A whirring sound rings in her ears. It is the car rolling down the grade with the velocity of a thunder-bolt.

In a minute or two at the most, the car will be upon her.

Still she does not falter. The second pyramid must be completed.

Again she turns to look down the track. The headlight of the engine seems to be upon her. It is, in fact, just crossing the culvert.

A glance at the pile of rocks makes them appear insignificant.

"They will never be able to stop the car," she moans.

Then with a final effort she tugs at a boulder larger than any of the others. She has it on the rail when the whistling of the engine startles her.

The engineer has seen the lower pyramid of rocks on the track and has whistled "down brakes."

The train is stopping; it will be saved, for one of the two obstructions will derail the motor-car.

Sister Martha starts to run down the track. She has not taken a dozen steps when the juggernaut dashes into the pyramid of rocks.

Instantly there is a flash and an explosion, that shakes the mountain. Great ledges of rock slide from the overhanging crags.

In a shower of splintered stone, Martha is literally entombed. Her life is sacrificed on the altar of devotion. She has lived a Christian and dies a martyr.

But the Keystone Express is saved.

Its passengers and crew, when they recover from the fright occasioned by the explosion, hasten from the cars. Trainmen are sent up the track to investigate. Brakemen are also sent down the track to carry the news to the station.

One of these men stumbles across Widow Braun. He returns to the train carrying her.

From her, Trueman and the other passengers, including the Coal and Iron Police, learn of the plot to wreck the train and of the heroic effort made by Sister Martha and the widow herself, to avert the calamity.

Trueman starts in quest of Sister Martha. Accompanied by one of the trainmen with a lamp, he reaches the scene of the explosion.

The trainman discovers the body of Martha.

Bending over the prostrate body Harvey Trueman weeps. It is the manly expression of deep emotion.

"She died to save my life and the lives of the hundreds on the train. Was there ever a more noble sacrifice? It cannot be that she has given her life in vain. I must do the work she has begun. If I can prevent the miners from committing acts of violence it will atone for the loss of Sister Martha."

From the top of the mountain, Trueman catches a glimpse of the torches and miners' lamps. The miners are moving toward the town. Trueman is familiar with every inch of ground about Wilkes-Barre. He has played on the mountain as a boy. He now recollects a by-path which will bring him to the town in advance of the miners who are on the wagon road.

"Have the body of Sister Martha taken to the Mount Hope Seminary," he says to the trainman, and away he speeds for Wilkes-Barre.

The Coal and Iron Police are thrown into utter consternation. They dare not advance upon the town in the darkness for fear that there is another plot to destroy them.

The captain orders them to march across the mountain so as to enter the town from a direction opposite to that by which they are expected. To affect this detour will delay their arrival several hours, but their own safety is more to be considered than that of the townspeople.

And the miners? They have heard the explosion and believe that the Coal and Iron Police have been sent to their doom.

With the police out of their way there is nothing to check the miners in the accomplishment of their design to recover the body of Carl Metz.

It is the radical element that has conceived the idea of wrecking the train. They take full control of the miners and lead the way to join their comrades on the Esplanade. As they pass through the streets hundreds of men and women who have known nothing of the plot to wreck the train, fall in line and march on in the procession. The number of miners and townspeople soon reaches the thousands. By the time they arrive at the Esplanade there are ten thousand in line.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

AT THE DEAD COAL KING'S MANSION.

Along the Esplanade the hurrying thousands begin to move in the direction of the Terrace; miners who have been in the shafts for eighteen hours; yard-hands from the railroads; iron founders, naked save for their breeches, have quit their furnaces; townspeople whom fear impels to see what the night will bring forth; this heterogeneous horde presses on to the scene of the murder.

It is a night that lends an appropriate setting to so strange and uncanny an event. The sky is leaden except for a streak on the western horizon where the fading, sinister light of the sun gives token of a stormy morrow. Through the walled banks, the river rushes turbulently, swollen by recent rains; its waters tinged by the dyes and other refuse from the city above.

On the further bank, the groups of breakers and foundries loom up as vague shadow creations. From fifty chimney mouths thick black smoke curls unceasingly; now soaring to a considerable height, now driven down to earth by fitful gusts of wind. In their sinuous course these smoke-clouds resemble the genii of fable, who spread over the earth carrying death and devastation.

In sharp contrast to this picture is the Avenue of Opulence on the side of the river which boasts of the Esplanade. Here is a line of fifty palatial residences; the homes of the owners of a hundred mines and factories and the task-masters of fifty thousand men, their wives and their progeny.

Clustered about the breakers and furnaces are the squalid huts and ramshackle cottages of the operatives; there too, a little removed from the river are the caves in which the Huns and Scandinavians dwell, even as their prehistoric ancestors dwelt before the light of civilization dawned.

Nero thrumming his violin from the vantage point of the crowning hill of Rome, had no such portraiture of the degradation of humanity as that which the Magnates nightly view from their balconies. A stranger would be struck with surprise that the thousands should be huddled in dens that wild animals would find uninhabitable, while the sons of greed and avarice flaunt their trappings of mammon from the hilltops.

This is the arena in which is to be enacted a scene of this great drama. The actors, the audience are gathering.

Mingled sounds of strange nature are on the air. The murmur always present where multitudes are assembled runs as an undertone; the sharp notes of frightened women and terrified children rise as the tones of an oratorio; steady, full, vibrant are the sounds of the men's voices.

On the countenances of the men can be read the exultation of their hearts, that at least one of their tyrants has encountered his Nemesis. Faces here and there are wreathed in smiles, as though their possessors were hastening to a fete. Some are grave, for the thought of the retribution that the Magnates will demand, and which they knew so well how to secure, is enough to bring a pallor to the cheek. There are men in the eddying thousands who have felt the hot lead of Latimer and Hazleton burn into their backs and the recollection makes them shudder. They are again upon a highway, but is this a protection against the violence of their masters? They are now, as then, unarmed, but is this a safeguard against the rifles of the hirelings?

From the bridge that connects the shores of the river, to the mansion of the Coal King, is a distance of two miles. The broad avenue affords an excellent concourse and down it the throng fairly runs. They traverse the distance in twenty minutes.

