A SHADOW DARKENS THE PEACEFUL HOME OF THE BASKET-MAKER.
Sweet Bernardine Moore laughed to see the look of amazement upon the
young doctor's face.
He who had been reared in luxury, pampered and indulged--ay, spoiled by
an over-indulgent mother, what had he ever known of the bitter realities
of life, the struggles many have to undergo for their very existence?
He looked at this delicate, graceful girl, and his lips trembled, his
eyes grew moist with tears.
Oh, if he but dared remove her from all this sorrow! The thought of her
toiling and suffering there was more than he could calmly endure.
He turned away quickly. In another moment he would have committed
himself. He had almost forgotten that he was bound to another, and would
have been kneeling at her feet in another minute but for the sound of
her father's voice, which brought him to himself.
"Bernardine!" cried her father, fretfully, "what are you doing out there
so long in the hall? Don't you know that Mr. Wilde is waiting here to
talk with you?"
A pitiful shadow crossed the girl's face. Evidently she knew what the
man had to say to her.
Tears which she could not resist came to her eyes, and her lovely lips
trembled.
Doctor Gardiner could not help but observe this.
"Bernardine," he cried, hoarsely, forgetting himself for the moment, "I
should like to ask something of you. Will you promise to grant my
request?"
"Yes," she murmured, faintly and unhesitatingly.
"Do not trust the man to whom your father is talking."
"There is little need to caution me in regard to him, Doctor Gardiner,"
she murmured. "My own heart has told me that already----"
She stopped short in great embarrassment, and Doctor Gardiner thought it
best not to pursue the subject further, for his own peace of mind as
well as hers.
He turned abruptly away, and was quickly lost to sight in the labyrinth
of stair-ways.
With slow steps Bernardine had re-entered her apartments again. As she
approached the door, she heard Jasper Wilde say to her father in an
angry, excited voice:
"There is no use in talking to you any longer; it must be settled
to-night. I do not intend to wait any longer."
"But it is so late!" whined the basket-maker in his high, sharp treble.
"You knew I was coming, and just what I was coming here for. Why didn't
you get rid of the poor, penny doctor, instead of encouraging him?"
"I could not say much to the doctor, for he had my life in his hands,
and saved it."
"There might be worse things for you to face," replied the man,
menacingly. And the poor old basket-maker understood but too well what
he meant.
"Yes, yes," he said, huskily, "you must certainly speak to Bernardine
this very night, if I can get her to give you a hearing. I will do my
best to influence her to have you."
"Influence!" exclaimed the man, savagely. "You must command her!"
"Bernardine is not a girl one can command," sighed the old man. "She
likes her own way, you know."
"It isn't for her to say what she wants or doesn't want!" exclaimed the
man savagely. "I shall look to you to bring the girl round to your way
of thinking, without any nonsense. Do you hear and comprehend?"
"Yes," said the old man, wearily. "But that isn't making Bernardine
understand. Some young girls are very willful!"
Trembling with apprehension, the old basket-maker dropped into the
nearest chair.
His haggard face had grown terribly pale, and his emaciated hands shook,
while his eyes fairly bulged from their sockets. The agony of mind he
was undergoing was intense.
"Will Bernardine refuse this man?" he muttered to himself, "Oh, if I
but dared tell her all, would she pity, or would she blame me?"
He loved the girl after his own fashion; but to save himself he was
willing to sacrifice her. Poor Bernadine! Had she but known all!