OCR Interpretation

The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, June 16, 1913, Image 18

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

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1913-06-16/ed-1/seq-18/

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' (Continued From Saturday.)
'(Copyright, 1907, by Robert W.
VI cannot believe that we have
never before spoken to each other,"
he said; "that I do not even know
your name. Surely there was once a
corner in the land of childhood where
we sat together when the world was
She said, dreamily: "Have you
"That sunny corner in the land of
"Had you been there. I should not
have forgotten," he replied, troubled.
"Look at me," she said. Her lovely
eyes met his; under the penetrating
sweetness of her gaze his heart
quickened and grew restless and his
uneasy soul stirred, awaking mem
ories. "There was a child," she said,
"years ago: a child at school. You
sometimes looked at her; you never
spoke. Do you remember?"
He rose to his feet, staring down
at her.
"Do you remember?" she asked
"Rosamund! Do you mean Rosa
mund? How should you know that?"
he faltered.
The struggle for memory focused
all his groping senses; his eyes
seemed to look her through and
"How can you know?" he repeated
unsteadily. "You are not Rosamund.
. . . Are you? . . . She is dead. I
heard that she was dead. . . . Are
you Rosamund?"
"Do you not know?"
"Yes; you are not Rosamund. . . .
What do you know of her?"
"I think she loved you."
"Is she dead?"
The girl looked up at him, smiling,
following with delicate perception the
sequence of his thoughts.
He bent nearer. "I love you," he
said. "I loved you from the first.
And shall forever. You knew it long
She did notf move.
"You knew I loved you?"
"Yes, I knew it"
And when at last he had had his
say, the burning words still rang in
her ears through the silence. A
curious faintness stole upon her,
coming stealthily like a hateful thing.
She strove to put it from her, to
'listen, to remember and understand
the words he had spoken, but the dull
confusion grew with the sound of
the pines.
"Will vou love me? Will you try to
love me?"
"I love you," she said; "I have
loved you so manv, many years; I I
am Rosamund "
She bowed her head and covered
her face with both hands.
"Rosamund! Rosamund!" he
breathed, enraptured.
She dropped her hands with a little
cry; the frightened sweetness of her
eyes held back his outstretched arms.
"Do not touch me," she whispered;
"you will not touch me, will you?
not yet not now. Wait till I under
stand!" She pressed her hands to
her eyes, then again let them fall,
staring straight at him. "I loved you
so!" she whispered. "Why did you
"Rosamund! Rosamund!" he cried
sorrowfully, "what are you saying?
I do not understand; I can under
stand nothing save that I worship
you. May I not touch you? touch
your hand, Rosamund? I love you
"And I love you. I beg you not to
touch me not yet There is some
thing some reason why "
"Tell me, sweetheart'

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