An army advancing into an enemy's country could not preserve better order. Far in advance of the main body of the toilers is the vanguard, a group of twenty of the acknowledged leaders of the men. It is at their suggestion that the cowed wretches have mustered up courage enough to cross the bridge and enter upon the interdicted boulevard. So it is incumbent upon them to show no trepidation.

Immediately behind them are the more adventurous ones, followed by the women and children, who, like angels, tread where men fear to go. The great mass of the crowd is composed of the workmen of the town. The faint-hearted and the cowardly bring up the rear. When the marble steps that lead up to the mansion are reached, the vanguard halts. The impetus of the entire line is arrested as if by magic. An unheard, invisible signal is obeyed, the signal of fear. Then the men in advance beckon to the people to come forward.

A score of young men respond as if to a summons for volunteers, and in their wake press the multitude.

The tumult ceases. The moment for action is approaching and men concentrate their attention on what is being done by the leaders.

"I have come for the body of Carl Metz," shouts Foreman O'Neil, from the foot of the terrace; his voice ringing with a tone of defiance.

"I have come for the body, and if you do not bring it out we will go in after it."

This ultimatum is addressed to the private detective who stands on the piazza of the Coal Magnate's palace, as a sentinel.

He does not seem disconcerted at the sight of so great a number of people. On the contrary his mouth curls in a derisive smile.

"O, you had better all go back to the breakers," he retorts. "We will see that Metz's body is buried."

Then he pauses, waiting to see the effect his words will produce. On and on comes the tidal wave of humanity. If it is not checked soon it will deluge the palace.

"I will shoot the first man who sets a foot on this piazza," defiantly cries the detective, at the same time drawing his revolver. "Get back to your breakers. If the superintendent sees you on this side of the river, you'll all get sacked," he adds as a threat more terrible than the shooting of one of them.

"We don't want to make trouble," explains O'Neil. "All that we ask is that we may take the body of Metz and give it decent burial. Has the superintendent said we could not have it?"

Mr. Judson, the superintendent of the Giant Breakers, appears at the door. He steps out on the piazza.

A sullen roar greets him.

"Until the coroner has disposed of the case," he begins, "no one will be permitted to touch the body. You have heard my decision. Now go back to your work."

The recollection of the treachery practiced on them in the riot of 1900, when their dead fellow-workmen were put in crates and buried by the police at night, without religious rites, comes to the minds of all. They have sworn then that never again would they be cheated of the right to bury their martyred brothers.

"Give us the body," cry a hundred voices in chorus.

"Go on, go on," shout the pressing thousands. "Go in and get it."

The forces for a storm have been gathering since the first tidings of the tragedy reached the people.

When they heard that Carl Metz, the foreman of the Keystone furnace, had killed Gorman Purdy and had then ended his own life, they were dumbfounded. Then as a lightning flash the information had spread that Metz had left a note explaining that he had killed the tyrannical Coal Magnate for the good of mankind. This word of explanation had clarified the confused thoughts in the minds of all. They read in that message their emancipation. The hour to strike a blow for their long lost rights had come.

The opposition offered by the detective and Judson, proves to be the shock needed to precipitate the storm.

By a single impulse the crowd rushes up the terrace. Its advance is irresistible. Both Judson and his hireling see the futility of attempting to resist the mob. They, therefore, withdraw within the house. As they enter they close the massive oak doors. Even as the doors swing to, the weight of a dozen powerful shoulders is thrown against them.

For a moment the advance is checked.

Turning to the windows, the infuriated men shatter them one by one, and like the sea pouring into a breach in a ship, they enter the house. One of the first to enter runs to the doors and flings them open. "Come in!" he shouts. "This is ours for to-day."

A marble staircase leads from the first floor to the one above. This marvellous masterpiece had been made in Europe and imported. It cost two hundred thousand dollars—more than the appraised value of the two thousand hovels of the crowd that now trample upon its polished steps.

Up this staircase the impetuous leaders run. At the head of the stairs is the library, the room in which the tragedy has been enacted.

On the floor in this room is the body of Metz. It has not been disturbed.

The body of the Magnate has been removed to his bed-room to be prepared for burial.

O'Neil and two members of the Committee of Labor take up the prostrate form of their friend and make their way toward the door. It is not their intention to commit any violence in the house. Yet, as is always the case when men are under high mental tension, there is an element that cannot resist the instinctive craving of the animal spirit for blood.

"The sewer was good enough for Metz," exclaims an ironworker, ferociously. It's good enough for Purdy."

"Where is Purdy's body?"

This question now presents itself to the invaders. It serves as the keynote for future action.

"Let's find it," suggests the ironworker. And the search of the mansion is begun.

Anticipating that the crowd might demand the body of the multi-millionaire, his faithful attendants have hurriedly removed it to the top of the building. It is concealed in the apartments of the chief butler. A superficial hunt fails to reveal its place of concealment. This intensifies the eagerness of the people to find it. They are positive it was on the premises, for the crowd without completely surrounds the palace.

Again are the gorgeous furnishings of the forty rooms thrown helter-skelter. Costly cabinets that refuse to yield to first pressure, are wrenched open. The frightened butler and the corps of other servants are impressed into the search. They are compelled to give up the keys to all closets and rooms. As case after case of silver and gold service are disclosed, the vulture element pounces upon them. For every piece there are fifty contestants, and the result is a wild scrimmage which prevents any one getting so much as a spoon without paying dearly for it.

Half an hour of vain search heats the tempers of the men to the fever point. Those with the butler finally threaten him with instant death if he does not disclose the whereabouts of the body, and reluctantly he obeys. Hounds falling upon their quarry could not exhibit more ferocity than the mob as it pounces upon the corpse.

Gorman Purdy had been seated in his library when his last summons came. He was attired in full evening dress. On his shirt bosom, over the heart, is a spot of blood. It shows where the bullet had found its mark.

A hurried consultation is held. It is decided that the body be carried to the Potter's field and thrown into the open grave that is kept for paupers.

Three men pick up the body and start to leave the house.

All this while the impatience of the throng outside has found vent in ribald jests.

"One dead millionaire is better than an army of workmen," jeers one man.

"He has come to life and has offered to arbitrate," sneers another.

