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EDWARD ML 
 
THE BRETON MILLS 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES J : . BELLAMY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 G . P . PUTNAM S SONS 
 
 l82 FIFTH AVENUE 
 I880. 
 
COPYRIGHT BY G. P. PUTNAM S SONS, 1879. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. A PICTURE AND ITS CRITICS i 
 
 II. MASQUERADING n 
 
 III. AN UNWILLING GUEST 22 
 
 IV. CRYING FOR THE MOON 35 
 
 V. A RUIN BY MOONLIGHT 47 
 
 VI. A DAY OFF 58 
 
 VII. A TEST 70 
 
 VIII. His MISTAKE 82 
 
 IX. WEAK MAN 95 
 
 X. WEAK WOMAN io_j 
 
 XI. UNGRATEFUL POPULACE 121 
 
 XII. A NEW GALATEA 137 
 
 XIII. CLASS PREJUDICE 152 
 
 XIV. THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH rCS 
 
 XV. A HOLIDAY 184 
 
 XVI. WHAT WILL THEY FETCH ? igg 
 
 XVII. TEA FOR AN OLD WOMAN 216 
 
 XVIII. THE NEW STOCK COMPANY 225 
 
 XIX. WHY COULDN T SHE WAIT? 2^2 
 
 XX. A RADICAL 250 
 
 XXL VERY ODD 267 
 
 M209376 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PACE 
 
 XXII. OUT, DAMNED SPOT 281 
 
 XXIII. No BARRIER -. 293 
 
 XXIV. A RACE WITH THE CARS 306 
 
 XXV. WOMAN S SYMPATHY 317 
 
 XXVI. WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR ? 329 
 
 XXVII. ONE SHORT HOUR 341 
 
 XXVIII. A LEGAL DISTINCTION 353 
 
 XXIX. THE WHITE CHAMBER 366 
 
 XXX. EVIL EYES 378 
 
 XXXI. INCAUTIOUS DRIVING 391 
 
 XXXII. INK 401 
 
 XXXIII. Too LATE , 407 
 
 XXXIV. THE LAST STRAW 413 
 
 XXXV. UNWELCOME VISITORS 423 
 
 XXXVI. A POPULAR LEADER 435 
 
 XXXVII. Too FOND A HUSBAND 442 
 
 XXXVIII. THE PRICE OF HAPPINESS 44g 
 
 CONCLUSION 455 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A Picture and its Critics. 
 
 " T ET S take a squint in." 
 
 -1 It is on the sidewalk in front of the fine 
 residence of Ezekiel Breton. Surely everybody with 
 in the length and breadth of a hundred miles must 
 have heard the name of the wealthy mill-owner, 
 whose energy and shrewdness have passed into a 
 by-word. The house is brilliantly lighted, and the 
 windows wide open as if to invite the attention and 
 admiration of the humble passers by. 
 
 Three men, laborers, if coarse, soiled clothes and 
 dull, heavy tread mean anything, have come down 
 the street and now stand leaning against the tall 
 iron fence. 
 
 " Why shouldn t we see the show, boys ? " con 
 tinued the long-whiskered man, with an unpleasant 
 laugh. " It s our work that s payin for it, I guess. 
 How long do you think it would take you, Jack, to 
 scrimp enough to buy one of them candlesticks ? 
 
2 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Hullo there s the boss himself," and he thrust his 
 hand inside the iron pickets to point out a portly 
 gentleman whose bald head was fringed with silver- 
 white hair. Mr. Breton paused a moment before 
 the window. 
 
 " Come, let s go on," urged the man with a clay 
 pipe, edging off a little into the shadow, "he ll see 
 us, and be mad. 
 
 " What s the odds if he does ? " and the speaker 
 frowned at the rich man from between the pickets. 
 "He can t get help no cheaper than us, can he? 
 That s one good pint of bein way down, you can t 
 tumble a mite. But just look at him, boys big 
 watch chain and gold bowed specs a danglin . See 
 the thumbs of his white hands stuck in his vest 
 pocket, and him as smilin as if he never did nobody 
 a wrong in his whole blessed life there now is 
 somethin purtier, though." 
 
 The old gentleman moved unsuspectingly aside, 
 and revealed a young girl, large and fair, with great, 
 calm blue eyes. She wore a pale blue silk, with 
 delicate ruffles at her half bared elbow and at her 
 neck, kissing the warm white skin. 
 
 " Well I suppose my girl Jane might look just as 
 good in such clothes as them. But she wouldn t no 
 more speak to Jane, than as if the girl wasn t human. 
 And as for a poor man he might pour his life out for 
 her purty face and she wouldn t give him a look. A 
 
A PICTURE AND ITS CRITICS. 3 
 
 few dollars and a suit of clothes makes the odds. 
 Now look at that" 
 
 " What s she laughin at ? " said the tall man 
 taking his clay pipe from his mouth. 
 
 " Can t you see with your eyes ? There s the 
 boy standin jist beyend her. Breton s young hope 
 ful. Nothin less than the biggest kind of game for 
 her, I cal late." 
 
 " I never seen him before," remarked the third 
 man reverentially, " I spose he ll be our boss some 
 day." 
 
 " He s been to college polishin up his wits. 
 Tain t goin to be so easy as it was. to grind the poor. 
 The old man, now, didn t need no extra schoolin ." 
 
 " I aint so sure now," said the tall man, blowing 
 out a wreath of smoke. " The boy looks more kind 
 about his mouth and eyes. See him look at the 
 girl. I cal late she don t think he s very bad." 
 
 " Wait till he gets his heel on the necks of a 
 thousand of us, as his father has. Wait till he finds 
 we aint got a penny ahead, nor a spot of God s 
 earth for our own, but lie at his mercy. See how 
 kind he ll be then. Taint the nature of the beast, 
 Bill Rogers." 
 
 Bill Rogers took a long look at the slight form 
 of the mill-owner s son at his fresh, young face and 
 small, pleasant black eyes. " I wish the lad had a 
 chance. I believe I d trust him, Graves." 
 
4 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " You always was a fool," growled the man with 
 the long whiskers called Graves. " I suppose you 
 think he ll melt down those silver candlesticks, and 
 the brass figgers that aint got no clothes on. Then 
 you expect he ll auction off those oil pictures of 
 cows and medders and the turkey carpet, and all 
 them carved chairs, that look too good to set in, and 
 divide the proceeds among us dirty devils." 
 
 "Hadn t we better be startin ? The meetin 
 will begin purty soon." 
 
 " What s the hurry ? Curran is always late him 
 self. Well, come along then." 
 
 Just now Mr. Breton is leaning lightly on the 
 mantel near one of his pet heirlooms the silver 
 candelabra. Near him stands a tall, elegantly 
 formed gentleman, only a trifle past middle age, 
 whose clear chiseled mouth has the merest hint of a 
 smile on it, as if he had just said something bright. 
 It was a smile he always wore when he had spoken 
 a smile with an edge to it. But Mr. Ellingsworth 
 had to make that smile do good service, for he 
 never laughed. The funniest jokes had been told 
 him the most ridiculous situations described to 
 him but he only smiled. It has been supposed 
 that he must laugh by himself, in the woods or 
 behind double doors. Indeed he was once informed 
 of the suspicion against him and smiled, though 
 several careful observers were sure, from certain pre- 
 
A PICTURE AND ITS CRITICS. 5 
 
 monitory symptoms, that a genuine laugh was at 
 last coming. 
 
 " What am I going to do with the boy? " Mr. 
 Breton s voice was always loud and sharp as if mak 
 ing itself heard above the roaring of his mills. 
 " Why, marry him to your daughter the first thing. 
 Eh ! Philip ?" 
 
 Would she be angry, proud and reserved as she 
 was? Philip shot a furtive glance at Bertha as she sat 
 at the piano idly turning over the music sheets. 
 Poor fellow, all his cunning system of approaches 
 come to naught ; everything precipitated at perhaps 
 the worst possible moment ! But the girl might not 
 have heard, not a shade of expression changed in 
 her face. It might as well have been the sources of 
 the Nile they were discussing so far as she was con 
 cerned, apparently, but as she pressed her white 
 hand on the music sheet to keep it open, her lov 
 er s eyes softened at the flash of their betrothal 
 diamond. 
 
 " I should think your hands must be pretty full 
 already," suggested Mr. Ellingsworth in the low 
 smooth tone, as much a part of his style as the cut 
 of his black coat, " with a thousand unreasonable 
 beings down in your factories. And by the way, I 
 hear that Labor is claiming its rights, with a big L. 
 As if anybody had any rights, only by accident." 
 
 " Sceptical as ever, Ellingsworth," said the mill- 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 owner with all a practical man s distaste for a thing so 
 destructive to industry. " But no, I get along easily 
 enough with my help if quacks and tramps would only 
 keep out of the way ; though there is some kind of an 
 agitation meeting to-night ; somebody is raising the 
 mischief among them. I wish I knew who it was," 
 and Mr. Breton looked impatiently around the room 
 as if he hoped to seize the incendiary in some corner 
 of his own parlor. 
 
 He met Bertha s blue eyes wide open in a new 
 interest. She had half turned from the piano, but 
 her sleeve was caught back on the edge of the key 
 board, revealing the fair full contour of her arm 
 which glistened whiter than the ivory beneath it. 
 
 " A mystery, how charming !" she smiled, " Let 
 me picture him : tall, with clustering auburn hair 
 on his god-like head " 
 
 " Pish excuse me, my dear but more likely the 
 fellow is some low, drunken jail-bird you would be 
 afraid to pass on the street. Some day they will 
 find out there is no good making working people 
 uneasy. They want the work, and they ought to 
 be glad the work wants them. Their interests are 
 identical with ours." 
 
 " No doubt," assented Mr. Ellingsworth, in his 
 suavest tones, that seemed too smooth for satire. 
 " but perhaps they think you get too large a share 
 of the dividends." 
 
A PICTURE AND ITS CRITICS. J 
 
 " You like to round your sentences pretty well," 
 retorted Mr. Breton, flushing slightly, " but do you 
 mean to say, you, of all men, sympathize with this 
 labor-reform nonsense ? Why, you will be marrying 
 your servant girl next." 
 
 Ellingsworth smiled and shrugged his shapely 
 shoulders just visibly. 
 
 " You ought to know me, Mr. Breton. I sympa 
 thize with nobody. It is too much trouble. And 
 as for the sufferings of the lower classes they may 
 be very pitiable but I don t see how the nether 
 mill-stone can help itself, or for that matter be 
 helped either." Then he smiled again and glanced 
 curiously toward the piano. 
 
 " Why where are our young people? " 
 
 After considerable dumb show, Bertha had be 
 come aware that Philip had some intelligence of a 
 startling nature to communicate. So it happened 
 that, at the moment Mr. Ellingsworth inquired 
 for them, the young people stood just inside the 
 door of the cosy little room called " the study." 
 
 " I am going to have some high fun to-night, 
 Bertha, I am going to that labor meeting. I want 
 to see the business from the inside, when the public 
 show isn t going on." 
 
 The girl looked at him in astonishment, " They 
 won t let you in." 
 
 " That s just where the fun is coming. It is 
 
8 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 going to be better than all the college deviltry, and 
 - wait here two minutes and I ll show you." 
 
 Book shelves ran up to the ceiling on the side of the 
 room, opposite the door. A long office table stretched 
 across the centre almost to the high window looking 
 toward the street. But all the business associations 
 did not oppress this elegant young woman, who 
 threw herself in luxurious abandon into the solitary 
 easy chair. She apparently did not find love very 
 disturbing. No doubt she only smiled at its poems 
 fervid with a passion unknown to her calm, even 
 life. Her young lover had often been frightened at 
 the firm outline of the cold red lips, with never a 
 thought of kisses on them, and at the sprite-like 
 unconsciousness of her blue eyes that looked curi 
 ously at him when love softened his voice and glori 
 fied his face, She was not listening for his return 
 ing footsteps, not one line of eagerness or of sus 
 pense was on the dispassionate face, while she 
 played with the flashing jewel her lover had placed 
 long ago on her finger. 
 
 The door opens behind her but she does not 
 turn her head no doubt he will come in front of 
 her if he wishes to be there he is, a slight figure 
 looking very odd and disagreeable in the soiled and 
 ill-fitting clothes he has put on, with no collar or 
 cuffs, but a blue flannel shirt open a button or two 
 at his neck. His faded pantaloons were roughly 
 
A PICTURE AND ITS CRITICS. 9 
 
 thrust into the tops of an immense pair of cowhide 
 boots which apparently had never been so much as 
 shadowed by a box of blacking. His black eyes 
 sparkle as he holds out to her a bandless felt hat 
 which shows the marks of a long and varied history. 
 Bertha looked at him in dull distaste. What a poor 
 mouth he had, and how unpleasantly his face 
 wrinkled when he smiled. 
 
 " I wouldn t ever do this again," she said coldly. 
 A. hurt look came into his eyes, he dropped his hat 
 on the floor, and was turning dejectedly away. The 
 fun was all gone, and her words and her look, he 
 knew, would come back to him a thousand times 
 when he should be alone. 
 
 But she put out her hand to him like the sceptre 
 of a queen. " Never mind you will generally wear 
 better clothes than these, won t you?" 
 
 " But I wouldn t like to have that make any 
 difference ? " said Philip, looking wistfully at the 
 cool white hand he held. " Supposing I was poor 
 
 She drew her hand away impatiently. If he had 
 known how he looked then, he would have chosen 
 another time for his lover s foolishness. 
 
 " Don t get poor. I like pretty things and graceful 
 manners, and elegant surroundings ; that is the way I 
 am made. I should suffocate if I didn t have them." 
 
 " But ? " urged Philip uneasily, " you couldn t love 
 anybody but me, could you ? 
 
I O THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 She smiled charmingly. " You must not let 
 me?" Then she rose as if to dismiss the subject 
 " Are you all ready ? " 
 
 In a minute more he was, after he had fastened 
 on his yellow whiskers and bronzed over his face 
 and neck, and white wrists. " Your own father 
 wouldn t know you ! " she laughed, as they opened 
 the outer door. Philip went down two steps. 
 
 " You shake the foundation with those boots." 
 He was quite recovering his spirits, now that she 
 was so kind with him. " And you will tell me all 
 about it, and whether the leader has auburn hair as 
 I said? How long before you will come back an 
 hour ? Well, I ll be here as long as that." 
 
 He pulled his great hat well down over his eyes 
 and started, but at the gate he turned to look back. 
 
 Bertha stood in the doorway, tall and queenly, 
 the red gold of her hair glistening in the light like a 
 halo about her head. He could not catch the look 
 in her face, but as she stood, she raised her hand to 
 her lips and threw him a kiss with a gesture of 
 exquisite grace. And she was his ; why did he like 
 to persecute her for a confession she was ashamed 
 yet to give, when soon perhaps she would warm his 
 heart with a thousand times diviner words of love 
 than any he could put into her mouth. 
 
 In a moment more he heard her at the piano, and 
 he tried to keep clumsy step to the strain from " La 
 Traviata " that came throbbing after him. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 Masquerading, 
 
 PHILIP pushed open the door of " Market 
 Hall " and looked in. About sixty men were 
 scattered over the benches in all conceivable posi 
 tions. A number held pipes between their teeth, 
 filling the room with the rank smoke of the strongest 
 and blackest tobacco. Here and there two men 
 appropriated a whole bench, one at each end for a 
 sofa. But more of them were settled down on the 
 small of their backs with their knees braced against 
 the bench in front. He saw in a moment, that 
 though he was worse dressed than any of them yet 
 there was a difference in kind also. There was more 
 meaning in one wrinkle on their well worn coats, 
 than in all his ingenious paraphernalia. He felt 
 ashamed in the presence of these pathetic realities, 
 and turned to go back, but his great boots creaked 
 incautiously. Only two or three looked around ; 
 a poor man more or less does not count for much 
 with the poor or with the rich. Two or three grave 
 worn faces, two or three pairs of tired, hopeless 
 eyes rebuked him for the idle freak that brought him 
 
12 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 there. What right had he there, who came out of 
 curiosity to watch the unhealthy symptoms of the 
 disease called poverty? What an insult to their bitter 
 needs were his mock trimmings, in which he came like 
 one masquerading among a graveyard full of ghosts ! 
 
 " Hold on, friend, ye needn t go," and a long- 
 whiskered man beckoned to him. 
 
 He found his way to a seat with a hang-dog air, 
 the best piece of acting he had done yet. The same 
 stolid look was on this man s face, bleached to a 
 settled paleness from the confinement of years in 
 the walls of the mills, and there was a bitterness 
 about the mouth and nostrils as if he had not kissed 
 the rod that smote him. 
 
 " No call to be shamed, young man. I suppose 
 them s the best clothes you got. Your heart may be 
 just as white as if you d cheated out a better livin . " 
 
 The poor don t talk only when they have some 
 thing to say. So Philip said nothing, to act in char 
 acter. 
 
 " I suppose you think you re pretty hard up," re 
 sumed the big-whiskered man who was no other than 
 Graves, the man who had peered into his companion s 
 parlor window only an hour ago. And he glanced 
 significantly at Philip s boots and soiled pantaloons. 
 
 " Jest look at that little chap over y6nder all 
 bowed up. He don t look very hearty, does he? Up 
 to his house there s a wife all faded and broken and 
 
MA SQ UERA DING. 1 3 
 
 two little cripples for children, a whinin and a 
 screechin from mornin to night. He would chop 
 his head off to help them, but he is slow and weak 
 and don t git but ninety cents a day, and he can t 
 save them babies a single ache, nor ease their poor 
 misshapen little bones one twinge. It takes every 
 penny to keep the wretched breath in em all, and 
 him and his wife, once as purty a gal as ever you 
 seen, has only to stand and see em cry. They used 
 to cry themselves, too, but that was long ago. Why 
 how surprised and sorry you look, young feller. 
 Where was you raised that ye aint seen such things ? " 
 Graves looked about him. " I could tell you 
 something about well nigh every man here, that if 
 some fool put it in potry the rich would cry beautiful 
 over it. But their tears wouldn t loosen their grip on 
 our throats, you be sure. Do you see that lean-faced 
 man with the hurt arm at the end of the seat ye re 
 on ? Well, he s got the smartest little boy in town. 
 All he wanted was schoolin and his father and 
 mother saved and scrimped so he could have it. You 
 oughter seen how proud they was to see their lad 
 struttin off to school while they kept a thinkin of 
 him all day long in the mill. And they was never 
 too tired to hear the boy tell them over the hard 
 names he had learned. And then they would tell the 
 neighbors who sometimes got jealous, how they was 
 savin every cent and how their boy was goin to col- 
 
14 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 lege like old Breton s son. But there was no call for 
 the neighbors to be jealous ; the woman went to 
 work one day when she was sick and caught her 
 death o cold and it took a mint of money to nuss and 
 then bury her. Then the man fell and got hurt and 
 the little boy cried enough to break your heart when 
 they took his books away." The face of the long- 
 whiskered man softened an instant. But he turned 
 his head away. 
 
 " He needn t a cried," he said gruffly, " I don t 
 know as he was any better than the rest of us." 
 
 Now there came a little commotion on the plat 
 form. 
 
 "Do you know what s up, young feller?" and 
 Graves looked at his neighbor curiously. "Why we 
 heard the other day we had some rights as well as 
 wrongs. We heard a crust of bread and a bare room 
 to sleep and die in we heard that isn t pay enough 
 for all we do feedin and clothin the world. There s 
 Curran shut up now." 
 
 A man who sat head and shoulders above the 
 group on the platform rose to his full height like a 
 young giant and came forward. He looked down 
 into the upturned faces for a moment in silence, and 
 Philip felt his steel-blue eyes piercing him like a 
 sword. Could he tell by some unknown sympathetic 
 sense, which was the man had no right there, which 
 one had come into the assembly of the poverty- 
 
MA SQ UERA DING. 1 5 
 
 stricken only to mock them? He almost expected to 
 be pointed out before them all, and to be made to 
 writhe in every nerve and muscle at the depiction of 
 his own careless life. Philip felt this young giant 
 could do all this there was such an idea of power 
 breathing out of the man, with neck and shoulders 
 like a Hercules and dome-like forehead above heavy 
 overhanging brows. 
 
 " Men," he began. Then he stopped speaking a. 
 moment. " Yes, men you are, in spite of all the 
 degradation the rich and the powerful can put upon 
 you. The time is coming, when the principles of 
 equality vaunted on the pages of so many lying con 
 stitutions, and breathed on the lips of so many false- 
 tongued demagogues, shall be fully realized. The 
 time is coming when the work shall not be on one 
 side, and the reward on the other. We shall not 
 always wear rags as the livery of our masters. Not 
 always shall the poor rise early and toil late, wear 
 their skin till it be shriveled like parchment, and 
 their bodies till they be ready to drop into the grave for 
 weariness, only to pluck the fruit of God s bountiful 
 earth for the lips of the idle and the proud to taste. 
 The gracious favors of ten thousand smiling hills and 
 valleys are gathered only for the few, and those 
 whose arrogance and hardness of heart have least de 
 served them. And they tell us it must be so ; that the 
 few who are more capable and prudent should thus 
 
1 6 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 be rewarded for their superiority. They point to six 
 thousand years oppression of the poor and say what 
 has been must be. Yes, for six thousand years the 
 groans of the poor have gone- up, and as long the 
 few, for whom alone all the beauty and bounty of the 
 great earth seemed to blossom, have answered with 
 curses and contempt." Now his magnificent chest 
 seemed to expand ; his voice lost its pathetic tone 
 and rang out like a trumpet. 
 
 " But the knowledge they have given to make us 
 better slaves, is bursting our fetters before their 
 frightened eyes. The astonished people see at 
 last the black and monstrous injustice of their sub 
 jection. They have numbered their hosts, as count 
 less as the sands of the sea. It is the strength of 
 their arms has girdled the earth with unceasing 
 streams of wealth. It is the ingenuity of their 
 brains has harnessed each of the untamed forces of 
 nature to service. The infinite number of their cun 
 ning fingers has woven the fabrics to clothe Christen 
 dom, and their red blood poured out on a thousand 
 battle-fields has bought vain triumphs for the pride of 
 their masters." 
 
 His lips suddenly curled in majestic scorn. 
 " And how long will your patient, calloused hands 
 build palaces for the great, while you live in hovels? 
 Ought not such strong arms as yours be able to win 
 enough to make one modest home happy, if you 
 
MA SQ UERA DIN G. 1 7 
 
 were not robbed ? The world is full of cheap com 
 forts ; the harvests are boundless, the store-houses 
 bursting-, but each worthless pauper has as good a 
 share as you, who make the wealth. You cause the 
 increase, your hands till the teeming lands and work 
 the tireless looms. Your shoulders bow beneath 
 the products of your toil like muzzled oxen 
 beating out the grain for unpitying masters. Why 
 will you endure it? They tell you it is only right; 
 their books teach gentle submission ; their oily- 
 tongued speakers soothe you with proverbs and con 
 soling maxims, but all the wise men of centuries and 
 all the hundred thousand printing presses of to-day 
 heaping up books in every language like a new tower 
 of Babel, cannot turn a lie into the truth." 
 
 Philip sat leaning forward, his eyes fixed on the 
 speaker in a strange excitement. Curran s words 
 came into his soul like molten fire, consuming the 
 chaff of years and leaving a path of light behind. 
 He was full of wonder that he had been blind so 
 long, mixed with joy at his new piercing vision. 
 He had forgotten how he had come there, and felt a 
 sudden desire to take the hand of every poor man in 
 the room and pledge them his help. But no one 
 seemed touched as he was, the same hard look was 
 on each face, the mask the poor assume to cover 
 their distress, only the eyes of them all were centered 
 on their orator. 
 
 2 
 
1 8 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " But you are poor, and with your wives and 
 children are hungry for even the crust of bread your 
 masters cast you. Though you were a million to- 
 one, you are held to their service, no matter how 
 unjust, by the daily recurring facts of hunger and 
 cold. Look ! the fields are white with their har 
 vests, the shops filled with their cloths, but the law 
 makers and their pitiless police are in their pay, and 
 you must bow your meek necks and thank your 
 masters humbly for the trifle their greed vouchsafes 
 you." 
 
 Philip s heart thumped painfully behind his 
 faded coat. Could the speaker give no hope to the 
 wretched listeners hanging on his lips ? Must they 
 cringe forever at the foot of power ? Their thin 
 worn hands made the bread, but it was snatched 
 from their mouths, and doled out in scanty allowance 
 as the price of hopeless slavery. He had never seen 
 it before. 
 
 "Who is he?" he whispered to his companion. 
 The man did not even turn his face from the speaker. 
 
 " It is Curran. He belongs to the Labor League." 
 This, then, was the agitator his father spoke of. 
 And Bertha had pictured him rightly, with his clus 
 tering auburn hair. For a moment he stood silent, 
 while under the divine light in his eyes, the souls of 
 each one ripened for his next words. 
 
 " Alone, you can do nothing, alone ; whole fac- 
 
MA SQ UERADING. 1 9 
 
 tories of you cannot stand against the masters ; but 
 united, we can shake the world, and all over the 
 land the oppressed are banding together. We are 
 weak now, but when the long-stifled voice of your 
 wrongs finds utterance, the answering moans of mil 
 lions will rouse your souls to the resistless martyr 
 pitch. Then it will seem sweet to die ; yes, to 
 starve, with your dear ones about you, inspired with 
 the same enthusiasm. When the generation is 
 born, which dare starve, but has forgotten how to 
 yield, and even for the bread of life will not sell its 
 children into eternal slavery, then will the gold of 
 the rich rot worthless in their white hands till they 
 divide with us our common heritage." 
 
 He stopped and sat down, and as his enthusiasm 
 faded from his face, Philip saw he was not handsome. 
 Tire eyes that had seemed so wonderful, were too 
 deep seated beneath his heavy brows, and his 
 smooth shaved face was scarred from exposure to 
 sun. and storm; yet, while he had been speaking 
 pity and divine wrath in turn melting and burning 
 in his eyes and lighting up his rugged cheeks, he 
 seemed beautiful, like an archangel. 
 
 The audience sat in silence a moment, then one 
 man shuffled his feet uneasily, then another, and 
 then all rose listlessly to their feet. Philip thought 
 their zest in life had gone so long ago that they did 
 not even miss it, then he remembered what his life 
 
20 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 was, bright as a June morning. Did God love him 
 so much better than these weary creatures, whose 
 only refuge was in hopelessness ? Then he thought 
 of Bertha waiting for him, and he hurried out, glad 
 that he seemed to be escaping notice. Where was 
 the funny adventure he had to tell his sweetheart r 
 A new world had been revealed to him ; a world 
 within the world he had played with, that knew no 
 such thing as mirth, fed forever on bitter realities, 
 and his little spark of happiness seemed smothered 
 in its black night. Once outside the hall, Philip 
 drew back into an obscure corner under the low 
 hanging branches of an old elm, to watch the peo 
 ple scatter to their homes. Each one must have a 
 family circle of his own. There were hungry eyes 
 that looked to him for the cheer his poor heart was 
 too dead to give. For each one there was a home 
 without comfort, where nobody smiled, where chil 
 dren s voices were hushed, and even the sick had 
 learned to stifle their moans. Philip thought he 
 would like to see Curran once more ; his heart was 
 glowing so genially for him. As a devotee divides 
 his love between his religion and the prophet who 
 taught it to him, so Philip had a feeling in his heart 
 for this man such as he never had known for any 
 man before. His pulse came quick at the hope of 
 speaking with him, of touching his hand ; he longed 
 to tell him how he honored him ; he wanted to 
 
MA SQ UERA DING. 2 1 
 
 pledge him his friendship if he would stoop to take it. 
 Suddenly a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder. 
 
 " Praps you aint got no place to go to, friend." 
 It was his big-whiskered companion in the hall, 
 Graves. Why couldn t he have kept away just now ? 
 
 " I sort o liked your looks in the meetin to 
 night, and you re welcome to a bed at my house if 
 you want it." 
 
 " Oh no," stumbled Philip, at his wit s end. 
 
 " Oh no ? Why not then ? Where be you goin 
 to stay ? " and the man took his hand from the young 
 man s shoulder and eyed him suspiciously. " Why, 
 he wanted to go home and lay off his masquerade 
 forever. Bertha, all radiant in all that wealth can 
 add to beauty, was awaiting him. He had so much 
 to tell her," but he had nothing to say aloud. 
 
 " I won t take no refusal," insisted the man, tak 
 ing Philip by the arm. " No words, Jane will get 
 along easy with an extra for once. I presume 
 you ve slept in wuss places." 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 An Unwilling Guest. 
 
 PHILIP thought things were going a little too 
 far, and as he walked along with his undesirable 
 host, he began to plan escapes. He would select a 
 certain alley-way or dark corner for an attempt at 
 flight. But each time just as he was about to spring 
 his tall companion happened to be just in his way. 
 So finally he decided to see his adventure through. 
 
 The moonlight shimmered on the green leaves 
 and silvered the commonest objects near their path. 
 Up on the hill to his left he could see, now and then, 
 between the houses, his own home and the lights in 
 its window streaming welcome to him. The tense 
 mood relaxed in him, old habits of thought and 
 association made themselves felt again ; the poor 
 man walking heavily by his side seemed a thousand 
 miles removed from him. No doubt the poor were 
 unhappy, but as the vivid sense of kinship for them 
 faded from his mind, Philip felt more able to com 
 fort himself with good old proverbs and maxims. 
 Probably his father and a thousand others as wise 
 and kind as he, were as sorry for the unfortunate as 
 
AN UNWILLING GUEST. 23 
 
 himself. Unfortunate yes, that was the word and 
 misfortunes of course are to be borne resignedly 
 by everybody, including the lookers-on. 
 
 " Here we are," said Graves, as he led the mill- 
 owner s son up a couple of rickety-looking steps to a 
 doorway. A mat of what may have once been 
 bristles lay there and the blank panels of the door 
 stared the young aristocrat unpleasantly in the face. 
 He was not pleased at all ; he had seen enough pov 
 erty to-night, he did not care to particularize. What 
 was the use of distressing himself over this man s 
 private miseries and discomforts ? Wasn t it written 
 in all the books of political economy that but 
 Graves opened the door and waited for his unwilling 
 guest to go in before him. The poor man s heart 
 was warm with the unwonted exercise of hospitality. 
 Far from him to suspect he was entertaining a man 
 whose delicate taste would revolt against the best he 
 could show him. 
 
 With an ungracious frown on his face Philip 
 entered the dimly lighted room, his great boots sound 
 ing with startling effect on the bare floor. The top- 
 heavy kerosene lamp was turned down, perhaps to 
 hide the ugliness of the room, more likely to save 
 oil, but with the heartiness of a true host, Graves 
 turned up the lamp so that Philip could look about 
 him. There was little enough to see a round pine 
 table with a little blue, cracked crockery on it, a 
 
24 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 rusty cooking-stove, two or three dingy, unpainted 
 chairs. There was something more, a high-backed 
 rocking chair with a faded shapeless chintz cushion, 
 and what seemed to be a sofa in one corner. At 
 first Philip thought the room had been unoccupied, 
 but as Graves turned up the lamp a trifle more, he 
 saw it was a woman lying upon the sofa, a woman 
 with sunken black eyes, and wan colorless cheeks, 
 whose loosely-bound hair, grey before its time, fell 
 down over her shoulders. 
 
 " The woman is sick or she d get up and speak to 
 you ? " said Graves with a new gentleness in his voice, 
 as he looked at the wife of his youth. " They say 
 she might get well if we could pay doctors bills. 
 All she says she hopes for now, is to die and rest. 
 Eh, Jennie ? " 
 
 Philip moved uneasily in his chair, the frown had 
 left his face, the same expression had come into his 
 eyes and upon his lips, that he had worn at the meet 
 ing, and even under his paint if made him handsome. 
 The woman did not speak, but the questioning look 
 in her beautiful eyes seemed to reproach her hus 
 band for bringing a stranger there. Was this the 
 " Jane," Graves had spoken of, wondered Philip, 
 when an inner door opened and a young girl entered. 
 
 " Ah, these poor people have one thing of beauty 
 to solace their wretchedness." The courtly Philip 
 fairly lost his self-possession for a moment at the 
 
AN UNWILLING GUEST. 2$ 
 
 unlooked-for picture. The girl who stood in the 
 doorway was not tall, and the outlines of her figure 
 were so perfect as to give perhaps a mistaken im 
 pression of slight ness. She had her mother s eyes, 
 not quite large enough, but with a rare sheen in 
 them ; it might be her mother s face, too, but with 
 the bloom of perfect health lightening up its olive. 
 
 Involuntarily he rose to his feet and bowed, but 
 as the girl only seemed to regard him as one might 
 look at a circus tumbler, Philip relapsed into his 
 seat, in the humiliation beauty can put upon the 
 greatest of us. 
 
 " Nothin but cold potatoes ? Well I guess they ll 
 do with a little salt and a piece of bread." 
 
 "But I am not hungry?" exclaimed Philip 
 eagerly. " I had a hearty meal only two hours ago." 
 
 " More like you don t like what we can set before 
 you ? Perhaps you re one of them tramps that 
 turns up their nose at anything but cake and pies." 
 
 And Graves looked at his guest in some distrust, 
 and the daughter s red lips curled scornfully as she 
 waited in the doorway. 
 
 Philip flushed hotly. " Oh no, there is nothing I 
 like better, I only thought I wouldn t trouble you." 
 But the young man watched the girl uneasily as she 
 prepared his strange meal for him. Would it be some 
 thing he could not swallow? He had been a little 
 hasty in insisting he liked nothing better. When a 
 
26 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 man is lying he does it too much at wholesale; if 
 people would only lie in moderation, as they tell the 
 truth, it would be so much safer. 
 * -..- " I guess he ll get along?" said the man, drawing 
 up to the table, " bring a pitcher of water, Jane, aint 
 you seen times friend, you would have smacked your 
 lips for as much?" 
 
 Philip laughed in spite of himself, but nobody 
 else smiled and the sick woman opened her eyes in 
 astonishment, at the unusual sound of laughter. 
 Then there came a period of silence. The startling 
 echoes of his laugh were in Philip s ear, and he was 
 thoroughly ashamed of himself. He tried to make 
 amends for what surely was unnatural hilarity by 
 showing his thorough appreciation of bread, water, 
 and cold potatoes. He took up his knife and fork 
 with nervous energy and cut off a quarter of a potato. 
 Salt, at least, he was accustomed to, and he made 
 the potato white with it, when he discovered Mr. 
 Graves and his daughter were watching him very 
 curiously. Why hadn t he known enough to have 
 stayed at home ? but here he was, and he must rise 
 to the emergency. He put the uninviting morsel 
 into his mouth. Good heavens ! did the poor live 
 on such food as this? He made frantic efforts to 
 swallow, so that the tears came into his eyes. 
 
 " Be you sick, young man ? " 
 
 " Did Curran speak ? " interrupted the girl. 
 
AN UNWILLING GUEST. 2? 
 
 14 Yes," answered Philip quickly, glad of a dis 
 traction. " And who is he a common laborer ?" 
 Then he bit his lip. 
 
 But nobody took offence, no one suspected their 
 guest of being anything above a common laborer. 
 
 The purity of his language or his accent would 
 not betray him, there is no such plain badge of 
 class in this country. The virtues and even the 
 refinements are pretty evenly distributed. If the 
 rich were poor, and the poor rich to-morrow, a 
 month more might smooth over all incongruous- 
 ness. 
 
 The girl was nervously picking at her dress, her 
 head bowed away from him, showing a wavy mass 
 of black hair. Why shouldn t so pretty a girl have 
 a lover? But where were the lines of content and 
 joy that love ought to give? Is even love turned 
 into bitterness for the poor ? Can their youths and 
 maidens remember, even in the glow of love, that all 
 paths for the poor lead to the same goal of hopeless 
 wretchedness? 
 
 " Only a laborer," answered Graves, " a weaver, 
 but he s got some book knowledge somehow. There 
 aint many can beat him at talkin , is there ? " 
 
 The girl s eyes were on Philip now, impatient, as 
 he fancied, even for his poor tribute to her lover s 
 praise. 
 
 " He is wonderful," he assented, " but what I 
 
28 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 don t understand is, that he can be such a man and 
 still a weaver. Where did he learn it all? " 
 
 " Have you got enough to eat? Well, knowl 
 edge has got pretty well through all classes now, 
 for those as wants it. It s there for all who have 
 eyes or ears for it. Why, friend, where have you 
 been all your life? Brains and hearts don t go by 
 station. I ve found smarter men in shops and mills 
 than most we send to Congress. There s thousands 
 like Curran, if they only got the stirrin he s had 
 someway. Now, Jane, it s about time you got this 
 man s bed ready." 
 
 Philip s heart jumped. Of course he couldn t stay, 
 but what excuse could he give for coming at all, 
 then ? 
 
 " Be you lookin for a job? " asked Graves, after 
 his daughter had left them. 
 
 It occurred to Philip that he had one, if he 
 wanted it to put one spark of happiness into such 
 lives as these, but he nodded. The man looked him 
 over rather disparagingly. 
 
 " Well, wash yourself up and black your boots a 
 bit, and I guess I can do somethin for you in the 
 mill. It s hard work and small pay, but we never 
 had better, you and me. We don t well know what 
 we miss bein poor, we miss it such a big ways." 
 
 " How long has Curran lived here ?" asked Philip 
 incoherently. The man stared at him a moment. 
 
AN UN WILLING GUEST. 2g 
 
 "Oh! Curran, he aint been here more n a six 
 month. He s bout as queer a chap as you be, in his 
 way ; he aint got no folks ; he lives down to one of 
 them factory boardin houses, but don t have no 
 friends, or talk about anythin but what you heard 
 to-night. But it s all useless." Graves looked 
 gloomily on the floor. " We aint got no show ; the 
 rich are too many for us. I guess it s human nature 
 for one man to boss the crowd, or it wouldn t a 
 always been so. There s the girl, she ll show you 
 where to sleep. Be up early in the mornin , now." 
 
 The only course for him seemed to be to follow 
 the girl, and Philip rose to his feet. 
 
 " Good night," he said. The sick woman opened 
 her eyes in surprise. Such people as they found no 
 time for amenities in their dreary home. Graves 
 looked around. 
 
 " What ? oh, yes, good-bye, but I m goin to see 
 you in the mornin ." 
 
 His bed-room on which the roof encroached 
 greedily, was newly whitewashed, or else was sel 
 dom used. His lamp sat on a wooden chair with no 
 back to it, crowded by a tin wash-basin with his 
 portion of water half filling it, and a round black 
 ball of soap. Then Philip turned to look at the 
 bed they had made for him on a slat bedstead with 
 low head-board but not so low as the thin pillow. 
 How many times must anybody double the pillow to 
 
30 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 make it fit for his head ? For a counterpane was the 
 girl s plaid shawl ; he had seen it on a nail down 
 stairs. Poor little girl, she would want it very early in 
 the morning. Then he glanced in the eight-by-ten 
 looking-glass that hung on the white wall. Dis 
 guised ! his own father would not have known him, 
 and he had a sensation of double consciousness as 
 he saw his own reflection. Perhaps Graves was 
 disguised too, and all the ill-dressed men he had seen 
 that evening, who suffered as much in their wretched 
 lives as he could, who could enjoy all that bright 
 ened his own life as much. And clothes made the 
 difference between him and them, apparently, per 
 haps really. The world managed according to the 
 clothes standard for the man who could borrow a 
 broadcloth suit, comforts, consideration, happiness, 
 for the man in overalls, weary days, cheerless 
 houses, hunger and bah ! Philip pulled off his 
 great boots and threw them angrily across the 
 room ; he did not know what to make of it all. 
 
 He did not propose to spend the night here, of 
 course, and face the family and his job in the mill in 
 the morning, but he might as well lie down till the 
 house was asleep, and escape became possible. But he 
 could not lie down with all his paint on, and spoil the 
 poor little pillow. So he takes off his yellow whiskers 
 and makes such good use of the basin of water and the 
 ball of soap, that when he next looked in the little mir- 
 
AN UNWILLING GUEST. 31 
 
 ror, he saw no longer the road-dusty tramp, but the 
 fresh, kindly face of a young man who has never 
 tasted of the bitter fountains of life. He started as 
 if he had been shot ; the windows had no curtains, 
 and any passer-by might have seen his transforma 
 tion. Then came a heavy step on the stairs. He blew 
 out the light and buried himself in the bed-clothes. 
 In a moment more the door opened and Philip was 
 breathing heavily. 
 
 " Asleep?" it was the voice of his host. " Well, 
 I s pose the morning will do. Pretty tired, I guess ; 
 wonder how far he came to-day," and Graves closed 
 the door after him and went down stairs again. 
 
 Of course Philip was not going to sleep, but 
 there would be no harm in just closing his eyes, he 
 could think so much better. 
 
 Here he was drinking in the very life of the 
 poor, a strange, terrible life, he had never really im 
 agined before. He had seen how worn and broken 
 were their men, and read the pathetic lines of de 
 spair and sullen wretchedness written on their faces, 
 as if in silent reproach to the providence that had 
 inflicted the unsoftened curse of life on them. He 
 had seen, too, their hapless girlhood, which beauty 
 cannot cheer, which love only makes blacker, as the 
 path of lightning on a starless night. And their 
 sick, with no nursing, no gentle words, no comforts 
 to assuage one hour of pain. Then he seemed to 
 
3 2 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 be in the hall once more, and thrilling under the 
 eloquence of the man, Curran. Suddenly he opened 
 his eyes wide. It could not be he was going to 
 sleep, the bed was too hard absurd there could 
 be no danger. But in five minutes the heir of the 
 Breton Mills was sound asleep in John Graves gar 
 ret room. 
 
 How long he had slept Philip had no more idea 
 than Rip Van Winkle on a former occasion ; indeed 
 it took him a ridiculously long time to separate 
 dreams and facts enough to get his bearings. Was 
 that moonlight in the east, or dawn ? Perhaps the 
 family were all up and escape would be impossible. 
 He bounded to his feet and clutched at his false 
 whiskers, but, alas, his paint was all dissolved in the 
 tin basin. His only chance was in getting away 
 unnoticed, and in two minutes more he was groping 
 out of his little room and down the steep stairs, 
 boots in hand. He slowly opened the door into the 
 sitting-room. What if Graves stood within curiously 
 watching. An odd guest, this stealing out before 
 day-break. Again Philip wished he had stayed at 
 home that night. 
 
 Thank God ! no one was in the room. There 
 was the cracked, rusty stove, and the sofa the sick 
 woman had lain upon ; there was the dish of cold 
 potatoes on the table, and the chair he had sat in 
 while he tried to eat/ But somebody must be up 
 
AN UNWILLING GUEST. 33 
 
 in the inner room ; a stream of light made a white 
 track through the half open-door. Would that bolt 
 never slip there. It slipped with a vengeance, and 
 Philip drew back into the staircase in mortal terror. 
 I he light streak on the floor began to move and in 
 a moment more a white figure stood on the threshold 
 of the bed-room. It was Jane Graves with her long 
 black hair about her neck and white night-dress, and 
 her eyes glistening brightly. She held the lamp above 
 her head, and let her drapery cling fondly as it chose 
 about a form that would have charmed a sculp 
 tor. As she listened he could see her wavy hair rise 
 and fall over her beating heart. Would she notice the 
 open stair door, and come forward ? What then ? 
 He must push her rudely to one side. He imagined 
 her startled screams and the father s figure hurrying 
 into the scene from another room to seize the inter 
 loper. No, she returns to her room. In another 
 instant he has opened the door and is walking along 
 the street. His escape was well-timed for the grey 
 dawn of another day of toil and weariness is creeping 
 over the factory village. 
 
 The houses were all alike, the front doors just as 
 soiled, the steps equally worn, the paint the same 
 cheerless yellow to a shade. Through the windows 
 of one of them he caught a glimpse of a tall gaunt 
 woman building the kitchen fire, her face and form 
 lighted up by the flames she was nursing. His 
 3 
 
34 THE BRETON MILL!*. 
 
 ready imagination pictured the wan-featured man 
 who must be her husband, out of whose eyes had 
 faded so many years ago the last lingering gleam of 
 tenderness. He imagined their old-faced, joyless 
 children begrudged the scant play hours of child 
 hood. Trooping behind them all, he pictured a long 
 line of special wants and sorrows, the companions of 
 their days, the spectres of their nights. Their houses 
 looked all alike as he walked along, so their lives 
 might seem just alike at first thought. Ten hours 
 for each in the same mills who got almost the same 
 pittance for their hot work and must spend their 
 pennies for almost the same necessities. But infinite 
 must be the diversities of their suffering. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Crying for the Moon. 
 
 THE strident voices of four hundred looms would 
 seem to be too much for human nerves, but the 
 walls of the weave-room number two of the Breton 
 Mills are hung with soiled plaid shawls and chip hats, 
 the livery of the factory girl. Their restless forms arc 
 busy among the rattling machinery, their swift cun 
 ning fingers moving harmlessly where mutilation 
 would seem certain. It is a mere matter of habit, one 
 look at most of the set pale faces, would show there 
 was no brain force -in exercise. Why, the overseer 
 will tell you those girls are as much machines as the 
 frames and belting ; though they undoubtedly have 
 one advantage for the employers, the girls are 
 cheaper. The wonderful mechanism of those looms, 
 the skillful system of belts and pulleys, and the enor 
 mous water-wheel cost a fortune ; girls can be bought 
 in the market any day for a crust of bread. 
 
 Is not that figure familiar the one that stands 
 this moment leaning against a dingy white pillar, 
 while the rushing belts and sliding frames seem 
 hurrying the faster all about her ? Yes, on the piece 
 
3 6 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 of wall between the two jail-like windows nearest to 
 her, hangs the plaid shawl Philip Breton had for a 
 counterpane only last night. Her dress is soiled and 
 ill made, and her hair tied up in the closest and 
 ugliest coil to escape the greedy machinery, ever 
 reaching out for new victims. But the warm soft 
 lint of her cheeks, and the moist sheen in her black 
 eyes, were always the same, and many a young man 
 would rather look at her this minute than turn off 
 an extra cut, they call it, of cloth at twenty cents. 
 She is not gazing out of the window ; Jane Graves is 
 not the sort of girl that pines for the glories of the 
 hills, or the speaking silence of the woods ; she is only 
 looking down at her own little hand and noting 
 how stained and calloused it is. 
 
 Her days used to be more terrible to her even 
 than now. She had wished every morning, that she 
 might die before night, and at night that God would 
 take her before morning ; take her, she cared not 
 where, no place could be worse, certain. Some 
 women seemed made for sacrifice, better women than 
 she, no doubt. She could only enjoy light and 
 gayety, that was all her nature was pitched just 
 aright for, and thoughtless pleasure. What a pretty 
 hand it would be if it could only have a chance to 
 get white and soft : it was cruel to make it work. 
 But she was slowly growing, she thought, into the 
 dead calm that all the rest had learned, and yet how 
 
CRYING FOR THE MOON. 37 
 
 she hated the great massive mills, irresistible giants 
 that held her with deathless grasp, grimly contemptu 
 ous of her writhings, and foolish struggles. The over 
 seers, too, how she hated them ; their sharp words 
 stung her like the lash of so many taskmasters, and 
 the paymaster who doled out to her the few dollars, 
 the wages of her blood and life, as if that could be 
 paid for. She had longed so many times, to throw 
 back his money in the smiling patronizing face, only 
 the poor cannot afford the dearest of all luxuries, 
 pride. 
 
 Suddenly the mill bell rung out above the roar 
 of the wheels, and at its voice the looms stopped, 
 the breath of their life taken away, and the belts 
 ceased from their endless race. 
 
 Another day s work was closed, and the poor girls 
 hurried on their shawls and hats as if at last some 
 thing pleasant awaited them, and went out in chat 
 tering groups. 
 
 Jane Graves hated to follow the awkward throng, 
 and preferred the longer way home, around by the 
 hill. Besides, she could catch the breath of a differ 
 ent life, the life she knew she was meant for, the life 
 of those who enjoy, rather than the life of those who 
 earn. Wasn t she prettier than the other girls ; and 
 what good had her beauty done her yet, but won 
 her a few more insults she was too poor to resent. 
 
 "What is it, Tommie?" A broad shouldered 
 
38 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 young fellow had left the crowd, and followed her 
 shyly up the hill. 
 
 " Nothin much, only, may I walk home with 
 you ? " 
 
 " Will that do you any good? Hurry up then." 
 
 He was an honest-faced young fellow, and a little 
 better dressed than most of the admiring group that 
 waited about the mill-yard gate, to see Jane Graves 
 go by. 
 
 " What you want to walk round here with me for, 
 I can t see. They can t work you very hard, Tom- 
 mie, if you want so much extra exercise." 
 
 It was rather a contemptuous laugh she had for 
 him, but she showed a row of small white teeth, that 
 poor Tommie thought were very beautiful. 
 
 " I wanted to say somethin particular, Jennie ? " 
 And he reached down his big dingy hand for a stalk 
 of grass, and began pulling- it nervously to pieces, as 
 he kept up with her quick feet. They were just pass 
 ing Mr. Ellingsworth s house, and father and daughter 
 stood in the doorway. No doubt Mr. Ellingsworth 
 had just come home to tea. He held his tall felt hat 
 in his hand, while he waited with his beautiful daugh 
 ter, to enjoy the soft spring mildness. Jane Graves 
 could see in behind them. How could they bear to 
 stay outside. She saw a white spread tea table glis 
 tening with silver and rare china, soft-tinted carpets 
 and pictures in rich gilded frames, far prettier, she was 
 
CR Y1NG FOR THE MOON. 39 
 
 sure, than anything nature had to show. The girl s 
 face, as she stood resting her white hand on her 
 father s shoulder, was as calm as the twilight itself. 
 
 " How has she deserved it all more than I ? She 
 was never tired in her life, and I never lie down at 
 night but my hands and feet ache. See what she gets 
 for being idle ; see what I get for my ten hours work, 
 every day since I was a child." The girl stopped a 
 .minute ; the flash of resentment faded out of her face. 
 u And I have got to keep it up till the end ; there s 
 no use fretting myself. If I only knew enough not 
 to hope for anything else, I d get along well as the 
 rest." 
 
 The young man by her side was a good deal dis 
 tressed ; he looked at her flushed cheeks that were 
 prettier than ever, and wondered vaguely what it 
 was she wanted so much. 
 
 " Oh no, you aint like the rest," he insisted, and 
 continued, " We ve known each other pretty long, 
 Jennie, and and," he had pulled the grass all 
 to pieces, " and I s pose you know how I ve I mean 
 what I ve felt. I am doing a little better now." 
 The young man s eyes brightened, " I ve got. a little 
 money left me, and you know I m just made second 
 hand." 
 
 "What is that to me, Tommie? " she said im 
 patiently. Her woman s soul was longing for the 
 beautiful life of the rich, whose house she was pass 
 
4O THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 ing, and she felt too the admiring glance Mr. Ellings- 
 worth had given to her graceful figure. Why was 
 this awkward boy by her side to spoil the effect ? 
 
 Tommie Bowler winced, but ducking his round 
 head to avoid the sharp look he feared was in the 
 beautiful eyes, he went on doggedly, 
 
 " I s posed we d been agoing together quite a 
 while Jennie, and I was goin to ask you when you 
 was willin to be married. * 
 
 " Married to you ? " 
 
 Ah, Tommie Bowler, what were you thinking of, 
 to want to marry a girl who had such a tone as that 
 for you ? 
 
 Tears of shame started into his eyes. " I aint 
 so low ; I never thought but what you would be 
 fore." 
 
 She gave him a look half curious and half pitiful. 
 He might as well have cried for the moon, could it 
 be the lad thought that just because she was pretty, 
 she could make his home happy for him, his? 
 
 " I m not going to have a hand at making an 
 other poor man s home. People like us had better 
 be single, there s only half the trouble that way, 
 Tommie." 
 
 The broad shouldered young man, who did not 
 know what was good for him, fell back from the 
 woman his heart hungered for, as if he was shot. 
 And she walked on with hardly another thought for 
 
CX YING FOR THE MOON-. 41 
 
 the foolish lover who imagined they two could be 
 happy together. 
 
 Why couldn t she be rich ? They had always 
 told her she was beautiful. If she only had a chance. 
 There were plenty of women who could get along in 
 the poorest homes, let them ; she could not. She 
 hated every breath she drew in them. Sometimes 
 she hated every creature she saw in them. They 
 say men are fools over pretty women, and that is 
 the only hope a woman has of winning her way. If 
 she only had a chance. 
 
 A delicate grey mist floated over the river below 
 the village, and the green forests and fresh meadows 
 on the other side smiled through it like a fair woman 
 through her tears. A tired soul might have drunk 
 in its beauty, and been rested, and Jane Graves cast 
 her eyes down on the dusty road before her, and 
 walked along with a set bitter curl on her bright red 
 lips, and did not once look at the gift of God s 
 mercy to the poorest of his creatures. For her part 
 she despised the poor ; she didn t pity them ; great, 
 strong men who submitted to be trodden on and 
 ground under the feet of the rich ; whose blood 
 and muscles and quivering flesh were weighed in the 
 balance against a few dollars of the speculators. It 
 was good enough for them as long as they submitted 
 to it. She didn t blame the rich ; they were the 
 only wise people ; she only envied them. They did 
 
42 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 well to take all they could get and walk over as many 
 thousands as would fall down before them. Oh ! if 
 she could only win her way to their ranks. But the 
 rich men do not come into the weave-room for their 
 enslavers. 
 
 Suddenly she heard a step behind her ; a step 
 she knew from all others in the world, and the whole 
 air seemed to tremble with a new, strange heavenly 
 impulse. 
 
 " Good evening, Jane." 
 
 She turned with a new sweet shyness. It was 
 Curran the agitator who was beside her. A soft 
 flush was on her cheeks, a warm light in her eyes 
 that had grown larger for him, in delicious surprise. 
 
 " Who is that young fellow who just left you ? " 
 
 " Oh, one of my lovers," she answered coquet- 
 tishly, dropping her eyes before his. 
 
 " He your lover ! " repeated Curran in his impe 
 rious fashion, " You re not for such as he, Jennie." 
 
 Her heart fluttered in sweet fear at the meaning 
 
 > 
 
 she thought in his words. She was trying to walk 
 very slowly, but how fast they seemed to pass the 
 houses. 
 
 " So I told him," she said. 
 
 " You did well, then," and he looked down ad 
 miringly on the girl. You are a fine woman. I 
 don t suppose you know it." 
 
 Jane Graves tried to look as if it was news to 
 
CR YING FOR 7 HE MOON. 43 
 
 her, and Curran went on. "Few women are prettier. 
 There are fine prizes for such as you in this world if 
 you will only wait." He continued thoughtfully, 
 " Men have to work for distinction ; a pretty face 
 brings it to women." 
 
 " What sort of prizes?" And she trusted her 
 self to look up at him. How grand he was, 
 with his firm, strong face. If he only had a touch 
 of weakness in him that might bend down to 
 her. 
 
 " Position, money, power." 
 
 " No woman cares for those." And she believed 
 it as she spoke, looking away over the river. 
 
 "What then?" he asked, smiling. "Those 
 things are what all men are working for, I suppose." 
 
 "Women care for but one thing." 
 
 Sometimes the climax of a character is reached 
 only in old age, when storms have wreaked their 
 fury for a lifetime on a soul. Sometimes it comes 
 in childhood, with threescore years of decline to 
 come after it. It was at this moment, that this 
 girl s life reached its moral height. If she could but 
 have kept it. 
 
 " That is love," she added softly. " It is their 
 lives; they hope only for that; they dream only 
 of it." 
 
 Curran laughed, but gently, as he took her hands 
 at parting ; pressing them perhaps unconsciously, 
 
44 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 but no man can be wholly careless to such beauty 
 as hers. 
 
 " It is only because women are more foolish than 
 men, not because they are more devoted, that they 
 are able to make such absurd mistakes." 
 
 She smiled on him as radiantly as a red-petaled 
 rose unfolding its glowing heart to the morning sun 
 the sun that gives everything and wants nothing, and 
 stood half turned watching his retiring form. And 
 people called him poor, too, and friendless, him 
 whose eloquence made him each day new lovers. 
 And as for poverty, if a woman s love could smooth 
 its path, she would so joyfully shower on him all 
 the gifts of tendern essher heart was so rich in for 
 him. She stood looking after him for a moment, 
 hoping he might turn for one parting glance, whose 
 sweet memory would thrill her foolish heart all 
 the night long. The road at this point passed near 
 a deserted ruin ; once a brick saw-mill, which had 
 shorn the hills and valleys around of their pride, 
 now a favorite trysting place for lovers of moon 
 light-nights like this would be. Currari was just 
 entering under an arch, where once had swung a 
 heavy oaken door which long ago had served some 
 shivering family for a week s firewood. 
 
 He went in and did not once turn. How cruel 
 men are. Perhaps, she told herself, he is to meet 
 there some messenger of the Great League he had 
 
CR YING FOR THE MOON. 45 
 
 told her about, and they will plan together some 
 bold stroke. It was beautiful to have such power, 
 even if it made him forget this one poor girl, whose 
 heart longed so eagerly for another smile. 
 
 The whole world seemed glorified to the girl as 
 she walked on. She had loitered so long that the 
 sun was now almost setting, with his flowing robe of 
 carmine about him, and the whole landscape seemed 
 in a rapture of silent worship. Jane Graves was 
 like one in a dream her home, which she could tell 
 from its cheap dreary counterparts, might have been 
 a palace ; the path along in front of it, beaten by so 
 many faltering footsteps, seemed only pleasantly 
 familiar to her. She wondered vaguely why the 
 mill-owner s mansion in the distance had seemed so 
 grim and hateful to her. What had she seen to envy 
 in anybody s life that had not her dear hope ! 
 
 But down the hill comes a great white horse, 
 tossing his mane and curvetting in the. pride of his 
 strength and beauty. 
 
 Its rider who held the rein so gracefully must be 
 young Philip, the mill-owner s son ; he had just fin 
 ished college, they said. So that was the young man 
 Bertha Ellingsworth was engaged to ; not ill looking, 
 and he rode well. The girl smiled to herself. " But 
 Bertha Ellingsworth had not seen Curran." 
 
 " Did he lift his hat to me ?" She looked inquir 
 ingly about her. " There is no one else, and his 
 
46 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 black eyes seemed to know me, too ; how odd ! " 
 thought the girl, as she walked on more hastily, and 
 the horse and its rider disappeared in a cloud of 
 dust. 
 
 " And it seems as if I had seen him somewhere, 
 too." 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 A Ruin by Moonlight. 
 
 ERTHA lay back indolently in her favorite arm 
 chair, watching the deepening twilight from 
 her parlor window. Her eyes were almost closed, 
 and Philip, affecting to be interested in Mr. Ellings- 
 worth s conversation, thought he might look at her 
 as fondly as he chose without discovery and rebuke. 
 He was sure he was not noticed, but the girl was 
 quite enjoying his silent offering so long as he did 
 not guess she perceived it. If a girl must have a 
 lover, Philip did very well. At least he knew she 
 was not one of the sentimental girls, with unlimited 
 capacity for foolishness. Yes, Philip s manners were 
 nearly as good as her father s, who had not kissed 
 her for ten years. Not that she would have endured 
 it for an instant if Philip had not wanted to make 
 love to her that would have been an insult. Her 
 lover was no divinity to her ; she saw all his faults as 
 clearly as anybody ; not with impatience, however, 
 that was not her temperament. For example, he 
 was too short, and his shoulders were too slight. 
 She never forgot it for an instant. But then he al- 
 
48 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 ways did what she said, and that was very conve 
 nient, and yet she was half provoked with him for it. 
 A man ought to command a woman s love, not try 
 to coax it from her. He thought quite too much 
 of her for what she returned him ; he ought to be 
 stern and cold to her sometimes, and give her a 
 chance to be something besides an ungrateful recip 
 ient. But perhaps she would not like him at all in 
 that character. She suddenly opened her eyes wide 
 and looked curiously at her lover ; there is nothing 
 so chilling as such a look as that, and Philip winced 
 under it. 
 
 " Well, I suppose you two are bursting with 
 tender confidences," smiled Mr. Ellingsworth as he 
 rose to his feet, " I really won t stay a minute 
 longer." He moved towards the door, then he 
 
 o 
 
 smiled and looked around ; he had thought of some 
 thing very funny. " Now Philip, my dear boy, you 
 mustn t be too sure of her just because she seems so 
 affectionate. That is where a young man makes 
 his worst mistake. As long as there is another man 
 in the world, he may have hope, that is, the other 
 man." 
 
 His daughter looked coolly after him, " Must 
 you go ? why we shall die of ennui. We shall have 
 to take a walk ourselves. Excuse me, Philip, while 
 I get ready." 
 
 Left alone, the young man rose and went to the 
 
A RUIN BY MOONLIGHT. 49 
 
 window, and looked out at the evening sky. There 
 -was a little frown on his face. "What an unpleas 
 ant- way of talking Bertha s father had. One would 
 think he believed in nothing. There was no danger 
 of his feeling any too sure of her ; how far away she 
 seemed to him. The idea of marriage seemed vague 
 and dreamlike, and yet he had her promise." 
 
 "You may adjust my shawl for me." His vexa 
 tion fled, and he smiled with the sweet complacency 
 of possession as he laid the delicate bit of lace about 
 her warm shoulders. To-night would be a good 
 time to turn his idea into a reality, and ask her 
 when 
 
 " But you must promise me one thing," she said, 
 standing close to him for one moment. 
 
 " What is that, Bertha, dear ?" he asked with 
 guilty uneasiness. 
 
 She put her soft white hand in his so charm 
 ingly, that he was suddenly sure it could be nothing 
 hard she would require. 
 
 " I promise," he assented. 
 
 " No love-making in the ruin, if I let you take 
 me there." 
 
 " Why, Bertha !" he exclaimed, so sorrowfully, 
 that he showed his whole plan. The girl laughed. 
 
 " You are too cunning, by half, Mr. Philip, but 
 then you know love-making in the saw-mill is too 
 common. Why it is the rendezvous of all the fac- 
 
50 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 tory hands. No, I couldn t think of it for a mo 
 ment." 
 
 " Then I won t insist on taking you to the old 
 saw-mill." 
 
 " Oh, yes! it is charming by moonlight." 
 
 " One would think you hadn t any heart." 
 Philip did not confess the peculiar charm this 
 woman s very coldness had for him ; there was some 
 quality in it that was irresistibly exciting to his 
 nature. Perhaps it was the presence of an uncon 
 scious reserve of passion, never yet revealed, that he 
 felt in her, that kept his heart ever warm, and his 
 eyes ever tender for its unveiling. 
 
 The round-faced servant girl had come up from 
 tha kitchen, and stood awkwardly at the door. 
 
 " Yes, you may light the gas now, Annie, we are 
 going out." She laid her hand lightly on Philip s 
 arm as they went down the walk. "I must really 
 have a maid. That Annie is too clumsy for me to 
 endure in the parlor or dining-room. Oh, yes, I 
 probably have got a heart, some time it will frighten 
 you, perhaps." 
 
 They walked slowly along the street, passing the 
 very spot where Tommie Bowler had offered his poor 
 little all to Jane Graves only an hour or two ago. 
 Their feet trod carelessly on the bits of grass the 
 nervous lover had scattered along the path. 
 
 " But you haven t told me about the meeting. 
 
A RUIN B Y MOONLIGHT. 5 I 
 
 Did the agitator have auburn curls as I said? That 
 is the clearest idea I have got of a hero." 
 
 As he told her his adventure they reached the 
 ruin and went in. The moonlight poured through 
 the dismantled roof, and made a white track for 
 itself over the uneven floor, leaving the rest of the 
 interior in the shadow. Such as remained of the 
 fallen rafters, made convenient benches for visitors, 
 who might easily enough imagine themselves in 
 some old-world ruin. And the young mill-owner s 
 son and Bertha, the hem of whose garment had 
 never touched poverty, seated themselves where 
 many a penniless young fellow had wooed some 
 pretty weaver maid to share his destitution, all for 
 love, soon starved out of both their lives. 
 
 Philip felt all his last night s enthusiasm coming 
 over him again, as he described the meeting of the 
 hopeless poor and the life of the family that had 
 taken him in. And he seemed to be again thrilled 
 with Curran s eloquence as he pictured his noble 
 presence, and tried to repeat his vivid sentences. 
 Was Bertha listening so patiently to him or only idly 
 watching the shadows as they shifted with the moon ? 
 He hoped she was touched. She could help him so 
 much to do something for the thousand souls in the 
 mills if there was anything could be done. And then 
 it seemed so sweet to have an earnest thought and 
 hope in common one more bond to unite them. 
 
52 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " But what can I do, Bertha, it is all so mixed up ? 
 Do you suppose my father would listen to me but if 
 he would, what can I propose? If I tell him the 
 people are poor and unhappy, he knows all that. 
 I can t ask him to divide all his wealth with them, 
 that wouldn t last so many very long, and then he 
 couldn t employ them any more; they would be 
 spoiled for work, and we would all starve together." 
 
 " I wish I could see him," said the girl slowly. 
 
 He looked at her blankly. " Why?" 
 
 Hadn t she heard what he had just said so eager 
 ly? He felt like one who had plunged into what he 
 thought a rippling river and found it ice. 
 
 " Curran, you called him." 
 
 Suddenly a double tread of feet without and the 
 forms of two men, one much taller than the other, 
 blocked the doorway. 
 
 " Hush, then," whispered Philip, excitedly. 
 " There he stands." 
 
 The men came forward till they stood directly in 
 the path of the moonlight, which seemed to clothe 
 
 them with its silver sheen. No need to tell her which 
 
 & 
 
 was he ; the girl bent eagerly forward and fixed her 
 eyes on the majestic figure that stood with folded 
 arms. 
 
 " I am very late," began the shorter man, apolo 
 getically. 
 
 Curran did not reply and the man went on in a 
 
A A UIN B Y MOONLIGHT. 5 5 
 
 minute more. "What is the news? I want to report 
 your village, you know." 
 
 "There is no news. It is the same old story. 
 What is the good of reporting and reporting, and then 
 doing nothing?" The words escaped between his 
 teeth like the staccato tones of a cornet. " I am sick 
 of the word wait, it is the resource of the weak." 
 
 " But we are weak. Give us time." 
 
 Curran unfolded his arms with a gesture of impa 
 tience. 
 
 11 The injustice has got its growth ; it has fattened 
 on our flesh and blood, and sucked out the life of 
 untold generations before us." His eyes shone 
 fiercely on the man of caution. " I believe the time 
 has come to destroy it, and the crime of murder lies 
 at our consciences for every crushed soul sacrificed 
 for our delay. 
 
 Philip fancied Bertha trembled. 
 
 " But," began the stranger in the metallic voice of 
 the objector, " the officers of the League think the 
 laborers are not ready." 
 
 " No, nor will they ever be ; they have submitted 
 too long. But they are always good for action if 
 somebody will lead them. They hang on our lips, 
 but we do not speak. 
 
 " Yes, we are spreading intelligence, sending out 
 orators like you ; we are arranging political cam 
 paigns. By and by capital will be more reasonable." 
 
54 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " Do you fancy then," retorted Curran bitterly, 
 " that the rich will willingly open their coffers to the 
 logical workmen, out of whose earnings they have 
 filled them? Isn t it too delightful to be able to 
 build a palace for a home, and create another para 
 dise for a garden ; to marry off their sons and daugh 
 ters when the first coo of love trembles on their 
 young lips? Then will they divide," and he raised his 
 voice with terrible emphasis, " when there is no 
 escape from it. As long as the people submit, if it 
 be till the trump of doom, so long the lords and mas 
 ters will defraud them of the price of their labor; so 
 lono; their wives and daughters will look down com- 
 
 o o 
 
 placently on the sufferings of the million, one of whom 
 starves for every piece of finery they smile to wear." 
 
 Philip felt Bertha tremble again, but her eyes 
 never once wavered. 
 
 " What do you propose ? " 
 
 " I don t know," muttered Curran, turning his 
 head half away, " but when I see the silent raging in 
 the hearts of the poor, when I see the riches squeezed 
 out of their scant, ill-fed blood, I am mad with im 
 patience. But I suppose all great changes come 
 most beneficently if they are slow. Then there are 
 no heart sickening reactions. Come out into the 
 open air. It seems close here." 
 
 The two men went out and the indistinct mur 
 mur of their voices was all could be heard. 
 
A R UIN B Y MOONLIGHT. 5 5 
 
 " How do you like my hero ? " said Philip, 
 pleased that Bertha should have a chance to learn 
 from the same source he had been so stirred. Now 
 she could sympathize perfectly with him, in the new 
 idea that he felt must have such a great influence 
 over his life. 
 
 " He is coming back," she whispered breathlessly, 
 "alone." 
 
