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wh tt<> moon fill* the silent sky,
1 A nil *tlrrin#r at, her feet
r ,„, white floods rise and leap the shore—
jlold lovers, rash and fleet.
t a lifter flood to feel her sway,
A nd rush In a restless tide,
ki* the love that leaps from my heart in words
P for her whom I walk beside,
T j, t . white moon slips from the silent, Hky,
ThP H ,.jt slips from the shore,
( j tIU , k o ni.v happy : silent heart
<wo ps t tie flood of words once more.
pnt not till the waves have kissed the beach,
* I1( 1 the moon has kissed the sea,
n ,l n ot until, sweetheart, 1 too
Have kissed — been kissed by thee.
—A. W. It.
by CHARLES J. BELLAMY.
Coayri ’hted by the Author, and published
* 0 by arrangement with him. t
Philip lifted liis chair high in air, and
hroti jhr it down like a trip hammer where
(Jidflin;.' had stood. But the agile attorney
had i 1 - fd aside and left the cliair to break
into splinters over trlie table.
.. - ~V : ‘NfeuP • ••*"% -vrtyiy^
/ ..“J U
Philip lifted hie chair high in air.
“Scoundrel! Will you come with handcuffs
and billets to take away my wife from my
irms for following your lying counsels. Is
that your law? Does it choose such ministers
•is vou to break up peaceful homes and shut
•(.bind bars a woman as innocent as an
Philip was advancing toward him, when
biddings suddenly threw up the window and
leaned out to shout to a policeman. Then he
looked back to Philip.
“Another step and } r our wife goes to jail?”
“I won’t touch you.” And Philip folded
his arms across his breast, while the red blood
forsook his face at the threat. He was in
-his contemptible creature’s power. He might
'rind his teeth at him; he must obey him.
You seem very obtuse, Mr. Breton,” ex
plained the lawyer, from a respectful dis
nn<v. “1 have no ill will toward Mrs.
] Breton, a very modest, and I may add”
“As sure as there is a God, if you speak of
her so, I v> ill throw you from the window.
Your secret will die with you then.”
The lawyer snisled unhealthily. “I want
money, that is all there is to it. You are
rich—Mrs. Breton—well, well, don’t be an
fry. In a word, I want to be paid to keep
my secret. ”
Philip cast a glance of ineffable contempt
him. Then he put his hands behind him
uni walked slowly across tin l room. The
(•rice of life, of honor, of liberty! No money
could measure it. But what trust could he
rest in the fidelity of so base a creature as
this? The vampire would suck his blood for
wer, and forever cry for more.; he would
barn that his victim would make himself a
U'ggar to save this woman, and would beg-
Sir him without shame. The creature might
Ilot stop with mo:gy favors; he might re
ptiiv to he made a companion; to be invited
*° bis taldo, and prest atefl. to his friends; to
godfather to his children, and at last, in
ciger at v,me unintended slight, or in some
b'unken debauch, might bring or call down
•“ic rum dreaded so long. His lifelong slav
,v would have been in vain. Better a
no, Bertha must not be sacrificed.
| -'hlip tar ■1 on Iris lieei and stopped before
'‘low much do you want?”
His glassy eye brightened. “Oh, I will not
teo hard just because i have got the whip
mud ot vou. Bav S2OO, and your secret is
“Per how long?” sneered Philip.
“Forever," answered Giddings, with virtu
”ls decision. ‘‘l swear before God I will
lever ask another penny of you; and your
sreret sliull die with me.”
k Philip had taken out his pocketbook. He
*und a s.V) bill; then drew a check for
The ]K>or lawyer eyed the money with
1 great tenderness; his heart softened at
’‘ght of it, and the love of approbation, that
irver dies out of even the most degraded
*'lll, stirred in his.
1 aint so bad a fellow, after all,” he said,
ls lie took up the money; “I know lots of
men who in my place wouldn’t have let you
for less than a coed thousand.”
“Your circle of friends must l>e very
*dect. Philip was moving to ward the door.
44 Po he sure, to be sure,” but somehow the
lawyer kept close to him, “I couldn’t help
cling sorry for you: and then your wife is
oich a yice woman; it never seemed to me
jails were made for such as she”
“Stop your driveling,” cried Philip, turn
mg on him so suddenly that the man fancied
at li'Y he had been struck, “keep your blood
Jiiongy, hut don’t dare to breathe her name,
:i p n in your prayers.”
