er
the world. That's the only comfort I have; my money is giving her nice
clothes and a home as good as anny, and to-night I feel 'tis giving her
friends."

"But she is worth while, even without the money."

"True," he quickly said. "But I take comfort in the consideration that
had I not carried her away she'd be in Sibley Junction this night."

"Sibley Junction! Can this radiant young creature sitting there at the
head of my table be the clerk of the Golden Eagle Hotel?" thought Alice.
"Money is magical! No wonder we all work for it--and worship it!"

The dinner was both early and short, in order that Bertha and the
Captain might take the train at ten o'clock. And as they were to have
the drawing-room in the sleeping-car (Ben's suggestion), they went
directly to the coach in their party clothes. And so it happened that
this little woman, who had never occupied a berth in a Pullman, entered
her compartment in the robes of a princess.

Alice had suggested a maid, but Bertha would not hear to that; but she
was willing that their coachman should go along to help the Captain. Ben
had interposed here, and said: "You need some one used to travelling. I
know a colored fellow who is out of service just now, and would like to
come to you. He's a good, reliable man, and a fine nurse." So she had
engaged him. He was on the platform as they drove up--a slight, quiet
man, of gentle speech and indeterminable age, who took charge of the
Captain at once, as if he had been his servant for years.

Alice said good-bye at the carriage door, but Ben went with them into
the coach. And in the excitement of getting to the train and into the
car Bertha had been able to forget the sick feeling about her heart. But
now, as he turned and said, "It's nearly time to start," and held out
his hand in parting, a desolation, a loneliness, a helpless hunger swept
over her, the like of which had never anguished her before.

"I wish you were going too!" she faltered, her speech broken and full of
sad cadences.

He, too, was tense with emotion as he answered: "I wish I were, but I
can't--I must not!" Then, with the gesture of a brother, he bent and
kissed her and turned away, blind to everything else but his pain, and,
so stumbling and shaken, vanished from her sight.

For a moment she remained standing in the aisle, the touch of his lips
still clinging to her cheek, surprised, full of bewildered defence;
then, as reckless of on-lookers as he had