 Curran looked in astonishment at two figures 
 starting toward him, out of the shadows. He recog 
 nized them at once. 
 
 " Well, I hope you may have learned some use 
 ful truths," he said scornfully, looking the young 
 man full in the face. 
 
 Bertha s lip quivered, and she came close to him 
 in the moonlight and laid her white hand on his 
 arm. "We did not mean to overhear your secrets," 
 she said earnestly,. 4 but surely it could do no harm 
 to listen to such beautiful words. They seemed to 
 be wasted on the one you meant them for. 7 
 
 Philip looked at Bertha in startled surprise ; he 
 hardly knew her : then he glanced at Curran whose 
 curled lip softened its stern lines. The girl s bonnet 
 had fallen back on her neck, and her face was turned 
 up toward his in the perfection of graceful entreaty, 
 her big blue eyes showing dark in the evening. The 
 agitator glanced at her sparkling diamonds, and the 
 rich lace shawl that lay over her shoulders, then back 
 
5 6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 into the beautiful upturned face, and at last his eyes 
 fell before hers. His boldness was gone; his scorn 
 and contempt for the women of the rich changed 1 
 to timidity before her. 
 
 " Don t distress yourself, my dear lady," he said 
 at last, " there is no harm done, I am sure." 
 
 As his tense mood relaxed, the charm that had 
 so transformed the girl seemed broken, and she drew 
 back as if in surprise at finding herself so near him. 
 
 " But I want you to tell me what I can do, said 
 Philip, rather vaguely, hesitating a moment in the 
 doorway. 
 
 Curran looked keenly into the young man s kind 
 face. 
 
 " And you want to do what you can ? " he re 
 peated thoughtfully, " I hardly know where to begin, 
 there is so much. 5 
 
 The walk home was a silent one, till almost the 
 end. 
 
 " Do you know what I am going to do to-mor 
 row, Bertha ? I am going to put on the old clothes 
 again." 
 
 " Don t you think it rather boyish ? " 
 
 " I m in earnest this time. I am going to learn 
 how to make cloth, and find out just how hard the 
 work is, and just how why Bertha, are you yawn 
 ing ?" 
 
 They had reached her doorway. She looked very 
 
A UIN B Y MOONLIGHT. 5 7 
 
 sweet, even when smothering a yawn with her two 
 fingers, as she stood on the step above him, and 
 gazed off on the river. His foolish heart began 
 to beat. 
 
 11 Bertha, we are not at the saw-mill now, and 
 She smiled. " But you were not to say any 
 thing if I let you take me there, and I have let you, 
 haven t I? " 
 
 " But aren t you ever going to consent to " 
 " There," she stamped her foot playfully. " You 
 are almost breaking your promise," then she looked 
 at his reproachful face and let him take her hand and 
 kiss it all he chose. " You know there is a sort of 
 solemnity in the kind of business-like talk you want 
 so much. But I ll promise this, if you will be patient 
 for just one month, you can say what you please 
 to me." 
 
 Philip went off in great glee, and his horse Joe 
 could not leap too high to suit him, for what Bertha 
 had said was almost what he asked. One month 
 from to-day, that would be a Friday early in the 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A Day Off. 
 
 JANE GRAVES was putting on her hat and faded 
 plaid shawl for another dreary day s work. It 
 was a cloudy morning, and even for a girl in love it 
 is hard work to be sentimental such mornings. She 
 wondered what she ever could see poetic in life. If 
 she only did her work well, so as to escape repri 
 mand, she might come to take a kind of pride and 
 pleasure in it as the rest did, till their strength and 
 spirit was broken. But as it was she hated it with 
 all the passion of her nature. She saw nothing in it 
 but slavery and degradation, and in her impatience, 
 thought she would rather die than drag out her life 
 thus. Somebody must do the work, but not such 
 as she, surely. 
 
 " Come here, my dear." 
 
 She had been lingering aimlessly, only that she 
 dreaded to turn her feet toward the factory, whose 
 tolling bell run sternly in her ears. Now she ap 
 proached her mother s bed with a gentler expression 
 on her face. 
 
 The thin hands were laid on her arm, and the 
 
A DA Y OFF. 59 
 
 sick woman drew the girl s head down on the pil 
 low beside her own. 
 
 " Was I ever so pretty as you, I wonder," she 
 said wistfully. " They used to say I was the pret 
 tiest in the village." And the sunken eyes brightened 
 at sweet memories, the sweetest in the world to a 
 woman. 
 
 " It did you little good, mother," said the girl in 
 a muffled voice. 
 
 In a moment more she started up 
 
 " There, mother, I am late again ; a quarter days 
 pay lost, and a scolding gained." 
 
 The sick woman s eyes opened wide, and the girl 
 waited one sad minute more, to see how terribly 
 white the poor face looked even against her pillow. 
 
 " I had something to say, I thought," said the 
 woman eagerly, " but I can t remember, I am so sick. 
 But perhaps it wasn t anything. You may go now, 
 dear, I am sorry I kept you." 
 
 The girl pinned her shawl about her. What 
 good of -looking in the glass. It could only tell her 
 she was pretty, as her mother used to be, and re 
 mind her what a fool she was to expect a different 
 fate. Fifteen years, and she might be sick and 
 broken on this very bed, perhaps telling her own un 
 happy child, how pretty she used to be. The girl 
 shuddered at the picture, as she went out of her 
 mother s room. 
 
60 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 "Oh ! I remember now," called the sick woman. 
 
 " Did you want the tea put near you ? " asked 
 the girl, coming back wearily. 
 
 " It is not that but but you are not to go to 
 work to-day. Somebody is coming to see you. He 
 wants you to live with him." 
 
 " What, to marry me ? " exclaimed the girl in 
 astonishment. 
 
 " He didn t speak of that," smiled her mother 
 languidly, but I can t talk any more, I am so tired." 
 
 Jane Graves had learned one lesson of poverty, 
 not to hope. So after this strange announcement 
 of her mother s she only laid off her hat and shawl, 
 and waited. After looking idly out of the window 
 for a while, and seeing nothing that had not worn 
 itself into her very soul years ago, the vague woman 
 instinct stirred in her, and she moved about the 
 house arranging things. She found a little map that 
 hung in the sitting-room, a little awry, and straight 
 ened it. It was a dingy map of China that had 
 come once with a pound of tea, and she wanted to 
 throw it away, but the wall looked too bare without 
 anything. She took down a couple of ugly little 
 gift chromos her father had placed on the mantel 
 piece, and tore them up in disgust. Theie seemed 
 nothing else to do, there was so little to arrange. 
 She wasn t so sure but it was better in the mill, 
 perhaps it was a blessing the poor were kept so 
 
A DAY OFF. 6l 
 
 many hours in its grim walls, where at least there 
 was but little chance to think. What was there to 
 lone for in such homes and such leisure as this ? 
 
 t> 
 
 She stepped to the closet and took out a well 
 thumbed book, and sat down. She turned two or 
 three pages, and then counted how many times she 
 had read them before, and she felt sick with the 
 foolish hopes and dreams the oft read book had 
 used to wake in her. 
 
 She laid it away with a sigh and picked up an 
 old newspaper. How slow the forenoon went. 
 
 She read down the advertising columns ; how 
 many beautiful things in the world, and all for sale ! 
 Somebody must have the money to buy them 
 or the stores wouldn t be running. Where was it 
 all ? did anybody work any harder for it than her 
 father and herself? Jane Graves opened her little 
 pocket-book and shook it over the table ; but it was 
 as empty as the day she bought it. 
 
 Then there came a light tap on the street door. 
 This must be the " gentleman," this tall, elegant 
 figure in a checked summer suit ; and he actually 
 lifted his hat to her. 
 
 " My name is Ellingsworth." He needn t have 
 told her ; he had figured in the girl s fancy for years 
 as the very impersonation of rank and wealth. 
 
 " I called about a maid. Mr. Graves gave me 
 leave to speak with his daughter. Is she in ? " 
 
62 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " I suppose I am the one, Will you come in ? " 
 
 She watched him as he crossed the room to 
 the nearest chair. How much lighter he walked 
 than she could ; and one might have thought from 
 his unconsciousness that he had been used to just 
 such a miserable room as this all his life. He 
 showed no surprise at her being the prospective 
 maid servant ; no doubt he knew it all the time and 
 the way he spoke was only a part of his good man 
 ners. But then she could not imagine his showing 
 surprise at anything. 
 
 " There will be but little to do," Mr. Ellings- 
 worth continued, looking at her face and not seem 
 ing to see how ill she was dressed. " There is only 
 my daughter ; you may have seen her, yes ; and 
 myself. The wages will be small," and he named 
 them and smiled apologetically, as if he expected 
 her to decline. "Your father spoke to me as if you 
 did not like the factories." 
 
 Out at service ; well, why not ? Could it be any 
 more degrading than the life she had lived ? and 
 such wages, too. Why, she could dress quite pret 
 tily then ; and her girlish heart fluttered. And she 
 could leave ugly things and rude people ; and 
 breathe perfumes and have only graceful surround 
 ings ; what matter if they were not hers. 
 
 She would be lifted right up into the very atmos 
 phere she longed for ; yesterday she had envied the 
 
A DAY OFF. 63 
 
 Ellingsworths, to-morrow, perhaps, she would share 
 their beautiful life with them. Why not ? 
 
 She lifted her bright eyes to his face. It was in 
 half profile at this moment, and she could see his 
 hair was just touched with grey ; how could men in 
 his world ever grow old ! He was smooth shaved, 
 showing in full effect the delicate cynical curve 
 of his thin lip and the clearly defined outlines of 
 his chin which struck the girl as having a touch 
 of weakness in it. He must have been very oddly 
 affected by the poverty pictured so unmistakably 
 about him ; but there was not the smallest sign of it 
 on his well bred face. 
 
 " I will go," she said abruptly, " when do you 
 want me ? " 
 
 " I shall be away for a fortnight," he said rising, 
 with his ow,n admirable smile. " You can come 
 when I return." 
 
 She rose too ; but could think of nothing proper 
 to say, but how poverty-stricken she would look in 
 her factory clothes. Her spirits had fallen already. 
 
 " By the way," Mr. Ellingsworth turned, as if a 
 sudden business item had struck him. It was a pe 
 culiar expressionless monotone he used sometimes 
 when on delicate subjects that seemed to have as lit 
 tle personal quality as a printed page. " I always 
 pay in advance ; be kind enough to accept your first 
 month s wages and our bargain will be closed." 
 
64 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 The girl found herself alone, looking at the crisp, 
 fresh-looking bank bills he had placed in her hands. 
 " How thoughtful these rich people are. They have 
 time for it, I suppose." 
 
 The tea hour passed long before dark that day 
 the mills letting out earlier on Saturdays ; and Mr. 
 Graves had pulled his old hat down over his eyes as 
 he always wore it, and gone over to the grocery 
 store to talk politics with his friends. They all 
 had long accounts there ; accounts the boldest of 
 them never expected to catch up with ; nor was at 
 all afraid of the keen-eyed storekeeper losing any 
 thing on them either. 
 
 Jane Graves was in her mother s room, but 
 dressed in the best she had; a faded plum-colored 
 silk, a remnant of her mother s youth. Did it make 
 her sad to see it? The girl stood a moment before 
 the mirror and fastened a cardinal ribbon in her hair, 
 for wouldn t Curran be sure to come to inquire after 
 her? It had been a great while since she had 
 missed a whole day s work. How he would admire 
 her dress ; he would say he never knew how pretty 
 she was. But this was nothing to what she would 
 have soon. Then she began to look over her scant 
 wardrobe ; her mother s feverish eyes watching her 
 from her pillow. On one chair lay the cheap calico 
 dress she had just laid off; every spot and wrinkle 
 reminded her of some dreary, hopeless hour. But 
 
A DA Y OFF. 65 
 
 now all would be changed. She would see only 
 beautiful things, and graceful, smooth-voiced peo 
 ple. Poor mother, it was too bad she had to stay 
 here. Never again would the daughter be a part of 
 the jostling, chattering swarm that poured out of 
 the factory gates. Oh, she never half knew how she 
 hated it ; she hadn t dared confess it to herself. 
 She was sorry for the worn girl faces, old some of 
 them at twelve years ; and wrinkled and wan at 
 sweet sixteen. But probably there were not many, 
 she complacently concluded, that suffered as she did. 
 Custom must dull their feelings and habit for most 
 of them overcome their longings for free breath and 
 brightness. 
 
 Her wardrobe was very simple. There hung 
 over the back of a chair the dull check of a merino, 
 chosen long ago to endure the most service with the 
 least show of it. On the bureau before the mirror 
 was a paper box holding a discarded libbon or two, 
 pink or cardinal, and two or three pieces of cheap 
 jewelry the girl was too proud to wear. There was 
 in the box besides a grey veil that she had never 
 worn. 
 
 " It won t take me long to pack," she said aloud. 
 
 She suddenly took a pretty attitude of listening. 
 She had closed the door into the sick chamber in a 
 moment more, and stood in the middle of the sitting 
 room when Curran came in. 
 
66 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " Why, you don t look very sick, Jennie. I have 
 to walk to Lockout by eight o clock ; but thought 
 I would look in just a minute." 
 
 " I am going to leave the mill." How preoccu 
 pied he seemed to-night. " I am going to leave the 
 mill, Mr. Curran," the girl repeated with beating 
 heart. He might not like her new plan, and at the 
 very thought of his disapproval, she felt all her 
 bright hopes taking to themselves wings ; and the 
 old dreary picture of factory gates and soiled calico 
 dresses came back. 
 
 " Going away, little girl? " He seemed to speak 
 with a slight effort, as if his mind was not on what 
 he said. " Well, I suppose you can t be any worse 
 off, but we shall miss you." 
 
 And was that all he had to say when he thought 
 she was going forever out of his life had he no 
 reproaches for her ? 
 
 " I am not going far," she began, hurriedly. 
 
 " There would be no use going far." He had seat 
 ed himself on the other side of the table from her, and 
 rested his face on his hand. " It is just the same ev 
 erywhere, wherever there are a thousand souls, ten 
 will grind the rest. I don t suppose the rich mean to 
 be so unjust, not all of them, they don t stop to no 
 tice that they are getting all the good things in the 
 world. It never occurs to them to wonder why the 
 great earth seems to produce only for them." 
 
A DA Y OFF. 67 
 
 Jane Graves sat back in her chair, her hands 
 crossed in her lap. Why didn t he talk about her 
 just a little ? She looked up at his absorbed face 
 wistfully. She wished he was not quite such a great 
 man, or perhaps if she was a greater woman she 
 would not mind it. 
 
 " Why, Jennie, sometimes I get so tired trying 
 to stand up against it all, so sick of my own heart 
 ache that I can make nobody share with me." He 
 had risen to his feet, and was walking moodily across 
 the room. That very night he must pour out all the 
 precious energy of his soul into dull, stolid ears, that 
 seemed so slow to understand a hall full of stranee 
 
 o 
 
 faces would look up coldly at him, and his hot 
 words would be quenched, as they fell from his lips, 
 in the unmoved depths of their hearts. It seemed 
 so vain, all he could do or say, and he felt so tired 
 to-night, longing, instead, to rest his head on some 
 gentle breast, and be soothed with some foolish 
 words of comfort and tenderness. 
 
 The girl had risen, too, and stood resting the 
 back of her hand on the table. But her eyes dared 
 not lift to his. She tried to speak, and her lips 
 trembled so that her voice came strange and unfa 
 miliar. 
 
 " I am sorry for you. Is there no one, no 
 woman ? " she half whispered. 
 
 " Women do not care for such as I," he said, 
 
68 . THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 smiling a little bitterly. " They love light and pleas 
 ant things. I am too serious. I should only 
 frighten them ; they could not understand. And 
 then a woman would ask more of me than she 
 would give. And I am not my own." 
 
 Then he came toward her with a softer light in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " You are a good little girl, Jennie." He had 
 taken her trembling hands, which only trembled the 
 more. " I shall miss you very much. What is the 
 trouble with your eyes, Jennie, can t you look at 
 me? I am going now." 
 
 Then she raised her eyes, like lightning, to his 
 face. 
 
 " Oh, let me comfort you," she cried, " I would 
 die for you. I will ask nothing back, but a smile 
 now and then. Nobody can . ever love you like 
 me." 
 
 His face was troubled, but cold and impassive as 
 rock. He still held her hands, as she sank in a 
 heart-breaking flood of tears at his feet. 
 
 After a moment he bent down in pity, and gath 
 ered her trembling form in his arms. How the sobs 
 seemed to shake her. He smoothed back her wavy 
 hair from the low forehead, and even kissed her wet 
 cheeks. But all he said was, 
 
 " Poor little girl, poor little Jennie." 
 
 For an instant she lay still as a nestling child. 
 
A DAY OFF. 69 
 
 Then she sprang back from him, and fled into her 
 mother s room, and wept and moaned for shame 
 and heartache, until the calm of weariness came 
 over her, as nature s blessed gift to her hopeless 
 children. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A Test. 
 
 "TSN T your father going?" It was the same 
 
 - evening, and Philip Breton was assisting Bertha 
 into his beach wagon for a twilight drive. 
 
 " Father has left town for a few days. Didn t you 
 know? Suppose you let me have the back seat. 
 The world is large enough to afford us a seat apiece 
 to-night." 
 
 Bertha adjusted her wraps and the horses stepped 
 off down the street as gayly as .if their driver had not 
 been disappointed. It almost seemed as if Bertha 
 took pleasure in giving him the heartache ; no doubt 
 it was only her innocence of what the feeling was, 
 and her aversion to being disturbed. 
 
 There was not very much conversation to-day, 
 indeed there never was unless Philip afforded it. 
 Bertha considered she did her part in looking well, 
 smiling prettily at his witticisms, with now and then 
 a remark, if she felt inclined. But to-day Philip was 
 moody and silent, pretending he could not make 
 himself understood, sitting with his back to her, 
 implying, of course, it was all her fault. So Bertha 
 gave herself up to the sensuous delight of riding, 
 
A TEST. 71 
 
 and only spoke in mild exclamations of admiration 
 of the scenery as they left the village behind, and 
 followed up the winding river. 
 
 Philip was beginning to feel the oppression of 
 silence, and to be conscience stricken at anything 
 so near rudeness to Bertha. He knew, in advance, 
 just the look of surprise she would have for any con 
 fession of fault on his part. He must only act as if 
 there had been no break in their talk ; and it became 
 easy for him, for the mere consciousness of her pres 
 ence wanned his heart, so that no coldness or fancied 
 grievance could live there. But before he found 
 the word he wanted, they had passed through a wood 
 and were coming into an open stretch of country, 
 and suddenly Philip sa\v a man s form swaying 
 easily, while he took great strides along the footpath. 
 " Curran," he exclaimed, and stopped his horses 
 close beside him. The man turned, and one might 
 have thought he did not recognize the occupants of 
 the carriage, only there was the least bit of a flush 
 on his face, which bore the lines of interrupted med 
 itation. Then he bowed slightly to Philip. 
 
 " And you don t recollect me I suppose," smiled 
 Bertha. 
 
 " I am not so stupid," he said, letting his steel- 
 blue eyes rest admiringly upon her. 
 
 " We are going to Lockout too. Aren t we, 
 Bertha? You must get in with us." 
 
72 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 11 No, I won t crowd you, don t move." And he 
 turned a little away from them as if to continue his 
 walk. 
 
 " Certainly you must ! " said Bertha, " see I have 
 a whole seat to myself and it is so stupid Please." 
 
 And Curran took the seat she offered him, hold 
 ing back her wraps till he was seated, and then re 
 leasing them. 
 
 " Do you think I shall ever learn to weave cotton 
 cloth ? " asked Philip, to call his attention to their 
 day s work together. 
 
 " I presume so, if you really mean to. But it is 
 lucky you haven t got your board to pay mean 
 while." 
 
 But Curran did not smile, and was very ill at 
 ease. He seemed to be lifted, body and soul, into 
 the very life he was accustomed to rebuke. The 
 beautiful horses of the rich were harnessed to-day 
 to his pleasure with their gold plate trimmings. 
 What right had he here? He said nothing of it, but 
 felt intensely the falseness of his position ; the deli 
 cate springs hurt him, and every sign of lavish 
 wealth in the dress of his companions. He had tried 
 that very day to give this young heir to the Breton 
 Mills the impression that there could be no intimacy 
 between such as they. He wanted no interests with 
 the rich, his life work must be against them, he 
 desired no association with a luxurious manner of 
 
A TEST. 73 
 
 life he ought to upbraid, there must not be one 
 chain of gold to unite him with the wealthy class in 
 whom he saw the enemies of the people. 
 
 And yet he was taking delight in this woman s 
 presence, a new delight, such as the women of the 
 poor had never given him. And was not she the 
 very essence of luxury and refinement. He hated 
 himself for it, but for all he tried to look elsewhere 
 he kept seeing the sparkle of the diamonds on the 
 whitest hand he had ever seen.. He enjoyed the 
 lilies of the valley set in mosaic at her throat, which 
 showed its creamy white against the delicate ruffles, 
 and the comb with its band of Roman gold almost 
 the shade of the rippling hair it restrained. But were 
 not these the very extravagances the poor had to 
 struggle to earn for her? He ought to be fulminat 
 ing withering sentences for such as she. 
 
 " I will get out at the rocks and walk the rest of 
 the way," said Curran at last, as they could catch a 
 glimpse of Lockout in the distance. " The workmen 
 I want to talk to would hardly understand my com 
 ing with a carriage and pair." 
 
 The " rocks" came but a mile from Lockout and 
 the horses had trotted so well that the spot was 
 reached in a few moments more. The road at this 
 point had been cut through a side-hill of sandstone, 
 by dint of great blasting, and the jagged edges jutted 
 out angrily at the passers by. 
 
74 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 "There must be a wonderful landscape on the 
 other side of the rocks," said Bertha, as Philip 
 stopped his horses for Curran to alight. 
 
 " Have you plenty of time ? " said Bertha before 
 the workman could express his thanks. 
 
 " An hour to spare." 
 
 She looked wistfully at the envious rocks that 
 shut them in, and then at Curran s grave face. 
 
 " I would so like to see that view from the top 
 of the rocks if I had some one to help me." 
 
 Curran s face suddenly flushed with pleasure, " I 
 should like to help you." 
 
 In a minute more Bertha was climbing the rocks 
 with her strange escort, and Philip sat holding his 
 horses quite a little distance back. 
 
 " You didn t talk very much during our drive," 
 said Bertha as she stood with her companion look 
 ing off down the valley. " Is it so wicked of us to 
 be rich?" 
 
 He shot a sudden deprecating look at her. "Don t 
 force me so far. I can not say it now." 
 
 Bertha smiled. " Then leave me out of it, say 
 Philip instead." 
 
 " He is enjoying the fruits of terrible injustice." 
 
 " But would his father have been rich unless he 
 had deserved it? " asked Bertha. 
 
 " Is it a just reward of merit, then, that a thou 
 sand human creatures should well nigh starve, and 
 
A TEST. 75 
 
 he be rich? If he has deserved to be rich, you must 
 say they have merited starvation." 
 
 The girl liked to hear his earnest, thrilling tones, 
 and watch his eyes flash and his nostrils dilate with 
 such rare passion. 
 
 " Is it just," he went on, " that no matter how 
 unweariedly a laborer works, his idle neighbor, as 
 surely as the sun sets, should lay intolerable tribute 
 on his profits ; so that he must stay forever poor ? 
 Is a day s work worth nothing, then why does it 
 bring in some capitalist thousands of dollars for a 
 stroke of his pen ? " 
 
 Bertha understood but little of what he was say 
 ing, but she could look intently at him with wide 
 open blue eyes which had a pretty trick of changing 
 expression as if in closest sympathy with a speaker. 
 Curran felt no one had half listened to him before, 
 that at last every word told, and he was strangely 
 excited by the sweet mystery of their common in 
 spiration. 
 
 " Great wealth is made up of ten thousand trick 
 ling streams, drained from the paltry earnings of as 
 many defrauded workmen. Mere cunning scheming 
 ought not enable a man to turn aside the great river 
 of plenty which flows for all men. Why these shrewd 
 business men, whom so many praise, have so inge 
 niously placed their chains on the laborer, that the 
 harder he struggles to escape from poverty, he only 
 
7 6 THE LIRE TON Mil LS. 
 
 turns the faster the wheel that grinds out fortunes 
 for his masters, and draws him in at last to be 
 crushed." 
 
 He hesitated for her to ask him some questions, 
 but perhaps it was already as plain to her as to him. 
 At any rate, she only looked off to the west where 
 the glow of sunset was fast fading, and then back 
 into his face regretfully. 
 
 " I suppose we ought to go down/ she said. 
 
 " Why, yes, I had forgotten whether it was night 
 or day." 
 
 He took her hand gently as if he touched a holy 
 thing, and his face softened like a child s. He would 
 not have let her fall for the world. She had taught 
 him, how he did not stop to think, that there was 
 a rare and exquisite strain of joy in life. She had 
 spiritualized womanhood to him ; he suddenly saw 
 in it an essence so pure and fine it might redeem the 
 world. An hour ago, he had been so wretched, and 
 now a vague, sweet hope he cared not to define was 
 born in him. As he stood upon the road-bed, and 
 reached up his hands to help Bertha down, their eyes 
 met for a moment, and then she trusted herself to 
 him in such gentle surrender that a mist floated 
 before his sight. She almost fell, and he must needs 
 gather her perfect form in his arms to save her. 
 
 Philip had been idly snapping his whip, and 
 looking up the road. He thought he saw in the dis- 
 
A TEST. 77 
 
 tance a number of men with guns hurrying in his 
 direction, and before them yes, it must be a dog, an 
 odd hour of the day for hunting. He might as well 
 have his horses turned about ; he could see Curran 
 and Bertha clambering down from the rocks. So it 
 happened that at the moment Bertha came so near 
 falling, in fact did fall, into Curran s arms, Philip was 
 sitting with his back toward them, faced towards 
 home. 
 
 But by this time the hunters with guns were 
 nearer, the blacksmith had rushed out of his shop to 
 look at the dog who bounded along with his mouth 
 to the ground dropping foam as he ran. 
 
 The dog was mad. Bertha saw the great white 
 creature, and grew pale as death, and pressed back 
 against the rocky wall in despair. Curran saw him 
 too, and had not even to make up his mind to die 
 to save this woman. It was a matter of course. He 
 stepped out directly in front of her without one 
 word, and bending forward waited. The mad dog 
 might pass them by. But no, in an instant more 
 the beast was upon him, and like lightning Curran 
 had reached out his hands of iron, and caught his 
 shaggy throat as in a vise. 
 
 The creature rose upon its hind legs, and snap 
 ped ravenously at his captor, great drops of foam 
 specked with blood, dropping from his jaws. With 
 one rapid glance Curran saw the men with guns, 
 
78 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 running at full speed, arid almost at hand. If he 
 could hold him but one moment more, he might yet 
 be saved, if those glistening teeth, distilling poison 
 and madness, would spare his flesh one moment 
 more. His arms and wrists were corded like a 
 giant s ; his head thrown back to escape the venom 
 ous fangs, while he listened with fast sickening 
 heart, to the sound of approaching feet. He heard, 
 too, the quick breathing of the woman behind him ; 
 thank God, he could save her from such a fate, and 
 she might think kindly of him sometimes, even if he 
 must die like a dog, since it was for her. 
 
 But now his arms trembled with the terrible strain 
 upon them, and the dog struggled more fiercely, so 
 that the man felt his hot, fetid breath on his cheek, 
 and in an instant more the deadly jaws seemed 
 closing over his arm. Suddenly there came a loud 
 report and a cloud of smoke, and the mangled crea 
 ture fell upon the ground in his death agony. The 
 madness had gone out of his big brown eyes, which 
 looked up pitifully at the man he would have slain. 
 
 They were just in time with their guns/ ex 
 claimed Philip, rushing up, and wringing his hand. 
 f But the man made no response, nor even looked 
 around for one sign of gratitude from the woman he 
 had risked his life for. He had no answers or smiles 
 for the admiring crowd that had seemed to gather so 
 quickly when the danger was over, but his face grew 
 
A TEST. 79 
 
 quite pale as he walked up the road. At the black 
 smith s shop a thought seemed to strike him ; he 
 hesitated a moment and then went in. 
 
 When the crowd came up and followed him in, 
 they found him before the glowing forge. His 
 sleeve was rolled up, revealing an arm almost like the 
 smith s, but how closely he was studying it. Just 
 below the elbow were the marks of a dog s fangs, 
 out of which slowly oozed two great drops of blood. 
 No one dared to speak, all looked on him as a man 
 devoted, and half expected to see already the signs 
 of madness in his calm, pale face. The men with the 
 guns had come in with the rest, and stood under the 
 rows of horse-shoes that lined the blackened walls, 
 with horrified eyes riveted on the print of the poi 
 soned fangs. The blacksmith stood by his anvil, ham 
 mer in hand, as if frozen, and even Philip Breton was 
 stunned and baffled at the sudden revelation of the 
 fate stamped on this man who had given his life for 
 Bertha s. Philip had been devising how rare a gift of 
 undying friendship he could give him in token of his 
 gratitude, and now a terrible death must be his only 
 reward. 
 
 But the face of the victim was as composed as if 
 death had already claimed him. He did not seem to 
 see one of the silent forms that thronged the little 
 shop. Then he looked carefully at the wound in his 
 arm, and pressed out the drops of poisoned blood. 
 
80 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 In another instant he had reached out his right 
 hand toward the forge, and grasped the end of a bar 
 of iron that shone at white heat where it touched 
 the coals. He drew it out before one could catch 
 his breath, and held it close against the death mark 
 in his quivering flesh. A sickening hiss brought a 
 cry of sympathy from the astonished crowd, but his 
 lips never moved till the cure was completed. Pie 
 threw back the iron, and grinding his teeth in his 
 agony, turned on his heel and went out. 
 
 At the door was a face paler than his. Bertha 
 Ellingsworth had seen it all. As he looked at her 
 white face and golden brows and lashes, Curran 
 thought of wreaths of strands of gold on the driven 
 snow. But her eyes had a new fathomless expres 
 sion in them, and her lips were parted as if to speak, 
 if there were only words sweet and gentle enough. 
 His face flushed with a delicious gladness deeper 
 than his pain, as she made him hold out his arm for 
 her, and touched it with mysterious tenderness, and 
 bound her handkerchief about his charred and ach 
 ing wound. 
 
 " And you can t disappoint your audience ? How 
 brave you are. But you will come to me to 
 morrow ?" 
 
 "If you wish it." The crowd had gathered out 
 side the door, and stood a little way off, curiously 
 watching them. 
 
A TEST. 8 I 
 
 " I wish I could repay you," she said, looking 
 wistfully up at him. 
 
 But Curran s face flushed crimson, and he drew 
 back from her as if he had been stunsr. 
 
 o 
 
 As she looked at him, a flush slowly came into 
 her face, too. " Would you like to kiss me, just 
 once ?" 
 
 The man turned and drew her to his heart before 
 them all, and her eyes fell till their long golden 
 lashes touched her cheek, as he stooped and kissed 
 her pouted red lips. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 His Mistake. 
 
 IT was quite dark when the carriage turned the 
 last bend in the winding road homeward and 
 the lights of Bretonville came into view. The lights 
 in the windows of the poor danced out to meet the 
 tired horses as gayly as any. There might have been 
 a sobbing woman behind the cheeriest of them all ; 
 nature shows no sympathy for human suffering. If 
 her poor children have no rest and joys their hearts 
 must break ; that is one of nature s laws. Neither 
 can light lose its gladness and cheer because glad 
 ness and cheer are so absurdly out of place in poverty- 
 stricken homes. As if the circles that were gathered 
 within most of those windows deserved the name of 
 home, with never a smile of contentment to light up 
 a face, or a word of hope to make music for a dulled 
 ear. Ah, that human nature is so terribly logical and 
 cannot, let a creature be happy unless there is some 
 thing light or pleasant in its life ! Home to such as 
 they is the place where the cravings of hunger are 
 quieted and the tired cords and muscles are relaxed 
 for a new strain ; where they can complain, and 
 
HIS MISTAKE. 83 
 
 where they can sleep and die. But save the word 
 to them at least, for a time when it shall be a reality. 
 
 Suddenly the sound of fire bells fell upon Philip s 
 ear and startled him out of his melancholy revery. 
 The same instant he saw a little cloud of smoke 
 above the brick mills, and then a bright tongue 
 of flame leap up toward it. The bells pealed out in 
 short nervous strokes as if in tremulous fear, and 
 at their impulse the young man s blood coursed 
 through his veins in uncontrollable excitement. It 
 was but two minutes more when Philip drew up 
 short at the mill-yard gates, to escape the engine 
 which swept by with a rush, dragged by a crowd 
 of shouting men. The people hatless, coatless, and 
 some even bare-footed in their haste, poured out 
 of every street and alley-way, and into the wide open 
 gates, everybody talking and nobody listening. 
 
 But Bertha had hardly spoken during the drive 
 home, and now seemed very little interested in the 
 disturbance. 
 
 " The mills are on fire," cried Philip, dropping 
 his reins and turning his excited face toward her. 
 
 " So I see," she said coolly, " and hadn t you bet 
 ter drive on ? " 
 
 " Why, I ought to be here." He looked nerv 
 ously at the hurrying crowd and back into Bertha s 
 cold beautiful face. " Couldn t you wait in one 
 of these tenements? these are all nice people? " 
 
84 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 But she made no motion and only looked at 
 his flushed face in annoyed surprise. " What are 
 you thinking of? I stop with these people?" 
 
 " Or drive on home without me. The horses are 
 gentle and you are such a good driver, you know." 
 
 Philip was growing terribly restless ; the people 
 came faster and faster ; and his eager eyes followed 
 each man and woman into the gates with increasing 
 anxiety. Even Bertha noticed the curious looks the 
 passers-by gave to the carriage that blocked the way. 
 
 " I couldn t think of it," she said in measured 
 tones that reminded Philip, even at such a moment 
 as that, of her father s. " You had better drive 
 along ; there, not so fast. Why will you run the 
 horses ? You almost frighten me." 
 
 It took but a few moments to reach Bertha s 
 home, but it seemed a long time to Philip, who kept 
 looking back over his shoulder at the flames which 
 to his excited fancy seemed rising higher at every 
 glance. He stopped the horses at Bertha s door 
 at last, and leaping to the ground, assisted her to 
 alight. The horses were panting, but there was no 
 time even to give them breath, and in an instant 
 more Philip was back in his seat. But Bertha stood 
 as if she had something to say, and he waited before 
 he drew up the reins. 
 
 " You will make a mistake in leaving me to my 
 self to-night." 
 
HIS MISTAKE. 85 
 
 He thought there was a mysterious touch of self- 
 distrust in her voice that was soft and almost tender 
 as she looked fixedly at him. Ah ! he had never seen 
 her so lovely ; as if the warm passionate woman soul 
 had been born in her; and he longed in his rapture 
 to fall at her feet and kiss them. He was forgetting 
 the mill in flames as he drank in the new sweet hope 
 she seemed to give him. He could not leave her 
 thus with that wonderful light in her eyes. No 
 doubt the fire was subdued, and how little he could 
 do at best ; there were so many stronger than he. 
 
 But suddenly a tongue of flame leaped up into 
 the black sky like lightning. 
 
 " I would so love to stay, darling, but the mills are 
 on fire my father s mills. I might save them. 
 Don t you understand it would be infamous in 
 me to 
 
 " I only said you make a mistake." 
 
 Till he dies Philip Breton never will forget that 
 scene ; the darting flames beckoning him away, and 
 this beautiful woman, for whose first fond caress he 
 would have given everything but his manhood and 
 honor, inviting him to stay. And in her changed 
 face he thought he saw such sweet promise of love if 
 he stayed and such sure presage of evil if he went. 
 
 " Good night," he said with faltering voice as he 
 drew up the reins. 
 
 " Good night," she answered slowly as she turned 
 
8 6 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 to go in, and he thought he heard her other sentence 
 over again, " You make a mistake." 
 
 It was number 2 mill on fire, but all that inge 
 nuity and strength could do seemed doing as well 
 without Philip. The men were as busy as bees. 
 Fifty manned the brakes of the hand engine and 
 pumped as vigorously as if there were no such thing 
 as lame backs and aching muscles, while on top of 
 the engine beside the bell, which rang with every 
 stroke of the brakes, stood their foreman keeping time 
 with his arms and whole body and encouraging them 
 with his hoarse, excited voice. Then there were 
 three hydrants in full operation and a crowd of men 
 to keep the hose in condition, and four more in rub 
 ber suits to hold the nozzles and direct the streams of 
 fast flowing water where it would quickest subdue the 
 fierce flames. There seemed nothing for Philip to do. 
 He was worth no more than the crowd of chattering 
 women, who stood as near the fire as their rough- 
 voiced men would let them. How odd their thin 
 white faces looked half hid by the shawls tied about 
 their heads. It was a great event in their dull, 
 monotonous lives ; the very foundations of their 
 world seemed shaken, and they could not talk fast 
 enough to express their crude thoughts at the -break 
 ing up of old associations. 
 
 " Carry the hose up to the next story," shouted 
 the foreman. 
 
HIS MISTAKE. 87 
 
 " The ladder is not long enough," answered one 
 of the men in rubber suits. 
 
 " Can t you climb ? Who can then ? " 
 
 This was Philip s opportunity, and he hurried up 
 the ladder two rounds at a time. Then he swung 
 himself off on the lightning rod. Its sharp edges cut 
 his tender hands, but in his eagerness he did not 
 notice it. In a moment more he had pulled himself 
 up on the window-sill and burst in the sash. Then 
 he reached down for the hose and a cheer went 
 up for the rich man s son who was not afraid of 
 work. 
 
 He heard his father s voice below thanking the 
 men for their devotion, as the sullen flames seemed 
 to give way before their tireless efforts. But it was 
 no time now for idle felicitations, the fire seemed 
 under control, but if the mastery were relaxed, it 
 would leap high again in its fury, and the other mills 
 must go too, for all they stood so cold and proud. 
 The smoke grew thinner in the window where Philip 
 stood, so he could look down on the sweaty faces 
 and bending forms of the men at the brakes. Every 
 thing depended on them, and how strong they sent 
 the water through the hose he held, and forced back 
 the fire inch by inch from its prey. If they could 
 only keep it up a few moments more, the other mills 
 would be out of danger. Each stroke of the brakes 
 made the hose throb against his side almost like a 
 
88 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 giant s pulse. God grant them strength a few mo 
 ments more. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a loud voice raised above the 
 murmur of the crowd. 
 
 " Wise boys ye be, to clench the nails in yer own 
 coffins. Aint this mill yer jail and its bosses your 
 jailers ? Is there a fool of ye all, but knows old Bre 
 ton who grins so nice to-night on ye, but knows him 
 for a tyrant, who grinds us to powder ? " 
 
 Philip saw a short, burly man whose hair was 
 cropped close to his round head, shouting and ges 
 ticulating wildly, as he made his way up to the 
 engine and then leaped upon it. The brakes stop 
 moving and the fire sends up new tongues and leaps 
 along the smoking beams and rafters in fresh fury, 
 while the men listen breathlessly to this straneer. 
 
 J o 
 
 The women too gather nearer, and look in curiosity 
 at their husbands and brothers who drink in so 
 eagerly his poisoned words. 
 
 " I s poseye thought ye didn t work long enough 
 for yer ninety cents a day. But ye hev. Aye boys, 
 that big heap o brick stands for that old man s mean 
 ness ; it s the machine to crush ye. It s the way he 
 bleeds ye. But how sweet he is to-night. Ye never 
 noticed it before, did ye? He s seed you a starvin on 
 the wages he paid, and yer purty darters gone to 
 the bad for the want of a few things all gals kinder 
 like. Some on ye, too, has got old and cripples in 
 
HIS MISTAKE. 89 
 
 his service. He aint ever guv in a mite, has he? 
 Now it s your turn." 
 
 And the man shouted loud above the hissing, 
 crackling flames that leaped out of a dozen windows 
 in wild glee. "Let his mills burn fur a warnin to 
 such as he who make so much sorror and misery in 
 this ere purty world, that if Satan tortured their cruel 
 souls forevermore, it wouldn t be a feather in the 
 balance. Let him know the despair of a poor man 
 for once." 
 
 It was almost madness that glittered in the fel 
 low s darting eyes, and his voice grew hoarse and 
 terrible as he pointed his thick fingers at the mill 
 half hid in smoke, lit up in spots with forks of flame, 
 
 " Let every plank of it go. It s only served to 
 make him richer each month, and ye poorer. Such a 
 machine as that don t desarve to stand. Let his 
 riches he s used so poor turn to ashes this night. 
 Tears and prayin couldn t git equal rights for us ; the 
 fire will do it, though." 
 
 Ezekiel Breton elbowed his way into their midst. 
 
 He had lost his hat, and stood pale in his agony 
 in the presence of the men who thought he had 
 \vronged them. He was conscious of no guilt ; he 
 had only made his money as others made theirs ; 
 fairer indeed than mere money-lenders, who added 
 nothing to the world s productions. He knew, of 
 course, the poor suffered, but a man can t be too 
 
90 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 squeamish, and the same road was open to them 
 that he had taken. And as for wages, who could 
 blame a man for getting help as cheaply as he can ? 
 That is business. 
 
 Mr. Breton knew but one argument for them. 
 
 " If you want pay," he shouted, " here is money, 
 a dollar an hour to each man." 
 
 But not a face relaxed, he looked fearfully from 
 one to another, and then up at the grinning face of 
 the stranger, " only save my mill." The old man 
 put up his hand to his white hair in a piteous gesture 
 as he glanced at the sheets of flame and lurid smoke 
 
 o 
 
 that shut off the sky above his devoted mill. 
 
 " See the fire grows every second, we are lost un 
 less you go to work ; I will pay ten dollars an hour." 
 
 The brakes began to move slowly up and down. 
 Philip felt the water throb through the hose as it 
 touched his side, but it was only one fitful spurt, for 
 the stranger, who seemed to hold the mills at his 
 mercy, had found his voice again. 
 
 " Keep yer money, old man, you will need every 
 penny of it, for you ve cheated yer last out of yer 
 help in them mills. Yer mill hez got to go." 
 
 Philip saw his father turn toward his mills, the 
 pride of his life, and look as fondly at their grim 
 walls as a man on the woman he loves, and the tears 
 of futile agony wet his cheeks. That moment the 
 young man aged ten years. 
 
HIS MISTAKE. 9 1 
 
 The crowd fell back again, and another speaker 
 mounted the strange rostrum. He looked young 
 for such a crisis, but there was a new suggestion of 
 power in his lips and the sullen crowd wondered 
 what he thought he could say to persuade them. 
 
 " I suppose," began Philip slowly, as if every 
 minute might not be worth a fortune, " I presume," 
 and his voice sounded dry and hard, " you will want 
 your wages as usual, next pay-day. Is there any one 
 of you foolish enough to imagine you will get them 
 if the mills go ?" 
 
 Then the young man glanced at the burly stran 
 ger, who, clearly enough, was taken aback by this 
 new style of appeal to a crowd. 
 
 " Possibly this broad-shouldered friend of yours 
 is going to find a living for you. You have got 
 to find it somewhere, and you won t have particu 
 larly good characters to recommend you to new 
 tyrants. 
 
 " Mind, men, I don t say it is quite fair, but mill- 
 owners manage their business about the same way. 
 It is all very well to complain, but the first neces 
 sity is a place to work ; if there isn t that, you surely 
 can t have any rights. I may as well tell you, the 
 mills are heavily insured, and you can t quite have 
 the rare satisfaction of seeing that old man ruined. 
 But I doubt if he will care to put any more mills 
 under such extra risks. Some of your women and 
 
92 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 ignorant people, who don t see the fun of starving, 
 may think you had done a poor night s work." 
 
 The stranger have disappeared, and the faces of 
 the men, clustered about their engine, had lost their 
 sullen cast. The young man s black eyes glistened 
 in the new ecstasy of an orator s triumph. 
 
 " One thing I will promise. I will do what I can 
 in your behalf. I know the lines of most of you 
 have fallen into hard places, and I promise if I can 
 see any way to lighten the burden of life on your 
 shoulders, I will help you." 
 
 The men returned to their work with a murmur 
 of approval. Was it too late? 
 
 The brakes started up again. The men ran up 
 the ladders again, with the hose in their hands, in 
 the renewed battle with the fire. Philip had moved 
 the crowd. He had chosen instinctively, the only 
 method for the crisis, while the flames crackled and 
 flashed in hisrh carnival. But \vas it not too late? 
 
 o 
 
 The men were working with new energy ; new hopes 
 were in their hearts. The mill-owner s son had 
 promised to help them ; he sympathized with their 
 cheerless poverty, and who could do more than he ? 
 If the whole line of mills went, it would be upon 
 their consciences, and the thought put fresh strength 
 into their weary arms, and more fearless courage into 
 their hearts. But precious time had been lost, and 
 the wind had changed, so that now the red, greedy 
 
HIS MISTAKE. 93 
 
 tongues of flame lapped the frowning brick walls of 
 the next mill, and lavished their hot, wanton kisses 
 as if it were love and not hate whose fury would 
 consume them. 
 
 When the moon was setting in the west, that 
 night, Mr. Breton found his son all grimy with 
 smoke, with clothes torn, and drenched in water, out 
 of all semblance to the gentleman of elegant leisure. 
 He stood by the smouldering ruins of number 2. 
 mill. 
 
 " Aren t you coming home to-night, Philip, my 
 dear boy? How proud Bertha would have been if 
 she could have seen her hero to-night." 
 
 Bertha ! What a strange influence her words and 
 manner at parting had left upon him ; as if, someway, 
 in leaving her just when he did, he had lost her for 
 ever. God forbid ! He could not shake it off; it 
 was with him yet as he waited almost alone in the 
 great mill-yard ; all the excitement and responsibil 
 ities of the night had not dispelled it. He looked 
 down moodily into the smoking mass of crumbled 
 walls and roof and blackened timbers, and watched 
 for the little forks of flame that started up boldly, 
 now and then, as if it were not yet too late for a new 
 battle, and then seemed abashed at finding them 
 selves alone in the dark, and sank back. 
 
 " You have saved the mills," said his father, 
 wringing his bruised hand till he hurt him. " God 
 
94 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 bless you, my son. I didn t guess how much there 
 was in you." 
 
 Philip looked up at the scorched walls off on 
 the right, and the long pile of massive structures 
 away to the left, unshaken by the whirlwind of fire. 
 In a few hours more they would be alive with 
 rushing belts and wheels ; and with the feet of the 
 men and women, telling how strange there was a 
 place left for work to-day. Yes, he had saved them 
 " But at what price ? " He spoke half to himself. If 
 he only knew what Bertha had meant. 
 
 " What price? Oh, your promise to do what 
 you could for the men and all that. It was guard 
 edly put, my boy." And his father laughed appre 
 ciatively. " Inexorable parent must be considered, 
 though, ha, ha. You will catch your death of cold. 
 Well, if you will stay, good-night." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Weak Man. 
 
 IT was at dusk a few days after Jane Graves had 
 come to the Ellingsworths, that she stood at the 
 dining-room window. 
 
 It was almost in sight of her old dreary home, 
 and yet another world ; how strange that the two 
 should be so near and not change or shadow each 
 other. But Jane Graves was not the girl to trouble 
 herself over hard questions. She breathed her new 
 atmosphere in unmixed delight, while latent senses 
 awoke each day only to be gratified. What differ 
 ence if she did not own the pier glass mirror that 
 reflected back her neatly clad young figure ; it could 
 not tell her she was ill looking. The exquisitely 
 carved chairs, upholstered in the rarest designs, into 
 which she could sink in delicious abandon, were not 
 any softer for her master than for her. 
 
 At this moment she stood in a very charming 
 attitude leaning lightly against the window casing, 
 her prettily rounded arm raised to play with the 
 curtain tassel. Her master rather liked to linger in 
 the dining-room and read his evening paper. Occa- 
 
96 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 sionally he would glance at the girl who had such 
 pretty poses ; he had quite a taste for pictures, and 
 then she afforded him an excuse for not a little 
 cynical philosophy, and then well that was all 
 he confessed to. Mr. Ellingsworth had one pecu 
 liarity that would certainly seem very commenda 
 ble. He never spoke rudely to anyone; it would 
 have been impossible for his finely grained nature. 
 Not that he had a particularly kind heart, indeed 
 the world quite generally agreed he was a very 
 unlikely man to ask a favor of; and there were some 
 whispers afloat of cruel and unrighteous things he 
 had done before he retired from business. Not a 
 few could have told an unpleasant story of how 
 coldly he treated the wife of his youth when sick 
 ness faded her fair cheeks and spoiled her Madonna- 
 like beauty. No husband could be more polished 
 or correct in words, but her heart was broken, they 
 said, by the cold steel ill-sheathed in his smooth 
 voice and elegant courtesy. None of his servants 
 ever heard a surly word or sharp rebuke from him, 
 but somehow they all seemed afraid of him ; all 
 but this new acquisition who presumed on his 
 good nature in the most audacious fashion. The 
 new maid did not seem to understand it was her 
 duty to withdraw timidly from a room when her 
 master entered or lingered in it, or to modestly 
 drop her shining black eyes when he glanced at her. 
 
WEAK MAN. 97 
 
 She thought him polite and kind, and in her inno 
 cence imagined his was the usual manner of the 
 
 o 
 
 well-bred with their hirelings. The other servants 
 knew that humiliation was a part of their required 
 week s work, which their wages were considered to 
 pay for ; and expected to see the thunderbolt fall on 
 this foolish girl who did not know how precious was 
 the purchased privilege of being cringed to. But 
 strange enough the thunderbolt did not hasten. 
 
 No, there were no lightning flashes in the eyes 
 that looked at her over the newspaper to-night. He 
 was speculating curiously on the change that had 
 come over the girl with changed surroundings, and 
 congratulating himself on his shrewdness in foresee 
 ing it. He hadn t studied life for, well never mind 
 how many years, for nothing. Given a healthy 
 physical organization, and not too much of the 
 morbid high moral quality, and the woman will 
 display an absolute delight in all the conveni 
 ences and embellishments wealth can lend, that 
 seems almost uncanny. Such a woman appreciates 
 love, but it is only as a device to make the world 
 turn its softest side to her. Love without the ac 
 cessories of comfort and elegance is very pretty for 
 poems and songs, but for practice she would cool 
 her divine frenzy, and marry a man who fired her 
 heart less, but pleased it more. Ah, it is the man 
 who has the means and inclination to satisfy her ex.- 
 
98 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 pensive tastes, who is alone rewarded by the passion 
 of her heart. And she is right, too, soliloquized Mr. 
 Ellingsworth, love to such a woman is only one of 
 the elegant tastes, and is in keeping only with poetry 
 and refinement, velvet divans and solid silver service. 
 If coarse, disgusting realities worked themselves into 
 the delicate web of its day-dreams, it couldn t exist. 
 
 It would be rather pleasant, to see the effect of 
 silk and jewelry on her rich type of brunette ; dress 
 wouldn t be thrown away on her. The girl looked 
 pretty in ginghams and calicoes, a few hundred dol 
 lars now, would make a perfect little queen of her. 
 Her bright olive cheeks and neck would be positively 
 dazzling in a cardinal silk with Roman gold in her 
 delicate ears. The great majority of women might 
 as well wear their morning wrappers all day ; full 
 dress only makes them more conspicuous. Even 
 lovely blondes, like Bertha, gain but little by rich 
 dresses. Bertha looked almost her best when she 
 seemed to take the least pains to do so. But how 
 dress would tell on this little maid ! 
 
 Jane Graves had no idea her master was looking 
 at her. She was thinking of the last time she had 
 seen Curran. Why she never expected that night, 
 ever to be happy again, and now she wasn t sure but 
 she should be happy in such a beautiful place as this 
 even if he died, or loved another woman instead of 
 her. But no, she could never endure the last. Per- 
 
WEAK MAN. 99 
 
 haps he would find her out some day, and come to 
 her, and he would tell her it was all a mistake, that 
 he really loved her all the time ; only that he was 
 ashamed to ask her to share his poverty. It is hard 
 for a woman to believe a man cares nothing for her, 
 that melting dark eyes and tender tones, breathing 
 the wildest of worship, can be nothing to her hero. 
 
 Suddenly the girl started, and a deep flush lit up 
 her dark face. Up the walk, to the front doorway, 
 came the man of whom she thought with his own 
 lordly stHde as if he were a prince, indeed, as he de 
 served to be. Her heart was in a sweet glow ; he had 
 found her out, and had come for her. She would 
 leave all these beautiful things with rapture for him. 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth saw the man s figure at the 
 front gate, and the girl s start, and smiled rather dis 
 agreeably to himself. He had wondered before why 
 her lover didn t come, and here he was at the front 
 door, no doubt expecting to be entertained in the. 
 parlor. Certainly Jane Graves must know too much 
 to marry a poverty-stricken man, just because she 
 liked having a lover. She wasn t the sort of woman 
 to be happy in that kind of madness. Somebody 
 ought to tell her, it would be a boon to the young 
 man, too, who no doubt was fancying he was going 
 to marry right into heaven, because the girl could 
 talk foolishly to him now. 
 
 Jane Graves glided into the hall. Suddenly 
 
IOO THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 grown shy at the maiden passion of her own heart, 
 she slowly opened the front door. What would he 
 say first ? Would he take her hand which had grown 
 so white and soft lately ? Would he ask to kiss her, 
 and with beating heart she stood in the open door 
 way. 
 
 It had now grown almost dark, perhaps he did 
 not see her plainly. 
 
 " Did you ring? she asked foolishly, while her 
 heart sank down, down, would it never stop ? 
 
 " Is your mistress in ?" 
 
 What was this some strange mistake? Could 
 he not see who it was held the door open for him ? 
 
 " My mistress, Miss Ellingsworth ? why yes, she 
 is in the parlor. It must be a joke, but now he had 
 frightened her enough, and how they would laugh 
 together over it. She was attempting to smile, 
 when she heard the parlor door open behind her. 
 
 " Yes, I am here." It was Bertha Ellingsworth s 
 voice, and if her face was in keeping with it, it must 
 have been soft and beautiful as an angel s. The vis 
 itor passed in, and Jane Graves shut the outer door 
 heavily and sank upon the floor, pressing with both 
 her hands against her bursting heart. Then she 
 leaped upon her feet in sudden madness, and hurried 
 along the hall to the parlor door. What right had 
 this rich woman to steal away her lover ? She would 
 care only to amuse herself with him for a few days, 
 
WEAK M*8N\ 
 
 and then her servants would be told to shut the door 
 in his face. Such cold creatures as she never love; 
 passion they know nothing of, only the passion to 
 break honest men s hearts. Why not warn him ? 
 Oh, but what was Jane Graves to him ? he might re 
 mind her how he had spurned her from him once. 
 
 The girl turned and came back. It wouldn t 
 hurt him any to know how a broken heart feels ; he, 
 might, by-and-by be sorry for the poor little fac 
 tory girl he had put away from him. She opened 
 the dining-room door. But the woman who would 
 break his heart, who would entangle him in the 
 perfumed meshes of her golden hair, who would 
 tempt him to look deep into the eternal calm of her 
 great blue eyes, and dream it was love he saw, and 
 then laugh him to scorn was there no punishment 
 for her? Jane Graves went back into the dining- 
 room, now grown dark, and threw herself into a chair. 
 The poor cannot fight against the rich. Ah ! but 
 she could hate her mistress white face. She could 
 curse her in her thoughts with all the evils in the 
 universe. The girl burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 " What is the trouble, little girl ?" It was her 
 master s voice. She had forgotten him. 
 
 The girl heard him draw a chair near hers, but she 
 did not uncover her face. 
 
 " Was your beau unkind to you ? Well, don t 
 have anything more to say to him, then, Jennie." 
 
!&5 THE E RETON MILLS. 
 
 Why ! the elegant Mr. Ellingsworth was actually 
 kissing his maid ! What difference did it make ? the 
 one she loved had thrown her away, and trampled 
 her devotion under his feet. She even let him draw 
 her shapely little head to his shoulder, and take her 
 hands away from her face. They hid her lips, he 
 said, when the door-bell rang. 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth answered the bell himself a 
 breach of etiquette not frequent with him, even 
 under the liberalizing influence of village manners. 
 
 " Mr. Breton, charmed to see you," and there was 
 not the faintest trace of ill-humor in his perfectly 
 trained voice. The old gentleman might have been 
 the most opportune of guests. 
 
 But his daughter had not been schooled enough, 
 by a great many years, for such self control, and she 
 started to her feet as her parlor door opened, almost 
 in consternation There was quite a study for char 
 acter in the room at that moment. Curran had not 
 arisen, his lips might have been closed a little tighter 
 than usual, but his face did not even reveal surprise. 
 Mr. Breton had reached the centre of the room 
 before he saw whom Bertha had been entertaining, 
 but now he stood in astonishment he had no con 
 cern to hide snapping his black eyes from the young 
 lady who was soon to be his son s wife, to this 
 weaver in the mill, who did not seem so much out 
 of place in this fashionable parlor, either. The 
 
WEAK MAN. 103 
 
 crisis had come, and Bertha was entirely unprepared 
 for it. Her heart was fluttering wildly, and for the 
 moment she wished she had never seen the man 
 whose presence embarrassed her. A moment before, 
 she had forgotten there was such a thing as wealth 
 or rank, devoutly confident such a man as her guest 
 could stand before kings ; but the door had opened, 
 and let in the breath of pride and caste, scattering the 
 halo about the poor man s head. Suddenly she 
 looked with new repugnance at him she had just 
 thought so sublime. Why did he not go ? She was 
 flushed with vexation at his stubbornness in delay 
 ing. Had he no sense of propriety, to court a social 
 meeting with her aristocratic father, who would rid 
 icule him without his guessing it, and the blunt 
 mill-owner, who would be sure to insult and brow 
 beat him plainly. She expected to see him rise 
 awkwardly, and shuffle out of the room, perhaps 
 pulling his forelock respectfully to the company that 
 was not for such as he. 
 If he had. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 Weak Woman. 
 
 glanced keenly at the face of his beau- 
 tiful hostess, whose wonted serenity had all 
 gone, then he rose to his feet, and stood, while she 
 spoke his name in the briefest form of introduction. 
 He did not seem offended by the stare of surprise 
 Mr. Breton had for him. It was a new experience to 
 the mill-owner, meeting his workmen in fashionable 
 parlors. 
 
 " Curran, is it ? I was sure I had seen you in 
 the mill, but you had on a white apron then." Mr. 
 Breton laughed familiarly, but he did not hold out 
 his hand. 
 
 Couldn t Curran see how rudely he was treated ? 
 Mr. Breton s laugh and tone rasped Bertha s finer 
 sensibilities, so that she was at once indignant with 
 him, and disgusted with Curran, who seemed to bear 
 it so unconsciously. Curran s brow was unruffled ; 
 he had only folded his arms across his breast, some 
 times a sign of excitement with him, she had noticed. 
 He must be made of stone or stubble not to writhe 
 under such treatment, before her. But was the man 
 
WEAK WOMAN. 1Q5 
 
 foolish enough to think he was obliged to stay here 
 and endure it ? The girl s full under lip began to curl 
 in contempt. No doubt he was flattered at being in 
 such company, ad would endure any insult of man 
 ner in unconscious vanity, or perhaps he thought he 
 might curry favor with his employer. Apparently, 
 he had forgotten all about her ; he had looked at her 
 once, that was all, since her father and Mr. Breton 
 had come into the parlor. 
 
 But her father had looked at her more than once, 
 and there was considerable material for study in the 
 changes that passed over her face. There was a 
 half puzzled and half amused expression in his eyes, 
 as if he had just fallen upon a phenomenon, which 
 seemed to prove almost too completely, some pet 
 theory. 
 
 " Mr. Curran had the good fortune, I believe, to 
 do my daughter a great service." Mr. Ellingsworth s 
 manner was the perfection of that peculiar tone so 
 thoroughly well bred in its variety of rudeness. It ex 
 pressed the infinite elevation and polish of the person 
 who assumed it, far above the very natural feeling of 
 disgust at the presence of so vulgar a person as this 
 workman. It suggested irresistibly, the great con 
 tempt such a person ought to call forth, but at the 
 same time that Ellingsworth was unapproachable by 
 even as vulgar a thing as contempt. 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Mr. Breton, as he seated 
 
1 06 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 himself, " I will thank you, too, it was a good job for 
 you, and I will see it don t hurt your interests any, 
 either." 
 
 What further was he waiting for?- His calculations 
 had turned out to be judicious. Mr. Breton had 
 promised to look out for him. If Curran knew how 
 every new insult or familiarity made her despise 
 him, he would not linger. Bertha stood waiting for 
 him to go, but instead, he stepped back to his chair 
 and sat down. He had not spoken yet, but his arms 
 were folded tighter than before over his chest. 
 
 " How do you like your work ?" went on Mr. 
 Breton in his harsh mill voice. " I hope you aint one 
 of those who don t know when they are well off." 
 
 " I can keep from starving ; that is well off, I 
 suppose." 
 
 Mr. Breton was at loss but for a moment. 
 
 " But you poor people don t save what you get. 
 You ought to economize." 
 
 Curran s eyes flashed dangerously, but he bit his 
 lip and kept silence. 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth saw a scene was imminent. 
 How little tact Mr. Breton had, patronizing the 
 young man so provokingly, before the golden-haired 
 goddess, he had no doubt fallen in love with. Some 
 thing must be done. 
 
 " Excuse me. Have you had any serious trouble 
 with your wound, Mr. Curran? " 
 
WEAK WOMAX. 107 
 
 " I have only lost a few days, that is nothing," 
 he answered quickly. 
 
 " But it must be considerable for a poor man ! " 
 broke in Mr. Breton with his grand air, " I will direct 
 my paymaster to make it up to you." 
 
 Curran glanced across the room at Miss Ellings- 
 worth. He expected to see her face flushed with 
 anger. She would leap to her feet in indignant re 
 monstrance to shield him from such impertinence, 
 all the generosity of her nature in revolt against such 
 return for his devotion to her. 
 
 She was looking at him, but much as a girl looks 
 at a strange animal she has been petting, when 
 suddenly they tell her he bites. Curran turned away 
 from her and ground his teeth. Then he looked at 
 Mr. Breton. 
 
 " Can t your paymaster make up for the pain, 
 too, as well as the lost time ? " 
 
 Mr, Ellingsworth was at his wit s end. He saw 
 the cloud gathering in the workman s eyes, and that 
 his lip trembled with suppressed feeling when he 
 spoke. 
 
 " How long have you been in town, Mr. Curran ? " 
 he said to change the conversation if possible into 
 safer channels. 
 
 " Only six months." 
 
 " Why," volunteered Mr. Breton after an awk 
 ward silence, " that is about as long as the mill hands 
 
1 08 Til E BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 have been fault-finding so loudly." The old gentle 
 man looked sharply at him. " I don t suppose you 
 would tell who has been making the trouble." 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth was almost out of humor. His 
 friend actually seemed only fit for his own factory. 
 What is the good of riches to a man who has no 
 conception of the amenities it cultivates, and is 
 capable of treating a person he meets in a parlor as 
 if he were playing overseer. Not that he need have 
 any consideration for the man, but certainly he 
 ought to have some respect for a parlor. Once out, 
 of course such a person as Curran should never out 
 rage the elegant precincts again, what could Bertha 
 have been thinking of? But so long as he was here 
 
 " Yes sir. Curran had risen to his feet, the flush 
 of offended self-respect in his cheeks, " when I came 
 here I found the mills paying you twelve per cent 
 dividends, while the help who ground them out for 
 you, were crushed almost to the earth. I felt bound 
 to tell them as I now tell you, that the owner has 
 no more God-given right to all the profit of their 
 work, any more than they to all the profit of his 
 investment." 
 
 " And you are the man who has been stirring up 
 this mischief here ! " cried Mr. Breton, almost start 
 ing from his chair. He had caught him at last then. 
 " And do you say that a man isn t entitled to the in 
 terest on his money ? My money represents a thou- 
 
WEAK WOMAN. 1 09 
 
 sand such lives as yours, it ought to have a thou 
 sand times the pay." He had more terrible guns 
 than of the batteries of logic for the rebel, but he 
 could not resist the temptation to explode the falla 
 cies of his class before he let him go. 
 
 The young man s eyes flashed beautifully. As for 
 this girl who had suddenly grown ashamed of him 
 before her own class, she might learn he could bow 
 and scrape and cringe to no one. If she had no care 
 to shield her own guest in her own parlor from in 
 sult, thank God, he was bold enough to vindicate his 
 own manhood, no matter what it cost him. And 
 what gentleness had any of them deserved of him ? 
 One had cut him with his keen sarcasm and his two- 
 edged politeness, and another heaped impertinence 
 on rudeness till now he fairly challenged him to a 
 battle of words. Why should he not with rough 
 hand lay bare the cruel falsehood on which this great 
 man s wealth was built ? 
 
 " Your money represents a thousand lives, then, 
 out of which you have sucked the life blood ? And 
 at how much do you value a human life ? As much 
 as a thousand dollars for a soul ? A thousand dol 
 lars for. all the joys and hopes and possibilities of a 
 human life ? Your valuation is too miserably small. 
 I tell you," and Curran threw out his right hand in 
 a magnificent gesture, " I tell you, a human crea 
 ture ought to have for its service a good portion of 
 
1 1 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 the comforts and delights the world is so bounteous 
 with. Anything less is slavery, a slavery worse than 
 negro bondage. Do you call it pay, that you give 
 the hopeless men and women that weave gold for 
 you on your looms ? Rather say the daily recurring 
 fact of hunger chains them to your mill." 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth had sunk back in his seat in 
 despair ; he might as well resign himself to the sit 
 uation since it seemed beyond his power to change 
 it. Mr. Breton was likely to hear some startling 
 truths before he succeeded in refuting this dangerous 
 young man. Perhaps it was just as well, too, there 
 is no sense in a man s making his money as the 
 rich do, by one kind or another of imposition or 
 injustice and then affect such ridiculous unconscious 
 ness. There is no sense in being blind and stupid 
 about how one comes to be rich, the comfortable 
 fact remaining. What was the use of Breton wrest 
 ling with such a young giant as this ? 
 
 " I pay my help market prices of labor. I don t 
 propose to make them gifts." The old gentleman 
 handled his cane nervously, but he could punish the 
 man enough later. He felt Ellingsworth s sharp eyes, 
 he must think of something to absolutely overwhelm 
 the arguments of his workman. He ran over in his 
 mind the smooth axioms of his class, and tried hard 
 to recollect some of the perfect syllogisms of the 
 political economists. 
 
WEAK WOMAN. Ill 
 
 Curran stood, his elbow resting on the back of 
 the chair he had been sitting in, in an attitude so 
 dignified and gracefuf that Mr. Ellingsworth glanced 
 across at his daughter to see if she had observed it. 
 It was not quite so inconceivable, after all, that 
 Bertha might have taken a fancy to him. But then 
 his whole associations had been with the poor, and 
 what possible harmony, even for a moment then 
 Mr. Ellings worth remembered the maid servant cry 
 ing at this moment in the dining-room. 
 
 o o 
 
 " Naturally you prefer to let your half-clothed ill- 
 fed hands make you the presents ; they earn you big 
 dividends ; you throw them a crust of bread, the 
 market price of labor you call it, and put the divi 
 dends in your own pocket." 
 
 " But it s my money made the mill, and my man 
 agement runs it." 
 
 " As for the money," retorted Curran, "perhaps 
 you inherited a part of it, saved by the tax laid on 
 the poor of the last generation, or you borrowed it, 
 perhaps, on interest, and made the help in your mill 
 pay the interest every penny of it, how else could it be 
 paid ? Then from that start which the stolen profits 
 of the poor gave you, you managed, as you say, to 
 squeeze a big enough fortune out of the rightful 
 earnings of your laborers to pay back your borrowed 
 money, and leave the mills free to grind their grist 
 for you only. You did not make your money ; no 
 
1 1 2 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 man can till two million of dollars out of his farm, or 
 dig it out of a coal mine. You simply took it. Your 
 new mills are paid for out of* wages you ought to 
 have given your help ; you call them yours ; the new 
 machinery comes out of them. They are the real 
 stockholders in it all. If it were possible for one 
 man s brain or muscle fairly to win a fortune, it could 
 be done on a farm. It cannot be done till a man 
 manages to make hundreds of unwilling suffering 
 creatures contribute of their wretched subsistence." 
 
 Mr. Breton had sprung from his seat, but Curran 
 went on unflinchingly. " It isn t earned, it is sim 
 ply defrauded. The management is doubtless good, 
 but no management could, in the righteous course of 
 justice, bring such vast fortunes into the hands of a 
 few men ; while the thousands who work for them 
 live and die with the consuming thirst for happiness 
 never for one hour assuaged in their souls." 
 
