Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1888-03-24
CHAPTER XVI CONTINUED.

PAWN yer help enough OF yer gam 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 warnin'
you not to spoil 'eni, not to hurt their pride,
or break their spirit by givin' 'em something.
As if kindness ever hurt any human soul.
Not that l would cali it charity; they earns
every mite yen ever give EN-"
'But if the mills or employers don't make
such gains as you seem TO take for grant
ed"--
'sIf there amt money made, why, nobody
can find no fault not to get big pay. All
mean is when money is made, and that's
pretty often, we ought to have some share
in it,
"Don't go, John, want to ask your
~ must; | asked out for today" and the
door closed after the man. For quite while
after his last visitor had gone, Philip sat
with his eyes fixed ON the door knob in in
tense abstraction. Was he angry at the
audacty of the common laborerl When he
pushed back his chair and rose to his feet,
running his hands through his hair, he made
one exclamation:
"How blindn But whom he meant,
whether his class or the laborers, did not
appear from his tone or from the bitter smile
On his lips John Graves would have told in
q moment that the young proprietor meant
no good to his help, The man had had
glimmer of hope that Philip Breton might
only be waiting for an opportunity, but this
interview had dispelled it from his mind.
1t was some little time afterwards that
Philip left his counting room and made his
way up the street. He was dressed in SOM
berest black, and his silk hat was subdued
with a wide band of Grape But his dress
was no more melancholy than his face.
When under pressure of business, one would
not have noticed it so especially, but the in
slant he was thrown back upon himself his
face became as sad and hopeless 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 crea-
ture suffer without a thrill of sympathy 1t
would have seemed a cruel and unnatural
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 good of trying to patch up this
life or that; the terrible disease was forever
at work Conditions made but little differ
ence; 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. IL 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 glorifed in all the dreams of
his early manhood. He walked YEARLY 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 woman that
had become another mans wife! She had
called on the laws of the land for her protec-
ton; he had no right to even think of her
now She was shut away from him forever.
1t had become a sin for him now to long for
her, though she he'd been so nearly his own
wife. There was no place in the world for
minated lovers like him. If she had not
married that mani 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
her marriage and now it was like n guilty
thing, that be permitted himself to entertain
for a moment terrible fears What vengeance
would be stern and relentless enough for him
who had wrecked the nobleSt womanhood in
the world, who had sullied purity like an
angels. 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, 1 didn't know but it was young
Breton and that Bertha Ellingsworth that
was going to be married. Two graceless
women had come in and seated themselves
in u neighboring pew. Philip had been
thinking 50 intensely until now that an
earthquake would hardly have disturbed
him.
"Thatn 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 stilllo
ado telll" Philip shuddered. Why were
creatures like these permitted to touch names
like Bertha's. Married another chap, Ell?
Well, young Breton never was much for
looks, anyhow
''Marriedr' Philip started at her tone.
"Who said she was married. The shoes on
the other foot She amt married at all.
Handsome fellow like him has a wife in every
town, such as they be. That proud mink
is only one on em." How they rolled the
shameful story, like a sweet morsel under
their tongues, as if it relieved the blaclSnegi
of their contemplate souls, that one woman
more had singed her angel wings in the pitt
less fame Of disgrace.
Philip had struggled to his feet. The
women blushed Like fire and tried to look UNI
conscious, but he did not even glance at them
as he moved down the aisle He could not
see very weIl Was the chapel fun as it
seemedl 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 inn
Bolt upright no sat where he had been
guided, and saw as in a dream a white phan-
tom of q woman it seemed and black