"Bring him out!" is the incessant cry of the thousands.

And now the cortege appears. O'Neil and three committeemen carry the body of Metz. They pass between an avenue of men, who give way deferentially.

On reaching the Esplanade the pall-bearers pause. They face toward the bridge and wait for the procession to form. Then the trio who carry—or to be precise, drag the body of Purdy—emerge.

A great shout is given as the masses catch a glimpse of the body of the man who in his lifetime was their unmerciful master.

Darkness has supplanted the twilight. Now the contrast between light and shade is sharp. At intervals of fifty feet along the Esplanade, wrought iron gothic flambeaux support powerful electric lights. Objects beyond the immediate radius of the lights are indistinguishable. The windows of all the palaces are all closed and barricaded. From across the river the accustomed flare of the furnaces is missing. The fires are extinguished.

The uncouth countenances of the men and women can be studied in intermittent flashes as they pass under the strong glare of the lights. The utter absence of men and women of gentility makes the procession seem like the invasion of the Huns into the Empire. Among the thousands there are descendants of those very men who made the legions of Rome flee in terror. The torch of progress is again in the hands of the uncultured, and as history proves the race is to undergo another evolution.

That it is to be effected by internecine revolution none doubts. The march of carnage is on. Whither will it tend?

A leader of genius is wanted. The plastic emotions of the multitude will yield to his command.

Already the peaceable character of the visitation of the humble to the habitation of the haughty, has changed to one of violence.

O'Neil has been able to create the storm, but he lacks the capacity to direct it. The man of might has stepped forward and has been hailed as chief.

Just as the body of Purdy is to be brought down the terrace the sound of distant cheering is heard. It comes from the direction of the bridge. The men who have hold of the millionaire's body, drop it.

Do the shouts come from the militia?

With ever-increasing magnitude the cheering continues. Whatever the object may be, it is approaching the palace.

A reflex movement in the crowds indicates that danger is upon them.

"It's the Pinkertons!" is the terror-stricken cry that arises.



CHAPTER XXIX.

PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES.

Now the shouting swells into a general outburst of enthusiasm. "Trueman! Trueman!" are the words that reach the ears of the men at the foot of the terrace.

It is not the militia then, that is swooping down upon the people to crush them for demanding the body of their dead; it is not the Pinkertons. It is the champion of the people come to their aid!

Breathless from the three miles he has traversed at a run, Trueman sinks exhausted on the stone steps in front of Purdy's house.

The excited leaders cluster about him and tell him of the events that have transpired during the afternoon and early evening. "It was four o'clock when we first heard that Metz had shot and killed Purdy. The news spread to all the mills and furnaces," explains Chester, one of the yard hands of the local depot.

"Some one started the story that the police had been instructed to bury Metz secretly for fear there would be trouble if he was given a public funeral. You know there was a note found on him which said he had killed Purdy for the good of the workingmen."

"Yes," breaks in O'Neil, "the folks all over town said they were bound to see Metz given decent burial. A committee came to me and asked if I would head a procession to come here and demand the body. We came and were refused it. Then we broke into the house and got Metz's body.

"Some one started the cry, 'Find Purdy's body and bury it in Potter's field!' This set the crowd crazy. I could not prevent their seizing it."

Harvey Trueman listens to the stories of the men. He realizes that no half-measure can be proposed. It will either be necessary for him to acquiesce to their plan to throw the multi-millionaire's body into the Potter's field or else oppose them to the last point.

With the knowledge of the various events that have occurred he can estimate the effect that such an act of violence will have upon the country. Should the people of the other mining districts hear that the miners of Wilkes-Barre have risen in revolt against their masters it may precipitate a general uprising.

The deaths of the leading financiers and manufacturers throughout the country have made a panic inevitable. If to this is added rioting, the country will be plunged into a state of veritable anarchy. Why should not Wilkes-Barre be the centre of this national movement for a peaceable solution of the question of the rights of labor? One clear note of confidence sounded amid the general babel may serve as the signal for rational action.

Reasoning thus, he determines to make a grand effort to convert the crowd to moderation.

As he passed through the larger cities on his way to the town he heard that the people of Wilkes-Barre were up in arms. The militia have been ordered out and will arrive at any moment. The Coal and Iron Police are crossing the mountain and will show no mercy to the miners. If they find the people engaged in mischief, the story of past massacres will be repeated.

"Come with me," says Trueman to his lieutenants. They move quickly up the steps to the piazza of the magnate's palace.

Here Trueman turns to the crowd.

The cheering and shouting has been kept up during the two or three minutes that he has been resting. The people have again massed themselves about the grounds surrounding the house.

"Speech! speech!" they cry.

Trueman raises his hands before his face and lowers them in a sign for silence. The buzz of the thousands is instantly hushed. In a clear full voice that increases in volume as he proceeds, he begins his never-to-be-forgotten oration.

"Women and men of Wilkes-Barre:

"That you are; testified in claiming the body of the man who sacrificed his life that you might live as freemen in this land of equal rights none can deny; that you should be moved to seek revenge upon the body of the man who has of all men been the most intolerant, tyrannical and merciless to you and the hundreds whom death has claimed, during the past twenty years, is nothing more than human.

"I believe, as have the philosophers and statesmen of all ages, that the people can do no wrong; for the voice of the people is, in fact, the voice of God."

As these words fall upon the ears of the multitude a great shout is given. Men wave their hats; women flutter their vari-colored shawls, which serve them as headgear; the sense of righteousness is awakened in them.

"With an abiding faith in the justice of the Almighty, you have bided your time; tolerance has ever been your actuating principle; reason has dictated every appeal that you have made to your masters.

"To-day you feel that the hour for your deliverance has come; that the fetters have fallen from your wrists. You stand here as emancipated men of a great nation. That your hearts should be filled with rejoicing, shows that you are alive to the importance of the occasion.

"Metz, who this day sacrificed his life for you, is worthy of your admiration. He is one of the world's heroes, one of its martyrs. It is for you to say if he shall have a monument worthy of his memorable act.

"The peoples of all ages have had their heroes and their martyrs. The progress of the world is marked by the monuments that have commemorated the deeds of these men.

"It remains for you to erect a monument for the martyr of the Twentieth Century.