 The old gentleman had come up close to him as 
 he spoke, and as he finished, Curran looked down 
 calmly into a face almost purple with passion. It 
 occurred to him that Mr. Breton was about to have 
 an attack of apoplexy. The hand that held his 
 gold-headed cane fairly trembled. Could a man never 
 be so rich that unpleasant facts must not touch him ? 
 
 " You have earned your last penny in my mills? " 
 the old gentleman shouted at him. " We ought to 
 have laws to shut up such men as you." 
 
WEAK WOMAN. 113 
 
 But Curran looked away as if he had not heard 
 him. Of course, what Mr. Breton had threatened 
 him with was a foregone conclusion. 
 
 " Mr. Ellingsworth," he said, as that gentleman 
 rose to his feet, " I am very sorry to have brought 
 such a scene into your parlor, it seemed unavoidable 
 after what was said to me, and it seems likely to prove 
 more unfortunate for me than for anybody else." He 
 moved two or three steps toward the door. " The 
 most I can do is to promise never to come again." 
 
 No one thought of anything to say. Mr. Ellings 
 worth vaguely wondered where the man picked up 
 his neat way of talking, but then the wealthy, after 
 all, have no monopoly of talent ; it isn t like the old 
 world. 
 
 Curran cast a withering look of contempt on the 
 mill-owner, who had nothing more to say. " I am 
 sorry too, to be deprived of the chance to win my 
 daily bread, but I may serve as an illustration of the 
 workings of the slavery I spoke of. And by the 
 way,Mr. Breton, you will have to modify those direc 
 tions to your paymaster you were good enough to 
 offer me earlier in the evening. Miss Ellingsworth, 
 good-bye." 
 
 He did not notice that the expression of the 
 girl s face had changed, or that she had started to 
 come to him, and there was a grandeur of wrath in 
 his face and bearing that awed her. She stood in 
 
I 14 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 the centre of the room, with heaving bosom, and 
 frightened, troubled eyes, watching him out of the 
 door. Then her father came back through the hall- 
 with his sarcastic smile finely curving his thin lips. 
 
 Why should he spare his ridicule? Had she not 
 deserted her guest in shame, suffered insult and im 
 pertinence to be heaped upon him, and sat by in 
 contemptible silence ? But how beautifully he had 
 known how to preserve his own honor. It would 
 have been base and ignoble in him to have crawled 
 out of her parlor at the entrance of her father and Mr. 
 Breton, self-confessed unworthy to sit in their pres 
 ence. And for all their wealth and power and van 
 tage ground, careless of what it must cost, he had 
 thrown their insults in their teeth and shown him 
 self a grander man, a thousand times, than either of 
 them. 
 
 The warm flood of returning feeling swept over 
 her soul. She could not bear one more cruel word 
 against him now. Before her father could speak she 
 had hurried into the hall and shut fast the door so 
 that she should not hear the bitter sentence that was 
 just parting his lips. 
 
 What strange impulse moved her that she should 
 go to the outer door and look eagerly down the 
 street. But her insulted guest had not lingered. In 
 a moment more she was at the gate, and saw his tall 
 form only at a little distance. No doubt he was 
 
WEAK WOMAN. 115 
 
 thinking sadly or perhaps angrily of her, as he walked, 
 and he could not guess that she had repented, and 
 was eager this moment to beg his forgiveness, with 
 all the sw r eet words she knew. Bertha glanced back 
 at the house in hesitation. She could see the slim 
 outlines of her father s figure shadowed on the cur 
 tains. She could not hear what he was saying. It 
 was this : 
 
 " It is one of Bertha s freaks. All women are 
 subject to them." 
 
 " But I don t understand," insisted Mr. Breton, 
 wiping the perspiration from his heated face. " I 
 don t understand how she can bring herself, a girl of 
 her notions, to entertain a fellow like this. How 
 long do you suppose this has been going on? Ever 
 since the dog adventure, very likely. If I were 
 Philip ." 
 
 " But you recollect I am only three days 
 returned from my trip, and am entirely unable to 
 tell you how many times she has met this very 
 striking individual. Don t hurry yourself into men 
 tal decline by trying to explain on logical principles 
 a woman s performances," smiled Mr. Ellingsworth. 
 " And I wouldn t take the trouble to suggest mis 
 givings to Phil. I would rather trust the girl s na 
 ture, and I think I know it, than depend on a 
 jealous lovers reproaches. Why, my dear friend, I 
 would stake my life on the girl s attachment to the 
 
1 1 6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 traditions of her position. Our wives and daughters 
 are thrice more intolerable, unreasonable aristo 
 crats than we. If she has been guilty of a touch of 
 foolish sentiment, reaction is certain, and she will 
 only despise the man the more because of her sea 
 son of blindness." 
 
 " But supposing the reaction come too late," 
 suggested Mr. Breton anxiously. " Then it better 
 not come at all," he continued. " The very character 
 you give her would make three people perfectly mis 
 erable the man she refuses, the man she marries, 
 and herself." 
 
 11 Excuse me," answered Mr. Ellingsworth, with 
 his most unpleasant smile, " I doubt if a daughter of 
 mine would be unhappy so long as her physical com 
 fort was unabated. That would suppose a certain 
 over-sensitive moral quality that doesn t go with our 
 blood," and the proud father slightly shrugged his 
 shoulders. ; But be satisfied, I think I saw unmis 
 takable symptoms this evening that the reaction of 
 custom against nature has already set in." 
 
 But the girl who had stood at the gate, in her 
 slippers, and with no covering for her head only her 
 golden hair fastened low on her neck, had hesitated 
 but a moment. She could not let Curran leave her 
 thus ; perhaps she should never see him again, if he 
 went away without one word from her to soften the 
 blows she had let them give him. And then he 
 
WEAK WOMAN. 1I/ 
 
 seemed to be walking slowly ; she could overtake 
 him in a moment. The uneven walk hurt her feet, 
 her slippers were so thin, and as she lifted her skirt 
 to walk faster, a rude briar tore her soft flesh, and 
 then hung greedily to her, to impede her steps. 
 She stopped, and called his name. She had hardly 
 murmured it, but it seemed so loud spoken, and so 
 tender toned, she blushed at herself, and dared not 
 speak it again. She might run a few steps, and 
 then he would hear her voice more plainly. But 
 her dress clung so closely, and then her excited 
 breath came so fast, that she gained on him very 
 slowly. There was no use, she must lose him for 
 ever out of her life ; he must always think her cruel 
 and ungenerous. She leaned against the fence 
 and sent one more hopeless cry after him. It was 
 more a sob than a cry, a piteous sob, trembling with 
 gentle heart-broken reproach. Why, she was sure 
 he must have heard that ; she had never meant to 
 speak so loud. What could she say to him when he 
 came back to her? She must try to be very cold 
 and dignified. But wasn t he going to turn ? why, 
 her cry was piercing enough to go a mile on the 
 still evening air. No, he was farther away, he had 
 not heard her. 
 
 Then she looked back, and was frightened to see 
 what a distance she was away from her home. And 
 as she stood looking, now at his tall form drawing 
 
I 1 8 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 unconsciously away from her, and then at the dis 
 tant lights of her home, the first hint -of the desola 
 tion that broods over millions of hopeless hearts, 
 came upon her soul. Her slippers were torn, and wet 
 with dew, and each step she took bruised the tender 
 feet that had never known hurt or weariness, only of 
 pleasure. Her heavy masses of hair had been shaken 
 from their fastenings, and hung at full length to her 
 waist. She fancied herself some lost, friendless 
 Magdalen, for whom the world, that fawns on the 
 fortunate and proud, had only taunts and cruel 
 blows. And were there women who had to face the 
 world alone? fight their own battles with timid 
 hearts ? earn their own right to breathe, with shrink 
 ing hearts ? 
 
 " What was that, a step, a man s step coming 
 toward her?" To her excited imagination, at that 
 moment, her beautiful home and the elegant life she 
 loved so well, seemed things of the past. Why had 
 she never been more pitiful to the poor and the hope 
 less, whose name was legion ? Now she knew what 
 they might suffer. There were but a few, after all, 
 who were favored of fortune, the rest were weary, 
 and faint and broken, as she was to-night. 
 
 She gathered her hair into a loose coil, and let 
 her dress trail on the walk to cover her feet. The 
 man wore workman s clothes. She had hoped he 
 might be a gentleman. She tried to keep on the 
 
WEAK WOMAN. 
 
 outer edge of the side-walk ; she would have taken 
 the road, if she had dared. She looked away from 
 the man, but she could see with beating heart he was 
 coming directly toward her. But perhaps he did not 
 see her, and he might turn aside yet. God grant he 
 be an honest man, whose wife s loving face was in 
 his thoughts at this moment ! There were such men. 
 But instead of moving aside, the man stopped short 
 just before her, and she raised her big, scared eyes 
 to his face. 
 
 " Why, Bertha, I thought it was you." 
 
 Sure enough, it was Philip Breton. He had 
 come from the mill, where there had been some 
 extra work. 
 
 u Let me walk home with you," he said very 
 gently, as if he had no right to assert any privi 
 lege with her. 
 
 " I came too far, and got frightened," she said 
 dreamily, as she rested her hand on his arm. 
 
 Her hand was cold, but its touch sent his young 
 blood tingling through his veins. 
 
 " I am so sorry." How he longed to catch her 
 white hand to his lips, and warm it with kisses. But 
 lately she had treated him with a new coldness, and 
 her coldness he dare not meet. He dreaded to face 
 it, it pained him so past endurance, and he had 
 called on her but seldom since the night of the fire. 
 But now his heart was full of eloquent love ; so full, 
 
1 2O THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 he could not conceive of her not sharing in it. It 
 was she called it forth, she must have something for 
 him. 
 
 They had reached her gate. She would surely 
 invite him to go in with her. Then she could tell 
 him if he had done anything to displease her. He 
 could remember nothing, but women are so gentle, 
 there might have been some unconscious cold word 
 or tone, as if, poor fellow, he had not been only too 
 tender with her. 
 
 " Good-night," she said. She had lost the tre 
 mor in her voice fright had given her, and all the 
 softness of heart of her loneliness. 
 
 11 I thank you," she added coldly, as he did not 
 go, but stood looking at her as if he did not quite 
 understand. 
 
 " Good-night," he answered, with a great throb 
 in his throat. He stumbled awkwardly, as he went 
 down the steps ; he could not see very well for the 
 mist in his eyes. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Ungrateful Populace. 
 
 T)HILIP BRETON satiate over the tea table, 
 J- one evening some days after. His father had been 
 detained down in the village, and had come home 
 with a good deal on his mind apparently. Indeed, 
 the old gentleman, who generally laid aside his hard 
 ness outside his own doors, had sat in silence wrink 
 ling his forehead very inartistically almost through 
 the meal. 
 
 " Poor folks are always ungrateful," he ex 
 claimed harshly at last as he shook his head severely 
 at the maid servant who offered him the cake basket. 
 The little maid started violently ; what had he given 
 her that she was ungrateful about ? But the young 
 master Philip gave her an amused smile that calmed 
 her fears ; somebody else, then, had committed the 
 unpardonable sin, according to the code of the rich. 
 And she tried in vain to think of some poor people 
 who had any blessings. 
 
 " Here I have whitewashed every house for them 
 and they needed it enough, too, and it was only to 
 night I heard some grumbling old woman tell her 
 
1 2 2 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 husband, she wondered how old Breton would like 
 to live in one of his own tenements." 
 
 He pushed back his chair in a movement of per 
 fect disgust. " What has that got to do with it ? I 
 don t undertake, and only a fool would expect it, to 
 provide an elegant house, with ail the modern im 
 provements, and an acre of land for a front yard, to 
 every laborer in my mills that earns ninety cents a 
 day." 
 
 Philip said nothing, it had been his habit lately 
 when his father got on this theme, to keep silence. 
 He was puzzled to know what to say. His father s 
 logic seemed correct, but then there was all that 
 debasing poverty to stare it out of countenance. 
 Was there not an occasion for another line of logic, 
 or if not, for something besides logic, if logic shut 
 out a thousand strong, big-hearted men, and gentle 
 souled women, and joy loving children, all to make 
 one family rich beyond all conceivable wants. But 
 his father took his silence for the expected assent 
 and went on. 
 
 " Why, look at it, Phil. The insurance on the 
 burned mill won t make up for the lost time in re 
 building, and this is the time they select to ask for 
 fire escapes. Yield them an inch and they want an 
 ell. You are in the mill a good deal, you must see 
 it for yourself. I suppose they think I ought to run 
 the factory for a big benevolent institution. Every 
 
UNGRATEFUL POPULACE. 12$ 
 
 man that is poor curses me for it, and not one shift 
 less family in town, I ll warrant, but would lay the 
 fault on my shoulders. By the way, Phil, you have 
 been to college, you ought to know if there isn t any 
 way I can stop the tongue of that tall brown-haired 
 fellow. Can t the law touch him ? I have discharged 
 him, but he does more mischief than ever." 
 
 " Discharged Curran ! " exclaimed Philip. " You 
 don t mean it ! why he is the man that saved Bertha s 
 life," and he continued hurriedly, " You must take 
 him back at once, it would be the most outrageous 
 return, you must take him back at once, no matter 
 what he has said." 
 
 " No matter what he has done either, I suppose," 
 said Mr. Breton with some heat. " Perhaps I know 
 more of the interesting young man than you do," he 
 went on indiscreetly. " It may be as well for you if 
 I open your eyes a little What is it, Mary?" 
 
 " Three men at the door, sir. They want to see 
 you, sir." 
 
 " Say gentlemen, not men," corrected Mr. Bre 
 ton sharply as he rose from the table. 
 
 " I think they are workmen." To be sure. The 
 mill-owner found three of his workmen in his study ; 
 all standing when he entered because they felt less 
 awkward on their feet. 
 
 " Send my son in," he called to Mary. " He might 
 as well learn how to meet this sort of occasion." 
 
124 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 The delegation of workmen did not look very 
 fierce ; one of them kept gazing longingly out of the 
 window, and smoothing his napless felt hat ; another, 
 out of whose soiled coat pocket stuck the stem of 
 a clay pipe, was studying the ceiling of the room 
 with an intensity only explainable by his fear of his 
 master s eye. They were two of the men who had 
 peered into the parlor windows of this very house 
 on the evening our story commences. The third was 
 John Graves, whose eyes were fixed unflinchingly on 
 the mill- owner for whom he had a message. When 
 Philip came in he was a little startled to see his 
 quondam host, but the man had other things to 
 think of than the possible identity of this elegantly 
 dressed young gentleman with the ungrateful tramp 
 he had kept once over night. 
 
 " There s a meetin of the mill han s down in the 
 hall, sir, and they sent us up to ask a favor." 
 
 Mr. Breton had seated himself before his long 
 office table and pulled up a file of business letters. 
 
 " You have too many meetings," he said loudly. 
 " You talk so much you aren t fit to work. Some 
 of the noisiest of you will find themselves out of a 
 job, some fine morning, one man did the other day." 
 
 Philip drew away a little from his father s chair 
 where he had been standing. That didn t seem quite 
 the way to treat intelligent human beings. That was 
 hardly permitting free speech and why had one man 
 
UNGRATEFUL POPULACE. 12$ 
 
 any reason to conclude his talk was correct and a 
 thousand others, false. And then Curran s discharge ; 
 he must certainly restore him instead of boasting of 
 something so like the black ingratitude he inveighed 
 so much against. 
 
 The two other men looked anxiously at their 
 spokesman. If they had dared they would have 
 begun to make excuses for coming ; for their wives 
 and babies must be fed ; and talking about their rights 
 wouldn t ever feed them ; and the master looked so 
 stern. Let others who could afford to offend him go 
 to the meetings. But the poor fellows were afraid to 
 raise their voices, even in apology. 
 
 " But the willingest of us all don t want to be 
 roasted to death ; and it aint a bit pleasanter t6 us 
 men folks to think of seein our wives and children 
 burnt up before our eyes. Our women aint quite so 
 purty as those of the rich : but a few on us prize 
 em as much. We come to ask for firescapes on 
 the mills. So if there should happen to come a 
 fire in daytime when the mills were full, the poor 
 critters could git out." It was quite a long speech 
 for John Graves in such august presence; and he 
 delivered it in the monotonous Yankee drawl which 
 carries high tragedy or low comedy without a distinc 
 tion of accent. 
 
 Mr. Breton was well accustomed to the blunt 
 form of speech of the common people who have 
 
126 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 never had time to study fine shades of expres 
 sion. 
 
 " There is no danger," he answered with a gruff 
 laugh, " and in business we can t spend much money 
 providing against very unlikely events. Fire escapes 
 would be a piece of useless extravagance." Mr. Bre 
 ton looked sharply at his visitors over the file of let 
 ters. " It would make necessary another cut in your 
 pay." 
 
 Bill Rogers fingered his pipe uneasily in the sig 
 nificant silence that followed and finally drew it half 
 out of his pocket through force of habit in distress. 
 Then he found his voice. 
 
 " Yer jokin , squire, yer wouldn t cut us poor 
 devils down again. The last cut seemed as if it 
 would kill us, till we found out how little it takes to 
 keep soul and body together if a critter don t expect 
 nothin else. Why, squire, a dog has the best of 
 some on us now ; for folks let him steal." The tall 
 man thrust back his pipe into the depths of his 
 pocket, and his face hardened into a sullen expres 
 sion as he added solemnly, " I cal late another cut 
 would fill all the jails in the county. Yer might as 
 well give us the least we can live on here, as support 
 us in prison." 
 
 The mill-owner rose to his feet with a bustling 
 movement of impatience. When would he learn 
 that men like these were incapable of appreciating 
 
UNGRA TEF UL POP ULA CE. 1 2 / 
 
 sound argument. It was much more judicious to say 
 no, in a tone they could not question. The unrea 
 sonable beings had no conception of the principles 
 of political economy, but always had some particular 
 hardship of their own to urge against its beautiful 
 theories, as if what made the rich more rich must 
 not in some way help the beggars even that cringed 
 at their feet. 
 
 " Well, well, I don t mean to cut you again if you 
 don t bother me too much. I have lost so much 
 that I really can t afford another dollar of expense." 
 He rang the bell for the servant. 
 
 There was a gleam of sarcastic humor in John 
 Graves black eyes. 
 
 " But wouldn t it now be quite a loss to burn up 
 a thousand such good cheap factory ban s ? I 
 wouldn t thought you could afford that. These fire 
 scapes now " 
 
 " Show them out, Mary," interrupted Mr. Breton 
 angrily. "You might as well know, I could find a 
 thousand as good and as cheap, in a week," and he 
 shut the office door after them with a slam. 
 
 " But you have let those men go away thinking 
 you had just as lief they would be burned to death," 
 expostulated Philip, flushing with excitement. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind sir, only that but do you 
 take sides with them, that is the last thing I expected, 
 that my own son would take part against me." 
 
1 2 8 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 Possibly the old gentleman was a little ashamed of 
 having spoken quite as harshly to the workmen as 
 he had. It would be repeated all about town. And 
 it was certainly incautious, but his very uneasiness 
 made him the more provoked at Philip s suggestion. 
 " I presume you picked up a few socialistic ideas at 
 school. No doubt you would like to put on the fire 
 escapes out of the money your mother left you." 
 He rang the bell violently. 
 
 "Yes I would," exclaimed Philip, his eyes light 
 ing up. " I will be very glad to pay for it all. It 
 seems unjust somehow to crowd the men and girls 
 into the mills as thick as they can work, and not pro 
 vide so but that they all may be burned to 
 
 " Mary, bring those three men back," interrupted 
 Mr. Breton. 
 
 " But they are on the street by this." 
 
 " It makes no difference," and the choleric old 
 gentleman brought his fist down with a crash on the 
 table. " Go after them, if you have to chase them 
 a mile. Bring them back, I say." 
 
 The little office clock ticked its loudest to break 
 the silence, till the door opened to let in the return 
 ing committee. What could it mean? Mr. Breton 
 stood with his back turned to them, drumming on 
 the window pane, while Philip, pale and uncomfort 
 able, looked nervously at his father, and then at the 
 three awkward figures in the doorway, with the 
 
UNGRA TEFUL POP ULA CE. 1 29 
 
 breathless servant girl behind the mwaiting for start 
 ling developments. 
 
 " You can report to your meeting," said Mr. Bre 
 ton in a constrained voice, without facing the work 
 men, " My son will put on the fire-escapes at his 
 own expense. That is all." 
 
 The men were astonished. So the young mill- 
 owner s son had begun to redeem his promise of the 
 night of the fire. There were rough words of grati 
 tude on their lips, their hearts were in a glow, after 
 the first chill of disappointment, but there was an 
 influence in the little office that hushed their eager 
 speech, and they only ducked their heads in awk 
 ward acknowledgment, and followed the maid out. 
 
 " Did you suppose," said Mr. Breton in a calmer 
 tone as he left the window, and took his chair by the 
 long table, " that I was going to let you pay for those 
 fire-escapes ? Not a penny, my dear boy, but you 
 can have the credit of it, discredit I should call it." 
 He opened the drawer and drew out a sheet of busi 
 ness paper. 
 
 " The Breton Mills," was printed at the top. 
 He dipped his pen in the ink, and wrote in the date. 
 
 Then he wrote the address, as follows: " John T. 
 Giddings, esq. Attorney at Law, 42 Loring Street, 
 Lockout." 
 
 " Please sit down, Phil. I am not much in the 
 habit of talking of my business, to anybody, but I 
 
 
1 3 O THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 presume it is your right to know this." Mr. Breton 
 laid down his pen, and clasped his hands behind his 
 head. " I want to make this mill four times its pres 
 ent size ; I haven t the money, but other men have. 
 I am going to take those other men in with me, and 
 then turn the whole thing into a corporation. Gid- 
 dings is managing it for me." 
 
 Philip s face fell. A corporation ! Then all his 
 thoughts of some day letting a little light into the 
 lives of the villagers, so far always in the shadow, his 
 dreams which had lent a new dignity to his life, and 
 his promise to them, were all for nothing. A soul 
 less corporation, with nobody to blame for an act of 
 injustice ! How it would rivet the shackles of the 
 poor past any power of his hands to loose them. 
 
 "What is the trouble, my boy?" smiled his 
 father, in his superior wisdom. "One would think 
 you wanted the tough job I have had, over again. 
 It is too much, too much for a man ; why, I thought 
 I was doing you a kindness. A man thinks, at first, 
 he is strong, that he won t care for the murmurs 
 and the threatenings of his help, but he gets tired. 
 The amount of power, almost like God s, Philip," 
 said Mr. Breton excitedly, " almost like God s ; a big 
 fortune gives a man, is too much, too much." He 
 came around the table, and put his hand on his 
 pen s shoulder. 
 
 " The people are so poor and unhappy, we can t 
 
UNGRATEFUL POPULACE. 131 
 
 shut our eyes to it. Don t we all wonder," he went on 
 in this new, strange mood Philip was fairly startled 
 at, "don t we all wonder what life is worth to them, 
 that they are so hungry for the bread that keeps the 
 breath in them ? And they all blame the men who 
 own the mills ; they think it is our hardness and in 
 justice. A man may know he is all right, that rich 
 men have always done as he is doing, that the few al 
 ways have the best of everything, and seem to deprive 
 the masses of their rights ; but it wears on a man ; 
 he wants to get behind somebody." 
 
 The little office clock ticked on restlessly, for an 
 other week, and Philip had come to feel that to be 
 in love may be the most terrible misfortune of a 
 man s life. His pride had not let him call again on 
 Bertha for days of distress, days of hot, dry wretch 
 edness, whose dawn was a new, pitiless reminder of 
 his quenchless passion that met only insult. It was 
 insult, as he felt it, for a lover has sensibilities pain 
 fully acute, and can detect the slightest change in a 
 woman s relations with him, by signs too subtle for 
 unstimulated observation. A hair s breadth varia 
 tion in tone makes mysterious revelations, sweet or 
 bitter to him ; a shade of expression in the beautiful 
 blue eyes, has a meaning clearer than words, to 
 thrill him with hope, or plunge him into despair. 
 And in those days, too, he found time to remember 
 how unlover-like Bertha had always been to him, and 
 
132 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 every time she had met his ardor w th coldness, 
 with all the instances of hardness and neglect she 
 had meted out to his devotion, rose up in his mind 
 like hideous sins that will not be forgot. How he 
 had fooled himself, and he had been so happy in his 
 delusion. 
 
 The beginning of love is an arch of flowers, whose 
 rare perfume seems fresh wafted from heaven what 
 danger can lurk in such tempting portals ? The 
 eager traveler steps lightly in ; he pushes aside, with 
 ringers trembling in new delight, the low hanging 
 boughs of unfaded green. He tastes the honey on the 
 roses that half open their petals in ravishing tender 
 ness for his clinging kisses. But when, all of a sud 
 den, the roses close their sweet mouths to him, and 
 the boughs swing up in some strange chill breeze, 
 beyond his reach, and he turns to go, now each green 
 leaf reveals a thorn to torture him, and beneath the 
 graceful garlands many a poisoned spear-head is 
 pointed at his heart. Philip s face had lost its merry 
 humor, for now he was continually either determin 
 ing dark and cheerless purposes never to see Bertha 
 again, since he knew at last she had never loved him, 
 or else starting at some voice that sounded like hers, 
 or a sudden association of memory that made her 
 seem near him. Sometimes, in despair of subduing 
 a passion that only grew the stronger for his strug 
 gle against it, he would resolve to go to her and fall at 
 
UNGRATEFUL POPULACE. 133 
 
 her feet, with all the suicidal humility of a mad lover, 
 and beg her to marry him to marry him for the love 
 of God, for he could not live another day without her. 
 Again, as to-night when he sat in the little study, he 
 would try to laugh at the folly that set a pretty face 
 above all the glorious aims in life, and a face, too, 
 that had never once lit up with love for him. Was 
 a man such a weakling that he could not get along 
 without a woman s soft perfumed breast to lean his 
 head upon? Suddenly a thought struck him. 
 Wasn t that pretty picture of Bertha as a young 
 girl in one of these drawers ? Very likely she had 
 loved him no more then than now ; he was sure he 
 could tell from the eyes in the photograph. He 
 threw himself into the chair before the table, and 
 pulled out one drawer after another, in morbid eager 
 ness to drive another knife into his heart. 
 
 There came a light tap at the door. He closed 
 the drawers and turned about in his chair, in time to 
 see Mary, the maid, enter with a letter for him. He 
 glanced at the writing, and then was so angry at the 
 sweet glow about his heart, that he tossed the letter 
 carelessly on the table. 
 
 The maid had lingered with a woman s unweary 
 ing taste for sentiment ; but now she slammed the 
 door on him and went bridling down the hall in high 
 dudgeon. 
 
 " He s a pretty beau, he is," she muttered, " if I 
 
1 34 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 was that girl of his, I d teach him to treat my love- 
 letters that way." 
 
 But the maid did not see, for the door was shut, 
 what might have better suited her ideas of pro 
 priety. Her young master had torn open the envel 
 ope, and read the three lines of the letter, before 
 Mary had finished her disgusted soliloquy. Then he 
 re-read it a dozen times, and behaved generally in as 
 foolish a fashion as the most exacting sweetheart 
 could have desired. But there were only three lines. 
 
 " I have not deserved it, I do not deserve it ; but 
 will you call before seven to-night? BERTHA." 
 
 But where was his sullen determination never to 
 see her again ? Had he forgotten so soon that 
 she had never loved him ? But he remembered 
 that moment, that to-morrow was the day she had 
 promised to let him talk of marriage to her, the 
 month would be up. She had meant it in joke, no 
 doubt, but might it not be she remembered it now, 
 and perhaps was blushing as she wrote this note of 
 reconciliation, for fear he should put her in mind of 
 it ? Ah, to be sure he would, he had been too timid 
 a lover, altogether, she should see after this. There 
 was a new flush on his face, which any woman might 
 have thought handsome this moment, and a new 
 bright light in his eyes. Why, it was near seven 
 o clock, now. And he rose to go out. 
 
 " Bah !" It was his father who opened the door 
 
UNGRATEFUL POPULACE. 135 
 
 and came in, tearing a scrap of paper between his fat 
 fingers. 
 
 But Philip thrust his letter into his inside pocket, 
 and then made sure it was safe, as if it were a pre 
 cious ticket of admission. 
 
 " My dear Phil, if there ever was a man fool 
 enough to try and give the poor what they want, 
 they would lead him the wildest kind of a wild goose 
 chase, I can tell you. You ll see yet I was right about 
 those fire-escapes. Since they have got those, the 
 help are clamoring for something new every day. 
 They devote all their spare time trying to think of 
 some Right they are kept out of. I suppose the nin 
 nies imagine the mills ought to be run in their inter 
 est," and Mr. Breton smiled at the absurdity of the 
 idea conjured up. Then he tossed the torn bits of 
 paper into the waste basket. "There goes one of their 
 warnings ; I have burnt a dozen within a week. If I 
 don t do this or that, my mills will stop, they read. 
 I wouldn t wonder if a strike was brewing. I only 
 wish they would give me one more day, they might 
 scare some of the capitalists if they should make a 
 disturbance to-morrow, but after to-morrow it will 
 be too late. They can do their worst, we will always 
 have the whip hand of them." 
 
 " Is your corporation actually going to be started 
 to-morrow," exclaimed Philip, breathlessly, " I didn t 
 know but it was given up." 
 
I 36 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 " I never give anything up, my son. But you 
 can help me a good deal, if you will. The hands trust 
 you, they would do as you urged them. You under 
 stand how to talk to them. Yes you do, don t stop 
 me, didn t your ready tongue save the mill once, the 
 night of the fire ? Now just you run down town, go 
 into their meeting, if there is any, calm them down 
 some way, I don t care how, Philip, all I want is one 
 day more. If they should happen to strike to-mor 
 row, good gracious, Phil, it might knock my corpo 
 ration scheme all to smithereens. Little mercy 
 they d ever get after that, from me, though. You see 
 they won t gain anything either way, strike or no 
 strike, but you see I might lose." 
 
 Philip moved toward the door in silence. To 
 morrow good-bye to hope from any help of his, and 
 his father expected him to 
 
 " That s right, my boy, don t delay, I am expect 
 ing a man here every minute, and I " 
 
 " But, father, I can t " 
 
 " Yes you can. Ah ! good evening, Mr. Gid- 
 dings. My son, Mr. Giddings, my lawyer." 
 
 " But I must say one word to you." 
 
 " No, positively not one moment, Phil, later on, 
 Good-night." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A New Galatea. 
 
 T3ERTHA rose from her chair slowly like one in 
 J-) a dream, and looked long and earnestly at 
 Philip as he came toward her. There was a red spot 
 on either cheek, and her eyes seemed preternaturally 
 large and bright. At first he fancied it was out of 
 joy at seeing him. Then she smiled as if she had 
 not thought of it before, but with a strange gentle 
 ness that was intensely pathetic. 
 
 "You don t come as often as you used, but you 
 have always been very good and kind to me, Philip," 
 she said vaguely as if rehearsing the virtues of the 
 departed. 
 
 His heart came into his throat, and he could not 
 speak. Was this her coming back to him ? It was 
 more like a funeral. She motioned him to sit near 
 her, and then she started and seemed to listen. 
 
 " Have I been very cold and hard with you, 
 Philip, when you wanted me to love you ? " She laid 
 her hot fingers on his hand, but her eyes wandered 
 lingeringly around the parlor walls 
 
1 3 8 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 " It is nothing, my own sweetheart/ he answered 
 her anxiously, " only say you love me now." 
 
 She did not seem to hear him. " I must have 
 made you suffer. I did not understand, you know, 
 what it all meant." 
 
 She had taken his hand, and bent over toward 
 him with a troubled look on her face. She rested 
 one hand on his shoulder, and her lips almost touched 
 his forehead. 
 
 " Do you forgive me ? " she said softly, and yet 
 her voice was as dispassionate as an angel s whisper. 
 
 " Why, there is nothing to forgive," Philip an 
 swered, his words of love frozen on his lips, there 
 was something so terrible in the mysterious mood 
 that was upon her. " But do you remember," he 
 added with a forced smile, " what you promised for 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ? " she drew back from him fearfully, 
 " to-morrow," she repeated as if the word had some 
 strange mystery in it. " Have I promised you any 
 thing for to-morrow." 
 
 It was not Bertha Ellingsworth at all, as he had 
 known her, it was rather as he had dreamed she 
 might be. In the commonest of women are ele 
 ments of character, germs of emotions, that in their 
 height and fused together can glorify her to a crea 
 ture of resistless power and dignity, with holy fire 
 shining in her face. It is the sleeping goddess, men 
 
A NE IV GALA TEA. 1 39 
 
 worship in women, for worship is the truest form of 
 love, and when that worship is lost, the part of love 
 for which a man would make a hero of himself, and 
 rise above every grovelling taint in his nature, is lost 
 too. A woman may sin and not repent ; she may 
 seem as shallow as the surf on the shining sand just 
 before its ebb, but so long as a man believes in the 
 goddess in her, he waits on her folly, he strives to 
 gild over her sin, in ennobling reverence for her pos 
 sibilities. 
 
 " Why, to-morrow was the day you promised to 
 let me talk of" 
 
 u I remember." She drew back from him, and 
 clasped her white hands for a moment over her fore 
 head, < and have you been thinking a great deal 
 of it?" 
 
 " Why not to-night, Bertha," he begged in sudden 
 fervor. 
 
 But she started to her feet like one in mortal 
 terror. " Oh no, not to-night ! " 
 
 Then she came near him again, and looked down 
 with a new sad smile as he held her hand to his lips. 
 " You don t mind very much, do you ? I am not very 
 much of a woman really," she said wistfully, " if it 
 wasn t for the habit you have fallen into." 
 
 Then she glanced at the clock on the mantel, 
 that Had presided at so many sweet interviews be 
 tween these two. 
 
I4O THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " Aren t you going to the labor meeting, it must 
 be begun before this ? " 
 
 Her voice had changed, there was a sharp and 
 uneasy tone in it that brought Philip to his feet. 
 
 " I didn t know there was any," he repeated 
 stolidly. 
 
 " I must have been mistaken then," she looked 
 troubled. 
 
 How fortunate that she should know. Well he 
 might as well go and attend to his father s business. 
 Bertha had nothing for him that did not break his 
 heart. 
 
 She followed him to the door. 
 
 " How sad the moonlight is. I am afraid of it," 
 she said as she held out her hand to him. 
 
 He did not see it, but stood looking out into the 
 still night, the moonlight making his face show wan 
 and set as if that moment he was crushing forever 
 the dearest hope of his life. 
 
 Then he heard a broken voice coming, it seemed 
 a long way to his ears. 
 
 " Oh, Philip, aren t you going to kiss me good 
 good-night ? " 
 
 His passion he had thought crushed came ovef 
 him in a storm. He gathered her yielding form in 
 his arms as if he never would loose her again, and 
 kissed her trembling answering lips a dozen times, 
 and her wet anxious eyes. 
 
A NEW GALA TEA. 14! 
 
 Bertha. I will not go," he whispered hurriedly. 
 * I can not leave you thus." 
 
 But she had gently released herself from his em 
 brace. She tried to smile at him through her tears. 
 
 " No, no, you must go." Still he hesitated till a 
 strange eagerness came into the blue eyes. " No, no, 
 you must go. Good-bye, Philip." 
 
 As he went down the steps and out of the gate, 
 the chill of the last expression in her eyes hung about 
 his heart. Then he stopped and looked about. She 
 had closed the door, but something white fluttered 
 on the step. It was her handkerchief, with the per 
 fume she always used in its delicate folds. He car 
 ried it to his face it was almost as if he touched 
 her. He stood hesitating a moment a moment big 
 with issues to them both. He remembered her tender 
 words and the rare caresses she had had for him ; he 
 forgot the undertone that had so painfully inter 
 preted them. It was as if he had tasted of some 
 priceless vintage of wine. He would return in an 
 hour and taste again. Ah, he had waited patiently 
 for the moment when this woman of stainless marble 
 would turn to flesh ! And now his foolish heart 
 counted all its hard lessons for nothing, but beat high 
 with triumph. "To-morrow." She understood him, 
 then, but how modest and timid she was ; to-morrow 
 would be for them both the brightest day of their 
 lives. But she was startled at herself now, no won- 
 
142 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 der, at the revelation of the depths of such a heart. 
 She wanted a little time to calm herself; to get 
 wonted to the new woman that looked out of her 
 eyes. 
 
 He had made up his mind, and the moon went 
 under a black cloud for anger. But it was only for 
 an hour: then he would come back. 
 
 Market-hall was crowded, and Curran was speak 
 ing at a pitch of impassioned eloquence beyond any 
 thing Philip had ever heard. 
 
 " What overwhelms you is your own energies 
 fused into weapons of deadly warfare; it is their 
 cunning which turns your myriad hands against 
 yourselves. Where else can they find the force to 
 vanquish you ? The rich are but few. Whose hands 
 but yours are strong and numerous enough to carry 
 out their plans ? The longer you submit, the stronger 
 they entrench themselves with your flesh and blood. 
 Every week some new trade or profession is invented 
 to make respectable and steady some new discov 
 ered method of living out of the poor ; every month 
 some new law is passed in the interests of the money 
 power." 
 
 He paused for a moment and then went on with 
 more bitterness. " Every month the upper classes 
 PTOVV more indifferent to the foundation on which 
 
 o 
 
 they rest of throbbing, agonizing human flesh. Not 
 satisfied with the terrible natural distinction between 
 
A A E W GALATEA. 143 
 
 wealth and poverty, they invent codes of manners 
 and devise elaborate systems of what they mincingly 
 call etiquette. Marriage with the poor is inexcusa 
 ble. Even familiarity with inferiors a great breach 
 of " propriety " they call it. They ask not, is a man 
 honest and true hearted, is he kind, but is he 
 wealthy, or did he ever soil his hands with work? 
 Not is a woman beautiful, is she modest ? these are 
 of little account ; but is she well, that is richly, con 
 nected? If her father cheats others she may be 
 admitted to their circles, if he is unfortunate enough 
 to be cheated, never. Ah, the shame of it, that makes 
 no account of hundreds of million of human creatures 
 of untainted blood, of unclouded intellects, only as 
 mere beasts of burden ; to deny them social privi 
 leges, and whip the boldest of them back into the 
 darkness of ignorance and contempt. All the lights 
 of knowledge must burn for the few alone, all the 
 soft influences of culture, and the elevating pleasures 
 from art and genius are for the few alone." He 
 folded his arms over his broad chest and threw back 
 his head in one of his grandest gestures. 
 
 " And how have they earned the right to call 
 themselves mankind, to drink alone at the fountains 
 of knowledge and inspiring beauty, with never a share 
 for the millions sweating under the burdens their 
 white hands have put upon them ? No carpets of 
 priceless web are too fine for their lovely women s 
 
144 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 feet, rubies not rare enough for their jewels. Music 
 beats out its heavenly harmonies for them alone, 
 with its treasured meaning of uncounted centuries. 
 Painting ravishes their eyes alone with the pictured 
 realms of inspired fancy. Literature scrapes and 
 cringes before them, with its stores of wisdom. De 
 served ! God himself, in the full glory of his om 
 nipotence, would not outrage his creatures thus, and 
 yet they are our creatures and we suffer it." 
 
 Then he threw out his arms and came forward to 
 the edge of the platform, for one last personal appeal. 
 A hundred that could not understand all he said, 
 thrilled in vague revolt under his irresistible mag 
 netic force. 
 
 " Your bodies, whose only pleasure is sleep, 
 whose only gratification is to still the daily recurring 
 necessary hunger, your bodies could enjoy every 
 luxury and beauty, ah, and the common Christian 
 comforts would be sweetest luxuries to you, which 
 have palled on the sated senses of the rich. Your 
 minds and souls could grow fine and broad and 
 calm, in the education their pampered children scoff 
 at ; and the world progress more in a year, than in 
 centuries before. And you are a thousand to one ; 
 the joys and comforts, the blessed possibilities of a 
 thousand lives, against the insensate greed of one 
 man for more, and more he cannot eat, or drink, or 
 enjoy. It is his madness, but they do not confine 
 
A NEW GALATEA. 145 
 
 such as he, who sets the world back ten years for 
 one he lives. But when he opens his great vault 
 to-morrow and sits down to count his ill-gotten 
 gains of the yesterday, let his heart sink within him ; 
 he has refused his workmen the common rights of 
 humanity, and they will leave his mills to rot in 
 idleness." 
 
 He took his hat from the table and strode down 
 the aisle amid the excited applause of his audience, 
 and went out, not even once looking back. An 
 awkward silence followed, but it was several mo 
 ments more before Philip braced himself to do what 
 perhaps was his duty. His father depended on him, 
 and besides it was a terrible conflict, when labor and 
 capital came to open battle ; it ought to be averted. 
 Every eye was fixed on him as he made his way for 
 ward ; not one there but believed he was their friend. 
 Had he not put on the fire escapes out of his own 
 money in spite of his father? Many a whisper of 
 commendation brought an answer of hearty good 
 feeling. One or two of the women in the galleries 
 actually said he was handsome. 
 
 " My friends," he began, but somehow he did not 
 care to lift his eyes to meet the kind look in the 
 trustful eyes, " I don t think there is any occasion, I 
 mean, friends " 
 
 What did he mean, he knew better than they 
 what occasion there was. How dare he ask them 
 10 
 
1 46 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 to wait and hope, for when had a corporation a heart 
 for mercy? He knew better than they, that to-mor 
 row would be the last day when a strike would be* 
 likely of any effect. They might defeat his father s 
 scheme if nothing else, a scheme that would make 
 them servants no longer of a man, but of a pitiless 
 business principle. 
 
 He looked about the room at last ; he read aright 
 the confidence in the Teyes of the company. He be 
 lieved he might make them wait, but had he a right 
 to ask it? Here were a thousand souls in the mills, 
 impatient at injustice, as they thought it ; he could 
 offer them no hope, not one straw ; his hands would 
 be forever tied after to-morrow. Had he a right to 
 restrain them ? 
 
 " Friends, I know not what to advise you, since 
 I am so weak to help you." He sat down and a 
 cheer rang loud and hearty to the roof, but he felt 
 himself in an agonizing position. On the great 
 questions at issue between the employers and the 
 workmen, the rich and the poor, his mind was slow 
 in coming to a conclusion. He admitted most that 
 even Curran said, while he listened, but what then, 
 how to help it, was the question he ever asked him 
 self. Surely nobody was profited by flying in the 
 face of great economical laws. But then what were 
 laws, and what were fallacies. Well, if he did not 
 know what was right, could he not follow his father s 
 
A NEW GALATEA. 147 
 
 urgent wishes? Was he making a generous return 
 for the love his father had lavished on him, if he 
 should disobey him now? Well then if he told them 
 all he knew, it might be fair for him to ask them 
 to submit one more day, but what arguments had 
 he in that case for them? As he sat there his 
 vivid imagination pictured the corporation in opera 
 tion. Some little injustice was being done, and he 
 mentions it to the overseer. " Them s orders, you 
 must see the superintendent." He could see it all so 
 plainly. He knocks at the superintendent s door and 
 is received with the attention due the chief stock 
 holder s son ; he sees his bland smiling face, strange 
 but familiar, his sleek well paid smile. He speaks 
 of the rule which perhaps works to rob some par 
 ticular set of hands, wholly without their fault. " But 
 I have no authority to change it, though it does 
 seem hard, better see the agent." Philip imagines his 
 discouraged step, as he makes his way to the agent 
 to be referred to a set of indifferent directors, who 
 " really know nothing about the matter, but I do not 
 feel like running against the interests of the stock 
 holders." There would be no responsible human 
 being to listen to the cries of the poor, who contrib 
 uted their meagre portion of the air and sunlight, 
 and all their hopes of joy or rest, to be woven, no 
 doubt, into the matchless fabric of the Breton Mills. 
 While Philip sat trying to grasp his duty of that 
 
148 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 moment, he became conscious that it was very still, 
 and no one seemed disposed to follow him. Not ;i 
 few impatient faces were turned askance toward him. 
 Well, they were afraid of him ; no wonder, if they 
 knew what was passing in his thoughts. He rose 
 and crossed the room to go out, but almost at the 
 door he hesitated. He must say something. 
 
 " Perhaps it is not all quite as plain as you think. 
 If by higher wages or shorter hours you made the 
 profit on the mills smaller, are you not afraid other 
 mills would leave us behind, being able to sell 
 cheaper, or else the capital invested go elsewhere, 
 where it can make more profit ? Now you get small 
 wages for long hours, but in the other cases you 
 might lose work altogether." Then he looked anx 
 iously around and added hurriedly, " Mind, I don t 
 say do this or that ; I will not ask anything of you. 
 But if there is a loss it will be on you." 
 
 When he left the hall he felt like walking about 
 a little while, to calm his mind. He chose the route 
 that would lead past the little tenement house where 
 they had fed him with cold potatoes. It was only 
 a month ago. He looked in through the windows. 
 The sick woman yet lay on the sofa, the same soiled 
 plaid shawl for her coverlet ; there was the same bare 
 deal table, and a pair of dingy chairs before it. The 
 desolation made his heart sick. Then he looked up 
 at the windows of the attic chamber where he had 
 
A NEW GALATEA. 149 
 
 slept that other night. It was all dark, but he ima 
 gined the glaring white walls, with the queer little 
 block of a looking-glass hanging there, and the back 
 less wooden chair that had to serve for a wash-stand, 
 then there was his low bed, and the girl s shawl for 
 his counterpane. What great things he had dreamed, 
 that night, he should do for the new cause that had 
 fired his heart, new to him, but old as civilization. 
 He turned away with a pain in his heart, a pain for 
 the wrongs of the millions of the sons of toil, who 
 have never come into their inheritance. He turned 
 up the road that led to his own home on the hill ; he 
 could see the gleam of bright light from his father s 
 study, where with his smooth-faced lawyer, he was 
 perfecting his plans for the morrow. And then he 
 seemed to hear his o\vn words, and his own tone as he 
 had spoken in the meeting, echoing oddly in his ear. 
 Had he undutifully sacrificed bis father to his help, 
 and would it be from his fault, th-e strike he feared 
 would come to-morrow ? Could his father point his " 
 trembling fingers at him, when the mills should stop, 
 and the prospective stockholders decline the invest 
 ment to-morrow, and say, " My own son is to blame. 
 With one word he could have prevented it." 
 
 Then Philip turned his back to the lights that 
 seemed to reproach him intolerably, and walked 
 slowly down the hill again. Ah ! what fear for cap 
 ital, it always shifts its burden upon labor. 
 
1 5 O THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 A woman s form came quickly out of a shadow, 
 and laid a hand on his arm. It was Jane Graves, 
 with a shawl over her head, servant-girl fashion, but 
 was it the ghastly effect of moonlight on her face 
 that made it so pale? 
 
 " Wasn t you at Miss Ellingsworth s this even- 
 ing?" 
 
 " Why, yes," he looked at her in astonishment, 
 " and I was just going there again." 
 
 " I didn t know but she might be with you. I 
 was at my father s, and when I came back, I couldn t 
 find her, and her hat and shawl were gone." 
 
 " She has gone out with her father, perhaps," 
 suggested Philip, startled more by her manner than 
 her words. 
 
 " But he has been up at Mr. Breton s all the 
 evening. And you know she never goes out alone." 
 
 * Sometimes she does," he said, as he went with 
 the girl. " I met her quite away from home one 
 night, but she seemed a good deal frightened." 
 
 " When was it ?" Jane Graves stopped short, and 
 when he had told her, a quick, involuntary cry es 
 caped her lips, and after that he had almost to run 
 to keep up with her. 
 
 Now and then he tried to laugh at the terrors 
 this foolish servant girl had put into his mind. But 
 could it be Bertha had taken another evening walk? 
 She was too beautiful for the exposures of common 
 
A NE W GALA TEA. I 5 I 
 
 life ; mankind was much too weak to be tempted by 
 such delicious loveliness as hers. Was heaven envi 
 ous of such happiness as he had expected in their 
 reconciliation ? Why not strike him, then, and not 
 her ? Why, it might have been she had tried to over 
 take him, to call him back. " Hurry faster," he mut 
 tered, catching the girl s arm roughly. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Class Prejudice. 
 
 BUT the house looked so sedate, and altogether 
 respectable, that it seemed impossible but that 
 everything was as usual inside. The door stood 
 invitingly open, as it should on such a balmy sum 
 mer evening, the light streaming bountifully out on 
 the walk. A catastrophe surely would have left 
 some sign, some fatal mark somewhere to curdle 
 one s blood from afar. How foolish of this black- 
 eyed maid and him, to rush at the top of their speed, 
 in an agony of suspense, only to find Bertha sitting 
 at the parlor table, mild eyed and serene as he had 
 used to know her. She had only stepped across the 
 street, perhaps. 
 
 How she would wonder to see him hurrying in 
 his unreasonable fear, into her presence, but he 
 would pour into her ears such a torrent of words of 
 love, that she would bless him a thousand times that 
 he had come back, and their happiness would date 
 from to-night. Perhaps she had tender confidences 
 for him, too, of how wonderfully she had grown into 
 the love he had longed for, and she would whisper to 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. 153 
 
 him that the few weeks of estrangement had been a 
 blessing of God for her, and he need never again com 
 plain of the coldness of her love. Life is not so serious 
 and tragical an affair as one sometimes thinks ; things 
 don t always plunge into the ruin they are pointed 
 toward. 
 
 By the time Philip stepped into the door, he had 
 fully discounted his expected relief; indeed, had 
 almost persuaded himself that he had had no mis 
 givings, there seemed so little sense in misgivings. 
 
 But he did not find the blue-eyed woman he loved 
 at her parlor table. He looked fora crochet needle 
 or a square of canvas, which might show the marks of 
 recent work ; but the round table was in perfect 
 order. The little book-shaped card basket stood 
 near the bronze base of the drop lamp. A large red 
 morocco bound volume, called " The Dresden Gal 
 lery," was tilted up a little by a blue and gold book 
 of Swinburne s poems, on which it had been laid. 
 The gracefully carved book-rack was full, all but one 
 space the volume of poems might have fitted into. 
 
 " Just as I arranged it after tea," said Jane Graves, 
 moving uneasily about. 
 
 " For heaven s sake be still," he exclaimed. He 
 stepped out into the hall. 
 
 " Why, here is her shawl," he said, with a light 
 ened heart. 
 
 " It is her heavy shawl that is gone," the girl 
 
I 54 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 looked peculiarly at him when she added almost under 
 her breath, " the one she takes on evening drives." 
 
 Philip shot a glance of sudden intelligence at her, 
 and terrible suggestions and recollections came 
 crowding their hateful meanings upon him. The 
 mad blood seemed congesting about his heart, and 
 yet his face blazed like fire. " Good God ! " he 
 shouted hoarsely, " if you dare to breathe it, I will 
 choke the envious life out of you." Then he caught 
 the bell knob at the door and rang it fiercely, and 
 then again, before its echoes had ceased, and again 
 and again. 
 
 " And is there another fire, your honor ? " 
 
 The broad-faced chambermaid had come up from 
 the kitchen, and stood with arms a-kimbo, trying to 
 make her rich Irish voice heard above the sounding 
 gong. 
 
 " Do you know where your mistress is? " 
 
 " No-a ; if she be not inside, indade." 
 
 u Didn t she go over to a neighbor s somewhere ? " 
 questioned Philip, eagerly. 
 
 " Not that I knows on, sir." 
 
 "Has anybody been here? Didn t you tend 
 door, you ninny ! " 
 
 " The bell didn t ring till now, sir ; but lave me 
 think a bit," and the woman rubbed her head medi 
 tatively. 
 
 " Quick," cried Philip, between hope and fear. 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. 155 
 
 " Don t scare me, sir, or I can t do nothink." 
 
 He moved his feet restlessly on the inlaid hall 
 floor ; and he had bowed his head as if studying the 
 artist s design ; but it was for fear he should catch 
 some terrible significance in Jane Graves black eyes. 
 He could hear her dress rustle ; he knew she was look 
 ing at him, waiting for him to lift his face ; but he 
 would not have met her eyes at that moment for 
 all the world. 
 
 " Yis, there was a rumblin team come up, and I 
 thought I hearn a man come to the dure and thin 
 go back ; but the bell didn t ring, sir, and I didn t 
 make no count on it. No sir, I hevn t hearn missus 
 movin roun sence, and I knows she be all over the 
 house before." 
 
 The creature s tongue was unloosed and she kept 
 on talking, but Philip had bounded up the broad 
 stairs and thrown open the door of the room he 
 thought was Bertha s. 
 
 In another moment the gas blazed up to the ceil 
 ing and he stood, wild-eyed, looking from side to 
 side as if he thought to find a heart-breaking story 
 written all over the gold papered walls. Then 
 his eyes became fixed on the black walnut bureau 
 with its long mirror coming down through the cen 
 tre. On the marble slab at the foot of the mirror he 
 saw a satin covered handkerchief case ; and pinned 
 into it 
 
1 5 6 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 In three steps he had clutched a little perfumed 
 note, with a ribbon fastened on it as if for a signal, 
 
 o 
 
 a delicate bow of white ribbon. Mr. Ellincr S worth s 
 
 O 
 
 name was written on it. It was all here, and yet he 
 hesitated a moment as a man would hesitate to cut 
 off a maimed and poisoned limb. And it was almost 
 unconsciously at last that his nervous fingers tore 
 the note open and let the bit of white ribbon flutter 
 to the floor. He seemed to read very slowly and 
 the flush faded from his face and left it very calm. 
 There could be nothing very thrilling written there 
 surely. But every line and curve was branded for 
 ever on his heart. 
 
 " I have gone with Curran. I knew I could not 
 stand your reproaches, but I can only be happy with 
 the man I love. Society will disown me. He is 
 more to me than them all. BERTHA." 
 
 He crushed the bit of paper in his hand, and 
 looked up to see Jane Graves standing in the door 
 way, pale as death. Beside her stood the red-cheeked 
 chambermaid, speechless again, this time with aston 
 ishment to see the young man make so free in her 
 mistress chamber. 
 
 " Gone with Curran, oh yes, it is all written out 
 Well, that is a joke ; a man who don t wear cuffs, and 
 Bertha loves him ! Why, I never could dress to suit 
 her." And he threw himself into a chair, and burst 
 into convulsions of laughter till the tears came. 
 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. 157 
 
 " Well, there may be something else/ and he 
 stepped jauntily up to the bureau again. 
 
 " Certainly, a jewel box with my name on it ; oh ! 
 to be sure, our engagement ring." He held it up to 
 catch the sparkle of the solitaire diamond. " Yes, 
 yes, a very proper and delicate spirit. I wasn t mis 
 taken in Bertha, she always had a nice sense of pro 
 priety." 
 
 He came a little unsteadily toward the two 
 women. Jane Graves was pale and still as death, with 
 her two little hands pressed tightly upon her bosom. 
 Philip wondered impatiently what was the matter 
 with the girl. If he could treat the whole wretched 
 business like a huge joke, what the deuce was the 
 use of her playing tragedy queen over it ? What 
 child s play life s solemnest woes and failures are, 
 after all a man s dread of them ! It is mixing up flesh 
 and blood with them, spoils their grand effects ; men 
 and women are only fit for the cheapest kind of low 
 comedy. How it must amuse the immortal gallery 
 gods, when a man attempts to sustain the tragedy 
 pitch in his experiences. If one can only get the 
 true point of view, there is no such thing as a noble 
 situation, a glorious victory or a desperate dilemma. 
 The dignity of sorrow is a ridiculous misnomer. 
 Everything is only more or less funny according to 
 its pretentiousness for example the astonishing 
 denouement of his love episode. 
 
1 5 8 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 Now Norah the chambermaid, with a face like a 
 pumpkin, and eyes that stuck out like saucers, say 
 of the cheap blue kind, was a suitable lay figure for 
 such an occasion. 
 
 " Why here, Norah, this is really a very good 
 diamond. I bought it for the best, permit me to 
 present it to you. Bertha, your late mistress I mean 
 was a large woman, no doubt you can wear it over 
 your little finger. Consider it as a reminder of this 
 charming evening. Ah, let me put it on, you are 
 not used to jewels thus. Now, my love, you may 
 run down stairs and show your pretty present. 
 
 He turned his strangely bright eyes to the wall 
 at the foot of Bertha s bed. 
 
 " My picture, too. How the girl s heart must 
 have glowed night and morning over it." He took 
 it down and held it before him a moment. 
 
 " A foolish face," he muttered between his teeth, 
 the wild merriment fading out of his features. He 
 bent and laid the picture glass upwards on the floor, 
 then he ground it viciously beneath the heel of his 
 boot, and walked away without deigning to cast 
 another look at it. 
 
 Bertha s pure bed, which her graceful form had 
 pressed so many years an inscrutable awe crept over 
 him ; it seemed impious to look, he fell on his knees 
 and buried his hot face in the pillow where he fancied 
 her head had rested. 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. 159 
 
 " Oh, my lost darling, my lost Bertha, you have 
 taken all the joy and hope of my life with you," and 
 his slight frame shook with tearless sobs, like the 
 death throes of a breaking heart. 
 
 Then he rose in bitterness of soul to his feet. 
 Was there no way to drown the deep settled pain 
 about his breast ? Were there no other women in 
 the world? He had heard times enough, there was 
 no salve for a broken heart so quick and sure as an 
 other woman s kisses. 
 
 He almost stumbled over Jane Graves, who lay 
 across the threshold in a dead faint. It was but the 
 work of a moment to bend over her, and lift her in 
 his arms. But he would not let her lie on Bertha s 
 bed, no, not to save her life, and he bore her through 
 the hall to another chamber. It was a slight girlish 
 form he held and need not have been so unpleasant 
 a burden. But he laid her down on the first rest 
 ing place he could find, and lifted her feet with deli 
 cate gentleness on the bed. He removed the high 
 pillows from under her head, so that she could 
 breathe more easily, and, true gentleman that he was, 
 covered her pretty feet and ankles with some light 
 wrap. 
 
 A green tinted cologne bottle stood near by and 
 he bethought himself to dash the cool contents into 
 her face, and felt quite a doctor s surprise to see any 
 good result follow his ministrations. The banished 
 
1 6O THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 blood stole slowly back into her olive cheeks. He 
 bent over her and lifted her shapely little hands, as 
 dainty as a princess , and tried to arrange them in 
 some graceful position. She would know how to do 
 it the instant she opened her eyes ; he could think 
 of nothing only as she had stood at the door of 
 Bertha s room ; so he crossed her hands lightly 
 over her bosom that was beginning to pant in re 
 turning consciousness. How pretty rhe was ; if 
 her lips were a little full that was a very pardonable 
 fault. 
 
 It was very odd her fainting out of sympathy 
 with his sufferings. Not impossibly the little maid 
 might have a soft spot in her heart for him. A sudden 
 mad thought warmed his blood ; why not wait till 
 she opened her eyes, this charming little girl, and 
 then, swear to her that he loved her. What was love 
 then that such a pretty face and form as this should 
 not have it ? She was no cold woman : her kisses and 
 endearments but his eyes had grown cold and hard 
 while he looked at her. If she were a Cleopatra she 
 could be nothing to him, her kisses would only stifle 
 him with their passion ; her clinging soft arms about 
 his neck would only strangle him. He knew to his 
 sorrow what it was to love, and no pretty sham, no 
 matter how its voluptuous artifices made his hot 
 blood surge through his veins, could still for one 
 moment the immortal longing it only mocked. She 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. l6l 
 
 moved a little as she lay ; and he started and went 
 out. 
 
 The girl s eyes opened slowly on the rich blue 
 lambrequins, and the rare frescoing of the room. 
 She vaguely wondered for one delicious moment if 
 she awoke some rich gentleman s wife, and her old 
 life of poverty was past forever. Why, she was in 
 Mr. Ellingsworth s bed chamber; how came she 
 here? And her hair was wet ; and the ruffles on her 
 neck were damp it was cologne. Then she remem 
 bered everything, and rose from the august couch 
 she had unworthily pressed. She laid back the 
 great pillows and tried to smooth out the outlines 
 of her form on the spotless counterpane, and then 
 made her way down stairs. The house was so still 
 it frightened her ; it was as if everybody in the 
 world had died while she lay in her faint. The hall 
 below was empty too, and the outer door shut. As 
 she passed she brushed against Bertha s light shawl, 
 the one that had relieved Philip Breton s fears when 
 he saw it. She opened the parlor door ; she felt as 
 if she must find somebody to ease the tension of her 
 nerves. 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth sat with his head bowed on his 
 hands ; he knew it all ; his home was desolated, his 
 pride outraged. At the noise he uncovered his face 
 for a moment and looked up ; and the cruel light 
 falling on his distressed face revealed the marks 
 11 
 
1 62 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 of age his tranquil course of life and selfish and 
 complacent philosophy had so long softened and 
 covered. He saw the graceful figure of his maid in 
 a pretty attitude of hesitation on his pleasure. He 
 was alone in the world but for her, deserted in his 
 own home only for her. 
 
 " Come here, Jennie," he said in a broken voice. 
 
 She came into the room, and a few steps toward 
 him. Then she stopped. Her face was almost as 
 pale as when she fainted, but her black eyes shone 
 with unusual feverish brilliancy. 
 
 " Give me your hand, dear." 
 
 The girl started, and half turned as if to escape. 
 Then strange thoughts darted through her brain. A 
 warm, red flush mounted from her neck, and spread 
 itself in tingling waves of shame to the very roots of 
 her black hair. She came up to him, and reached out 
 her little hand. He pressed it gently, then he laid 
 it against his cheek. Her heart bounded in sudden 
 revolt, but she controlled herself with an effort of 
 sheer will, and did not move, but her startled eyes 
 sought the floor. And so this was her proud master. 
 But what harm if he wanted to be foolish and senti 
 mental ? it was no matter to anybody now, no one 
 cared for her unkissed lips. 
 
 " Jennie," he said at last, "come nearer to me/* 
 
 And she kneeled by his chair, in a sudden im 
 pulse she dared not define, not yet. She put her 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. 163 
 
 other hand in his, and lifted her dark, wet eyes to his 
 face. But the cold man of philosophy and subtle 
 analysis was transfigured, and she was suddenly 
 afraid of the spirit she had evoked. The next mo 
 ment he looked in sudden terror at her face, in which 
 reckless daring and maidenly timidity were blended 
 into the most bewitching and tantalizing of effects. 
 Then he bent down to the upturned face, that never 
 flinched, and in another instant he held in his arms 
 her form that seemed to shrink only that he must 
 clasp her the closer. 
 
 " Will you be my wife, Jennie ? I never loved a 
 woman as I do you. Will you be my wife, Jennie ? 
 
 " Yes," whispered the red lips that never once 
 turned away from his thick raining kisses. 
 
 In Bertha Ellingsworth s o\vn parlor, it was, with 
 her mother s face looking down from the painted 
 canvas, in the room where the daughter of the house 
 had so coldly entertained the heir of the Breton 
 Mills. Ah ! yes, and where she had taught Curran, the 
 prophet of the poor, to love her, and she the very es 
 sence of the spirit he taught them to hate. But how 
 her proud face would wince now ! If she were only 
 here ! Her father, the haughtiest of men, to every 
 body in the great world beneath him cold as an ice 
 berg, they said, arrogant as any duke of courtly 
 circle, could it be he praying, with hot breath, the 
 love and the hand of his servant maid ! Could it be 
 
164 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 he holding her so fondly in his arms, where he might 
 have gathered coy dames of the stateliest rank, lav 
 ishing honeyed words and mad endearments on his 
 poor servant girl, whose only nice dress it was he was 
 crushing so recklessly ! Ah ! it was worth the cost, 
 if she had to tear her heart out, for all that wealth 
 can buy will be hers. 
 
 She nestles her burning face on his shoulder, and 
 tempts him to new caresses and new words of folly, 
 that he may not remember yet what a strange thing 
 it is he is doing ; that he may not think of repenting 
 until his enthralled senses shall let him forget every 
 thing else, rather than this sweet hour. She will 
 now be able to comfort and restore her dying 
 mother, give her tired father rest, and show them 
 both that there is such a thing as happiness in life, 
 even for them. Her wildest dreams are realized. 
 She will be one of the rich and the great, whom the 
 rest of the world bow down to. She will make her 
 husband s yes, this man is to be her husband, why 
 should she be ashamed with him she will make 
 his friends all envy him his beautiful wife, and as for 
 their faded, fashionable women, with limp backs, and 
 bloodless veins, how it will please- her to study the 
 signs of jealousy on their listless faces. And Ber 
 tha Ellingsworth s proud, false heart will ache with 
 shame over the low-born woman whom her father 
 has made his wife. Curran had scorned her, now she 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. 1 65 
 
 could scorn the woman he had preferred to her, and 
 with wealth, how countless the means of revenge ! 
 The poor can only kill, if they hate, the rich can tor 
 ture and crucify alive. 
 
 "Has the train gone -for the west?" asked a 
 breathless voice at the Lockout station. 
 
 " It s thirty minutes behind its time," growled 
 the ticket agent. It was Philip Breton, who went 
 back to the post to tie his horse more securely. 
 "Poor Joe, poor old boy," the big white horse seemed 
 more like to fall dead in his tracks than to try to 
 break away. " A pretty hard gallop, wasn t it, Joe, 
 your breath will come easier in a minute, old horse." 
 
 His time was precious, but he lingered in an un 
 controllable terror of what he had come so far to see. 
 He had thought he wanted to make sure. There 
 might be some mistake in the note, or even now, if 
 she had changed her mind but it was all folly, he 
 saw it now. He had forgotten all reason in one wild 
 longing to see Bertha again. But what was the use 
 of harrowing up his soul with new pictures he would 
 pray God in vain to wipe out of his memory? But 
 he had come so far, perhaps it would do no harm to 
 look at her once more, and who knows? strange 
 things have happened in this world. He had turned 
 arid was walking along the platform, toward the 
 ladies waiting-room. He glanced up the long stretch 
 of straight track and saw in the distance the head 
 
1 66 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 light of the engine, which seemed to him a pitiless 
 monster, hastening on to seize his darling and bear 
 her to some hopeless region of eternal night. He 
 must hurry. Who knows? it might be fate had kept 
 her rescue till this moment, and meant him to save 
 her. He pushed the waiting-room door open. The 
 seats appeared all vacant and expectant ; a big russet 
 apple had been dropped on one of them by some in 
 terrupted traveler, and in another place the carpet 
 upholstery was specked with the white litter of a 
 cracker and cheese luncheon. The whole atmos 
 phere was too commonplace for a pair of runaway 
 lovers. Philip took two or three steps into the room, 
 but it was only as he turned to go back, that he saw 
 the settees were not quite deserted. 
 
 It was a group for a painter s loftiest genius, but 
 the artist must have a faith in love, such as the 
 world have learned to scoff. The figure of the man 
 may embody strength and dignity, in unconscious 
 perfection, it is bent now in a beautiful protective 
 attitude toward the woman whose head rests on 
 his shoulder. Her lips are parted to reveal the 
 pearly gleam of her white teeth, but she does not 
 smile. She has golden hair like a crown sitting well 
 down on the broad forehead, and there is the tint of 
 red gold in her cheeks like a perpetual glow of sun 
 set. But what painter can catch the holy tenderness 
 in the eyes that drink in her unsullied beauty, the 
 
CLASS PREJUDICE. l6/ 
 
 breathless wonder, the rapt mystery in his softened 
 face? What inspired brush can picture the quiver 
 of the long golden lashes against her cheek, and then 
 the dreamy stirring of the eyelids that now open 
 wide, so his impassioned gaze may thrill the liquid 
 depths of blue. Let the artist fix then forever if he 
 can the smile that ripples at last over her fascinated 
 face, a smile of trust too perfect for shame. 
 
 What was that sound so like a human sob, that 
 startled the lovers from each other s arms ? Why, it 
 almost made them sob for sympathy, as if it came 
 from a broken heart. Who ever heard the wind 
 moan like that, so short and sharp it was ? But it 
 must have been the wind, for they were quite alona. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The Mill-Owners Triumph. 
 
 THE grey mists broke and the eastern clouds 
 blushed red at the coming of the most ardent 
 lover in the universe. His fruitful bride, earth, smiled 
 her glad welcome up to him, but gave place to set 
 tled peace and love as -the early hours went by. But 
 it was the saddest day of Philip Breton s life, so ter 
 rible a thunderbolt had fallen upon him out of the 
 clear sky. 
 
