb a strauge geutleuess that was pathetic. "You don't come as often as you iised, but you have always bron very good and kind to me, Philip," sim said vagiiely, as if rehearsing the virtues of the departod. His heai-t oame into his throat, and he could not spcalc. Was this her coming back tohimf It was more like a funeral. She motioned him to sit near her, and theu started and seemed to listen. "Have I been very cold and hard vrith you, Philip, when you wanted me to love you?" She leid her hot fingers on his hand, but her eyes wanderod lingeringly around the parlor wal Is. "Itis nothinpj, myown sweetheart," beanswered her aniiously; "only say you love me DOW." She did not seem to hear him. "I must have made you suffer. I did not undorstand, you kriow, what it all meant." She had taken his h,and, and bent over towajxl hiin with a troubled look on her face. Sherested one hand on his shoulder, aud hel" lips almost touched his forehead. "Do you forgive me?" she said softly, and yet her voiee was as dispassionate as au angel's whisper. "VVhy, there is nothir.g to forgive," Philip : answered, his words of love frozen on his Jips, there was somethiug so terrible in the j mysterious mood that was upon her. "But do you reme uiber," he ctlded with a forcod smile, "what. j'ou promised for to-morrowf" "To-raorrowi" she drew back from him fearfully: "ti-raorrow," she repeated as if the word had some mystary in it. "llave I promised youanything for to-morrovv?" It was not Certha Ellingsworth at all, as he had known her - it was rather aa he had dreamed she might be. In the eommonest of women ai'e elements of character, germs of emotions, that in their height and fused together can glorify her to a creature of resistios power and dignity, with holy fire shining in her face. It is the sleeping goddess men worship in women, for worship is the truest form of love, and when that (hip is lost the part of love for which a man would make a hero of himself and rise above 9very groveling taint in his nature is lost, too. A woman may sin and not repent; she may seem as shallow as the surf on the sbining sand just bef ore its ebb, but so long as a man balievee in the goddess in her he waits on her folly, he strives to gild over her sin in ennobling reverence for her possibilities. "rhy, to-morrow was the day you promised to let rae talk of' "I remember." She drew back from liim and clasped her white hands for a moment over her forphead; "and have you boen thinking a graat doal of it.1'" "U'hy not to-night, Bertha ?" he begged in Bndden fervor. But she stai-ted to her feet like one in mortal terror. "Oh no, not to-night!" Then she eame near hira again, and looked down with a new sad smile as he held her hand to his lips. "You don't mind very much, do you? I am not very ïnuch of a woman ' really," she said wistf ully, "if it wasnt for the hnbit you have fallen into." ïhen she glanoed at the clock on tbs mantel. Sho followad him to the door. "How sad the moonlight is. I am afraid of it," she said as she held out her hand to him. Then he hoard a broken voice coming, it seemed a long way to his ears. "Oh, Philip, aren't you going to kiss me good- good night?' His passion he had thought crushed came over him in a storm. He gathered her yielding form in his arms as if he never would lose her again, and kissed her trembling, answering lips a dozen time and her wet, anxious eyes. "Bertha, I will not go," he whispered hurriedly. "I eannot leave you so." But she had gently released herself from his embrace. She tried to smile at iiim through her tears. "No. no, you must go." Still he hesitated till a strange eagerness came into the blue eyes. "Ko, no, you must go. Goodby. Philip." " As he went down the steps and out of the gate, the chili of the. last expression in her eyes hung about his heart. Then he stopped and looked about. She had closed the door, but something white fluttered on the step. It was her handkerchief, with the perfumé she always used in its delicate folds. Ho carried it to his face - it was almost as if bo touched her. He stood hesitating a moment - a moment big with issues to them both. He remembered her tender words and the rare caresses she had had for him; ho forgot the undertono that had so painfully interpretecl them. It was as if he had tasted of 6ome priceless vintage of wine. He would return in an hour and taste again. Ah, he had waited patiently for the moment wheu this woman of stainless marble would turn to flesh ! And now his f oolish heart counted all its hard lessons for nothing, but beat high with triumph. "To-morrow." She uaderstood him, then, but how modest and timid she was. To-morrow would be for them both the brightest day of their lives. She was uot startled at herself now, no wonder, at. the revelation of the depths of such a heart. She wanted a little time to cahn herself; to get wonted to the new woman that looked out of her eyes. He had made up his mind, and the tnoon went under a black cloud for anger. But it was only foran hour; then he would