e asked.

"Yes, of course I do," I answered as I took his hand.

"W-w-well then don't run away--er-er it's against law, r-religion, or
decency to turn your back on a rich man. D-d-dodge the poor, Clara, my
girl! but never turn your back on a man with money!"

I was pained; probably I looked so. He went on: "I-I-I'm rich now, Clara.
I've got a fine marine villa, and in it are an old, old dog and a dying
old woman. They both belonged to my Sallie, and so I'll keep hold of 'em
as long as I can, for her sake. A-a-after they go!" he turned his head
away, he looked up at the beautiful blue indifference of the sky, his
face seemed to tremble all over, his eyes came back, and he muttered:
"W-w-we'll see--w-w-we'll see what will happen then. But, Clara, you
remember that time when money could have saved her? The money I receive
in one week now, if I could have had it then, she, Sallie, might be over
there on Broadway now buying the frills and furbelows she loved and
needed, too, and couldn't have. The little boots and slippers--you
remember Sallie's instep? Had to have her shoes to order always," he
stopped, he pressed his lips tight together for a moment, then suddenly
he burst out: "By God, when a man struggles hard all his life, it's a
damn rough reward to give him a handsome coffin for his wife!"

Oh, poor rich man! how my heart ached for him. A tear slipped down my
cheek; he saw it. "D-d-don't!" he said, "d-don't, my girl, she can't come
back, and it hurts her to have anyone grieve. I want you to come and see
me, when you get settled here, a-a-and I wish you a great big success. My
Sallie liked you, she spoke often of you. I-I-I'll let you know how to
get out there, and I-I-I'll show you her dog--old Belle, and you can
stroke her, and er-er sit in Sallie's chair a little while perhaps--and
er--don't, my girl, don't cry, she can't come back, you know," and
shaking my hands he left me, thinking I was crying for Sallie, who was
safe at rest and had no need of tears, while instead they were for
himself--so old, so sad, so lonely, such a poor rich man! Did he know
then how near Death was to him? Some who knew him well believe unto this
day that the fatal fall from the cars was no fall, but a leap--only God
knows.

I never paid the promised visit--could find no opportunity--and I never
saw him again, that eccentric man, devoted husband, and honest gentleman,
Charles Barras.

CHAPTER TWENTIETH

I Have to Pass throu