Tlie lawyer chuckled to himself when the
~<ir closed behind his wealthy client. “I
oppose I have considerable grit.”
ru “ u he pocketed the bill and scrutinized
I check. “But I was almost too easy with
, UIU - fellow’s, now, would have just
THE WHITE CHAMBER,
die :> o’clock train drew up at the Breton
e station, arid the young husband alighted
( .ringed man. The brick walls of his mills
or<ko(l strangely unfamiliar to him. \Yas he
the owner of them? Was that his
Pj'T a castle on the hill off to the
ol ' •’ seemed impossible that any of his
hi ,' 1 l lla inta.uees should recognize huff, but
was shaking hands .vita Mm.
vi'n, '° 5,0011 away from |our young
froi lj ? ineSS ’” niutt ered Philip, breaking away
11 him impatiently. How the man’s sim-
ple blue eyes would start out of their socket*
if he guessed what the business had been.
How he would regale his eager family with
the infamous story, and sleep more compla
cently that night for the sudden calamity
that had fallen on the rich man’s home, while
he was wife and his home spotless.
Another acquaintance drew Philip’s hand
through his arm liefore he could reach his
carriage. “Something very confidential,” he
Then Philip had bribed the greedy lawyer
to keep a secret which he had already feasted
the whole country on. He glanced around
him with anew, hunted look in his face. He
fancied he saw a peculiar expression in the
eyes of the bystanders. Some of them ap
peared to avoid looking at him.
“It is this.” Philip held his breath and
the man laughed at his humor. “One would
think you were scared to death. I was only
going to say my wife and I want to call to
morrow on your charming bride.”
“By all means,” Phiiip answered huskily,
and threw himself into his carriage. He had
nothing to fear from this man at least; he
dearly enough had not heard the news.
People don’t cull on—it was too terrible! He
let down the carriage window for fresh air.
I he village policeman stood by the roadside
talking to a stranger. As the carriage passed
they spoke of Breton, apparently, and
laughed. The man must be a detective,
armed with the authority to break into his
home and carry away his wife. They would
shut her in the dock, crowded close by mur
derers and foul mouthed thieves. The court
house galleries would be packed with ruffians
to stare at her sweet, frightened face, and
her high bred friends would sit below and
look insolent disdain at her, and wonder how
they ever escaped contamination from her.
‘‘Drive faster!” 110 shouted to the coach
man. Perhaps they had not seized her yet
and clasped their hideous iron bracelets about
her dimpled arms.
If he were there they would not dare to
touch her. Would they dare burst in his gate
and break down his massive oaken doors,
stride with their soiled boots through his par
lors and tear her from his very arms? His
father created this very town, and the men
whom Philip Breton had befriended would
rush to his help. Who ever heard of a house
so grand as his being invaded by loud voiced
officers—of justice—they called it, to drag a
wife from*her home? Let them dare to do it.
“Paster! Drive faster!”
The carriage rolled into his grounds and he
leaped out and looked about him. He saw
no signs of disturbance yet. Ilis gardener
was cutting a bouquet of roses. Bless his
gray head, he would not be making bouquets
for an outraged, plundered home.
“Whom are you cutting the roses for?”
How heavy his master's hand rested on his
“For the mist-css, if you please, sir.”
‘ l ls she within, then?”
“Can’t you hear her playin’, sir ?”
Thank Go# for that gentle breeze that
brought'the music to his ears. It was that
same familiar air from “Traviata,” that she
had playeff the night he had left her for the
labor meeting, before the first shadow had
creased her life. And she was safe yet.
He mounted the brown stone steps, and un
locked the door. He closed it very softly
after him and with noiseless step made' liis
way to the drawing room. The door stood
half open; he looked in at Bertha, liis one
week wife. She wore no cloak or hat to
show she had soon to go, and her foot that
rested on the pedal was slippered; why not?
She had come to stay, night, morning, noon,
always. She had come to stay.
But a sudden change passed over his face.
That proud faced woman was a—they called
it a criminal, a felon, 011 whose soft, white
should'erjany policeman in the state might
freely lay his rude hand. She would look to
him, but he could not help her; he had under
taken to protect her, but he must stand back
with breaking heart while they dragged her
away. Could they not let him imprison her
at home? She should never go outside; a cell,
for such as she. She would die. Yv as there
no pity'in their iron laws? To-morrow her
name would be heralded abroad. Perhaps
her sweet face, almost too fair for kisses,
blazoned on the outside sheet of the lowest
picture papers, and the dregs of the great
cities would revel in its insulting beauty.