come back. Market hall was crowded, and Curran was speaking at a pitch of impassioned eloquence beyond anything Philip had ever heard. "What overwhelms you is your own onergies f used into weapons of deadly warfare; it isthoir cunning which turns your myriad hands against yourselvos. "Where elso can they flnd tho force to vanquish you The rich are but few. Whose hands "but yours are strong and uumerous enough to carry out their plans? The Jonger you submit the Btronger thoy entrench themselves with your [lesh and blood. Every week some new trade 3r profession is invented to make respectable md steady some new discovercd jnethod of Living out of the poor; every month some new law is passed in the interests of the monoy power." He paused for a moment and then wont on irith more bitterness. "Every month the upper classes grow more indifferent to the foundation on which theyrest - of throbbing, agonizing human flesh. Not satisfied witb the terrible natural distinction between wealth and ixvcrty, they invent codes of marmers nnd devisa elabórate systems of what thoy mincingly cali etiquette. Marriage with the poor is inexcusable. Eren familiarity with inferiora- a great breach of "propriety" they cali it. They ask not is a man honest and true hearted, is he kind? but is ho wealthy or did he ever soil his hands with work? Not is a vrornan beautiful, is ■ -.■■'' f httle account ; but is she well - that is, richly- connected? If her father cheats others she may be adraitted to their circlcs ; if he is unf ortunate enough to be cheated, never. Ah, the shame of it, thnt makes no account of hundreds of millions of human creatures of untainted blood, of unclouded intelleets, exeept as mere beasts of burrien ; to deny them social privileges, and wbip the boldest of them back into the darkness of ignorance and contempt. All the lights of knowledge must burn for the few alone, all the soft iufluences of culture nnd the elevating pleasures from art and genius are for the few alone." He folded his arnis over his broad ohest and threw back his head in one of his grandest rnovements. "And how have thoy earned the right to cali themselves inaiikind, to drink alone at the foantains of kiiowleclge and inspiring beauty, with never a share for the millions sweating under the burdens their white hands have put upon them? No carpets of priceless web are too line for their lovely women's feet, rubies are not rare enough for their jewels. Music beats out its heavenly harmonies for them alone, with its treasured mean ing of uncountcd centuries. Painting ravishes their eyes alone with the pictured reaLms of inspired fancy. Literature scrapes and eringes before them, with its stores of wisdom." Then he tbrow out his arms and eame forward to the edge of tho platform, for one last personal appeal. A hundred that could not understand all he said, thrilled to vague revolt under hjs irresistible magnetic force. "Your bodies, whose only pleasure is sleep, whose only gratiflcation is to still the daily rccurring necessary hunger, your bodie could enjoy every luxury and beauty; ah and the common Christian comforts woulí be sweetest luxuries to j'ou, which have palled on the sated renses of the rih. Your minds and souls could grow fine and broac and caira in the education their pamperec children scoff at; and tho world progress more in a year than iu centuries before. Am you aro a thousand to one; the joys anc comforts, the blessed possibilities of a thou sand lives against the insensato greed of one man for more, and more he car.aot eat, or drink, or enjoy. It is his madness that they do uot confine such as he, who sets the woric back ten years for one he lives. But when he opens his great vault to-morrow and sits down to count his ill gotten gains of the yesterday, let his lieart sink withiu him; he has refused his workmea the common rights of humanity, and they will leave his milis to rot in idleness." He took his hat from the table and strode down the aisle amid the excited applause of his audience and went out. uot even oncfl looking back. An awkward silence followed, but it was several moments before Philip braced himself to do what, perhaps, was kis duty. Every eye was fixed on him as he made his way forward, not one there but bolieved he was their friend. Had he not put on the fire escapes out of his own money in spite of his father? Many a whisper of commendation brought an answer of hearty good feeling. One or two of the women in the galleries actually said he was handsome. "If? friends," he began, but somehow he did not care to lift his eyes to meet the kind look in the trustful eyes, "I don't thiuk there is any occasion, I mean, friends" What did he mean, he knew better than they what occasion there was. How dare he ask them to wait and hope, for when had a Corporation a heart for mewy? He knew better than they, that to-morrow would be the last day when a strike would be likely of any effet. They might defeat his father's scheme if nothing else, a scheme that would make them