"Shall it be of brass or of enduring granite?

"Either of these would be a prey to the long lapse of time.

"You may choose as a monument, a mound that shall endure as long as the world rolls through space; you may convert those piles of brick and iron on the further side of the river into a mass of ruins; you may set the indignant torch to this fine line of palaces.

"Whatever you do you may be sure that your example will be the signal for your fellow workmen throughout the land."

"Burn down the breakers!" cries a thousand voices.

"Those breakers as they stand to-day are fit only to be destroyed," continues Trueman.

"They have consumed a pound of human flesh for every ton of coal that fed them. They have afforded money to a few Plutocrats, with which to satisfy the rapacious desires of greed; they have been the source of revenue that made these palaces possible. Those breakers have given you in return for your long days of toil, only enough to keep life in your bodies; they have bound you to this spot with fetters stronger than those of steel. If you should flee from this bondage you would find starvation awaiting you on the roads."

These sentences have an electrical effect upon the audience. The passive temperaments of the men and women are being quickened.

"Should you destroy the breakers and furnaces, and these homes of your oppressors, your own losses would outweigh those of the millionaires.

"Yet your acts would be justifiable.

"Do not move till I have delivered the message I bear.

"I come to you with tidings that will make the blood in your veins flow faster in a delirium of joy.

"I come to tell you that your fellow workmen in every state in this Republic are to-day emancipated, even as you yourselves have been. The sword has been wrested from the hands of tyrants, and has been placed in the hands of the people.

"The centuries that have come and gone since Christianity was first preached have seen the sword turned upon the humble, the meek, the worthy. Now it is to be turned upon the craven few who have fattened at the expense of the many.

"At the very hour when Melz sent Gorman Purdy to his doom, avenging angels, disguised as men, were abroad in our land weeding out the seed of iniquity.

"In San Diego, California, Senator Warwick was killed by the hand of a man who, when he had rid the earth of the most avaricious man who ever worked a mine, completed the chapter by taking his own life.

"Henceforth men will not slave in the mines of California or elsewhere for the sole benefit of misers. The miner will enjoy the fruits of his labor. He will make significant the words 'The laborer is worthy of his hire.'

"In St. Louis at the same hour, the owner of the grain elevators, in which is stored the crops of the great plains, there to be kept until the needs of the people shall place an exorbitant price upon every bushel, was smothered to death in the hold of one of his own ships. With him died the martyr who had succeeded in bringing a just retribution upon the head of an insatiate oppressor.

"Henceforth bread shall not be made a product of speculation. The hungry mouths of women and children shall not go unfed that the stock broker and the grain speculator may amass fortunes.

"The Cotton King of Massachusetts, who has kept men and women out of employment, and in their stead has worked children in his mills, was killed in his office as he refused the fifth appeal for an advance of three cents a day in the pay of the six thousand half-grown children, most of them girls, who tended his looms and spindles for pauper wages.

"The man who thus abolished for all time the further slaughter of innocents, went to eternity with the dragon he had slain. The mill owner went to expiate his sins; the martyr to receive his reward.

"And in New York, the city which I have just left, the ruler of the Nation's money, the President of the Consolidated Banker's Exchange, died in a pot of molten lead which he had been brought to hope would be turned into gold under the touch of an alchemist. The lust of gold that in life had been his only incentive, proved the means of his undoing.

"Bond syndicates will no longer be formed to corner the people's money, that millions may be squeezed from the public treasury.

"My fellow-countrymen, this is indeed a great day.

"The full story cannot be told you at a single meeting.

"Know that you are once again free men, not in name only, but in reality; that your children will never suffer the degradation through which you have passed.

"The story of your deliverance you will soon know in its entirety. To-night I can only give you a summary."

"Tell us all! Tell us everything!" thunder the astonished masses. They forget Metz and Purdy in the presence of this greater news.

"I have only just learned the true facts of this remarkable movement. The representatives of the people who met in Chicago six months ago to formulate plans for the protection of labor, found that little could be accomplished against the combined wealth of the Trusts.

"A permanent committee of forty was elected to carry out the purposes of the convention. For several weeks the committee occupied itself in routine work. Its sub-committees reported that they could make no headway.

"Then at one of the meetings a committeeman named Nevins proposed that inasmuch as the committee had to deal with a wily and unscrupulous foe, it constitute itself into a secret body.

"At the first secret meeting he submitted the plan which was carried into effect to-day.

"It required that every one of the forty men should pledge himself to rid the world of one of its chief tyrants. He proved to the satisfaction of the men that by so doing they would be securing the blessings of liberty and happiness to mankind.

"He counselled them to strip their acts of any semblance of selfishness by sacrificing themselves with their vanquished enemies.

"At this moment the news is being flashed around the world that the forty tyrants and the forty martyrs have been gathered to their Maker in a single day.

"Again is the message that was first uttered in the Garden of Eden sent to the world: 'Labor is the God-given heritage of man.' Nor shall anyone keep man from his inheritance.

"To you, men and women of this Trust-ridden community, is given the opportunity to reap the full benefit of to-day's atonement.

"That you should waste your efforts on the mere gratification of revenge, was but natural when you did but know of the result of one deed in the plan of emancipation. Then it might have been enough that you should destroy the breakers and tear down these palaces.

"But now that you have heard of the National blow that has been struck for you, all thoughts of violence must be swept from your minds. Now you must realize that a greater triumph awaits you than to watch the flames lick up the property of your tormentors.

"That property is now yours!

"These breakers, furnaces, factories; these houses, the mines beneath the earth's surface, the lands above them, all, all, are yours. It needs but for you to take possession of your own; for you to enjoy the full measure of the profit of your labor.

"Return to your homes, filled with rejoicing that you have not been called upon to stain your hands with blood; that your rights have been restored through the sacrifice of forty men to whom you and your posterity shall give immortal fame.

"You will have to work as hirelings only until you yourselves place your government in the hands of trusted men of your own selection.

"Fraud will no longer seek for public office; avarice will no longer scheme to gain possession of the world's wealth for the satisfaction of inordinate desires; inhumanity will no longer vaunt itself in our mills, our mines, our fields, for to-day the edict has been sent to the world that death awaits those who shall again seek to enslave labor. There will be forty martyrs ready for another sacrifice. Who will dare to be their foe?