 A woman s hand had struck him ; and he had 
 looked to her for all the most precious experi 
 ences of life. Humiliation might have stirred 
 in some hearts a blessed reaction to relieve their 
 aching consciousness of loss ; but the blow to his 
 love and his hopes was so much heavier than the 
 hurt of his pride that he did not think to be in 
 sulted, he was only overwhelmed. Other men and 
 perhaps sometimes a woman must have met with 
 such misfortunes ; Philip wondered curiously how 
 they managed to endure them ; but they could 
 not have lost one like Bertha ; she could have no 
 exact counterpart to ruin other men s lives. There 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. 169 
 
 could be no escape for him ; he had been so simple 
 to give his whole heart to a woman before he had 
 married her ; to teach every taste to incline toward 
 her; to suffer every little rill of tenderness and wor 
 ship in his being to pour into his ideal of her. And 
 all his plans touched her somewhere ; and all his 
 thoughts, even such as she never could understand, 
 wound about her personality as he conceived of it at 
 some point in their processes. And now every hour 
 of his life must be embittered by some reminder of 
 what he had hoped for and lost. The balmy south 
 wind that morning was like her breath; the soft 
 murmur of the water in the raceway below the mill 
 was like her voice ; a blonde face looked down from 
 one of the windows of the weave room, there was a 
 flitting expression on it like Bertha. And so it must 
 be forever. 
 
 At the head of his counting-room table sat Mr. 
 Breton, smiling and bland. Before him were piled 
 the heavy tomes containing the records of his great 
 manufactory ; by his side stood two clerks to assist 
 in handling and explaining them. Around the table, 
 attentive and eager, were gathered as many as could 
 get there, of shrewd, hard business men. A dozen 
 more, of the same unmistakable species, stood about 
 the room and leaned against the windows, quiet and 
 observant, listening to all that could throw any light 
 on the matter under discussion. It was the moment- 
 
I/O THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 ous meeting of the prospective stockholders in the 
 corporation looming up in magnificent proportions 
 before their fancies. 
 
 The paymaster and the attorney stood at hand 
 apt with suggestions ; one of them had the smile born 
 of fond hopes of unlimited fees ; but the other an 
 awkward fretted air at the sudden change from one 
 to so many superiors. The mill-owner was detailing 
 to this most interested audience the history of the 
 flourishing industry he desired to enlist them in, 
 and their eyes shone eagerly at the prospect of buy 
 ing such stock at par. They imagined their thou 
 sands doubling on their hands in such an investment, 
 doubling without an effort of theirs, doubling in spite 
 "of their idleness, which added never one stroke of 
 theirs to the sum of the muscular force that fur 
 nished the wealth of the world. Their dollars would 
 double in five or six years, whether they were sick 
 or well, virtuous or vicious, even if they violated 
 the most sacred laws of society. They rubbed 
 their bald, shining heads in dignified delight. Ah, 
 but isn t it fine to be rich, with no care but to invest 
 one s money and count the income the inert gold can 
 breed? Isn t it beautiful to have laws that look out 
 so well for those who pay most of the taxes ? To be 
 sure the laws seem to bear hard on the poor ; they 
 find it pretty slow getting a start, but of course if 
 everybody was rich, why, nobody would be. And 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. I? I 
 
 the same set of laws and the same principles of gov 
 ernment could not possibly help the poor get large 
 profits from their.labor, and also enrich the capitalists 
 so rapidly out of the labor of the poor. And then 
 what a comfort it is to feel no fear that the laws may 
 change, no matter how loud the lower classes com 
 plain and storm. The rich can work upon the very 
 poverty which seeks relief against the tyranny of 
 capital, to entrench themselves ; for the neediest of 
 voters and legislators must naturally be the most 
 easily moved by the golden favors the rich only can 
 hold out. 
 
 But what could possess Breton to make this 
 change? Was he rich enough ? Absurd! whoever 
 was rich enough ? Perhaps there was some flaw 
 somewhere, and this cunning lawyer knew all about it. 
 They must not let themselves be fooled, so they lis 
 tened with still quickened attention, and waded sus 
 piciously into one after another of the big ledgers, 
 for a few pages, to ferret out the secret. 
 
 " The gentlemen may ask," Mr. Giddings, the 
 lawyer, had noticed the puzzled expression on their 
 shrewd faces, " why Mr. Breton makes this offer. 
 From the amount of stock we propose to issue, it 
 ought to be clear enough," and he laid his fat finger 
 in the palm of his left hand. " He proposes to keep 
 just as big an interest here, as ever, but the plan is 
 to make these mills, as they shall be extended, gen- 
 
1 7 2 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 tlemen, as they shall be extended, the most stupen 
 dous manufacturing enterprise in the country ; for 
 that there must be more capital, and you are invited 
 to join." 
 
 Philip had but little to say to the unwelcome vis 
 itors, whose carriages, of all varieties of elegance, 
 lined the road-side without. He moved about 
 among them, more like a stranger than the least 
 pretentious of them all. 
 
 " Ellingsworth, Mr. Ellingsworth," called Mr. Bre 
 ton, " why, he was with me only last night. Can he 
 be sick?" 
 
 Yes, sick with shame, and Philip thought how 
 quickly the flush of pride would fade out of his fath 
 er s pleased face, if he knew knew that his own son, 
 the heir of his millions, had been discarded at last 
 by the girl he had already taken into a daughter s 
 place in his heart. And it was this same man Philip 
 had defended and argued for, that had struck his 
 deadliest blows at the mills, and now thrust his knife 
 into the very home of the rich man. It would em 
 bitter the father s life, when he came to know of the 
 broken heart his boy must bear forever but he need 
 not know just yet. 
 
 Now and then the young man went out into the 
 hall for a clear view of the massive mills, and glanced 
 fearfully along their front, and listened. But the 
 roar of the machinery did not abate, and through the 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. 1/3 
 
 jail-like windows he could see the tireless men and 
 women forms stepping backward and forward, raising 
 and lowering their hands at the tasks that had ush 
 ered in their cheerless youth, and were wearing out 
 their tedious lives. Very likely there would be no 
 trouble ; could it be they had been influenced by his 
 words ? God forbid that any such responsibility 
 should rest on him. Once, a man appeared at a 
 door. Philip s heart stopped beating for an in 
 stant ; he thought him the first of a long line that 
 would now rush forth from their prison. But the 
 man only stood listlessly a moment as if there was 
 absolutely nothing of importance on his mind, and 
 then went back. So Philip returned to the office. 
 
 " Is that Breton s son, that young man who 
 looks so pale? He don t seem to take much interest 
 in this business." 
 
 " I ve always noticed business talent wears out in 
 one generation. The father earns and saves for the 
 son to spend." 
 
 " True for you," said a third, apparently of Irish 
 birth. u Well, we won t want the boy s services when 
 the old man dies." 
 
 " Hush, Breton is talking." 
 
 "And, gentlemen, I have never known a strike 
 here, though I certainly don t pay any more wages 
 than my neighbors." There was a slight noise of 
 something falling outside and Philip hurried out. 
 
1 74 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 The mill yard was as quiet as on Sunday ; not a soul 
 in the whole village apparently who thought of a 
 strike but him. And whether he feared most an 
 outbreak or a day of peace, he could not have told. 
 
 " I wonder how the help will like the change," 
 suggested a white-haired old gentleman, with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 " These corporations are the neatest device of the 
 century for a gagging machine. What the devil s the 
 use of the help grumbling, when there is nobody they 
 can find to blame, only a fiction of law. The over 
 seers and the agent, and each particular stockholder 
 is, oh, awfully sorry, you know, but nobody can help 
 anything, that is unless they want to," the speaker 
 winked so slyly, they all had to laugh and wipe 
 their shining foreheads. " If a man or a crowd of 
 men are tormented by their help, why, there is the 
 shell of a corporation the law provides. A man can 
 creep into it, and even his own conscience cannot 
 logically prick him." 
 
 Philip was standing near the speaker, and was so 
 galled by his complacent enjoyment of his own un 
 feeling philosophy as to venture to make a sug 
 gestion. 
 
 " Isn t it just possible, that this complaining you 
 wish to gag, has some occasion ? " 
 
 A dozen craned their sleek wise necks, to stare 
 at the man who talked so wildly. 
 
THE MlLL-OWN&l S TRIUMPH. 1/5 
 
 " Why, my kind-hearted young friend," replied 
 the philosopher, glad of an excuse to vent his prac 
 tical wisdom, " don t you see the poor will complain 
 until the whole vast distance between us and them 
 is bridged over. We have got to protect ourselves, 
 you won t deny that. I climb to heights on anoth 
 er s body. Everybody knows life is only a fight 
 the weakest goes to the wall. The poor are the 
 weakest in this case." 
 
 Could the mill-owner s son dispute such plain 
 propositions ? An odd silence pervaded the com 
 pany. The gentlemen in the windows stopped talk 
 ing to look at this curious young man, who seemed 
 disposed to question the plainest axioms of his 
 class. His father hitched uneasily in his chair and 
 rustled a bundle of papers to attract Philip s atten 
 tion. What had got into the boy ? 
 
 But Philip had the boldness of desperation to 
 day. Everything seemed already lost, his future of 
 happiness, his future of usefulness. From to-day he 
 must be only a money lender, living on the big divi 
 dends saved out of the workmen s wages in his 
 father s mills. And all the wealth of the Indies 
 could not satisfy the hunger of his soul. 
 
 " But you don t strive to climb on my body. You 
 have no feud as you describe with these other gen 
 tlemen. It is only on the half-starved, and wholly 
 wronged creatures in the mill yard that we all climb 
 
1 76 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 together. We don t fight each other, we agree ad. 
 mirably, why shouldn t we, as we divide the wealth 
 of the world between us, there is a great plenty of it 
 since the lower classes don t come in for any. The 
 fi^htinsf is onlv between our class and the laborers, 
 
 t> o J 
 
 and so far, even that has been only on our side ; we 
 push and stamp, they cringe and yield." 
 
 But of what possible account was his opinion. 
 Mr. Breton rose to his feet, and all eyes were turned 
 toward the mill-owner, on the course of whose ideas 
 hung the fate of a whole village. The clock struck 
 ten. 
 
 " Gentlemen, you pronounce yourselves satisfied," 
 he waited. His lawyer smiled complacently, the 
 paymaster and his clerks began piling up the books. 
 " Well then, there are one or two formalities, my 
 lawyer informs me What is that noise? 
 
 It was like a rising north wind, not a little like 
 the breaking of the angry sea on a rock-bound shore. 
 From the entrance to all the mills swarmed jostling 
 human forms. A thousand heads turning at frequent 
 intervals to catch courage from their numbers, gave 
 an unpleasant snake like effect to the swaying 
 columns which united, as they swept on toward the 
 mill-yard gates. Philip Breton hurried back from the 
 hall and threw open the office door. Within all was 
 still as death. The complacent smile had died on 
 the lawyer s lips, the clerks stood like statues, while 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. 177 
 
 the ruddy color slowly faded from his father s face, 
 giving place to undefined dread of a danger that had 
 elements no single arm could control. Kings and 
 armies, before him, had trembled at the murmur of 
 mobs, till they learned how short lived was the mad 
 fury of the people, no matter how terrible their 
 wrongs, till they learned how certain was the dis 
 union which made patient victims so soon again out 
 of the fierce avengers of blood. 
 
 " Do you ask what the noise is ?" cried Philip from 
 the doorway. " It is a strike at last, see for your 
 selves. 
 
 The sight of the mill hands in open revolt, un 
 touched by motives that commonly restrained them, 
 at once awed Philip as one on shipboard when the 
 waves suddenly toss high in ungovernable storms, 
 and determined him to oppose their violence with 
 his life if need be. The mill-yard gates were hastily 
 unlocked by the frightened janitor, and as the first 
 excited throngs, like a nation escaped out of bondage, 
 swept through them, only one man stood calmly 
 watching from the counting-room piazza. In the 
 front rank ran some little children, whose faces, that 
 should have been rosy in the first bloom of life, 
 were pinched and wan, instead. Play-hours and 
 merry sports were unknown to them. What their 
 baby fingers could earn was the merest trifle, but it 
 cost them the only hours that could ever be free from 
 
I /8 TflE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 care. A number of them were deformed from a 
 neglected infancy ; they had to learn to be still because 
 it hurt them to fall tenderer lessons there was no- 
 time for. And now they must be driven forth with 
 the rest to earn what they ate. Then came the girls, 
 chattering, and nervously pulling their shawls about 
 their shoulders, as if it were winter. One and all 
 seemed to wear the plaid shawl badge of their voca 
 tion cold or warm, and there was the same dull 
 yellow hue on their cheeks, the same lines of weari 
 ness on every face. Few of them looked well ; girls 
 ought to be petted a little ; but the dreary monotony 
 of their ill-paid work had frowned on their childhood 
 as it cursed them now. And instead of resting while 
 they might ripen into healthful, happy women and 
 blessed mothers, their unknitted frames and soft 
 muscles must work like their starving fathers and 
 brothers. It is only the women of the rich, whom 
 the sentiment of chivalry is for. In every eye was 
 the dullness that comes when hope goes, and the 
 vague delicious dreaming, the eternal privilege of 
 girlhood, is broken rudely upon, when love has no 
 more of its ideal glory, and all the beauty of purity 
 and refinement is lost in the gross struggle for some 
 thing to eat. The gentle poetical grace of woman 
 hood was gone, those huddling awkward creatures 
 were only weaker men. 
 
 But Mr. Breton had pushed his chair to one side 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. 1 79 
 
 and was making his way through the group of his 
 friends with hardly a word. The rest tried to smile 
 but he was far too angry. 
 
 " Don t go," urged his lawyer, imperatively lay 
 ing his hand on his shoulder, " don t think of it, you 
 can do no kind of good, and they will only insult 
 you." 
 
 " Insult me ? " he repeated between his teeth. 
 Then he stopped, and suddenly faced about. He 
 frowned fiercely on the cautious business men, whom 
 he knew full well had decided to give him the lurch. 
 " If I had a pair of horses who behaved- badly, they 
 are stronger than I, but I would whip them and 
 starve them till they forgot it." If he could subdue 
 his own rebellious factory hands, and turn them 
 back to their work like whipped beasts, he knew 
 these timid counselors would come back into his 
 office and put their names to his corporation scheme, 
 if not He bit his lip and pushed on out of the 
 door. And then his help had never dared think of 
 mutiny before ; he had fancied they were afraid of 
 him. Five minutes more would prove whether they 
 were or not. 
 
 In a moment more he stood beside his son, who 
 watched, pale and stern, from the counting-room 
 piazza ; behind him his lawyer whose face, deserted 
 by smiles at last, looked almost unfamiliar; and still 
 further back were a few of the boldest of his visitors. 
 
180 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " For God s sake go inside," whispered Philip 
 ( between his set teeth, " you will only make them 
 angrier." 
 
 " Truckle to my own help, shall I ? " repeated 
 his father in his harsh, grating mill tones. 
 
 The mill-owner threw back his head and shoul 
 ders, and looked commandingly at the crowd. He 
 could not understand why they -were not afraid of 
 him. Had he not been the dispenser of bread, 
 almost of life or death, to them for twenty years? 
 They were a thousand, and he one, but for thirty 
 years their fate had trembled in the balance of his 
 will ; and was it any less so to-day ? They might be 
 ever so numerous and strong ; the subtle machinery 
 of the laws and the ingenuity of capital put them 
 at his mercy. He frowned majestically on the 
 women and children ; where would their dinners 
 and suppers come from ? Where could they lay their 
 foolish heads to-night if he chose to punish them ? 
 But they only laughed in a novel sense of freedom 
 as they hurried by to enjoy their whole holiday. 
 
 Then came the men, with the hard set look on 
 their faces that should have warned the mill-owner 
 this was not the moment for him to assert too boldly 
 the sovereignty that had made their whole lives a 
 barren waste. The word had been passed from lip to 
 lip, that Mr. Breton was at the counting-room door, 
 and very angry. But his son, who had shown him- 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. iSl 
 
 
 self their friend, and who had been too honest with 
 
 them to give them false counsel, stood with him, and 
 the men meant to show him the respect he deserved, 
 and march by in silence. Still, the seeds of old 
 wrongs and daily repeated privations had borne a 
 bitter fruit in every heart, and many a sullen look of 
 hate Philip saw on their faces. 
 
 "Stop, stop, I say?" shouted Mr. Breton. A 
 murmur ran through the crowd, and they stopped. 
 Philip saw the willingness of the halt ; it had irked 
 them to go by, without one word to relieve the uni 
 versal sense of injustice that had seethed so long in 
 their breasts. 
 
 "You will do well to let them go in peace," mut 
 tered Philip, in a constrained voice, " the poor crea 
 tures will have to come back again when they get 
 hungry." But his father did not appear to hear 
 him. His face had flushed crimson, and he seemed 
 to have quite lost his self-command, as he shook his 
 fist at the sullen crowd that widened every moment. 
 
 " Do you think you can force me, you beggars ? " 
 For a moment, admiration for his courage divided 
 the indignation of his strange audience, and the first 
 response was as much applause as anger. 
 
 " No ! " he shouted, in a voice shrill with excite 
 ment. You shall every one of you starve first. You 
 get more wages than you earn now. Do you know 
 what this strike will fetch you ? " 
 
1 8 2 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 His lawyer plucked at his sleeve ; that man of 
 discretion did not like the expression on the faces 
 of the workmen nearest to the piazza. 
 
 " This is quite uncalled for, my dear Breton, and 
 not only that," he added, " but decidedly dan 
 
 But the excited proprietor shook off his arm, and 
 stepped forward trembling with impotent wrath. 
 
 " I will tell you," he cried, " I will cut your pay 
 down ten per cent more." A murmur started on the 
 outskirts of the crowd, and swelled into a roar at his 
 very feet, while the mass of ill clothed humanity 
 swayed tumultuously. 
 
 Philip saw that a catastrophe was imminent. The 
 excited workmen avoided his anxious eyes, and there 
 was a power of wrath in their slightly stooping atti 
 tude, like a panther before a spring. Their faces too, 
 were lit up with a fierce glare, like some long-caged 
 beast that has burst his bars. Injustice after all is 
 an uncertain foundation for riches, when it is thrill 
 ing human beings who suffer. He rushed boldly 
 forward to save his father from violence, could it be 
 he was absolutely blind to the peril in which he stood ? 
 Mr. Breton s face had grown suddenly purple. 
 
 " I ll teach you to brave me. I ll starve your 
 obstinacy out of you, before one of you comes back 
 into my mill." 
 
 He threw up his hands in distress, reeled back 
 ward before their astonished eyes, and fell into the 
 
THE MILL-OWNER S TRIUMPH. 183 
 
 arms of his son, a victim of his own passion. The* 
 poor were avenged. God had taken judgment into 
 his own hands. 
 
 His friends bore his stricken form within, out of 
 the sight of the people. But he had tamed the mob 
 at last, though it took his life to do it. A hush as 
 chill as the breath of the death angel s wings, had 
 fallen upon them. They waited with the patience 
 of their class, they watched doctors come and at 
 tendants hurry to and fro, but no one told them 
 what had happened. Nothing but glances of hate 
 were cast at them, till at last Philip Breton himself 
 with a new desolation in his face, came out alone 
 on the piazza. Some fancied he stood unsteadily as 
 if a vital prop had been taken away, others saw a 
 new force and dignity in his thin boyish face. 
 
 " My father did not finish his speech," he said, 
 with scathing satire in his voice, " I will finish it for 
 him." They would have borne all the reproach he 
 might have heaped upon them, but he only said, 
 " Will you go back to work," his voice began to 
 break as he added, " My father is dead, and I want 
 to take him home." 
 
 Not a man, woman or child but worked out their 
 tasks that day. Ezekiel Breton had triumphed. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A Holiday. 
 
 r I ^HE streets of the little village are alive with 
 J- the people commonly shut up in the great 
 mills out of sight. It was only one man dead, the 
 world in which he moved crowded along, and if he 
 had come back even so soon, he would have had to 
 make a place for himself, as when he started first. 
 Another man was born the minute he died, and 
 the ranks were always kept full. 
 
 There was a holiday at last, and the people were 
 the nearest they could get to holiday dress. The 
 husbands and fathers had but few changes to make, 
 th-eir aprons, if they were fortunate enough to have 
 them, were off, and their over-alls, their sleeves were 
 rolled down, too, revealing the wear of storm and sun 
 on the cheap stuff of which the clothes of the poor 
 are made. But the young men had most of them 
 some flashy color about their necks, and wore some 
 threadbare black coat, with here and there a whole 
 showy suit, bought regardless of the poverty that 
 stared them in the face. The higher classes had 
 taught them the lesson that a poor man can expect 
 
A HOLIDAY, 185 
 
 no consideration or respect anywhere, and each hu 
 man creature, whose spirit is not all broken, will save 
 his scant pennies to disguise in the livery of the 
 prosperous the .poverty that the world makes at once 
 his misfortune and his disgrace. Most of the girls, 
 too, had gilt or rubber jewelry in abundance, rich 
 looking chains about their necks, and the most elab 
 orate and massive earrings. They wore flashing rib 
 bons of the most startling colors, and for dresses 
 cheap flimsy imitations of the most costly stuffs. 
 They could manage to save enough by going with 
 out what reasonable regard for health or simplest 
 foresight would require to strut about in this tawdry 
 finery once a week, and win the favor and admiration 
 they fancied never was accorded to beauty or virtue 
 or sweetness, but to the affectation of lavish wealth. 
 All had gathered near the Breton mansion. The 
 door was hung with black crape in voluminous folds, 
 a melancholy hearse with plumes waving the insig 
 nia of woe was at the gate. But the faces of the 
 multitude were happy, even gay, and the murmur 
 of their voices had no cadence of sadness. But for 
 one moment they were quiet. It was when eight 
 ^bareheaded men, with awe on their faces, the awe of 
 mortals in the presence of the grand mystery of 
 death, came slowly out of the crape-hung door bear 
 ing between them the deposed lord of the house. 
 Then appeared in the door the face of the heii, 
 
1 86 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 young" Philip, pale and grief-stricken, and an invol 
 untary hum of greeting met him from the people 
 who lined the roadside and hustled the carriages in 
 waiting. He was their hope, their trusted deliverer, 
 their friend who had seen how hard their lives were, 
 and had once promised to help them. His words 
 that night of the fire had sunk deep into their hearts, 
 they had been repeated from mouth to mouth, with 
 many an addition of an eager imagination. To be 
 sure, he had done but little to fulfill his promise, but 
 there were the fire escapes to bear witness to his 
 honesty, and his father, the one they were expected 
 to mourn for, was a hard man to move. Had the 
 young man not admitted in their meeting he was 
 too weak to help them? But now he was untram- 
 meled, the unquestioned owner of the Breton Mills ; 
 his wish was the sole authority henceforth, and he 
 wished kindly to them ; his word the only law 
 throughout the great factory, and he had given his 
 word to help them. Not a soul but believed in the 
 dawn of a vague day of general happiness. Few had 
 clear ideas of the elements of their long wretched 
 ness ; they thought everything was wrong in the 
 system under which the poor were so unhappy, and . 
 the remedy that occurred to their minds was, of 
 course, to change everything. No more long hours, 
 no more scant pay, no more favoritism ; all should 
 have alike. No more strikes or conflicts or com- 
 
A HOLIDAY. IS/ 
 
 plaints or bitterness, for there would be no hardships 
 left. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Philip looked out on beam 
 ing joyous faces, on smiling lips and eyes that sent 
 a glad welcome to his slight young form their warm 
 fancies invested with such glory as a new prophet 
 might sigh in vain for. But he stood behind his 
 father s dead body and they had slain him. So the 
 god of their fond hopes ground his teeth at them. 
 These people had cost him his father, and in sight 
 of his unburied body they dared rejoice, and make 
 of his funeral their gala day. The vulgarly dressed 
 crowd of working people looked to his sorrowful 
 eyes like a troop of murderers, who deserved not 
 even common humanity. The glance of hate he 
 gave their eager upturned faces boded but ill for 
 their extravagant hopes. Then he threw himself into 
 his carriage and resigned himself to solitary misery. 
 His carriage moved a few feet and stopped. 
 
 His father had loved him, not because he was 
 good or wise, but because he was his son. The vil 
 lage swarmed at this moment with people to bow 
 humbly to him, to run at his beck, to listen when 
 he cared to speak. His house, ah, yes it was his 
 now was full of respectful mourners who would 
 press his hand softly, and offer in lugubrious tones 
 to do everything they could for him. Everybody 
 s.eemed overflowing with consideration, but there 
 
1 8 8 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 was this or that present selfish motive for it all. His 
 father had loved him without cause, only that he was 
 his son, and his heart longed unutterably for the love 
 of close natural ties. How terrible it is to be alone 
 as he was, alone in the midst of a thousand willing 
 servants, alone in the midst of a hundred eager 
 friends. Then he thought of Bertha. At first it 
 seemed a year since he had lost her, and he won 
 dered with a dull ache in his heart where she could 
 be after so long a time. 
 
 Then it seemed but an hour, so fresh was the 
 wound in his heart. It was her place, that empty 
 seat by his side, in this supreme moment of his des 
 olation. She could comfort him in his loneliness, 
 the most terrible crushing loneliness, that in the 
 midst of a multitude. Perhaps he was weak, too 
 weak for the stern requisitions of his destiny, perhaps 
 there was not enough of the sturdy element in his 
 character. He would rather have leaned on some 
 other brave heart, than stand out alone before the 
 world, better formed for the gentle graces of a friend 
 than to wield undismayed the ponderous weapons of 
 wealth and power. He would have been better to 
 nurse the sick and comfort the fallen, than to be or 
 dered to the front of the battle, where to be still is 
 infamy, and to fight death to some pitied foe. And 
 there was not one human being near or dear enough 
 to him, to instil one spark of new courage into his 
 
A HOLIDAY. l8g 
 
 heart, or brighten by one smile of love the darkening 
 desolation that seemed to have settled over his life. 
 If Bertha had only waited another day she could not 
 have gone. She would have staid and learned again 
 for very pity to love him, since she had forgot. If 
 she had only waited another day ! But no doubt the 
 very weakness in him that cried out for her made 
 him incapable of holding her love. It is hard to con 
 fess to oneself, his soul is too poor and small for the 
 woman of his choice to love him ; but that was the 
 depth of humiliation Philip Breton had reached as he 
 lay back on his carriage cushions. But at least he 
 was eenerous to make an excuse, even at the mo- 
 
 o 
 
 ment of his greatest need, for the woman who had 
 deserted him. 
 
 He heard voices from without. He had no inter 
 est in what any one in the world might say, he 
 thought, but these were the first words that fell upon 
 his ear. 
 
 " Sick is it ? Well cheer up girl, the young boss 
 will make it all right. Yer all tired out and ye never 
 was fit for much anyhow." 
 
 " Will he give us doctors too ?" 
 
 " Why not ? he has em when he s sick. It s just 
 as right we should, as works our best for him when 
 we re well." 
 
 Philip was fairly startled into momentary forger- 
 fulness of his sorrow. But the carriage moved along 
 
1 90 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 a few feet and stopped again. Were the peo 
 pie mad ? Was it his duty to keep a free hospital 
 and teach the sick to come whining to him for char 
 ity, when ill ? Wouldn t it spoil them, to say nothing 
 from the business point of view? He began to sym 
 pathize more than ever with his father s perplexities, 
 and to feel that perhaps, after all, his solution of them 
 was the only practicable one. But he heard the rustle 
 of a woman s dress beside his carriage where it waited. 
 
 " Isn t it splendid to have a whole holiday? " said 
 a fresh girlish voice. 
 
 " This isn t the last, Molly," replied a man who 
 stood right against the carriage door. " They say 
 we re not to work but four days a week now." 
 
 Philip frowned very unpromisingly, but the girl 
 said, 
 
 " And how can we git along on much less wages ?" 
 
 " Why the wages will be more instead of less. I 
 guess you don t understand." 
 
 Nor did Philip, but the carnage rolled along be 
 fore the young man could explain, and stopped by 
 another group. 
 
 " Only eight hours a day and every hand will 
 get just the same ; no more favoritism. Who told 
 me? why that s been the plan all along, only the 
 old man wouldn t agree. Now its goin through, 
 though." 
 
 The other man laughed. " Well, I don t see how 
 
A HOLIDAY. 19! 
 
 the young boss is goin to make the mill pay that 
 fashion, but that s his lookout." 
 
 " Pay ! " repeated the sanguine prophet. " Why 
 those looms just turn off sheets of gold." 
 
 The horses started once more and Philip Breton 
 sank back on his seat. The people had cost him his 
 bride and his father. They had wrecked his life, and 
 cast him on a shore of barren wastes, with never one 
 fountain of hope for his famished soul. And here 
 the thousand crushed, hitherto hopeless, creatures 
 whose lives need not all be such wrecks as his, had 
 fixed their longing eyes on his acts, which they ex 
 pected to bring paradise to their doors, to banish all 
 the evils that had cursed their firesides and untold 
 generations before them. What could he do what 
 was there to do? If he were now some nobler 
 specimen of manhood, such a one as Bertha might 
 have loved ; such a one as could be generous 
 enough to forgive the suffering they had given 
 him; or if, even now, he was wise as some men, 
 and could see his way to help them, they might 
 hope indeed. They had swallowed up his dream 
 of love, so much sweeter and diviner than other 
 men knew ; they had killed his father, whom this 
 moment they were following with heartless joy to 
 his grave. And now, with stupid and yet pathetic 
 trust, they looked to him to devote his fortune and 
 himself to them, never questioning but a word of his, 
 
IQ2 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 a stroke of his pen, would let perpetual sunlight into 
 their lives. 
 
 That evening he sat alone in the little study in 
 the house that had been his father s. The house was 
 full of solemn-faced guests, but he would see none of 
 them. He had bowed his head on his folded arms 
 and tried to commune with the dead ; his dead. 
 There were two. One his kind, tender father, whose 
 broad, florid face always brightened with a smile at 
 the coming of his son. His firm, assured step had 
 trod this very floor many hundred times, while he 
 devised his wonderful schemes which seemed fated to 
 succeed. He had filled the shelves along the walls 
 with their books ; he had chosen the table on which 
 his broken son rested his head. The things he had 
 done remained, but he had gone; could it be, gone 
 where no prayers or cries could reach or touch him ; 
 gone from the house he had built ; gone from the 
 little room he best loved in it, dropping his 
 unfinished task into hands that were too weak to ful 
 fill it ; leaving his burden for shoulders too slight to 
 bear it. The other of his dead was a woman. He 
 saw her as if she yet lived. What there was in this 
 woman of all others that should have called forth 
 such tender raptures of love, he had never paused to 
 wonder. She was not brilliant as some women ; her 
 lips, that he believed could have spoken so wonder 
 fully if they had cared, were oftenest closed in society ; 
 
A HOLIDAY.. 193 
 
 her eyes expressed to him the rarest of noble thoughts, 
 and it was as if she deemed the common world un 
 worthy, but that by and by she would speak. He 
 had thought her heart spotless white, and the texture 
 of her nature finer and sweeter than all other women. 
 Every eye that saw her must admire the threads of 
 fine spun gold she called her hair; her soft skin as 
 .delicate to the touch as a baby s lips ; and the queen- 
 like perfection of her form, a system of bold curves 
 and lines of beauty melting into each other at their 
 beginning and their end. But could there be a soul, 
 to whom she was so much besides her beauty ; for 
 whom each phase of her thought or tone of her voice 
 was just what seemed most fitting? And she too was 
 gone ; dead ; where no prayers or cries of his could 
 reach or touch her ; dead and yet forever alive for 
 him. 
 
 "Will you see a lady, sir?" It was Mary, whose 
 manner was subdued suitably to the melancholy 
 occasion. All these trappings and pretences pro 
 voked Philip strangely, as did the low voices of his 
 guests and their drawn-down faces. He knew well 
 enough they didn t care so much as all that. " She is 
 very particular Mr. Phil , I mean Mr. Breton." 
 
 Then he forgot his impatience in a strange thrill 
 ing thought. He rose to his feet and walked to the 
 window without answering the girl. Could it be 
 Bertha had felt his hunger for her, such as no 
 
194 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 other creature could have for her presence ? Was it 
 too unlikely that such pain as ached in his heart, 
 might have touched her? A throb of electricity goes 
 around the world ; might not such longing as his 
 have reached her a few short miles away? The maid 
 began again. 
 
 "Will you see a" 
 
 "Yes, yes, show her in." How wild he was to 
 night. Why Bertha was married to the man she had 
 chosen, long ago ; if she came back what comfort for 
 him ? If she were not happy with this man after all ; 
 oh, God save her from such a fate, since he had 
 paid such a price that she might be happy. God 
 forbid all his torment be for nothing. Philip was 
 rapidly walking the room. But supposing and his 
 heart almost stopped beating at the thought she 
 were not married and had come back to him after 
 all what other woman could call on him now what 
 then, could he forgive her? 
 
 The door opened and a heavily veiled woman 
 came in. She was too slight of form and not tall 
 enough for Bertha. The idea had been absurd, but 
 human beings never can believe miracles in their be 
 half quite impossible. So Philip was not required to 
 decide the terrible question he had asked himself. 
 Much as he had longed for that other woman who 
 had not one throb of pity in her heart for him, his 
 first .feeling was of intense relief, when his visitor 
 
A HOLIDAY. 195 
 
 laid back her veil and revealed the face of Jane 
 Graves. 
 
 She looked a little agitated and hastened to speak. 
 " I know you are surprised to see me, but I felt I 
 must " 
 
 ** Do not distress yourself," he said gravely, re 
 covering his self-possession. Was this his first visit 
 of condolence, and so soon? 
 
 " It was about Miss Bertha," then she caught her 
 breath and went on as if she were afraid he would 
 interrupt her, he started so violently. " I know what 
 a lover you are if mine had only been like you ;" 
 she dropped her eyes and went on without looking 
 at him, " but the girl you liked so much that you 
 were blind to how mean she was, she never loved 
 you ; she never cared anything for you." 
 
 Philip had moved uneasily in his chair as she be 
 gan, but now he sat still as death, with his eyes fixed, 
 as if in some fatal charm, on the girl s face. She grew 
 pale as she talked, all but one bright spot in either 
 cheek. 
 
 ** I could tell it when your name was spoken be 
 fore her ; women notice things like that and when 
 she expected you and when she expected the other." 
 
 His eyes fell in shame, he wished a mountain 
 might fall on him to shield his hurt face from even 
 this poor girl s scrutiny. But she hurried on as if 
 she took pleasure in his wincing nerves. " If you 
 
196 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 could have seen how her face warmed at his coming, 
 and her voice, so cold to you, shook and stumbled 
 when she welcomed him. And how her hands would 
 nestle like a kitten in his at a look, you never saw 
 her like that, did you ? And there was no pillow so 
 soft, you would think, as his shoulder, and " 
 
 " I cannot stand this," he cried, starting to his 
 feet. " Do you think I am made of stone?" 
 
 " Wasn t it a pretty sight ? I used to love to hang 
 out of my window to see it, or follow her out on her 
 Sunday walks. Her kind of women make the big 
 gest fools of themselves ; so cold and lofty-like you 
 would think them angels ; when all of a sudden they 
 lose their heads, and there s nothing too wild for them 
 to do for some man, till they get over it." Her eyes 
 were all ablaze with hate, but Philip hung on the 
 scornful lips as if it were not poison he drank from 
 them. 
 
 " But she did not get over it," he faltered when 
 she stopped. He raised his hands to cool his beat 
 ing temples, his fingers were cold as ice. 
 
 " That is it, it lasted longer than I counted on. 
 I thought she d come to her senses before she could 
 do anything rash, and then I supposed he wouldn t 
 leave the village and what he was doing here, just 
 yet." 
 
 " But why didn t you tell me ? " 
 
 " What could you done, she cared nothing for 
 
A HOLIDAY. 197 
 
 you. But I was doing the best I knew, if they 
 hadn t been too quick for me. I was waiting till I 
 thought she was just mad over the man. I never 
 supposed they would be so quick," her bosom rose 
 and fell as if it were hard for her to catch her breath. 
 " I knew one thing was sure, and when it would hurt 
 her the most I was going to have tried it. If I had 
 only hurried." She rose sobbing violently, but she 
 shed no tears. Philip had no consideration for her 
 emotion. 
 
 " What was it, oh, why didn t you do it ? " his form 
 trembled as if he stood in a winter s blast, while drops 
 of perspiration gathered on his forehead. 
 
 " I I hated so to to break his heart, I I 
 knew he would would never get over it. He ain t 
 the kind that" 
 
 " Curse him ! " cried Philip, " what is he to 
 me ?" 
 
 " I was going to tell him that she was engaged to 
 you. I knew he would never forgive her for deceiv 
 ing him." 
 
 " And didn t he know it ? " 
 
 " Ah, if he had, he was that honest you don t 
 know him. But I was too slow, and now, my God 
 my God ! " Then she rose to her feet and tied her 
 veil tightly about her face and moved toward the 
 door. But Philip Breton was there before her and 
 held it against her. 
 
198 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " Tell me first what you came here for to-night." 
 The answer came sharp as a knife. 
 
 " Because I wanted to make you hate that woman 
 too. It made me mad that you should think her so 
 pure and good." 
 
 " But why should you hate her, I never could 
 never." His hand loosened on the door-knob and 
 he leaned back. Jane Graves could have gone if s*he 
 would. 
 
 "And don t you hate her now?" she almost 
 screamed at him, " when I have told you how she 
 kissed and fondled him when she never had " 
 
 " Hush." 
 
 " Well I hate her, because she stole away my 
 lover. May his love touch her yet to disgust ; may 
 his kisses turn bitter on her lips." The door closed 
 after his visitor, and Philip glanced at the clock 
 which pointed to twelve. Only half the night gone 
 then ! He sat down and dropped his head on his 
 folded arms again. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 What will They Fetch? 
 
 DAYS passed till they made weeks, and weeks 
 till they made months, and no change came 
 for the mills or for the lives of the creatures who 
 Worked within their grim walls, only the change 
 from poor to more poor. Poverty, like riches, has 
 the potent principle of reproduction. The bank ac 
 count of the young proprietor was swelled by many 
 thousands, but his account with the thousand tired, 
 needy souls, who had looked to him for help in their 
 distress, showed him more hopelessly in their debt 
 every week. 
 
 They saw but little of the young mill-owner, and 
 the village saw but little of him. It was said he was 
 traveling from mill to mill studying up new methods 
 of management, in and out of all kinds of shops, 
 learning the special excellences of each. He wanted 
 to sail closer to the wind, to stop all wastes and cut 
 down surplus expense, they said. Many had pre 
 dicted the Breton Mills would run down, but at 
 least the first effect of the change was anything but 
 retrograde. The wholesale dealers and the proprie- 
 
200 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 tors of great commission houses rubbed their hands 
 with delight at the prospect of easy terms and fat 
 profits. They received the thin-faced young man 
 into their offices much as the spider the historic fly. 
 Fortune smiles on the most unlucky occasionally as 
 when she sends such beardless boys as he, they 
 thought, with full power to trade with such shrewd 
 old business men as they. But as they bowed the 
 quiet mill-owner out of their warehouses, and turned 
 back to congratulate themselves on their bargains, 
 not one of them all but came to wish it had been the 
 father instead they had made their contracts with. 
 
 He came into the branch city offices of the 
 Breton Mills like a mild-faced missionary, and the 
 clerks and pompous salesmen and dignified man 
 agers laughed in their sleeves at the good, peaceful 
 era that was coming. But the small black eyes cut 
 a swath where they fell, and many a middle-man, 
 that had thought himself a vital element in the 
 success of the mill interests, found his services dis 
 pensed with. Only the very best salesmen and 
 traveling agents were retained, and those with a 
 new access of energy. A dozen men, with fat beam 
 ing faces and portly frames, who had lived in lazy 
 contentment on excellent salaries they never took 
 any pains to earn, were suddenly out of a place. 
 
 The new proprietor was very unpopular in these 
 business circles. The startled idlers only hated him 
 
WHA T WILL THE Y FE TCH ? 2O I 
 
 the more, because they had not respected him at 
 first. The free and easy dispensation expected did not 
 come. The young proprietor, who had been under 
 stood to be of liberal tendencies, seemed as anxious 
 to stop the leaks in his immense income as if every 
 leak did not support some man and his family in 
 comfort. One or two of the ousted ones came to 
 his hotel and told him how melancholy it would be 
 for them to lose the places they had had so long, and 
 then their families must be supported." He had but 
 one reply for them as he closed his audiences, 
 " Go to doing something useful, then." 
 His acquaintances saw new expressions on his 
 face the open, boyish look had gone, and his 
 voice had new tones of decision ; his step had 
 grown firmer and his eyes met a glance with a new 
 steadiness. Some said he was only plunging him 
 self so deeply into business that he cared nothing 
 for, to make himself forget his bitter troubles. 
 Others thought he was developing exactly as his 
 father was, hard and close in business, but never the 
 jolly social soul among his equals. But either ex 
 planation was equally hopeless to the workmen in 
 the Breton Mills, who had counted on his easy gen 
 erosity and business indifference to loosen the hard 
 bonds that held them down, and open up to them the 
 good things of the world they had longed for in vain 
 so long. 
 
202 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 On one morning the three men who had been 
 once on the fire escape committee, met in the door 
 way of number 2 mill, restored after the fire. They 
 had left their work for a breath of fresh air. 
 
 " He is closer than his father; he scrimps and 
 saves like a poor cuss trying to support a family on 
 five dollars the week. What show is there for us? " 
 
 " Ye ll mind it s all jist as I told ye, Bill Rogers," 
 suggested Graves, with the comfort of I told you 
 so left to him out of the general wreck. " Jist as I 
 told ye that night more n a six month ago in front 
 of old Breton s. As soon as the lad feels his oats 
 that s the last of his kind heart." 
 
 " The boy s had hard luck since then," said 
 Rogers, handling his pipe out of old force of habit. 
 " P r aps he s punishin us for it. It seems so strange 
 somehow his changin all so sudden." 
 
 " Taint that," said Graves, as he turned to go 
 back to work, and then lingering a moment longer, 
 " It is the natur of a man and crops out as sure as 
 he gets his swing. There aint a one of us but would 
 make a meaner rich man than him. It comes easy 
 to be a labor reformer and radical as long as a fellow 
 is poor, and it s just as easy for a man to talk beauti 
 ful if he aint looked to to do nothing. But it makes 
 a man drunk, when he feels the reins in his hands 
 and him no thin but a man of the same stuff as the 
 rest on us. Look at Curran now, how much better n 
 
WHAT WILL THEY FETCH? 203 
 
 the rest is he? He deserted us at the most critical 
 moment. Somethin made him throw us up as if 
 \ve had all of a sudden sickened on his stomach. 
 We re poor stuff, all on us, boys. I never seen a 
 finer feller than that Curran, but he s forgot all 
 about the wrongs and rights he used to holler so 
 purty about. There s no chance for us in any man s 
 mercy ; we must depend on ourselves. 
 
 At this very moment Philip Breton was pressing 
 the little brass bell on his counting-room table. For 
 an answer his paymaster came in with his pen, wet 
 from the ink, in his hand. 
 
 " Do we pay our help enough ? " 
 
 A thousand eager voices would have shouted a 
 no to him that would have shaken the very founda 
 tions of stone, but Mr. Jennings, the paymaster, put 
 his pen behind his ear, took it down, looked keenly 
 at it, then in surprise at the young mill-owner. 
 
 " We can get a thousand as good for the same, 
 if that is what you mean." Ah, what chance have 
 the poor mills-people, when the young master 
 chooses such advisers as this ? 
 
 "No!" said Philip slowly. "It isn t exactly 
 what I mean ; can we raise the wages ? " 
 
 " Can you, why yes, I suppose you can step right 
 into the mills and give a hundred dollar bill to every 
 hand. But you couldn t afford to do that way long, 
 and I don t think it would do anybody any good. I 
 
204 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 wouldn t assume to advise you, sir, but why not just 
 as well go up street and insist on paying a fancy 
 price for your flour." 
 
 " But don t they find it hard to live on what we 
 give them? and what a life it is at that," suggested 
 Philip sadly. Apparently he had not quite forgot 
 ten them. 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt ! " repeated the paymaster 
 with the querulousness of his class, " but is there 
 any sense in putting in your or my fiat you can t 
 make a ninety cent laborer worth a dollar and a 
 quarter by giving it to him. You insult him, and 
 damage business by making it all uncertain with the 
 gratuitous element." 
 
 " I see you don t believe in benevolence, my dear 
 Jennings/ and Philip smiled curiously. 
 
 " Yes I do, for sick people and paupers, but if 
 you don t want to make paupers of everybody you 
 mustn t " 
 
 " But I am not a pauper, and I never earned a 
 penny in my life till a few months ago " Philip s 
 eyes flashed at a sudden revelation. 
 
 " But, ah but that is different. Drop that then. 
 To make our cloth, there are a number of expenses, 
 there is the mill and the machinery, the money 
 locked up in fabrics and material. These are fixed, 
 you don t think it your duty to pay extra prices for 
 raw material ; nor make a gratuity with every dol- 
 
WHAT WILL THEY FETCH 1 ? 
 
 lar you spend on machinery, no matter how poor the 
 man that sells to you. Now comes another ele 
 ment, Labor. That should be as fixed as the rest, 
 and all calculations based on its market price. When 
 you go to market with your cloth, you don t ask any 
 gratuity, nor does the buyer claim any, the price is 
 fixed better than the caprice of a moment could fix 
 it. The element .of labor enters into the cost, the 
 difference between the cost and price is your profit. 
 If labor stands you in its market price, your profit 
 will reward your efforts, and it will pay you to keep 
 up your mill. If you paid higher wages your profits 
 would be small, you would give up your enterprise, 
 and all would suffer." 
 
 " I didn t know you could be so eager. But sup 
 posing they tell me my profit is too large, that my 
 labor pays me so well, I ought to make it up to 
 them. The young proprietor was looking musingly 
 out of the window where the autumn wind was chas 
 ing the russet leaves in savage glee. Mr. Jennings 
 the paymaster had reached the door, but waited a 
 moment to clinch his argument. 
 
 " Then if you lost money, your help ought to 
 contribute. But it might not be at all their fault 
 that you lost, any more than it is to their credit you 
 succeed. Their labor in quantity and quality would 
 be just the same. What reason in changing its 
 valuation? No, I am sure there isn t but one way, to 
 
206 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 measure the value of your labor as you do every 
 thing else, by what it will bring." 
 
 " Not quite everything," said Philip, but he said 
 it so low, the argumentative Jennings did not hear 
 it. All he heard was just as he was closing his door. 
 
 " Please send in the overseer of number I 
 weave room." 
 
 It was but a few moments, during which Philip 
 did not move from his seat when the overseer came 
 in, stroking his apron deferentially. 
 
 " Mr. Bright, the men and girls complain ; they 
 say they ought to be paid by the day instead of by 
 the piece." 
 
 "Which ones complain? The lazy ones, I guess. 
 Why surely Mr. Breton, it wouldn t be right to pay 
 the best weaver and the poorest the same." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked Philip with unchanged fea 
 tures, watching the look of astonishment that shone 
 on the man s round fat face. " Why not, if we paid 
 them all the highest price ? " 
 
 " Well sir, it wouldn t be a month before bad and 
 good would all be worth about the same, and that 
 as little as the poorest of them. It would be a poor 
 way to encourage them to be smart." 
 
 " Does Graves work in your room ? " 
 
 " Yes, but he asked out for this mornin his 
 
 Send him in if you can find him." Philip rose 
 to his feet now, and was walking the room impa- 
 
WHAT WILL THEY FETCH? 2OJ 
 
 tiently when John Graves slouched in. He turned 
 on him as if he was going to strike, but it was only 
 a question he hurled at him. 
 
 " What do you think ought to be changed in the 
 mill? Speak up now, and let me know your mind." 
 
 " I think we work too hard for our pay then/ 
 drawled the laborer, but his mind was in an unusually 
 excited condition. 
 
 " That is because the public want such goods as 
 ours so cheap." 
 
 " There s other things to cut on besides labor for 
 ever and ever. Oh, no, ye can t buy poor cotton, it 
 would show in the cloth, ye can t save on machinery, 
 it would spoil yer sales, but if we carders and weavers 
 and spinners be cut, it don t leave a mark on the 
 cloth. But it leaves deep gashes in our hearts and 
 joys, you be sure." Graves looked at the young 
 man to see if he might go on, but he could not read 
 his face. He hesitated a moment and then he con 
 tinued, 
 
 " There aint a poor bent girl in the mill but 
 might live a life so happy it would make a strong 
 man cry to think of it. We are of more account than 
 your machinery. No beltin or patent self-acting- 
 springs could do our work ; it takes immortal souls, 
 and intellects in the image of God to do it. It s the 
 same sort of work you do, and compare what the two 
 of us gets. We aint paid till we gets, the weakest 
 
208 THE BRETON MILLS 
 
 of us, a taste of the sweet things in this world we 
 have longed for so long. I don t care what yer wise 
 book-men says." Was the young proprietor angry, 
 he stood so grave and still ? What a change ! Time 
 was when pity would have shone on every line of 
 his face. But he might have been a statue for all 
 appearance of melting in him now. 
 
 " I pay you the market price, as much as the 
 other mills." 
 
 Well, God have mercy on his poor children, if 
 Philip Breton could make that excuse ! The man 
 sat down without an invitation, and leaned his 
 brawny elbows on the table. 
 
 " Now see here, you told me to speak my mind, 
 and I am a goin to. We are poor ; we aint got 
 nothin ; we can t lay back and wait for our price ; 
 we want something to eat to-day; we come to you 
 for work ; we must have work, if it only earns us a 
 loaf of bread. Is it right, then, to value us at what 
 we can be got for? If we could haggle with ye, and 
 hang off the way a little ready cash lets a man do, 
 there might be some sense in it. But you never let 
 us get enough ahead for that; it s work or go hun 
 gry with us. The poorer we gets, the tighter ye 
 can squeeze us, and I sometimes wonder why ye 
 gives us as much as ye do ; I s pose a man might live 
 on a little less. And it s all business, as ye say." 
 
 Philip had seated himself, but he said nothing. 
 
WHA T WILL THE Y FE TCH ? 2OQ 
 
 He had given the man the privilege of his tongue, 
 and he did not seem disposed to stop him. 
 
 " Is the right price of a thing what a man ll give 
 for it ? If they had it, men would give a million of 
 dollars for a breath of air, when they re stifled. 
 Would it be right to pump off the air, and then let 
 it on at a million dollars a breathing? If you was 
 drowning, you d give a million to be saved if it was 
 only to hold out a pole to yer. Is that a fair price 
 for holdin out a pole ? We re starvin unless we 
 can get a bite to eat ; is it any more right to bar 
 gain with us for a life of hard work, for just enough 
 to live on ? A man wants somethin besides to eat ; 
 he wants to send his children to school, to get a 
 loafin hour now and then, to make himself somethin 
 besides a brute, he wants he wants some such 
 things and chances as you have. Why, squire, we re 
 all men together." The man s eyes looked across 
 at Philip with a vague wistfulness, as if he was 
 thinking of the beautiful possibilities of a life so far 
 all drudgery and want. 
 
 " But \vhat is there to do?" exclaimed Philip in 
 an impatient tone, that put to flight all the work 
 man s foolish fancies. The young man s heart 
 seemed changed to flint. " You don t want to be 
 objects of charity, do you ?" 
 
 John Graves straightened his arms along the 
 table, then he stood up. 
 14 
 
2 1 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 "Charity! Well, no, not such charity as picks a 
 creature up to-day as soft as a baby, and drops him 
 to-morrow like a dog. But if payin yer help 
 enough of yer gains, so they can know what life is 
 if that is charity, as you call it, give it to us. Ye 
 needn t be so precious, fraid of hurtin the laboring 
 classes, as they call em, by treatin em too well. 
 They re sinkin every day lower and lower, and lots 
 of fellows in specs, keep a warnin you not to spoil em, 
 not to hurt their pride, or break their spirit by givin 
 em nothin . As if kindness ever hurt any human 
 soul. Not that I would call it charity ; they earns 
 every mite ye ll ever give em." 
 
 * But if the mills or employers don t make such 
 gains as you seem to take for granted. " 
 
 " If there aint money made, why, nobody can 
 find no fault not to get big pay. All I mean is, 
 when money is made, and that s pretty often, we 
 oucfht to have some share in it." 
 
 o 
 
 u Don t go, John, I want to ask you " 
 " I must, I asked out for to-day," and the door 
 closed after the man. For quite a while after his 
 last visitor had gone, Philip sat with his eyes fixed 
 on the door-knob, in intense abstraction. Was he 
 angry at the audacity of the common laborer ? was 
 he wondering at the independence of speech and de 
 meanor that lives in a race, long after the last sem 
 blance of real freedom is gone ? When he pushed 
 
WHA T WILL THE Y FE TCH ? 211 
 
 back his chair and rose to his feet, running his hands 
 through his hair, he made one exclamation :" 
 
 " How blind." But whom he meant, whether his 
 class or the laborers, did not appear from his tone or 
 from the bitter smile on his lips. That question was 
 a vital one for the factory village of Bretonville. 
 John Graves would have told in a moment that the 
 young proprietor meant no good to his help. The 
 man had had a glimmer of hope that Philip Breton 
 might only be waiting for an opportunity, but this 
 interview had dispelled it from his mind. 
 
 It was some little time afterwards that Philip left 
 his counting-room and made his way up the street. 
 He was dressed in somberest black, arrd his silk hat 
 was subdued with a wide band of crape. But his 
 dress was no more melancholy than his face. When 
 under pressure of business, one would not have no 
 ticed it so especially, but the instant he was thrown 
 back upon himself, his face became as sad and hope 
 less as the face of the most wretched laborer in his 
 mill. He was tasting the most bitter dregs in life, he 
 thought, what soul could be more crushed than his? 
 The time was, when it would have been impossible for 
 him to see a human creature suffer without a thrill 
 of sympathy ; it would have seemed a cruel and un 
 natural stroke of fortune, which it was for him to 
 prevent or cure. But he had learned better, he 
 thought. Suffering was common to all, there was no 
 
212 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 good of trying to patch up this life or that, the terri 
 ble disease was forever at work. Conditions made 
 but little difference, rich and poor, high and low, 
 agonized together over some form of broken hope, 
 some unsatisfied hunger. 
 
 The chapel door stood open, and he stopped and 
 looked in. It was here Bertha and he were to have 
 been married. And it would have been before this 
 but now. He saw the place where they would have 
 stood together. The church was empty and he 
 walked softly in as if afraid of disturbing the ghosts 
 of his dead hopes, who haunted yet, perhaps, the 
 sacred spot they glorified in all the dreams of his 
 early manhood. He walked wearily up the echoing 
 aisle and threw himself into a seat. He bowed his 
 head upon the back of the pew in front of him. 
 Had he no shame to come to the rescue of his broken 
 heart ; would he grieve forever over a woman that had 
 become another man s wife ? She had called on the 
 laws of the land for her protection ; he had no right 
 to even think of her now. She was shut away from 
 him forever, it was become a sin for him now to long 
 for her, though she had been so nearly his own wife. 
 There was no place in the world for unmated lovers 
 like him. If she had not married that man. How 
 strange that he had heard nothing of that marriage, 
 her note had not mentioned it and no one had spoken 
 of it since. Why his belief in her purity was so abso- 
 
WHA T WILL THE Y FE TCH ? 21 3 
 
 lute, he had not even thought to question it, and 
 now it was like a guilty thing, that he permitted him 
 self to entertain for a moment terrible fears. If she 
 had never gone with him he might have been happy, 
 but since she had gone with him, Philip would rather 
 suffer as he did for all eternity than that she should 
 not have married the man. What vengeance would 
 be stern and relentless enough for him who had 
 wrecked the noblest womanhood in the world, who 
 had sullied a purity like an angel s, and insulted a 
 sacred dignity like Bertha s? Oh, it could not be, 
 no man on earth could have been so bold, so impious. 
 How wild his imagination had become. 
 
 " Oh, I didn t know but it was young Breton and 
 that Bertha Ellingsworth that was going to be mar 
 ried." Two graceless women had come in and 
 seated themselves in a neighboring pew. He had 
 been thinking so intensely till now an earthquake 
 would hardly have disturbed him. 
 
 " That ll never be," giggled the other, " You don t 
 say you didn t know she eloped with that Curran 
 fellow ? Though it s been kept pretty still." 
 
 " Do tell ! " Philip shuddered. Why were creat 
 ures like these permitted to touch names like 
 Bertha s? "Married another chap, eh, well young 
 Breton never was much for looks anyhow." 
 
 " Married ! " Philip started at her tone, " Who said 
 she was married ? The shoe s on the other foot. 
 
2 1 4 THE BRE TON Mil L S. 
 
 She aint married at all; I know; don t handsome 
 fellows like him has a wife in every town, such as 
 they be, that proud minx is only one on em." How 
 th ey rolled the shameful story, like a sweet morsel 
 under their tongues, as if it relieved the blackness 
 of their contemptible souls, that one woman more 
 had singed her angel wings in the pitiless flame of 
 disgrace. 
 
 Philip had struggled to his feet. The women 
 blushed like fire and tried to look unconscious, but 
 he did not even glance at them as he moved down 
 the aisle. He could not see very well; was the 
 chapel full as it seemed ? and was that an usher in 
 white kids who was coming toward him and saying, 
 
 " Just one minute more ; the bridal couple are 
 just coming in ? " 
 
 Bolt upright he sat where he had been guided, 
 and saw as in a dream a white phantom of a woman 
 it seemed, and a black shadow of a man go by. 
 " Married ; who said she was married? ah it was hor 
 rible ! Perhaps they two those women fiends, and the 
 one who had told the knowing one of them, were all 
 that knew the shameful secret. Would it do any 
 good to pray them for the mercy of God to keep it, 
 would money hire a woman to keep a disgrace that 
 had fallen on a fair sister s name? " 
 
 " Aren t you going to salute the bride ? " smiled 
 an acquaintance. " This is the marriage of Labor and 
 
WHA T WILL THE Y FE TCH ? 21$ 
 
 Capital at last." He had perpetrated his witticism a 
 dozen times at least, and this was the first who had 
 not laughed. Jane Graves and Silas Ellings\vorth, 
 Bertha s father were they mad, or was he? 
 
 " I am ill," he muttered incoherently, as he 
 pushed his way almost roughly out. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Tea for an Old Woman. 
 
 * I ^HE terrible seeds of suspicion sown in Philip 
 -L Breton s mind bore the bitterest fruits through 
 the dreary winter months. No effort of his will, nor 
 course of reasoning, could comfort him. For a 
 moment he might find relief but his torment would 
 only return afresh. Humanity are slow to believe 
 good of fellow-creatures, but nothing is too bad to 
 be true. He thought it might have calmed him to 
 have been assured even of the worst ; he believed that 
 then he might despise the woman he had elevated 
 to the highest pinnacle of his ideal temple of woman 
 hood, if she had made so little of the most sacred 
 gift of God. But it would have been a violence to his 
 feelings, he could not endure to inquire of those who 
 must know. Her father knew, but his smiling face 
 revealed nothing and his very reserve was peopled 
 with horrors for Philip. His wife Jane must know 
 too, but he could not bear to think of the malicious 
 pleasure she would take in detailing the shameful 
 story to him. She would sate her hate in his misery. 
 But if it were not a shameful story still he could 
 
TEA FOR AN OLD WOMAN". 2 1/ 
 
 not form his lips to ask, the humiliation of such a 
 question from him, a discarded lover, about her at 
 whose feet he had been proud to sit, shocked him 
 into silence. He even dreaded lest they might speak 
 to him, but it had been months since he had heard 
 Bertha s name once breathed. 
 
 It was the morning of a day at the very close of 
 winter that the operatives in the Breton Mills gath 
 ered in astonished groups before a number of white 
 posters in the entrances. They were printed in the 
 largest and plainest of type but the people read them 
 as if they were in some foreign language. And the 
 ideas called up seemed common-place enough, but 
 it was only after reading them over and over and an 
 exhaustive interchange of explanations, that the 
 groups broke up with looks of surprised satisfaction 
 on their faces. This was what they read : 
 
 " The paymaster or his clerks will be in the 
 south office Monday and Thursday evenings. Any 
 of the help needing coal or groceries can obtain 
 them of him at cost hereafter. Those who cannot 
 pay cash will be advanced goods on account of un 
 paid wages due them." 
 
 But long and cruel experience of the selfish prin 
 ciples, of which they are victims, has created a deep 
 feeling of distrust in the poorer classes. /Their bitter 
 complaints against hardships that seemed intolerable 
 have been silenced so long by the catch words of 
 
2 1 8 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 "business," "political economy," "competition," 
 " supply and demand," that they have grown to ac 
 cept the melancholy view that there is no honesty 
 but policy, no fairness but necessity, no pretence of 
 either but has some business trick for its motive. 
 So as the mill hands scattered to their work they 
 grew suspicious again. The smile of satisfaction 
 that had lit up their faces at first gave place to a 
 smile of cunning, as each for himself devised some 
 possible profit to the wealthy mill-owner in this fair 
 looking scheme of benevolence. 
 
 " He don t mean nobody else shall cheat us any 
 how," suggested Bill Rogers, incautiously. 
 
 "You always was a fool, Bill Rogers," drawled 
 John Graves. "The whole thing s as plain as day 
 light, and I tell ye the lad s shrewd, too, he beats the 
 old man. He sees a big chance in keeping store for 
 his help ; they ll all have to trade with him, you bet." 
 
 " But don t the posters say that everything s to 
 go for cost ? " 
 
 "Yes, for what they ll cost you. I d rather see 
 his profit and loss account than trust his word." 
 John Graves had on a better coat and hat than had 
 ever fallen to his lot before, but apparently his pros 
 perity had not turned him into an aristocrat. His 
 daughter might have married young Breton himself, 
 he had learned his lessons in too terrible a school to 
 forget them. 
 
TEA FOR AN OLD WOMAN. 21$ 
 
 " I thought now twould be a big savin . Why I 
 s pose there* aint a store hardly but makes two thou 
 sand dollars right straight out of our poor pay. If 
 that was divided back amongst the customers twould 
 be quite a help. I see the rest on ye looks kind o* 
 sour, but I don t see for the life of me why taint a 
 big thing for us. It aint right to make us support 
 all these store-keepers, they don t make or raise the 
 stuff we eats, they only clips their livin off of it 
 fore we gets what we pays for." Two or three men 
 stopped, as they went by, to see Bill Rogers make a 
 speech, and the girls giggled and looked over their 
 shoulders. Rogers was the picture of awkwardness 
 as he tried to scrape up a little pile of dust with his 
 great boot. 
 
 " It s such innocent cusses as you just encourage 
 the upper crust to press down on us. Yer right, the 
 store-keepers will lose their livin if we all buy of 
 Breton, but he will just be so much the richer. He 
 aint satisfied with grindin us, he wants all the good 
 things he can get his greedy eyes on." 
 
 Friday evening the walls of the south office, as it 
 was called, were lined with merchandise, such as is 
 the first necessity of existence. On the floor were 
 barrels of flour and sugar, and baskets of eggs and 
 potatoes ; brooms and pails, oil and molasses barrels 
 on tap, crockery and lamps and cutlery showed out 
 of glass doors, and chests of tea and coffee and boxes 
 
22O THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 of all conceivable sizes and patterns packed the 
 shelves. The paymaster stood behind hits new desk 
 with a distressed look on his face, as if his life had 
 suddenly become a burden to him, and his clerks 
 stood about the room with most disgusted expres 
 sions on their countenances and in their very atti 
 tude for the new occupation that had been assigned 
 them. Every two or three minutes the mill-owner 
 looked in to see how much trade was doing, and then 
 resumed his nervous walk along the hall. Now he 
 turned into his office and made as if he would sit 
 down, but would go out again and walk instead to 
 the piazza, door and look up the street and calculate 
 how many of the patches of particular blackness he 
 could make out in the distance were operatives in 
 his mills hastening to buy at his new store. But 
 strange enough, the trade on this, his opening night, 
 was very light. A great many came in and stared 
 about, and asked prices. But when the impatient 
 clerks wanted to sell them a gallon of this fabulously 
 cheap and yet first brand oil, or a quart of the 
 molasses almost for nothing, or a pound of these 
 delicious crackers for a mere pittance, most of them 
 shied off like a skittish horse. A few made pur 
 chases and betrayed astonishment, in spite of them 
 selves, at how much they got for their money, and 
 though the rest looked at them for remarkable curi 
 osities of enterprise, the buyers hugged their bundles 
 
TEA FOR AN OLD WOMAN. 221 
 
 as if they were afraid of losing such rare acquisitions, 
 and went out in high glee. 
 
 At nine o clock the paymaster and his clerks 
 came into the proprietor s office, and took the chairs 
 he motioned them to, in significant silence. They 
 apparently had something unpleasant on their minds, 
 and were not judicious enough to see that Philip 
 Breton was fretted and dangerous. They might 
 have seen from the way he closed his lips, and the 
 fact that he forgot his usual smile, that it was a poor 
 time for any. 
 
 " Well crentlemen " he did not even wait for 
 
 o 
 
 them to begin. " I suppose you don t like your new 
 employment." There was time for them to smooth 
 matters over even now, but 
 
 " Well, that s what we came in to say," began 
 Jennings, who had seen Philip grow up from a boy, 
 and had no terror of him, any more than a keeper of 
 a young lion which he handled when a whelp. " Our 
 business is book-keeping, and selling a pound of tea 
 to an old woman don t come easy." 
 
 " You would like me to give up my plan, would 
 you ? " The black eyes of the young proprietor 
 rested curiously on them. His tone was smooth so 
 far. 
 
 " I don t think it will amount to anything ; you 
 can t sell all your stuff, and some will spoil on your 
 hands." 
 
222 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 11 That will be a part of the cost just as freight is. 
 I don t expect to save the cost, that would be im 
 possible, but the profit, I believe it is my duty to 
 save my poor help." 
 
 " I suppose our extra work will be a part of the 
 cost too" 
 
 " I consider that is paid for already. It would save 
 them something if I had to hire help even," Philip 
 went on slowly, " but you see my special advantage is 
 that my help is salaried already, salaried abundantly." 
 
 His meaning dawned on the paymaster and his 
 two clerks, and their faces flushed like sunrise. 
 
 "And do you expect us to turn ourselves into 
 petty shop-keepers twice a week, for nothing," ex 
 claimed Jennings, and the two clerks looked indig 
 nant remonstrance. 
 
 " Call it shop-keepers if you like. I should pre 
 fer, if 1 were you, to consider I was acting as almoner 
 to the poor. It is only when a man makes a gain 
 out of small dealings, that he need be ashamed ; kind 
 ness in little things, generosity in the smallest things 
 even, is always noble." Philip s eyes danced with sar 
 castic humor. " I wouldn t humiliate you gentlemen, 
 I appreciate your sensitiveness, I wouldn t think of 
 letting you make a penny out of the old women who 
 want a pound of tea." 
 
 " I resign ! " cried the paymaster rising, " to take 
 effect immediately." 
 
TEA FOR AN OLD WOMAN. 22$ 
 
 " I resign ! " echoed the insulted clerks, " to take 
 effect to-night." 
 
 Well well, mused Philip, I suppose they will stay 
 around a day or two more. Now I am sure I paid 
 them too much. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Breton, we just called at 
 your house, we wanted a little a friendly talk, you 
 know." 
 
 The three grocery-men of Bretonville filed in 
 with melancholy visages distorted in a frantic at 
 tempt at a smile, appropriate of course to the friendly 
 talk that was coming. 
 
 " We are sure," began the one of them that was 
 a deacon in one of the village churches. 
 
 " I have no patience for any long preamble," in 
 terrupted Philip, " say right out what you have to 
 say." 
 
 " Is this the way you help the poor then," snap 
 ped one of the shop-keepers, much as he would re 
 proach a delinquent debtor. Philip looked at them in 
 silence for a moment. " And so I shall take away 
 your means of livelihood, shall I ? " he said at last 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes," urged the deacon plaintively. " No doubt 
 the young man had not calculated so far as to see 
 the consequence of his benevolence to such worthy 
 members of society. * 
 
 "And if I made a free gift to the poor in the vil- 
 
224 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 lage of all the necessaries of life, it would wrong you 
 too, would it ? " 
 
 " Well, you put in queer, but I suppose we would 
 have to go to doing something else for a living." The 
 deacon laughed uneasily. Philip rose to dismiss 
 them. 
 
 " I can t see any sense in your laying a tribute on 
 every mouthful a poor man wants to eat. You 
 don t put in one stroke of work to produce the food. 
 Why should the poor have to contribute of the little 
 they have to support you ? If the race of middle 
 men who stand between the people and what the 
 world has for them, were blotted out poverty would 
 turn into comparative comfort." 
 
 " But how can you dispense with us? " 
 
 " I think the experiment is worth trying, at 
 least." 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The New Stock Company. 
 