servants no longer of a man, but of a pitiless business principie. He looked about the room at last ; he read aright the confidence in the eyes of the company. He bel ie ved he might mako them wait, but had he a right to ask it? Here were a thousand souLs in the milis, impatient at injustice, as they thought; he could offer ;hem no hope, not one straw; his hands would be forever tied after to-morrow. Had he a right to restrain them? "Friends, I know not what to advise you, since I aru so weak to help you." He sat down and a cheer rang loud and hearty to the roof, but he feit himself in an agonizing josition. On the great questions at issue be;ween the employers and the workinen, the rich and the poor, hi3 mind was slow in coming to a conclusión. He admitted most that ven Curran said, while he listened, but how o help it was the question he ever asked himself. Surely nobody was profited by flying in the face of great economical laws. But fchen, what were laws, and what were fallacies? Well, if he did not know what was right, could he not follow his father's urgent wishes? Was he making a generous return for the love his father had lavished on him, if he should disobey him now? As he sat there his vivid imagination pietured the eorporation in operation. Some little injustice was being done, and he mentions it to the overseer. "Them's orders; you must see the superintendent. " ■ He could eee it all so plainly. He knocks at the superintendent's door and is reccivod with the attentiou due the chief stockholder'sson; he sees his bland, smiling face, bis sleek, well paid smile. He speaks of the rule which perhaps works to rob some particular set of hands ivholly without their fault. "BuJ I have no authority to change it, though it does seom hard; better see the agent." Philip imagines his discouraged step, as he makes hia way to the agent to be referred to a set of indifferent directors, who "really know nothing about the matter, but I do not feel like running against the interests of the stockholders." While Philip sat trying to grasp his duty of that moment, he became conscious that it was very still and that no one seemed disposed to follow him. Not a few impatient faces were tumed askance toward him. He rose and crossed the room to go out, but almost at the door he hesitated. He must say something. "Perhaps it is not all quite as plain as you think. If by higher wages or shorter hours you made the profit on the milis smaller, are you notthfraid other milis would leave us behind, being able to sell cheaper, or else the capital invested go elsewhere, where it can mako more profit? Now you get small wages for long hours, but in the other cases you might lose work altogether." Then he looked anxiously around and added hurriedlj . "Mind, I don't say da this or that; I will not ask anything of you. But if fhere is a loss it will be on you." When ho left the hall he feit like walking about a little while, to calm his mind. He ehose the route that would lead past the little tenement house where they had fed him with cold potatoes. It wa3 only a. month ago. He looked in through the windows. The sick woman yet lay on the sofa, the same soiled plaid shawl for her coverlet; there was the same bare deal table, and a pair of dingy chairs beforo it. Tho desolation made his heart sick. Then he looked up at the windows of the attic chamber where he had slept that othor night. It was all dark, but he imagined the glai'ing whito walls, with the queer little block of a looking glass hanging there, and the backless wooden ehair that had to serve for a washstand, and his low bed, with the girl's ehawl for his counterpane. What great things he had dreamed, that njght, he should do for the new cause that had fired his heart, new to him, but old as civilizatiou. He turned away with a pain in his heart, a pain for the wrongs of the millions of the sons of toil who have never come intotheir inheritance; lie turnea up the road that led to h.is om home on the hill; he could see the gleam of bright light from his father's study, where with his smooth faced lawyer, he was perfeeting his plans for the niorrow. And then he seemed to hear his own words and his own tone as he had spoken in the meeting echoing oddly in his ear. Had he undjtifuily sacrificed his father to his help, and would it be from his fault the strike ho feared would come tomorrow? Could his father point his trembüng flngers at him when the milis should stop, and the prospectivo stock holders decline the investment to-morrow and say: "My own son is to blanie. With one word he could have prevented it." Then Philip turned his back to the lights that seemed to reproach him intolerably, and walleed slowly down the hill again. Ahl what fear for capital, it always shifts its burden upon laboi A woman's form came quickly out of á ■shadow, and laid a hand on his arm. It was Jane Graves, with a shawl over her head, sorvant girl fashion, but was it the ghastly effect of moonlight on her face that made it so pale ? "Wasn't you at Miss Ellingsworth's this evening P! "Why, yes," he looked at her in astonishment, "and I was just going there again." "I didn't know but she mightbe with you. I was at mj father's, and when I came back, I couldn't find her, and her nat and shawl werego?.e." "She has gone out with her father, perhaps,!' suggested Philip, startled more by her manner thau her words. "But he has been up at Mr. Breton's all th evening. And yon know she oever goes ou alone." "Somotimes she does," he said, as he wen with the girl. "I met her quite away frora home one night, but she seemed a good dea frightenod." 