Belington progressive. [volume] (Belington, W. Va.) 1912-1927, 1914-04-23
UeIl1I1Z ~ 6/N00Q WIFI % Co/1HAIY/

! 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,
4 her hands dropped to the arms of the
chair. A fine line appeared between
her dark eyebrows-indicati OF pain.
For many minutes Sara Wrandall
watched the haggardness deepen In
the face q the unconscious sleeper.
! Then, even az che wondered at the
| act, she went over and took up one OF
the slim hands In her own. The hand
of an aristocratl 1t lay limp in hers.
| and helpless. Long taperipg fingers
esnA uCiiSosCiy pun VAIN tu% ictui ~
| 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.
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
muir as TX from afar~off "Just about
your size and figure" and wondered
not little.
You may sleep late. l have many
things to do and you will not be dis
turDed. Come, take of your clothes
and get into my bed Tomorrow we
will plan further:
But, madam" cried the girl, II
cannot take your bed. Where are you
| to-"
III feel like lying down. shall
lie there beside you"
The girl stared lie beside me?"
Yes. Oh, am not afraid Of you,
child. You are not monster. You
are just poor. tired"
"Oh, please don't! Pleased cried
the other. tears rushing to her eyes.
She raised Mrs. Wrandalls hand to
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 that
suddenly had become part of her
very existence.
1T is not friendship" she argued.
fiercely. 1T is not charity, it is not
humanity, It's the debt owe, that's
all She did the thing for me that
could not have done myself because
! loved him. owe her something for
| that
Later ON she turned her attention
| to the trunks. Her decision was made.
With ruthless hands she dragged gown
after gown from the innovations" and
cast them over chairs, on the floor,
across the foot of the bed; smart
things from Paris and Vienna; ball
gowns, tea gowns, lingerie, blouses.
hats, gloves and all of the countless
things that woman Of fashion and
| goes abroad for that purpose and no
means INDUCES herself in when she
other to speak of. From the closets she
drew forth New York stailor-suits" and
other garments.
Until long after six o'clock she
busted herself over this huge pile of
costly raiment. portions of which she
had worn but once or twice. some not
| at all, selecting certain dresses, hats,
| stockings, etc., each of which she laid
carelessly aside; an imposing pile of
many hues. all bright and gay and gilt
| tering. In another heap she laid the
somber things Of black: rneager as
sortment as compared to the other.
| Then she stood back and surveyed
the two heaps with tired eyes, Curl
GUS. almost scornful smile on her
| lips "There!" she said with sigh
THE black pile is mine, the gay pile
is yours" she went on, turning toward
tho sleeping girl What a travesty!"
/ Then size gathered up the soiled gar
ments her charge had worn and cast
| them into the bottom of q trunk, which
sho locked. Laying out carefully Sc
lected assortment OF her own garments
for the girls use when she arose, Mrs.
| Wrandall sat down beside the bed and
waited, knowing that sleep would not
| come to her
CHAPTER IN.