 THE dry goods dealers and the butchers had no 
 kind of sympathy for the villainous grocery- 
 men. Their extortions were positively outrageous, 
 and it was good enough for them that the customers 
 forsook their stores. It did these virtuous merchants 
 great good to see the change in the condition of the 
 poor, their relief from imposition produced ; they 
 could buy so much better clothes, and need haggle 
 so little over the difference of a few pennies more or 
 less in price. And it was remarkable how much 
 more meat they could buy ; why it quite shocked the 
 generous hearted butchers, to find how many fami 
 lies there had been even in this prosperous village 
 who ate meat but once or twice a week. How pleas 
 ant and profitable it was to be able to satisfy their 
 wants, and to see their own trade well nigh doubling 
 in a month because there was so much saved on 
 groceries. But imagine the disgust of the dry goods 
 merchants and butchers, when word was brought to 
 their blighted homes that branches had been opened 
 in the mill stores to cover the varieties of business 
 15 
 
226 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 on which they had fattened for so many years. 
 What expletives of scorn and contempt were terrible 
 enough to express their disapproval of the quondam 
 butcher boy, Philip Breton had installed over his 
 ridiculous meat market, where tender juicy steaks 
 and ribs were sold so cheap almost the poorest crea 
 ture in Bretonville could hope for them._ And then 
 the ex-dry-goods clerk who worked making cloth .in 
 the day time, and now sold it two evenings in a week 
 under the new paymaster s supervision was a subject 
 for endless mirth, only that the selling prices were as 
 low as the village merchants could buy at. A gen 
 eral hegira became necessary of the village shop 
 keepers. Eight men with their indignant wives and 
 shrewd eyed children, shook the dust of the ungrate 
 ful village from their feet, and journeyed westward 
 where there yet remained towns and cities perhaps 
 that had not learned to get along without their sort. 
 The results of Philip Breton s plan were very re 
 markable in the little world that revolved about 
 him. Instead of raising the wages, he had devised a 
 way to make the same wages go a great deal farther- 
 It amounted to raising the wages of his help twenty 
 per cent., and all it cost him was the interest on the 
 small capital locked up in stock. It amounted to 
 dividing up among the poor of Bretonville all the 
 money which went for the rent of eight stores, with 
 the price of the time of as many clerks, and the sup- 
 
THE NEW STOCK COMPANY. 22 J 
 
 port in comparative wealth, of eight proprietors. 
 Philip did not have to watch his experiments in fear 
 and trembling, lest nobody should buy ;" the mill- 
 stores were fairly swarming with delighted pur 
 chasers the nights when opened, and the fame of 
 them traveled hundreds of miles. The example was 
 followed by other mill-owners in the neighborhood,. 
 but with the disinterested principle left out. Other 
 proprietors had two methods of reaping a profit out 
 of store-keeping. One set of them took advantage of 
 the cheaper cost of living, to cut down the wages of 
 their help, on the generally accepted axiom, that 
 wages should be at the lowest point which can sus 
 tain life. The other set charged a profit on the 
 goods sold, and managed to get back again nearly a 
 quarter part of the wages of their help before a 
 month could pass. But the Breton system varied 
 not to the right hand nor the left a hair s breadth, 
 and the crushing weight of poverty was lifted a lit 
 tle from a thousand human creatures who, for the 
 first time, saw the power of great wealth exerted in 
 their favor. 
 
 The people seemed grateful at first, but the pro 
 verbial ingratitude of their class asserted itself at last. 
 It had cost the proprietor but little, and after all 
 was a mere ingenious arrangement to make the poor 
 wages he gave them quiet their loud complaints. It 
 was only a makeshift, it was no reform. The mill- 
 
228 THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 owner had no confidants, but from all signs, he had 
 tried his only innovation. He seemed to grow 
 closer every day, more watchful over losses, more 
 stringent on expenses. 
 
 One evening he called a meeting of his help, and 
 the old market-hall was packed from door to plat 
 form. Reporters were planted by their tables, to 
 catch every word of the mysterious proceedings. 
 Representatives from all the factories in the coun 
 try elbowed the crowd for their three feet of stand 
 ing room, eager to learn some new device for mak 
 ing money out of their help as good as the other. 
 But the great audience was strangely silent ; they 
 knew not what to expect. Perhaps the economical 
 mill-owner was going to announce a new reduction 
 in their wages, everybody said he was reducing 
 everywhere. Perhaps he had some new plan to help 
 them. But the feeling in their hearts was more of 
 fear than hope, and it was a look of piteous terror, 
 almost, that they cast at the slight form in black, 
 that came forward on the platform. They re 
 minded Philip of a flock of frightened sheep that 
 had never had a shepherd. Then he thought of a 
 great army massed before the smoking cannon- 
 mouth, an army that had never had a general. He 
 saw they feared him. 
 
 " This village is happier than it was a few 
 months ago. I have tried to fulfill a little of my 
 
THE NEW STOCK COMPANY. 229 
 
 promise to you." A murmur of applause swept 
 through the crowd like a summer breeze through a 
 grove of pines, and then it was still again. " But all 
 I have done so far, is to keep others from wronging 
 you. I have been for a long time trying to think of 
 some way to make your lives more fair for you, and 
 yet be fair to myself and my class. I have been cutting 
 on expenses to make the whole business machinery as 
 economical as I knew ; at last I am ready to take you 
 into my confidence and make you a proposal." 
 
 There was a stir in the great audience, as if every 
 man changed his position at the same moment, so 
 as to be sure not to lose one precious word of the 
 new gospel. 
 
 " I cannot feel that I ought to give you any 
 thing. And I cannot see that it would be reason 
 able to pay more wages than others pay, that is, 
 than you have now." 
 
 A hush had fallen upon the people like death. 
 There \vas no hope for them then. Still the speaker 
 went on. 
 
 " But if your labor is profitable to me, so that I 
 can pay you your price, and pay my other expenses, 
 and pay me for the time I give to the business what 
 such service as I do is paid elsewhere, and then have 
 something besides " 
 
 The reporters dropped their pens in astonishment ; 
 was the man mad? 
 
230 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 " I am disposed to think that you have earned a 
 share in it." He paused to catch his breath, and one 
 could have heard a pin fall in that crowded room. 
 " My capital should be allowed for too, In a word 
 I propose to divide the profits of my mill, after all 
 expenses are paid, into two equal parts hereafter, one 
 for labor, yours and mine, and one for the interest 
 on my money. The part which belongs to labor will 
 be distributed according to the worth of each one s 
 year s work. The one that earns the largest year s 
 pay will have the largest per cent of that dividend. 
 We shall all be stockholders together, each with a 
 share large or small according to the value of his 
 work." 
 
 The building trembled with the roar of applause 
 that went up, and it was several moments before 
 Philip could make himself heard again. He had 
 thought there was nothing left in his life, with love 
 gone out of it, but as he stood that moment with 
 the glad shouts of the poor ringing in his ears, and 
 felt he had led them out of bondage, his heart thrilled 
 with a proud joy that was almost ecstasy. Right or 
 wrong his wealth had brought him a happiness that 
 made even a life like his worth living; had conferred 
 on him a glorious sense of the dignity of manhood 
 which lifted him as on wings. 
 
 But they must listen while he explained the terms 
 of his plan more fully. He motioned to a dozen 
 
THE NE W S TO CK COM PA N Y, 2 3 1 
 
 boys and took a printed sheet of paper from the pile 
 of similar sheets which he ordered distributed among 
 the workmen. He then read aloud the following 
 from the paper in his hand. 
 
 The first dividend will be distributed August 1st 
 for the year ending July 1st. The surplus is $200, 
 ooo. $100,000 is set apart as the allowance for capital 
 invested, which leaves $100,000, to be distributed to 
 the labor in proportion to the wages or salary earned 
 by each. The whole amount of wages and salaries 
 earned in the mills was about $360,000. Therefore 
 the rate per cent of dividend is about 27^ to be 
 calculated on the wages or salary of each man, woman 
 and child as shown by the paymaster s book for the 
 past year. For example, the man whom the pay-roll 
 shows to have earned $300 for his year s work, will 
 receive 27^ per cent on $300 in addition, or about 
 $83.10 as his dividend. The paymaster, who re 
 ceived a salary of $2,000, will receive about $554, and 
 as manager worth a salary of $5,000, I shall receive 
 more than twice the dividend of the paymaster. 
 Certain restrictions will be imposed. 1st. Only one- 
 half of the annual dividend will be in cash, for it 
 would hurt the interests of the mill to withdraw so 
 much from the business. The other half will be in 
 stock, which will draw dividends as the rest of the 
 capital. 2d. Stock cannot be transferred only to 
 operatives, but will be redeemed at the counting 
 
232 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 room, after notice, when holders leave the mills, as 
 stock will yield dividends only while holders work in 
 the mills. Holders of stock may hold meetings and 
 choose a committee to examine the books of the com 
 pany, before the annual distribution of dividends." 
 
 When Philip Breton sat down a noisy hum of 
 voices followed, asthe people read and commented 
 upon the prospectus. The figures looked anything 
 but dull to them, the bright possibilities that came 
 up before their imaginations as they read, were such 
 as no gentle cadence of poetry could have given 
 them. Apparently they would never have tired of 
 reading the wonderful words of hope and good cheer 
 over and over, only that the outer door swung open, 
 and a tall man s form entered. Philip Breton from 
 the platform saw it, and the pride sickened on his 
 heart. The crowd about the door passed the whisper 
 around, and it was hardly one short minute when the 
 building shook again with cheers, as they shouted 
 the name of " Curran." 
 
 Yes, it was he who pushed his way well into 
 the room and then stopped and took one of the 
 printed sheets as if he were unconscious of their 
 cheering and read till his face that had looked so 
 stern and terrible softened like a child. Then he 
 mounted a settee for his platform and uncovered 
 his head with a new grace that became him as 
 well as his strength. The old bitterness had gone 
 
THE NEW STOCK COMPANY. 235 
 
 from his lips, it had given place to a touching sadness 
 that sobered every face that was turned toward him. 
 
 " He means to deal well by you, he wants to 
 make you shareholders in your work." Philip had 
 risen excitedly to his feet. The sight of the man who 
 had been with Bertha, who came perhaps but this 
 instant from the woman he had wronged so terribly, 
 was at first almost maddening to him. Ah, how 
 grand and beautiful he was, with his deep mighty 
 chest and shoulders, and his limbs like pillars of 
 some temple. There were no laws for such men as 
 he ; the holiest and purest of women love to make 
 themselves base and common things to win smiles 
 from his proud eyes, and men forget their vengeance, 
 and only remember how small and mean they seem 
 before him. But who could look at his melan 
 choly face and the calm dignity that rested upon 
 him always, and believe he could be vile ? Only per 
 haps nothing was vile or low to him, and even sin 
 was glorified in his eyes when it suited his caprice to 
 sin. 
 
 Philip had come to the very edge of the plat 
 form and beckoned a friend to him. " Do you see 
 the man talking, the man with the auburn hair cur 
 ling about his neck, no don t look yet," his voice was 
 husky with excitement. " Get behind him while he 
 is talking and stop him before he goes out. I must 
 see him and speak with him ; I would rather ten thou- 
 
234 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 sand dollars than lose him. Quick now." As Philip 
 sat down again and watched his friend trying to 
 make his way through the close packed crowd he 
 heard Curran s voice again. What was there changed 
 in it? It had lost its old ring, there was a queer 
 drag in it sometimes, and when he used to raise his 
 voice till every nerve tingled for sympathy he.seemed 
 now to let it fall and his long sonorous sentences 
 died down at the end like a muffled bell. 
 
 " If others were like him," he was saying, " the 
 reform I would die for would come soon, would be 
 upon us. It is so much easier for the rich and the 
 mighty to give us our own, than for us to wait till 
 the slow pulse of the millions of the oppressed 
 beats quick with resolution so that we will take 
 them." 
 
 How slow his friend moved. Philip actually hated 
 the people who were too stupid to get out of his 
 messenger s way. 
 
 Had Curran finished, was this all that was left of 
 his eloquence ? Yes, he was stepping down and 
 moving toward the door. His friend was almost there, 
 the man must not escape thus, and plunge again with 
 the woman whose life he had blasted into the ob 
 scurity he seemed to love. Philip leaped to his feet 
 and almost shouted to the people. All turned their 
 faces expectantly toward him, Curran with the rest 
 his pale worn face. Philip s friend was come almost 
 
THE NE W S TO CK COM PA NY. 2 3 5 
 
 to him now. If Curran could only be detained for 
 one moment more. 
 
 " It will of course be for the interest of all of you, * 
 he knew he was talking weakly, but it was no matter, 
 to earn the most wages you can, to lose the fewest 
 days, to turn off the most piece work." Of course, 
 he spoke too stupidly, Curran turned on his heel and 
 moved toward the door. Almost instantly then, 
 Philip Breton gave a sudden short bow to the audi 
 ence and disappeared back of the platform. He 
 bounded down the narrow stairs, four at a time, and 
 rushed around to the front of the building like one 
 mad to stare for a moment in the faces of the escap 
 ing crowd. Then, wilder than ever at the thought 
 that Curran might have gone out among the first, he 
 ran back and forth after one group and another, but 
 all in vain. Then he forced himself to stop and think, 
 and forthwith made inquiries for Curran s boarding 
 place. He reached the place at last and ran breath 
 lessly up the stairs. In another moment he would 
 know the truth if it killed him to bear it. He must 
 remove the poisonous shadow of suspicion that was 
 polluting all the holiest precincts of his nature. 
 Certainty was better far, for the nerves can brace 
 themselves against the clearly defined features of 
 ever so hideous a monster ; far better certainly than 
 this crawling slimy terror that made him ashamed of 
 a manhood that could cherish it. He dared ask 
 
236 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Curran for the truth, he did not shrink from it. II 
 the man were innocent he might strike him down for 
 the insult to the purity of his wife. Philip thought 
 such atonement would seem just and proper. But if 
 he were guilty, ah, if Bertha was guilty through him 
 what dea-th was terrible enough for his penalty ! 
 
 A portly woman, with the unmistakable expres 
 sion of the expectant boarding mistress on her face 
 and in her attitude, met the pale-faced young man 
 at the top of the stairs. She did not recognize the 
 proprietor of the Breton Mills, in his slight form ; 
 she would have looked for a man of lofty stature 
 and commanding mien, and not a mere lad whom 
 nobody would glance twice at on the street. 
 " Where is Curran? I I want him." 
 " Why, he s just gone, he drove off to Lewiston." 
 " To Lewiston ? are you sure?" Why this must 
 be some important personage after all, he was so per 
 emptory. Poor people can bully, but there is a 
 shame-facedness or an over-affectation of authority 
 that betrays them, their self-consciousness lets the 
 whole secret out. 
 
 " Either Lewiston or Raleigh, I can t tell, really, 
 sir, shall I get you a carriage, Mr. Mr. ?" 
 
 " Two horses and a buggy, a driver too. Tell 
 them it is for Mr. Breton, and," he shouted after 
 the woman, " if they give me a poor horse, he will be 
 dead before they ever see him again." 
 
THE NE W S TO CK COM PA NY. 237 
 
 It seemed an hour before the horses drew up be 
 fore the boarding-house door, and another hour be 
 fore they had left the village behind. Then the little 
 patience Philip had forsook him ; he caught the 
 reins from the astonished driver, and at the threat 
 ening snap of his whip, the horses broke into a wild 
 gallop. But he did not attempt to restrain their 
 plunges ; if they fancied they were running away, 
 all the better ; if he was hurled down this or that 
 high bank, the fate was better than to live in such 
 agonizing suspense. But the hostler had no incli 
 nation for a violent death ; he dared not touch the 
 reins, for fear an incautious pull might send them to 
 instant destruction, but all that words could do, he 
 attempted. All respect of persons forsook him, and 
 he heaped all the curses and profane abuse in his 
 vocabulary on this mad driver who made so little 
 of common prudence. But as Philip did not even 
 seem to hear him, but only urged the panting horses 
 the faster, the hostler finally relapsed into silence, 
 and only held on to his seat with both hands, while 
 great drops of perspiration started out on his fore 
 head. 
 
 It was a little past nine o clock the next morn 
 ing, that Philip Breton, pale from a sleepless night, 
 knocked at a low studded door in an ill-ventilated 
 tenement house, where they told him Curran lived. 
 Within was Bertha, the high-bred woman, wonted 
 
238 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 to the costliest luxuries of wealth. And she was 
 willing, then, to live in such squalor as this to be 
 with the man she loved. Could change have been 
 cruel enough to have touched her? Perhaps an 
 infant hung hungrily on her bosom, and Curran, 
 fallen back into his vulgar traditions, lounged in red 
 flannel shirt sleeves in her presence. Could he bear 
 the sight? But she might be alone ; his heart beat 
 faster with terror and hope. She would lift her 
 sweet eyes pleasantly to him so easy it is for 
 women to forget the agony they have caused. She 
 would hold out her shapely hand to him, but it 
 would be stained and worn from hardships. Should 
 he fall at her feet ? Would he be able to remember 
 she was another s dead to him ? 
 
 He knocked again, possibly no one was at home. 
 
 " Come in." It was a man s voice. 
 
 As Philip opened the door he saw the man he 
 sought, by the window. He was eagerly looking 
 up and down the street, as if waiting for some sign. 
 There was no guilty fear or shame in the calm face 
 that was turned to his visitor. 
 
 " Breton." He gave him his hand with hearty 
 good-will. " Somehow I could not speak last night, 
 but you have begun a noble work. Why, I had 
 rather feel the proud satisfaction you must have, I 
 would rather be in your place than the greatest man 
 in the whole world." 
 
THE NEW STOCK COMPANY. 239 
 
 Philip was afraid to look about him ; perhaps 
 Bertha had no wish to speak to him, or else she was 
 not here ; there was no atmosphere of a woman s love 
 and care in the place, somehow. But Curran went 
 on in his quick, eager way, " The rich men have the 
 most glorious privilege ever men had; the world is 
 ripe for such work as you have done. Each man of 
 wealth can let the fountains of light and joy into the 
 lives of a village in some way which shall make his 
 name blessed forever. Instead of that, whole gener 
 ations of us have to break ourselves in pieces in the 
 effort to wear away their rock. We fail, as the 
 wretched two thousand creatures who strike here 
 to-day, will fail, to gain one privilege more for our 
 selves, but our children may profit from our sacri 
 fices, perhaps, or their children. Anything is better 
 than spiritless, eternal submission." 
 
 Philip released his hand from the man s clasp 
 and turned to look about him. No woman s shawl 
 hung on the rack. No baby s shoes or toys. A 
 man s rude hands had set the chairs in an awkward 
 row. A man s hands made the comfortless look 
 ing bed that stood in one corner. There was no 
 soft scent of perfume, such as Bertha would have 
 left behind her if she had but lately gone. Why, 
 Bertha could never have breathed for a moment 
 there. Love can do much, but it cannot make a wo 
 man over. 
 
240 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " Where is your wife ? " he said, in a low, breath 
 less voice. " Bertha." 
 
 The eager look faded from Curran s face, and his 
 blue eyes grew troubled. For an instant he did not 
 answer, but stood with folded arms gazing out into 
 the street. 
 
 What is a wife?" he said at last, " A woman 
 who loves a man and lives in his love, who pines in 
 his absence and listens to the coming of his foot 
 steps, as the sweetest music in the world to her ; to 
 whom all the gifts of life would be nothing without 
 him ; to whom poverty and disgrace would lose 
 their hatefulness if he shared them. A wife is a 
 sweetheart, a hundred times tenderer and hap 
 pier." His voice grew bitter and hard for a mo 
 ment as he added, " No, I have no wife, Bertha has 
 left me." 
 
 He heard a shout, and a score of hurrying forms 
 rushed by his window. He turned from the window 
 in a sudden passion of excitement. 
 
 " The strike has begun. What pity do the rich 
 deserve? Even their women are taught only to 
 break honest men s hearts. They are beautiful as 
 the angels of heaven and cruel and pitiless as the 
 angels of hell." 
 
 " But wait," cried Philip, catching him by the 
 arm. Curran had not yet spoken the words he 
 wanted to protect her name from the insult of 
 
THE NEW STOCK COMPANY. 241 
 
 another suspicious thought. But a shout rolled 
 up from the street, and another and another in 
 quick succession. Curran shook him off and, 
 catching his hat from the table, sprang down the 
 stairs. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Why Couldn t She Wait? 
 
 IT was the same room, and yet it was not. The 
 walls were papered as they used to be and there 
 was the same round baize-covered table. The table 
 however, was not now in the centre of the room 
 which it was designed for, but stood awkwardly in a 
 corner. The great morocco-bound volume called, 
 " The Dresden Gallery " was not on the table. Mrs. 
 Ellingsworth had no taste for that class of art. But 
 there was the same bookrack, only now it was packed 
 with bloated looking novels, cheap in binding and in 
 paper. Not but that Mrs. Ellingsworth had abund 
 ance of money at her command, but it unfortunately 
 happened that such books as she cared for were of a 
 class which few people bought if they could afford 
 better. Higher up in the corner hung that inexcus 
 able invention, a triangular bracket, whose three 
 shelves were littered with the ugly rubbish called 
 bric-a-brac. 
 
 Naturally enough the portrait of the first Mrs. 
 Ellingsworth had disappeared from the wall, but it 
 certainly was a little cruel to replace it by a vulgar 
 
WHY COULDN T SHE WAIT? 243 
 
 print, entitled in glaring letters, " Kathrina, or My 
 Meditation of Thee shall be Sweet." Of course a 
 man must submit to let his wife furnish her own 
 parlor according to her taste or lack of taste, and so 
 it was that Mr. Ellingsworth saw his delightfully 
 comfortable and aristocratic old chairs and sofas 
 packed into the attic. The new upholstery was ex 
 quisite in material, and brilliant in tint, but unfortu 
 nately was out of harmony with the wall paper or 
 the carpet. The new mistress might change the 
 arrangement of her new furniture as often as she 
 pleased, it seemed continually out of place. It 
 seemed incapable of taking on a domestic tone, as 
 much as if its price tags had never been removed. 
 
 The new maid who showed Philip Breton into 
 Mrs. Ellingsworth s parlor was not nearly as pretty 
 as her predecessor in office, but he was too much 
 absorbed with his delicate errand to take any notice 
 of her. Bertha was alone somewhere, deserted, un 
 protected, something must be done for her. It was 
 a strange place to seek pity for her, in the woman s 
 bosom which he had seen heaving in hate of her, 
 but a magnanimous heart is wont to count on the 
 generosity of others. Philip could not imagine a 
 creature so hard and cruel, but that he could move 
 her by explaining how poverty and desolation might 
 that moment be the portion of the loveliest woman 
 in the world. For the three days following his 
 
244 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 interview with Curran, waking and sleeping, he had 
 seen an endless panorama of all the woes and suffer 
 ings imagination could picture, and in every scene 
 the pale tired face of Bertha, friendless and alone, 
 with her great blue eyes almost speaking in their 
 hunted appealing look. He might tell himself she 
 was nothing to him, that she had deserved all she 
 could ever suffer, it did not satisfy him. If such a 
 woman as she did not deserve happiness, still he 
 would have her have it. It seemed the depth of 
 unmanliness for him to let her suffer for her fault. 
 But what was it to him, had she not a father ? It was 
 more than uncalled for, for him to espouse her cause 
 as if she needed a knight ; it was ridiculous for him to 
 volunteer to be her knight. And still he could think 
 of nothing but her, he could do no business, he could 
 complete no plans, till at last in desperation he had 
 come to her father s house. The maid had said Mr. 
 Ellingsworth was not in, and so he was left to appeal 
 to the womanly tenderness of his wife. At least she 
 would know more than he of what had happened. 
 
 He had dreaded to come, for fear of reminis 
 cences that would be called up in Bertha s parlor. 
 He had thought each familiar object here would 
 give him a pang, but now he looked about the room 
 in a sort of daze. However much Mr. Ellingsworth 
 might regret the change, Philip was very thankful 
 for it. He felt that he could not have borne that 
 
WH Y CO ULDN T SHE WAIT ? 2 45 
 
 the sweet associations of the room where he had 
 been so happy, poor fool, should all cry shame to 
 him. It was very fitting, he thought, that the very 
 place where he had known the holiest of love s illu 
 sions, should be transformed. 
 
 He rose suddenly from the satin-covered sofa, 
 and looked wonderingly at a woman s form in the 
 doorway. Could this be the poor little factory girl, 
 this fashionably dressed woman, with a train like a 
 queen ? He had stupidly enough expected to find her 
 in the same old calico dress, perhaps with the dingy, 
 plaid shawl about her shoulders. Wonted, as he was, 
 to the usages of good society, he could not disguise 
 the surprise in his eyes. 
 
 But the girl was not so sensitive as to be annoyed. 
 Had not she kept him waiting while she dressed, on 
 purpose to enjoy a triumph ? And now she was 
 quite pleased at the plain evidence of it. She 
 smiled rather consciously as she extended her jew 
 elled little hand to him. 
 
 "Why haven t you called before?" Her voice 
 had lost the desperate or sullen tone he remem 
 bered in it of old, but he was not sure he liked it 
 any better. He bowed, like any gentleman, as he 
 touched her hand, and noticed the great gold brace 
 lets on her slirn wrists. Philip was unpleasantly 
 reminded of manacles, and then the massive chain 
 around her neck, with a huge locket shaped like a 
 
246 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 padlock, had suggestions, too, of a sort, he fancied, 
 the girl would hardly have liked if she had thought 
 of them. He glanced at her olive cheeks, and the 
 slightly oblique eyes, and the voluptuous fullness of 
 her form. How could an American village have 
 produced so perfect an odalisque ? 
 
 " I did not wish to interrupt your honeymoon." 
 He seated himself again. 
 
 She was looking oddly at him, as if curious 
 whether he had forgotten her indiscreet visit, when 
 she had told him of her own broken heart. 
 
 Philip suddenly met her eyes as she sat oppo 
 site him. " The truth is, Mrs. Ellingsworth, I have 
 hardly been in the mood for polite calls of late. I 
 suppose you understand." 
 
 " How should I?" She elevated her dark brows 
 rather unpleasantly as if to dismiss, once for all, any 
 further confidences with him. Philip smiled, in 
 spite of himself, at her tactics, when she tried to 
 look unconcernedly out of the window. 
 
 " Do you know where Bertha is ? " he asked, 
 simply. 
 
 A. sudden flash of color lit up her cheeks. " I 
 hate the very name of her," she exclaimed, as she 
 rose as if to leave him. She was not yet wonted to 
 the customs of her new rank. 
 
 " Don t go," he urged, " I am so anxious to 
 know where she is. No doubt you have cause to be 
 
WHY COULDN T SHE WAIT? 247 
 
 angry with her," Philip did not notice the growing 
 passion in the girl s eyes, " but you surely would 
 not have her starve to death, or suffer and die 
 alone. 
 
 " Perhaps not," Jane meant to smile, but she 
 only produced the effect of showing the cruel white 
 of her teeth. " Hasn t she got " the word stuck in 
 her throat, "him?" 
 
 " Why, didn t you know," cried Philip breath 
 lessly, " she has left him ? She is alone somewhere, 
 for all we know, in want ; think of it, and she too 
 proud to 
 
 " Left her husband?" 
 
 " If he was her husband, I didn t know," he hur 
 ried on, as if afraid of the answer that would come, 
 "*i never heard, you know, and I didn t like to ask." 
 
 She had seated herself on the pink satin beside 
 him and caught his hands as she bent toward him to 
 read his thoughts before he spoke. 
 
 " Did you hear they were not married ? " she al 
 most hissed at him. 
 
 " Why yes, that is " he looked away in his shame. 
 " It was told about the village, but you know better 
 of course." He tried to laugh, then he grew sober 
 again. " How vile of them to whisper it, and it was 
 vile of me to let even the taint of a fear into my 
 mind." 
 
 But she did not answer him yes or no. Her eyes 
 
248 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 had grown preternaturally large, and there was a 
 happiness in them as if she looked right into the 
 gates of heaven. All the common expressions were 
 gone from her face. One could read there now 
 nothing but purity and sweetness such as make up 
 the substance of dreams of love. 
 
 " And he is alone, oh, where is he, I must know, 
 I must go to him. It cannot be true." The angel 
 ic look flitted, the exquisite drooping at the corners 
 of her mouth was gone. 
 
 " If you have dared to lie to me." Philip was 
 perfectly astonished at the sudden change in her face 
 and voice. Her black eyes blazed ungovernable 
 passion into his, the quick transition from the height 
 of blissful hope to the depths of despair, seemed to 
 bear her over the line of her humanity. " Tell me, 
 have you lied to make a show of me?" 
 
 She trembled for an instant, like a wild creature 
 before a spring, then she clutched with her hot supple 
 ringers at his throat, magnificent as a tigress and in 
 every motion a perfect terrible grace. Philip threw 
 her from him as he would some untamed animal ; it 
 was hard to remember her womanhood then. 
 
 She sat where he had left her, as if just awoke 
 from a terrible night-mare, her fingers parted and 
 curved and moving spasmodically as if she yet held 
 him by the throat. Then she buried her face in the 
 cushion in a flood of tears. 
 
WHY COULDN T SHE WAIT? 249 
 
 " I didn t know what I was doing," she sobbed. 
 " Don t remember it, I was mad." She rose trem 
 blingly to her feet and came forward covering her 
 face with her hands. She might have been an abused 
 child, so gentle and sweet she seemed. She took 
 down her hands from her face ; what man could be so 
 cold and hard as to stand against such eyes as hers 
 looking through their tears ? 
 
 But she was alone. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A Radical. 
 
 , my God, my God, why couldn t I have 
 waited!" 
 
 She tore the gold chain from her neck and cast 
 it on the floor. Her husband had given it to her, 
 and she hated him at this moment and the proud 
 name he had put upon her. She had rather one 
 smile of that other than all these empty golden 
 favors. 
 
 44 1 am sick of their soft ways and their lying 
 tongues," she moaned, "Why didn t I wait." Jane 
 Ellingsworth began to walk rapidly about the room, 
 wrenching the great gold bands about her wrists, 
 unconscious that she chafed and bruised the skin. 
 
 " I might have known God would not deny him 
 to me, I wanted him so much. Oh, my love, my 
 darling, I would have fought for you, I would have 
 starved for you. It would have been sweet with 
 you and I could not wait one year. I might have 
 known it would come, but I could not wait." She 
 drove her nails into her flesh as she clasped them in 
 her anguish. She panted for breath, her rich silk 
 
A RADICAL. 251 
 
 dress seemed to suffocate her, and the perfumed air 
 was too heavy and dead, it seemed to strangle her. 
 
 " He is free, he would have opened his arms to 
 me. He may be coming now to ask me to go with 
 him. He could never have loved that cold, blood 
 less creature. Ah, how I could have loved him. I 
 would have taught him that a woman can love." 
 
 She unclasped her hands and let them fall gently 
 to her side, and her convulsed face took on a new 
 soft tenderness. "I would go with you," she mur 
 mured.. "A hungry heart cannot feed on such 
 things as these. Oh, but he would not have me, 
 a low creature who has sold herself, he would not 
 have me. He would despise me, he would not 
 even look at me, as if a woman can be as strong as 
 a man." 
 
 She fell back in one of the satin covered chairs 
 she had bought with her husband s money, and cried 
 and sobbed till the salt fountains dried up. It was 
 then, while she sat silent and tearless, looking at her 
 bruised wrists and at the wounds her nails had made, 
 that she heard a familiar delicate tread in the hall. 
 Jt was as well Mr. Ellingsworth did not catch the 
 expression on her set, weary face as his tall, shapely 
 form appeared in the doorway. He seemed to her 
 fancy that moment the most terrible monster in the 
 world, this elegant figure of a man, whose disposition 
 was the very essence of refinement, and she dropped 
 
252 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 her eyes to the carpet as he came toward her with 
 his eternal smile. 
 
 " All alone, Jennie ? Why you have dropped 
 your chain, here it is on the floor." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," but she shuddered in spite of 
 herself as he seated himself near her and warmed 
 her hands fondly between his own soft, white palms. 
 
 " My little girl," he began. 
 
 Yes, she was his, his and no other s, his every 
 day and hour of her life, for hadn t he bought her, 
 and what better title was there than that -by pur 
 chase? She raised her eyes and made them rest on 
 his fine, smooth shaven face. She had never noticed 
 before a certain cold and cruel light in his eyes, as 
 if he could enjoy keenly the torture of a living soul, 
 or that beside the sensual lines of his finely chiseled 
 mouth there was a suggestion of an exquisite brutal 
 ity on the thin lips. She trembled before him. If 
 he knew. 
 
 " I have a favor to ask of you." He looked ad 
 miringly at her as he spoke. Mr. Ellingsworth 
 never tired of the rich, oriental type of his wife s 
 beauty ; if Bertha s mother had been like her there 
 need never have been any unpleasant stories in the 
 community on her score. And Jane was lovelier 
 than ever to-day with this peculiar brilliancy in her 
 eyes and the bright red spot on either dark cheek. 
 She didn t know how to furnish her parlor very well 
 
A RADICAL. 253 
 
 but he had never yet been sorry he married her. 
 And she seemed to understand so well how to man 
 age him, never too fond, always a little on her guard, 
 like a judicious artist, who will not let even the most 
 ardent admirers come too near his canvas. 
 
 " It is about Bertha," he continued, not seeming 
 to notice her start. " She has left that fellow. I 
 haven t troubled you before, but she has been alone 
 up in Vineboro for a good many months. I think 
 best she should come home now. It will be in bet 
 ter taste" 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth rose to his feet at a rumbling 
 noise, and stepped to the window. When he came 
 back the color had faded from Jane s cheeks, and her 
 small mouth closed very tight. Her hands were 
 trembling violently, but she had hid them in the 
 folds of her dress, so her husband could not see her 
 intense excitement. Her heart was beating loudly ; 
 her old madness seemed coming upon her again, but 
 this man s cold smiling face subdued her. 
 
 " When is she coming? " 
 
 " I didn t know but that was the carriage ; well I 
 suppose she may be here," he glanced at his gold- 
 faced watch, " perhaps in an hour or two." 
 
 The girl s lips quivered, she almost broke into a 
 passion of angry words the hate that seethed in her 
 heart for that woman was almost bubbling forth its 
 bitterness. But the cool assurance on her husband s 
 
254- THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 face, as his keen pitiless eyes seemed to search out 
 all the secrets of her soul, cowed the woman. She 
 rose and moved as one in a dream, toward the door. 
 
 " I must get things ready then." And so this 
 was what her gentle-voiced husband called asking a 
 favor of her. She did not love him, but she feared 
 him, now, as she remembered her secret. She would 
 obey his nod as if she were his dog, she would study 
 the signs on his placid face. He had never had any 
 thing but smiles and kind speeches for her, but she 
 would have sunk into the very earth at his feet, 
 rather than that he should open his mysterious 
 armory of instruments of deadly torture for the soul. 
 
 " Well, well, I thought she would make more 
 fuss." 
 
 The afternoon sun was well down on his last 
 stretch when Philip Breton came back from his fac 
 tory, and up the street towards Mr. Ellingsworth s 
 house. There was some one with him, a man so tall 
 and slight that the weight of his head, which was 
 quite large, seemed to bow him. It was an old gen- 
 tleman to judge from the wrinkles on his face, he had 
 hardly enough hair to show whether it was grey or 
 only flaxen. 
 
 " You have done splendidly, my boy ! " It was 
 an old acquaintance of Philip s he had used to talk 
 philosophy with at college, one of those benevolent- 
 minded gentlemen who are so optimistic that they 
 
A RADICAL, 255 
 
 have to go to boys for sympathy. " Splendidly," he 
 repeated, " only why stop just where you are? If 
 every mill-owner would do in his mill what you have 
 done, it would be a grand thing for this world. But 
 they won t. Now you have started beautifully, but 
 there is too much business to your plan." 
 
 Philip smiled argumentatively. It was like his 
 boyhood returned to hear the old man s mellow 
 tones. 
 
 "But, Mr. Philbrick, an honest businessman can 
 do more good than a dozen impracticable philan 
 thropists like you." 
 
 " But think of the things that business princi 
 ples never can regard. Your help work ten weary 
 hours a day, all their poor lives ; business demands 
 that, doesn t it ? Well, I say that is where benevo 
 lence must come in. It is terrible to be shut up as 
 they are; it kills body, mind, and soul; business 
 principles never can save them," said the old gen 
 tleman, turning his kindly eyes on the young mill- 
 owner, " philanthropy, I don t care what you call it, 
 some gentle spirit of love ought to lift the burden 
 that crushes the life and hope out of them, con 
 trary to business principles, higher than business 
 principles." 
 
 As Mr. Philbrick finished, a close carriage rolled 
 by them and stopped a little beyond, where a gen 
 tleman and lady stood to welcome the visitor. 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " Your reforms," answered Philip, after a mo 
 ment s thought, " should be founded on business 
 principles. Then the force of the business instinct 
 will carry them out. Otherwise " he lifted his hat 
 to Mrs. Ellingsworth, but she did not seem to no 
 tice him ; her eyes were fixed on her husband, who 
 was in the act of handing a lady out of the carriage. 
 The lady wore a traveling suit of a blue shade. Her 
 face was hid as she stepped down, showing the 
 white feather in the back of her hat, and a few 
 strands of golden hair below. Then she raised her 
 face as the carriage rolled away, and a wild, sweet 
 thrill of pain shot through Philip s heart, while 
 every nerve in his body tingled, like finely tuned 
 stringed instruments, trembling in sympathy with a 
 resounding chord. His feet refused to take him 
 away, while his hungry eyes devoured Bertha s 
 beauty, for it was no other than she come back his 
 lost darling found again. His heart warmed, as he 
 looked, into a divine glow ; how cold it had been, 
 and so long ; a great burden of weariness seemed 
 lifted from him ; it was as if, after a dreary old age, 
 the sweet peace of childhood was born in him again. 
 
 For the moment he forgot everything that had 
 come between them, as in the bright, perfumed 
 morning, a child forgets the dreary night just past. 
 But the long night had changed her ; the exquisite 
 roundness of her face and form had gone ; even her 
 
A RADICAL. 257 
 
 grand blue eyes seemed faded like her cheeks, once 
 so rich in their sunset glow. And he only yearned 
 over her the more tenderly the new element of pity 
 seemed only wanting before to glorify his love into 
 a religion. He longed to rush to her, putting away 
 her father, who had no caresses for her, and his wife, 
 who was darting flashes of hate at the unwelcome 
 guest. He would enfold her in his arms. She 
 would be glad for them at last ; such love as his made 
 the closest kin in the world. Pie took a step toward 
 her, but no one saw him. 
 
 The eyes of the two women met. Their wills 
 met and struggled for the mastery in that moment. 
 Undisguised hate was in one face, lofty contempt in 
 the other. There had been one gentle, wistful ex 
 pression in Bertha s face as she first alighted, but 
 there was no trace of it now. She had drawn her 
 self up to her full height, so that the other woman 
 seemed like a child before her, and her hand,, as it 
 fell to her side, opened outward in a gesture of dis 
 dain for the creature her father had chosen for his 
 wife. It was hardly a second before her rare lips 
 parted ; they at least had not changed. Jane winced 
 for fear of some bitter taunt. She had learned how 
 terrible a blow well-trained tongues can give, but 
 the words were only some polite commonplace, the 
 tone well, it caused Mr. Ellingsworth to glance 
 critically at his wife. She seemed vulgar in his eyes 
 17 
 
258 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 for the first time. Jane tried to brazen it out, but 
 her face only took on an expression of pugnacious 
 insignificance. 
 
 " What was it you were saying?" resumed Mr. 
 Philbrick as Philip overtook him. 
 
 " I had forgotten." 
 
 " Speaking of business ? " suggested the other, and 
 then continued himself, not displeased at an extra 
 turn. " Business I say is heartless and cruel as death. 
 It is pitiless, and pity is the noblest of emotions, it is 
 ungenerous, it is unfair, we have had enough of it 
 when it grinds so terribly." 
 
 Mr. Philbrick thought his tirade would surely 
 fetch an enthusiastic retort ; but Philip only walked 
 on by his side in silence, he seemed intent on some 
 beautiful masses of clouds just behind the sun as he 
 sped his way to the west. 
 
 " Can t afford it, can t afford it," went on the old 
 gentleman, gesticulating with his forefinger, " that is 
 what you would say, I presume ; of course you can t 
 if the upper classes waste the wealth they do. I tell 
 you there is no sense nor excuse for a man spending 
 ten and twenty and fifty thousand dollars a year; 
 why it is a good workman in your mill who earns ten 
 thousand dollars in a life-time, adding all his days 
 wages together. There ought to be more fairness 
 about these things. Such men as you, Philip Breton, 
 get too much, more than any reasonable creature 
 
A RADICAL. 259 
 
 could want, now you ought to go right to work and 
 distribute your surplus, I mean your real surplus, 
 back where it came from, among the poor. It don t 
 take but very little money to buy what can make a 
 life comfortable and complete. The rich are always 
 complaining that they don t enjoy life more than the 
 middle classes ; but they manage to waste what would 
 make a thousand wretched homes happy without one 
 pang of conscience." 
 
 " But what do you want me to do ? " asked Philip 
 in astonishment. 
 
 The old gentleman s face was flushed with enthu 
 siasm. 
 
 " Why I want you to take hold, and begin to 
 make things equal, by paying back your surplus in 
 one form or another. Give them better homes to live 
 in, shorten their hours so they can have a little exist 
 ence besides drudgery, pay them better wages." 
 
 Philip looked distressed and doubtful. He had 
 thought the subject over carefully and believed he 
 had done a great deal already for his poor. His 
 philanthropic friend would turn the whole world 
 topsey-turvey. 
 
 " Why, you know what the books say, that giv 
 ing so much would spoil all the spirit and patience 
 of the working classes." 
 
 " Mere arguments devised to soothe the conscien 
 ces of the rich, "explained Mr. Philbrick with a grand 
 
26O THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 air. " Though there is such a thing as unwise benev 
 olence, encouraging paupers and beggars : but a man 
 who works every day of his life isn t a beggar. Your 
 father made a good investment that brings you in 
 say a quarter million a year. That is rather above 
 what you pay your best workman ; but it doesn t hurt 
 your manliness any, my boy. The poorest-paid hand 
 in your factory works a great deal harder than you ; 
 you needn t be afraid of degrading his manhood till 
 he gets a quarter million." 
 
 " But wouldn t they hang off on their oars un 
 less they had to struggle for a livelihood ? " 
 
 " My dear Philip, you wouldn t think it necessary 
 to starve a horse, and hang a bag of oats just before 
 his nose to make him go. Better feed him the oats, 
 and a healthy animal likes to go. Do you lie off on 
 your oars? You could afford it a thousand times better 
 than they. Give them a chance for hope and ambition 
 and it will produce the best work ever known. Who 
 lives here? " 
 
 He stopped in front of a graceful little cottage 
 through whose open windows one could see into 
 cheerful well furnished rooms. A row of maple 
 saplings had been lately set in front, and plenty of 
 green shrubs and ample vines gave the place a most 
 charming air. 
 
 " John Graves, one of my workmen. His daugh 
 ter married rich, and it is her husband s money has 
 
A RADICAL. 26l 
 
 worked a remarkable transformation. Philip was 
 very glad to change the subject. " John s wife was 
 sick, supposed to be a life invalid. See that lady 
 like woman watering the hanging pot, that is she. 
 Ellingsworth s money made the change. As for 
 Graves himself, he used to be bowed almost like a 
 cripple ; he was as melancholy as an undertaker, and 
 he had reason to be, poor fellow. He used to pull a 
 great slouch hat down over his face to hide as much 
 as he could of himself. Well, you wouldn t know 
 him now, he is as respectable-looking man as one 
 often sees, and they say he works as hard as ever." 
 
 " He isn t degraded any, then ? " asked Mr. Phil- 
 brick slyly, as they walked on again, " by his good 
 fortune." 
 
 Philip frowned. Mr. Philbrick ought to appreci 
 ate the difference between the boy and the man a 
 little better. 
 
 " I cannot carry out your proposal, it isn t in my 
 line. I am a business man and must work in charac 
 ter. I actually feel as if I had made quite a step, 
 for me." 
 
 " A step ! cried his companion, eagerly reaching 
 out to clasp his hand, " A stride, only I want you 
 to go clear to the goal." 
 
 " I am too slow for you," smiled Philip, sadly, as 
 he shook his head. " What I have attempted seems 
 enough for one life-work. I don t want to lisk it 
 
262 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 all by a new experiment. Here we, are at my house, 
 won t you come in?" 
 
 They stood at the gate. The front door stood 
 invitingly open, showing the broad oaken staircase, 
 and still beyond, the table set for the evening meal. 
 
 " Not to-night, thank you." Mr. Philbrick shook 
 his hand for parting but did not seem quite ready 
 to go. 
 
 " Tea is all ready," urged Philip, " and I am quite 
 alone." 
 
 " Oh no, my train leaves," he made an excuse to 
 look at his watch, " in half an hour." Still he hes 
 itated. 
 
 At last he laid his hand gently on Philip s arm. 
 
 " You are young and have probably a long life 
 of usefulness before you. But a man can never 
 tell." Philip looked in surprise at him. "You may 
 change your mind, or give up your work ; if you 
 should want to, just let me know, I would like to 
 buy you out and run things on my plan." 
 
 " But you are not rich enough. You probably 
 know the valuation of the Breton Mills," answered 
 Philip, a little proudly. 
 
 " I could pay you something, and you wouldn t 
 drive too hard a bargain. You would be glad, per 
 haps, to contribute in that way." 
 
 Philip burst into a hearty laugh ; his honest old 
 friend was losing his wits. Give up his factory and 
 
A RADICAL. 263 
 
 his own scheme, that was his only hope in life ! But 
 Mr. Philbrick did not smile. He seemed actually 
 serious and awaiting an answer. 
 
 " Well, I will give you the first chance when I 
 want to sell." 
 
 The old gentleman s earnestness sobered Philip 
 irt spite of himself. He was sorry he had laughed. 
 Perhaps he had been mocking his own destiny. The 
 philanthropist s proposal began to affect him as a 
 death s head at a feast. He was afraid he could not 
 forget it. Did his friend know him better than he 
 knew himself? Did he see elements of weakness in 
 his character that would be sure to wreck his beauti 
 ful hopes ? 
 
 Philip walked slowly up to his door; once he 
 turned and looked after the bent but still vigorous 
 figure of the bad prophet. No doubt he was already 
 planning how to revolutionize the whole manage 
 ment of the mill. 
 
 " I will never speak with him again," he mut 
 tered. 
 
 Then he looked back at his house again. It was 
 in that very doorway, open as it was now, that 
 Bertha had stood and kissed her hand to him the 
 last time she had been at his home. That was 
 when his chief thoughts of life were as a wedding 
 journey that was before the first cloud had dimmed 
 his sunlight. And now she had returned. She had 
 
2 64 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 shamed her father s house and her mother s pure 
 memory. She had shamed him who had been her 
 lover since childhood, and all for a man she did not 
 love enough to stay with him. Still he could not 
 help that first tumultuous throb of his heart, the 
 unreasoning wave of joy that had swept over him at 
 the very sight of her changed, tired face. She had 
 done her worst to spoil his life, to drive peace and 
 happiness from his soul, but that pure, steady glow 
 in his heart, ah, it was love yet. 
 
 Philip s heart was very full of bitterness, the fruit 
 of his love instead of peace. He stopped midway 
 to his door, and plucked a rose, slowly tore out its 
 blushing petals and let the summer breeze carry them 
 away. 
 
 The great work for the poor he had commenced 
 would have made him the happiest man in the world, 
 if she could have shared his enthusiasm with him. 
 His was the disposition even and sweet, just the one 
 to get the most contentment out of his life, but lone 
 liness was terrible to him. 
 
 " Perhaps it is better so," he said aloud, as he 
 crushed the fragment of the flower in his hand. No 
 doubt he was light and weak, and it was only under 
 the pressure of a great burden, that he could ac 
 complish anything. That gave him intensity. And 
 then Bertha might have weakened his purpose if he 
 formed one, not sympathizing with him. and it had 
 
A RADICAL. 26$ 
 
 not been her wont to sympathize with him. His 
 very devotion to her might have made him waver, 
 or for very happiness he might not have thought of 
 anything but his bride. If a man has a great work 
 to do it is better to be alone. Two souls never can 
 have but a single thought, and the least friction might 
 delay his progress ; the least discouragement might 
 hinder his footsteps on the mountain, bringing glad 
 tidings to the wretched. 
 
 All that peril had been saved him. Curran had 
 proved a better friend to the people than he thought, 
 even when he deserted them, in breaking in upon 
 Philip Breton s idle dream of love. 
 
 Perhaps it was from Bertha s shame had sprung 
 all the good that blessed a thousand hopeless lives. 
 
 Philip shuddered as he went up the broad stone 
 steps to his silent house. It seemed infamous to 
 associate the thought of shame with the woman 
 whose beautiful high-bred face he had looked into 
 again to-day. And Bertha was in the very village 
 with him ; the great outside world had given her 
 back safe. He need not tremble for her any more, 
 for her father s arm protected her. 
 
 He looked across the fields where he could see 
 one gable of the house that held her, almost hidden 
 by overshadowing trees. Perhaps she was in her 
 room, this moment weeping bitter tears for the 
 sweet rare life she had lost by her madness. 
 
266 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 He passed his hand over his eyes. 
 
 " Must she suffer forever for what she has re 
 pented of, and the streams of despair flow always 
 through her heart, washed whiter than snow ? " 
 
 He walked into his home, and through the echo 
 ing hall and stood in the door of his dining-room. 
 There were sideboards and chairs enough to provide 
 for a party the table glittered with its massive 
 plate, and glistened with exquisite china, but only 
 one seat was placed. 
 
 A piteous look of loneliness was in his face, but he 
 only muttered through his closed lips, 
 
 " Nothing can ever be blotted out. She cannot 
 be forgiven." 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Very Odd. 
 
 * A MAN of wealth like Philip Breton owes especial 
 -E*. duties to the community. He may very easily 
 be guilty of criminal reinissness, for the tranquillity 
 of the masses depends very much on the firmness 
 of the higher classes. It is not for him to say, I may 
 do what I will with my own. The great danger of 
 the world to-day is from the discontent of the poor; 
 the people are impregnated with new fatal principles, 
 which threaten the bulwarks of centuries. Now it 
 seems to us Mr. Breton s new scheme encourages the 
 spirit of uneasiness among the working classes ; he 
 may think he gives them enough; their wants and 
 complaints will always keep just ahead of the favors 
 granted them. They will grow bolder at signs of 
 weakness, and he will soon find that they have 
 passed beyond his power of restraint." 
 
 Philip laid down the morning s paper on his office 
 table. What a stir his innovation had caused; how 
 many vested rights he seemed to be outraging, how 
 many terrible dangers he tempted. Could it be, one 
 single act of justice put everything awry, and that 
 
268 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 his neighbor had a right to require him to sin for the 
 comfort of his class ? 
 
 His paymaster put his head inside the door ; he 
 looked anything but self-possessed. The mill-owner 
 started nervously was the crash at hand ? 
 
 " Some gentlemen to see you, sir " 
 
 " Show them in, of course." 
 
 Were they going to take him by storm. Three of 
 the wealthiest manufacturers in the state walked in 
 and shook his hand, then came three agents of large 
 corporations, and lastly, Giddings, the attorney. 
 They talked of the tariff and the president s policy, 
 and the money market. At last the attorney cleared 
 his throat, and an impressive silence followed. One 
 gentleman took up the newspaper and became sud 
 denly very much absorbed in its contents ; another 
 opened his penknife, and began to pare his finger 
 nails very carefully. But how Giddings had changed ; 
 not alone in his dress which had become threadbare 
 and untidy, but in his face which had grown abnor 
 mally red, at least in spots, as if he had become dis 
 sipated and bankrupt at the same time. Well, he 
 would make a very respectable fee out of this day s 
 work to mitigate his bankruptcy perhaps, but to in 
 tensify his dissipation. 
 
 " But we had a more especial errand here to 
 day," began the attorney with a propitiatory smile. 
 " The truth is, Mr. Breton, your benevolence is 
 
VER Y ODD. 269 
 
 playing the deuce with all these gentlemen. Their 
 help have grown uneasy and fault-finding, and we 
 have lost the old argument that we are doing the 
 best we can for them, for they can point to you who 
 are doing better." 
 
 " What do you wish me to do ? " asked Philip, 
 in a queer tone, as he pushed back his chair and 
 braced one knee on the table. 
 
 The lawyer glanced triumphantly around among 
 his clients. Old Giddings hadn t lost his brains yet, 
 if he did drink a bit too much sometimes. They 
 ought to have called him in before ; the boy wasn t 
 obstinate if a little diplomacy was used. 
 
 " My dear sir, we wouldn t presume to dictate, I 
 express your feelings, do I not, gentlemen ?" 
 
 " Entirely so," assented the gentleman with the 
 newspaper. " Certainly," remarked the guest who 
 was still paring his nails. 
 
 " But we really feel," resumed the lawyer, 
 smoothly, " as if you ought to retrace your steps, 
 and stand with the rest of us. We ought to present 
 a bold and unbroken front to the enemy." 
 
 " The enemy?" repeated Philip, doubtfully. 
 
 " Oh ! that is, the laboring classes, of course." 
 
 " But what reason could I give for retracing my 
 steps?" asked the young man modestly enough. 
 " The people in my mills are so delighted with their 
 new dignity and profit as stockholders in the busi- 
 
2 70 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 ness, that I ought to have a very good explanation 
 to give them for such a proceeding as you suggest. 
 They take a new interest in their work. The divi 
 dend the poor creatures get is very small, but it 
 seems enough to change the very look in their 
 faces." 
 
 " Ahem ! why, Giddings wasn t getting along 
 as well now. He was more disposed to think the 
 young mill-owner a conceited puppy. One or two 
 of the wealthy and important clients frowned un 
 favorably on their indiscreet attorney, who had let 
 in, indeed fairly invited this irrelevant talk. 
 
 " You ask how to explain the change to them. 
 Well, tell your help times are hard, and there won t 
 be any surplus next year, dismiss the committee 
 who will want to fumble over your books. Expla 
 nations they couldn t understand accounts or busi 
 ness secrets cannot be exposed." Giddings smiled 
 shrewdly. " It is easy enough to fool them ; the 
 difficulty comes when you try to improve their con 
 dition ; regular cattle, you can drive them, but it is 
 the deuce of a job to lead them." 
 
 The gentleman with the newspaper threw it 
 down very abruptly. 
 
 "Why, Breton, you are giving us all away, and 
 your policy is suicidal besides. How are we going 
 to get rich on half profits ? We can take what we 
 choose what fools we would be to give up our ad- 
 
VERY ODD. 271 
 
 vantage ! Of course I am sorry for the poor folks, 
 but I don t care to make myself poor too. You 
 can t expect a man to risk his money for a five per 
 cent rate of interest." 
 
 11 Very true, not when they can get twelve or 
 twenty, but we would all invest money at five per 
 cent, rather than get nothing for it. We tax the 
 world too much to keep us rich." 
 
 The man with the penknife shut it with an em 
 phatic click. " Our skilled work, as managers, de 
 serves big rewards. What would the work of your 
 thousand help be worth without your guiding?" 
 
 " Or," added Philip with a smile, " what good 
 would my guiding be, without their hands ? They 
 are equally important in their place, equally enti 
 tled to a share in the profits produced out of the 
 dead capital by our united efforts." Then he rose 
 suddenly to his feet. " I would like to show you 
 through my mill." 
 
 The visitors looked at each other queerly, but 
 one after another stood up in response to his invita 
 tion, and in a moment more were following him 
 towards the factory. 
 
 He led them first into the room where the cotton 
 was emptied out of the great bales and torn by re 
 volving knives into the finest shreds, while steam 
 fans carried off every particle of dirt or waste. The 
 room was hot and the air full of dust and bits of 
 
2/2 THE BRE TON MILL .9. 
 
 floating cotton. The four or five men that tended 
 the grand machines, fairly shone with the perspira 
 tion, and their shirts were open at the neck for freer 
 breath. The rattling machinery overwhelmed all 
 ordinary tones of voice, and the men had learned to 
 be silent ; so from long habit their faces had acquired 
 something of the expression of the dumb. Thence 
 Philip conducted his guests to the room where the 
 rolls of cotton were still further cleansed, where one 
 boy had the care of a long row of frames. They fol 
 lowed the cotton to the human-like mules as they 
 were called, which twisted the thread all ready for 
 weaving, and then to the looms whose angry clatter 
 was like the rebellious voices of ten thousand sprites, 
 forced to do the work of men without reward. A 
 girl or a man more rarely had charge of five or six of 
 the looms each ; they had all the same look of deaf 
 and dumb mutes ; quite shut out as they were from 
 the human social life from the dawn to the setting 
 sun. The dull, cheerless routine of their life was not 
 changed ; under the new system the terrible roar and 
 rattle of the machinery was no softer than of old, but 
 there was no face in all that great factory, but that 
 had a happier, brighter look than of old, not a bend 
 ing form but seemed to have a new spring and vi 
 tality. All the men and girls and even the little 
 children wore better clothes, and looked much cleaner 
 than they used, and perhaps it was partly this which 
 
VERY ODD. 2/3 
 
 heightened their self-respect, so that they showed no 
 disposition to avoid the eyes of their distinguished 
 visitors. The sullen expression which is so familiar 
 on the faces in great factories was gone. Their young 
 master had planted a little seed of hope in every soul 
 of them all, and its first slight sprouting had given 
 them that pride in their work which marks the dis 
 tinction between slaves and freemen. 
 
 " A little more money for each one, that makes 
 all the difference," said Philip as he conducted his 
 guests out into the open air, where they could hear 
 each other s voices again. Seven cold faces met his 
 pleasant glance. 
 
 " But a little for each," suggested one of the gen 
 tlemen, " means a pretty good lump out of you. 
 There isn t enough to go around. It s my opinion it 
 isn t possible for only a few to have much chance in 
 this world. The world is too poor. There isn t 
 enough to go around." 
 
 " Not if everybody asked to live as he does," 
 thought Philip, " and earn as little." But he said 
 nothing: he led them to his tenement-houses and 
 showed them the signs of a new ambition after taste 
 and comfort and even refinement. It appeared in 
 very little things, in particulars one would hardly 
 notice, perhaps a new door mat on the step or a cloth 
 curtain instead of a paper one, sometimes a rosebush 
 in the front, yard. But it was a change which makes 
 IS 
 
2/4 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 a house over into a home ; the men and women in 
 the Breton Mills suddenly had homes, and one would 
 think these gentlemen of uncounted wealth envied 
 their new blessings, from their frowning brows. 
 Then Philip showed them the village schools fairly 
 crowded with the children of the poor; most of 
 them old enough to earn a few dollars a month in 
 the mill. They seemed strangely ignorant for their 
 age ; the simplest lessons were hard for them, and 
 yet there was hardly a face of them but had a 
 certain shrewd unchild-like look ; they had borne 
 the crushing burdens of life too soon poor little 
 things. 
 
 " Isn t it worthwhile to enable the mill people to 
 send their children to school ? " urged Philip eagerly. 
 " They used to have to grind every pound of work 
 out of their puny little forms to keep the wolf from 
 the door. It was a terrible sight to me, gentlemen 
 the torturing of the soft muscles and weak little 
 limbs, which stunted and deformed their bodies, and 
 dwarfed their unshaped minds and hearts. Nothing 
 can excuse a system that requires such sacrifices as 
 that ; better burn our mills and go back to savage 
 life if we cannot pity these babies." 
 
 " But education only makes the poor more un 
 easy," remarked one of his portly visitors. * I 
 believe it does them more harm than good." Philip 
 looked indignation at the speaker, whose round face 
 
VERY ODD. 275 
 
 was of a soft pink, from high living and rare wines 
 of fabulous prices. 
 
 " You are right, if all the good you count is to 
 run your mills forever at starvation prices." 
 
 Then he showed them his factory stores, and as 
 he explained his system in full to them he saw they 
 were interested at last. All vestiges of scowls were 
 gone, and their eyes snapped delight as they asked 
 the most minute questions. Philip was well pleased. 
 If they would adopt, in their own mills, even so 
 much as this, it would be a step. So he told 
 them where he bought his groceries and goods 
 of all sorts, and the excellent terms he could 
 make. He explained how little additional help 
 it required to carry on the stores and the im 
 mense saving to his poor of the cost of living. 
 He showed them, too, by his books, how many 
 of the evils of the credit system were obviated by 
 the simple method of letting those who desired, 
 draw provisions against their unpaid month s 
 wages. 
 
 The pink-faced gentleman turned smilingly to 
 his companions, " We must certainly try this at 
 home ; we are very much obliged, Mr. Breton." 
 
 " I hope your help will appreciate the change," 
 smiled Philip. 
 
 " Ahem well it isn t so much that ahem but 
 if we can lower the cost of living so much ahem 
 
2/6 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 we think labor ought to be cheaper, eh, gentlemen ? 
 Wages can be cut down." 
 
 Philip bit his lip and turned his face away to 
 hkie his intense chagrin. He had only put new 
 weapons in their hands to fight the " enemy." Was 
 it possible that every progress in science and each 
 successful invention which the world rejoices over 
 only sweeps into the coffers of the rich more and 
 more of the wealth the poor have earned. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Breton," said the pink-faced gentle 
 man, as the guests prepared to go, " we cannot but 
 hope our visit may not prove in vain for you. You 
 will come round in good time. You must have 
 some of your father s blood in you, ha, ha, ha." 
 
 But Philip was in no laughing mood. " No, but 
 you or your children will see the right clearer. We 
 are only a few, after all, compared with the millions 
 held in bondage, yes, bondage for want of a few dol 
 lars ; they ought to have some chance. You say 
 there isn t enough wealth to go around, but give 
 them a chance and they will produce enough to 
 make every creature on the earth comfortable and 
 contented. Their arms are strong and their wills 
 good if they have a spark of hope, and there is cer 
 tainly work enough." Philip looked around at the 
 seven politely surprised faces, and nipped his enthu 
 siasm in the bud. The only reply they had for him 
 was a 
 
VER Y ODD. 277 
 
 Good afternoon, Mr. Breton." 
 
 It was an hour later that Philip pushed back his 
 chair from the office table preparatory to going 
 home. He did not acknowledge to himself a certain 
 sweet excitement that affected him as he rose to his 
 feet, much less the cause of it ; and he laid it to 
 ordinary masculine vanity that he paused a moment 
 before a mirror before he went out. 
 
 It was not the same face he used to see in the 
 glass. His black moustache had grown heavy and 
 completely hid his rather unartistic upper lip, but it 
 was not that had changed him so much. His fore 
 head had some new lines in it and there was, some 
 how, a firmer look about the corners of his mouth ; 
 the youth and freshness that had lasted for twenty-, 
 six summers had given place on the twenty-seventh. 
 There was a self poise and suggestion of reserved 
 force in him now that stood for some very rapid 
 development of character. The mirth and gayety 
 seemed gone out of him ; he fancied now he was the 
 sort of man would make the young straighten their 
 laughing faces when they saw him. He was certainly 
 immensely more entertaining before. If a woman 
 did not like him then she would not be likely to love 
 him now. Women like to be amused, and the humor 
 seemed all crushed out of him. And yet there are 
 women who, when it comes to falling in love, don t 
 seem to choose the men who please them most ; as 
 
2/8 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 likely as not the rudest of all their lovers, possibly 
 the one who would disdain to amuse them, and who, 
 from appearances, would be the one least likely to 
 make a home happy. 
 
 As Philip went up the hill, his quick eyes caught 
 a glimpse of a woman s dress by Mr. Ellingsworth s 
 gate, and in a few steps more he could see it was the 
 shade of blue Bertha loved. Why might it not be 
 Bertha, why not, only that he was so eager it should 
 be ? He hurried as much as he dared how strongly 
 his heart was beating. She might turn any moment 
 and go into the house. He tried to think of what 
 he could say to her if it was she, he 
 
 Yes it was Bertha, her face was turned away, 
 showing him only the perfect Greek profile, and the 
 uncovered coils of her wonderful golden hair. Her 
 hand rested on the gate as she looked off on the 
 hills. How grand her thoughts must be to harmonize 
 with the superb dignity of her face. Philip felt 
 guilty at disturbing her, but it had been so long. He 
 came quite near, so near that the magnetic thrill of 
 her presence touched liim more deeply, more tenderly 
 he thought, than of old, but she had not turned. He 
 saw the path of care-born lines across her forehead, 
 that had been smooth as marble ; there was a faded 
 look on her cheeks, less full than they used to be, and 
 their exquisite color less evenly spread, her hand was 
 whiter and showed its blue veins almost painfully. 
 
VERY ODD. 279 
 
 His heart ached over her, his proud Bertha, why could 
 not God have spared her, he would rather have died 
 and saved her the jcare and suffering that had stricken 
 her loveliness. Then she turned at the sound of 
 footsteps, and a great wave of tenderness swept over 
 his soul. He looked at her so eagerly, so gently 
 that it seemed her face might soften a little, but it 
 did not, nor was there any mark of startled surprise 
 at his coming so suddenly upon her. 
 
 " It is you, Philip," even her voice was changed, 
 there was a new hardness in it. She reached out her 
 cold white hand to him. 
 
 For a moment he did not speak. It seemed as 
 if his heart would break, there was such a stress upon 
 it. And then he was afraid she might be ashamed 
 before him, ashamed of the terrible injustice she had 
 done him, ashamed of the blot that had touched her 
 name. But whatever she might have felt, there was 
 no sign of any emotion on her impassive face. 
 
 " And you are the mill-owner now," she said. 
 " How odd it seems." She smiled graciously, but 
 still he could not speak. He could only look down 
 at the thin blue-veined hand he held, and keep back 
 the sob that trembled on his lips for his lost love. 
 
 And that smile and such words as those were all 
 she had for him at last. He had to look away for 
 strength to speak. He must think of some com 
 monplace, that would not startle her repose. Ah ! 
 
280 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 there was the doorway where she had given him the 
 first ardent caress of his life the last time he had 
 talked with her, the night she forsook him. Did she 
 remember, he wondered? He looked back at the 
 cold beautiful eyes, and the amused smile yet linger 
 ing on her lips. 
 
 "Yes, it does seem very odd." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Out, Damned Spot. 
 
 "PHILIP dipped his pen in the ink-stand. He 
 A- was sitting in his study at home, later into the 
 afternoon than usual. Nothing unimportant could 
 have detained him so long from his factory, and be 
 sides, there was a look of unusual solemnity on his 
 face. Philip Breton had just written his will. It 
 was a very elaborate instrument, prepared from 
 memoranda of the ablest lawyer in the state. A 
 moment ago he had signed it, and the names of the 
 witnesses were not dry yet. He had been uneasy 
 for a long time, that the destiny of the thousand 
 creatures who worked in his mill, and of their suc 
 cessors forever, should hang on so feeble a thread as 
 a human life, which might snap before he could give 
 spontaneous energy to the plans that now only 
 lived in his brain. He wrote in large, plain letters, 
 across the back of the paper, " The Last Will and 
 Testament of Philip Breton." Then he read the 
 whole instrument over again the magna charta of 
 Bretonville. How glad the village would be when 
 his will came to be known when it was found that 
 
282 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 the mill-owner had not been satisfied with what he 
 could do in his lifetime, but had placed his benevo 
 lence on a perpetual footing, to reach back his hand 
 from his grave, to shower blessings on the laboring 
 poor God had committed to his charge. Some men 
 had wives and children to work for, to defend, to 
 hope for. If he had been happy, and blessed with 
 love and kisses, he might have been like the rest, 
 never listening to the groans of his poor under bur 
 dens too heavy for them to bear. His heart would, 
 perhaps, have been too full of the little wants and 
 trivial discomforts of his own circle, his mind too busy 
 with plans for the future of his sons, while a thou 
 sand dreary hopeless lives wore themselves out in 
 the struggle for their scant bread, with never one 
 pitiful thought from him. 
 
 Philip Breton was relieved, now that he had 
 made his will. He folded it carefully, and put it in 
 his inner breast pocket. Perhaps, he thought 
 sadly enough, if he should die this moment, it would 
 be better for Bretonville, for his will might waver 
 while he lived ; he might not be able to sustain his 
 high tone, but once dead, nothing could be changed ; 
 the words that an idle stroke of his pen could make 
 null and void, when once his hand became rigid in 
 death, would leap forth from the written page into 
 potent everlasting life. Suddenly he remembered 
 another occasion when he had sat at this very table, 
 
OUT, DAMNED SPOT. 283 
 
 he had been interrupted by the servant bringing 
 him a letter no, it was a note from Bertha. And 
 he had been very happy, fancying the shadow had 
 now gone from his life. He had opened this very 
 table-drawer, when the maid had tapped at the door ; 
 he was searching for something at the time. Oh ! it 
 was one of Bertha s pictures, and it must be here 
 still. In a moment more he was unclasping a mo 
 rocco case, then gazing with such tenderness as one 
 has for the dead, on the delicately tinted oval of 
 Bertha s beautiful face, in porcelain. The great blue 
 eyes seemed to look surprise and reproach at him. 
 It had been taken long ago, before so much as a 
 dream of sin had tainted the holy innocence of her 
 girlhood. 
 