Poor girl, she was thinking She had a right
with him, that her lome was in'his arms,
perhaps dreaming of a household whose
queen she should be, of pretty, proud faced
boys .and blue eyed daughters, who should
sometimes cluster about her knees. She was
living in a false world. Her children—God
grant that she may never have them—ah,
the law had a bitter name for what their
children would be. He was the wealthiest
man in 100 miles, and he could not give his
children a name. Her children; how he
could love them;-but each young face in
turn must mantle with shame. And was
there nothing he could do for this woman?
She had given herself to him; all his vows
were upon him.
“Bertha.” She looked up and smiled on
his stricken face and played on.
He came up behind her. She was his yet.
He bent down and kissed her warm white
neck beneath her red gold hair. The law
I# ul not claimed her yet, and all the rites of
religion had made her his wife. One moment
he stood by her side: the next he fell upon his
knees, and imprisoned the quick flying hands.
He felt he could not bear the music now, it
was a wild waltz she was playing; he bowed
liis head in her lap.
“ v Tiy Philip, are 3’ouso tired?”
“I am weary unto death,” and his bent
form shook with agoin* and baffled love.
Bertha’s e3*es rested calmly on his head for
9l moment, then glanced at the music sheet on
its rack; not a spark of emotion showed in
their clear depths. The perfect shape of her
mouth was not hurt 113* one disturbing quiver
of the rare red lips; the\- did not curve down
ward in gentle tenderness, nor part in sweet
pity. There was not one shade more of color
in her fair cheeks for this trembling heart
broken man whose whole soul seemed dis
solving in love and sacrifice; w ho would have
suffered a lifetime to save her from the un
guessed fate which hovered fearfulß* above
her gold crowned head.
It was two hours later that Philip saddled
and bridled Joe, the white horse, and set out
for Mrs. Ellingsworth’s. Strangely enough,
as he sat at tea he had remembered the first
malevolent expression in Jane Ellingsvvorth’s
face as his bride and he drove past tltot very
noon. It had changed so quickly to smiles
that he had doubted his e3'es, but he trembled
at liis memory of it now, and tlie piece of
paper that had fluttered to her feet, what
could it be? Could it be she knew all; that
while he was buying over the lawyer so Iliac
he should not use his terrible power, there
might be near at hand an enemv to the death,
who only tewed a moment with her poisoned
arrow to shoot it when it would strike with
deadliest effect? Philip had parted with
Bertha as painfulh* as if he were leaving her
to die, and as he rode off he looked and
down the street as if danger lurked in every
Ought he not to have told her? But what
good? She might enjoy a fe*- more days of
calm. The worst could not be worse than
such torture of fear and liourh' dread- as he
suffered. She trusted him perfectly, and he
believed lie could fight best alone. He would
ward off every danger human brain could
foresee, and wealth aud strength and inge
nuity oppose, aud then, oh God, and then!
But it could do no good to warn her. Pbc
might flutter in her terror straight into the
very jaws of destruction. As for him, lie
could be cool and firm, though his heart s
consuming within him. And who knows;
the hair Fuat held the sword over her head
might never snap, and at last, after many
years—what years of agony they would bo
to him—she might lie down at last in an
honored grave. No, he would not tell her.
If God in his mercy would permit him he
would thank him night and morning, and
carry the burden of hourly terror, for her
The horse was not happy. His master had
no kind word for him after his absence, nor
one stroke for his glossy neck. He sidled
sulkily to and fro across the road and made
but very slow progress, till a sharp blow of
the hand that was used to pat him sent him
bounding in great lea]* on liis way, forgetful
of everything except his own resentment.
When he reached Mr. Ellingsworth's gate,
Philip was sorry he hud come so fast, for he
had not thought yet how to conceal his mo
tive in coming. But Jane received him so
cordially that lie quite forgot he had any
thing to conceal.
This evening Jane appeared at her very
best. ohc made Philip tell her where he had
been with liis bride, on their short trip, and
ali they had seen, and was so charmingly
interested that he imagined he was Suc
ceeding in quite winning her over in Bertha’s
favor. Then she hoped they would be so
“i/ery happy,” and drooped her black lashes
at last in a beautiful stroke of daring.
“\Y>:l you be sure and quite forget I ever
thought I disliked Bertha? 1 mean to be so
verv devoted now if you and she will let me.’”
