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Newspaper Page Text
THE ANGEL WITH THE SWORD
By H. M. Egbert
Although the doctor had told them
there was nothing more he could do,
Steele and his wife still waited in the
sickroom beside their, boy. He was
an only child, eight years of age. He
lay in a stupor now; the lips, which
had mercifully ceased to mutter, re
mained half open and the breath
hissed between them. For several
days the crisis had been approach
ing; for hours it had ben a losing
Steele, the bank clerk, remained
seated at the bedside. He held one
clammy hand in his own and his
eyes were fixed unseeingly upon the
unseeing eyes of the child.
Miriam Steele knelt at the boy's
side, her head on her arms. She had
not stirred for an hour. In her heart
had been the unspoken prayer, al
"Oh, God, if thou art merciful,
spare my boy and take from some
other family where there are many
It had almost seemed to her as if
the intensity of her prayer must find
some answer. Yet Charley had
steadily grown worse and she had
not dared to meet her husband's
Worn out by her long vigil and
cramped from the position she had
assumed, Miriam Steele slept Sud
denly it seemed to her as if a cold
blast blew, and, opening her eyes,
she saw the Death Angel at the bed
side. And she put out her hand to
stay the sweep of that mighty sword.
"Why must he die?" her heart
The little room on the instant fad
ed from her sight and she seemed to
see in the following vision an answer
to her question.
She was seated, a middle-aged
woman, in the parlor. The door flew
open and the lad, a boy of 20, ran
into her anus.
"Mother!" he cried. "Just think!
I have got that position in the bank!
Now we'll be rich and -some day I
shall be the president; you mark my
She kissed him; she was very
proud of her son. Her husband came
home, to learn the news. When
Charley had gone from the room
they turned and kissed each other.
It seemed incredible that they had
borne this wonder, this prodigy who
Saw the Death Angel
had secured a post in the great bank
against 50 competitors.
A year had passed. Miriam Steele
saw the boy again. He had come
home late; his face was flushed, and
there was a curious unsteadiness
about him as he stood, swaying and
smiling, upon the threshold.
"Charley!" she cried, and then the
awful realization came home to her.
Her boy was drunk! Charley whom