"Choose your leaders with care; see that they are sincere in their determination to work your will.

"When this is done the hovels you now live in will be supplanted by decent homes; the poor food you now eat will be kept for your swine; your children will grow up to manhood and womanhood without having had their minds and bodies stunted by premature toil.

"A Republic of universal happiness and comfort will be yours.

"Such a Republic will be a monument to endure for all time to the memory of Carl Metz and his thirty-nine co-workers, to the honor of yourselves and to the security to future generations of the liberty that this Republic will afford all men.

"Pick up the body of Metz, and I shall help you bury it. I leave the body of Purdy for whomsoever may be inclined to care for it.

"Men of Wilkes-Barre, again I tell you, to-day you have been delivered from serfdom. Act as men, not as brutes.

"Choose some one to be your leader and let him direct you until to each of you is given the opportunity to vote for the laws that you may desire.

"With blare of trumpet and with tap of drum Barbaric nations pay to Mars his due, When victory crowns their arms. To him they sue For privilege to war, though Mercy's thumb Bids them as victors, rather to be mum, And show a noble spirit to the foe; To vaunt not at their fellow-creature's woe: O'er victory only doth the savage thrum! They conquer twice who from excess abstain; The gentle nation that is forced to war, In triumph seeks to hide, and put afar All vestiges of carnage, and restore Peace in the land, that men may turn again To worthy toil, as they were wont before.

"Labour is your heritage; return to it."

He ends in a tumult of enthusiasm.

The multitude has been led from one emotion to another with such rapidity that they are fairly bewildered.

Two things only are clear in all minds. Trueman, the man who has become their most faithful champion, assures them that now they are to be free; that they are to be made the sharers in the wealth they create; he also tells them to select a leader.

By a spontaneous decision Trueman is the name that comes to every lip.

"Trueman! Trueman! You are the man to lead us."

The cry "Trueman!" sweeps through the crowd. It rises in an acclaim the like of which has never been heard before.

Men rush toward the orator and pick him off his feet. He is placed on the shoulders of the stalwart miners whom his eloquence and logic has won, and is borne in triumph at the head of the procession that goes to bury Carl Metz.

The millionaire's corpse lies on the steps of his late mansion. Clinging to it in the desperation of outraged womanhood, is Ethel. She had crept from the house while the eloquence of Trueman's words held the mob enraptured.

As Trueman is being borne in triumph down the steps his eyes rest on the terrible picture presented by the dead magnate and his daughter. In an instant the champion of justice forms a resolve. His heart and mind have a common impulse—Purdy's body must be saved from desecration; it must be buried with that of Metz.

"Pick up that body," he orders of the men who surround him. "It must be buried with Metz."

In his voice there is a ring of command that none dares to question. As the miners stoop to lift the corpse Ethel utters a cry of anguish that pierces the hearts of even the most hardened men. It is the wail of humanity protesting against anarchy.

By a vigorous effort Trueman frees himself from the miners who are carrying him on their shoulders. He is at the side of Ethel in a moment.

"Do not be frightened. I am here and will protect you and your father's remains."

His words are spoken in a loud decisive tone and reach the ears of the crowd that press around the corpse.

Yielding to his indomitable will Ethel arises. She wavers an instant; then stretches out her arms toward her protector.

Trueman seizes the delicate hands and draws her to his side.

"You are safe in my charge," he whispers to her soothingly. "Come with me and you shall witness your father's burial. If it is done now the mob will be pacified and will cease to clamor for vengeance."

Ethel walks by his side in silence.

The magnate's body is picked up and placed on the improvised litter of boards which serves to support the body of Metz. In silence the procession moves on toward the town.

The battle for moderation is won.



CHAPTER XXX.

A DOUBLE FUNERAL.

It is in an utterly hopeless frame of mind that Ethel walks beside Harvey Trueman. She cannot conceive that one man will have sufficient power over the passions of the multitude to prevent a violent demonstration when the graveyard is reached.

"They will tear my father's body to pieces," she sobs.

"Take my word for it, there will be no disorder," Trueman assures her. He walks with Ethel at the head of the motley crowd that only an hour ago was clamoring for the body of Purdy; this same crowd is now transformed into an orderly procession. The absence of music, or of any sound other than the tramp of feet on the smooth hard roadway, makes the procession unusual. There is deep silence, save for the occasional words that are spoken by the principal actors.

"This is a sad reunion, Ethel; one that could never have been predicted. When we parted that afternoon, two years ago, you said you never wished to see me again. I have remained away, until now. You are not sorry that I have come to protect you. Tell me that you are not." Harvey's words are spoken earnestly; he has kept the love of all the months of separation pent up in his heart. Now he is in the presence of the one woman in all the world, he adores. Her imperfections are not unknown to him; he has felt the sting of her long silence, broken only by her telegram sent at the hour of his triumph in Chicago; yet for all this be feels his heart throb as quickly as in the old days.

"O, Harvey, can you forgive me for my heartlessness?" she asks in a faint whisper.

"I could not decide against my father that horrid day, when you and he parted enemies. And after you had departed I was urged by all my family and friends to put you out of my thoughts; I was told that you had sworn to be an enemy to all men and women of wealth; that if I were to communicate with you it would necessitate my disowning all my home ties. I am only a woman—a woman born to wealth. How could I foretell that you are not an enemy to the rich, but a true friend of humanity?"

"Then you know me by my true character and not as I am depicted by the Plutocrats?" Trueman asks, joyfully.

He has heard the word "Harvey," and feels the exultation of the lover who hears his name pronounced in endearing tones by the woman he loves.

"Yes, I know you as you really are and I have felt the power of your words; it was not to the mob alone that you spoke. I stood in the shadow of my father's palace and heard your words. Harvey, you made me feel a deep pang of sympathy for my fellowmen and women."

The events of the day have been of such a momentous nature that it is not strange that Ethel should collapse. She has sustained the shock of her father's murder; the visitation of the citizens, bent on vengeance; then the unexpected appearance of Harvey Trueman.

She clings to her companion's arm, struggling to control her emotions. When she ceases to speak a great sob escapes her; then she begins to cry hysterically.