“Do you?” he exclaimed, drawing a deep
bre th of relief. “God bless you for it; make
our house your other home.” How he had
in .udged this amiable girl. He would per
suade IV rtha to be very kind to her. How
vf v fortunate it is, he thought, women do not
hold their hates as men do. While he had
been speaking she had turned her head away,
but cs he sai 1 good night, she looked him in
the face again.
“Why, what is the matter?” he said quickly,
“your lip is bleeding.”
“Oh, it is nothing, good night.”
The horse was put into the stall with his
master’s own hand that night, and rewarded
for his services, at last,, with the kind words
tLqJ mzffe him lay back liis ears in content.
Then l amp went into the house and bolted
the doors with anew sense of possession.
Bertha was within with him; l the whole
world besides was shut without, for to-xight,
at least, lie hung up his hat and looked into
the drawing-room. The gas was in full blaze,
the piano open ami the music sheets in place;
a book lay on a chair as if just dropped
there. But Bertha was not in the room. Ho
turned out the gas and stepped along to the
library. But it was dark, and no die Was
there. t ln sudden, vague fear he bounded
up the stairs. Lho was not in her bou
dHr, and he pushed open the door into the
white ( hard er. The gas was turned down
low, but he put aside the curtains of the
canopy and there lay Bertha. Her lips were
just parted in a sweet dream, and the de
licious suggestion of a smile was in her closed
eyelids too. All the thunders of hell might
be echoing around her, the dear head rested
in perfect peace. A terrible fate trembled
over her, but she was as unconscious of it as
the babe of an hour. lie bent over her with
a yearning tenderness in liis eyes. One white
arm lay on the coverlet, he kissed it as softly
as if it were a holy thing. He bowed his
head low over her face, that seemed in her
sleep to have anew gentleness and warmth
in it. He drank her sweet, child like breath.
What was she dreaming of, lie wondered.
He just touched her lips, when she moved
uneasily in her sleep, and murmured liis
“Bertha, you came to me pure, with no sin
on your white soul. It is I who have put it
there; I, who loved you better than myself,
have put the sin upon you. And you never
knew, my love, my darling, yes, my holy
one, you never knew what you did. His
slight form shook with a great tearless sob.
Then he closed the curtains about her bed
with lingering tenderness, turned out the
light and left the room.
It was at the same moment that Jane Eli
ingsworth drew a letter from her pocket, as
she sat in the parlor where Philip had left
her. She had read the letter a dozen times;
it was the same that had fluttered to the floor
when she had thrown kisses to the bridal
pair, and this was the part that had inter
ested her so much:
“You ask mo why I did not many Bertha?
Who lias been insulting her, then? She is
my wife, so far as laws can make a wife. Slio
lelt fne because she no longer loved me. I
suppose 1 was too ill bred and common a man
for her. If she had only known it before. I
watched her in terror as she began to awake
from her dream of love. I tried to woo her
again. I thought it might be I was not fond
enough, and 1 became so tender I wearied
her. I thought perhaps I was not gentle
enough, and then 1 never spoke to her but in
approval. But her beautiful face grew colder
and colder every day. I saw the light of love
that had made it an angel’s fade hour by
hour. Then I fell on my knees and prayed
her to love me, but she only drew back her
skirts. Then I told her I must die if slic were
cruel to me, and asked —begged her to love
me for pity. But when the t.deof love begins
to ebb ail ihe prayers and lamentations of a
world cannot stay it. Her face grew cold
and hard and the love died out of her voice.
She never confessed she had mistaken herself
in marrying me till the very hour she left
me. Yes. she is my wife, and my heart aches
always tor her. Y. rite and tell me where she
is—per!laps some time she may come back to
me, for she once seemed to love me, and they
say Jove cannot die. Curran.”
Pnilip Breton began to notice in the next
few da3’s that anew spirit of discontent had
come over the factory hands. Before the
walls of the new mill had risen ten feet from
its foundations, the smiles that used to sa
lute him, and warm his heart, as he walked
among his people and through the village
that he had made smile too —had faded from
averted, sullen faces. Once, the men and
women could find no words strong enough to
express their love and gratitude to him. Now
he heard constant complaints against the
long hours that he still thought necessary;
and against the smallness of their share in
the profits of the mill.
Philip was fast losing his 011I3’ hope and
consolation. The dissatisfaction seemed to
increase every da3', and it was borne in upon
him that his life in all its relations was to
prove a complete failure. The people seemed
to have forgotten how much better off the3 r
were than others: to have forgotten the con
cessions he had given them, such as no other
mill owner thought of for a moment. There
was so much more thty wanted that he had
not granted. He had opened their e3*es to
their condition more than he had satisfied
their ambition. They accepted the principle
he had explained and illustrated to them, and
carried it out in relentless logic. Pnilip
thought thev* were more restless now, than in
the worst days under his father’s inflexible
management; there were more frequent
meetings and bolder threats.
