The Breton Mills

3opyrighted by the Author, and publisaed by arrangement with hun. CHAPTER XXXII. TOO LATE. It was the afteruoon of the Wednesday that the steamer Salvator was to sail. But Philip Breton and the woman ho had hoped to save were yet in their house in Bretonville, hundreds of miles from the pier. The clock in Bertha's drawing room had struck three. It was the very hom; the last bell must bo ringing now, aiid frienda were saying their farewell words, handkerchiefs were waving graceful adieux, with here and there a teardrop. Home seeraed very sweet at this moment of separation, and dreanis of joys in strange lands eeemed too vague to comfort many a heort that had been light and merry tiUnow. Philip had not slept these two nigbts ior anxiety. The very air had seemed so full of danger he had feared the storm would burst upon them before today. New, haggard lines had come into his face. He had watched all the countenances of the villagers f or signs and warnjnga. Would his enemies give him time? Wel!, they had giveu him time, and yet he waited. He had driven to every train for his oíd friend Philbrick, but ho had faiied him. Ho had strained his blood shot eyes so eagerly last night to mako him out of the solitary arrival o]i the evening train. If the old man had known how much depended on him, he ■would snrely have hasteued. Philip dared not trust his milis in any hands but his. The old man would be gentle with his charge ; he was patiënt, he had broader ideas than Philip Breton, he was lcss of an aristocrat. And his üiills were very dear to Philip - onlv less doar than lus wife. Perhaps theold man might como yet, before the next steamer sailed, but thore were tiireo long days lor lus terrible secret to work its way to the light- three long, dark nights for a blow to fall. Philip found Bertha in t lic drawing room, waiting for him. The excitement that flushed her face seemed to havesmoothed out tho lines of care, her eyee were brighter thau love for him had ever made wem. Bhe seemed grown young as the flrst day in the garden she l::'í fallen asleep on liis slioulder. [ow the poor girl longed to go. He stood a moment beforo her, and love and sorrow swept over his soul in altérnate waves. She was his beautiful wife, whoiooked to him for her only protection. And out of pity for the mob that luid insulted her he had let slip, perhaps, his last hope of saving her. What did the wretchcs tleserve? Yet eruaps he bad sacriflced his ïvife to them. Perhaps this delay wonld make those sweet, eager eyes weep forever; tliat queenly, gold crowned head bow in lmmiliation. How the world would wonder that he had not sa ved her f rom a felon's cell, with such wealth and power as his to command. He had risked lier salvation to soften the fate of the thousand ungrateful creatures in his mili who cared nothing for him. "Oh, Bertha, forgive me!" he cried as if blsheart broke that moment. All his hope seemed dead i lien: the waters of desolation were sweeping in ceaseless sweJling waves over his soul. For a moment the woman loolcod at him in silence, trying to interpret for herself the meaning on his wan, passion marked face. It was for him the supreme moment of an agony such a soul as here could not even conceive of. Thi_ man suffered more in that ment, than the loulest tmiigeonin t.lie worlu. or the scoflfs of a city rabble, or the eontempt of every woman tlmt ever six)ke her name could hiirt her. Then she drew herself back frora him; sho thought, poor creature, sha understood the expression on his face. "Then you have inissed the steamer, and you knew, too, how mucli I wanted to go." He did not speak, but a pitiful look of con fusión was struggling into his face. "When can we go, then?" she asked coldJy. "The next steamer sails Saturday." Öaturday! Poorgirl! Poor Bertha ! The furies aro folding tbeir black wings this instant to settle about her soul. Sho only thought it was her picasure trip was deferred ; it was his plan to save her from impending ruin failed. One of the ministers of evil was at the gate this moment : uow at the door ; in the hall. Then the servant announced a name, and Mrs. Ellingsworth stepped into the room. She had been smiling her best, but every smile ranished at the sight of the shawls and traveling bags. She looked sharply at Bertha, who was dressed in her blue traveling suit; her hat was on the sofa beside her. She glanced about the room. The chintz covers were placed over the damask upholstery ; the. Eiano was closed and packed. Bertha looked stlessly at her. "Oh, won't you sit down?" But this strauge visitor stood as il' rooted to her place. "You are going avva}'i" PfiJip turned a Burprisi il glance at her, the tone she assumed was crisp and imperioua He saw the daugerous Jonk come into the dark, brilliaut eyes, which forgot their di;.-i mblmg for the moment. The woman knew eveTythinsr. In some way she had learned the secret Would she dare denounce his wiïe before I -i m ƒ Was poor a man a woman like this dared to beardhim' He did not fipeak. 