Trueman cannot bear to hear her heartbreaking sobs. With the impulse of a father soothing a child he lifts her from the ground, and holding her in his strong embrace, strides on at the head of the cortege.

When the town is reached the perfect order of the procession is preserved. It winds through unfrequented streets to the bridge; crossing the river it continues until checked by the closed gates of the cemetery.

At the sight of so vast an assemblage and at such an unheard of hour, the gate-keeper flees in terror. Two or three men enter the house to emerge with the keys of the great gates and a lamp.

By the fitful rays of this single lamp the movements of the burial party are conducted.

"Where shall we bury the bodies?" O'Connor asks Trueman.

"As near the gates as possible. I should suggest that the grave be dug in the circle of the main driveway. The grave of Metz and Purdy will become one of the most famous in Pennsylvania; it should not be put in an obscure place."

So the circle is decided upon as the proper place for the common grave of the millionaire transgressor and the martyr.

As the throng passes through the gates many of the men seize spades and picks, implements which they know only too well how to use.

It does not take twenty minutes to dig the grave.

When the work is completed, the fact dawns upon the minds of the leaders that they have neglected to provide a coffin for the bodies.

"What shall we do for coffins?" one of the grave-diggers asks, as he smooths over the edges of the grave.

"Give them soldiers' burial," suggests one of the bystanders.

"Here, take my shawl," says a shivering woman, as she pulls a thin faded gray shawl from her shoulders.

Her suggestion is followed by a score of other trembling wretches. The strangest shroud that ever wrapped mortal remains is used in the interment.

The bodies of Metz and Purdy are still being carried by the miners. Now a priest who has accompanied the funeral from the time it crossed the bridge, is escorted through the crowd to the edge of the grave.

"Will you conduct the burial service over these two bodies?" Trueman asks of the man of God.

"Neither was prepared for death," protests the priest.

"That is all the more reason for your offering up prayers for their souls."

"Were they of my faith?" inquires the priest.

"They are dead now and faith has nothing to do with the matter. We want you as a Christian to pronounce the words of the burial service over these bodies."

"One of these men was a murderer," further protests the priest.

"Which one?" demands Trueman.

"They say Mete killed German Purdy," is the response.

"And a hundred men within call of us will tell you that Gorman Purdy killed fifty men in his time," retorts a bystander. These words, so bitter yet so just, would be cruel indeed for the ears of Ethel Purdy; but she has lapsed into semi-consciousness. Harvey still holds her in his arms; he seems oblivious of the burden he has borne for more than a mile and a half.

"I cannot go through the forms of the church over the grave of these men," the priest declares emphatically. "It would be a sacrilege. But I will say a prayer for their departed spirits."

On the tombs that range in a wide semi-circle from the entrance, the crowd has taken points of vantage. Those who cannot force their way to the inner circle about the grave, stand aloof, yet where they can observe the simple, impressive ceremonies.

In a thin, querulous voice the prayer is asked. It is such an invocation as might have been uttered over the remains of two gladiators. Blood is upon the head of each; the prayer craves forgiveness. As the priest concludes, the bodies are wrapped in the shawls and lowered into the grave.

While the earth is being replaced, Trueman speaks to Ethel. She partially revives, and seems to understand that her father's body is being interred. When this thought has been fully grasped she realizes that she is being supported in Harvey's arms. She makes an instinctive effort to escape from his clasp; an instant later she looks up into his face and asks: "You will not leave me?" She pauses. "Give my millions to the people. I hate the thought of money. Only tell me that you will not desert me!"

"No, my darling," comes the whisper, "I shall never be parted from you again, so long as we live. The priest could not perform the burial service; he can, however, make us man and wife."

As he speaks, Harvey places Ethel gently on her feet.

Standing side by side at the grave which holds victor and vanquished in the great war for the recovery of the rights of man, Harvey Trueman and Ethel Purdy present a strange contrast. He is the acknowledged leader of the plain people; she is the richest woman in America. For him, every one within reach of his voice has the deepest love and admiration; for the hapless woman beside him, there is not a man or woman who would turn a hand to keep her from starving.

If the men and women of Wilkes-Barre can be made to sanction the union of Trueman and Ethel Purdy, is there any reason to doubt that the question of social inequalities can be settled without bloodshed? Trueman determines to venture his election, his future, his life, to win the greatest triumph of his career, a wife whom the world despises as the favorite of fatuous fortune.

With a voice vibrant with emotion he addresses the multitude. Now by subtle argument, now by impassioned appeal he pictures the conditions that made Ethel's life so utterly different from theirs; how it was impossible for her to sympathize with them when she had known no sorrow, when her every wish had always been gratified. He pictures her as she appears before them; a daughter whose father has been stricken, as if by a blow from Heaven; a woman left friendless; for the friends of prosperity are never those of adversity. Thus he awakens a feeling of pity in the hearts of the people for the woman they have so recently reviled. Pity gives place to love as he tells them that Ethel Purdy wishes to give to the citizens of Wilkes-Barre the millions that her father has hoarded; when he concludes by telling them that she is to become his wife, an acclaim of rejoicing is given.

The priest, this time without reluctance, pronounces Harvey Trueman and Ethel Purdy man and wife.

"Go to your homes, my good brothers and sisters," Trueman counsels, "for to-morrow you enter upon your inheritance through the speedy channel of voluntary restoration; you are blessed of all men and women, perhaps, because you have long been the most grievously sinned against.

"Let no one commit an act of violence. It is from you that the country is to take its signal; you have curbed the hand of anarchy. What you have done will strengthen others to be patient. No one will have to wait longer than the next election to have wrongs set right."

The silence that awe induces takes possession of the people. They disperse quietly to their homes. At two o'clock there is no one on the streets.

The Coal and Iron Police, who have been lost in the mountains, enter the town at that hour to find it, to all appearances, deserted.

Harvey and Ethel accompany the priest to the parish house, where they remain for the night.

All the events of the afternoon and night have been telegraphed abroad. When morning dawns the people of the country and the world at large read of the uprising of the miners of Wilkes-Barre, of the attempt to wreck the train bearing the militia; of the rescue by Sister Martha at the sacrifice of her life; the stirring scene at the palace and the final obsequies and marriage ceremonial. All are known to the world. In the chaotic state of the public mind, this example of reasonable action is needed. Spread by the power of the pen, it wins man's greatest victory, a victory of peace.