It was at this time, when the light of hope
was,almost farted from his soul, and when lie
was fearful of dangers on every side, that
Bertlia said she would like to see her lius
band’s mill. He could not tell her that he
did not dare to have her seen; that he sus
pected her secret had spread among the vil
lagers; and that he feared the people whose
master he was,
“Isn’t it too cod this morning,” ho an
swered, avoiding her e3'es, while he cast
about wildly' for a pretense to keep her at
“I am not an invalid,” Philip, she said
smiling]}-, “and 3’ou have kept me shut up as
if 1 were a prisoner. What crime have I
lie tried to laugh, but a sorry thing he
made of it.
“Well, shall we have the coupe?”
“Why no; you aren’t jealous of me, are
In a few moments his teach wagon was at
the doer. He helped hot in and taking his
seat in front with a strange, binding sensa
tion in his throat, looked neither to the right
hand nor the left, but drove as if he were on
a race course.
hy, Philip, you take my breath away.
V\ hy don’t you enjoy the morning with me?”
How the people gathered in the windows to
see them go by.
“lam in a hurry,” he said.
“There is June signaling us; aren't vou
going to stop? Oh, yes, that is right. Here
is a good chance to be friendly, as you
“May I ride, too?” said Mrs. Ellingsworth,
with childlike eagerness. One might have
thought sometimes she had grown ten years
younger with her new accomplishments.
The carriage drew up to the curbstone, and
the usual greetings were exchanged. “Isn’t
it delightful?" said she, us she took her seat
with them. Jane was all smiles and bright
glances this morning.
“How does it seem to l>e married, Bertha?”
she asked, with charming innocence. Philip
caught up his whip with a look so black
Jane thought he would strike her.
She saw he knew all; he had found it out
someway: but certainly not from Bertha,
whose face changed not in the smallest ex
pression as she made a graceful answer.
While Jane Ellingsworth affected to be ad
miring the horses, she studied the stern set
look of the face of this devoted husband, the
deathly weariness about bis mouth, the sus
pense in his eyes. Then she glanced at
Bertha, the woman who now the second time
had struck him; this time mortally; who had
given him for the reward of his matchless
love and tenderness, first humiliation and
loneliness, and now the hourly fear of
infamy, certain to comcfu due time. Bertha
was smiling idly at ome children at play by
the roadside; the old indifference was on her
face; the old pride in the untroubled depths
of her blue eyes.- Well, let her wear it
awhile; doubtless there was a shame that
could touch her; doubtless her cold heart
would be racked at last, unshaken as it was
yet by the ruin it had worked in three lives.
Philip [lulled up his horses at the counting
“There are the mills,” and he pointed hi?
whip at the great brick buildings, that
seemed .murmuring hoarsely to themselves in
their own strange language.
“But 1 want to go into them,” insisted
Bertha after she had alighted.
“it would not interest you,” answered
Philip steadily. “Would it, Mrs. Ellings
Jane understood the looks and words; he
feared for her, and glanced curiously at the
woman who struggled so blindly against - his
protective love. The lower part of her face
had become sot and slightly unpleasant.
“It is very dusty, and the smell of the oil
would make you ill, suggested Mrs. Eilings
w rth. They were standing at the edge of
the piazza in full view of the windows of the
workroom above, and the help were collect
ing curiously and looking down.
“i'lease- come into the office.” Philip laid
liis hand lightly 011 Bertha’s anil, but she
stepped a little away from him.
“No; I thank you,” she answered, in meas
ured tones. “I will wait hero for you.”
A man whom no one noticed had come up
the street from the depot, and was just cross
ing over toward them.
“Please not wait here, m3” love,” urged
Philip, vei'3” gently. “Only see; the help i'aom
the windows above are all staring at 3'ou.”
“It will not harm me. May I trouble 3*oll
to help me into the carriage? I think I will
sit there. Thank 3'ou.”
