The Yale expositor., 1914-11-12

stalled. With an effort he forced his
eyes open and held them so until the
first giddiness passed He raised his
head; II fell back with a thud.
II can't do It," he groaned.
But the mills-and KaZia!
1--WE got to do 1t. / must stop him.
/ must get to her"
Then began a fight to sit up, to
stand, to beat off the invisible hands
trying to drag him back into the black
ness. How long the struggle lasted,
by what degrees he progressed, he did
not know; but when It was over he
was leaning weakly against the door
jamb. His brain was Keeling, he
breathed sobbingly, but by bracing him
cred In the struggle to stand. he man.
aged to hold what he had won.
His brain cleared again, a little
steadiness came to the trembling
limbs. Summoning all his will. he
passed with uncertain dragging steps
out of the shed. A cold damp wind
breathed refreshingly upon him, He
gripped his cane more tightly and
started slowly down the weedy road.
He reached the foot Of the hill and
sank down In little rain pool, rested
pantingly and laved his hot face few
minutes, then staggered to his feet
and limped on until weakness over
came him once more and he fell.
More than an hour later he was still
lurching along the road. Kazia and
the mills! They were In danger they
were being taken from him; he must
save them.
So he beat his way slowly along
moonlit stretches Of rough road,
through darkened ravines where only
instinct found a path, until at last,
rounding a curve, he saw the furnace
looming huge before him.
AS hours passed and Mark did
not return, sense Of an approaching
crisis, of danger, came to Kazia. The
squall died away. full darkness fell,
the>train she was to have taken with
Piotr rolled to a stop at the station
and out again, and still he had not re-
turned. The sense grew heavier, pas
sive waiting unbearable. To escape
her foreboding she went out into the
night and walked about again In the
place she had once thought OF as a
haven. But she quickly left the ram
bling old village, seen for the first
time, yet holding so many memories
Of which she must not think, and went
70 fhn nnfhaI 20 do
paved streets and rows of pretty little
cottages. Many Of the cottages were
dark and untenanted as yet, but she
saw them as they would be when they
were the homes of happy folk who
toiled without exhaustion or fear, with
kindness In their hearts one for an
other.
She left the cluster OF homes-to-be
and retraced her steps over the street
that led past the mills to the bridge,
started to cross. But at the entrance
she stopped. Everywhere It was the
same, a redolence of him. After all,
to her Bethel, the haven, was just
Mark Truitt
All her fine resolutions and philoso-
ply had become insufficient. The sight
Of the river, the woods in their au-
tumnal glory, the song of the rapids
had revivified the scenes of her one
happiness.
She did not think that there might
be some to see. She was weeping,
head bowed on the bridge rail.
"Oh, shouldn't have come. want
him-him. And / have no right to
have him. II would be the cruelest
thing l could do to him-even II he
cared. was wrong to come"
Thus she told hope-the immortal!
1T must not live. ;.
Old Simon had no skill for II and
hence no part in the building OF the
mills. But he spent his days watching
them grow. Often at night when
Bethel was sleeping, he would slip
across the river to realize again that
after so many years his dreams were
coming magnificently true.
That night he left his seat on the
stoop, where he had been wonderingly
but patiently awaiting the absent
Mark, and trudged down to the river
and across the bridge. He saw the
figure leaning on the rail at the farther
end, but not until he was close did he
see It was that of weeping woman.
He would have turned aside, but he
perceived that she had heard him and
lifted her head.
He stopped short, staring In aston
ishment at the woman, a sort that had
never before come within his ken.
After a moments hesitation he went
to her.
Us anything wrong, ma'amT
She shook her head.
rs there anything kin do fur yer
Again the silent gesture.
''If there u.s." he persisted: I'D like
to do 1t fur ye."
She found her voice. 'Tt is moth
ing" She tried to smile. Sometimes
women cry for nothing, about little
things"
Some women do" Simon answered
gravely. II guess ye're stranger
here, amt ye? I'm Simon Truitt."
She started. You're his father7"
Simon noted the unconscious use OF