The Pickens sentinel. (Pickens, S.C.) 1911-2016, 1914-03-19

, ting.room? Who can put herself in
the place of that despairing, hunted
creature who knew that blood was on
the hands with which she ate, and
whose eyes were filled with visions OF
the death-chair?
So great was her fatigue that long
before she finished the meal her tired
lids began to droop, her head to nod
in spasmodic surrenders to an over
powering desire for sleep. Suddenly
she dropped the fork from her fingers
and sank back in the comfortable
chair, her head resting against the
soft, upholstered back. Her lids fell,
her hands dropped to the arms Of the
chair. A fine line appeared between
her dark eyebrows-indicative Of pain.
For many minutes Sara Wrandall
watched the haggardness deepen in
the face OF the unconscious sleeper.
Then, even as she wondered at the
act, she went over and took up one OF
the slim hands in her own. The hand
of an aristocrat! 1t lay limp in hers,
and helpless. Long, tapering fingers
and delicately pink with the return of
warmth.
Rousing herself from the mute con-
temptation Of her charge, she shook
the girls shoulder. Instantly she was
awake and staring, alarm in her dazed,
| beWildered eyes.
"You must go to bed" said Mrs.
Wrandall quietly. Don't be afraid
No one will think Of coming here"
The girl rose. AS she stood before
her benefactress, she heard her muir
mur as if from afar-off: Gust about
your size and figure" and wondered
not a little.
"You may sleep late. have many
things to do and you will not be dis.
turbed. Come, take off your clothes
and get into my bed. Tomorrow we
will plan further"
"But, madam" cried the girl. Il
cannot take your bed. Where are you
to"
"If 1 feel like lying down, 1 shall
lie there beside you
The girl stared. Lie beside me?"
eyes. Oh, 1 am not afraid of you
child. You are not monster. You
are just poor, tired"
"Oh, please don't! Please!" cried
the other, tears rushing to her eyes
She raised Mrs. Wrandall's hand tc
her lips and covered it with kisses.
Long after she went to sleep, Sara
Wrandall stood beside the bed, look
ing down at the pain-stricken face
and tried to solve the problem thai
suddenly had become/a part Of hel
very existence.
''It is not friendship" she argued
fercely. 'It is not charity, it is no
humanity. It's the debt I owe, that's
all. She did the thing for me that
could not have done myself because
I loved him. owe her something fol
that"
to the trunks. Her decision was made
With ruthless hands she dragged gow1
after gown from the innovations" ant
cast them over chairs, on the floor
across the foot Of the bed; smar
things from Paris and Vienna; bal
gowns, tea gowns, lingerie, blouses
hats, gloves and all Of the counties:
things that a woman of fashion ant
goes abroad for that purpose and n,
means INDUCES herself in when sh'
other to speak Of. From the closets sht
drew forth New York "tailor-suits" ant
other garments.
Until long after six o'clock sht
busted herself over this huge pile o
costly raiment, portions Of which sh'
had Iworn but once or twice, some no
at all, selecting certain dresses, hats
stockings, etc., each of which she lait
carelessly aside; an imposing pile o
many hues, all bright and gay and gilt
tering. In another heap she laid th
somber things Of black; a meager as
sortment as compared to the other.
Then she stood back and surveyed
the two heaps with tired eyes, a curl
Gus, almost scornful smile on he.
lips. "Theren she said with a sigh
"The black pile is mine, the gay pill
is yours" she went on, turning towar.
the sleeping girl. What travesty!
Then she gathered up the soiled gal
ments her charge had worn and cas-
them into the bottom Of trunk, whicl
she locked. Laying out carefully sc
lected assortment Of her own garment
for the girls use when she arose, Mrs
Wrandall sat down beside the bed an
waited, knowing that sleep would no
come to her.