Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1908-02-28
CHAPTER V.
For a Fathers Honor.

money, worse than loss OF frlendSnlp
and faith and confidence. There are
alternatives presented to suffering men
and women, again and again, where the
choice would be death-death in any
awful and sudden and agony-filled form
rather than the other side Of the ter
rible question. Do you wonder that
men and women find their hands nerv-
ed for self destruction. sometimes, and
that mo reason is known" is too often
all that the world can learn regarding
the saddest and most fearful OF human
tragedies-the tragedies of self-sacrl-
flee?
Donald Barron knew that into his life,
if he lived, was coming that which
would embitter and darken it forever
1t was written in his daughters face
as she stood in the doorway, half hes
itating before she came forward, brave
ly and lovingly, as great heroine as
poet and sculptor ever made immortal;
il shone in her smile; it appeared in
every movement and gesture. Could
great angel, clothed in cloud, and bright
with majesty and power, have bent
down from the heavens and offered the
old man the choice between instant
death and that future which a noble
human purpose had planned for him,
his last breath would have been spent
in making his answer-his last thought
would have been, Thank Cod"
There are heights Of self -abnegation
so far removed from the ordinary plane
of human experience that most men
doubt their existence until some sud
den inspiration clears the mists and
doubts away. Mr. Prier knew what was
coming when he saw Elsie Barron open
the door of the private office. He had
seen all the depths Of human depravity;
he had watched vile cunning and
treacherous meanness; he understood
how low crime may go, how wicked
the heart may learn to be; but some
thing from the other extremity Of the
long line Of human impulse and passion
was acting itself out before his eyes.
He had seen men go to the gallows,
and he knew that they usually went
with an air of bravado which was OF
little credit to them. He had read, with
a true cynic smile, of the bravery Of
martyrs on their way to the stake. He
was watching the bravest woman, now,
of whom he had ever heard; he was
waiting to see her do the bravest thing
he had ever seen done.
She walked straight to Gilbert Sem,
did this woman, who had heard his au-
Gacious demand as she stood for a mo-
ment just outside the door.
II will marry you," she said, land
guarantee the other conditions you
mentioned"
Then she turned toward Prier.
II hate YOU" she said, fiercely, and
l always shall; but one likes the res
pect of ones enemies. l swore would
do anything for my father; swore that
l was innocent. Do you believe me
now? Are you convinced"
Il am. 1 crave your pardon. l.
Father" she cried, springing toward
the old man.
He had tainted.
Prier and Sem both hurried forward.
Help me place him upon the lounge;
call for help; send for a physician"
These were her hurried words to the
man whose everlasting and relentless
enemy she had said she would be.
Stand back. Keep your hands
off! 1 will kill you if you touch him."
That was what she said to the man she
had just promised to marry.
All, well! Consistency may be jew
el; it will never find a woman's heart a
fitting setting for itself until woman no
longer bears, in martyr-like silence,
and with saint-like resignation, the
heaviest burdens laid upon the race.
Expostulation had been of no avail.
There had been none to try its power
with the devoted girl, save her father
and the detective; no others knew fully
os Senn's confession and demand; few
others knew of her purpose. Sem had
been firm. He would recede from moth
ing He would modify no condition.
Prier had had no power with her.
His opposition had rather strengthened
her purpose: his angry vehemence had
stimulated all her obstinate resolution
&C. the point of absolute rebellion.
Mr.. Barron's opposition had grown
weaker and weaker. Her sacrifice
would save everything else-his name,
bis life, his honor. She hid her pain
She was brave. There was a smile up
on her lips So the end was what she
knew it would be-knew from the mo-
ment she went into her fathers private
Gifice at the bank.
And the end had come.
II was evening-Monday evening, the
seventh day of November, eighteen
hundred and seventy. 1t had been
showing for hours. The wind swept
everywhere in icy waves, tossing the
snow into drifts of fantastic shapes
1t was a fitting night-the sky like lead
and the dead earth in its shroud-for
beautiful woman to give her life and
rer future for fathers honor.
The little church, standing back frO'a
the road, little way from town, nestled
among the trees. through whose branch
es the bleak wind weirdly whistled, was
dimly lighted up. Few knew why its
narrow windows were aglow. Few IN
quired. Passers-by drew coats or
cloaks closer about them and hurried
on That is the worlds way, you know
One hasn't to go far in search Of trage-
dies in this world of ours-One has only
TO pause where the wintry wind walls
or where the summer sun scOrches-
pause and watch and wait.
1t was late when two closely cur
tained carriages drew up at the church
door They left their loads there, and
were driven swiftly away again. 1t
seemed as though the occupants must
,f hai nd ca