CHAPTER XXXI.

THE NEW ERA.

From every section of the country the news of the pending election gives promise of a victory for the Independence party. The people have accepted the assurances of Harvey Trueman that he will not countenance violence on the part of the radical element of either the people or the Plutocrats. His conspicuous action at Wilkes-Barre is an incontestible proof of his sincerity, and also demonstrates that the masses are not desirous of reverting to an appeal to force in order to regain their rights. If the man whom the public hails as a deliverer can be elected, all the evils of the Trusts and monopolies, it is believed, can be settled amicably.

So strong has the sentiment in favor of the Independence party become, that for days before the election great parades of the workingmen in the principal cities celebrate the coming victory of the people.

Yet the subsidized press maintains a defiant position, and gloomily predicts that anarchy will prevail upon the announcement of the election of the Independence party's candidates.

This foreboding has little or no effect on the minds of the earnest workers; they are ready to trust their interests to men who have proven themselves honest champions of right, rather than suffer the bondage imposed by the Magnates.

Trueman, since the hour of his marriage, has spent much of his time in Wilkes-Barre. He decides that it is better for him to guide the closing days of the campaign from his home.

After settling the estate of Gorman Purdy, and turning over to the workingmen the mines, furnaces and breakers that were owned by the late Coal King, Harvey and his wife go to live in a comfortable villa in the suburbs.

By her voluntary surrender of the $160,000,000 which the criminal practices of Gorman Purdy had amassed, Ethel becomes the idol of the people, not only of Wilkes-Barre, but of the entire country. She gives substantial proof of the sincerity of her promise made at the grave of her father. This act of altruism does much to avert any reaction of the turbulent elements of the large cities.

The prospect of regaining the public utilities by purchase and the establishment of governmental departments to control them in the interests of the people as a whole, is made bright by the magnificent example that is furnished by the towns of Pennsylvania.

Harvey Trueman establishes the leaders of the Unions as the managers of the mines and breakers. Under his direction the profits of the business are divided proportionately among all the inhabitants of the town in which the works are located; those who work receive as their wage one-half of the net proceeds from the sale of their products. The remaining fifty per cent, is turned into the public treasury.

Had the millions of the Purdy fortune been distributed to the people by a per capita allotment, each man and woman of Wilkes-Barre might have been made independently rich. But this would defeat the ends which Ethel and Harvey wish to attain. They desire to see every citizen prosper according to his or her personal effort. So when every one in Wilkes-Barre is set to work at a profitable trade or occupation, the residue of the fortune, some $125,000,000, is used to establish a similar system of co-operation in neighboring mining districts.

In the thirty days that intervenes between the acts of annihilation and the election, two hundred and fifty thousand miners and other operatives in Pennsylvania are benefiting by the disbursement of the Purdy millions. This army of prosperous men makes the state certain of going to the Independents. The electoral votes of the Keystone state, it is certain, will decide the election.

As an object lesson which speaks more eloquently than words, Harvey adopts a suggestion which Sister Martha had made at the opening of the campaign and which had not been used because of lack of funds.

Biograph pictures of happy and contented miners in Pennsylvania, under the co-operative system, showing them at their work and at their decent homes, surrounded by their families, well fed, and clothed, are obtained in manifold sets. To contrast with these, there are pictures taken from the actual scenes in other parts of the country, showing women harnessed to the plow with oxen; women at work in the shoe factories, the tobacco factories, the sweat-shops. Pictures of the children who operate the looms in the cotton mills and the carpet factories are obtained to be contrasted with those which exhibit children at their proper places in the school room and on the lawns of the city parks.

The pomp of the Plutocrats and the destitution of the masses is portrayed by these striking contrasts.

With this terrible evidence the Independents carry their crusade into every city. The principal public squares of the cities are used to exhibit the biograph pictures. Night after night the crowds congregate to view the pictorial history of the Plutocratic National Prosperity. That which arguments cannot do in the way of weaning men from party prejudice the picture crusade accomplishes.

One of the side lights of the great drama that is being enacted is the sentiment that develops for the Committee of Forty. Memorial societies in the states from which the several committeemen hailed, are formed to give the martyrs, as the forty are now called, a decent burial. Thirty-nine of the martyrs are thus honored by public interment.

The one missing committeeman is William Nevins. He is supposed to be buried in the wrecked tunnel under the English channel. It is impossible to repair the damage done by the explosion; futile efforts are made by sub-marine divers to locate the exact point at which the break in the tunnel was made. The action of the water has totally obliterated the breach. So to the public this watery grave must remain the resting place of the genius who conceived the plan for the restoration of the rights of man.

All of the details of the committee come to light through the papers found on the body of Hendrick Stahl, secretary of the committee. The fact that Nevins was alone responsible for the plan of annihilation and that Trueman knew absolutely nothing of it, is incontestibly established.

This takes away the last argument of the Plutocrats who seek to connect Trueman with the act of Proscription.

And Nevins? What of him?

He has not kept his pledge to the committee by dying with the Transgressor who was assigned to him. His pledge to God, to follow the committee the day after the atonement, has not been kept.

When October fourteenth dawned, the news of the uprising of the people of Wilkes-Barre and of the part played by Trueman and Ethel, were read by Nevins from the cable dispatches at Calais.

A fear arose in his heart that the plan for the election of Trueman might fail. He delayed ending his life and hastened to New York. Upon his arrival he went as a lodger to a room in a lofty Bowery hotel. From this watch-tower he reviewed the political field. "I shall redeem my pledge to-morrow," he said to himself each day.

The night would find him irresolute, not for his fear of death, but for the dread that some unexpected occurrence might arise to thwart the people in their effort to carry the election by the peaceable use of the ballot.

On the flight before the election Nevins hastens to Chicago. In the crowd at the Independence Headquarters he mingles unobserved. "What news have you from California?" he asks of one of the press committee. This is thought to be the pivotal State. At least this is the claim made by the Plutocrats.

"The indications are that the State will go against us."

"And why so?"

