OCR Interpretation


The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, July 14, 1916, LAST EDITION, Image 17

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

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1916-07-14/ed-1/seq-17/

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, "See that this letter gets to him
as soon as he returns to his right
mind."
"Yes, sir," acquiesced Fulton, and
when he returned from his mission
it was to inform Mr. Rushton that
the hotelkeeper had agreed to see
that the letter ms delivered.
"You will write to Angela at once,"
directed Mr. Rushton to his wife,
that evening.
"Oh, John! About this unfortunate
young man?"
"The wretch! Yes."
"It will break her heart"
"Better that than a lifetime of mis
ery. Tell her clearly how the worth
less fellow has manifested himself.
Further, she must never write nor
speak to him again. She must forget
him."
In her woman's way Mrs. Rushton
went at the hard task set The let
ter was sent to Angela. She returned
home three days later, wan, sad, si
lent Except for one brief interview
with her mother the subject ofher
lover was not referred to in the
house.
With Angela the will of her par
ents was law. She mourned, she
pined in secret, but she never com
plained openfy. Oneday she sought
her father. It was to hand him a
sealed letter directed to herself. She
had recognized the handwriting.
"Please burn it, papa!" she plead
ed, in crushing agony of spirit.
"You are a good daughter," spoke
her father and for the first time in
his stern career his voice was husky
and unsteady. "W6 will go South
soon and see If we cannot woo the
roses back to your cheeks."
Angela sighed wearily. Her father,
alone, read the letter. It pleaded for
an interview. It spoke of injustice,
mystification. John'Rushton tore it
to ribbons and ground his teeth.
Angela sat in the lonely garden
one afternoon a week later. Oh!
where was the roselit rapture of the
near past when love was hers? All
life was dull and expressionless. She ,
bowed her face in her hands and shut
out all save memory.
There was a rustle in the hedge,
behind her. She lifted her head.
Her heart stood still. She arose tov
her feet swaying, her face white and
drawn.
"Angela!" spoke Lyle Wyman and
held out his arms appealingly.
She drew a rustic chair towards
her. She held it so It was a barrier
between them.
"You must not speak, you must
go, now and for all time!" she utter
ed in pained fluttering whisperings
"Yes, that Is true," came the sad
resigned reply, "but I could not leave
you, home, friends, all, never to re
turn without'once more looking upon
your face. Dearest Angela, what
does it all mean? Why have I been
suddenly cruelly parted from you as
though I were a pestilence?"
"You must go, go!" faintly reiter
ated Angela. "In all honor io not
linger. I only hope that time will
heal the wounds, that you will forget
and repent and and become a man
among 'men. Oh, leave me I be
seech of you! My soul is rent lam.
dying!"
She felt that the words were true
A weak young girl, unaccustomed to
the harshness and world experiences,
that moment seemed to bulk up all
the agony and heartbreak she had
suffered, a mute, obedient victim,,
for the past few weeks. She tot
tered. He caught her limp, swaying
form and supported her.
She had not fainted, but her senses
were reeling, and she was very near
ly at the point of a collapse. As he
held her she waved her hand feebly
and her eyes distended.
"Go, go," she gasped. "See my
father!"
The next moment there came a
rush past a line of high bushes. A
man burst through them with force,
a human whirlwind.
"Father, it is he father, he is go
ing! Oh, I cannot say the words I
love him so! I love him so! I love
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