'When was itr Jane Graves stopped short and wheu be had told her a quiek, involun tary cry escaped ter lips, and after tha he had almost to run to keep up with her Now and then he fe-ied to laugh at the ter rors this foolish servant girl had put into hi mind. But could it be Bertha had taken an other evening walk? She was too beautifu f or the exposures of comhion lif e. Was heaven envious of such happiness as he had expectec in their reconeiliation? Why not strike him then, and not her? Why, it might have beer she had tried to overtake him, to cali him back. "Hurry faster," he muttred, catch ine the giri's arm roughly. CHAPTER XIII. CLASS PRE JUDIO E. But the house looked so sédate and altogether respectable that it seemed impossible but that everytbing was as usual inside. The door stood invitingly ojien, asitshould on such a balmy summer evening, tlie light streaniing bountifully out on tho walk. A catastrophf surely would have left some sign, some fatal mark somewhere to curille one's blood from afar. How foolish of this black eyed maiden and him to rush at the top of their speed in an agony of suspense only to find Bertha sitting at the parlor table mild eyed and serene as he had used to know her ! She had only stepped across the Street perhaps. How she would wonder to see him hurrying in his unreasonable fear into her presence! But he would pour into her ears such a torrent of words of love that she would bless him a thousand times that he had come back, and their happiness would date from to-night. Perhaps she had tender confidences for him, too, of how wonderfully sha had grown into the love he had longed for, and she would whisper to him that the few weeks of estrangement had been a blessing of God for her, and he need never again complain of the coldness of her love. Life is not so serious and tragical an affair as one som times thinks; things don't always plunge into the ruin they are pointed toward. By the time Philip stepped into the door, he had fully discounted hia expected relief; indeed, had almost persuaded himself that he had üad no misgivings, there seemed so little sense in misgivings. But he did not find the blue eyed woman ha loved at her parlor table. He looked for a crochet needie or a square of canvas, which might show the marks of recent work; but the round table was in perfect order. The ittle book shaped card basket stood near the jronze base of the drop lamp. A large red norocco bound volume, called "The Dresden Gallery," was tilted up a little by a blue and ;old book of Swinburne's poems, on which it ïad been laid. The gracefully carved bookack was full, all but one space the volume of poems might have fitted into. "Just as I arranged it after tea," said Jane Graves, moving uneasily about. "For heaven's sake be stilt," he exclaimed. Ie stepped out into the hall. "Why, here is her shawl," he said, with a ightened heart. "It is her heavy shawl that is gone;" the girl looked peculiarly at him when she added Imost under her breath, "the one she takes n evening drives." Philip shot a glance of sudden intelligence at her, and terrible suggestions and ecollections came crowding their hateful ïeanings upon him. The mad blood seemed onges'ting about bis heart, and yet his face )lazed like fire. "Good God!" he shouted oarsely, "if you dare to breatho it I will choke the envious life out of you." Then he caught the bcll knob at the door and rang it fierceiy, and then again, before its echoes had eeased, aud again and again. "And is there another fire, your honor?" The broad faced chambermald had come up from the kitchen and stood with arms akimbo, trying to raake her rich Irish voíce heard above tho sounding gong. "Do you know where your mistress is?" "No-a; if she be not inside, indade." "Didn't she go over to a neigubor's somewhere?" questioned Philip eagerly. "Not that I knows on, sir." "Has anybody been here? Didn't you tend door, you ninny!" "The bell didn't ring till uow, sir; but lava me think a bit," and the woman rubbed her head ineditatively. "Quick," critd Philip, between hope and fear. "Don't scare me, sir, or I ean'tdo nothink." He moved his feet restlessly on the inlaid hall floor, nnd he had bowed his head as if studyingthe artist's design; but it was for fear he should catch some terrible significance in Jane Graves' black eyes. He could hear her dress mstle; he knew she was looking at him, waiting for hún to lift his face; but he