Jane stood back a little watching the un
raveling of the plot whose threads she held in
her hands. It was very thrilling. She saw
the stranger come up and lay his hand on
Philip Breton’s shoulder. Who could lie be,
with his mysterious air, his black felt liat,
torn in the crown, and liis shiny broadcloth
coat without cuffs? Philip had glanced up
at the windows on the floor above, where a
number of the operatives had gathered. Be
hind them stood a man, who fancied himself
in the shadow; but Philip could see him point
his finger at Bertha and his lips move. Then
the rest looked back at him and laughed, and
looked at Bertha and .laughed again. The
fellow peered forward incautiously, and the
light fell upon the same malicious, distorted
features Pnilip had seen reflected in the side
board mirror the da>” he brought liis bride
homo. It was Thomas Bui.es, 0:10 of the
witnesses to Bertha’s marriage with Curran.
But Bertha sat superbly indifferent, the cen
ter of their evil eyes, tho mark of their scur
rilous words. Philip turned as the stranger’s
hand fell on his shoulder.
“Mu3* I have 3'our ear for a moment?”
said the ill dressed man in a low tone. Philip
seemed to stagger under anew blow. Jane’s
keen eyes were very curious over this odd
meeting, but Bertha noticed nothing.
So three enemies to Bertha and his own
honor met b> r chance in his great mill ya: k,
ignorant each of the very existence and of
the motives of the others, but each working
for the ruin of a life. Three mines were
planted under ons weak woman’s feet, but
neither enem3* knew there was another;
they were plotters, but not conspirators, arid
more dca.dly far. If she escaped one, she
must fall by another; if one were melted by
prayers, still two remained ; if one were
bribed with uncounted wealth, still there was
one unappeased. The woman sat tho focus
of three pairs of hostile eyes, calm, beautiful,
unconscious. The air might bo . thick with
horrid hate, she never guessed that even one
shadow had fallen across the sun’s bright
beams. But one man had planted himself
before her. lie did not know liow many
foes he must fight, he did not know their
plan of battle, but if sleepless guardianship
and devotion unto death will save her lie
will do it. He looks up pitifully at her face
averted from him in displeasure. Ah, if she
knew, she would give him strength for the
Conflict by a kind sraiie at least. But she
preferred to watch the impatient horses paw
ing the earth beneath their feet, aud Pnilip
turned to the man who had touched his
shoulder. The man was staring with in
solent familiarity at Bertha,, as if he had a
certain right of property in her.
“I am ready,” said Philip fiercely, “come
inside.” The pa3*master called his name as
he passed, but he did not listen to him. He
waited till the attorne3', Giddings, passed
over tlie threshold of his office, then he locked
the door and turned on him like an infuri
“Do you dare look so at my wife? Do you
think she is like the low creatures \'ou asso
The man’s face grew a gliasth* yellow,
while liis eyes tried to seek out some safe
corner in the room.
“My God,” and Philip advanced upon the
lawyer’s retreating form till he shrank down
in a chair, and winced as if he a]rcad3* felt
the threatening blow. “I w ould kill 30U as
1 would a dog”— Pie stopped, and the mad
gleam died out of liis 03'es. lie tlirc\v him
self into a chair, aud covered his face with
his trembling fingers. “But one crime in a
household is enough.” There was u dead
silence for a moment, then the lawyer, see
ing he was out of danger, plucked up cour
“That was the very thing I called about.”
Philip took Ills hands from h:.s face, and his
e3'es seemed to Giddings to be burning their
w av' deep down into his contemptible soul.
Then Philip looked at the man's frcyed coat,
frayed at. the.edges, and the lawyer twitched
uneasilj- under his scrutiny.
“I thought I was done with 3'ou forever,”
he said with a bitter smile at last, “why, it
was only a little time ago—let me see”—-
“I know it, I know* it, but somehow the
money went pretty fast.” And anew cun
ning leer came into liis face. He was begin- i
lhiig to feel at home, though somehow, he
could not look his victim in the eye todaj-. J
“But there is anew point I have thought of
since I saw 3'ou.” He tried to look at him, j
but could not get his e3 T es to sta3' any higher I
than Philip’s shoulder. The baptism of fire j
lie had suffered, had given a certain new j
dignity to the young man’s face, that cowed i
his visitor. “I mean the risk I run; do you !
ldiow what the law* calls what I am doing?” 1
Giddings lowered his voice to affect a fright- J
eaed whisper “It is compounding of felony.
I was 011I3' thinking 1 ought to be paid for j
my risk.” ;
‘‘Let me see,” said Philip in stern irony,
•V2UO for keeping your secret —now* how ,
much for the risk?”
“Well,Land the man grinned painful^”,
“you might mate it up to an even f '>oo, all
together you know, to include everything.”
