Rock Island daily Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1886-1893, 1888-02-22
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DrefoD
BY CHARLES ]. BELLAMY.
f,o,,yrighted nv the Author, and published
by arrangement with him
BY CHARLES ]. BELLAMY.
CHAPTER XXI.
nIr- nAMNED SPOT.

Philip dipped his pen in the inkstand He
was sitting in his study at home, later in the
afternoon than usual Nothing unimportant
could have detained him so long from his fac
tory, and, besides there was look OF unusual
solemnity ON his face. Philip Breton had Just
written his will 1t was very elaborate IN
strtment prepared from memoranda OF the
ablest lawyer in the state. a moment ago he
had signed 1t, and the names Of the witnesses
were not dry yet. He had been uneasy for
long time that the destiny of the thousand
creatures who worked in his mill, and Of their
successors forever, should hang on 50 feeble
thread as IA human life, which might snap be
fore lie could give spontaneous energy to the
plans that now only lived in his brain. He
wrota in large, plain letter across the back Of
the paper. ..Tho Last viii and Testament Of
Philip Breton Then he read the whole in
strument over again-the magma charta
Of Bretonville How glad the village
would be when his will came To DO
kloYn-when it was found that the
mill owner had not been satisfied with
what he could do in his lifetime, but had
placed bis bcncvolence on perpetual foot
ing, had reached back his hand from his
grave to shower blessings ON the laboring
moor 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 burdens too
heavy Tor them to bear. His heart would,
uerhaps. have been full of the little wants
and trivial discomforts of his own circle, his
mind busy with plans for the future of his
sons, whilo IA Thousand dreary hopeless lives
wore themselves out in the struggle for their
scant bread with never ono 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. Per
haps, he thought sadly enough, if he should
die this moment it would be better for Bre-
tonville, 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, as he had sat ut this
very table, he had been interrupted by the
servant bringing him II letter-no, it was a
note from Bertha And he had been very
happy, fancying tho shadow had gone from
his life He just had opened this very table
drawer when tho maid had tapped at the
door He had been searching for something
at the time OH it was one of BerthaS pict-
ures and it must be here still. In moment
more lie was unclasping a morocco case, then
gazing with such tenderness as one has for
the dead on the delicately tinted oval of Ber-
tha's beautiful face in porcelain. The great
blue eyes seemed to look surprise and re
proach at him. 1t had been long ago, before
so much as 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 at least have
cherished her memory. What had he done
that he should be punished 50 terribly' Then
the memories of tho day when the picture
was taken came rushing back upon him.
They two had been sitting in her garden
ON the afternoon of summer day. 1t was
two, three, almost four years ago, but he
could SEQ the blooming roses and hear the
drowsy hum of the bees as if it had been
yesterday. He had been reading love poem
10 her; that was as near as he dared come tc
love making; sometimes letting his voice
soften and tremble little over the tendereI
passages He was but timid lover, and
Bertha so royalty cold, Suddenly glancing
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 witt
her still breathing, and there was an exqui
site pout on her lips, as if vaguely nutinou;
against the hardness of her pillow. His heart
was beating violently as, he laid aside his
book and seated himself on the bench by hei
side. But he dared not profane the vestal
purity of such sleep as hers; he devoured hel
face with his eyes, but did not steal one kis:
from the red lips though there was such q
sweet, mute invitation on them. But he put
his arm about her and drew her toward hin
as gently as il she were a sleeping infant, anc
made her head rest on his shoulder. Then he
looked down the red tinged cheeks, like The
woods in autumns tenderest mood, swept by
her long, golden eyelashes, aud tried to fancy
she was awake, though her eyes were closed
and that she was willing her head should RES
on his breast and her hair like fine threads o.
twisted Roman gold kiss his burning face.
But she moved in her slunber, and theI
her star like eyes opened and looked mutt
establishment into his eager face. For on
startled moment she did not move, and il
sudden boldness from the liberty he had al
ready 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 brighten me, Philip Her quick,
startled tones as she rose to her feet yet rang
in his ears She looked at him as half of a
mind to run away II don't understand
you,n she said, reproachfully. The porcelain
picture is just as she was then.
"Why, Berthaw He had risen, too; but she
1 Il -
you for my wife"
How coidly 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, Thought you were mad.
All, 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.
Mrs. Silas Ellingsworth was all smiles and
grace as Philip entered her parlor, and she
shook hands with him, fingered cordially
over the greeting as if she had quite forgot
ten 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 know why you are not more talka-
tive You didn't come to see me at all" She
stepped to the door. Susan, call Miss
Ellingsworth,'
"aliss' Then there was no longer any
room far doubt. Philip shrank at the blow
she gave dim. He had thought all uncer-
tainty 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 fed with. And
she was Miss still. His hostess way saying
something, but he did not hear it, there was
such a deathly faintness about his heart.
Then there came a step in the hall, and his
Familiar thrill Of Tenderness bar onr,;prr