Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1918-07-12

qua with Asenslo and Evangelina, former
slaves OF our father. Such poverty. such
indescribable circumstances! But they
were cur only friends and they took us
In when we were homeless, 90 we love
them.
IL this letter reaches you-and I send
II with a prayer-what then? / dare not
think too long Of that, for tho hearts Of
mon are not like the hearts OF women.
What will you say when you learn that
the Rosa Varona whom you favored with
your admiration Is not the Rosa Of to-
day7 I hear you murmur, 1.-THE girl for
gets herself!" But. oh. the standards Of
yesterday are gone and my reserve Is
gone, tool I am a hunted creature.
Rosa had compelled herself to start
with the death Of Donna Isabel and to
give him a succinct account of all that
had followed. O'Reilly read the story,
fascinated.
That Ia o we came to live with Asensio
and his wife. Imagine It! A bohio, hid
don away far up the Yumuri. and so in
significant as to escape attention. We are
no longer people OF consequence or au-
thority: u safety depends upon our In
conspicuousness.
The whole country Is in chaos. There
Is no wo%rk-nothing but suspicion. hatred,
and violence. Oh, what desolation this
war has wrought! Esteban has already
become q guerrillero. He has stolen a
COW. and so we have milk for our coffee;
but there is only a handful of coffee left.
and little hope of moro. Marauding bands
Of s%paniards are everywhere, and the
rntSntvNS vAoolA tnV Ata,ntn,~ Aul.a ukz,,t
them. How will II end7 How long be-
fore they will discover US and the worst
will happen7
II only you were here oh. my dear
est Juan! II only you were hereto take
me in your arms and Danish this ever
constant terror at my heart. II only you
were here to tell me that you love me
still in spite Of my misfortune. See! The
tears are falling as I write. You will re-
turn, will you not? I could not write like
this II l were sure that you would read
these lines. My nightly prayer But I
will not tell you OF my prayers, for fate
may guide this letter to you, after all,
and the hearts OF men do change. In
those dark hours when my doubts arise
I try to tell myself that you will surely
come and search me out.
When you return to Cuba-see, my faith
IS strong aHaln-aVoiu MatanZaS, Tor your
own sake and mine. Don Mario wanted
to marry me to save me this exile. But
I refused; I told him I was pledged to
you. and he was furious. He Is power
full; he would balk you. and there Is al
ways room for one more in San Severino.
II I could come to you. I would. but I
am marked. So II you still desire me you
must search me out. You will? I pin my
faith to that as to the Cross. To doubt
would be to perish. II we should have to
find another hidlng-place, and that Is al
ways likely. you can learn of our where
abouts from Colonel Lopez.
Alas! II you had asked me to 60 with
you that day! I would have followed you.
for my heart beat then as II beats today,
for you alone.
The candle Is burning low and II will
soon be daylight, M then this letter must
begin its long, uncertain journey. I trust
the many blots upon the paper will not
give you q wrong impression Of my writ
ing. for I am neat. and I write nicely:
only now the ink is poor and there ia very
little OF It. There Is little Of anything,
here at Asensio's house, except tears. OF
those l fear there are too many to please
you, my Juan, for men do not like tears.
Therefore I try to mile as I sign myself,
our loving n you faithful
ROSA.
o God! Come quickly. II you love me.