"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 x.x.x.

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 pa.s.sions of the mult.i.tude 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 a.s.sures 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 princ.i.p.al 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 a.s.semblage 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 pa.s.ses 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 G.o.d.

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