would not have met her eyes at that moment for all the world. " Yis, there was a rumblin' team come up, and I thought I hearn a man come to the dure and thin go back; but the bell didn't ring, sir, and I didn't mako no count on it. No, sir, I hevn't hearn missus movin' roun' sense, and I knows she be all over the house The creature's tongue was unloosed and she kept on talldng, but Philip had bounded up the broad stairs and thrown open the door of the room he thought was Bertha's. In another moment the gas blazed up to the ceiling and he stood, wüd eyed, looking from side to side as if he thought to find a heart breaking story written all over the gold papered walls. Then his eyes became fixed ou the black walnut bureau with its long mirror coming down through the center. On the marble slab at the foot of the mirror he saw a satín covered handkerchief In three steps he had clutched a little perfnmed noto, with a ribbon fastened on it as if for a igual, a delicate of white ribbon. Mr. Èlliiigsworth's name was written on it. It was all here, and yet Phih'p hesitated a moment as a man would hesitate to cut off a maiined and poisoned limb. And it was almost unconsciously at last that his nervous fingere toro the note open and let t&e bit of white ribbon flutter to the floor. He seemed to read very slowly and the flush faded from his face and left it very calm. ïhere could be nothing very thrilling written there surely. But e very line and curve was branded f orever on his heart. "I have gone with Curran. I lcnew I could not stand your reproaches, but I can only ba happy with the man I lóve. Society will disowu me. He is inore to me than all. "Bertha." He crushed the bit of paper in his hand, and looked up to see Jane Graves standing in the doorway, pale as death. Beside her stood the red cheeked chambermaid, speechlesg agaia, this time with astonishiient to see the young man inake so free in her mistress' chambef. , ■(■one with Curran; oh yes, it is all written out. Well, that is a joke; a man who don't wear euffs, and Bertha loves biml Whv, I never could dress to suit her." And he tkrew bmiself into a chair and buret into convulsions of laughter till the tears came. "Well, there may be something else," and he stepped jauntily up to the bureau again. "Certainly, a jewel box with my name on it; oh! to be sure, our engagement ring." Ha held it up to cateh the sparkle of the solitaire diamond. -'Yes, 3'es, a very proper and delicate spirit. I wasn't mistaken in Bertha, sha ahvays had a nice sense of proprioty." He carne a little unsteadily toward tho two wornen. Jane Graves was palé asd stil as death, with her two little hands pressec tighïly upon hor bosom. Phib'p wonderec ünpatiently what was the matter with tas girl. If he corild treat the wholo wretched business like a huge joke, what the deuce was tbö use of her playing tragedy queen o'ï er it? What child's play life's solemnest woes and faüures are af ter all a man's dread of them! It is mixing up flesh and blood with them spoils tlieir grand effects. Men and women are only fit for the cheapest Idnd ot low comedy. How it must amuse the imtnortal gallery gods wheu a man attempts to sustain the tragedy pitch in his experiences! If one can only get the true point of view, there is no such thing as a noble situation, a gloriousvictory or a desperate dilemma. The dignity of sorrow is a ridiculous misnomer. Rverything is only more or less funny according to its pretentiousness- for example, the astonishing deuouement of his love episofle. Now Norali, the ohambermaid, with a face liko a pumpkin and eyes like saucers, was a suitable lay figure for such an occasion. "Why, here, Norah, this is really a very good diamond. I bouglit it for the best; permit me to present it to you. Bertha, your late mistress, I mean, was a large woman ; no doubt you can wear it over your little finger. Consider it as a reminder of this eharming e veiling. Ah, let me put it on, youarenot wied to jewels - thus. Now, my love, you niay run down stairs and show 'your pretty present." He turned his strangely bright eyes to the wall at the toot of Bertha's bed. "My picture, too. How the girl's heart must have glowed night and morning over it." He took it down and held it before him a moment. "A foolish face," he muttered between his teeth, the wild merriment lading out of his features. He bent and laid the picture glass upward on the floor, then he ground it viciously beneath the heel of his boot, and walked away without deigning to cast another look at it. Bertha's pure bed, which her graceful f orm had pressed so many years - an inscrutable awe crept over him; it seemed impious to ook; he feil on his knees and buried his hot 'ace in the pillow where he fancied her head ïad rested. ; "Oh, my lost darling, my lost Bertha, you ïave taken all the joy and hope of my life with you," and his slight frame shook with earless sobs, like the death throesof a breakng heart. Then he rose in bitterness of soul to his feet. Was there no way to drown