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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, July 06, 1915, NOON EDITION, Image 19

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-07-06/ed-1/seq-19/

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They had never wholly loved each
other, but each had accepted the sit
uation as the result of years of pro
pinquity. Lately Ethel's letters had
been warmer in tone. Harry looked
forward to their marriage with quiet
satisfaction. A year or two in Lima
and then New York and a happy fu
ture! On the following morning the doc
tor came to Harry as the train was
preparing for the march into the
hills.
"There's no hope," he said. "He's
slipping down hill. It wpuld be no
use to stay."
Harry went into the sick man's
room. Jim Sayres lay motionless
among the pillows; his face was
deathly white and his thin hands al
most transparent. It was evident he
was sunk in the final stupor.
One cannbt stop to grieve over the
dying when life runs hot in the veins.
Harry gave the order for the march.
But just as the bearers were form
ing into line a file of natives appeared
along a forest path that led down.
from the mountains. It was a small
party of bearers, proceeding toward
the camp. It would be necessary to
postpone the departure and welcome
the travelers, as etiquette prescribed.
The natives, grunting, deposited
their loads in the clearing. Four,
bearing a hooded stretcher, came to
a halt and set down their burden.
Out stepped a white woman Ethel!
She threw herself into Harry's
arms.
"I thought I would come on from
Lima, Harry," she explained. "They
told me that you might be delayed
here for an indefinite time and I did
not want to wait, Harry. And are you
actually starting?"
"Yes, dear. It was wrong of you
to come, for you would have missed
me an hour later. But now we will
go together. In fact, I should have
started a day or two ago, only there
is a sick man here a stranger, poor
fellow, and I couldn't leave him."
"Where is he, Harry?" asked EtheL
"In that tent But I am afraid ft Is
all up with the poor chap. He is dy
ing of jungle fever. His name is
Sayres Jim Sayres."
The girl released herself from her
lover's embrace and, when she spoke
her voice was curiously restrained.
"Let me see him, Harry. Perhaps
I can do something for him."
"The doctor says there is no
hope," answered Harry. But already
Ethel was walking quickly toward
the tent Harry waited. Some in
stinct of delicacy impelled him not
to follow her. He did not wish to be
a spectator of her last ministrations
to the dying man. Besides, he might
become conscious, the doctor had
said, and then hispresence would be
embarrassing. Women understood
these situations instinctively.
But after a half hour he became
alarmed. Ethel was still in the tent
He went stoftly toward it. He heard
the sound of voices and stood outside,
not venturing to raise the flap.
And it was Sayres speaking.
r "I shall live, dearest," he said, "be
cause I have seen your face again.
Ethel, how I have loved you all these
years!"
"And I you, Jim," Harry heard her
answer, and the man's face turned to
a graven mask.
"But why did you become engaged
to you have not told me his name,
Ethel, but why did you?"
"You didn't write. I thought you
had forgotten me."
"I had no right to write to you,"
said Sayres in a quiet voice, subdued
by weakness. "I only hoped your love
was true." -
"C it iq tnip Hpnrpst.,'-!nh'hpf1 tho
rl. "I never cared for him. But
when I thought you bad ceased to
care for me I did not care what hap
pened. And now I am bound in
honor."
"In honor?" questioned Sayres.
"Then what has brought you to me
unless Providence means us to be
happy together?"
"Jim, you do not know how good,
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