New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1916-12-17
Something Novel in War Stories
Translated nvih introductory Comment by Wia L. Mcpherson


burning in his heart and throbbing in his
brain.
Kurt knew that Reginas words, Don't ask
me-" barred the way to an answer; for IN her
eyes there was an expression which said
Don't ask me if you love me-" He did love
her; therefore he submitted and was silent.
But in his soul wrath, sympathy, love and re
sentiment fought with one another for the mas
terry.
Full of bitterness, he left the house in which
he thought he had found happiness. Full OF
bitterness because of this thought: "She does
not love me in the way in which / longed to
have her love me, for she has no confidence"
For months Kurt Henzius had been in Ber
lin, where he had found something to do in
the captured material department of the War
Ministry. He had not spoken with Regina
alone since that evening" for on the following
morning a telegram had called him 10 his new
post in the capital.
Yet he could never forget the time ne had
spent in the Harz village. Again and again
the old house stood before his eyes, with its
UNCOVERED gable, its high-ceilinged rooms and
the antique furniture in them Again he saw
his two hostesses-the older one, who seemed
to bear a secret burden on her wearied Shout
ders, in whose eyes there was hard CLEAN,
the expression of a soul which had done with
hopes and wishes; and the younger one, who
glded through the house like sunshine and
with her art brought beauty and Joy into its
sombre interior.
He should not have submitted. He should
have asked; he should have demanded an ex-
PLANTATION. She owed it to him. One does
not refuse so abruptly, so unreasonably, a
mans heart and hand. That is insulting;
That is
"Look out Look out! You're running over
u.s." said an irrtated voice, interrupting his
thoughts and checking his reckless, absent
minded stride He excused himself and looked
about him with bewildered eyes, coming back
from another world into the world of actually.
Some people stood there with big basket
full Of brass and copper ware.
I'VE are carrying this to the market hall, to
the military delivery station" they said. But
there is a great crowd. We get numbers and
must wait our turn. Often it is hours before
we get to the delivery desk. See how many
there are behind u.s.
at is fine of you to give what you can spare.
One can be proud to belong to a people which
is ready to make sacrifices without thought
where the Fatherland is concerned"
Now he went himself into the market hall.
He wanted to see the delivery station. And as
he looked at the masses Of copper kettles and
of brass and nickel ware his attention was
attracted by something glistening which he
certainly had never expected TO see there.
Gded wings were spread out curly head
looked down and short, round arms held up
two sets of candle sockets. 1t was the bronze
angel from the quiet house in the Harz Noun
tans. II was he without doubt.
He stood there and stared and stared. His
thoughts gaoped, his heart beat violently.
Would the candles in those sockets never burn?
number was called; the angel was carried
to the front.
"A bronze candeabrum," cried voice to the
waiting crowd, and through the mass pushed
a slender figure dressed in deepest black The
blond hair elistened under the thin texture of
the black VEIL
Yes, he knew her, too-Regina.
His heart rose in his throat. He saw dis
tinctly how her delicate hand snged trans
fer paper, how she refused with shake Of the
head any payment for her gift and then turned
to 20. Almost revcrently the people stood aside
for her as. with the air of distinction which
was so natural to her, she made her way out.
He rushed to meet her eagerly, impulsively
Now he must speak TO her. He must.
Regina! Fraulein Wolter, don't you know
me?'
She gave a start. A soft glow rose in her
cheeks and her eyes shone with the same radi