the decp settled pain about his breast? Were there no other women in the world? He had heard imes enough there was no salve for a broken ïeart so quick and sure as another woman's Eisses. He almost stumbled over Jane Graves, who lay across the threshhold in a dead 'aint. It was but the work of a moment to enii over her and lift her in his arms. But i' would not let her lie on Bertha's bed; no, not to save her life ; and he bore her through ihe hall to another chamber. It was a slight ;irlish form he held, and need not have been o unpleasant a burden. But ho laid her down on the first resting place he could find, nd lifted her feet with delicate gentleness n the bed. He removed the high pillowa 'rom under her head, so that she could jreathe more easily, and, trae gentleman hat h was, covered her pretty feet and nkles with some light wrap. A green tinted cologne bottle stood near by and he bethought himself to dash the cool contente into her face, and folt quite a doctor's surprise to see any good result follow his ministrations. The banisbed blood stole slowly back into her olive cheeks. He bent over her and lifted her Khapely littlo hands, aa dainty as a princesa', and tried to arrange them in some graceful position. How pretty she was; if her lips were a little f uil that was a very pardonable fault. A sudden mad thought warmed his body ; why not wait till she opened her eyes, this charming little girl, and then swear to her that he loved her? What was love then that such a pretty face and form as this should nothaveit? She was no cold woman; her kisses and endearments- but his eyes had grown cold and hard while he looked at her. If sho were a Cleopatra she could be nothing to him, her kisses would only stifle him with her imssion; her clinging softarms about his neck would only strangle him. He knew to his sorrow what it was to love, and no pretty sham, no matter how its voluptuous artiflees inight make his hot blood surge through his veins, could still for one moment the inmoral i,-.n' -; 1 ,--'y ■':"!. The moved a little as she lay ; and he started and went out The girl's oyes opened slowly on the rich blue lambrequius and the rare frescoing o the room. She vaguely wondered for one de licious moment if she awoke some rich gen tleman's wife and her old line of poverty wa past forevcr. Why, she was in Mr. Ellings worth's bed chamber? How came she here And her hair was wet, and the ruóles on her neck were damp - it was cologne. Then she rcmembered everything, and rose from the august couch she had unworthily pressed Sho laid back the great piliotvs and tried to smooth out the outlines of her form on the spotless counterpano and then madö her wa; down stairs. The house was so still it frightened her; it was as if everybody in the work had died whilB she lay in faint. The hal bfclow was empty, too, and the outer door Bhut. She opened the parlor door; she feit as if she musi find somebody to ease the tensión of her ncrves. Mr. Ellingsworth sat with bis head bowec on his hands; he knew it all; his home was desolated, liis pride outraged. At the noise ho uncovered his face for a moment anc looked up, and the cruel lighfc íalüng on his distressed face revealed the marks of age his tranquil course of life and selfish and com placent philosophy had so long softened anc covered. lio saw the graceíul figure of his maid in a pretty attitude of hesitation on hls pleasure. He vvas alone in the world but for her; desorted in his own home only for l;er. "Come here, Jennie," he said in a broken voice. She carne into the room, and a few steps toward hún. Then she stopped. Her face was alraost as palo as when she fainted, bu' her black eyes slione with unusual feverish brilliancy. "Give me your hand, dear." The girl stai'ted, and half turned as if to escape. Then stránge thoughts dartec tcrough her brain. A warm, red flush mounted from her neck, and spread itself in tinglrag waves of shame to the very roots ol ber black hair. She came up to hirn, anc reached out her little hand. He pressed ii gently, then ho laid it Rgainst his cheek. Her heart bounded in sudden revolt, but she controlled hereelf with an effort of sheer wil] and did not move, but her startled eyes sought the floor. And so this was her prouc master. But what harm if he wanted to be foolish and sentimental? it was no matter to anybody now, no one cared for her unkissec lips. "Jennie," he said at last, "come nearer to me." me." And she kneeled by his chair, in a sudden impulse she dured not deüiie, not yet. She put her other hand in his, and lifted her dark, wet eyes to his face. Then he bent down to the upturned face, that never flinched, and in another instant he held in his anns her f orni that seemed to shrink only that he must clasp her the closer. "Will you be my wife, Jonnie? I never loved a woman as I do you. Viül you be my wife, Jennie?" "Yes," whispered the red lips that never once turned away from his thiek raining kisses. In Bertha Ellingsworth's own parlor it was, with her mother's face looking