 Philip closed his lips very tightly ; he longed 
 unutterably for her lost innocence ; he hungered so 
 desperately for the maidenly purity that looked out 
 of these startled eyes. If she had died then, he 
 might have cherished her memory; oh what had he 
 done that he should be punished so terribly? Then 
 the memories of the day when the picture was taken, 
 came rushing back upon him. 
 
 They two had been sitting in her garden on the 
 afternoon of a summer day. It was two, three, 
 almost four years ago, but he could see the bloom- 
 ing roses and hear the drowsy hum of the bees as if 
 it were yesterday. He had been reading a love-poem 
 
284 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 to her ; that was as near as he dared come to love- 
 making ; sometimes letting his voice soften and trem 
 ble a little over the tenderer passages. He was but 
 a timid lover, and Bertha so royally cold. Suddenly 
 glancing at her, he saw she was overcome with the 
 heat, and had fallen asleep leaning her shapely head 
 back against the rough bark of the tree. Her fingers 
 loosely clasped in her sloping lap suggested perfect 
 repose ; the girlish bosom rose and fell with her still 
 breathing and there was an exquisite pout on her lips 
 as if vaguely mutinous against the hardness of her 
 pillow. His heart was beating violently as he laid 
 aside his book, and seated himself on the bench by 
 her side. But he dared not profane the vestal purity 
 of such sleep as her s ; he devoured her face with 
 his eyes but did not steal one kiss from the red lips, 
 though there was such a sweet mute invitation on 
 them. But he put his arm about her, and drew her 
 toward him as gently as if she were a sleeping infant, 
 and made her head rest on his shoulder. Then he 
 looked down the red-tinged cheeks, like the woods 
 in autumn s tenderest mood, swept by her long 
 golden eye-lashes, and tried to fancy she was awake 
 though her eyes were closed, and that she was will 
 ing her head should rest on his breast and her hair 
 
 O 
 
 like fine threads of twisted Roman gold kiss his 
 burning face. 
 
 But she moved in her slumber, and then her star- 
 
OUT. DA MNED SPOT. 28$ 
 
 like eyes opened and looked mute astonishment into 
 his eager face. For one startled moment, she did 
 not move, and in sudden boldness from the liberty he 
 had already taken, he poured his passionate declara 
 tions into her ears, covering her hair and her forehead 
 and then her cool white hands with kisses. 
 
 "You frighten me, Philip." Her quick startled 
 tones as she rose to her feet yet rung in his ears. 
 She looked at him as if half of a mind to run away. 
 " I don t understand you/ she said reproachfully. 
 The porcelain picture is just as she was then. 
 
 " Why Bertha ! " He had risen too ; but she drew 
 back from him. " I love you ; I want you for my 
 wife." 
 
 How coldly she had looked at his flushed, excited 
 face. He thought it was the supreme moment in his 
 life ; but it seemed to be nothing to her. 
 
 " Is that all ? Why I thought you were mad." 
 
 Ah, and the same madness burned in his soul 
 this moment ; time could not wear it out ; shame, 
 outrage, desolation could not kill it. He rose to 
 his feet and pushed the tinted porcelain away from 
 him. 
 
 " But the woman is spotted with shame, her purity 
 that you worshipped has been dragged in the dust." 
 He paced the room like a caged lion ; he was only 
 a gentle-hearted man, caught in a dilemma, with 
 only a choice of agonies, out of all the beauty and 
 
286 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 love in the world. But had she not left the man 
 who had degraded her, had she not repented her 
 folly ? And after all he had not loved her because 
 her acts had always pleased him, but because be 
 cause her nature made harmonies that stirred his 
 soul to sweetest accord. She had made a mistake, 
 ah, a cruel mistake. What then ? Men err griev 
 ously and are forgiven. Women are weaker, whose 
 glory is their gentleness. When they err, shall their 
 lives be trampled out of them by the nail-shod boots 
 of their lords and masters; shall shame and infamy 
 be fed to their quivering lips forever ? Rather let 
 some man s constant love gather his frightened dar 
 ling to his bosom and soothe every memory of re 
 proach out of her bruised heart. 
 
 Philip arose to go out and his face was lighted 
 up with a new holy joy. But it was only for a 
 moment and then a great shadow passed over his 
 features. 
 
 But this woman cared nothing for him. She 
 never could have loved him. He remembered his 
 last meeting with her at her father s gate, how his 
 whole nature had been racked with conflicting waves 
 of emotion, with fear lest her superb pride should 
 be wounded with longing to draw her to his throb 
 bing heart, and with the bitter flood of memories 
 that almost caught away his breath. And she was 
 as cold as a woman of marble, with never a softening 
 
OUT, DAMNED SPOT. 28/ 
 
 expression in her queenly eyes, as if a blessed past 
 of mutual love and peace had ever been between 
 them not one smile of joy that she met him. I 
 will wait," he said, but as he spoke he took his hat 
 and went out. 
 
 Mrs. Silas Ellingsworth was all smiles and grace 
 as Philip entered her parlor, and as she shook hands 
 with him, lingered as cordially over the greeting as 
 if she had quite forgotten her pretty fingers had ever 
 been on his throat. She made him take a seat and 
 began to make conversation with him, as if she sup 
 posed he had called to see her. But suddenly she 
 affected to be struck with an idea. 
 
 " Oh, I know why you are not more talkative, 
 you didn t come to see me at all." She stepped to 
 the door. " Susan, call Miss Ellingsworth." 
 
 " Miss." Then there was no longer any room 
 for doubt. Philip shrank at the blow she gave him. 
 He had thought all uncertainty was gone long ago, 
 but he found that up to this very instant he had 
 cherished a spark of hope that Bertha had a right 
 to the name of the man she had fled with. And 
 she was " Miss " still. His hostess was saying some 
 thing, but he did not hear it, there was such a death 
 ly faintness about his heart. 
 
 Then there came a step in the hall, and his 
 familiar thrill of tenderness at her coming, which 
 seemed, at this moment, like a flash of lightning on 
 
288 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 the face of one s beloved dead. She lingered an 
 instant on the threshold, an old habit of hers that 
 gave him time to step forward and meet her. 
 
 Mrs. Ellingsworth had risen, too, and was waiting 
 to speak. It was only tenderness in Philip Breton s 
 eyes as he toqk both Bertha s hands so gently, but 
 she said, 
 
 " Am I very much changed then?" and a pained 
 look flitted across her face. Philip did not answer 
 her for a moment, he was so distressed at her inter 
 pretation of the l.ove that made his sight misty as 
 he gazed at her. 
 
 " Well, I suppose I am in the way," remarked 
 the mistress of the house, with inbred vulgarity. 
 She was smiling sweetly, but women s smiles do not 
 always signify amiability. " I suppose." she added, 
 letting her skirts touch her two guests as she passed 
 out, "you want to talk over old times with Miss 
 Ellingsworth." 
 
 It was the last terrible assurance ; Philip winced 
 again at the heartless blow, but not so much as a flush 
 passed over Bertha s cold face. She accepted the name 
 without even a shade of silent denial on her calm 
 features, though it was the badge of shame for her. 
 
 " Oh no," but he dared not look her in the face 
 for fear she should see his anxious pity for her. 
 " You have been ill, perhaps, but I always though 1 ; 
 you the loveliest woman in the world." 
 
OUT, DAMNED SPOT. 289 
 
 She smiled as she let him lead her to a seat, " You 
 always said that." Then she glanced sadly into the 
 mirror. " But it is more pleasant to hear now, for I 
 know I am not pretty any longer." 
 
 Could she understand that the change that had 
 come over her radiant beauty only changed his love 
 to make it deeper ? Could she not see the new in 
 tensity of yearning in his eyes as he raised them to 
 her face again ? He longed to draw her into his arms 
 and kiss her tired face into eternal smiles. His love 
 had been refined into a new divineness ; a love capable 
 of all sacrifices for her ; that asked no price but would 
 pour itself in an eternal flood against her dull indif 
 ference, if it must be ; a love more pain than joy, of 
 unutterable yearnings for what he believed she could 
 never have for him ; a love that had a fountain more 
 exhaustless than any woman s kisses ; that would 
 seem to grow on her unresponsiveness, that welled 
 up the mightier for her coldness, content if here 
 after it might throw a little brightness on the path 
 her snowy feet should tread, content if she would but 
 let him warm her cold heart with his burning love. 
 
 " Are you glad to be at home?" he asked 
 gently. 
 
 " Do you call this home, with my servant its mis 
 tress ? " For a moment it was Bertha as she used to 
 be, her anger curling her red lips and flashing new 
 fire into her tired eyes. 
 19 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 11 Does she insult you ? " Then Philip bit his lip, 
 but apparently he was far more sensitive than she. 
 
 " It is insult enough that she is my father s wife. 
 She cannot go beyond that." 
 
 " Shall you stay here always ? " asked Philip stu 
 pidly enough. 
 
 " I suppose so, where else is there?" 
 A wild impulse touched him, he loved her and 
 she needed love, had he not waited long enough ? 
 But a sudden fear came into his mind and chilled his 
 hope like a frozen fountain. She might have a child 
 how strange he had never thought of it before. 
 Ah, it would be a strong love could endure that, a 
 baby to hang on her bosom and take her kisses, a 
 baby with Curran s face. No, he could never bear 
 that, anything better than that. Her sin he could 
 forgive ; though it must linger forever in his memory 
 he would bury it beneath more blessed experiences. 
 His love should hallow her, he would kiss away Cur 
 ran s caresses from her lips. But if there were a 
 child- 
 Philip started violently and looked at the door ; 
 he fancied he heard a sound like the pattering of in 
 fant feet. In a moment Bertha would catch to her 
 arms her child and Curran s and half smother it with 
 a mother s kisses. 
 
 " Isn t that a child s voice ? " he cried, rising to his 
 feet and his eyes rested on her in a new pitiful re- 
 
UT, DA MNED SPO T. 29 1 
 
 proach. He thought she started strangely, as if a 
 mother s instincts stirred in her bosom. 
 
 " Oh no, it is only Jane, I mean Mrs. Ellings- 
 worth. What an innocent little laugh she has." 
 
 A child, with sweet winning ways, is a strange 
 thing to hate, a lovely little rosebud to blossom no 
 one knows how faultlessly, by and by. But Philip 
 thought he would hate her child Bertha s child, 
 perhaps with his darling s star-like eyes ; ah, was it 
 not Curran s too, the symbol of her shame? As he 
 walked home in the twilight he saw in each toddling 
 baby in the doorways and windows, an image of his 
 own materialized fear and horror. Philip looked 
 back from the hill on which stood his home, to the 
 village his father had built up. Those massive mills 
 with their thousands of looms were his ; those long 
 rows of white houses, each one of which held a family 
 rich in possibilities of virtue and hope, they all were 
 his, and the new element of brightness and thrift, 
 that had made the whole village a nursery of comfort 
 and happiness, was his work. Behind him was the 
 great stone mansion with its arched gothic windows 
 green with clustering woodbine, it was his too. How 
 powerless he thought all that wealth and material 
 power can do to solve one of the terrible problems a 
 heart makes for itself. 
 
 Moodily he walked to his stables, in a kind of 
 vague longing for companionship, and threw open 
 
292 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 the doors. Four horses stood in their stalls within, 
 noble looking creatures all of them. They turned 
 their stately heads toward the sound of their master s 
 feet, they returned his love with love. One of them 
 whinnied welcome and laid back his ears as his mas 
 ter came into the stall beside him. 
 
 " Poor fellow, good boy," Philip patted his white 
 neck affectionately. " You would do what you 
 could for me, wouldn t you, Joe. I know you would, 
 old fellow." He laid his cheek against the animal s 
 velvet nose. " But you couldn t go fast enough to 
 get me out of this trouble, not if you died to do it." 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 No Barrier. 
 
 QENSITIVENESS is a very unfortunate quality 
 O in a life where no object is molded in accord 
 ance with the strict rules of art, where there is no 
 character but has a repulsive spot in it, no history 
 but with its dark page. The happy man is neither 
 too enthusiastic over the virtues of his acquaintance, 
 which may be accidental or merely a pretty optical 
 delusion, or too stern and unrelenting towards a sin, 
 which he fancies might have been a virtue under 
 different conditions. But Philip Breton had fallen 
 out with life. The great world seemed to jar him as 
 it rolled ; each hour had revealed unguessed means of 
 suffering, and even the beams of genial sunlight had 
 daggers for him. He only wondered why all man 
 kind did not prefer to die, instead of this foolish 
 laughing and affecting to be happy ; he had looked 
 on life as a mechanism of satanic ingenuity for tor 
 ment in which each man is made to arrange his own 
 rack and then stretch his tired body upon it in sweet 
 hope of love and peace. 
 
 Yet it is hard for a man to understand that his 
 
2Q4 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 fate may be pure unalloyed pain ; he is ever smiling 
 through his tears and trying to awake from his de 
 spair as if it were but a dream of disordered fancy. 
 So as the next morning came, and Philip Breton 
 threw open his door to go out into the sweet-scented 
 September air he felt happier than for many weeks ; 
 the peace that came over him seemed to leave no 
 place for cruel distrust and unrelenting pride. He 
 even reproached himself for his ungenerousness of 
 yesterday; the world of nature left no unsightly 
 wounds and breaks in the whole dominion. Gaping 
 graves are soon covered with green grass and wild 
 flowers ; life springs quickly out of death, and appa 
 rent ruin is soon forgotten in renewed magnificence. 
 Why should he then let two lives be wrecked for one 
 wrong act in the past forever past ? 
 
 He swung down his walk in a new buoyancy ; he 
 believed he had passed through the cloud, and come 
 out into the clear light of reason. And only last 
 night he had been so far from hope. It was all his 
 own arrogance, setting himself up to be the judge of 
 another s life, when he could not know the mood that 
 had swayed her, or the temptations she had striven 
 with. But he did know she was as pure in heart as 
 the day ; he did know the exquisite balance of her na 
 ture, that charmed him of old charmed him still. 
 What folly for him to linger over a past she had laid 
 aside, and that left her as lovely in his eyes as ever. 
 
NO BARRIER. 2<J$ 
 
 But at his gate a carriage rolled slowly by him. 
 It contained a bridal couple, and he stopped to 
 smile at them. The girl s face had no culture in it, 
 but was sweet, and had the innocence of childhood. 
 That ungainly fellow, who now wore his first 
 broadcloth suit, at whom she looked so fondly, was 
 the only lover she had ever known. She had no 
 secrets from him, no past his jealous eyes might not 
 scan without a pang. Her soul was open to him. 
 No whisper to her shame could ever reach his in 
 sulted ears. Her life was commonplace, but no blot 
 was on it, no guilty thought had ever left its trail 
 across her heart. The rough lad, who was bold 
 enough to put his arm about her waist in broad day 
 light, could pour his foolish love-making into her 
 eager ears without stint. There was no theme he 
 must avoid with her, no page in her life he must not 
 cut. 
 
 And were there so few spotless women in the 
 world, that Philip Breton could not have one to 
 fold to his heart ; to sit at his table ; to brighten his 
 home? His peace was gone so soon, he suddenly 
 hated the genial sunlight, with its eternal smile, 
 and the smell of roses seemed to strangle him. 
 
 It was that same day toward evening, that he 
 met the village policeman leading along an unwil 
 ling prisoner. It was a woman whose hair was 
 disheveled, and her thin, faded cheeks tear-stained. 
 
296 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 She had been powdered and rouged, but there was 
 nothing only pitiableness in her appearance now. 
 It was plain enough to see that shame was the por 
 tion of her life, plain enough to have gathered a 
 crowd of boys at her heels, whose coarse jokes and 
 insults made the creature hang her head. Philip 
 stopped, and the crowd drew closer to hear a moral 
 lecture. "Will you try and live an honest life, if 
 you are let go this time ?" 
 
 The woman looked up quickly at the kind, 
 troubled face of the young man. She laid her hand 
 on his arm in her eagerness, and the crowd laughed. 
 She began to tell her story ; true or false, it was 
 enough to break a man s heart, but she rolled it off 
 her tongue glibly. She had told it a thousand times, 
 as an excuse for her past, to call out a little sympathy, 
 which reaches to all classes but hers. The policeman 
 would have stopped her, but though he interrupted 
 her a dozen times, and the crowd glared insultingly at 
 her poor hunted face, and jeered and laughed at the 
 saddest turns of her old, old story, she did not stop 
 till she had finished it. The young mill-owner had 
 grown pale and his face twitched nervously as she 
 talked ; his eyes did not leave her faded face, nor did 
 he open his lips till she was done. He was about to 
 speak, but the policeman broke in roughly, 
 
 " There s no use, squire; when they ve got 
 started there s no savin em." 
 
NO BARRIER. 297 
 
 " Please give me one chance," pleaded the harsh, 
 grating tones of the lost woman. " If I had a little 
 money to start me, I " 
 
 Philip had opened his pocket book, and her 
 greedy eyes were devouring the rolls of bills within. 
 
 He handed her a few dollars. 
 
 " Better let her go this time." 
 
 He shuddered and walked on. He would rather 
 half his wealth he thought, than have met this 
 fallen woman just now. She had started in his 
 brain such a terrible current of thought. She had 
 suggested such comparisons. He was afraid he 
 could never forget her; that Bertha and this be 
 draggled, painted creature would be forever asso 
 ciated in his thoughts. He would rather half his 
 wealth than have seen her. 
 
 After his tea that evening he had flung himself 
 wearily on a sofa, the mad whirl of horrible thoughts 
 and fears that day had made him almost sick. He 
 wished he might sleep, and never wake, since wak 
 ing meant renewed agony, and renewed horrors of a 
 morbid fancy. And he slept and dreamed ; he stood 
 in the church with his bride, and the minister was 
 pronouncing them man and wife. A warm glow of 
 happiness was about his heart at last, after his long 
 waiting. All his fears and shame seemed things of 
 the past ; he seemed to be looking back with wonder 
 at his own misgivings. But suddenly his blood was 
 
298 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 congealing, he tried to cry out to stop the fatal 
 words, for his bride was the rouged creature he had 
 saved from jail, and the same jeering crowd of loafers 
 were pointing their soiled fingers at him. 
 
 He leaped to his feet, the perspiration standing in 
 great drops on his forehead, and found it had be 
 come quite dark as he had slept. His great house 
 was as still as death ; that was always so, but it op 
 pressed him intolerably now, and he caught his hat 
 from the table and hurried out to his stables between 
 sleeping and waking. In a few moments he had 
 saddled and bridled Joe, the white horse, and had 
 mounted him. He was in just the mood for a wild 
 ride, but still he had to wait, a gentleman stopped 
 him as he turned out of his drive-way. 
 
 " No, I won t come in, I see you are just going 
 for a ride," said his acquaintance. " By the way, I 
 suppose you are going to Low s wedding to-mor 
 row." 
 
 " I hate weddings," answered Philip, whipping 
 his boot and then pulling his horse in when he 
 started. He was thinking of his dream. 
 
 " Oh, but this bride is such an excellent girl. 
 Such a wife as you ought to have, Breton. Caesar s 
 wife you know, must be above suspicion, ha, ha 
 Well, I see your horse is impatient. I won t keep 
 you, ta, ta." 
 
 " Fool," muttered Philip as his horse bounded 
 
NO BARRIER. 299 
 
 down the street. He rode past Mr. Ellingsworth s 
 house, and looked up at Bertha s window ; his eyes 
 turned up to its dim light, though he swore to him 
 self he would not look. He galloped by, and the 
 words of the young fop echoed in his ears, " Caesar s 
 wife must be above suspicion." Clack, clank, went 
 his horse s hoofs, but what were they saying; to 
 Philip s ears, it seemed to be " Caesar s wife, Caesar s 
 wife " clack, clank, " must be," clack, clank, " above 
 suspicion." 
 
 And the world was full of beautiful women, whose 
 lives were as sweet and pure as an unsullied rose. 
 Ah, he could never bear, never, that his wife should 
 be pointed at with smiles of derision. 
 
 " Good-bye, Bertha, good-bye, my darling, you 
 must reap what you have sowed ; cruel is it ? So is 
 life and nature cruel, the hand put in the fire must 
 surely burn. Unmagnanimous ; must a man then put 
 a soiled lily in his bosom ? 
 
 But he stopped his horse so suddenly the animal 
 had to plant his feet to keep from falling. He loved 
 the soiled lily, loved it more than all the fresh roses. 
 All other women might as well never have been born 
 for him ; this woman he would have died for. Could 
 he not protect her from evil tongues ; if she were 
 trampled could he not lift her into his bosom; if she 
 were insulted could he not put his man s heart and 
 strength between her and shame ? A sudden revul- 
 
30O THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 sion of feeling passed over him ; he blessed the fop 
 who had driven his disordered fancy so far that re 
 action came ; the devils and fiends that had tor 
 mented him so long seemed vanquished ; they had 
 disguised themselves in the raiment of angels of light 
 and purity; they had prated virtue and holiness to 
 him, but this moment he saw they were cowards and 
 liars all. He would hurry to his darling, throw 
 himself at her feet, her past should be buried, her life 
 should begin with his happiness to-night. 
 
 "You want to marry Bertha? I supposed you 
 were acquainted with her past." 
 
 It was in Mr. Ellingsworth s room, where he sat 
 in dressing-gown and slippers, well back in his easy 
 chair. He was looking at Philip Breton very curi 
 ously. He had really fancied he understood human 
 nature before. 
 
 " I suppose I am," answered Philip, simply. 
 
 " Well, I know more of it than I wish I did. She 
 ran away with a beggar, and she has come back. I 
 dislike unpleasant memories, so I avoid unpleasant 
 information. You know her her her relations 
 with Curran, yes, well," and the gentleman shrugged 
 his slight shoulders, " no doubt you know what you 
 are doing, you run your own risks." 
 
 "Risks?" 
 
 " Understand me, I asked but two questions, 
 have you left Curran forever ? do you want to come 
 
NO BARRIER. 3O1 
 
 home? I had heard she had never been married. 
 Jane has heard it. I feared it. Do you wonder I did 
 not ask, not caring for a disagreeable certainty? 
 Well, do your own questioning. I suppose the fact 
 of her keeping her maiden name shows something." 
 
 What if she should find she was indeed married 
 after all, when he had at last decided he could not 
 live without her ; when he had at last made up his 
 mind that he must have her if he took a burden of 
 life-long shame into his soul with her? That would 
 be a wretched freak for fortune to play with him ; 
 but how foolish he was, did not her name prove 
 that she was unmarried ? 
 
 " But I hate so to harrow up her memories, said 
 Philip, in an unsteady voice ; " to make her confess 
 her shame before me. I should think that would 
 be a father s duty." 
 
 " Can it be, my dear Philip," remarked Mr. Ellings- 
 worth, with his own brilliant smile, " that you know 
 me so little as to expect me to perform an unpleas 
 ant duty. There are people that love them that 
 never seem so much in their element as when en 
 gaged in some act of self-sacrifice. You must really 
 excuse me." 
 
 When Philip went down into the parlor, Bertha 
 was sitting there alone, and his fate seemed thrust 
 upon him. Before he had time to dread breaking 
 the subject to her he stood at the back of her chair, 
 
3O2 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 looking down on her thin, white fingers moving over 
 her embroidery work. He laid his hand very gently 
 on her shoulder. Ah, it was less round than it used 
 to be. She was good enough to keep her eyes fixed 
 on her work. There was no shade of heightened 
 color on her cheeks, nor did she quicken her 
 breathing. 
 
 * Bertha," he began, in a low, sweet voice, " I 
 am going to ask you something." Still she did not 
 look up. 
 
 " If, at some time before you died, a man whom 
 you liked came and asked you to marry him," he 
 spoke very slowly, " is there any reason why you 
 must say no? " 
 
 Not one flush or nervous tremor. She threaded 
 her needle again with the red worsted. " What do 
 you mean by reason ? " 
 
 " I mean," he said, in forced calm, " is there any 
 barrier which the laws make to prevent you from 
 marrying him ? " How lovely she looked to him as 
 he waited, how had he ever hesitated when he 
 thought she was free ? Since he had, of late, begun 
 to dream of marriage, he had thought only of the 
 barrier of her shame ; he had not thought that there 
 might be a barrier more impregnable. But it came 
 over him all the more terribly now. That would ex 
 plain her lack of shame, her unbroken pride, that 
 would be more consistent with his lifelong idea of 
 
NO BARRIER. 303 
 
 her, that she had preserved her honor and, alas, was 
 already married and cut forever away from him. 
 That would save her purity that he had thought 
 sullied. No fingers of scorn could ever be pointed 
 at her. No, but she would be lost to him forever. 
 God forgive him, then, if he would rather have 
 her dishonored, insulted, degraded, than lose her. 
 Would she never answer? She laid down her needle 
 and turned her face up toward him. He trembled 
 like a child as he watched her lips part ; in a moment 
 his fate would be decided ; it was terrible that his 
 happiness could come only through her shame, and 
 her honor meant a life of despair and loneliness for 
 him, but so it seemed to him now. 
 
 " There is no barrier," she said. 
 
 " Thank God," he \vhispered ; the strain was re 
 moved ; she had established her own disgrace with 
 her own lips, without a drooping of her eyes, with 
 out a quiver of her lips. Ah, but he suffered in his 
 very hope ; it wounded him that he must rejoice in 
 her shame ; it was almost as if he had caused it. 
 He bent low over her shoulder, in another moment 
 he would have told her of the unchanging passion 
 of his love, all the bounds of his nature were broken 
 down now ; his whole soul seemed dissolving in in 
 effable -tenderness for this cold woman into whose 
 calm beautiful eyes he looked so hungrily. 
 
 " Like embroidery, don t you, Mr. Breton ?" 
 
304 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Mrs. Ellingsworth flashed her small black eyes 
 in delight. Philip started back in ill-concealed dis 
 may, but Bertha s face changed not one shade of ex 
 pression as she rose magnificently to her feet and 
 swept from the room. 
 
 The lady of the house looked unpleasantly after 
 her. 
 
 " Isn t it funny she don t seem to like me? Do 
 you suppose it is that Curran scrape has put her so 
 much above me ?" 
 
 Philip glanced savagely at her ; he could almost 
 have struck her, without thinking of her womanhood, 
 there was such a snake-like look in the glistening 
 black eyes. One might as well reproach a wild 
 creature of the forest for following out its instincts ; 
 but after a moment he said : 
 
 " Mrs. Ellingsworth forgets she is a lady." 
 
 But she was beautiful, if not a lady, her hot blood 
 lighting up her round olive cheeks as if it were 
 liquid fire and her curled lips glowing like a perfect 
 rose just bursting into bloom. No man could look at 
 her now and not feel a mad soulless fascination for her, 
 a fascination the greater because mixed with revulsion. 
 She was a perfect type of the womanhood that can 
 madden a man with passion, without tenderness, that 
 can wreck his life, banish every noble hope or ideal 
 from his soul and feed him nothing but dead-sea 
 fruit. 
 
NO BARRIER. 305 
 
 " It s strange what makes a lady," she answered 
 him in growing excitement. " Your Bertha is one no 
 matter what vileness she sinks to, but I can t whis 
 per one rude word." 
 
 She came close to him and put her burning fin 
 gers on his hand. " Your horse loves you better 
 than that woman ; she will torture you to death, let 
 her alone." Then she sprang away from him and 
 walked backward and forward clasping and unclasp 
 ing her clinging fingers in her old habit. " Oh, I 
 hate her, I hate her, but what good is it ? I would 
 dash myself to pieces to break her, but I could not. 
 She steals my lover and then leaves him ; she comes 
 back disgraced in the eyes of her own father, but she 
 does not feel it. And now comes her lover with his 
 riches and offers everything to her. She deserves 
 nothing but she gets everything." She would have 
 raved on but Philip Breton walked slowly out of the 
 room. Nothing could ever move him now ; he pre 
 ferred the woman she maligned to all the other hopes 
 or possessions in the world. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A Race with the Cars. 
 
 IT was the next afternoon, as Philip Breton was 
 unhitching Joe from the post, that he had occa 
 sion to doff his hat to Mrs. Ellingsworth, driving by 
 with her husband. They made a very pretty picture 
 of marital bliss ; perhaps they were all the happier 
 because neither of them had souls. Philip had been 
 intending to go to his factory, there was some busi 
 ness he ought to attend to, but the sudden assur 
 ance that Bertha was alone, made his heart give a 
 great bound. What better time than now to tell 
 her of his unaltered love, to win her promise to let 
 him make her happy ? So his business was post 
 poned, and he rang the bell at Mr. Ellingsworth s, 
 instead. 
 
 4< Not in?" he repeated after the servant in dis 
 may. Would his luck never change ? Had she been 
 frightened at his manner the night before, and gone 
 away to avoid his unpleasant suit ? 
 
 " But she isn t far away," and the girl smiled at 
 the disappointment that had come over his face. 
 
A RACE WITH THE CARS. 307 
 
 " I guess, now, you will find her in the garden ; or I 
 will call her if you say." 
 
 "No, don t call her," and Philip hurried out to 
 the garden. What more fitting place for what he 
 had to say, if he could find his voice for the great 
 lump in his throat. He ought to be very eloquent 
 to persuade her, to answer all her objections, to as 
 sure her that it was not pity that moved him, for 
 she would resent that, but love a love that craved 
 her above all the world. 
 
 She looked up from her embroidery, at the sound 
 of his footsteps, and smiled. Her beauty might all 
 go, as its first bloom and freshness had gone, and her 
 cheeks fade like the autumn leaves whose glowing 
 tints they had once worn ; her golden hair might 
 whiten with age, he knew it would make no differ 
 ence in his love. She wore the same dress she had 
 worn in that other garden scene. She had grown 
 thin and gone back to the dresses of her girlhood. 
 It was a light blue silk, open low in the neck, filled 
 in with nestling folds of lace. The sunbeams made 
 their way through the low hanging trees, and with 
 them came the breath of the roses, and the hum 
 ming of the bees, just as on that other day. 
 
 Philip seated himself on the bench beside her, 
 and tried to make his voice calm as he said, 
 
 " Do you remember when you last wore this 
 dress ?" 
 
308 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Would she be frightened at the intensity of 
 gentleness in his voice ? 
 
 But she smiled as frankly at him as if he were her 
 brother, " Oh, yes." 
 
 Ho put his hand on her arm, cool as if love and 
 passion were forever outside her experience. "Ber 
 tha, I love you more now than then. I will not 
 frighten you with my vehemence ; I have learned to 
 conquer myself, I will cherish you as a child, but, 
 oh, Bertha, I want you near me." 
 
 The woman did not draw away from him. She 
 was looking with a changed expression at his eager 
 face the face of the lover whom no coldness could 
 chill, who returned again after her desertion of him, 
 whom no shame could alter. He had stirred some 
 thing like admiration in her at last. A tinge of del 
 icate color rose from her neck among the folds of 
 lace, and mounted to the roots of her golden hair. 
 It was the first time he had ever moved her. 
 
 u And you love me as much now as that day I 
 fell asleep on your shoulder ages ago, it must have 
 been ?" Then her great blue eyes drooped under the 
 intensity of love that looked from his face a love 
 beyond her power to understand. 
 
 He gathered her hands in his. " As much and 
 more a deeper, purer, gentler love, that will protect 
 you against its own very vehemence that would 
 rather make sacrifices for you than joys for itself." 
 
A RACE WITH THE CARS. 309 
 
 " Take me then," and she let him draw her head 
 on his breast, where she felt the throbbing grow 
 ing mightier and mightier, though he only pressed 
 his lips upon her cool forehead. Then she drew 
 back ; she did not look in his face, which had a great 
 light in it, perhaps she was ashamed that she had 
 nothing to give him, ashamed that her heart was 
 so cold under the rapture that looked out of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " But Philip, you must not hurry me too much. 
 I am slow, and this is so sudden, I would as soon 
 thought of an earthquake." Then she glanced won- 
 deringly at him, as if to make sure. " Ah, Philip, 
 you deserve a better love than mine." But he caught 
 her hand to his lips and held it there, while he cov 
 ered it with kisses. 
 
 " I would rather the flower you wear in your 
 bosom, than any woman in the world besides you. I 
 learned to" love with you, Bertha." 
 
 But she took her hand away uneasily. * But you 
 won t hurry me will you, Philip?" How could she 
 ask him to wait much longer, "for if you will " 
 
 "Oh, no I will give you a whole week." He 
 laughed, and then grew suddenly very sober. 
 " Haven t I given you long enough? " 
 
 " I must take a little journey first," and her eyes 
 appeared to avoid his. A sudden tide of jealousy 
 swept over him. Had she deserved his trust ? 
 
3 1 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 " I will go with you. It shall be our wedding 
 journey." 
 
 She flushed nervously " Oh, no, not yet." 
 
 Where could she be going ? To one last inter 
 view with Curran, perhaps, and he felt that he could 
 not bear one thought of him should ever cross her 
 soul again. How short a time it took to spoil his 
 happiness. The glow had left his heart, the light had 
 gone out of his eyes, all in a moment. Is misery 
 then the only thing that can last? 
 
 " Only this once," she said. u You shall go with 
 me always then." 
 
 His mood melted and in a moment he was kneel 
 ing before her. " Oh, Bertha, be fair with me for 
 you hold me in the hollow of your hand. Do not 
 fail me now when you have seemed so near me." 
 
 She put her hand on his bowed head, perhaps 
 some sweet word trembled on her lips. He hun 
 gered for it, and when she did not speak, he looked 
 up into the face of his bride. She had seemed so 
 far from him, a world could not have parted them 
 more, but he was at her feet, and she had promised 
 to be his wife. 
 
 " My dear Philip, excuse me, but you are crush 
 ing my embroidery." So he was, he was kneeling 
 on it in his fond idolatry, as if a piece of worsted 
 work were of no account. He found his feet, and 
 cast a pathetic glance at the square of canvas before 
 
A RACE WITH THE CARS. 31 1 
 
 he stooped to pick it up. It was strange indeed that 
 he should have been so carried away in his passion 
 ate ardor as not to notice what he was kneeling on. 
 
 " I hope I have not ruined your work," he said 
 simply. No, he had only rumpled it a little, and he 
 would have been willing to purchase all the canvas 
 and worsted in two cities, rather than have missed 
 the tender word he thought was on her lips. 
 
 It was several hours later and Philip still sat in 
 his office. He was doing his best to attend to his 
 correspondence, but such a mist of joy floated before 
 his eyes he could hardly see. He had accomplished 
 almost nothing and finally pushed away the pile of 
 papers to-morrow might do for them, his heart was 
 too full of joy for work. He had surely waited and 
 suffered enough to win a few hours respite. But the 
 door swung slowly on its hinges and a tall massive 
 figure stood on the threshold. Philip tried to smile, 
 but his smile froze on his lips ; he seemed powerless 
 to move from his chair ; his dreams of happiness 
 faded away ; his fate had come. The man in the 
 doorway was Curran. 
 
 The man was as noble looking as ever. A more 
 haggard expression was on his face, there were deep 
 hollows beneath his eyes, but the marks of care and 
 suffering only gave a more admirable dignity to his 
 bearing. In the first terrible moment Philip Breton 
 had not the first shadow of a doubt that Curran had 
 
3 1 2 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 come to claim Bertha. Perhaps he would offer her 
 marriage at last. 
 
 But the man threw himself into a chair in silence. 
 Philip did not even utter a greeting. If he wished 
 to tempt his darling away to new shame he would 
 have to fight for her. Oh, Philip would die for her 
 honor, now that he was warned. 
 
 " Well, I have got through planning strikes ; the 
 one you saw started failed like the rest. I have 
 learned what cowardly stuff the souls of the poor 
 are made of." Curran spoke in bitterest contempt. 
 " That is another of the luxuries of wealth you 
 can afford to be brave and noble. You can stand 
 by your principles. A poor man can t afford it- He 
 sees everything the heart longs for, even to a woman s 
 love, bought with money, and his family starving. 
 Can we blame him for abandoning eternal principles, 
 to escape the pangs of hunger a week longer ? If 
 the poor would stand firm they must win, but they 
 grow hungry. Bah, what can they do." 
 
 Philip heard but little that he said ; he was trem 
 bling for Bertha. He, himself, felt the man s resist 
 less magnetism. Bertha had yielded to it once, why 
 might she not again ? She must not see him or her 
 proud womanhood would go down into the dust at 
 his feet a second time, and at the thrilling tones of 
 his voice she would follow him forth to new disgrace. 
 
 " You are fighting to win money, and you find 
 
A RACE WITH THE CARS. 313 
 
 you must have money before you can fight. Is 
 that it ? " 
 
 " We are not fighting to win money," replied 
 Curran, rising nervously from his chair and coming 
 up to where Philip sat, " but the rights of humanity, 
 and it is the grandest battle man ever sharpened his 
 sword for." He seemed to flash lightnings from his 
 magnificent eyes. "It is nobler than all the revolu 
 tions and reformations, this emancipation of the 
 world from its bondage. Where are your prophets 
 and your poets ? Why are they not arousing the 
 spirit of the great armies of fighting men ? When 
 was there ever a cause like this to die for ? Where 
 are our martyrs ? The wave will come and sweep 
 all mankind with it, when our cries and prayers have 
 knocked at the gates of heaven long enough. It is 
 only in times of great excitement that great changes 
 come, excitement that makes small things seem 
 small, that disdains to consider the violet that claims 
 a right to blossom undisturbed in the path of the 
 army marching on to the salvation of the race." 
 
 "Shall you wait till then?" Philip rose to go 
 cut. The strain of the man s presence was intoler 
 able ; such hate burned in his heart for him, and yet 
 he seemed so grand and noble above all other men. 
 
 "Wait? no, I have wasted precious time enough 
 and" he caught his breath, "I have been punished 
 for it. But I shall pursue different methods. We 
 
3 I 4 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 have the ballot, the poorest man has it. That is the 
 lever for us to move the world with. We are a 
 majority. If we want a thing what hinders us from 
 having it ? The laws have reduced us to a condition 
 of abject slavery ; the laws shall restore us our birth 
 right. But we must be united, we must agree in 
 what we will seek, and that is my work now. To 
 day I have consulted the poor of Bretonville ; they 
 must help their less fortunate brethren. To-night I 
 go to the westward where my district is. I shall 
 spread a knowledge of the precise laws we need and 
 of the precise means suitable to enact them. Peace 
 ably, slowly but surely the world will be revolution 
 ized." 
 
 " When are you going ? " Philip dared not look 
 him in the face as he waited for his answer ; he was 
 afraid his hate would show on his face, his hate for 
 the man who stood between his life and happiness. 
 
 Curran glanced at the office clock. " At six 
 o clock, why it is but half an hour before my train 
 goes, and I have an errand to do. Good-bye. Why 
 you aren t too proud to shake hands ! I don t sup 
 pose I shall ever come back, there is nothing to keep 
 me, not now, God forgive her." He turned back for 
 a last word. " I hope no woman will ever break your 
 heart, somehow a man don t get over it and your 
 high-bred women are as cruel as the grave." 
 
 The six o clock train was just drawing up to the 
 
A RACE WITH THE CARS 315 
 
 depot platform when Mr. Ellingsworth s carriage 
 stopped on the other side, and a heavily veiled lady 
 alighted. 
 
 " Why, Bertha, you must not go on this train, 
 not for worlds." Philip was almost beside himself 
 with distress, " not for worlds," he repeated. This 
 was the train Curran was going on. Should he 
 trust his lamb in the lion s mouth ? He fancied Cur- 
 ran catching a glimpse of her form, and coming to sit 
 with her ; he would pour a torrent of tender words 
 into her ear, her heart that was cold to all the world 
 besides would glow again for him, again she would 
 be lost to the lover of her youth, again shame and 
 sin would lay their evil tainted hands upon her. 
 
 But where was Curran, if he was indeed going on 
 this train, the bell was ringing, the conductor had 
 given his warning? If Curran was to stay might not 
 Bertha better go. 
 
 " Quick, then if you want to go, the train is just 
 starting," he cried as he led her across the depot. 
 
 " But I don t want to go unless you wish, not 
 to-night," answered Bertha with charming docility. 
 Philip looked around. He did not see his arch enemy 
 and hers. 
 
 " But I do wish it, quick. Good-bye, my darling." 
 The steam escaped in great puffs from the piston 
 box, the train started, Philip gave a great sigh of 
 relief. If they had met on the platform, if at the last 
 
3 1 6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 moment, just before the train had started, Curran 
 had leaped aboard why even now, the train had not 
 cleared the platform, he might come now ! Philip 
 looked about him ; thank God, he was alone. 
 
 But he thought he heard a shout, yes, a man was 
 running from the tenement houses at the top of his 
 speed, and waving his hat. It was Curran and he was 
 gaining on the train ; the lumbering cars seemed to 
 crawl and he came like the wind. It seemed but an 
 instant more that he dashed across the depot and up 
 the track. All was lost, no, was the man gaining ? 
 Still, there was but a rod between him and the rear 
 platform, one more effort and he would be aboard. 
 No it was two rods, four rods the man had lost and 
 sat down beside the track to catch his breath, while 
 the train went faster and faster till it was out of 
 sight. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Woman s Sympathy. 
 
 BERTHA has returned, never to leave her lover 
 again, in safety, and still faithful to him ; his 
 fears were unfounded, his suspicions rebuked. It 
 was only last evening that he had looked into her 
 beautiful eyes once more, and it was to-day, she 
 had told him he might come. It was a great day 
 for Philip for another reason, for he was to break 
 ground this morning for a new mill, whose walls and 
 foundations would be cemented in love and justice. 
 In the mill-yard a hundred laborers waited with 
 their spades over their shoulders, and with them 
 the young mill-owner, grasping a spade like the 
 rest. At the contractor s word the iron glistened in 
 the sunlight, and in an instant more, a hundred and 
 one spades struck earth. Ten thousand eager 
 workmen all over the land were waiting on the un 
 dertaking ; each night ten thousand anxious tongues 
 will ask how many feet the new walls have risen 
 that day ; will reproach the masons if they are slow, 
 will bless them if they work mightily. 
 
 The looms in the Breton Mills are still to-day, 
 
3 1 8 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 the great water-wheel is unharnessed from the myr 
 iad belts, while the men and women and children 
 gathered around the great parallelogram marked out 
 by the engineers for the foundation of the new mill. 
 It was their mill, too, and the face of the poorest 
 creature of them all, reflected a little of the blessed 
 hope which was making life over for them. Not a 
 voice was heard, for the moment all eyes were fixed 
 on the bending forms. Philip Breton s slight form 
 was bent, too, as he drove his spade d-eep into the 
 stubborn sod. Every laborer stayed his hand for 
 the moment, till the young master threw up the first 
 earth. Then a cheer broke from each brawny 
 throat, and every spade at once lifted its burden of 
 green turf. 
 
 The hundred laborers bent again to their task, 
 and the frightened daisies trembled on their green 
 stems, but Philip, spade in hand, had mounted the 
 steps of the nearest mill, and now looked down 
 kindly on the operatives who gathered expectantly 
 about him. 
 
 " I mean that not one injustice shall ever dese 
 crate these new walls. I mean the new mill shall be 
 a temple of co-operation. I believe the world is just 
 entering on a new epoch, more glorious than any be 
 fore, because blessings that have been confined to 
 the few, comforts that have comforted only the few, 
 leisure and amusement, even, that has cheered only 
 
WO MA N S S YMPA THY. 3 1 9 
 
 the few, shall be universal ; that each hand that tills 
 the earth shall share in its bountiful harvests which 
 now pack the storehouses of a few in senseless pro 
 fusion ; that each hand that weaves our cloth shall 
 share in its profits according to his worth. It isn t 
 because the world is so poor that you have been 
 poor so long, but because its wealth is wasted. But 
 be patient ; violence only destroys, it does not build 
 up, and every particle of wealth destroyed leaves so 
 much less of your heritage. We will not work any 
 more to-day ; it shall be a holiday to be kept sacred 
 in our memories, as an inspiration to more faithful 
 labor, and more honest, contented lives." 
 
 For a moment no one moved, till he leaned his 
 spade against the wall, and started to come down. 
 Then a murmur ran through the crowd till it 
 swelled to a cheer, and as he made his way out, he 
 had to clasp a thousand dingy hands, reached out to 
 the young master, in token of the love and trust of 
 a thousand brightened lives. 
 
 His destiny that had frowned so long and so 
 terribly, smiled at last. As if by a miracle, his life, 
 that had seemed so dreary and barren, was become 
 a path of flowers. All dangers were averted, all 
 evils turned into blessings, and it was so short a 
 time ago that he saw no spark of joy in life. It had 
 been like a day when the clouds had shut away the 
 sun, and settled gloomily over the earth for a storm. 
 
3 20 THE BRE TON MILL 5. 
 
 A shadow creeps into every human face, darkness 
 cowers in every home, the birds flutter in terror 
 from tree to tree, or nestle fearfully in their retreats. 
 The very brooks moan instead of babbling. Then, 
 suddenly the summer sun burns through the clouds 
 which scatter to their caves beneath the hills ; the 
 rippling rivers glisten and sparkle like rarest jewels, 
 and the birds break forth in song as they mount in 
 ecstasy towards the sunlight. Not a human thing 
 but brightens into sudden gladness. So short a time 
 ago he thought life only a dull cheerless struggle, 
 that he rose in the morning heavy and disheartened, 
 that he lay down at night, careless if he slept for 
 ever. But suddenly the world looked like an 
 enchanted palace to Philip Breton, and his life 
 seemed as perfect as a day in paradise. 
 
 It w r as at three o clock that he was to go to 
 Bertha, and it was only two when he was ready and 
 waiting in his study for this last slow ^hour between 
 him and happiness, to slip away. He looked up the 
 street and down again, but the streets were quite 
 deserted ; he might have fancied the world all gone 
 to sleep, only he heard the roar of the waters going 
 over the dam. There were a thousand creatures 
 whose hands could never rest idle unless he chose 
 to grant them a holiday. Poor souls, he had done 
 something for them, but how little it was after all ; 
 how many weary centuries would roll by before, by 
 
WOMAN S S YMPA TH Y. 321 
 
 such slow processes as his, the millions would have 
 the heritage he had spoken of to them. Could it be 
 Philbrick was right that the terrible injustice the 
 working classes suffered ought to be rectified in 
 great acts of benevolence? Then he glanced at the 
 clock. If he had not heard its loud ticking he would 
 have been willing to swear the hands must have 
 stopped. He picked up a newspaper and tried to 
 interest himself in it. What a child he was, to be 
 sure, not to know how to wait. Did he imagine 
 
 o 
 
 there would be nothing more for him to wait for, 
 after to-day? His eyes glanced impatiently down 
 the pages. There seemed to be absolutely nothing 
 in the paper at all ; he must stop his subscription ; he 
 might as well write to the publishers now, it would 
 take up a little of his surplus time. But what was this 
 odd-looking advertisement in such very black type. 
 
 Divorces obtained without trouble or publicity, for 
 any cause desired. Address, in strictest confidence, 
 John T. Giddings, No. 4 Errick Square, Lockout. 
 
 "Well, well," soliloquized Philip, after reading 
 the card a second time, " our corporation counsel is 
 come down pretty low, getting bogus divorces for a 
 livelihood." 
 
 Then he glanced at his watch ; he was out of 
 temper with the pretty little clock. Perhaps allow 
 ing fifteen minutes for the distance to Bertha s house 
 he might not be very much too early. 
 21 
 
322 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Philip found Bertha standing, she generally pre 
 ferred to sit, and she wore an anxious look he had 
 never seen on her face before. He thought to make 
 her laugh. 
 
 " I suppose Mrs. Ellingsworth will not miss her 
 chance to spoil our tete-a-tete" 
 
 " She is not in town," and Bertha turned to the 
 window again. " She went yesterday. Do you 
 know whether she has any relatives in in Vine- 
 boro?" 
 
 " Why that is where you " Philip bit his lip, 
 "no, I didn t know that she had. 
 
 He came up to where she stood, and, when she 
 did not speak again, he tried to take her hand. But 
 she drew away from his touch with a gesture of im 
 patience. 
 
 " I am in no mood for foolishness." It seemed 
 foolishness to her, then ! There was a pang of pain 
 about his heart, and then a thought struck him. 
 
 " You are not afraid of her, are you ? " 
 
 She drew herself up to her full height in her old 
 superb arrogance, and her lips curled in scorn. 
 
 " I will be afraid of no one. If I owe no one 
 a duty I need not be afraid." She seemed to be 
 gathering force for an instant, while her cold eyes 
 rested on the face of the man who loved her so no 
 bly. " I must take back my promise ; I cannot 
 marry you." 
 
WO MA N S S YMPA TH Y. < 323 
 
 " Do you owe me nothing now then ? " he pleaded 
 in a startled voice. 
 
 " Perhaps so yes I think I ought not to make you 
 miserable." 
 
 " Then do not leave me ; do not kill me, Bertha, 
 after letting me hope." He had seized her hand 
 agrain, but she would not let him draw her to him. 
 
 o 
 
 " But I should make you miserable." She 
 dropped her eyes before his. " You would not like 
 like" 
 
 " I will take all the blame then," he put his arm 
 about her and this time she did not repel him. " I 
 call God to witness you will not be responsible ; I 
 will forgive you everything, my darling." She was 
 in his arms but still she held back her face from him. 
 
 " And you won t blame me ; whatever happens ? " 
 
 " No, oh, never." The color came back into his 
 face; his triumphant heart sent the hot blood 
 through every vein and artery. 
 
 " And you will remember I warned you ? " 
 
 "Yes," he whispered, "and will remind you of it 
 when you have made me the happiest man in the 
 world. But we won t wait till Jane comes back ; we 
 will be married to-morrow. 5 
 
 "Oh no." Her smile was very beautiful and 
 sweet but as cold as the river of death. 
 
 " The day after, then. Say the day after to 
 morrow, before anything has time to happen." 
 
324 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 He saw her lips were forming for a " no," but he 
 kissed it away ; and another and another, till she 
 broke away from him with a laugh. 
 
 " Well yes, then ; but you will be sorry for it to 
 the end of your life." He made her put on her hat 
 after tea and they went across the fields to the village 
 cemetery. 
 
 He had stirred her by his enthusiasm to an 
 unwonted pitch, but now she had become colder 
 than ever and very silent. It seemed as if she were 
 sorry for what she had promised and Philip was afraid 
 each moment she would open her lips and take it all 
 back. He talked very eagerly to her all the way to 
 take up her mind, telling her all the plans he had 
 made and how gloriously they seemed to be succeed 
 ing. She did not make much response to what he 
 said, but he was only too glad that she did not re 
 peat the words she had met him with in the after 
 noon. At last they stood by a massive pillar of 
 granite ; not broken to signify an incomplete life 
 work, but perfect in symmetry and finished in out 
 line. Bertha could make out in the deepening twi 
 light the name of " Ezekiel Breton" cut deep into the 
 everlasting stone. 
 
 " I wish my father had seen things a little dif 
 ferently, and could have laid the foundations of all 
 the mills in justice and charity. He could not see 
 that we are all men together, and the wants he had 
 
WO MA N S S YMPA THY. 325 
 
 the workmen suffered too. He did what he thought 
 was right, as do so many thousand men to-day, whose 
 every breath means, a harder burden for the poor. 
 
 " What is the use of considering the poor? They 
 have no gratitude, and then they are made differently 
 from us ; they have their place ; let them be content 
 with it. Your father was right." 
 
 How cold and hard her voice was, and he had 
 seen her so enthusiastic over the wrongs of the poor. 
 
 * But they ought to have a chance to enjoy a 
 little more of what they earn, there are so many of 
 them." But she made no answer, and Philip s heart 
 sank with the conviction that he must carry out his 
 great work as he had begun it, alone. He had 
 counted so much on her sympathy ; he had felt sure 
 of it, and he was so lonely among the grand ideas he 
 had summoned into his soul, but perhaps it was not 
 best for him ; a man never knows. 
 
 " My father would have been very happy to have 
 seen us married before he died," he said gently at 
 last, and then flushed crimson in the darkness at 
 what he had said. There were so many subjects he 
 must never touch, so many thoughts he must never 
 put into words, would he ever remember them all ? 
 
 It was quite dark when he bade Bertha good-night 
 at her gate. He had kept her hand for a moment 
 after she would have gone, in the thrilling indulgence 
 of the sense of possession. His heart was very full, 
 
326 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 his hope was almost blossoming into reality, at last 
 when it had seemed blighted once into despair. Only 
 two more days, and all the storms that might rage 
 could never separate them, but must only make her 
 dear white arms cling the closer to him. Why had 
 she not said to-morrow? it was almost too much to 
 hope that God would hold back all his thunderbolts 
 and all the myriad messengers of evil for two days. 
 The wonderful fate that had brought her back as 
 from death to him, that had saved her so strangely 
 from another meeting with the man whose voice 
 would melt her will, and madden her brain a second 
 time, made him the more afraid now. The tide 
 would turn, perhaps to-morrow, perhaps to-night, and 
 carry his darling out to sea and dash him into pieces 
 on the rocks. 
 
 But how cold and firm her hand was. Ah, how 
 glad he would have been for one little tremor in it. 
 
 " Bertha? " he said almost piteously, " have you 
 nothing else for me to-night." 
 
 " I think it is all you should ask, if I don t take 
 back my promise." Then she seemed to be musing 
 for an instant. " I am sorry you like me so much, 
 what is there about me " 
 
 u How are the mighty fallen." It was Mr. Ellings- 
 worth s voice, as that gentleman sauntered toward 
 the two young people. 
 
 " There is something in this newspaper I have 
 
WO MA N S S YMPA TH Y. 327 
 
 marked for you. One of our old friends found his 
 level at last Must you go this minute. -Well, good 
 night." 
 
 It was a long time before Philip could get to sleep 
 that night in his great quiet house. There were so 
 many tender thoughts and memories, now coming 
 out in clear relief in his brain, now grouped with 
 others, and again lost in a vague sense of delight. 
 He remembered Bertha s attitudes and her move 
 ments ; he imagined how much more kindly she 
 might have meant than she had said, and he blessed 
 her that she had yielded to his prayers when he so 
 nearly had lost her forever. But what could she 
 have been afraid of, how could Jane Ellingsworth 
 harm her ; what was there in her history worse than 
 he knew? Poor little girl, could there be anything 
 more terrible than what he had forgiven? How far 
 she was from knowing how wonderful a thing love 
 can be? Well, he might as well look at Ellings- 
 worth s newspaper now as any time, he was not able 
 to sleep apparently. Who could it be had found his 
 level at last ? Philip struck a match and lit the gas. 
 Then he fumbled in his pockets and finding the 
 newspaper at last, unfolded it, looking for the marked 
 paragraph. It was not in the editorials, nor in the 
 locals. Philip turned the inner pages out, nor in the 
 political news. It couldn t be an advertisement 
 yes it was this. 
 
328 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Divorces obtained without trouble or publicity for 
 any cause desired. Address in strictest confidence , 
 Jolin T. Giddings, No. 4 Errick Square, Lockout. 
 
 " The idea," laughed Philip to himself, u of my 
 getting up to read his card in another paper. I hope 
 I shall never hear of him again now." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 What are We waiting for? 
 
 THE bay span were tossing their heads impa 
 tiently at the gate, and still the young bride 
 groom delayed in his house. It was the evening he 
 was to be married, and when he entered the arched 
 doorway again, Bertha would be with him. So he 
 must make one final tour of his home, to see if there 
 was any last finishing stroke of work necessary to 
 make it worthy of his beautiful bride. He found all 
 his servants, the new graceful maid to wait upon the 
 door, the portly butler to wait upon the table, and 
 all ; and instructed them carefully in their duties. 
 The intricate domestic mechanism must work with 
 not one jar or rattle to disturb the new mistress. 
 He went into the drawing-room and looked about 
 him. The grand piano that had been closed and locked 
 so long was open, and music placed on the rack as 
 if it were but yesterday that Bertha had sat before 
 it. He remembered how her round white arm had 
 out-dazzled the ivory key-board, the last time he had 
 seen her here. The chintz covers had been removed 
 from the furniture, whose blue damask upholstery 
 
33 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 seemed fairly smiling with delight to have escaped 
 from its mask. In the embrasure of the window 
 looking out to the street where the three laborers 
 had stood the evening our story commences, lay a 
 little volume of exquisite engravings as if some ad 
 mirer had just put it down. Philip glanced at the 
 page where it was open. It was a Magdalene, and a 
 shadow passed over his face at the suggestion. He 
 turned a few leaves, and spread the volume open 
 again, this time it was " Marguerita." Impatiently 
 he closed the book which seemed to have no beauti 
 ful picture but it would insult his bride. Then he 
 went out and crossed the broad hall into the li 
 brary. 
 
 This room he had completely changed since his 
 father s death, and when his house became a home 
 again he could begin to enjoy it. The modern iron 
 grate was taken away, and a great old fashioned fire 
 place had been made for burning logs of wood in 
 stead of little blocks of coal. The andirons were two 
 bronze dragons who looked deadliest hate at each 
 other across the fireplace. Above the mantel as 
 broad as the chimney, was an oblong recess, faced 
 with bronze panels, and on each the head of one of 
 the heroes of literature, in bas-relief. Below each 
 head was an open volume showing the title-page of 
 his greatest work, and a keen eye could read written 
 in everlasting bronze the first few lines. In the space 
 
WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR? 331 
 
 at the bottom of the recess, just inside the mantel 
 was a censer of exquisite workmanship in yellow 
 bronze. The furnishing of the room was of the 
 strictest simplicity, the floor and the tables and 
 chairs were of inlaid natural woods. Not one inch 
 of upholstery could be found. On the walls hung 
 paintings of the spots most famous in literature. 
 Besides the books that filled the cases, there was a 
 great standing portfolio, full of all the choicest en 
 gravings necessary for a school of art. And sculpture 
 had a symbol in a bust of the first Napoleon, who 
 seemed mighty enough even in marble to make the 
 kings of all Christendom tremble again. Philip felt 
 satisfied with the shrine he had built ; the very air of 
 the place seemed of finer quality than outside. 
 
 He had not made the slightest change in the 
 study his father s room where he had learned too 
 to fight out his spiritual battles. It would be a pro 
 fanation to alter one feature of the room ; it should 
 be always as it was the day Ezekiel Breton died. 
 Philip opened the door and looked in for a moment, 
 then with a full heart he made his way up the oaken 
 stairs. The room he next entered was furnished in 
 the shade of blue that Bertha loved best, the silk up 
 holstered lounge that made one drowsy to look at it, 
 the sleepy-hollow easy chair, the dressing table and 
 toilet-set. Over the windows hung lambrequins of a 
 darker tint, softened again, however, in the flowing 
 
33 2 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 curtains below. Even the drop-lamp had a blue 
 porcelain shade so that no such thing as white light 
 should ever enter Bertha s boudoir. Philip imagined 
 her sitting in the easy chair lifting her eyes wonder- 
 ingly to him, her husband, who never grew tired of 
 telling her she was beautiful ; or he pictured her 
 asleep on the lounge one white hand by her side, 
 the other beneath her cheek. How much of his 
 thoughts were vague dreaming? Could it be she 
 was at last to be his ; lighting the gloomy old house 
 with the radiance of her presence ? All his other 
 life faded in his memory, in the brightness of his joy 
 in her. It seemed a small thing to him that he had 
 lifted a thousand lives into a new plane of existence 
 that he had given hope to a thousand desperate 
 hearts compared with the hope of making this one 
 woman happy and of living in her smiles. 
 
 But he suddenly started from his fond revery, 
 and passed into another room, all as white as some 
 cave in a mountain of snow. The mantel was of 
 marble, the curtains cloud-like masses of snowy 
 lace ; and even the upholstery of the chairs, and the 
 carpet was white damask. His heart beat fast as he 
 stood for a moment in the chamber, then he went 
 softly out and locked the door behind him, so that 
 no foot should cross its sacred threshold till its 
 mistress came. 
 
 It was to be a very quiet wedding no guests, no 
 
WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR ? 333 
 
 cards, no banquet. The shortest and simplest form 
 that could make a man and woman one was enough. 
 
 o 
 
 But the hour was past, and yet there was no wed 
 ding ; the bride, all dressed, waited to be called from 
 her room ; the young bridegroom paced to and fro 
 across the parlor floor. There was no minister. 
 
 The clock struck the half hour. It was half past 
 eight. Mr. Ellingsworth sat in the parlor, reading 
 the evening paper in unbroken tranquillity. Philip 
 was wondering where Jane could be ; whether she 
 was indeed preparing a terrible blow for the white 
 bosom of his bride. What could she do ? it was 
 only Bertha s nervousness that made her afraid. 
 Why, for his part, he had every reason to be 
 pleased with the state of affairs, for if Bertha had 
 not been frightened, she would not have consented 
 to such a sudden marriage. 
 
 " Ah ! I think I hear the carriage," remarked Mr. 
 Ellingsworth, laying aside his paper with a little 
 yawn. 
 
 " From which direction ? " asked Philip, listening 
 eagerly, while the feverish blood rushed into his face. 
 
 Mr. Ellingsworth went to the window. " Why, 
 from both directions. It sounds to me like two 
 carriages. I will go out and see." 
 
 Philip hurried to the window and raised it, but 
 it was pitch-dark; he could see nothing. Who 
 could be in that second carriage? He waited to be 
 
334 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 called, but no one came for him. He heard the 
 doors open and shut, and indistinguishable voices, 
 but no one called him. Then he made his way out 
 into the hall, in vague terror. He thought of his 
 bride waiting up stairs, and set his teeth for the 
 worst. No earthly power, no vileness of calumny, 
 no shameful disclosures should move him. His 
 bride waited for him, ready to be his when he called 
 for her. Ah ! he would not shame her, though all 
 hell hissed at her. But how fanciful he was ; he 
 could hear the mild mannered minister talking in his 
 polite tones. He caught his complacent laugh. 
 Thank God for it. Nothing could have happened. 
 He walked along the hall ; the voices came from the 
 dining-room ; there was the minister s laugh again. 
 He pushed open the door and went in. 
 
 The minister rose, with the especial deference for 
 wealth that marks many of the priests of God, and 
 gave the young man s hand an affectionate squeeze. 
 " No doubt Mr. Breton is ready, It is the bride 
 grooms who should always be impatient. I believe 
 I am right, am I not, Mrs. Ellingsworth ?" 
 
 Mrs. Ellingsworth Philip .started violently and 
 the color left his face. She had returned in time 
 then. 
 
 " Not always, she smiled strangely and reached 
 out her hand to Philip. It was but a woman s hand 
 small and velvety, but he touched it as if there were 
 
WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR? 33$ 
 
 a dagger in its white palm. He knew by the look 
 of evil triumph in her face, that she had not been 
 away for~nothing. Could it be there was anything 
 worse than he had forgiven already some page of 
 Bertha s life so black no depth of love could cover 
 it? A deathly faintness was upon him. 
 
 " I have brought two visitors," she went on ; 
 showing the tips of her white teeth in a beautiful 
 smile. 
 
 To be sure, there sat a portly woman with the 
 slightly elevated chin of a certain variety of the sex 
 when on its dignity. But Jane said " two " where 
 was the other ? Ah, the other was in the woman s 
 lap. It was a baby. Mr. Ellingsworth had a very 
 peculiar expression on his face to-night, as if his wife 
 was disappointing him. It was rather of a danger 
 ous look if Jane had understood it. She was offend 
 ing his elegant tastes extremely by bringing to his 
 house a vulgar fussy old woman and her baby whom 
 she, no doubt, had picked up on the railroad cars. 
 Philip stood nervously fumbling his watch chain, and 
 waiting for a blow to fall on him, he did not know 
 whence. 
 
 It was a little baby s hand that caught at Philip s 
 arm, and he turned to look into its great star-like 
 blue eyes. He had seen that same marvelous tint in 
 cheeks before, and a cold horror of recognition 
 darted through his soul. He tried to lift his spell- 
 
3 3 6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 bound eyes, and they rested instead on the face of 
 Jane Ellingsworth, which was lit up with a fiendish 
 exultation as she held the child up to him. 
 
 u What not kiss the baby ? " she laughed gayly, 
 " Such a pretty baby, too, why it really has com 
 plexion and eyes like Bertha s." She did not cease 
 to look at his shrinking face. " But its mouth and 
 chin Something made him look at the baby s 
 features as she mentioned them, and then he shud 
 dered ; it was too horrible, " are more like somebody 
 else I know." Her small flashing black eyes seemed 
 burning their way to his very brain. lt Who is 
 it? She bent toward him so that her hot lips 
 seemed almost to kiss his ear. " Curran " she 
 whispered. Could he not tear himself away from 
 her poisonous breath. " Not so strange though ? " 
 She let the baby put its chubby hands into his hair, 
 though she saw every touch was a thrust through 
 the quivering fibres of his heart. She fancied he 
 did not understand, he was so still and silent. 
 " Not so strange that a child should look like its 
 father." 
 
 Had the young bridegroom forgotten all about 
 his wedding and the beautiful woman up stairs won 
 dering why she was not called? It seemed so, for he 
 sat down, and they foisted the pretty baby on him, 
 and his face wore a ghastly smile as he looked at it. 
 Once, at an expression in the little face, he caught it 
 
WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR? 337 
 
 to his lips, but as suddenly he thrust the child into 
 the nurse s lap, and rose to his feet. 
 
 u What are we waiting for?" His face was like 
 marble for firmness, and it seemed as dead. 
 
 Jane drew him quickly into the hall. " You are 
 not going to marry the mother of that " 
 
 " Hush," and her woman s soul quailed at the 
 look he bent on her. " If you dare to whisper a word 
 to Bertha, or show her that child " 
 
 " I thought you would thank me," whispered the 
 false lips. She saw it was all in vain her journey to 
 .Vineboro. She had followed Bertha s tracks like a 
 bloodhound, and had found her fatherless child in 
 a stranger s home, learning to forget its high-bred 
 mother. Now surely she must suffer repulse and 
 disdain as the poor factory girl had suffered it in her 
 very wedding dress. For the sight of this baby face 
 would chill the most ardent love that ever burned in 
 a bridegroom s heart. But no. This man s love was 
 deeper than the sentiment and vanity that commonly 
 makes the chief part of what is absurdly called pas 
 sion. His faith was so sublime, shame was ashamed 
 before it. 
 
 His face had lighted up at her words. " Oh I 
 will thank you a thou a thousand times if you will 
 send that woman and the child away." 
 
 He had taken her hands. " Jane, for God s sake 
 do it." 
 
 22* 
 
3 3 3 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 He would have given her a fortune, but she had 
 sold herself once, and her price was enough. He 
 could only pray to her in all the phrases of entreaty, 
 the agonies of life have taught mankind. 
 
 " They shall leave the house at once," she said 
 at last as she turned to go back into the room. He 
 thought his prayers had moved her. But she knew 
 her plot had failed ; she had wrung his heart but his 
 will was unmoved. She made a virtue of her neces 
 sity. Philip would be grateful to her forever, but 
 there would be something else, perhaps. Such hate 
 as hers could not be turned aside by so feeble a 
 thing as pity. 
 
 44 How pale you are, Philip. Are you afraid? 
 and Bertha smiled royally on him as she took his 
 arm, and they passed up the hall. 
 
 " I am the happiest man in the world," and he 
 tried to smile as his hand closed over her ringers like 
 an iron vise, it was so cold and strong. 
 
 But how sad he was, as if an exquisite piece of 
 sculpture that he loved had fallen from a great 
 height and been shivered into a thousand frag 
 ments. The hope and joy of his life seemed slipping 
 away from him. That little child s face hung between 
 him and the bride who was promising to be faithful 
 if she only had been faithful to him; its baby hands 
 seemed to shield her bosom from him, its quavering 
 cries to reproach him for daring to kiss its mother. 
 
WHAT ARE WE WAITING FOR ? 339 
 
 So small and sweet a baby, but its face seemed 
 threatening him, its infant form linked indis^olubly 
 a past he had hoped he might forget with a present 
 and future he had foolishly thought had a great store 
 of happiness for him. 
 
 The minister had taken his seat. Was he really 
 married to the golden-haired woman whose hand he 
 held so tightly? Was this the moment he had 
 dreamed of as marking his entrance into a new ideal 
 life? Had he said everything correctly ? He could 
 not remember, but he did not want any mistake 
 made about this at least. Oh yes, it was now he 
 was to kiss his wife. He held her to his heart an 
 instant. This was his wife, but joy was dead behind 
 his dry, feverish lips, and his smile, meant to cheer 
 her, was as if some terrible pain was gnawing every 
 moment at his heart. But Bertha appeared to notice 
 nothing wrong. 
 
