Morning journal and courier., 1881-03-08
Bertha BandoIine's Romance.
[By Wi1kie Collins.l

It was a dreary November day.
 From the gray sky, over which swept vast masses of leaden colored clouds, came steady, drenching rain, which beat down up- on the earth in pitiless way, making the scene one of utter cheerless gloom. Drip, drip, drip, came the cold drops from the caves, and before they reached the ground were joined by other drops that had plashed against the window panes in vicious way, only to be beaten back and sent to join their mates that had attacked other portions of the house with equal non-success
 It was modest little structure this, against which the entire force of the elements seemed to be combined but although small it had a determined look, and stuck it's various angles and sides out into the storm in a calm ly defiant manner.
 In a cosy little room of the cottage sat girl of nineteen summers and about 400 falls. This excess of falls was due to the extreme length of the skating season the previous year. Bertha Bandoline was proud, sensi- tive girl who instinctively shrank from pub licity of any sort, and the first time the ice came up and met her she sat there calmly for an instant, and then rose, saying softly to herself, 'I have broken my bustle."
 Warm words of sympathy and affection came from those around her, but she only smiled sadly, and went home @ wiser but bustleless girl. The next day her father re- ceived bill for new bustle. He looked at it for a few moments and thought of days gone by when Bertha would climb on his knee as he sat before the glowing grate, and after pulling at his beard and saying how much she loved papa would fall asleep in his arms, the hickering blazeof the fire making strange lights and shadows around her head with it's tangled mass of yellow hair that lay upon his shoulder She still sat in front of the fire, with her head in the same place, but the shoulder belonged to another per son.
 My daughter is very dear to me-" said the old man tenderly as he paid the bill.
 UnconsciouslY he had told the truth.
 Bertha is still sitting in her boudoir. Boudoir means room, but it is more high toned. Kind words cost nothing, and even being good to yourself keeps you in practice. The rain still fell. ''It is the threnody and dirge of my happiness" said Bertha, in low, despairing voice. Rupert will never love me again. It seems as if he had sailed away in the ship with the lights and music and the merry passengers, and left me alone on the dark waters in an oarless, sailless boat beneath the midnight sky"
 Bertha did not know what threnody meant, but slung it in at random. But we can for. give this. She was often too previous in her language. All must pity young heart torn by conflicting emotions, hesitating between faith and doubt in one it loves Who can paint the blackness of nature. that would betray trnst so sacred ? Is not its possessor worthy of eternal condemnation?
 I should smile.
 But while Bertha sits enshrouded in her sombre thoughts and foreboding where is the object of her passion?
 In gilded haunt of sour mash stand two young men. One is Rupert, the other IS Jlm
 "Jim who ?" do you ask Never mind glittering bauble is spinning on surface of polished wood.
 It is quarter.
 Finally it's revolutions cease. The young men bend eagerly over it.
 "You've lost, Jim"
 ssOh!"
 "Giye us the same as before''-thus to a man behind the counter. In another instant a tiny glass went to Rupert's lips.
 .Does he love Bertha"
 I cannot tell 8 lie-I don't know.