1 h-v message of scorn and infamy would come in a moment, she would tear down the veil he had sprea hiswife's crime; he saw her red lips fairly trembling with the bitter words. Then Philip looked at her no more, but his eyes rested pityingjy on Certha. How would mi' meel il; Would she flush into rare i.aioü.' Would she turn and faint in c erpowering shamei "Yes, were going to Europe," answered Bertha, utterly unconscious of the hate that rioWered at her out of tho flashing "Philip did not want me to speak of itorl should have told yóu before; but I suppoee it don't muke any difterence now, since we'vo lost the steamer. it left the pier an hour ago. Bo wc are not going till Saturday. Isn't that it, Philip deai-i Why, you dou't mind my telling Jane.'" It was Bertha's owu word tnen, that had decided her tato. There had been some hope before, Philip now remembered; but at last her deadlieet eucmy knew everything. The mine would 1 sprang bef ore to-morrow'a sun had set. Ho could see it in tho suddeu triumphant gleam in the woman's eyes before she thought to smilo. But Bertha was the only one who could talk, just yet. "Won't you lend me a few things, to get me over a few day's, everything is packed up, and our baggage on the way, you kiiowi" aud Bertha went on to explaiu in detail her udiorous noecssities. "To-morrow will do." "Certainly, I only wish you had let me help yon get reartv." But her liglit laugh could not deceive tHiilip again, but it was too late now to guai'd agalnst her. "I wül run right home and get the things you spoke ot' ready for to-morrow.'1 Yes, and there were soine other things she had not spoken of , Jane Ellingsvvorth would have ready for to-morrow, too. CHAPTER XXXIII. THE LAST STRA.W. "You are too late, ray friend." Philip had been sitting in his study in the darkness which was not more black than his life. But he aróse to give his cold hand to Mr. Philbrick, who had oome at last. "Why too latei This is only Wednesday. Kave you changed your mind? I did not suppose there was so much hurry, and I wanted to have everything ready.'1 "It is too late," answered Pfiïlip gloomilv. What use to teil the old gentleman that Philip Breton'a wife was a criminal befare the law, that the transfer of the mili property was only a part of his scheme to save her from au infamoiis penalty, that their deadliest enemy knew all their plans now, aiul no doubt her sleepless e es watched their every rnovement, lest they should escape her hate. The servant raine to the door. "1 suppose you will have lights, sir. Some men from the mili folks want to see you." "Oh, yes; show them in," he said carelessly. ïliere were not chairs enough for the four workmen who came stumbling in like pall bearers at á country funeral, but Philip did not seem to look at them. One took his place by the window, and soiled the curtaiu with his hands; another, apparently the spokesman, disdained to lean agaiust anything, but stood stock still in the centre of the room, bent forward a little in an attitude borrowed from the prize ring. His feet were planted well apart, and his arins bowed out at the elbows. "I suppose you have some complaints to make," said the young mili owner with a gentleness of tone that was quipe mis,understood by the delegation, who immediately tried to look very fierce. "Ye're right, sir," answered the man in the center of the room. "Ye know yei-self, ye aint doin' the right thing by us." Philip did not sieak for a moment, and Mr. Philbrick would have thöugbt he had not heard llie fellow, only for a little twitching at the corners ï his mouth. Apparently lung ni.ni was deeply hurt by his failure to satisfy liis men. "I have done the best I knew." "Wal, we kin teil yer, if ye don't know no botter," iresuined the workmau insolently. ÏPhllip's oyt s Qashed at him, then dropped to the carpet again. "Pay us more witges for oue thüig, shorten up our hours for another." "You faro better than others. I divide the profits with you. You thought I was very good with you once." The young man's tone was not argumentative, it was too hopeless for that. ' "Yer don't divvy even; our share don't 'mount to'mnch," put in the man who was soiling tlie window curtain. "I aiii sorry for you, but you can't expect me to makü you all rich." There was such a sadness of reproach in Philip's voice that a mist gatüei'ed before f tnlbriCKS kind eyes. But the workmen got tbe idea they were frighteniug the youiig master. 'I have gone as (aras lcanseemy way Don't you tliink 3-011 had better be patiënt vvith mei" "Be you gom' to raise our pay?" Philip shook his liead thoughtfully. "I canuot understand it is my duty or my right." "Are you goin' to shorteu up our hours?'' asked the man at the window. '"I cannot" i he chiet spokesman turnea to his oompanions. "Ther ain't no use. Wal, 'squire, to-morrow you may wish you fiad. Come along, boys." Philip liad dropped back heavily into his chair. He seemed to have forgotten the presenee of Mr. Philbriek, until that gentleman began to explaín his more perfect systeni. "How cau you expect your help to be satisfied," Philbrick was sayi. ig; "even if they were well paid it would be small object for them to be shut up all their líves, as i f they were convicto. But you don't pay them, either. It isn't because the business doift pay, for your father's r;-Qíits and yours were enormous. It is all the lesait of a false valuation of the worth of services. Now I shall seek to remove the burdens that crush the people and restrict there natural