 The train which bore away the bridal pair had not 
 traveled a great many miles, when something caused 
 Philip to look in the seat behind them. There sat 
 the portly woman with her chin at last depressed in 
 slumber, and the baby with Bertha s eyes and Cur- 
 ran s mouth. One of Bertha s coils of hair had be 
 come loosened, and a braid of golden hair hung over 
 the back of the seat as she let her head rest on her 
 husband s shoulder. Bertha s eyes were closed 
 drowsily, the nurse in the seat behind nodded in her 
 
3 40 THE B RE TON MIL L S. 
 
 dreams, but the child reached out its baby hands to 
 play with its mother s golden tresses. The young 
 husband watched the child s lips forming again and 
 again one word, " mamma," the wife fell asleep and 
 dreamed she was the happiest woman in the world, 
 while beneath her head every throb of the man s 
 heart was an ache. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 One Short Hour. 
 
 IT was a week later that the Breton barouche 
 came over the brow of the hill toward Mr. Ell- 
 ingsworth s house. The bay span never stepped so 
 proudly, and certainly the gold-plated trimmings on 
 their harness never glittered so brightly before. As 
 the carriage had passed through the lower village 
 the factory girls had all rushed to the windows to 
 see the master and his bride, and for the moment the 
 laborers on the foundations of the new mill stopped 
 their work in one accord, and were all eyes till the 
 bridal couple were out of sight. Philip s face was 
 fairly radiant with hope and love, and he could not 
 teach his eyes to look anywhere but at Bertha. 
 She glanced idly on either side, at the white-gloved 
 coachman on his high seat, or at the prancing 
 horses, anywhere but into the earnest tender face, 
 which might have been a constant reproach to her 
 calm indifference. 
 
 Clearly enough, the clouds that had settled so 
 gloomily about his wedding night had lifted ; his love 
 and the sweet reality of his present life and his new 
 
3 4 2 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 sense of duty toward the woman who now called 
 him husband, all helped him to put away her past, 
 even to its most terrible incident, and his healthful 
 mental nature was rapidly building up a new life 
 which should have no taint in it. Philip Breton 
 made a noble lover. Perhaps it was because he was 
 not a great man. He was not so wise but that he 
 believed in the reality of the sunbeams poets make 
 their love songs of. He had many holy aspirations, 
 he caught now and then glimpses of ideal beauty 
 and truth. In some vague way he fancied all these 
 were realized in Bertha. In her he loved all the 
 harmonies. In her he worshipped purity and charity 
 and all the graces. 
 
 As for Bertha, she continually found new sur 
 prises in his gentleness and in his devotion surprises 
 partly because she forgot them each time. She 
 really wished he were not so devoted. She wished 
 he did not make her feel as if she were forever pos 
 ing in tableaux. She thought him inclined to be 
 foolish, because he did not seem keen-eyed enough 
 to see her most obvious faults, not magnanimous 
 enough herself to understand that he looked at her 
 through a halo of glory his love had put about her. 
 In spite of herself he could see something beautiful 
 and good in everything she could do or say. 
 
 " We are just passing my home," she said a little 
 petulantly, " can t you see anything but me?" 
 
ONE SHORT HOUR. 343 
 
 " This is not your home now, my dear. He cor 
 rected her very gently. As he glanced into the win 
 dows of the parlor where they had been married, 
 Jane Ellingsworth s dark face looked out at them, 
 cruel and malevolent. Philip started forward in his 
 seat. Why, no, he must have been wrong, the face 
 in the window was wreathed in the most charming 
 smiles. She even kissed her fingers to the bridal 
 pair and let a sheet of paper she had been holding 
 flutter to the floor in her child-like enthusiasm. 
 Bertha nodded coldly, Philip lifted his silk hat, and 
 the carriage passed on out of sight.. 
 
 Philip was too wise to weary his wife just now 
 by showing her all the changes in his home, which 
 would delight her so much, later. He knew by her 
 drooping step, as she walked along the hall, that she 
 was tired and would appreciate rest above all 
 things. So he took her first to her own little sitting 
 room, which he called her boudoir. He had rather 
 expected a little lighting up of her eyes, perhaps 
 some pretty exclamation of pleasure. Possibly he 
 had made an absurd artistic blunder. Could it be 
 he had got the wrong shade of blue after all ? She 
 only threw off her bonnet and sat down in the least 
 inviting of the chairs without seeming to care to 
 look about her at all. 
 
 "You must be tired, Bertha," said Philip at last, 
 trying to hide the disappointment that made his 
 
344 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 heart swell so oddly. " Won t you sit in the easy 
 chair ? I am sure you will like it, though perhaps 
 you would rather lie down." 
 
 " Oh, no, I am not tired," she said carelessly, 
 without turning her eyes to look at him where he 
 stood, restlessly playing with the window curtains. 
 He pulled roughly at them, he longed that moment 
 to ruin the beauty that had failed to please her. 
 He could not see where the fault was ; the carpet 
 was as thick and soft as a bed of violets, the light 
 seemed delicate almost as some perfume, but Bertha 
 did not seem to care for anything he had devised for 
 her. He bit his lip to keep down the inner pain. 
 She was going to speak ; if she w r ould only criticise, 
 he would change everything again to win a smile of 
 approval from her. She might at least understand 
 how much he had tried to please her. 
 
 " Where does that door open ?" 
 
 " I will show you if you are not tired," yet he 
 dreaded to take her into that room, and see her as 
 cold and indifferent as she was now. He felt it 
 would break his heart. 
 
 She rose to her feet, and looked in curiosity at 
 him as he took a key from his breast pocket, and 
 turned it in the lock. " Is it your treasure 
 chamber?" 
 
 "Yes," he whispered, and threw open the door, 
 and stood back for her to enter. The room seemed 
 
ONE SHORT HOUR. 345 
 
 as pure and white as if a thousand angels brooded 
 over it with their snowy wings. Peace and holy 
 rapture seemed breathing from the very walls, and 
 the young bride felt a new timidity steal over her 
 heart. She was awed indescribably in. the temple 
 of love he had made for her. Poor soul ! would 
 there be but one true worshiper? "Come," she 
 said, and she smiled more sweetly than he had ever 
 seen her. She held her hand out toward him, as he 
 lingered on the threshold. 
 
 He came and took her hand, and then put his 
 arm about her as she stood in exquisite pensiveness, 
 struggling to take in the meaning of the place. 
 She had cast her eyes down on the carpet, which 
 seemed like the driven snow, sparkling with hail- 
 drops. The solemn beauty of her chamber subdued 
 her like a child. 
 
 " You would not dare to kiss me here, Philip," 
 she said at last in a voice so gentle and thrilling, it 
 seemed to his throbbing heart as if a new soul had 
 been born within her. " It is so pure and " 
 
 But he drew her unresisting form into his arms, 
 and kissed her full cool lips again and again, and she 
 did not stir on his shoulder, but her great blue eyes 
 looked a startled reproach at his ardor. 
 
 " There is no place too pure for the kisses I have 
 for you." 
 
 There will never be an hour in Philip Breton s 
 
3 4-6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 after life, when he shall not look back to this mo 
 ment, as worth all the agony, as the acme of his be 
 ing when the cup of his happiness was full. And 
 who should overturn it ? Why should he not hold it to 
 his ever thirsty lips forever, the well-spring of his love 
 bubbling and sparkling forever within ? Might not 
 the world stand still awhile ? Must it jostle him from 
 his unwearying rapture, and push him on and on 
 into the barren desert of failure which awaits all 
 mankind at last ? 
 
 The dinner bell tinkled invitingly, and the mas 
 ter and mistress of the house came down together. 
 At the door of the dining-room stood the man 
 servant, salver in hand, and the silk skirts of the 
 lady of the house swept against him as she passed 
 in. Philip frowned fiercely at him, for the usually 
 most well behaved and respectful waiter seemed to 
 forget all his duties in staring with brazen impudence 
 in the beautiful face of his master s wife. Philip 
 grew pale with anger, but Bertha only gave a glance 
 of lofty contempt at the fellow s smooth face and 
 white apron. 
 
 " Your servants are not well behaved, my dear 
 Philip." 
 
 In a moment more they were alone, and Philip 
 forgot his wrath in the new picture of his wife across 
 his table. His old lonely days were ended, no more 
 solitary feastings. Bertha was always to brighten 
 
ONE SHORT HOUR 347 
 
 his house and his table for him. The satyr or bronze 
 on the mantel that had scowled on his desolation, 
 seemed actually smiling now. The portraits around 
 the green tinted walls had seemed to his imagina 
 tion, as he had sat down so many times to his richly 
 furnished table, like guests at a funeral, or again, as 
 if morosely curious how a man could violate all the 
 principles of hospitality by dining alone. , Now, he 
 fancied they had taken on a more genial, compan 
 ionable expression. To be sure the sun poured in 
 through the open blinds in unusual brightness, but 
 it was the light in Bertha s blue eyes that changed 
 everything for him. It was the beginning of his own 
 home ; this woman who seemed too lovely to be 
 other than a caller for an hour, had come to stay, 
 to sit with him as she did now, whenever he break 
 fasted or dined or supped always. The world 
 might heap wrongs and outrage on him, his facto 
 ries burn and his wealth dissolve she whose pres 
 ence in itself was a perfect existence to him, had 
 come to him to stay forever. 
 
 Bertha s face was bent over the table studying 
 the odd device on her napkin ring. The sunlight 
 flickered in her golden hair as tenderly as if it were 
 giving her kisses of welcome. So she would sit 
 before him always. But the sudden creaking of a 
 man s boot made him look up. The waiter had 
 come in almost noiselessly and stood at the side- 
 
348 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 board carving a bird for their second course. Philip 
 was glad he had not said one of the hundred caress 
 ing words that had come to his lips, he remembered 
 the look on the fellow s face at the door. But how 
 slow he was at his carving ; was the canvas-back so 
 tough, then? 
 
 Ugh there was a glass in the side-board, and 
 Philip happened to glance into it. The man held 
 the knife and fork in his hands, but he was not carv 
 ing at all, but was still staring at Bertha s bent beau 
 tiful face in the mirror, with his evil swine-like eyes. 
 He seemed to be studying her features as if to recall 
 some association oh, he had succeeded, a hideous 
 grin distorted his mouth, and whole face, when Philip 
 rose and pushed back his chair. His servant recog 
 nized her, apparently she had played some very in 
 harmonious part in some previous scene he had wit 
 nessed. And he was but one of the world she had 
 disgraced herself before. What could his evil eyes 
 have seen which miserable page in this lovely 
 woman s history, that her husband was trying to blot 
 out of memory? If he could forgive her, might not 
 the rest ? Must she be subject to insult in her own 
 home? Was he not powerful enough to protect her 
 against the shame of such looks as this fellow gave 
 her? 
 
 He had stepped to the side-board and touched 
 his servant on the shoulder, and beckoned him to 
 
ONE SHOR T HO UR. 349 
 
 the door. The malicious grin had hardly time to 
 vanish from the frightened face. 
 
 l Go ! " the words came hissing from his master s 
 lips, " and if I ever see your face again, or if you ever 
 breathe a word against the woman I have made my 
 wife The man slunk up stairs like a whipped 
 dog. 
 
 " Why, I didn t notice you had been out," said 
 Bertha in mild surprise as Philip re-entered the din 
 ing-room, "were you ill? how pale you are." 
 
 But she did not rise in her solicitude and come to 
 him. Instead, he came to her, and bent very gently 
 over her, and tried to kiss away the lines of care on 
 her white forehead, which he had never caused. 
 He did his best to smile gayly, and succeeded well 
 enough to deceive her. 
 
 " I will be your servant to-day," he said, " with 
 no profane eyes to look on." 
 
 Then he shook off his unhappiness by sheer force 
 of will, and began to talk lover s nonsense to the cold 
 mistress of his home, in more perfect abandon than 
 ever, even in the exuberance of his youth. He 
 must be happy while he could, he dared not stop 
 talking, lest he should think too much. But she 
 only looked at him in far off surprise, with now and 
 then a curious, not quite pleased smile, at his absur 
 dities. At last, all too soon, she arose. 
 
 " I must go and dress, and try and look a little 
 
350 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 prettier, for to-day at least. She touched his 
 shoulder kindly as she passed out into the hall, leav 
 ing him sitting still at table. 
 
 It was only then that he discovered a letter that 
 had been concealed by a plate. But what did he 
 care for business to-day? Still it might serve to pass 
 a little of the time, till his wife should return. How 
 the thought of her warmed his heart. In a few mo 
 ments the door behind him would open, and he 
 would turn to see her graceful form on the thresh 
 old. She would be dressed in some new color, or 
 perhaps in black that gave her the air of a de 
 throned queen. By this time she must have thought 
 of some kind thing to say to him, but first it 
 would be, 
 
 " Sitting at table yet ? " Then he would rise and 
 draw her jeweled hand through his arm and show her 
 through her whole home. She would be so delighted 
 with the library ; he was sure everything there would 
 please her exquisite taste. He had never enjoyed the 
 room, though it was so perfect ; there had been some 
 thing dreary to him in its classic simplicity. But 
 now everything would be changed. Then he would 
 lead her to the drawing-room, and would make her 
 sit down again before the long-silent piano, which 
 had given out not one tone of music since her white 
 fingers had last caressed its glistening keys. And 
 she would play and sing for him while he dreamed 
 
ONE SHOR T HO UR. 351 
 
 of the new rare life of beauty and peace that was to 
 be his henceforth. 
 
 He glanced at the face of the envelope ; but it 
 was not for a moment more, that the mist of joy 
 cleared from before his eyes enough to read the 
 words stamped on its upper corner. 
 
 " John T. Giddings, Attorney at Law," and be 
 neath in smaller type, " Divorces procured without 
 trouble or publicity for any cause desired." What 
 was he or his business to Philip Breton ? He tore 
 open the envelope impatiently ; probably a begging 
 letter. He unfolded the sheet he found within. At 
 the top in big letters the attorney s name and ad 
 dress ; and below the advertisement about divorces 
 again. Philip frowned and began to read what the 
 man had written to him. 
 
 " DKAR SIR: I understand you will have just 
 returned from your ivedding journey when this 
 reaches you. I am sorry to interrupt your bliss but 
 it will be very important for you to call upon me 
 immediately upon your receipt of this communi 
 cation. You may. wonder how my advertisement 
 about Divorces which your observant eyes will have 
 detected at the top of this page can concern you. 
 If you call on me at once I will be able to explain 
 that and several other points of interest to you. 
 Very truly yours, 
 
 JOHN T. GIDDINGS. 
 
35 2 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 . Philip spread the letter open on the table cloth 
 before him, and read it again and more carefully. 
 He seemed very slow to take its meaning. Then he 
 folded it very accurately and put it in his pocket- 
 book. He rose to his feet and rang the bell for the 
 maid. How cool he was; he showed no sign of 
 having received a terrible blow, unless it was by 
 passing his hand wearily across his forehead once or 
 twice. 
 
 The clearest feeling he was conscious of was a 
 nervous anxiety lest Bertha should come in upon 
 him just now ; and when the door opened he started 
 violently. But it was only the maid who had an 
 swered his summons. 
 
 " Tell your mistress," his voice was very low but 
 it sounded firm enough, " tell your mistress I am 
 called away to Lockout. I shall be back by tea 
 time, at six, I suppose. Can you find my hat for 
 me, Jane, I mean Annie. Thank you." He pulled 
 it well over his eyes, and walked along the hall and 
 opened the door. He did not like to glance up the 
 oaken staircase, for fear he might see Bertha. He 
 dreaded to look in her face just now. The maid 
 stood waiting. 
 
 " Tell your mistress that I am called oh, I told 
 you, did I ? " 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A Legal Distinction. 
 
 " A H, Mr. Breton, yes, yes, I was sure you would 
 ^>- come." 
 
 The lawyer pulled two chairs together near his 
 office table. John T. Giddings had changed a great 
 deal since the time when he undertook to engineer 
 the corporation scheme. Apparently he was going 
 down hill very fast, without brakes. His eyes wore 
 a glassy look, as if he had just waked from a drunken 
 sleep, the smooth roundness of his cheeks was gone, 
 his lower jaw was strongly marked, and his nose 
 seemed drawn out and sharpened to give the effect 
 of a bird of prey. Philip glanced significantly about 
 the room. The lawyer followed his eyes and laughed. 
 " Changed some aren t we all, lack of money. 
 Actually, you have no idea how ten dollars even 
 would furbish up this old table and polish this floor. 
 Times aint as they were, Mr. Breton, in the old days 
 when I used to get fat fees out of men like your 
 father. Nice man, your father. But," and he leered 
 meaningly at his visitor, " when we do get a chance 
 for a dollar I tell you we jump at it." He tipped 
 
354 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 back his chair against his half-filled book shelves and 
 peered familiarly into Philip s stern face. " Why 
 look at those dirty fellows back by the door. Time 
 was I wouldn t notice a client unless he wore white 
 collar and cuffs. But now for business. I suppose 
 you were a little astonished to get my letter?" 
 
 " I should prefer not to have listeners," remarked 
 Philip, coldly. 
 
 " Oh, well, I will finish with these fellows first, 
 then. I thought you might be impatient." 
 
 " Not at all, sir." 
 
 The lawyer s clothes were threadbare and soiled, 
 and the black felt hat that he wore, indoors and out, 
 well slouched over his eyes, was torn in the crown. 
 Philip compared him with his shabby-looking callers, 
 and could not see but the clients looked as well as 
 their patron. But at every sign of poverty and degra 
 dation his heart sank lower and lower, for the man 
 must be reckless and hungry as a man-eating shark. 
 If it lay in his power to rack the life out of a victim 
 - the man could have no restraint of character or 
 decency to hold back his hand. Could there be any 
 thing he knew about Bertha s past, that terrible gap 
 Philip had not tried to look into? He dared not 
 think. Impatient ! he dreaded the moment when 
 the lawyer should send away his soiled clients. 
 Philip started each time he half turned, as if to 
 come back. But when Giddings closed the door 
 
A LEGAL DISTINCTION. 355 
 
 after the poor wretches, which was not until a little 
 roll of bills had passed from their hands to his, and 
 came back to his seat, the young mill-owner did not 
 seem to observe him till the lawyer said, 
 
 " I have filled out a complaint but have not 
 signed it yet." 
 
 Philip looked at him blankly. " What is a com 
 plaint ? " 
 
 " Well, my dear sir, a man of your position might 
 pass a lifetime and never know, ahem. It is a form 
 of procedure that is generally understood to be ap 
 plicable only to the poor. When a wretch has com 
 mitted a burglary, for instance, some friend of justice, 
 as I for example, goes- before a magistrate and makes 
 certain charges. Then the poor devil is arrested, 
 dragged before the court and tried." 
 
 " Well, sir, what are your complaints to me ? " 
 
 The lawyer smiled. " Strictly, nothing, unless 
 you identify yourself with a woman calling herself 
 Bertha Breton/ He paused to notice the effect of 
 his words. 
 
 " My wife," gasped Philip, " oh, for God s sake, 
 speak quick." 
 
 " You have been lately married? " 
 
 " A week ago." 
 
 " The woman you have married has a husband 
 already. By remarrying as she has done she has 
 committed a felony by our laws. Some rather inac- 
 
3 5 6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 curately call her crime bigamy. A states prison 
 offence I suppose you know I mean for her. The 
 law of our state does not touch you." 
 
 "But she told me she was free to marry." How 
 far off his voice sounded. Was it he, indeed, in a 
 low attorney s office, discussing his wife whether she 
 were a felon or no. It was like a horrible dream, too 
 horrible to be anything but a dream, but he could not 
 awake from it. 
 
 " No doubt she thought so," said the lawyer 
 charitably, " but let me show you." He opened a 
 drawer in front of him, and took out a long paper. 
 " Isn t it odd, women have no notion of folding a 
 legal document correctly. Did you ever notice it ? " 
 
 " No, I never noticed it," answered Philip me 
 chanically. He felt as if he were standing still, and 
 the world was flying from under his feet. 
 
 " This is the marriage certificate. It is proper in 
 form, you will see." 
 
 Yes, it seemed correct. Bertha s name was there, 
 and Curran s ; they seemed to leap out of the parch 
 ment as he read. And there were two witnesses. 
 He rubbed his eyes, Thomas Bailes that was the 
 name of the servant he had turned away. Yes, it 
 was not an hour ago he turned him away. 
 
 "Who is this Thomas Bailes?" 
 
 " He was a waiter at the * Lockout House/ where 
 the happy couple were made one." 
 
A LEGAL DISTINCTION. 357 
 
 The paper fluttered to the floor, the walls of the 
 room seemed rushing in upon him, while the grin 
 ning face of the lawyer danced in hideous measure 
 before his eyes. Was God, in his mercy, sending him 
 death ? When his brain cleared again the man was 
 talking still. 
 
 " You will wonder how I happen to possess this 
 paper, but you will recollect my advertisement at the 
 top of my letter head? Well it seemed Mrs. Cur- 
 ran, excuse me, grew tired of her uncongenial hus 
 band, quite outside her sphere of course. A fine fel 
 low that Curran was too. But the young lady 
 naturally sighed for her old more refined associa 
 tions. Her husband does nothing but shock her. 
 She becomes wretched, her craze is over, the reality 
 is not to her delicate taste at all. What next? She 
 leaves him, fortune throws my advertisement in her 
 way and I receive a letter from her address, then at 
 Vineboro. Here was a short way out of it all, a 
 divorce without trouble or publicity, for any cause 
 desired. She would be free as air again, free to end 
 her life, as she no doubt intended, in conventual re 
 tirement." 
 
 Giddings threw his feet upon the table, and smiled 
 very slyly. " I undertook her suit. What better 
 cause could there be than incompatibility. Oh, no, 
 she need not come to Lockout, so there was no 
 trouble, and as to publicity, why, will you believe 
 
358 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 it " and the lawyer winked horribly at his visitor, 
 " Curran himself was within twenty miles of Lock 
 out during the pendency of the suit, and he never 
 guessed his wife was being divorced from him, and I 
 don t believe he knows it to this day, ha, ha." And 
 he laid his head back on his chair and laughed till 
 the tears ran down his face. 
 
 " But you procured her a divorce." It is almost 
 worth pain to have the exquisite delight that comes 
 with relief. 
 
 Philip felt ashamed that he had distrusted God so 
 much. How much more joyfully he could cherish his 
 wife than before. There was no blot of shame on her 
 sweet name ; there was no page in her life the whole 
 world might not look at then. And this man wanted 
 a reward for what he had done, aye, and he should 
 have it. There was no gift too great for him, who 
 had turned this young husband s bitterest memories 
 sweet, who had made his life and his love like that 
 of other men. He reached forward, and grasped the 
 lawyer s oily hand in hearty good will. 
 
 Gidding s stared at him in silence a moment. 
 Then he moved uneasily in his chair and released 
 his hand, 
 
 " I guess you don t understand," he had enough 
 of his manhood left to hesitate, it was actually a 
 more disagreeable business than he had counted on. 
 " Such secret convenient divorces as I get, don t 
 
A LEGAL DISTINCTION. 359 
 
 stand in our courts. The whole thing is bogus, my 
 dear sir." Philip s face had become like a dead man s. 
 " Issued by the Supreme Juridical court of Utah 
 it says on them, but there is no such court, and as for 
 the seal I keep in this little drawer. Besides, if there 
 were such a court, and its genuine seal were stamped 
 on a decree of divorce, it would amount to nothing 
 when both parties live in this state. Our state 
 makes its own decrees. Utah decrees, or the decrees 
 of any foreign state or territory are void here. Your 
 wife is Curran s wife yet ; she is as much married to 
 him to-day, as she has been at all." 
 
 " How am I to know but what you are lying to 
 me?" 
 
 The attorney handed him over a file of letters 
 with a shrug of his shoulders. " You need not wade 
 through them all, the last is conclusive, I think you 
 will agree with me." 
 
 " MR. GlDDINGS : Dear Sir :l received this 
 morning, the divorce from the Supreme Juridical 
 Court of Utah, and you will find enclosed a draft for 
 the second half of the three hundred dollars agreed 
 upon. Of course I have to rely wholly on your as 
 surance that my divorce is complete, and that I have 
 a right to resume my maiden name. I thank you 
 for the quiet way in which you have managed it. I 
 did not suppose it could be done so easily. I only 
 wonder Mr. Curran has taken it so calmly, he 
 
3^0 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 seemed almost wild when I first left him. Yours 
 gratefully, BERTHA ELLINGSWORTH." 
 
 Yes, there was no doubt about it. It was Ber 
 tha s handwriting ; no forgery could have deceived 
 her lover s eyes. How little she fancied he would 
 ever be reading it over, and cursing the first hour he 
 had ever looked on her dear face. He watched the 
 attorney put it back on file again. It seemed a des 
 ecration to lay one of her notes in the stained, tin 
 box, with the ignoble company of lying and suppli 
 ant letters. 
 
 " She seems to have relied completely on some 
 assurance of yours, that her divorce would be good." 
 Philip tried to speak calmly to this man, who held 
 his darling s fate in the hollow of his hand, but his 
 voice trembled, and almost broke. 
 
 "You are not well," exclaimed the lawyer, and 
 he opened another drawer in his desk, and drew out 
 a square shaped, yellow covered bottle. " Take a 
 swallow of this." 
 
 Philip clutched at it eagerly. He thought now he 
 could understand how a man might want to drown 
 all pride and sense in drunkenness. He poured the 
 crude stuff down his parched throat, as if it were 
 water. One swallow was not enough, nor two, but 
 when he set the bottle upon the table at last, the 
 lawyer resumed, 
 
A LEGAL DISTINCTION. 361 
 
 " And so it would have been good, nine times 
 out of ten, good enough to make all parties con 
 cerned comfortable. A document is a document to 
 most people, a seal is a seal. As a man thinketh, so 
 is he. Parties divorced by my fiat alone, re-marry 
 and raise children, and are as happy and clear of 
 conscience as if they were not committing a sin 
 every hour of their lives, unless it happens to come 
 out." 
 
 " This has come out, I suppose, and Lockout is 
 all agog with it." Philip s heart stopped beating 
 while he waited for his answer. 
 
 " No, my dear sir, another mistake ; no one under 
 heaven knows of it but me, and you now." Breton 
 must have taken him for a fool. 
 
 Philip started from his chair like lightning. 
 "Thank God, then Bertha is safe yet." 
 
 But Giddings attempted to look very stern. 
 " Did you suppose I made out that complaint for 
 nothing ? She is rich and beautiful and proud, no 
 doubt, but the same law hangs over her as the rest 
 of us. No one knows of her crime yet, but before 
 the sun sets," the attorney rose, and cautiously put 
 the table between himself and his guest, whose eyes 
 seemed to him to gleam dangerously, " but before 
 the sun sets," he continued, watching the other 
 closely, " an officer with a warrant will call at your 
 front door." 
 
362 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 Philip lifted his chair high in the air, and brought 
 it down like a trip-hammer, where Giddings had 
 stood. But the dextrous attorney had dodged 
 aside, and left the chair to break into splinters over 
 the table. 
 
 " Scoundrel, will you come with handcuffs and 
 billets to take away my darling wife from my arms, 
 for following your lying counsels ? Is that your 
 law? Does it choose such ministers as you to break 
 up peaceful homes, and shut behind bars a woman 
 as innocent as an angel ? " 
 
 Philip was advancing toward him when Giddings 
 suddenly threw up the window and leaning out 
 shouted to a policeman. Then he looked back to 
 Philip. 
 
 " Another step and your 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 this contemptible 
 creature s power ; he might grind his teeth at him ; 
 he must obey him. 
 
 " You seem very obtuse, Mr. Breton," explained 
 the lawyer, from a respectful distance. " I 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 will throw you from the window. Your secret 
 will die with you then." 
 
A LEGAL DISTINCTION. 363 
 
 The lawyer smiled unhealthily. " I want money, 
 that is all there is to it. You are rich Mrs. Breton 
 well, well, don t be angry. In a word, I want to be 
 paid to keep my secret." 
 
 Philip cast a glance of ineffable contempt at him. 
 Then he put his hands behind him and walked slowly 
 across the room. The price of life, of honor, of lib 
 erty, no money could measure it, but what trust could 
 he rest in the fidelity of so base a creature as this ? He 
 would suck his blood forever, and forever cry for 
 more ; he would learn that his victim would make 
 himself a beggar to save this woman, and he would 
 beggar him without shame. He might not stop 
 with money favors ; he might require to be made 
 his companion ; to be invited to his table, and pre 
 sented to his friends ; to be godfather to his children ; 
 and at last in anger at his victim s incurable hate, or 
 in some drunken debauch, the spy, who had embit 
 tered his life with daily humiliation, might bring or 
 call down on him the ruin he had feared so long. 
 His life-long slavery would have been in vain. Bet 
 ter a dungeon no, Bertha must not be sacrificed. 
 He turned on his heel and stopped before his tor 
 mentor, 
 
 " How much do you want ? " 
 
 His "glassy eye brightened. " Oh, I would not be 
 too hard just because I have got the whip-hand of 
 you. Say two hundred, and your secret is safe." 
 
364 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " For how long ? " sneered Philip. 
 
 " Forever," answered Giddings, with virtuous 
 decision. " I swear before God I will never ask 
 another penny of you ; and your secret shall die 
 with me." 
 
 Philip had taken out his pocket-book. He found 
 a fifty dollar bill ; then he drew a check for one 
 hundred and fifty dollars. The poor lawyer eyed 
 the money with a great tenderness ; his heart soft 
 ened at sight of it, and the* love of approbation, 
 that never dies out of even the most degraded 
 souls, stirred in his. 
 
 " I aint so bad a fellow, after all," he said, as he 
 took up the money ; " I know lots of men who in my 
 place wouldn t have let you off for less than a cool 
 thousand." 
 
 " Your circle of friends must be very select." 
 Philip was moving towards the door. 
 
 " To be sure, to be sure," but somehow the law 
 yer kept close to him, " I couldn t help feeling sorry 
 for you ; and then your wife is such a nice woman ; 
 it never seemed to me jails were made for such as 
 she" 
 
 " Stop your driveling," cried Philip, turning on 
 him so suddenly the man fancied at first he had been 
 struck, "keep your blood money ; but don t dare to 
 breathe her name, even in your prayers." 
 
 The lawyer chuckled to himself when the door 
 
A LEGAL DISTINCTION. 365 
 
 closed behind his wealthy client. " I suppose I 
 have considerable grit." 
 
 Then he pocketed the bill and scrutinized the 
 check. " But I was almost too easy with him. 
 Some fellows, now, would have just bled him." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The White Chamber. 
 
 THE five o clock train drew up at the Breton- 
 ville station and the young husband alighted a 
 changed man. The brick walls of his mills looked 
 strangely unfamiliar to him. Was he indeed the 
 owner of them ? Was that his house set like a 
 castle on the hill off to the left? It seemed impos 
 sible that any of his old acquaintances should recog 
 nize him, but here somebody was shaking hands 
 with him. 
 
 " What, so soon away from your young wife ? " 
 " Business," muttered Philip, breaking away from 
 him impatiently. How the man s simple blue eyes 
 would start out of their sockets if he guessed what 
 the business had been. How he would regale his 
 eager family with the infamous story, and sleep more 
 complacently that night for the sudden calamity that 
 had fallen on the rich man s home, while he was safe 
 and his home spotless. 
 
 Another acquaintance drew Philip s hand through 
 his arm before he could reach his carriage. " Some 
 thing very confidential," he whispered mysteriously. 
 
THE WHITE CHAMBER. $67 
 
 Then Philip had bribed the greedy lawyer to keep 
 a secret he had already feasted the whole country on. 
 He glanced around him with a new 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," Philip answered huskily, and 
 threw himself into his carriage. He had nothing to 
 fear from this man at least, he clearly enough had 
 not heard the news. People don t call on it was 
 too terrible ! He let down the carriage window for 
 fresh air. The village policeman stood by the road 
 side 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 
 murderers 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 contamina 
 tion from her. 
 
368 THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 " Drive faster," he shouted to the coachman. 
 Perhaps they had not seized her yet and clasped 
 their hideous iron bracelets about her dimpled arms. 
 
 " Faster, faster," he cried. 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 their 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. 
 
 u Faster, drive faster." 
 
 The carriage rolled into his grounds and he 
 leaped out and looked about him. He saw no signs 
 of a disturbance yet. The crowd of curious camp- 
 followers that love to invest scenes of violence long 
 after the echo of the screams of sufferers are still, 
 had not come not yet. His gardener was cutting a 
 bouquet of roses. Bless his grey head, he would 
 not be making bouquets for an outraged, plundered 
 home. 
 
 "Whom are you cutting the roses for?" How 
 heavy nis master s hand rested on his shoulder. 
 
 " For the mistress, if you please, sir." 
 
 " Is she within then ? " 
 
 " Can t you hear her playin , sir?" 
 
THE WHITE CHAMBER. 369 
 
 Thank God for that gentle breeze that brought 
 the music to his ears. It was that same familiar air 
 from " Traviata," that she had played the night he 
 had left her for the labor meeting before the first 
 shadow had crossed her life. But she was safe yet. 
 
 He mounted the brown-stone steps, and unlocked 
 the door. He closed it very softly after him and with 
 noiseless step made his way to the drawing-room. 
 The door stood half open ; he looked in at Bertha, 
 his 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, on whose soft white shoulder any policeman in 
 the state might freely lay his rude hand. She would 
 look to him, but he could not help her; he had un 
 dertaken 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 was there no pity in their iron laws ? To 
 morrow her name would be heralded abroad ; per 
 haps her sweet face, almost too fair for kisses, would 
 be blazoned on the outside sheet of the lowest 
 picture papers, and the dregs of the great cities 
 would revel in its insulted beauty. Poor girl, she 
 
37 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 was thinking she had a right with him that her home 
 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 she might never 
 have them ah, the law had a bitter name for what 
 their children would be. He was the wealthiest man 
 in a hundred 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. His love for them would have the same ter 
 rible mingling of pain that makes love more torture 
 than happiness. And was there nothing he could do 
 for this woman? She had given herself to him, all his 
 vows were upon him. 
 
 <l 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 had not claimed her yet, 
 and all the rites of religion had once made her his 
 wife. One moment he stood by her side ; the next 
 he fell upon his knees, and imprisoned the quick fly 
 ing hands. He felt he could not bear the music now, 
 it was a wild waltz she was playing ; he bowed his 
 head in her lap. 
 
 " Why Philip, are you so tired ? " 
 
THE WHITE CHAMBER. 3/1 
 
 " I am weary unto death, and his bent form 
 shook with agony and baffled love. 
 
 Bertha s eyes rested calmly on his head for a 
 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 by one 
 disturbing quiver of the rare red lips ; they did not 
 curve downward 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 who] soul seemed dissolving in love and 
 sacrifice ; who would have suffered a life-time to save 
 her from the unguessed fate which hovered fearfully 
 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 Ellingsworth s face as his bride and he drove 
 past that very noon. It had changed so quickly to 
 smiles that he had doubted his eyes, but he trembled 
 at his memory of it now, and the 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 that he should not use his terrible power, 
 there might be near at hand an enemy to the death, 
 who only toyed a moment with her poisoned arrow 
 to shoot it when it would strike with deadliest effect ? 
 
3 7 2 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 Philip had parted with Bertha as painfully as if he 
 were leaving her to die, and as he rode off he looked 
 up 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 few more days of calm ; the worst 
 could not be worse than such torture of fear and 
 hourly dread as he suffered. She trusted him per 
 fectly, and he believed he could fight best alone. 
 He would ward off every danger human brain could 
 foresee, and wealth and strength and ingenuity op 
 pose, and then ; oh God, and then ! But it could do 
 no good to warn her ; she might flutter in her terror 
 straight into the very jaws of destruction ; as for him, 
 he could be cool and firm, though his heart was con 
 suming within him. And who knows ; the hair that 
 held the sword above her head might never snap, 
 and at last after many years what years of agony 
 they would be 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, not 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 
 
THE WHITE CHAMBER. 3/3 
 
 bounding in great leaps on his way forgetful of every 
 thing except his own resentment. But when he 
 reached Mr. Ellingsworth s gate, Philip was sorry he 
 had come so fast, for he had not thought yet how to 
 conceal his motive in coming. But Jane received him 
 so cordially that he quite forgot he had anything to 
 conceal. Opportunities were not thrown away on 
 her. She had the art of appearing a lady so well, 
 none but the best trained eye, as her elegant hus 
 band s, for instance, could detect the factory girl 
 beneath. She had long since corrected all her inac 
 curacies of speech ; she could receive and dismiss a 
 caller to perfection. She had the proper gradations 
 in manner for the difference in wealth and position 
 of her acquaintance. Of books and art she knew 
 almost nothing, and cared as little, but she had picked 
 up the catch-words in vogue and it must be a very 
 discerning guest of her cultivated husband who dis 
 covered that learned talk and elegant criticism were 
 not alone unintelligible, but absolutely stupid to her. 
 She had learned among other things, that her parlor 
 furniture was bad, and everything had been changed 
 again. She had improved in her taste for ornaments, 
 too, and her heavy chains and bracelets were shut 
 away in a drawer up stairs. She had found it so 
 much easier to be a fine lady than she had supposed ; 
 fine ladies are so much- alike in the sort of things 
 they do and say, that all that is necessary is to do 
 
374 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 and say things after a certain easy fashion, and it is 
 accomplished. 
 
 This evening Jane Ellingsworth appeared at her 
 very best. She made Philip tell her where he had 
 been with his bride, on their short trip, and all they 
 had seen, and was so charmingly interested that he 
 imagined he was succeeding in quite winning her 
 over in Bertha s favor. Then she hoped they would 
 be so " very happy," and drooped her black lashes 
 at last in a beautiful stroke of daring. 
 
 " Will you be sure and quite forget, I ever thought 
 I disliked Bertha ? I mean to be so very devoted 
 now, if you, and she will let me." 
 
 " Do you ? " he exclaimed drawing a deep breath 
 of relief. u God bless you for it ; make our house 
 your other home." How he had misjudged this ami 
 able girl. He would persuade Bertha to be very 
 kind to her. How very fortunate women do not hold 
 their hates as men do. While he had been speaking 
 she had turned her head away, but as he said 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 mas 
 ter s own hand that night, and rewarded for his 
 services, at last, with the kind words that made him 
 lay back his ears in content. Then Philip went into 
 
 
THE WHITE CHAMBER. 3/5 
 
 the house and bolted the doors with a ne.w sense of 
 possession. Bertha was within, with him ; the whole 
 world besides was shut without, for to-night, at least. 
 He hung up his hat and looked into the drawing- 
 room. The gas was in full blaze, the piano open, 
 and music sheets in place ; a book lay on a chair, as 
 if just dropped there, but Bertha was not in the 
 room. He turned out the gas, and stepped along 
 to the library he had been sure she would like that 
 place, it was, somehow, exquisitely in keeping with 
 her tastes, and her own classic repose. But it was 
 dark, and no one was there. In sudden vague fear, 
 he bounded up the stairs. She was not in her bou 
 doir, and he pushed open the door into the white 
 chamber. The gas was turned down low, but he put 
 aside the curtains of the canopy, and there lay Ber 
 tha. Her lips were just parted in a sweet dream, 
 and the delicious suggestion of a smile was in her 
 closed eye-lids too. All the thunders of hell might 
 be echoing around her, the dear head rested in per 
 fect peace. A terrible fate trembled over her, but 
 she was as unconscious of it as the babe of an hour. 
 He bent over her with a yearning tenderness in his 
 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 a new gentleness and warmth in it. He drank 
 her sweet child-like breath. What was she dream- 
 
3/6 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 ing of, he wondered. He just touched her lips, when 
 she moved uneasily in her sleep, and murmured his 
 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 tear 
 less 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 Ellings- 
 worth 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 inter 
 ested her so much : 
 
 " You ask me why I did not marry Bertha. 
 Who has been insulting her then ? She is my wife, 
 so far as laws can make a wife. She left me because 
 she no longer loved me. I suppose I was too ill- 
 bred and common a man for her. If she had only 
 known it before. I watched her in terror, as she be 
 gan to awake from her dream of love. I tried to 
 woo her again. I thought it might be I was not 
 fond enough, and I became so tender, I wearied her. 
 
THE WHITE CHAMBER. 377 
 
 I thought perhaps I was not gentle enough, and then 
 I 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 she were cruel 
 to me, and asked begged her to love me for pity, 
 but when the tide of love begins to ebb, all the 
 prayers and lamentations of a world cannot stay 
 it. She was not like other women, she did not cry 
 for her old associates, or for the fashionable society 
 that once cherished her. She did not reproach me 
 because I talked of nothing so much as the wrongs 
 of my class, because I disliked the gay, false life she 
 was bred in, and sighed to return to. But her face 
 grew cold and hard, and the love died out of her 
 voice. She never confessed she had mistaken her 
 self in marrying me till the very hour she left me. 
 Yes, she is my wife, and my heart aches always for 
 her. Write and tell me where she is perhaps 
 sometime she may come back to me, for she once 
 seemed to love me, and they say love cannot die. 
 
 CURRAN." 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Evil Eyes. 
 
 PHILIP BRETON began to notice in the next 
 few days that a new 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 salute 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 their 
 women could find no words strong enough to ex 
 press 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. 
 Did they not every one of them work a hundred 
 times harder than he, who only seemed to have to 
 look over a few papers ; or lean back in his office 
 chair and talk for a few hours, when he chose? 
 Philip recalled with heart-sickness a great many 
 times during these days, that paragraph from the 
 Lockout Journal that seemed .to have clung to his 
 memory word for word. 
 
EVIL EYES. 3/9 
 
 " Mr. Breton s scheme encourages the spirit of 
 restlessness among the working classes. He may 
 think he gives them enough ; their wants and com 
 plaints will always keep just ahead of the favors 
 granted them. They will grow bolder at signs of 
 weakness, and he will soon find that they have 
 passed beyond his power of restraint." Philip was 
 fast losing his only hope and consolation. The 
 dissatisfaction seemed to increase every day, 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 they were 
 than others ; to have forgotten the concessions he had 
 given them, such as no other mill-owner thought of 
 for a moment. There was so much more they 
 wanted, that he had not granted. He had opened 
 their eyes to their condition more than he had satis 
 fied their ambition. They accepted the principle 
 he had explained and illustrated to them, and carried 
 it out in relentless logic. Philip thought they 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 faded from his soul, and when he was fear 
 ful of dangers on every side, that Bertha said she 
 would like to see her husband s mill. He could not 
 tell her that he did not dare to have her seen ; that 
 
3 SO THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 he suspected her secret had spread among the vil 
 lagers ; and that he feared the people whose master 
 he was. 
 
 " Isn t it too cold this morning," he answered, 
 avoiding her eyes, while he cast about wildly for 
 a pretence to keep her at home. 
 
 " I am not an invalid, Philip," she said smilingly, 
 "and you have kept me shut up as if I were a pris 
 oner. What crime have I committed? " 
 
 He tried to laugh, but a sorry thing he made of it. 
 
 " Well, shall we have the coupe? " 
 
 " W T hy no ; you aren t jealous of me, are you ?" 
 
 Surely it was no harm for him to kiss her even if 
 
 In a few moments his beach wagon was at the 
 door. He helped her in and taking his seat in front 
 with a strange binding sensation i-n his throat, looked 
 neither to the right hand or the left, but drove as if 
 he were on a race course. 
 
 " Why, Philip, you take my breath away. Why 
 don t you enjoy the morning with me ? How the 
 people gathered in the windows to see them go by. 
 
 " I am in a hurry," he said. 
 
 " There is Jane signaling us ; aren t you 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 some 
 times she had grown ten years younger with her new 
 
EVIL EYES. 38l 
 
 accomplishments. The carriage drew up to the curb 
 stone, and the usual greetings were exchanged. 
 " Isn t it delightful?" said she, as she took her seat 
 with them. Jane was all smiles and bright glances 
 this morning. 
 
 "How does it seem to be 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 some 
 way ; but certainly not from Bertha, whose face 
 changed not in the smallest expression as she made 
 a graceful answer. 
 
 Jane was in a whirl of suppressed excitement at 
 the new position affairs had suddenly taken. What 
 a situation ! She must be more careful now in what 
 she said and did. Philip knew all and she knew the 
 rare making of the man ; he would guard his un 
 worthy wife as a lioness her young. He would 
 reckon of no account any sacrifice. The whole ex 
 pression of his thin pale face had changed since the 
 day she had seen him gazing so rapturously at his 
 bride, when they drove past her window. His hap 
 piness was dead, his hope was gone ; he saw nothing 
 but shame and ignominy ; or a terrible daily burden 
 of fear and horror before him. But Jane knew the 
 man ; she had tried him ; he would not flinch. He 
 had set himself not only the task of defending her 
 
382 THE BRE TON MIL L S. 
 
 from the punishment of her crime ; but even from 
 the guilty consciousness of it. 
 
 While Jane Ellingsworth affected to be admir 
 ing the horses, she studied the stern set look of 
 the face of this devoted husband, the deathly weari 
 ness about his mouth, the suspense 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 humilia 
 tion and loneliness, and now the hourly fear of in 
 famy, certain to come in due time. Bertha was 
 smiling idly at some children at play by the road 
 side ; 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 could be racked at last, unshaken 
 as it was yet by the ruin it had worked in three 
 lives. 
 
 Philip pulled up his horses at the counting-room 
 door. 
 
 " There are the mills," and he pointed his whip 
 at the great brick buildings, that seemed murmuring 
 hoarsely to themselves in their own strange lan 
 guage. 
 
 " But I want to go into them," insisted Bertha 
 after she had alighted. 
 
EVIL EYES. 383 
 
 " It wouid not interest you," answered Philip 
 steadily. " Would it, Mrs. Ellingsworth ? " 
 
 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 set and slightly 
 unpleasant. 
 
 " It is very dusty and the smell of the oil would 
 make you ill," suggested Mrs. Ellingsworth. They 
 were standing at the edge of the piazza, in full view 
 of the windows of the workroom above, and the help 
 were collecting curiously and looking down. 
 
 Please come into the office." Philip laid his 
 hand lightly on Bertha s arm, but she stepped a little 
 away from him. 
 
 "No, I thank you ! " she answered in measured 
 tones. " I will wait here for you." 
 
 A gentleman whom no one noticed had come up 
 the street, from the depot, and was just crossing over 
 toward them. 
 
 " Please not wait here, my love," urged Philip, 
 very gently. " Only see the help from the windows 
 above are all staring at you." 
 
 " It will not harm me. May I trouble you to 
 help me into the carriage ? I think I will sit there. 
 Thank you." 
 
 Jane stood back a little, watching the unravel 
 ing of the plot, whose thread she held in her hands. 
 
THE BRETON MILLS, 
 
 It was very thrilling. She saw the stranger come 
 up and lay his hand on Philip Breton s shoulder. 
 Who could he be with his mysterious air, his black 
 felt hat torn in the crown, and his shiny broadcloth 
 coat without cuffs? Philip had glanced again up at 
 the windows on the floor above, where a number of 
 the operatives had gathered. Behind 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 fea 
 tures Philip had seen reflected in the sideboard mir 
 ror the day he brought his bride home. It was 
 Thomas Bailes, one of the witnesses to Bertha s mar 
 riage with Curran. But Bertha sat superbly indif 
 ferent, the centre of their evil eyes, the mark of 
 their scurrilous words. Philip turned as the stranger s 
 hand fell on his shoulder. 
 
 " May I have your ear for a moment ? " said the 
 ill dressed man in a low tone. Philip seemed to 
 stagger under a new 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 by chance at the gate of his great mill yard, 
 ignorant each of the very existence and of the mo- 
 
EVIL EYES. 385 
 
 lives of the others, but each working for the ruin of 
 a life. Three mines were planted under one weak 
 woman s feet, but neither enemy knew there was an 
 other; they were plotters, but not conspirators, and 
 more deadly 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 the 
 focus of three pairs of hostile eyes, calm, beautiful, 
 unconscious ; the air might be 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; he did not know how 
 many foes he must fight, he did not know their plan 
 of battle, but if sleepless guardianship and devotion 
 unto death can save her he 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 smile at least. But she preferred 
 to watch the impatient horses* pawing the earth 
 beneath their feet, and Philip turned to the man who 
 had touched his shoulder. The man was staring 
 with insolent familiarity at Bertha, as if he had a 
 certain right of property in her. 
 
 " I am ready," said Philip fiercely, " come 
 
 inside." The paymaster called his name, but he did 
 
 not listen to him. He waited till the attorney, Gid- 
 
 dings, passed over the threshold of his office, then he 
 
 25 
 
386 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 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 you associate 
 with ?" 
 
 The man s face grew a ghastly yellow, while his 
 eyes tried to seek out some safe corner in the room. 
 
 11 My God," and Philip advanced upon the law 
 yer s retreating form till he shrank down in a chair, 
 and winced as if he already felt the threatening 
 blow. " I would kill you as I would a dog " He 
 stopped, and the mad gleam died out of his eyes. 
 He threw himself into a chair, and covered his face 
 with his trembling fingers. " But one crime in a 
 household is enough." There was a dead silence for 
 a moment, then the lawyer, seeing he was out of 
 danger, plucked up courage. 
 
 " That was the" very thing I called about." 
 Philip took his hands from his face, and his eyes 
 seemed to Giddings to be burning their way deep 
 down into his contemptible soul. Then he looked 
 at the man s frayed coat, frayed at the edges, and at 
 his torn hat that he kept upon his knee, and the 
 lawyer twitched uneasily under his scrutiny. 
 
 " I thought I was done with you forever," he said 
 with a bitter smile at last, " why, it was only a little 
 -let me see " 
 
 " I know it, I know it, but somehow my money 
 
EVIL EYES. 387 
 
 went pretty fast.* And a new cunning leer came 
 into his face. He was beginning to feel at home, 
 though somehow, he could not look his victim in the 
 eye to-day. " But there is a new point I have 
 thought of since I saw you." He tried to look at 
 him, but could not get his eyes to stay any higher 
 than Philip s shoulder. The baptism of fire he had 
 suffered, had given a certain new dignity to the 
 young man s face, that cowed his visitor. " I mean 
 the risk I run ; do you know what the law calls 
 what I am doing ?" Giddings lowered his voice to 
 affect a frightened whisper. " It is compounding of 
 felony. I was only thinking I ought to be paid for 
 my risk." 
 
 " Let me see," said Philip in stern irony, " two 
 hundred dollars for keeping your secret now how 
 much for the risk?" 
 
 " Well," and the man grinned painfully, " you 
 might make it up to an even five hundred, all to 
 gether you know, to include everything," Giddings 
 managed to raise his eyes, for an instant, to Philip s 
 face. 
 
 "And do you think there won t be any more 
 points? You know I can t submit to be bled at this 
 rate." 
 
 " Oh, no, I assure you, not another cent. I had 
 to pay debts with the first, you know, and buy 
 clothes." Philip was astonished at himself, but he 
 
388 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 really had heart to smile as he looked the man 
 over. 
 
 " Yes, you must have laid out the greater part 
 of it on clothes." Giddings pulled his chair up to 
 the table. 
 
 " I will sign anything you say." Philip had 
 risen, and was crossing to the paymaster s office. 
 " Wait," insisted the lawyer, " I will write an agree 
 ment in a minute." 
 
 " Your engagement, eh ? No, I won t trouble 
 you." He stepped into the paymaster s room, 
 " Have you three hundred dollars in the safe, Mr. 
 Smith? Coupon bonds will do. Thank you." 
 
 "Will you step in here as soon as possible?" 
 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 Giddings 
 passed each other. 
 
 " Good morning, Bailes," began Philip, without 
 turning his face to his discharged servant. " I sup 
 pose I was a little harsh sending you away as I did." 
 He spoke hurriedly, as if it were a painful task he 
 were performing. " Let this make it up to you," 
 and the mill-owner threw a roll of bills on the table 
 much as a man would throw a bone to a dog, though 
 he would have been hearty if he could have forced 
 
EVIL EYES. 389 
 
 his tongue to do the false service. The man took 
 up the money with the air of the trained waiter tak 
 ing up his fee. He asked no questions, he ut 
 tered 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 rascal s 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 keep up the conversation all the way 
 home in spite of the ungraciousness -of the others. 
 After Mrs. Ellingsworth 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 of honor; it was their honey 
 moon. It surely would control this dangerous 
 servant since it had worked so marvelously with the 
 lawyer. 
 
 " I am so anxious to see how cloth is made/ per 
 sisted Bertha, never losing sight of her object. 
 
 To be sure the servant had had personal offence 
 
3QO THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 with his master, he might not unnaturally cherish 
 malice. But gold is a sovereign balm for wounded 
 pride, only wouldn t it have been wiser to have given 
 him more since he gave him something? He must 
 attend to the matter to-morrow. Perhaps, after all 
 there might be some hope for his wife and for him. 
 How glorious it was to be rich and have power to 
 save her. He would scatter his wealth like leaves 
 in autumn, for her sake. His mill, yes, he 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 even their enemies 
 and tormentors would weep for them, and let his 
 beautiful bride lie down to die in peace. 
 
 " 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 a new pretty coquettishness. 
 
 "Will 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 he 
 caught her into his arms. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 
 
 Incautious Driving. 
 
 GOOD morning, my darling." But there was an 
 other letter at Philip Breton s breakfast 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 he ought never to for 
 get. How could he tell what moment he would be 
 called upon to strain every nerve to save his darling. 
 He tore open the letter in uncontrollable terror ; oh, 
 it was only from Philbrick. Had Bertha noticed his 
 excitement, and would she question him in wifely 
 concern? He had so much to guard against. But 
 no, her graceful arm was raised to pour his coffee, 
 inclining her head prettily on one side, as women 
 always do at tea and coffee-pouring. She did not 
 watch his face as 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 ; he told himself he ought to be 
 thankful for it, instead of ever permitting his foolish 
 
39 2 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 heart to ache. He ran his eyes rapidly over the let 
 ter his white-haired friend had sent him. 
 
 " I suppose it is paper thrown away, but I want 
 to remind you once more of my offer, to take your 
 mill off your hands. I have made up my mind to 
 try my scheme somewhere. I am old and feel as if 
 I would like to do something for my race with my 
 money, which I have 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 industrial plan. I will pay you 
 one-third its valuation, one-third you shall keep at 
 four 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 my discretion shall dictate. 
 This is a glorious opportunity, but I suppose I am 
 wild to expect you to take it, only that I have read 
 in the newspapers of growing discontent among your 
 help. Various reasons are given for it ; my 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 things as I do, and be willing to let me try where 
 you have failed. If so telegraph me at once and I 
 will come. 
 
 Philip folded the letter thoughtfully and put it 
 back in its envelop. No, he was not ready for that 
 
INCAUTIOUS DRIVING. 393 
 
 yet. But he 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 yet. 
 
 " 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 to-day ? " 
 
 " Did I promise that ? " He put back his coffee 
 cup untasted. 
 
 " Certainly, Philip, and I cannot let you off." 
 
 " But you must." His face grew dark at the 
 thought that she should put at naught all his care 
 ful plans to secure her present safety. Bertha pushed 
 back her chair and rising angrily to her feet, swept 
 from the room without another word. Philip tried 
 in vain to swallow the mouthfuls of food he so much 
 needed, then he started on foot for the mill. 
 
 That Bertha should be angry with him seemed 
 the last intolerable blow; was he not bearing enough 
 before? He had made her unhappy, perhaps she 
 was weeping hot tears of impatience now ; she had 
 thought he loved her enough to grant her every 
 wish that might cross her heart. Philip was tempted 
 to go back and 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 her unmerited re 
 proach His sympathy for her grew stronger than 
 
394 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 his consciousness of his own 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 vexa 
 tion, he should have forgot his 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. 
 
 Philip was so absorbed in his thoughts that he 
 did not observe that he was close upon an excited 
 crowd of village people, till such words as these fell 
 .upon his ear : 
 
 " A noice friend of the poor man he be, with his 
 four fancy hosses, his silver dishes to eat his vict 
 uals off of, and his house like a king s palace, while 
 we lives and dies in dirt and poverty. Who made 
 him better nor us? do he work harder? do he sleep 
 less? No, but he have his venison and his game 
 dinners, while us starves on tea and crackers ; he 
 sprawls on his fine cushions, and sleeps in his soft 
 beds, while we rots in close attics, and loafs in dirty 
 saloons, the poor man s only home. What title 
 have he got to have better than we, and give him 
 self airs over us ? 
 
 Philip was astonished. The man who stood on 
 the steps of one of the tenement houses, instructing 
 an audience extending quite across the highway, 
 was no other than the incendiary who had so nearly 
 
INCA UTIO US DR1 VING. 395 
 
 caused the ruin of the Breton Mills the night of the 
 great fire. The fellow s hair was cropped as close to 
 his bullet head as it was then. 
 
 The audience was mostly made up of old men, 
 women, and children, with here and there an able- 
 bodied man, who preferred talking about his rights 
 to deserving anything. One or two had observed 
 the young mill-owner, but they took no pains to 
 spread the intelligence, and in a moment more the 
 agitator had caught his breath and went on. 
 
 " He feeds his hosses more n would keep two 
 poor families. The wines he drinks every day cost 
 enough to keep another two." 
 
 Perhaps the man was right in his tirade. Perhaps 
 Philip Breton had only begun to grasp the first out 
 lines of the great question he had fancied mastered. 
 
 " But ye kiss his hand." 
 
 " No we won t," shouted the crowd. There 
 stood Thomas Bailes, Philip s discharged servant, in 
 the middle of the street, shouting with the rest. He 
 could afford to be idle since his liberal present. 
 
 " Ye will thank him for his bein so kind to ye." 
 
 " No, no, screamed the women. What a fool 
 Philip Breton had been to count on gratitude. Hu 
 man nature is too progressive to be grateful. Per 
 haps he deserved no thanks. He had done more 
 than others for his help the more fool he was, 
 all sides would agree, unless he went further. He 
 
39^ THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 ought to have been either a thorough radical, or a 
 thorough conservative. All parties abuse the half 
 way reformer, a vessel of pottery between two jars 
 of iron, he is certain to be crushed. 
 
 A carriage was struggling down the street. 
 How slow the crowd were to give way ; they were 
 so much interested in their orator, they did not no 
 tice they were obstructing the highway. 
 
 " What good is such men as him ? our w.omen 
 is stronger than them sort. 
 
 That horse seemed spirited, or else not properly 
 guided. Ah, the driver ought not to use a whip in 
 such a situation as this. Good heavens ! the horse 
 had become unmanageable. A man, it was Bailes 
 himself, and a woman had been struck by the shafts 
 and rolled under the feet of the horse, who was now 
 rearing and plunging, while the crowd scattered in 
 all directions with screams and curses. 
 
 Under the very wheels of the carriage lay a 
 woman stunned and helpless from the blow she had 
 received. Instant death threatened her, when a 
 man s form rose suddenly out of the dust under the 
 horse s iron shoes and caught the excited animal by 
 his bit. The crowd gathered in more closely than 
 ever, while a dozen hands dragged out the old 
 woman from her terrible situation, and wiped the 
 dust from her white ghastly face. The orator had 
 ceased his eloquence, and all danger of accident 
 
INC A U TIO US DRI VI NG. 397 
 
 seemed now averted, so Philip Breton was passing 
 on his way. 
 
 But Bertha, for the occupant of the carriage was 
 no other than she, found her way blocked in all direc 
 tions by an angry mob. 
 
 " Pull her out, scarlet face," screamed the women. 
 " Tear her pretty rags off from her." The bare 
 footed children threw earth at her ; lean, dirty fin 
 gers plucked at her delicate skirts. How dared they 
 touch her ! she shrank from the pollution of contact 
 with such creatures as these, with a terror that would 
 be inconceivable to a man. She saw them gather 
 around the restive horse, who seemed as impatient 
 of their touch as she ; they were beginning to undo 
 his harness. In another moment she would be lost. 
 But the horse was strong, could he not break through 
 them ? She did not care how many he should 
 trample to death ; she would rather, a thousand 
 times rather, die herself, than endure their insulting 
 touch. But a rough hand caught the whip from 
 her grasp ; the creature s unpared nails hurt her; 
 another hand was on her shoulders ; and vile words, 
 whose meaning she only felt, were on every tongue. 
 Her heart grew sick ; oh, God would not let her 
 faint ; oh, not now ; oh, not now ; but her vision 
 seemed failing, she could not see to the horse s 
 head, and the terrible insults the people hurled at 
 her grew indistinct, like a roaring of many waters in 
 
39$ THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 her ears. But she saw a hideous-faced hag reac i 
 her bare brawny arm into the carriage and clutch at 
 her feet ; they were lifting her out. But a hand like 
 iron flung the virago back. 
 
 " Stand off. It is my wife ! " The mill-owner s 
 wife The crowd fell back for a moment, as if it 
 was news to them ; but Philip knew by instinct, the 
 lull would only last for a moment. He must make 
 the most of it. He had only time to refasten a 
 little of the harness, when a sharp stone struck him 
 on the cheek and drew blood. 
 
 " How many husbands can a woman have ? " 
 screamed a woman on the sidewalk. 
 
 "Jail s the place for her," growled a man at "his 
 shoulder. Then the crowd closed in again. 
 
 u Let go the bit," demanded Philip, never quail 
 ing. But Bailes only grinned at him, as Philip had 
 seen him before, and tightened his hold on the horse. 
 
 " You re too small to give orders ; I aint in your 
 pay now." But before the fellow had time to put 
 up a guard, his young master had struck him a blow 
 in the face that fairly staggered him, large man as 
 he was. 
 
 " Oh, that s your game, is it? Make way, boys, 
 all I want is room. I ll finish him up quick." 
 
 The man wanted to make use of his weight and 
 strength in the directest way possible, so he rushed 
 forward to close with his antagonist, throwing up his 
 
INC A UTIO US DRI VING. 3 99 
 
 hands to protect himself. But he miscalculated and 
 his cheek bone fairly cracked with the force of the 
 second blow. Bailes drew back for another attack; 
 the smile of contempt was gone from his bruised 
 and bleeding face, but a very dangerous look was in 
 his eyes. His young master had lost his first pale 
 ness, a bright red spot burned in each cheek and his 
 black eyes flashed forth defiance. The discharged 
 servant ducked his head and came at Philip like a 
 maddened ox. The crowd held their breath ; the 
 slight form of the master would go down, and the 
 victor would pound his young life out of him. Was 
 the lad crazy to invite a battle with a man of almost 
 twice his weight ? The young man did not flinch a 
 hair s breadth. He raised his arm again. What 
 good of battering against the fellow s thick skull ? 
 He was upon him no, Philip had leaped aside at the 
 last moment, and, as Bailes went past, had dealt 
 him a blow in the temple that sent his great form 
 reeling to the ground. 
 
 Before the crowd had time to move Philip had 
 leaped into the carriage and caught the reins from 
 his fainting wife. He turned his horse into an open 
 space and the half fastened harness let the carriage 
 run against the animal s legs. It was better than a 
 thousand whips, and he broke into a wild gallop. 
 Bailes had only time to get his feet and shout after 
 the young mill-owner, 
 
400 THE BRETON Ml LI S. 
 
 " This is only the first round." 
 
 Philip heard his words and muttered to himself, 
 " I ought to have killed him, since I had to beat 
 him ; there isn t gold enough in California to buy 
 him over now." 
 
 "What did they mean, Philip?" Bertha was 
 lying on the sofa in her own little blue room. 
 Philip had put a pillow beneath her tired head and 
 was kneeling by her side watching for the color to 
 come back to her frightened cheeks. 
 
 " Thank God she did not know, not yet. 
 
 He looked down at the veins in her pretty hands ; 
 how many there were to-day. 
 
 "It was only their senseless jargon. They aie 
 angry with me you know. Do not think about it 
 again." 
 
 She opened her great blue eyes on him. She 
 was going to thank him no doubt for her rescue out 
 of the terrible peril. 
 
 " You look so small and weak. I wouldn t have 
 thought you had any strength." That was all she 
 had for him. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Ink. 
 
 T)HILIP left his wife to fall asleep if she could, 
 JL and made his way to his study where he and 
 his father before him had fought out so many bat 
 tles. His secret was out. The police might be at 
 his door that very night to claim his bride back from 
 him. He had beaten one man for her, but he could 
 not defend her against the force they would bring 
 against him. The air of his little village had grown 
 close and suffocating. How long would it be before 
 the storm would burst. He tried to calm himself 
 and calculate how much time his crowding destiny 
 would give him. He was rich and powerful and had 
 many friends, and nothing that could happen to hfe 
 wife could make him less formidable, though it 
 mieht break his heart. There was not a soul in 
 
 o 
 
 Bretonville but had something to hope of his favor, 
 or to fear from his displeasure. He could shut up 
 his mills and the village would become a desert ; he 
 could lower wages and send starvation knocking at 
 every door. And there was not one creature in the 
 village but knew his power. He had not used it to 
 25 
 
402 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 harm them yet, but would a man not forget mercy 
 in defending his own home? And then what did 
 they know, after all, even the mob that had insulted 
 his wife? They might suspect, but suspicion was 
 not enough to give them courage to assail all the 
 bulwarks of wealth and respectability about such a 
 home as Philip Breton s. Even the discharged 
 servant, Thomas Bailes, did not hold the trump 
 card in this terrible game of life and death. No one 
 held it but Giddings the lawyer and he was provided 
 for as yet. 
 
 Philip paused before the window. There could 
 be no vital danger yet. It would take time. His 
 enemies were on the right track but there were 
 blind windings in it that would hinder the scent. 
 Hinder it, but at last what? His mills seemed to 
 hold him in bondage. His life work was here where 
 the danger was. He was to show the world what 
 an employer ought concede to his workmen. He 
 was to set a bright example to soften the rigor of 
 his class. Could he forsake his glorious work ? To 
 be sure his workmen were proving themselves un 
 grateful, and murmured louder against him to-day 
 than ever against his father. They had taken their 
 children away from the schools to spite him, though 
 he would not suffer their little bodies to be tortured 
 in the mills any more. His cost stores were well 
 nigh deserted and the provisions spoiling on the 
 
INK. 403 
 
 shelves, to punish him, it seemed, for ever trying to 
 be kind to them. They begrudged him his luxuries, 
 as if it were their money that bought them. There 
 were no more smiles and hearty words for him from 
 the poor he had done the best he knew for, and all 
 the manufacturers around were laughing at his fail 
 ure, they called it. 
 
 But a look of determination came over the young 
 man s pale face. He believed he could plant his feet 
 like the rock and wear out their impatience. The 
 violence of his people should not make him tremble. 
 He was their friend and they would come to believe 
 it. He had not done all they wished, but he could 
 not see any farther, and he would take no step 
 blindly because of reproaches. If he was not right 
 he was nearer right than thousands of his class. 
 By-and-by their turbulence would subside, when it 
 could not stir him, and his measures would have 
 time to bring forth their certain fruit of smiles and 
 prosperity. New blocks of mills would stretch away 
 in all directions, and the homes of his working people 
 would dot with happy cottages all the hills and val 
 leys near. 
 
 But Bertha. Did he love his mills or her the 
 more ? She must not even guess her own terrible 
 story or her life would be clouded like his. But the 
 air of the village would soon be trembling with the 
 news and the hand of pitiless justice would be laid 
 
404 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 upon her. And should he wait for it ? God had 
 granted him one week of peace, and now this month 
 for warning. Was not the world large ? Were there 
 not high mountains and unpeopled deserts where 
 they could be safe, where he could hide his darling 
 from insulting looks and words, where no prison 
 cells gaped open for her? 
 
 A sudden great light broke over Philip s face as 
 he walked his little study with rapid turns. He 
 could save her. The plan unfolded itself in his 
 mind. He could save her. There was yet time if 
 he were quick. He must give up his great plan for 
 his workmen ; he must sell his mill, but he could 
 yet save his wife if she were willing. But she might 
 refuse to go. Philip hurried to the room where he 
 had left her and opened the door so suddenly that 
 she started up in terror. Her nerves were so shaken 
 that day, poor girl. 
 
 " Bertha, my love," he said breathlessly, " How 
 would you like a trip to Europe?" 
 
 " You are joking, Philip." Was it eagerness or 
 aversion in her eyes ? he felt afraid to look and see. 
 What resource was left if she would not go? " How 
 can you leave your business? " 
 
 There was an inflection in her voice, that made 
 him glance quickly at her face. The coldest women 
 have their enthusiasms ; he had touched on hers ; he 
 hardly knew her, her face had such a new vitality in it. 
 
