Free The Trail of 98 by Robert W Service Page A

their hands on it. The man
was always telling us of get-rich-quick schemes, and she threatened me in
horrible ways. But I wasn't afraid in New York. Up here it's different. It's all
so shadowy and sinister."
    I could feel her shudder.
    "Oh, Berna," I said, "can't I help you?"
    She shook her head sadly.
    "No, you can't; you have enough trouble of your own. Besides it doesn't
matter about me. I didn't mean to tell you all this, but now, if you want to be
a true friend, just go away and forget me. You don't want to have anything to do
with me. Wait! I'll tell you something more. I'm called Berna Wilovich. That's
my grandfather's name. My mother ran away from home. Two years later she came
backwith me. Soon after she died of consumption. She would never tell my
father's name, but said he was a Christian, and of good family. My grandfather
tried to find out. He would have killed the man. So, you see, I am nameless, a
child of shame and sorrow. And you are a gentleman, and proud of your family.
Now, see the kind of friend you've made. You don't want to make friends with
such as I."
    "I want to make friends with such as need my friendship. What is going to
happen to you, Berna?"
    "Happen! God knows! It
doesn't matter. Oh, I've always been in trouble. I'm used to it. I never had a
really happy day in my life. I never expect to. I'll just go on to the end,
enduring patiently, and getting what comfort I can out of things. It's what I
was made for, I suppose."
    She shrugged her shoulders and shivered a little.
    "Let me go now, my friend. It's cold up here; I'm chilled. Don't look so
terribly downcast. I expect I'll come out all right. Something may happen. Cheer
up! Maybe you'll see me a Klondike queen yet."
    I could see that her sudden brightness but hid a black abyss of bitterness
and apprehension. What she had told me had somehow stricken me dumb. There
seemed a stark sordidness in the situation that repelled me. She had arisen and
was about to step over the fluke of the great anchor, when I aroused myself.
    "Berna," I said, "what you have told me wrings my heart. I can't tell you how
terribly sorry I feel. Is there nothing I can do for you, nothing to show I am
not a mere friend of words and phrases? Oh, I hate to let you go like this."
    The moon had gone behind a cloud. We were in a great shadow. She halted, so
that, as we stood, we were touching each other. Her voice was full of pathetic
resignation.
    "What can you do? If we were going in together it might be different. When I
met you at first I hoped, oh, I hopedwell, it doesn't matterwhat I hoped. But, believe me, I'll be
all right. You won't forget me, will you?"
    "Forget you! No, Berna, I'll never forget you. It cuts me to the heart I can
do nothing now, but we'll meet up there. We can't be divided for long. And
you'll be all right, believe me too, little girl. Be good and sweet and true and
every one will love and help you. Ah, you must go. Well, wellGod bless you,
Berna."
    "And I wish you happiness and success, dear friend of mine."
    Her voice trembled. Something seemed to choke her. She stood a moment as if
reluctant to go.
    Suddenly a great impulse of tenderness and pity came over me, and before I
knew it, my arms were around her. She struggled faintly, but her face was
uplifted, her eyes starlike. Then, for a moment of bewildering ecstasy, her lips
lay on mine, and I felt them faintly answer.
    Poor yielding lips! They were cold as ice.
    ----

CHAPTER V
    Never shall I forget the last I saw of her, a forlorn, pathetic figure in
black, waving a farewell to me as I stood on the wharf. She wore, I remember, a
low collar, and well do I mind the way it showed off the slim whiteness of her
throat; well do I mind the high poise of her head, and the silken gloss of her
hair. The grey eyes were clear and steady as she bade good-bye to me, and from
where we stood apart, her face had all the pathetic sweetness of a Madonna.
    Well, she was