developruent." Philip said nothing. How well his oíd f riend had kept his enthusiasm through all the years of his lifc ! Well, it would do no harm to let him talk on. "You will ask me for details." Mr. Philbrick took his seat again and drew up tchim a sheet of paper and a pencil. "You will ask what burdens they are that are ou the million, besides the common necessary burdeus of human nature. I will teil yoa the principal burden, it is the intolerable tribute to accumulated capital laid upon the workiug classes, which makes a ty rant of the man who has saved a surplus out of his wages, and caused the hopt-lcss vis inertia of poverty. Like all forms of slavery its ettects are great apparent luxury, which nevar penetrates ■below the very surface of society, and tireless industry which earns notmug for the workers but food barely enough to support his day's work. It is benefit enough for the man who has saved money that he can work to better advantage; it is a lever in his hands. If we pennit capital to take such enormous proflts as it does, every day and year it iacreases, as wealth iucreases, the crushing tax on labor. I shull pay j'ou but 'Z per cent on the money I shall owe j'ou on account of the millproperty. The rest of the income of the business above two per cent, belongs to the laborar." The reformer glaiiced expectantly at Philip. But the dull, hopeless look that was on his face an hour ago had not chaoged. "I am not sure but that is too much," pursued Mr. Philbrick "but it will onlv be a little while before I shall pay np the debt." ïhere was uo use in Stopping the enthusiastic old gentleman, whose great heart was a fountaiu of human ktndiiess. It would be time enough for Philip to teil him that he had changed his ]lans later. "But I shall also shorteu thehours of work. Six hours of continement in the milis is enough, and withou leisure all the advantages I can give my work people will be of little avail. I can let different set of hands relieve each other if it íeems necessary, or build new milis and take in a thousand more hands to share the blessings of jnstice." Mr. Philbrick leaned back iu Bis cbair and a great light oL beuevolence shone in. his face. It was a pity to disappoiut hini. "Thls is an opportuiiity I have hoped for a whole lifetiine. I eau show the world that labor ought not and need not be wretched and tamlshed. It is more bliudness than Villful cruelty that delays great reforma. If I can once show the world what justice is and how h svorks it will not be long before" "But, my dear friend," said Philip, dropping liis eyes to the floor, "did I not tell you it was too late í I am not going to sell. Yon Vill have to select sonie other spot for your Utopia." The youug man spoke bitterly. UnconscioUs oí his selfishness, he begrudged the rest of the world thu happiness he had missed. Then carne a moment of intense silenee which ms braken at last.. not by a voice, but by the loud ringiug of a door bell. It rang so violently the great, silent house echoed again. Had the eDd come then? Philip ifiaped to his feet. Wild thoughts of despei'ate exijediente rushed through his fevreisu brain, but he j'et stood like a statue when the study door opened behiud liim. He tore open a telegram aud read aloud: "Steámer Salvator delayed till to-morrow morning at y." For a niomeüt he did not take ín its meaning. Then he caught Philbrick's arm so tightly the old gentleman almost cried out. ''Do you want the milis as yousaidi You ' -'" were not ioking!" Philbrick" gtizuii at'hini in astonishmeïït. Philip seemed in sueh a terrible state of excitemeiit. tl is pallor was rcplaeed by a burning fiush, his eyes that had been so dull ihone with unnatural brightness. "Your plans vrill Bucceed better than mine, and you ean't flnd such a good place as this. You will tafce ray milis." "Of course I will, but I thought you said" "Never mind," cried the young man, "never mind what I said. Draw the papers at once. But no, I cannot wait." Philip turned on his heel as if no earthly power could detain him a moment longer. "But the paiHjrs are all ready." And Mr. Philbrick toot a bund'e of documente from hi.s breast pocket, and luid them on the table. 'Where shall I sign them- quickS" demanded Philip. 'No, no, not there, that is my note to you; sign here, and here, and here." "I can hardly see ; everything dances before my eyes. Is it all done now Í" He hardly waited to take thepapers Mr. Philbrick had signed for him. Then, without another word, he rushed from the room and bounded up the stairs. Freedom ! saf ety ! oh, thank God, thank God! He could save her yet. A castle on the Rhine, a palace in Venice; he would flnd the rarest homes for her. How sweet it would be to hide with her. The avvful seuse of hourly peril would lift from his soul. He pushed open the door of the white chamber. Bertha had been. sleeping. The tear marks were on her cheeks that had lost their beautiful flush. She was so disappointed, poor girl; and yet she never guessed "Wake up, wake up, mj darling." She started from the bed and feil to weeping on his shoulder. "I dreamed they were taking me away from you, Philip." But he dried her tears with merry kisses. "We are in time yet. The steamer don't go till 3 to-night." ' O BF rONTT?rTTKT).1