Lyon County times. [volume] (Silver City, Nev.) 1874-1907, 1888-12-01
CHAPTER XXXvII.
THE PRICE OF HAPPINESS.

The Breton carriage had passed the last
house in the village when Philip leaned out
for one last look at the home of his childhood
and the scene of the only work he should ever
do He was almost boy yet; it seemed
only a few days since he had looked at the
great world only as play ground 1t was
short work he had done in the few days of
his manhood, and even that had been con-
denned. Dear old mills, with their bold
towers and massive walls, brt his no longer.
His heritage was sold, his "thright lost. He
turned his eyes away; it as more than he
could bear. On the hill back above the vii
lage he saw for the last time, as the road
wound off toward Lockout, his house, that
was Deserted seemed wri ten on its stone
walls. 1t had never looked so noble to him,
sort of halo seemed to float above it. He
could see the window of the room where he
was born, but for what worthless life.
"Good-by," he M INJURED. The road as it
followed the winding river made another
turn, and the lights of the village were shut
away from his misty eyes.
The horses were trotting at their best.
There was none too much time
1t was far better than he had hoped. The
dangers had gathered so thickly there had
seemed at one time hardly more than chance
for escape. Peril seemed on every hand,
enemies to spring from every covert, and
stretch out their hands to stop the fugltlves.
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 pur-
suer 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
81 explained about the steamers early
morning start"
"Do YOU know" resumed Bertha softly,
show pleased | am to have this trip to Eu-
ropes 1t is a sort of wedding journey isn't
it!
How good God had been, to let him keep
the awful truth from her 1t would have
crushed her, the very thought of her shame.
1t was crushing him.
81 shall enjoy it very much, y" she said, put
ting out her hand to him, in unusual fond
ness 81 am afraid haven't returned your
goodness very we'll" No more she had
"Where shall we go first~
"To the south of France God willing" he
added solemnly.
Bertha looked at his face with new anx-
iety 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
ewes for him. Was her heart softening,
would she yet make up to him in her new
love all that he lost for her sakes But her
lips were moving.
~ shall be better with you than used to
be. IL" she dropped her eyes before his
passionate JOY, the sadness had gone in an
instant from his face, his future seemed beau
tifully radiant again Il feel different to-
ward 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
lhs. 1t had come-the moment he had given
his life for But suddenly his heart stopped
beating; there was a sound OF galloplng
horse. Philip kissed his wife, but as solemn
ly as if she were dead, and put her away
from him. He leaned forward and looked
back over the road they had come.
He saw nothing at first, but he heard the
sound of a horses hoofs. He put his head far
out. 1t might have been a white speck in
the road but as he looked the speck became
larger and clearer. 1t was white horse, at
a dead run, ON their course. Philip Breton's
heart, that had just been almost bursting
with its new happiness, was great, cold
stone in his breast. And he fancied he could
escape, with enemies like his and whole viii
lage against him. He could see only one pur-
suer. All, he knew who it must be, And
that pursuer grew nearer every moment.
"Drive faster" he shouted to the coach
man, run the horses"
How like the wind his pursuer came.
Philip had thought there was but one horse
that could leap so nightly. Why this was
that one, his own horse Joe. Why it might
be a servant from his home with something
that had been forgotten. 1t need not be the
worst peril his fancy could pictures But he
dared not hope.
isn't this delightful" exclaimed Bertha.
s'There can't be any danger of our missing
the train at this rate"
"Whip your horses; don't spare them
faster"
II anything should break their troubles
would all end that night, And the strain on
the harnesses and the groaning axles was be-
yond all calculation of the makers. The
horses too, had got past the control OF the
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 pur-
pose, except 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 painting white TANKS
of the horse gave him an uncanny look as II
there were no deed of horror too blood curd-
ling for him to do. The horse dropped big
fakes 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 tempest. Philip Breton
knew the rider as well as the horse. His pur-
suer was Curran; and the implacable laws
made him yet the husband of the woman
whom Philip Breton had made his wife