Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 September 1894 — SHIPS HUT PASS IN THE NIGHT. [ARTICLE]

SHIPS HUT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

PART 11. CHAPTER HI- Continued.

The Disagreeable Man stood at the counter. , .. y.-yV/v “You little thing,” he said; “I have come to see you. It is eight years since I was in England.” Bernardine leaned over the counter, “And you ought not to be here -now," she said, looking at his thin face. He seemed to have shrunk away since sh£ had last seen him. “I am free to do as I choose, ” he •ai<s7 “My mother is dead. " “I know," Bernar Jine said' gently. “But you are not free.” He made nannswer to.that, but clipped into the chair. “You look tired," he said. “What have you been doing?" “I have been dusting the books,” she answered, smiling at him. “You remember you told me I should be content to do that. The very oldest and Shabbiest havg had ffiy "tghdefiest care. I found the shop in disorder. You see it now." “I should not call it particularly tidy now,” he said grimly. “Still, 1 suppose you have done your best. Well, and what else?” “I have been trying to take care of my old uncle,” she said. “We are just beginning to understand each other a little. And he is beginning to feel glad to have me. When I first discovered that, the days became easier to me. It makes us into dignified persons when we find out there is a place for us to fill.” “Some people never find it out,” he said. “Probably like myself, they went on for a long time without caring/’ she answered. “I think I have had more luck than I deserve.” “Well,” said the Disagreeable Man. “And you are glad to take up vour life again?” j “No,” she said quietly. ‘T have not got as far as that yet. Butl befieve that after some little time I may be glad: I hope so, I am working for that. Sometimes I begin to have a keen interest in everything. I wake up with an enthusiasm. After about two hours I have lost it again.” “Poor little child,” he said tenderly. “I, too. know what is. But you will get back to gladness; not the same kind of satisfaction as before; some other satisfaction, that compensation which is said to be included in the scheme.” “And I have begun my book,” she said, pointing to a few sheets lying on the counter; “that is to say, I have written the prologue.” “Then the dusting of the books has not sufficed?” he said, scanning her curiously. “I wanted not to think of myself," Bernardine said. “Now that I have begun it, I shall enjoy going on with it. I hope it will be a companion to ' me.”" f “ “I wonder whether .you will make & failure or a success of it?” he remarked. “I wish I could have seen.” “So you wil 1,” she said. ‘‘l shall finish it, and you will read it in Petershof.” “I shall not be going back to Petershof,” he said. “Why should l go there now?” “For the same reason that you went there eight years ago.” she &aid. “I went there for my mother’s &ake,” he said. “Then vou will go there now for my sake,” she said deliberately. He looked up quickly. “Little Bernardine," he cried, “my little Bernardine —is it possible that you care what becomes of me?” She had been leaning against the counter, and now she raised herself and stood erect, a proud, dignified little figure. “Yes, I do care,’’ she said simply, and with true earnestness, “I care with all mv heart. And even if T didnot care, you know you would not be free. You know that better than I io. We do not belong to ourselves; there are countless people depending jn us; people whom we have never seen, and whom we never shall/see. What we do, decides what (they shall be.” He still did not speak. “But it is not for those others that I plead,” , she continued. “I plead for myself. I can’t spare you, indeed; indeed, I can’t spare you!—” Her voice trembled, but she went - tvn lirn '-a! v “So you will go back to the mountains,” she said. “You will live out four life like a man. Others may prove themselves cowards, but the Disagreeable Man has a bettor part to play.” He still did not speak. Was it that he could not trust himself to words? But in that brief time the thoughts which passed through his mind were such as to overwhelm him. A picture rose up before him; a picture, of a man and woman leading their lives together, each happy n the other's love: not a love born of fancy, but a love based on comradediipand true understanding of the soul. The picture faded, and the* Disagreeable Man raised his eves lud looked at the little figure standing near him. “Littie child, little child.” he said wearily, “since it is voufi wish, 1 will go back to the mountains.” Then he bent over the counter and put his hand on hers, “I will come and see you tomorrow,” he said. “I think there are one or two things 1 want to say to you.” The next moment he was gone. In ths afternoon of that same day

Bernat-dine went to the city. She was not unhappy; she had been makj ing plans for herself. She would i work hard and fill her life as full as | possible There should be no room for unhealthy thought. She would go and spend her holidays at Petershof. There would be pleasure in that for him and for her.. She would tell him so tomorrow. She knew he would be glad. “Above all,” she said to herse],f, “there shalt be no room for ufihealthv thought. I must cultivate my garden.” iThat was wbat she was thinking of at 4 in the afternoon; how she could best cultivate her garden. At 5 she was lying unconscious in the accident ward of the New Hospital: she had been knocked down by a wagon and terribly injured. “She will not recover,” the doctor said to the nurse. “You see she is sinking rapidly. Poor little thing!” At 6 she regained consciousness, and opened her eyes. "The nurse bent over her. Then she whispered: “Tell “the Disagreeable Man how T wish I could have seen him tomorrow. We had so much to say to each other. And now —” The brown eves looked at -the nurse so entreatingly. It was a long time before she could forget the pathos of those brown eyes. A few minutes later she made another sign as though she wished to speak. Nurse Catherine bent nearer. Then she whispered: “Tell the Disagreeable Man to go back to the mountains, and begin to build his bridge; it must be strong and ” Bernardine died. THE BUILDING OF THE BRIDGE. Robert Allitsen came to the old bookshop Zerviah Holme before returning to the mountains. He found him reading Gibbon. These two men had stood by Bernardine’s grave. “I was beginning to know her,” the old man said. “I have always known her,” the young man replied. “I cannot remember a time when she has not been a part of my life.” “She loved you,” Zerviah said. “She was telling me so the very morning when you came.” Then, with a tenderness which was almost foreign to him, Zerviah told Robert Allitsen how Bernardine hadj opened her heart to him. She had never loved any one before; but she had leyed the Disagreeable Man. “I did not love him because I was sorry for him,” she had said. “I loved him for himself.” Thcv?> were her very words. “Thank you,” said the Disagreeable Mar.. “And God bless you for tell ing m-L .......... Then he added: “There were some few loose sheets of paper on the counter. She had begun her book. May I have them?” Zerviah placed them in his hand. “And this photograph,” the old man said kindly. “I will spare it for you.” “The picture of the little thin, eager face was folded up with the papers. , , ; : The two men parted. Zerviah Holme went back to his Roman History. The Disagreeable Man went back to the mountains, to live his life out there, and to build his bridge, as we all do. whether consciously or unconsciously. If it breaks down we build it again. “We will build it stronger this time,” we say to ourselves. So we begin qpce more. We are very patient. And meanwhile the years pass. THE END.