INK. 405 
 
 "And would you really like it so much?" he 
 said, with his deep tenderness, that had a touch of 
 reproach in it she was too dull ever to take. He 
 came up to her, and explained what charming routes 
 they should take, and what lovely lands they should 
 see. Not France and Italy and the banks of the 
 Rhine alone, but even Egypt and the far East, not 
 a spot of beauty in the whole far-off world, but they 
 would enjoy it. 
 
 A flush was on Bertha s cheeks, at last, and her 
 eyes shone like a young girl s while a lover whispers 
 the first romance into her ears. And Philip sat by 
 her side only too happy to see her smile, and to touch 
 her golden braids of hair. 
 
 It was after the table in Mrs. Ginness factory 
 boarding house had been set for next mornings 
 breakfast, which was soon after tea this same day, that 
 one of the boarders came into the dining-room and 
 cleared away the dishes in front of him to write a 
 letter. It was not a very highly ornamented room, 
 but everything was painfully clean, that is remind 
 ing one painfully of the aching arms of some poor 
 woman, everything but the table-cloth, and certainly 
 no one ever saw a clean table-cloth in a factory 
 boarding house. Clean linen is one of the most ex 
 clusive luxuries of the rich, the industrious poor may 
 achieve shining floors, and glistening faces, but spot 
 less linen is quite beyond them. But it made very 
 
406 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 little difference to this man to-night, for his eyes 
 were swollen so that discriminating vision was out of 
 the question. He spread his paper before him, and 
 after uncorking his ink bottle, made two or three 
 abortive attempts to dip his pen. Then Bailes, for it 
 was he, looked around to see if anybody was laugh 
 ing at him. But the room was empty, all but a 
 French girl and her lover in one corner, who were 
 quite too much taken up with each other to take 
 notice of anybody else. Then he tried again, and 
 this time inked not alone the pen and half the length 
 of the holder, but the palm of his hand in addition, 
 and as a natural but apparently not foreseen conse 
 quence, that portion of the table-cloth within his 
 reach. If it had been much that Bailes had cared to 
 say, he probably would have given it up in despair, 
 but it was only two lines, and even a blind man could 
 write two lines, if he had a whole sheet of paper for 
 leeway. The two lines Bailes wrote were these. 
 
 " Curran. You are wanted here at once ! A 
 friend." 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Too Late. 
 
 IT was the afternoon of the Wednesday that the 
 steamer " Salvator " was to sail. But Philip 
 Breton and the woman he 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 hour; the last 
 bell must be ringing now, and friends were saying 
 their farewell words, handkerchiefs were waving 
 graceful adieux, with here and there a teardrop. 
 Home seemed very sweet at this moment of separa 
 tion, and dreams of joys in strange lands seemed too 
 vague to comfort many a heart that had been light 
 and merry till now. 
 
 Philip had not slept these two nights for anx 
 iety. The very air had seemed so full of danger, he 
 had feared the storm would burst upon them before 
 to-day. New haggard lines had come into his face. 
 He had watched all the countenances of the villagers 
 for signs and warnings ; would his enemies give him 
 time ? Well, they had given him time, and yet he 
 waited. 
 
408 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 He had driven to every train for his old friend 
 Philbrick, but he had failed him. He had strained 
 his blood-shot eyes so eagerly last night to make 
 him out of the solitary arrival on the evening train. 
 If the old man had known how much depended on 
 him, he would surely have hastened. Philip dared 
 not trust his mills in any hands but his. The old 
 man would be gentle with his charge ; he was pa 
 tient, he had broader ideas than Philip Breton, he 
 was less of an aristocrat. And his mills were very 
 dear to Philip only less dear than his wife. Per 
 haps the old man might come yet, before the next 
 steamer sailed, but there were three long days for 
 his terrible secret to work its way to the light 
 three long dark nights for a blow to fall. 
 
 Philip found Bertha in the drawing-room, wait 
 ing for him. She had not understood the delay, but 
 never suspected that the steamer had sailed. The 
 excitement that flushed her face, seemed to have 
 smoothed out the lines of care, her eyes were 
 brighter than love for him had ever made them. 
 She seemed grown young as the first day in the gar 
 den she had fallen asleep on his shoulder. How the 
 poor girl longed to go. He stood a moment before 
 her, and love and sorrow swept over his soul in 
 alternate waves. She was his beautiful wife, who 
 looked to him for her only protection. And out of 
 pity for the mob that had insulted her, he had let 
 
TOO LATE. 409 
 
 slip, perhaps, his last hope of saving her. What did 
 the wretches deserve ? and he had sacrificed his wife 
 to them. He had made those sweet eager eyes 
 weep forever ; that queenly gold-crowned head 
 must bow in humiliation. How the world would 
 wonder that he had not saved her from a felon s 
 cell, with such wealth and power as his to command. 
 He had risked her salvation to soften the fate of the 
 thousand ungrateful creatures in his mill who cared 
 nothing/or him. 
 
 " Oh, Bertha, forgive me ! " he cried as if his 
 heart broke that moment. All his hope seemed 
 dead then ; the waters of desolation were sweeping 
 in ceaseless swelling waves over his soul. 
 
 For a moment the woman looked at him in 
 silence, trying to interpret for herself the mean 
 ing on his wan, passion-marked face. It was for 
 him the supreme moment of an agony such a 
 soul as hers could not even conceive of. The 
 man suffered more in that moment, than the foul 
 est dungeon in the world, or the scoffs of a city 
 rabble, or the contempt of every woman that 
 ever spoke her name could hurt her. Then she 
 drew herself back from him ; she thought, poor 
 creature, she understood the expression on his 
 face. 
 
 "Then you have missed the steamer, and you 
 knew, too, how much I wanted to go/ He did not 
 
4 l O THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 speak, but a pitiful look of confusion was struggling 
 into his face. 
 
 " When can we go, then ? " she asked coldly. 
 
 " The next steamer sails Saturday." Saturday ! 
 Poor girl, poor Bertha ! the furies are folding their 
 black wings this instant to settle about her soul. 
 She only thought it was her pleasure trip was de 
 ferred, It was his plan to save her from impending 
 ruin failed. One of the ministers of evil was at the 
 gate this moment now at the door in the hall. 
 Then the servant announced a name, and Mrs. Ell- 
 ingsvvorth stepped into the room. 
 
 She had been smiling her best, but every smile 
 vanished at 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 over the damask upholstery ; 
 the piano was closed and packed. Bertha looked 
 listlessly at her. 
 
 " Oh, won t you sit down." But this strange 
 visitor stood as if rooted to her place. 
 
 " You are going away ? " Philip turned a sur 
 prised glance at her, the tone she assumed was 
 crisp and imperious. He saw the dangerous look 
 come into the dark brilliant eyes, which forgot their 
 dissembling for the moment. The woman knew 
 everything. In some way she had learned the 
 
TOO LATE. 411 
 
 secret. Would she dare denounce his wife before 
 him ? Was he so poor a man a woman like this 
 dared to beard him? He did not speak. Her mes 
 sage of scorn a,nd infamy would come in a moment, 
 she would tear down the veil he had spread before 
 his wife s crime ; he saw her red lips fairly trembling 
 with the bitter words. Then Philip looked at her no 
 more, but his eyes rested pityingly on Bertha. How 
 would she meet it? would she flush into rare pas 
 sion ? would she turn pale and faint in overpowering 
 shame ? 
 
 " Yes, we were going to Europe," answered Ber 
 tha, utterly unconscious of the hate that glowered at 
 her out of the flashing eyes. " Philip did not want 
 me to speak of it or I should have told you before ; 
 but I suppose it don t make any difference now, 
 since we ve lost the steamer. It left the pier an 
 hour ago. So we are not going now till Saturday. 
 Isn t that it, Philip dear ? Why, you don t mind my 
 telling Jane ? " It was Bertha s own words, then, 
 that had decided her fate. There had been some 
 hope before, Philip now remembered ; but at last her 
 deadliest enemy knew everything. The mine would 
 be sprung before to-morrow s sun had set. He could 
 see it in the sudden triumphant gleam in the woman s 
 eyes before she thought to smile. But Bertha was 
 the only one who could talk, just yet. 
 
 " Won t you lend me a few things, to get me 
 
4 12 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 over a few days, everything is packed up, and our 
 ba gg a g e on tne way, you know ? " and Bertha went 
 on to explain in detail her ludicrous necessities. 
 " To-morrow will do." V 
 
 " Certainly, I only wish you had let me help you 
 get ready." But her light laugh could not deceive 
 Philip again ; only it was too late now to guard 
 against her. " I will run right home and get the 
 things you spoke of ready for to-rnorrow." 
 
 Yes, and there were some other things she had 
 not spoken of, Jane Ellingsworth would have ready 
 for to-morrow, too. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 The Last Straw. 
 
 " "\/ r OU are too late, my friend." Philip had been 
 
 A sitting in his study in the darkness which was 
 not more black than his life. But he arose to give 
 his cold hand to Mr. Philbrick, who had come at last. 
 
 "Why too late? This is only Wednesday. Have 
 you changed your mind ? I did not suppose there 
 was so much hurry, and I wanted to have everything 
 leady." 
 
 " It is too late," answered Philip gloomily. What 
 use to tell the old gentleman that Philip Breton s 
 wife was a criminal before the law, that the transfer 
 of the mill property was only a part of his scheme to 
 save her from an infamous penalty, that their deadli 
 est enemy knew all their plans now, and no doubt 
 her sleepless eyes watched their every movement, 
 lest they should escape her hate. 
 
 The servant came to the door, " I suppose you 
 will have lights, sir. Some men from the mill folks 
 want to see you." 
 
 " Oh yes, show them in," he said carelessly. 
 
 There were not chairs enough for the four work- 
 
THE BRE TON MILLS. 
 
 men who came stumbling in like pall bearers at a 
 country funeral, but Philip did not even seem to look 
 at them. One took his place by the window, and 
 soiled the curtain with his hands ; another, apparently 
 the spokesman, disdained to lean against 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 
 arms bowed out at the elbows. 
 
 " I suppose you have some complaints to make," 
 said the young mill-owner, with a gentleness of tone 
 that was quite misunderstood by the delegation, who 
 immediately tried to look very fierce. 
 
 " Ye re right sir," answered the man in the cen 
 tre of the room. "Ye know yerself, ye aint doin 
 the right thing by us." 
 
 Philip did not speak for a moment, and Mr. Phil- 
 brick would have thought he had not heard the fel 
 low, only for a little twitching at the corners of his 
 mouth. Apparently the young man was deeply hurt 
 by his failure to satisfy his men. 
 
 " I have done the best I knew." 
 
 " Wai, we kin tell yer, if ye don t know no bet 
 ter," resumed the workman insolently. Philip s eyes 
 flashed at him, then dropped to the carpet again. 
 " Pay us more wages for one thing, shorten up our 
 hours for another." 
 
 " You fare better than others. I divide the profit 1 * 
 
THE LAST STRA W. 41 5 
 
 with you. You thought I was very good to you 
 once." The young man s tone was not argumenta 
 tive, it was too hopeless for that. 
 
 " Yer don t divy even ; our share don t mount to 
 nothin ," put in the man who was soiling the window 
 curtain. 
 
 " I am sorry for you, but you can t expect me to 
 make you all rich." There was such a sadness of re 
 proach in Philip s voice, that a mist gathered before 
 Philbrick s kind eyes. But the workmen got the idea 
 they were frightening the young master. 
 
 Then Philip rose wearily to his feet and turned 
 his grave troubled eyes almost wistfully to one after 
 another of the visitors. 
 
 " I have gone as far as I can see my way. Don t 
 you think you had better be patient with me?" 
 
 " Be you goin to raise our pay?" Philip shook 
 his head thoughtfully. 
 
 " I cannot understand it is my duty or my right. 5 
 
 "Are you goin to shorten up our hours?" asked 
 the man at the window. 
 
 " I cannot " 
 
 The chief spokesman turned to his companions. 
 " Ther aint no use. Wai squire, to-morrow you may 
 wish you had. Come along, boys." 
 
 Philip had dropped back heavily into his chair. 
 He seemed to have forgotten the presence of Mr. 
 Philbrick, till that gentleman began to explain his 
 
4 1 6 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 more perfect system. Then he looked at him vague 
 ly, as if he were trying to understand the man s 
 object in distressing him. Had he not told the old 
 gentleman he was too late ? 
 
 " How can you expect your help to be satisfied," 
 Philbrick was saying ; " even if they were well paid it 
 would be small object for them to be shut up all their 
 lives, as if they were convicts. But you don t pay them 
 either. It isn t because the business don t pay, for 
 your father s profits and yours were enormous. It is all 
 the result of a false valuation of the worth of services. 
 Now I shall seek to remove the burdens that crush 
 the people and restrict their natural development," 
 went on Mr. Philbrick as he rose to his feet and bent 
 eagerly over the table toward his young friend. 
 
 " Their own energies will accomplish more than 
 any plans of mine can effect, in ways we cannot fore 
 see, but it will only be through the elevation of the 
 common people, as we call them, that this world will 
 become a fit place to live in. The progressive energy 
 of untrammeled nature will bring about all beautiful 
 results." 
 
 Mr. Philbrick did not appear to have understood 
 his meaning, but Philip said nothing at first. How 
 well his old friend had kept his enthusiasm through 
 all the years of his life ! Well, it would do no harm 
 to let him talk on. 
 
 "You will ask me for details." Mr. Philbrick 
 
THE LAST STRA W 4! 7 
 
 took his seat again and drew up to him a sheet "of 
 paper and a pencil. " You will ask what burdens 
 they are that are on the million, only the common 
 necessary burdens of human nature. I will tell you 
 the principal burden, it is the intolerable tribute to 
 accumulated capital laid upon the working classes, 
 which makes a tyrant of the man who has saved 
 a surplus out his wages, and causes the hopeless 
 vis inertia of poverty. Like all forms of slavery its 
 effects are great apparent luxury, which never pen 
 etrates below the very surface of society, and tireless 
 industry which earns nothing 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 permit capital to take such 
 enormous profits as it does, every day and year it 
 increases, as wealth increases, the crushing tax on 
 labor. Instead of the wealth that is vaunted so 
 much helping the poor, every pound additional, 
 with our high rates of interest, makes the day 
 laborer s life more hopeless. The rich man who has 
 a surplus may spend it and thus live on it. His 
 wealth stands for so much labor, and he may live in 
 idleness on the strength of his former labor if he 
 spends it, otherwise somebody must work the harder 
 on his account. If he keeps his money and charges 
 interest on it, the burden he ought to bear is handed 
 27 
 
4 1 8 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 down from class to class till it can go no lower, and 
 the poorest men in the great city toil in rags and 
 squalor to support the jeweled aristocrat who would 
 not throw them a crust to satisfy their hunger. I 
 shall pay you but two per cent on the money I shall 
 owe you on account of the mill property. The rest 
 of the income of the business above two per cent, 
 belongs to the laborer." 
 
 The reformer glanced expectantly at Philip. But 
 the dull hopeless look that was on his face an hour 
 ago had not changed. 
 
 " I am not sure but that is too much," pursued 
 Mr. Philbrick, " but it will only be a little while 
 before I shall pay up the debt. 
 
 "How will you divide your profits?" asked 
 Philip, gravely. " Wouldn t you leave anything of 
 my pretty system ? " He smiled very sadly. 
 
 " Certainly," argued Philbrick, " I shall declare 
 dividends just as you did, only semi-annually. The 
 wages will remain at market rates, and each man 
 will receive a dividend in proportion to his half 
 year s work. But another thing. I don t want any 
 tenements for the help. I mean to have each family 
 own its home. We can t expect family virtues and 
 graces or a hundred other fine qualities from tene 
 ments. I shall mean to apply a certain part of each 
 dividend on a house lot which I shall hold by mort 
 gage at two per cent till paid for." 
 
THE LAST STRA W. 4*9 
 
 There was no use in stopping the enthusiastic 
 old gentleman, whose great heart was a fountain of 
 human kindness. It would be time enough for 
 Philip to tell him that he had changed his plans, 
 later. 
 
 "As for your cheap stores, I shall keep them," 
 continued Mr. Philbrick, in high spirits, " but I shall 
 go farther and furnish the help with amusements, 
 lectures, newspapers, even pictures, on the sarne 
 method. One important cause of high prices of 
 such things is the uncertainty in market and in pay 
 ment ; those that buy and pay have to pay enough 
 to make up for losses. This element of cost I shall 
 be able to save the village. But I shall also shorten 
 the hours of work. Six hours of confinement in the 
 mills is enough, and without leisure all the advan 
 tages I can give my work people will be of little 
 avail. I can let different sets of hands relieve each 
 other if it seems necessary, or build new mills and 
 take in a thousand more hands to share the blessings 
 of justice." 
 
 Mr. Philbrick leaned back in his chair and a great 
 light of benevolence shone in his face. It was a pity 
 to disappoint him. 
 
 " This is an opportunity I have hoped for a whole 
 lifetime. I can show the world that labor ought not 
 and need not be wretched and famished. It is more 
 blindness than wilful cruelty that delays great re- 
 
420 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 forms. If I can once show the world what justice is 
 and how it works it will not be long before "- 
 
 u But my dear friend," said Philip, dropping his 
 eyes to the floor, " did I not tell you it was too late. 
 I am not going to sell. You will have to select some 
 other spot for your Utopia." The young man spoke 
 bitterly. Unconscious of his selfishness he begrudged 
 the rest of the world the happiness he had missed. 
 
 Then came a moment of intense silence which 
 was broken at last, not by a voice but by the loud 
 ringing of a door-bell. It rang so violently the 
 great silent house echoed again. Had the end 
 come then? Philip leaped to his feet. Wild 
 thoughts of desperate expedients rushed through 
 his feverish brain, but he yet stood like a statue 
 when the study door opened behind him. He tore 
 open a telegram and read aloud, 
 
 " Steamer Salvator delayed till to-morrow morn 
 ing at three." 
 
 For a moment he did not take in its meaning. 
 Then he caught Philbrick s arm so tightly the old 
 gentleman almost cried out. 
 
 " Do you want the mills as you said ? You were 
 not joking, oh, you were not joking?" Philbrick 
 gazed at him in astonishment. Philip seemed in 
 such a terrible state of excitement. His pallor 
 was replaced by a burning flush, his eyes that had 
 been so dull shone with unnatural brightness. 
 
THE LAST STRAW. 421 
 
 "Your plans will succeed better than mine and you 
 can t find such a good place as this. You will take 
 my mills." 
 
 " 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 papers are all ready." And Mr. Phil- 
 brick took a bundle of documents from his breast 
 pocket, and laid them on the table. 
 
 " Where shall I sign them quick ? " 
 
 " 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 ?" 
 
 He hardly waited to take the papers Mr. Phil- 
 brick had signed for him. Then without another 
 word he rushed from the room and bounded up the 
 stairs. Freedom! safety! oh, thank God, thank 
 God ! He could save her yet. A castle on the 
 Rhine, a palace in Venice ; he would find the rarest 
 homes for her. How sweet it would be to hide with 
 her. The awful sense of hourly peril would lift 
 from his soul ; how long it had been since he 
 breathed a full breath. 
 
 He pushed open the door of the white chamber. 
 Bertha had been sleeping. The tear marks were on 
 
422 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 her cheeks that had lost their beautiful flush. She 
 was so disappointed, poor girl, and yet she never 
 guessed 
 
 " Wake up, wake up, my darling." She started 
 from the bed, and fell 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 
 three to-night." 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Unwelcome Visitors. 
 
 THE watchman at the mills was not a little sur 
 prised, as he went his first round that night, 
 to see a man s figure leaning against a pillar in one 
 of the weave-rooms. The fellow did not appear to 
 mean any harm ; he was not breaking any thing or 
 stealing any cloth, but how could he have found 
 his way inside ? The watchman felt a little uneasy 
 in spite of himself; it was such a thing as had never 
 happened before. 
 
 " Hello ! what business you got there ?" 
 But the interloper did not appear to hear him. 
 How oddly he looked at the looms, as if they were 
 living things that he loved. He had not spoken, 
 and his hat shaded his eyes, but the expression of 
 the attitude was so plain, that even so rude a man 
 as the watchman could read the tender reminiscence 
 in his heart. Perhaps the fellow might be crazy, 
 but this was no place for him. " Oh ! I didn t 
 know you, Mr. Breton. It is a nice evenin , sir." 
 
 But the mill-owner did not even answer him, and 
 moved away toward the window as if impatient at 
 
4 2 4 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 being interrupted. The moon was full, and the sky 
 was clear, only for a few silver-edged clouds. One, 
 he fancied a ship sailing over the sea, but how slowly 
 it glided ; could it go no faster? Ah! suddenly it 
 parted into bright fragments, and the wind scat 
 tered them pitilessly. He looked across at the 
 other mills ; the moonlight kissed their grim walls 
 fondly, and sparkled in their windows like a hundred 
 brilliant lamps. Why, here were his fire escapes, 
 close to the window coping his first business ven 
 ture. Philip raised the window and stepped out 
 side. 
 
 It was a wonderful night. Why couldn t people 
 sleep by day and awake for such glorious nights as 
 these? He looked down at the rising walls of his 
 new mill, whose foundations might have been on his 
 heart, so crushed it was to-night. It had risen three 
 stories high, and every brick ought to have been 
 gilded, to be as bright as his dreams for his new mill. 
 But it looked terribly like a tomb to him to-night, 
 within its wide walls were his buried hopes. But the 
 work would not stop, he was but one, and that mill 
 was for thousands. Others would admire its pro 
 portions, others, more blessed than he, watch over 
 its uses and rejoice in its happy throngs of workmen. 
 They would have but a scoff or a jest for him, only 
 too glad henceforth to hide from renown. How 
 many times he had walked the worn path in front of 
 
UNWELCOME VISITORS. 42$ 
 
 the mills, when grateful faces had only smiles for 
 him. But he would be forgotten as if he were dead, 
 that is what he must hope for. It seemed hard to 
 believe that his mills could run on without him, that 
 the great wheel would turn as willingly for another 
 as for him. 
 
 How old and crooked the mills looked. Was it 
 a trick of the fantastic moonlight, that made the 
 roofs look broken and the bell towers leaning, or was 
 it his own morbid fancy? But how terribly bright it 
 was, what a misfortune if a man were fleeing from a 
 relentless enemy such a night as this. Why from 
 his post he could see the winding roadways glisten 
 ing like running streams as they left the village and 
 crossed the plains on every side. 
 
 It must be nearly time for Bertha to come with 
 the carriage, as he had arranged. No, there was 
 half an hour yet. But Philip closed the window 
 behind him and went down the silent stairs. To 
 morrow morning they would be crowded with weavers 
 again. How the girls would chatter. " The master 
 has run away." Would to God they would have it to 
 say, and not " they have caught them. 3 If it were not 
 so light now But it was so still ; surely there could 
 be no danger to-night. 
 
 He went into his office, he would wait there for 
 the carriage, it would not be very long, and then 
 there was one last duty he must attend to. He 
 
426 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 struck a match and the gas shot up so brightly it 
 dazzled his eyes. He turned away for an instant. 
 
 A massive form stood in the doorway. PhiWp 
 must have left the counting-room unlocked when he 
 had come in. Some one had followed him, appa 
 rently. But the young mill-owner took only one step 
 toward the intruder. It was no stranger that crossed 
 his threshold, but a man whose name was burned 
 into his heart. It was the rightful husband of Philip 
 Breton s wife Curran. His hair had grown long and 
 almost straight about his neck. His cheeks were 
 thin and haggard, and the form that had been like 
 a proud oak, was bowed as if it had been weighed 
 down by a burden too heavy even for a giant to 
 bear. Philip stopped short and looked at the man 
 with speechless terror. He had supposed him hun 
 dreds of miles away. Perhaps the outraged husband 
 had never left the village since their last meeting. 
 Perhaps his flashing eyes had watched Philip wooing 
 his wife a second time, and begrudged him his few 
 cold kisses. Perhaps he had peered in through the 
 windows of Philip s home ; had he not a right to 
 look at his wife, and followed them forth on every 
 walk and drive, waiting to strike till the blow should 
 fall most deadly. He had chosen his time well. 
 Poor Bertha, with her dreams of Como and Cha- 
 mouni. But what would he do ? Leap upon his 
 enemy and kill him ? The man in the doorway looked 
 
UNWELCOME VISITORS. 4 2 7 
 
 too pale and ill for such violence ; would he then 
 heap curses upon him, the bitterest human lips ever 
 uttered? But Curran advanced into the room with 
 outstretched hand. 
 
 " Don t you know me, then, friend ? " 
 
 Philip hesitated again. There might be a grain 
 of hope yet ; he would surely never have given the 
 young man his hand if he had known or called him 
 friend. 
 
 " Some one wrote me to come. I don t know 
 what he wanted," Curran explained wearily. " They 
 expect so much of a man ; they want him to be a 
 God ; and if he were they would crucify him." 
 
 Philip was recovering his composure. At first he 
 had felt a wild impulse to confess everything to the 
 wronged husband. He seemed so grand, so magnani 
 mous ; he would not be cruel. But then his reason 
 came back to him. In such a case as this there could be 
 no amends. Innocently, Bertha and Philip had done 
 him a terrible wrong and themselves ; forgiveness 
 could not blot it out. God in his mercy might 
 spare them the penalty of infamy ; but the injured 
 husband had no choice but vindicate his honor, 
 when he came to know. 
 
 " You look ill," said Philip at last, drawing him 
 out a chair. Should he detain him ? Bertha might 
 come before her time and break in upon them, the 
 two men she had injured so terribly. Oh ! that 
 
428 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 must not happen. Was .not that a step in the pas 
 sage now? Should he let Curran go, then? The* 
 first man he met would pour the story of his 
 shame into his ears, and then the catastrophe. He 
 must not go but he must not stay. Philip looked 
 out into the passage. No one was there. Curran 
 had dropped into the chair Philip had offered him. 
 
 " Do I look ill ?" he asked, pushing his long hair 
 back from his forehead. " Did you ever love a 
 woman who hated you ? did you ever want to pour 
 out your life for her, and she despise you? You 
 know whom I mean. Why I once fancied you 
 and she were lovers, till she told me not. I mean 
 Bertha." He spoke the name so tenderly, a thrill 
 of shame passed over Philip. Bertha was this man s 
 wife. Had he not a right then to speak her name 
 tenderly ? And so Curran had fancied Bertha and he 
 were lovers till she told him not ah, Bertha. 
 
 " She has left me," Curran went on in the same 
 soft, tender tone. " I don t suppose it interests you. 
 But if I could only see her now, I have such a 
 strange feeling that I might win her back. She 
 made such a tender sweetheart." Then he lifted 
 his eyes more firmly to Philip s face, set like a wall 
 of rock. " Is there any trouble among your help ?" 
 
 " Yes, they have flung all my offers in my 
 teeth." 
 
 " It must have been that made them send for 
 
UNWELCOME VISITORS. 429 
 
 me. I had hoped,*or feared, I hardly know which, it 
 might be something of Bertha. It is queer, isn t it, 
 a woman like her should turn my head so com 
 pletely? What is there about her, did you ever 
 think of it? Of course you haven t." Curran seemed 
 to make an effort to dismiss all thoughts of her that 
 unmanned him. " You needn t be afraid of me ; I 
 thought you seemed a little strange when I came 
 in." 
 
 Philip started involuntarily, but Curran con 
 tinued, " I sha n t encourage any strikes against you. 
 God will bless your life for your work for the poor. 
 If He hasn t yet, he will give you a happier love 
 than he has given me." Then he rose with new en 
 ergy to his feet. " I must go and stop the mischief. 
 I can do more with your laborers for good or evil 
 than any man in the world. I suppose they may be 
 in the hall to-night ?" 
 
 " Yes." But Philip hurried up to him, and laid 
 his hand on his arm. " But don t go, not yet." 
 
 " I must, shall you be here long? Well, I will 
 see you again to-night." 
 
 " God grant not," murmured Philip Breton, as 
 the door closed after him. Then Philip unlocked 
 the great safe and swung back its green door of 
 iron. He took out a packet and then locked the 
 safe again and carried his packet back to his office. 
 He turned the gas still higher and held the packet 
 
43 THE BKE TON MILL S. 
 
 in the flame, till all that was left of it was a little 
 heap of charred paper on the floor all that was left 
 of Philip Breton s Will. With that act he closed up, 
 as he believed, all that part of his life worthy to be 
 remembered. He was young and strong, but he had 
 failed. Henceforth he must look on while others 
 worked ; they had taken his work away from him. 
 He must sit back on the seats with the women and 
 children, and look on and applaud when great deeds 
 were doing. He would have liked to work too, but 
 perhaps others would do his work better. " 
 
 " Hallo, hallo, Phil, don t you work pretty late? " 
 It was Giddings the lawyer in a condition of decided 
 intoxication. " I ll bet yer dollar you don t know 
 what I came for ! ha ha ha ; you think money ; don t 
 you ? more money? But I aint that sort of a feller." 
 
 Philip had been simply disgusted at first, but 
 there seemed a terrible leer in the drunken eyes. 
 Could it be the man had come to expose him? What 
 was the use of struggling against his destiny any 
 longer? If he could have gone yesterday, he would 
 have saved all risks. But he had waited just too 
 long. Curran had returned to claim his wife ; Jane 
 Ellingsworth had discovered everything, and now 
 this Giddings in his drunkard s foolishness was threat- 
 ening what ruin he could bring. 
 
 " You are not going to do anything rash are you," 
 said Philip dropping his eyes in humiliation. 
 
UNWELCOME VISITORS. 43! 
 
 But Giddings came close to him and laid his hand 
 on his shoulder. Then he put his face close to 
 Philip s, with a drunken man s false measure of dis 
 tance. The young man writhed at his touch, and 
 held his breath to avoid taking the hot fumes of bad 
 liquor the fellow exhaled. But he did not dare to 
 anger the low creature. 
 
 " Did you think," continued Giddings with gush 
 ing reproachfulness, " that I aint got any conscience ? 
 You re doin wrong, Mr. Breton. I aint got no right 
 no right to let it go on. Did you think I aint got 
 no conscience ? " 
 
 Philip shook him off and his face grew so terrible 
 that the fellow winced, as he had done before at 
 that look. 
 
 " Don t strike don t kill me Phil Mr. Breton, 
 I was only jokin can t you tell when a man s jokin . 
 Got any money bout clothes, say fifty dollars, m awful 
 hard up. I wouldn t hurt you, your altogether too 
 nice feller." He leered affectionately at the young 
 man, then suddenly he winked frightfully. "And 
 sides where would my pocket money come from ? he, 
 he, he. Your the goose you might say or the gander, 
 no that won do, I mean your the goose that lays my 
 golden eggs, see, my boy. I wouldn t harm yer mite, 
 only juss squeeze yer little sometimes, he, he, he." 
 
 Philip threw him a roll of bills. It was the last 
 blood money the scoundrel would ever draw. By 
 
43 2 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 to-morrow morning Philip Breton and his wife would 
 be beyond the reach of harm, or beyond the reach of 
 help, one or the other. " There is a hundred dol 
 lars, take it and go, I have business." 
 
 The drunken man looked suspiciously at his vic 
 tim, his professional instinct was warned in spite of 
 his intoxication. The young man was too eager. But 
 Giddings brain was too befogged for a long train of 
 reasoning. He was suspicious, but his suspicions at 
 present got no farther than the roll of money. He 
 concluded Philip Breton was trying to cheat him, 
 and began to count over the bills with set staring 
 eyes, that had a strange look of blindness in them, 
 and with forehead hideously wrinkled in the effort to 
 be sober. 
 
 " Ten, twenty, and twenty makes thirty, ten, and 
 twenty and twenty, here aint but eighty dollars. 
 Thought I s too drunk to coun did yer." 
 
 " There is a hundred dollars there." 
 
 " S lie. Yer takin vantage me cause I m drunk." 
 
 Giddings burst into maudlin drunkard s tears and 
 missing the chair he tried for sat down on the floor. 
 Philip pulled him to his feet. Bertha might be here 
 any moment. This creature must be away if it cost 
 a thousand dollars. He crowded another twenty 
 dollar bill into the fellow s clammy hand. 
 
 " Now go, or you ll stay longer than you want 
 to" 
 
UNWELCOME VISITORS. 433 
 
 Giddings dried his tears and gathered his limp 
 joints together to go. But he insisted on Philip s 
 shaking hands. "No ba feelins you know. You 
 aint such ba feller, Misser Breton, but I should 
 thought you d got a pootier woman for all your 
 trouble, there I didn t mean n-harm. Goo-bye 
 Misser Breton." 
 
 But even after Giddings had got into the hall 
 Philip heard the fellow muttering to himself. He 
 stepped hurriedly to the door of his office to catch 
 the words, but could not. If Philip had been a 
 little quicker he would have heard this. 
 
 " Somethin up, I aint so drung but I ca see 
 that. Guess sil g up to the boy s house. His wife 
 11 knew me, he, he." 
 
 Would Bertha never come? If they escaped it 
 would be but by a hair s breadth. Ruin would be 
 close upon them. For the adjustment of a ribbon 
 she would sacrifice everything. It seemed a great 
 while since Curran had left the office for the labor 
 meeting, and he had not so far to go. Something 
 might have delayed the terrible disclosure for a few 
 moments, but by this time he must surely have 
 heard the whole story of his shame and dishonor. 
 It would stir him to madness. His noble eyes would 
 flash lightnings, and thunderbolts of hate and scorn 
 would drop from his lips. No human being could 
 stand against the divine dignity of such a man s 
 28 
 
434 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 righteous wrath. Philip fancied the mob sweeping 
 up the road after this outraged husband, seeking out 
 his wife for the doom that would satisfy his mad 
 thirst for vengeance. Now, perhaps, they were 
 bursting in the gates, now breaking down the oaken 
 door. Ah, Philip would not be there this time to 
 protect the beautiful woman who had only sinned 
 through love for him. How the color would flee 
 her cheeks as she looked out on the pitiless faces of 
 the frenzied mob. There was no arm now to shield 
 her, none but Curran s, whose love was now embit 
 tered into hate. There was no pity in his white, 
 wasted face, only insulted love, only scorn that could 
 grind her fair life, without one throb of tenderness, 
 beneath his feet. 
 
 Why did she not come ! Philip was almost wild 
 with mingled terror and hope. He walked the room 
 like a caged lion. Now he rushed to the door and 
 glanced desperately up and down the street. 
 
 His horses were champing their bits at her door, 
 but the light yet burned in her chamber. There 
 was hardly time to catch the train at the Lockout 
 station. The wild mob with the maddened lover, 
 the most terrible of enemies, at their head, would be 
 at her door in a moment. Still other dangers Philip 
 did not guess threw a gathering shadow across her 
 path. But she lingered yet. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A Popular Leader. 
 
 MARKET HALL was full of excited work- 
 men when Curran pushed the door open and 
 stepped in. Some would-be orator was trying to 
 voice the wrongs of the people, but when the whis 
 per ran along the seats that Curran was at the door, 
 every head was turned. Then as if by a common 
 impulse the whole audience rose to their feet, and 
 the building seemed to tremble with the cheer that 
 burst from the brawny throats. Here was an orator 
 indeed, a man who could set before them their suf 
 ferings, and wring their hearts with self-pity ; who 
 could make each soul of them wonder at his own 
 patience. 
 
 All they needed was a leader, there were enough 
 of them to bear down all opposition ; they lacked 
 neither in courage nor endurance, but only in unity. 
 There was no leader to bind them to a resistless 
 purpose. 
 
 The poor from unnumbered betrayals have learned 
 suspicion ; they commonly distrust every man who 
 would rise above their hopeless dead level. The great 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 man who would crush them, they yield to ; but the 
 man of themselves who longs to work with them and 
 for them, the man who alone could direct concerted 
 action, such as is employed against them, they meet 
 with hate and suspicion. Their labor movement 
 which might sweep everything before it, drifts help 
 lessly with every gust of changing passions like a 
 Great Eastern with unshipped rudder. 
 
 But some way Curran could conquer their dis 
 trust for a little while at least. They called him their 
 pride and their delight, his marvelous magnetism 
 could disarm their envy at least while they listened 
 to him. To-night they would have followed where 
 he said, if it had left a track of ruin behind them. 
 
 He made his way slowly up the aisle with simple 
 greetings for his friends, as they stretched out their 
 grimy hands to him ; but his smile was so sad and 
 hopeless that every glad face sobered as he passed. 
 He mounted the platform and turned his face toward 
 them. He seemed but the ghost of his former mag 
 nificent manhood, but the people cheered him again 
 and those in the rear leaped upon their seats in their 
 eagerness to see their hero. Then all held their 
 breath to listen ; even the girls in the gallery stop 
 ped their excited whispering while they waited for 
 his grand ringing tones that had thrilled the faintest 
 hearts so many times before. Would he never begin ? 
 
 " What is this meeting for? " 
 
A POPULAR LEADER. 437 
 
 The orator his coming had interrupted, was only 
 too glad to explain. 
 
 " We don t get our rights. We get a little, but 
 that s all, and we mean to fetch the young boss to 
 his milk to-morrow ; don t we, lads ? " 
 
 A shout of eager assent went up from the crowd. 
 Then all was still again. Now would come the 
 torrent of words of flame. Yes, Curran had stepped 
 forward to the very edge of the platform, in his old 
 habit. But who was the fellow with bandaged head, 
 pushing his way so rudely up the main aisle, as if he 
 bore tidings ? It must be ill tidings to make him in 
 such haste. But Curran had begun to speak. 
 
 " You are making a mistake, my friends a great 
 mistake. The young master has done well by you, 
 and he will do better, if you will give him time to 
 think. Such mighty ideas as have got into his 
 mind, can t be stopped ; they will not let him halt 
 long, he must be swept forward. But you must 
 wait for him ; you have waited for your cruel and 
 heartless masters thousands of years. Will you 
 only show yourselves impatient and insolent to the 
 first one who shows himself kind toward you ? Do 
 you want to make his name an example and a warn 
 ing for his class ? I have heard their scoffs and taunts 
 already the air is full of them. Look, they say, 
 the way the people treat the man who tries to help 
 them. Friends, you are making a terrible mistake. 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 The light of the man s noble genius had flushed 
 his pale cheeks, and flashed beautifully in his steel 
 blue eyes. His voice that had seemed weak and un 
 steady as he began, rang out its bell-like tones 
 again, as he saw the sullen faces soften under his 
 matchless power. 
 
 " He has made your village blossom by his love ; 
 he has brought smiles to your weary children s 
 faces ; he has planted hope in a thousand desperate 
 hearts. Do you ask me how I know ? I see it in 
 your eyes. I see it in the way your heads rest on 
 your broad shoulders. And will you use your new 
 manhood to do him injury ? 
 
 But the man with the bandaged head had reached 
 the platform, and at this very moment when the 
 orator paused to let his meaning sink into the hearts 
 of the people, he touched Curran on the shoulder, 
 and whispered a few hurried words in his ear. 
 
 The people saw their hero s face blanch. He 
 turned to the fellow with a look that would break a 
 man s heart, and seemed to be asking him a question. 
 As he listened to the reply, his knees trembled 
 under him, and he sank into a chair, and still the 
 messenger of evil bent over him, and kept whisper 
 ing with poisonous breath into his ear. At last 
 Bailes stood back from his victim, who bowed his 
 head upon his hands. Curran s whole body shook 
 with the violence of his passion. 
 
A POPULAR LEADER. 439 
 
 The inert people waited. They knew nothing 
 else to do. Their hero might have died before 
 them, they would never have thought to stir from 
 their seats. But he rose at last, and Bailes grinned 
 diabolically behind him. They would have another 
 story now. 
 
 " Friends, you have heard what I said." He 
 spoke as if a great weight was upon him and his 
 voice came slowly. " I repeat it, be patient with 
 your young master; he means well by you." 
 
 But Bailes rushed forward and, tearing the band 
 ages from his head, threw them upon the platform at 
 his feet. Disease had settled in his bruises and his 
 face was frightfully swollen and disfigured. He 
 might have been a ghoul or a gnome instead of a 
 human being. 
 
 " Revenge him, men, * he screamed, throwing up 
 his arms, " if you have any spirit in you. I have 
 just told him some of you knew it how that boy 
 has stole his wife and spit on the laws, as if they 
 were not for the rich like him. 
 
 It was more like a groan than a shout that went 
 up from the crowd before him, that only waited a 
 word from the bowed, broken man they loved, to 
 become a blood-thirsty mob. Would he give them 
 their word? He had leaped to his feet and thrown 
 out his long right arm in his grandest gesture, and 
 the murmur of the people died down. His face was 
 
440 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 as white as a dead man s, an ashy white, but his eyes 
 flashed lightnings. 
 
 " Whose wrong is it then, this hideous creature s 
 or mine ? I will settle my own grievances, I need 
 no mob to right me." Then Curran paused a mo 
 ment. When he began again it was in a lower tone. 
 " Besides, the man is wrong," his voice trembled like 
 a child s, " I have no no," he almost broke down, 
 " I have no wife I am I am not well, I must go to 
 my bed, but before I go I want to be sure you will 
 make no mistake to-night or to-morrow." He folded 
 his arms across his broad chest in a sublime effort of 
 self-control. His blood boiled in mad fever, every 
 moment was worth a world to him, agonizing pictures 
 floated before his dimmed vision, but he would not 
 stir from his post till he had conquerecl this mob. 
 " Philip Breton has shown himself fair to you, be fair 
 with him. If he never did another thing for you he 
 he has yet deserved your your patience. You will 
 excuse me now, I will see you to-morrow, but I need 
 rest. Can I depend on you ?" He did not even look 
 at them ; his attitude, as he waited with downcast 
 eyes, was of a man walking in his sleep. 
 
 " Yes yes," shouted the people, and then he 
 turned and stepped off from the platform. He came 
 down the aisle very strangely, at first he would 
 hurry and notice no one, then, as if by a mighty ef 
 fort, walk very slowly, then faster again, then he 
 
A POPULAR LEADER. 441 
 
 would stop short and put out his hand to some per 
 fect stranger. 
 
 Many eyes watched him curiously when he sep 
 arated from his eager friends at the door of the hall 
 and walked rapidly away. If Curran had turned off 
 to the road that led to Philip Breton s house on 
 the hill, he would not have gone alone, but he did 
 not even look that way so long as the half-tamed 
 mob could see him. So the people scattered in dis 
 appointment to their homes. 
 
 But Curran is no longer walking in his first direc 
 tion ; he has turned on his heel and made a route for 
 himself across the fields ; his face is pointed towards 
 the lights that yet shine down at him from the stone 
 house on the hill. And the roads are not straight 
 enough for the errand he is on, nor is walking fast 
 enough, he breaks into a run. Now he falls over a low 
 fence so violently a limb might have been broken, 
 but he only loses his hat and runs on, his long hair 
 shaking down over his pale set face as he runs. His 
 breath comes like the puffing of a locomotive, he can 
 hear his heart throb louder than his footfalls. 
 
 What does he seek, what will he do when he 
 looks again on his faithless and dishonored wife and 
 on the man who has put this deadliest shame upon 
 him? Punishment can wipe out nothing, vengeance 
 never assuaged one pang of human anguish yet. 
 But mercy or pity or reason are fled from his mad 
 dened soul to-night while the furies whip him on. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Too Fond a Husband. 
 
 THE drunken lawyer very nearly fell as he tried 
 to step off the counting-room piazza, and almost 
 made up his mind it would be more desirable to lie 
 down in some soft spot and go to sleep, than take the 
 long walk he had set himself. But the cool breeze 
 seemed to refresh him marvelously, and in another 
 moment he despised the green hollow under the elm 
 that had looked so inviting, and hurried up toward 
 Philip Breton s house. He shook his head wisely 
 as he walked. It took a pretty smart man to get 
 ahead of John Giddings, drunk or sober. The young 
 mill-owner wasn t nearly as frightened as usual. 
 Something was in the wind. He ought to have 
 watched him closer lately, but Giddings concluded 
 he was in good time yet with Breton at one end of 
 the village his wife at the other and himself, the acute 
 lawyer, between them. 
 
 , The lawyer had walked as far as Silas Ellings* 
 worth s house, when he caught sight of a pair of 
 horses on a fast trot, drawing a close coupe. Ele 
 gant pairs and chariots of that description were not 
 
TOO FOND A HUSBAND. 443 
 
 so common in Bretonville as to make it doubt 
 ful who might own this one, and besides it must 
 have been an occasion of peculiar necessity that 
 called for such unaristocratic haste. Giddings was 
 perfectly delighted with his own sagacity. 
 
 He knew human nature pretty well. When a 
 man gets another in an unpleasant situation, he must 
 count on the unfortunate struggling to escape, if it 
 happens to be a woman, he need not be so watchful, 
 women are all fatalists. But it takes a pretty smart 
 man to get ahead of John Giddings. 
 
 " Whoa, whoa, I say." The lawyer had thrown 
 himself in front of the excited horses, and the driver 
 had to pull up to keep from running over him. 
 " Whoa, I say." 
 
 Then he stepped to the door of the carnage and 
 turning the knob threw it wide open. The moon 
 light revealed a woman surrounded with carpet bags 
 and shawls. A thick brown veil concealed her fea 
 tures, but Mr. Giddings took off his hat to her. 
 
 11 Mrs. Breton, I believe." 
 
 " Why yes," she did not recognize him, " but I 
 am in a hurry," she said nervously drawing back. 
 
 " Drive on Henry." 
 
 " No, you don t," insisted Giddings, mounting 
 the steps. " I guess you don know me." His liquor 
 began to overcome him again, " name s Giddings 
 aint goin far are you ? " 
 
444 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 " To Europe," she answered quickly, recognizing 
 him at last. " I have no further occasion for your 
 services, I have paid you, haven t I ? " 
 
 u Not s much as your second husband s paid me 
 since," he gurgled. " If you re goin so far, guess 
 I ll go too, I like your family, Miss Breton." 
 
 " Drive on, I command you, she screamed, and 
 the horses started. Giddings lurched forward, and 
 Bertha put out her white hands, and tried to push 
 him back. He clutched, with an oath, at something 
 to hold to, but she loosened her India shawl, and the 
 man carried it with him into the ditch. But he 
 leaped to his feet. 
 
 " Hold ! stop ! police, police !" but Giddings had 
 no sooner spoken than the village policeman laid his 
 hand on his arm. 
 
 " Here I am, sir, what ll you have ?" 
 
 <4 Stop that carriage ; arrest that woman, she is a 
 criminal." Giddings had shaken off the policeman s 
 grasp, -and started to run after the carriage. 
 
 (i You must be very drunk," said the other, over 
 taking him, " that is Mr. Breton s wife." 
 
 " I know that," screamed the lawyer, " and I 
 tell you, stop her, let me go." 
 
 " More likely you re the criminal. Hallo, what 
 you doing with that Indy shawl. Guess I ll have to 
 lock you up. Come along quiet, now." 
 
 But Giddings was perfectly frantic. He fought 
 
TOO FOND A HUSBAND. 44$ 
 
 with his feet and hands, and with his teeth, kicking, 
 tearing and biting like a wild beast. 
 
 " Don t let her escape, I say, never mind me, I ll 
 give you a thousand dollars. I ll tear your heart 
 out, you villain. Stop her, stop her ! The officer 
 grew angry at last, and drew his billet, but still the 
 fellow struggled and screamed like a wild creature, 
 till blow after blow paralyzed his arms, and finally 
 stretched him unconscious and bleeding on the 
 ground. 
 
 " Tremens," growled the policeman, as he lifted 
 him to his feet soon after, and led him along, sub 
 dued at last. 
 
 But a woman had stood in her window as the car 
 riage had rolled by, and she had recognized the equip 
 age, too. A sudden change came over her face. 
 
 " Where are you going, Jennie?" Her husband 
 looked up calmly from his paper. 
 
 " Out a minute," she hardly looked at him, 
 " that is all." 
 
 " But it is almost nine o clock, my dear, what can 
 you want out ?" 
 
 Her breath came fast, and two bright red spots 
 burned in her cheeks. Mr. Ellingsworth had never 
 seen her so pretty. He must keep her so a few mo 
 ments. He stepped to the door and turned the key, 
 then he put it in his pocket and threw himself back 
 in his chair again. 
 
446 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 She faced him with flashing eyes. 
 
 " How dare you am I your slave ? I want to go 
 out." 
 
 Her husband settled down cozily in his seat, and 
 smiled his old brilliant smile. She had never seen 
 him laugh any more than the rest of his acquain 
 tances. He might perhaps, have laughed before an 
 intimate, but men like Silas Ellingsworth have no 
 intimates. 
 
 " How lovely you are when you are angry. I 
 see I have made a mistake in being so amiable with 
 you. What treats I have lost. Why, you are bet 
 ter than an actress, my dear. Such coloring as 
 yours does not hurt the complexion." 
 
 Precious time was flying ; the carriage had 
 rolled away out of sight ; her victim had outwitted 
 her her hate would be balked forever, and all for 
 her husband s foolish caprice. She stamped her foot 
 at him. " I must go." There was yet time to 
 rouse the villagers, and fetch back the fugitives 
 from justice. Oh, what devil of stupidity had pos 
 sessed her wise husband to-night? " Give me the 
 key." She had come close to him, but she did not 
 scream when she was angry, her voice grew low and 
 almost hoarse, "or I will leave you forever." 
 
 He had laid aside his paper now, with quite a 
 serious air ; and Jane felt vaguely frightened ; she 
 had never seen him sober with her. Could he do 
 
TOO FOND A HUSBAND. 447 
 
 any more than others when they are angry ? She 
 did not reason about it ; she only began to be afraid 
 of her own words. His was the only nature in the 
 world could have tamed her so completely. 
 
 " That is just the trouble." Then he smiled as 
 brightly as ever his keen cold smile. " You want to 
 leave me now, but I love you too well to let you ; 
 come kiss me and I will." 
 
 Every moment Philip Breton s carriage was bear 
 ing the woman Jane hated, to safety and peace that 
 her false heart had never deserved. But there were 
 fleeter horses in Bretonville than his ; they could 
 be pursued ; they could be overtaken and dragged 
 back in greater ignominy than ever. It would be 
 more terrible for Bertha than if the blow had come 
 while she sat serene in her own home. To be 
 overtaken in flight would cap her shame. Jane 
 threw herself into her husband s arms. She kissed 
 his eyes, his mouth, his white neck ; she covered his 
 smooth hands with kisses ; twining her arms about 
 his neck, she lavished the tenderest of caressing 
 epithets on him. Then she drew herself away. 
 Her black hair had been partly loosened, and as she 
 stood hung well down her flushed cheeks. She had 
 raised her hands, and clasped them over her bosom ; 
 her lips parted ; surely no human being can resist 
 such wistful beauty as hers. 
 
 " Please let me go." 
 
THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 But before he could answer, she heard a noise 
 like thunder and rushed to the window. She sees 
 nothing, but the sound comes on nearer and nearer ; 
 it comes from the hill. Something white gleams in 
 the moonlight. 
 
 " What do you see ? " asked Mr. Ellingsworth 
 carelessly, returning to his newspaper. 
 
 She holds her breath, nearer it comes, Philip s 
 white horse Joe on a mad gallop. But Philip is not 
 upon him. Who is that wild rider, with long uncov 
 ered hair, and pale haggard face ? He strikes the 
 maddened animal every moment for better speed, 
 though now they seem flying faster than the wind. 
 The man is Curran. Let him be his own avenger, 
 then. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 The Price of Happiness. 
 
 r I ^HE Breton carriage had passed the last house 
 -i- in the village, when Philip leaned out for one 
 last look at the home of his childhood and thescene 
 of the only work he should ever do. He was almost 
 a boy yet, it seemed only a few days since he had 
 looked at the great world only as a play-ground. It 
 was a short work he had done in the few days of his 
 manhood, and even that had been condemned. Dear 
 old mills, with their bold towers and massive walls, 
 but his no longer. His heritage was sold, his birth 
 right lost. He turned his eyes away, it was more 
 than he could bear. On the hill back above the 
 village he saw for the last time, as the road wound 
 off toward Lockout, his house, that was. " Deserted " 
 seemed written on its stone walls. It had never 
 looked so noble to him, a sort of halo seemed to 
 float above it. He could see the window of the 
 room where he was born, but for what a worthless 
 life. 
 
 " Good-bye," he murmured. The road as it fol 
 lowed the winding river made another turn, and the 
 29 
 
45 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 lights of the village were shut away from his misty 
 eyes. 
 
 The horses were trotting at their best. There 
 was none too much time. 
 
 It was far better than he had hoped. The 
 dangers had gathered so thickly, there had seemed 
 at one time hardly more than a chance for escape. 
 Peril seemed on every hand, enemies to spring from 
 every covert, and stretch out their hands to stop the 
 fugitives. But the village was far behind now. A few 
 moments more, and the steaming horses would draw 
 up at the Lockout station, and they would be whirled 
 away faster than any pursuer, to peace and safety 
 and honor. 
 
 " How odd it all is, setting out in this way as if 
 we were eloping." 
 
 Philip was reaching forward to take her hand, but 
 he drew back, as if he were stung. How terribly 
 thoughtless she was. 
 
 " I explained about the steamer s early start." 
 
 " Do you know," resumed Bertha softly, " how 
 pleased I am to have this trip to Europe ? It is a 
 sort of wedding journey isn t it?" 
 
 How good God had been, to let him keep the 
 awful truth from her. It would have crushed her, 
 the very thought of her shame. It was crushing 
 him. 
 
 " I shall enjoy it very much," she said putting 
 
THE PRICE OF HAPPINESS. 45 * 
 
 out her hand to him, in unusual fondness. " I 
 am afraid I haven t returned your goodness very 
 well." No more she had, but it was not her fault, 
 poor girl. 
 
 " Where shall we go first? " 
 
 " To the south of France, God willing," he added 
 solemnly. 
 
 Bertha looked at his face with a new anxiety. 
 The moonlight seemed to bring out all the marks of 
 his terrible care and suffering. But he gazed at her 
 in astonishment, he had never seen an expression so 
 near love in her eyes for him. Was her heart soften 
 ing, would she yet make up to him in her new love, 
 all that he lost for her sake ? But her lips were 
 moving. 
 
 I shall be better with you than I used to be. 
 I I " she dropped her eyes before his passionate 
 joy, the sadness had gone in an instant from his 
 face, his future seemed beautifully radiant again. " I 
 feel different toward you, dear." 
 
 He bent forward to draw her to his heart. He 
 was paid for everything. He had taught his wife to 
 love him as he dreamed she could love. She had 
 lifted her rapt face toward his. It had come, the 
 moment he had given his life for. But suddenly his 
 heart stopped beating, there was a sound of a gal 
 loping horse. Philip kissed his wife, but as solemnly 
 as if she were dead, and put her away from him. 
 
452 THE BRE TON MILL S. 
 
 He leaned forward and looked back over the road 
 they had come. 
 
 He saw nothing at first but he heard the sound 
 of a horse s hoofs. He put his head far out. It 
 might have been a white speck in the road, but as 
 he looked the speck became larger and clearer. It 
 was a white horse, at a dead run, on their course. 
 Philip Breton s heart, that had just been almost 
 bursting with its new happiness, was a great cold 
 stone in his breast. And he had fancied he could 
 escape, with enemies like his and a whole village 
 against him. He could see only one pursuer. Ah, 
 he knew who it must be, and he grew nearer every 
 moment. 
 
 " Drive faster," he shouted to the coachman, 
 " run the horses." 
 
 How like the wind his pursuer came. Philip 
 had thought there was but one horse could leap so 
 mightily. Why this was that one, his own horse 
 Joe. Why it might be a servant from his home with 
 something that had been forgotten. It need not be 
 the worst peril his fancy could picture? But he 
 dared not hope. 
 
 " Isn t this delightful," exclaimed Bertha. " There 
 can t be any danger of our missing the train at this 
 rate." 
 
 The carriage rocked from side to side ; a dozen 
 times it seemed turning over, but still Philip leaned 
 
THE PRICE OF HAPPINESS. 453 
 
 far out of the window, and as he saw the great white 
 horse gaining at every mad leap, he shouted to the 
 driver between his set teeth, 
 
 " Whip your horses; don t spare them faster." 
 If anything should break, their troubles would all 
 .end that night. And the strain on the harnesses 
 and the groaning axles was beyond all calculation of 
 the makers. The horses, too, had got past the con 
 trol of their driver. He had no more occasion to 
 urge the wild creatures ; instead he was pulling at 
 the reins with all his strength but to no purpose, only, 
 so far, he had kept them in the road. 
 
 The rider of the white horse was hatless and his 
 long, loose hair and his swinging hand as he struck 
 the panting white flanks of the horse gave him an 
 uncanny look as if there were no deed of horror too 
 blood curdling for him to do. The horse dropped 
 big flakes of foam from his mouth, foam mingled with 
 blood ; his eyes and nostrils were dilated with agony ; 
 his breathing was like fierce gusts of wind in a tem 
 pest. Philip Breton knew the rider as well as the 
 horse. His pursuer was Curran; and the implacable 
 laws made him yet the husband of the woman whom 
 Philip Breton had made his wife. 
 
 They were almost at Lockout. The carriage gave 
 a terrible lurch at a turn in the road. The horses were 
 almost taken off their feet but still there was no acci 
 dent ; the windows of the carnage grazed the solid 
 
454 THE BRETON MILLS. 
 
 wall of rock without being broken, and in a moment 
 the horses, now subdued, were trotting down the hill 
 toward the city. 
 
 But the fugitives had hardly escaped the cut 
 through the rocks, when the pursuer entered it. He 
 had almost overtaken them. He struck the horse s 
 white flanks a pitiless blow. It was at the very spot 
 where Curran had saved Bertha s life from the mad 
 dog, that the old horse, forced beyond his strength, 
 stopped as if lightning had struck him. The blood 
 welled in torrents from his mouth and nostrils ; he 
 quivered like a leaf, and then fell dead in his tracks. 
 The rider shot over the creature s head with the 
 gathered momentum of that mad race, and struck the 
 jagged rock with a sickening crash. 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 AS the dawn, broke in the east that Thursday 
 morning, Philip Breton stood on the deck of 
 the steamer " Salvator." The look of feverish 
 watchfulness, that had never left his face for so long, 
 was gone at last. The great fear that had chased 
 smiles from his lips, had given place to a great hope. 
 A divine calm and peace had come at last upon his 
 soul. Fate had seemed invincible. He had pitted 
 his beautiful mills and his home and his hopes of 
 glory against it, all for the love of a woman who had 
 no heart for him. He had conquered ; and he did 
 not begrudge the price, this royal lover ; for he had 
 won the love of his bride at last. 
 
 Below in her stateroom, weary with her unwonted 
 excitement, Bertha was sleeping ; sleeping like a child 
 unconscious of the terrible peril and infamy she had 
 escaped by only so much as a hair s breadth. The 
 hurrying ship rocked her gently in the great cradle 
 of the deep and bore her to lands of undreamed 
 beauty; where the light of a new eternal love would 
 be on everything. 
 
 THE END. 
 
Cool and Refreshing Reading for the Summer Season. 
 
 THE GREAT FUR LAND ; or Sketches of Life 
 in the Hudson s Bay Territory. By H. M. ROBINSON, 
 formerly U. S. Assistant Consul in Manitoba. With numerous 
 Illustrations by CHARLES GASCHE. 8vo, cloth extra, $1.75. 
 
 A SELECTION FROM THE CONTENTS : 
 
 A JOURNEY BY DOG-SLEDGE ; CANOE LIFE ; THE HALF- 
 BREED VOYAGEUR ; THE HUDSON S BAY COMPANY : LIFE IN 
 A COMPANY S FORT ; A VOYAGE WITH THE VOYAGEURS ; THE 
 GREAT FALL HUNTS ; THE FRATERNITY OF MEDICINE ; THE 
 BLACKFEET INDIANS AT HOME ; WINTER TRAVEL ; THE FUR 
 HUNTER ; A WINTER CAMP ; THE FROST KING ; A HALF- 
 BREED BULL ; A WOOD INDIAN " TRADE." 
 
 " Mr. Robinson has admirably succeeded in hitting off the peculiar 
 features of forest life, and in following his graphic sketches the reader is 
 almost made to feel the scent of the odorous woods, and the breath of 
 refreshing air from the breezy mountain-tops. * * * The narrative 
 exhibits a freshness and glow of delineation, founded on a certain novelty 
 f adventure, which commands the attention of the reader, and makes his 
 story as attractive as romance." N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 " The Messrs Putnam have published a record of travel and experience 
 in the far North, which, both on the score of novelty of theme and liveli 
 ness of treatment may be called one of the most attractive volumes of the 
 season. * * * Altogether, the author has given us a book, which, 
 considering the nature of the information afforded, and the succinctness and 
 spirit of the narrative, is captivating and unique." N. Y. Sun. 
 
 " Mr. Robinson s book, it will readily be seen from this, is both an 
 entertaining and instructive one." N. Y. Herald. 
 
 " Journeys by dog-sledge, canoe life, the appearance, manners and 
 peculiarities of the half-breed population, the organization of the Hudson s 
 Bay Company, the great buffalo hunt, trading with the Indians, camp life 
 and some other characteristic phases of Northwestern experience are de 
 scribed in a graphic and detailed style, which renders the book very ejUer- 
 taining reading." Boston Traveller. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM S SONS NEW YORK. 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM S SONS. 
 
 I. Tent Life in Siberia. ADVENTURES AMONG THE KORAKS AND 
 
 OTHER TRIBES IN KAMSCHATKA AND NORTHERN ASIA. Fifth 
 Edition. I2mo, cloth extra, . . . . . . $i 75 
 
 u We strongly recommend this book as one of the most entertaining volumes of 
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 graphic Illustrations. Octavo, cloth extra, . . . $3 50 
 
 44 A delightfully written book, as fair as it is pleasant. * * * Entertaining, 
 fresh, and as full of wit as of valuable information." London Spectator. 
 
 III. The Abode of Snow. A TOUR THROUGH CHINESE TIBET, THE 
 INDIAN CAUCASUS, AND THE UPPER VALLEYS OF THE HIMALAYA. 
 By ANDREW WILSON. Square octavo, cloth extra, with Map, $2 oo 
 "There is not a page in this volume which will not repay perusal. * * * 
 
 The author describes all he meets with on his way with inimitable spirit." London 
 Athenaeum. 
 
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 Naturalist. Comprising Narratives of his Expeditions in the 
 American Forests, etc. I2mo, cloth extra, with Portrait, . $2 oo 
 
 44 It is a grand story of a grand life ; more instructive than a sermon ; more ro 
 mantic than a romance." Harper s Magazine. 
 
 V. Notes on England and Italy. By Mrs. NATHANIEL HAW 
 
 THORNE (wife of the Novelist). Third edition. I2mo, cloth, $2 oo 
 Illustrated edition, with 12 Steel Plates. Octavo, cloth extra, gilt 
 edges, . $5 oo 
 
 44 One of the most delightful books of travel that has come under our notice." 
 Worcester Spy. 
 
 44 The grace and tenderness of the author of the 4 Scarlet Letter is discernible 
 in its pages." London Saturday Review, 
 
 VI. Recollections of a Tour Made in Scotland in 1803. 
 
 By DOROTHY WORDSWORTH (sister of the Poet). Edited by PRIN 
 CIPAL SHAIRP, LL.D. I2mo, cloth extra, . . . $2 50 
 41 The volume glistens with charming passages, showing how rich in 4 Words- 
 worthian fancy was this modest sister." London Atheneeutn. 
 
 VII. Bayard Taylor s Travels. Complete in n vols. Containing 
 works upon Africa; Egypt; Iceland; California and Mexico; 
 Greece and Russia ; India, China and Japan ; Palestine, Asia 
 Minor, Sicily and Spain ; Sweden. Denmark and Lapland ; Europe, 
 etc., etc. Per volume, . . . . . . , $i 50 
 
 Or, II volumes, neatly put up in box, . . . 16 50 
 
 41 There is no romance to us quite equal to one of Bayard Taylor s books of 
 
 travel. Hartford Republican. 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM S SOWS. 
 
 PUTNAM S ART HAND-BOOKS, 
 
 Edited by SUSAN M. CARTER, Superintendent of the Woman s 
 Art School, Cooper Union 
 
 I. Sketching from Nature. By THOMAS ROWBOTHAM. Reprinted 
 from the Thirty-eighth English Edition. 27 Illustrations. i6mo, 
 boards, . . . . . . . .50 cents. 
 
 1 It is a model of clearness and conciseness, and even the unartistic need have no 
 
 difficulty in understanding its contents." Library Table. 
 
 " This is an excellent little book, which we heartily commend to amateurs." Yale 
 Courant. 
 
 11 Cannot fail to make a good landscape sketcher of anyone who is skilful in the 
 use of the pencil." Albany Argus. 
 
 11 It is full of useful hints, simply stated." Boston Commonwealth. 
 
 II. Landscape Painting in Oil Colors. By W. WILLIAMS. Re 
 printed from the Thirty-fourth English Edition. i6mo, boards, 50 cents. 
 
 u Every young artist should possess the volume, which will he found readily to be 
 worth ten times the amount for which it is sold." Boston Traveller, 
 
 u Will be found a valuable adjunct to an art education." N. Y. Evening Express. 
 
 III. Flower Painting. By Mrs. WM. DUFFIELD. Reprinted from 
 the Twelfth English Edition. 12 Illustrations. i6mo, boards, 50 cents. 
 
 " It is a thoroughly scientific and practical treatise." Boston Watchman, 
 
 " Its instructions are clear, condensed, and sufficiently minute." Detroit Post and 
 Tribune. 
 
 " The instructions include everyching that needs to be known regarding the art of 
 painting flowers in water colors." Buffalo Express. 
 
 Of the Series the N. Y. Tribune says : " * * * cannot fail to command the at 
 tention of art students." 
 
 The Christian Union says: "* * * We can, from personal knowledge, 
 recommend them as excellent hand-books for amateurs." 
 
 IV. Figure Drawing. By C. II. WEIGALL Reprinted from the 
 Twenty-first English Edition. 17 Illustrations. i6mo, boards, 50 cents. 
 
PUBLICATIONS OF G. P. PUTNAM S SONS. 
 PUTNAM S HANDY-BOOK SERIES. 
 
 A Manual of Etiquette* With Hints on Politeness, Good Breeding, 
 etc. By " DAISY EYEBRIGHT," One vol., I2mo, boards, 50 cts. 
 
 The Mother s Register. Current Notes on the Health of Children. 
 
 Part I. Boys; Part II Girls. "The Mother records for thj 
 
 Physician to interpret." From the French of Prof. JV B. FOSSA- 
 
 . GRIVES, M.D. I2mo, cloth, . . . . . .75 cts. 
 
 Hints on Dress. By an AMERICAN WOMAN. 
 
 Outline History of Dress. Economy and Taste. 
 
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 Estimates of Cost. Color, Form, Suitability. 
 
 How and What to Buy. 
 
 T2mo,*i24 pp., cloth, . . . . . . -75 cts. 
 
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 The Home: Where it Should Be, and What to Put in It. 
 
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 ternal arrangements, with carefully prepared price-lists of nearly 
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 gestions for saving money and gaining comfort. By FRANK R. 
 STOCKTON, (of Sciibner s Monthly). 121110, 182 pp., cloth, 75 cts. 
 44 Young housekeepers will be especially benefited, and all housekeepers may 
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 FONSSAGRIVES, M.D. Translated and edited by F. P. FOSTER, M.D. 
 A volume full of the most practical advice and suggestions for 
 Mothers and Nurses. I2mo, 224 pp., cloth, . . . $i oo 
 u A volume which should be in the hands of every mother in the land." 
 
 Binghamton Herald. 
 
 Manual of Thermometry. Foi Mothers, Nurses, Hospitals, etc., 
 and all who have charge of the sick and of the young. By EDWARD 
 SEGUIN, M.D. i2mo, cloth, 75 cts. 
 
 Infant Diet. By A. JACOBI, M.D., Clinical Professor of Diseases of 
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 JACOBI, M.D. I2mo, boards, 50 cts. 
 
 44 Dr. Jacobi s rules are admirable in their simplicity and comprehensiveness." 
 
 N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 How to Make a Living. By GEO. GARY EGGLESTON, author of 
 " How to Educate Yourself." i6mo, boards . ". 50 cts. 
 
 14 Shrewd, sound and entertaining." N. Y. Tribune. 
 
 44 An admirable little treatise, full of sound practical advice." Christian Union. 
 
 Manual of Nursing. Prepared under the instructions of the New 
 York Training School for Nurses. By VICTORIA WHITE, M. D., 
 and revised by MARY PUTNAM JACOBI, M. D. . . 75 cts. 
 *** Better adapted to render the nurses a faithful and efficient co-operator 
 
 with tbe physician than any previous manual of the kind we have seen. Home Jo.ur^ 
 
 *al. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
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