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IN MOONLIGHT. 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. Si 'Piwjg 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^ U i / ..“J U ■ K-- it 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 anpel?” 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 Uis tonpeiitor. '‘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 safe.” “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 hied him,” CHAPTER XXVIII. 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 whispered mysteriously. 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 shoulder. “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 shadow. 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 sake, alone. 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 name. “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.” CHAPTER XXIX EVIL EYES. 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 home. “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 committed?” 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 you?” 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 wished.” “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 room door. “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 worth ?” 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 ated animal. “Do you dare look so at my wife? Do you think she is like the low creatures \'ou asso ciate with?” 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 age. “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 mat" “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 you.” 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 object. 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 mills to-morrow.” 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. CHAPTER XXX. INCAUTIOUS DRIVING. “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 today?” “lirt 1 promise that?” ITo put back hi* coffee cup uutasted. “Certainly, Philip, and I cannot k*t you off.” “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. II mm out's Rheumatic Cure Kn <lorse<l I>y flic* 3lelieal Profession. A GREAT BLOOD PURIFIER. Atlanta, 6a., Nov. 4, I*B7. H. R. C. Cos.: Gentlemen—l have used live bottles of your 11. R, C., and cheerfully recom mend it as the best blood purifier and tonic I have ever used Mnce taking your cine I have gained twenty pounds in weight. Y'oud- truly, Wm. Turner. AN ATLANTA PHYSICIAN SPEAKS. Atlanta, Ga., Oct 20,1887. H. R C Cos : Gentlemen—l have used your Rheu matic Cure in several cas-'s of the worst type, and lam glad to say it had the desit ed elf get in every ea-e. I take great pleasure in recommending your medicine to those who are suffering Pom rheuma tism audits attendant complications, and lftri.d I am confident of its efficacy. Respect fu lhg P. O Box 02 .1. A. Net.ms, M. D. A IN EVERY CASE. 11. R. C Cos.: Gentlemen—l pronounce your Rheu matic bare a success beyond question. 1 have tried the great remedy in three cases, and find a cure in every case I pronounce it good. Very respectfully, Dr. W . L. Clay. 432 Walnut St , Louisville, Ky. FROM THE AUTHOR OF UNCLE REMUS. Atlanta, Ga., March 3. 1888. H. R. C. Cos.: Gentlemen—l take pleasure in s tying that your Hunnicutt’s Rheumatic Cure is the best I have ever seen. My mother, who had been suffering with rheumatism for thirty years, was entire y relieved by a few bottles Yours truly-, Joel Chandler Harris a PROMINENT ATLANTA LAWYER’S TESTIMONY. Atlanta, Ga.. Dec. 28,1887. Hunnicutt Rheumatic Cure Cos.; Gents—l have taken your Hunnicutt’s Rheumatic Cure for Inflammatory Rheuma tism with great benefit. It is, in my opinion, the best medicine for rheuma tism I ever took. Jxo. D. Cunningham, Ex-Judge U. S. Court of Ala A U. S. MARSHAL TELLS HIS EXPERIENCE. Atlanta. Ga , Feb. 4, 1888. Hhnnicutt Rheumatic Cure Cos.: Gentlemen — It affords me pleasure to add my testimony to that of the many who indorse your Hunnicutt s Rheumatic Cure I had been a constant sufferer from rheumatism for years, when I determined to try your cure, and to my surprise and delight one bottle was all I found neces sary to relive me of all symptoms of rheumatism, and I deem it but justice not only to those who originated this cure, but to all others who may be suffering from the same cause, to say this much in confirmation of what is claimed for this medicine. Yours respectfully, „ John \V. Nelms. Price — $1 per bottle Six bottles s■">. Prepared only at Laboratory of Hunnicutt Rheumatic Cure Cos., Atlanta, Ga. sale by all Druggists* Send for book of valuable information and testimonials of well known citizens. Road Notice. GE 0 R GIA—B a rt o w 0 o u t\ * y: 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, Road Notice. 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 and Mrs. Spurlock, thence Northeast through 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 Don’t Experiment. You cannot afford to waste time in ex perimenting when your lungs are in danger. 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