Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-02-04
CHAPTER XII,

NEW GALATEA.
 Bertha rose from her chair slowly, like one Il dream, and looked long and earnestly at Philip as he came toward her. There was a ed spot on either check, and her eyes seemed ,reternaturally large and bright. At first lc fancied it was out of joy at seeing him. Then she smiled as if she had not thought of before, but with q strange gentleness that vas intensely pathetic.
 ''You don't come as often as you used, but 'ou have always been very good and kind to 10, Philip" she said vaguely, as if rehears- g the virtues of the departed.
 His heart came into his throat, and he :ould not speak. Was this her coming back to him? It was more like funeral She notioned him to sit near her, and then start d and seemed to listen.
 "Have been very cold and hard with you, Philip, when you wanted me to love you2'' ;he laid her hot fingers on his hand, but her yes wandered lingeringly around the parlor valls.
 ''It is nothing, my own sweetheart" he an ,wered her anxiously; ''only say you love me ,ow"
 She did not seem to hear him. 'T must lave made you suffer. did not understand, ,'ou know, what it all meant"
 She had taken his hand, and bent over
  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 angels whisper.
 "Why, there is nothing to forgive" Philip answered, 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 Q forced smile, "what you promised for to-morrow7'
 "To-morrow?' she drew lack from him fearfully; "to-morrow," she repeated as if the word had some mystery in it. "Have l promised you anything for tomorrow" It was not Bertha Ellingsworth at all, as he had known her-it was rather as he had dreamed she might be. In the common ! est of women are elements of character, l germs of emotions, that in their height and 1 fused together can glorify her to creature of resistless power and dignity, with holy fire mining in her face. It is the sleeping god | dess men worship in women, for worship is 1 the truest form of love, and when that wor- l hip is lost the part of love for which a man would make hero of himself and rise above every groveling taint in his nature is lost, l zoo. A woman may sin and not repent; she 1 nay seem as shallow as the surf on the shin l ;ng sand just before it's ebb, but so long as a l nan believes in the goddess in her he waits on her folly, he strives to gild over her sin ia ennobling reverence for her possibilities l "Why, tomorrow was the day you prom | ed to let me talk of"- 1 "I remember" She drew back from him nd clasped her white hands for Q moment yer her forehead; "and have you been linking great deal of its"
 "Why not tonight, Berthag' he begged in udden fervor.
 But she started to her feet like ono in mor-
 lterror. "Oh no, not to-nightl"
 Then she came near him again, and looked own with new sad smile as he held her and to his lips. 'sYou don't mind very much, do you7 I am not very much of a woman really" she said wistfully, Eff ii wasn't for the habit you have fallen into."
 Then she glanced at the clock on the | nantel.
 She followed him to the door.
 "Ilow sad the moonlight is. am afraid of it," she said as she held out her hand tc l him.
 Then he heard a broken voice couiug, ii seened s Ang way fo hisharH