"Because we have not been able to send speakers there, and the Plutocrats wrecked the train which was conveying the biograph pictures. You know the Press of the slope, with but few exceptions, are owned by the Magnates and suppress every bit of news that would be detrimental to them. They have distorted the acts of the Committee of Forty. Out in California the great mass of the people look upon the Independents as a party of Anarchists."

"Trueman can be elected without California, can he not?"

"Elected! Why, he will carry forty States."

"You really believe it?" asks Nevins, earnestly.

"I would wager my life on it," is the instant reply.

Nevins hurries from the headquarters and goes to his room. He writes a letter to Trueman, setting forth his hopes that the interests of the people will ever remain Trueman's actuating principle. With absolute fidelity he tells of the struggle he has undergone since the day he sent Golding to his death, and his reason for procrastinating in ending his life.

When the letter is finished Nevins reads it with evident satisfaction.

"Now I will go to the committee," is his resolve.

A pistol lies on the table. He picks up the weapon. There is no hesitancy in his manner. Death has been a matter which he has contemplated for months, and it holds no terror for him.

"If I have sinned against Thee, O, God," he murmurs, "death would be too mild a punishment for me. I would deserve to be everlastingly damned, to live on this earth and bear the denunciation of my fellowmen.

"My death, like those of the committee who have already fulfilled their pledge, is not suicide, but part of the inevitable price of liberty."

The pistol is raised to his temple. Then a thought flashes upon him. "Your death will come as an ante-climax to the election. It may be the means of defeating the Independents."

This thought causes him to lower the pistol.

"To-morrow," he mutters.

At daybreak Nevins is at the headquarters and remains near the chief operator, eager for every detail of the election.

"What is the weather prediction?" he inquires.

"Generally clear; light local rains on Pacific seaboard."

"I am most intensely interested in the result of the election," Nevins confided to the operator, to explain his presence at headquarters. "I have come all the way from San Francisco to congratulate Trueman on his election."

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. Mr. Trueman is at his home in Wilkes-Barre."

"Well, I shall telegraph him my congratulations. I want to be the first man in the United States to send him an authoritative message confirming his election. If you can arrange to let me have the news first, when it comes in, and will send my message, I shall be glad to pay you for the service."

"I have the wire that will send him the news," the operator states as he pats a transmitter on the desk before him. "What do you call a fair payment for the message?"

"Twenty-five dollars."

"I'll send your message."

Nevins gives the required sum, and sits at the elbow of the man who is to flash the news of victory to Trueman.

In Wilkes-Barre the day has dawned auspiciously. Trueman is among the first to perform his duty as a citizen. After voting he returns to his home.

With his wife at his side he reads the dispatches that come in by a private wire from headquarters.

"I am happier to-day than I ever was in my life before," Ethel tells him. "And I know that you will be elected."

"I hope your words come true. But whether I am President or not my campaign has not been in vain. I have won the fairest bride in the world, and she and I are doing a real good with a fortune that might have been a curse."

"Now I can understand the words that are a mystery to so many of the rich: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive,'" Ethel says, as she places her hand on her husband's shoulder. "Now I can appreciate the emotion that impelled you to give the one thousand dollar check to the miner's widow." As they sit together, through the long day, they discuss what they will do for the improvement of the people, there is no provision for the repayment of anti-election promises to the managers of trusts; no talk of rewarding henchmen with high offices.

By five in the afternoon the messages begin to announce the forecast in the extreme Eastern states.

"Rhode Island has polled the largest vote in its history. The Independence Party claims the state by fifteen thousand." Harvey reads this with an incredulous smile.

"We can hardly hope to carry Rhode Island," he declares frankly.

"You told me only yesterday that Fall River is going wild over the biograph pictures," Ethel protests.

"The rural vote in Maine is believed to have caused the state to go to the Independents," is the next message that causes Harvey to doubt his senses.

"New Jersey washes its hands of trusts. Trueman carries Newark, Trenton, and Jersey City by overwhelming majorities."

Thus the story of state after state is wired to Wilkes-Barre.

"Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio are claimed to have voted for the people's candidate. The Plutocrats ridicule the assertion, yet have no figures to quote."

At nine o'clock the returns by election districts in the populous cities, begin to arrive.

"In 1238 districts, Greater New York, Trueman leads by a clear majority of 75,000." Harvey reads without comment.

Ten minutes later, this message is received: "Total of 2200 election districts, Greater New York, Trueman's majority 180,000. This makes the state Independent by a safe margin of 100,000."

Harvey Trueman feels for the first time since his nomination that he will be elected. Joy is written on his face.

"Pennsylvania casts its vote for Trueman and co-operation."

It is eleven-thirty. The proverbial "landslide" of politics has occurred. Already the townspeople of Wilkes-Barre are surging about the villa, cheering their champion.

A dozen times Harvey goes to the window to bow his acknowledgments.

Ethel is excited, almost hysterical. With a woman's quick perception she realizes that her husband has triumphed.

Again they stand at the elbow of the telegraph operator who is receiving the messages.

"Chicago—" then there was a break.

"Trueman, have Trueman come to the instrument. Answer. Is Trueman at your elbow?" This message is sent by the operator at headquarters. He has indicated that it is a private message and only the word Chicago is written.

"What's the matter?" asks Trueman, who has noticed the pause.

"It's all right, sir; the operator want's you to get this message immediately." There is another pause.

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS, INDEPENDENCE PARTY HEADQUARTERS.

To HARVEY TRUEMAN, Greeting:

"You are elected President of the United States by popular acclamation of forty States. I congratulate you. Keep your faith with the people; place them always above the dollar; remember that your office was bought by the blood of patriots, as true as the founders of the Republic; that you owe it to the majority to keep their rights inviolate. I go to inform the Committee of Forty that the Revolution of Reason is victorious.

WILLIAM NEVINS."

As Trueman reads these words and grasps their meaning, Nevins, at the other end of the wire, in distant Chicago, redeems his pledge and drops dead.

The curtain falls on the Tragedy of Life. The struggle for mere existence that has retarded mankind from creation, is at an end. Man enters into possession of his God-given inheritance, equal opportunity, with a valiant leader, and the fairest land in the world in which to begin the building up of a Republic that insures to all men Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.