down from the painted canvas, in the room where the daughter of the house had so eoldly entertaincd the heir of the Breton milis. Ah ! yes, and where she had taught Curran, the prophet of the poor, to love her, and she the very essence of the spirit he taught them to hate. But how her proud face would wince now! If she were only here! Her father, the haughtiest of men, to everybody in the great world beneath him cold as an iceberg, they said, arrogant as any duke of courtly circle, could it be he praying, with hot breath, the iove and the hand of his servant maid! Could it be he holding her so fondly in his arnis, where he might havo gathered coy dames of the stateliest rank, lavishing honeyed words and naad endearments on his poor servant girl, whose only nice dress it was bewas crushing so recklesslyl Ahl it was worth the cost, if she had to tear her heart out, for all that wealth can buy will be hers. She nestles her burning face on his shoul- der and tempts him to new caresses and new words of folly, that he may not remember yet what a strange thing it is that he is doing ; that he not think of repenting until his enthralled senses shall make him forget everything else rather than this sweet hour. Her wildest dreams are realized. She will b one of tho rich and the great whom the rest of the world bow down to. She will make ier husband's - yes, this man to be her husmnd, why should she be ashamed with him - she will make his friends all envy him his Deautiful wife; and as for their faded, fashonable women, with limp backs and bloodess veins, how it will please her to study the signs of jcalousy on their listless faces. And Bertha Ellingsworth's proud, falso heart will ache with shame over the low bom woman whom her father has made his wife. "Has the train gone for the west?" asked a jreathless voice at the Lockout station. "It's thirty. minutes behind its time," jrowled tho ticket agent. It was Philip Breton, who went back to the post to tie his horse more securely. "Poor Joe, poor old boy," the big white horss seemed more like to fall doad in his tracks than to try to break away. "A pretty hard gallop, 'wasn't it, Joe, your breath will come easier in a minute, old horse." His time was precious, but he lingored in an uncontrollable terror of what he liad come so f ar to see. He had thought he wanted to make sure. There might be some mistake in the note, or even now, if she had changed her mind - but it was all folly, he saw it now. He had f orgotten all reason in one wild longing to seo Bertha again. But what was the use of harrowing up his soul with now pictures he would pray God in vain to wipo out of his memory? But he had comeso far perhaps it would do no harm to look at her once more. He had turned and was walking along the platform, toward the ladies' waiting room. He glancod up the long stretch of straight track and saw in the distanoe the head light of the engine, which seeined to him a pitiless monster, hastening on to seize his darling and bear her to iome hopeless región of eternal night. He must hurry. Who knows ? it might be fate had kept her rescue till this moment, and meant him to save her. He pushed the waiting room door open. The seats appeared all vacant and expectant ; a big russet apple had been dropped on one of them by some interrupted traveler, and in another place the carpet upholstery was specked with the white litter of a cracker and choeso luncheon. The whole atmosphere was too commonplace for a pair of runaway lovers. Philip took two or three steps into tho room, but it was only as he turned to go back that he saw the settees were not quite desertad. It was a group for a painter's loftiest genius, but the artist must have a faith in love, which the world has learned to scoff. The figure of the raan may embody strength and dignity in unconscious perf ection ; it s bent now in a beautif ui protective attitude toward the woman whose head rests on his shoulder. Her lips are partpd to reveal the pearly gleam of her white teeth, but sho does not smile. Sho has golden hair like a crown setting well down on the broad fora head, and there is the tint of red gold in her cheeks like a perpetual glow of sunset. But what painter can caten the ñoly tendernesa In the oyes that drink in her unsullicd beauty, the breathloss wonder, tho rapt mystery in his softened face? What inspired brush can picture the quiver of the long, golden lashes against her cheek, and then the dreamy stirring of the eyelids that now open wide, so his impassioned gaze may thrill the liquid depths of blue. Let tho artist flx them forever tf he can - the smile that ripples at last over her fascinated face, a smile of trust too perfect f or shame. What was that sound so lilce a human sob that startled the lovers trom cach othor's arms? Why, it alinost made them sob for Bympathy, as if it carne from a broken heart, Who ever heard the wind moan like that before, so short and sharp it was? But it must have been the wind, for they were quite alone. 10 BE CONTITOED.l