Giddings 'managed to raise his eyes, for an
instant, to Phi lip’s face.
“And do you think there won’t be any
more joints? You kytnv I can t submit to be
bled at this rate.”
‘*Oh, no, I assure you, not another cent, i
had to pay debts with*he first, you know,
and buy clothes.” Philip was astonished at
himself, but he really had heart to smile as
ho as looked the man over.
“Yes, you must have laid out the greater
part of it on clothes.” Giddings pa lied his
chair up to the table.
“/ thought T was done with you forever.''
“I will sign anything you say.” Philip
had risen, and was crossing to the paymaster’s
office. “VAait,” insisted the lawyer, “I will
write an agreement in a minute.”
“Your agreement, eh? No, I won't trouble
you.” He stepped into the paymaster’s room.
“Have you 8;’>00 in the safe, Mr. Smith?
Conoon Sends will do. Thank you.”
“YAill you step in here as soon as possi
ble?” said the paymaster, as he handed him
the bonds. “There is a very important
“Yes, certainly. Please send up stairs for
Bailes, I want to see him.”
At the foot of the stairs Bailes and Gid
din.ers passed each other.
“Good r.r miner. Bailes,” began Philip,
without turning his face to his discharged
servant, “I suppose I was a little harsh in
sending you away as 1 did! “Ho moke hur
riedly, as if it were a painful tack he were
performing. “Let. this make it no to you,”
and the mill owner threw a roil cf bids on
the table much as a man would throw a bone
to a dog, though h<- would have been hearty
if he could have f< reed his tongu- to do the
false service. The man took up the money
with the air cf the trained waiter taking up
his fee. Ho asked no questions, he uttered no
thanks. He understood. Philip was filled
with shame, and the fellow’s silence made it
very hard for him.
“If you are faithful to me,” Philip looked
fixedly at the wall over the raseabs head, “I
may be able to do something handsome for
As Philip went out he glanced on neither
side, but unhitched his horses and drove off
as if a pack of wolves were behind him. He
never dreamed of cause of fear from the
pretty, black eyed woman who sat on the
seat with him, who was amiable enough to
keen up the conversation all the way homo in
spite of the ungraciousness of the others.
After Mrs. Ellirgsworth had alighted at her
house Bertha said, in a displeased tone:
“I so wanted to go through the mill.” But
her husband did not hear. He was thinking
how mighty his gold was. It had purchased
them four weeks of immunity, four weeks < f
honor; their honeymoon. It surely would
control this dangerous servant since it had
worked so marvelously Yith tin lawyer.
“I am so anxious to see how cloth is made,”
persisted Bertha, never losing sight of her
To be sure the servant had had personal of
fense with his master.' He might not, un
naturally, cherish malice. Gold is a sov
ereign balm for wounded pride; but wouldn’t
it have been wiser to have given him more
since he gave him something? He must at
tend to the mat ter to-morrow. Perhaps, after
all, there might be some hope for his wife
and for him. How glorious it was to bo rich
and havo power to save her. He would scat
ter his wealth like*leaves i:i autumn for her
sake. His mill; vt s, ho would even sell his
dear old mill, and pay out its price as the
price of. one year after another of respite,
till he and she grew so poor at last that even
their enemies and tormentors wou’d weep for
them, and let his beautiful bride lie down to
die in piece.
“You really must take me through the
Philip had alighted and held up his hands
to help Bertha to the ground. She held back
a moment with anew pretty coquettishness.
‘■Avail you?” she said..
He had not even heard her before. He
smiled with his fine rare tenderness as he
answered very gently, “Anything you like,
Bertha.” Then lie caught her into his arms.
“Good morning, my darling.” But there
was another letter at Philip Breton's break
fast plate, and the old look of dread came
back to his face—the dark hollows under his
eyes showed again. He had forgotten for a
moment, but ho ought never to forget. How
could ho tell what moment he would be called
upon to strain every nerve to save his dar
ling. He tore open the letter in uncontroll
able terror: oh, it was only from FLilbrick.
Had Bertha noticed his excitement and would
she question him in wifely concern? \Ho had
so much to guard against. But no, her grace
ful arm was raised to pour his coffee, inclin
ing her head prettily on one side, as women
do always at tea and coffee pouring. She did
not watch his face a-; he did hers. She had
not even noticed the change that had come
over him of late, that shocked every casual
acquaintance on the street. But that made
it so much the easier for him to keep the
secret from her; lie told himself he oeght to
be thankful for it, instead of ever permitting
his foolish heart to ache. He ran his eyes
rapidly over the letter his white haired
friend had sent him.
“I suppose it is paper throv.ni away, but I
want to remind you once more of mv offer
to take your mill off your hands. I have
made up my mind to try my scheme some
where. lam old and feel as if I would like
to do something for my race with my money,
which I liavo now well in hand. Will you
let me have your mills for what I have got?
If not I shall try elsewhere. The reason I
want your mills is because I propose to give
you a chance to take part in my beautiful in
dustrial plan. I will pay you one-third its
valuation, one-third you shall keep at 4 per
cent, interest till we can buy that in also, the
other third I am going to let you give in trust
for the benefit of the help as mv discretion
shall dictate. T his is a glorious opportunitv,
but I suppose I am wild to expect you to take
it, except that I have read in the newspapers
of growing discontent among your help.
\ arious reasons are given for it; ray explana
tion is that a little leaven leaveneth the
whole lump. If you were working to stop
complaints you should not have begun your
reforms. You may happen to see tilings as I
do, and be wilkng to let me try where you
have failed. If so, telegraph me at once
ana I will come.”
Philip folded the letter thoughtfully and
put it back in its envelope. No, he was not
ready for that yet,. But bo did not smile.
If it should ever happen that he be called
upon to sacrifice everything to save his wife
—but Philbrick required that he accept at
once. No, he was not ready j et.
“Oh!” said his wife, as if a sudden thought
had struck her, “do you remember your
promise, you are to take me through the mills
“lirt 1 promise that?” ITo put back hi*
coffee cup uutasted.
“Certainly, Philip, and I cannot k*t you
“But you musk” His face drew dark at
the thought that she should put at naught all
his careful plans to secure her present safety.
Bertha pushed lack her chair and rising an
grily to her feet, swept from the room with
out another word. Philip tried in vain to
swallow the mouthfuls of food ho so much
needed, then he started on foot for the milL
That Bertha should be angry with him
seemed the last intolerable blow. Was lie not
bearing enough before? He had made her
unhappy. Perhaps she- was weeping hot tears
of impatience now. She had thought lie
loved her enough to grant her every wish
that might cross her heart. Philip was
tempted to go back an<4> explain everything.
Then she would not doubt his love, but she
would have to share his agony with him. It
were better to bear his burdens alone—even
to this last burden of liev unmerited reproach.
Hi s sympathy for her grew stronger than b is
consciousness of his ow* unhappiness. Of
course she would be hurt that he had denied
her anything; if it had been a ribbon, it
would have been the same. He was to blame
for letting her leave him in vexation. He
should have forgotten hits own grievances
and soothed her with gentle words till she
smiled on him. It was not because she
wanted the thing so much, but it was the
first time he had ever crossed her wishes.
TO HE CONTINUED.
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15. T. Bibb and others have made application
for a public road commenei ■ at Uassville road
at or near the old McDow place, now owned by
■Mr. Balenger, and pap-sin*? on by the pla.-es of
Green and Robert Loveless and intersecting with
Kingston road between the residence of !i. F.
and .James Shaw. This being- an old neighbor
hood road, or settlement road, has in part been
in years past, a public road, but for many years
has not been recognized as such, which has been
marked out by the commissioners and a report
made on oath by them.
All persons are notified that said new road will
on and after the first Tuesday in August next,
by the Commissioners of Roads and Revenue of
said county be finally granted if no new cause be
shown to the contrary. This June 28. ISSN
„ , . . J. C. MILAM,
clerk Commissioners Roads and Revenue,
GEORGIA —B ar to wcoun ty.
B. T. Bibb, E. B. Earle and other* have made
application for a public road, beginning ar -he
water station on the \V & A. R. R. and running
East between the lands of James M. Sliaw and
Mrs. ‘MeMurray, and, the lands of .1. H. Dar
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lands of .1. H. Dyar and Jno. X. l'evee, thervp
North through land of .las. W. Power, then on
the line between the lands of Elias Ballinger and
J. H. Dyar, intersecting the Adairsville and Uar
tersville road at or near the McDow farm, now
owned by Ballinger, which has been marked out
by the commissioners and a report thereof made
on oath by them. All persons are notified That
said new road will, on and afmr the first Tuerday
in Augu*t next, b.v the commissioner of roads
and revenue of said eounty, be finally granted if
no new cause be shown to the contrary. This
June 28, 1888. J. C. MILAM,
Clerk Commissioners Roads and Revenues
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