Ladysmith news-budget. [volume] (Ladysmith, Rusk County, Wis.) 1907-1927, 1918-06-14

"Are You Crazy, or Am II" He Que
ried.
O'Reilly choked, then began again
"the dearest, loveliest-"
"Never mind the bird-calls-don't
coo! I get enough of that at home.
Humph! 1t turned out better than |
thought. Why, II was positively ter
rified when you walked in. 1 ought to
be offended, and am, but Get out
while telephone Elsa"
O'Reilly spent that evening in writ
ing long letter to Rosa Varona.
Other letters went forward by sue
ceeding posts, and there was no doubt,
now that O'Reilly's pen was tipped
with magic! He tingled when he re-
read what he had written. He babe
Rosa prepare for his return and their
immediate marriage.
O'Reilly's love was unlimited; his
trust in the girl was absolute. He
knew, moreover, that she loved and
trusted him. This, to be sure, was
miracle-a unique phenomenon which
never ceased to amaze him. He did
not dream that every man had felt the
same vague wonder.
And so the time passed rapidly. But,
strange to say, there came no answer
to those letters. O'Reilly cursed the
revolution which had made communi-
cation so uncertain; at length he
cabled, but still the days dragged on
with no result. Gradually his impa-
tience gave way to apprehension.
Great was his relief, therefore, when
one day worn, stained envelope adj
dressed in Rosa's hand was laid upon
his desk. The American stamp, the
Key West postmark, looked strange,
but Her first letter! O'Reilly Won
dered if his first letter to her could
possibly have moved her as this moved
him. He kissed the envelope where
her lips had caressed it in the sealing.
Then with eager fingers he broke it
open.
It was generous epistle, long and
closely written, but as he read his keen
delight turned to dismay and when
he had turned the last thin page his
brain was in widest turmoil. He
thought he must be dreaming. Could
it be that he had misunderstood any
thing? He turned to the beginning and
attempted to read, but his hands shook
so that he was obliged to lay the letter
flat upon his desk.
My Dear Beloved: 1t is with diffdence
and hesitation that I take my pen in
hand, for I fear you may consider me
unduly forward in writing to you with
out solicitation.
Alas! We are refugees Esteban and I
-fugitives, outcasts. living in the mani
qua with Asensio and Evangelina, former
slaves of our father. Such poverty, SUCH
indescribable circumstances! But they
were our only friends and they took us
in when we were homeless, SO we love
them.
If this letter reaches you-and I send
1t with a prayer-what then? I dare not
think too long of that, for the hearts of
men 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-
day? I hear you murmur, f"The girl for
gets herself" But, oh, the standards of
yesterday are gone and my reserve is
gone, too! I am 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 is how we came to live with Asensio
and his wife Imagine it! A bohio, hid
den away far up the Yumuri, and SO in
significant as to escape attention We are
no longer people of consequence or au-
thority; our safety depends upon our I'm
conspicuousness.
The whole country is in chaos There
is no woodworking but suspicion, hatred,
and violence Oh, what desolation this
war has wrought Esteban has already
become guerrillero. He has stolen
COW, and so we have milk for our coffee;
but there is only a handful of coffee left,
and little hope of more. Marauoing bands
of .Spaniards are everywhere, and the
country people tell atrocious tales about
them How will it end? How long be-
fore they will discover us and the worst
will happen?
If only you were here Oh, my dear
est Juan! If only you were hereto take
me in your arms and Danish this ever
constant terror at my heart. If 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 were sure that you would read
these lines. My nightly prayer But
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
try to tell myself that you will surely
come and search me out.
When you return to Cuba-see, my faith
is strong again-avoid Matanzas, for your
own sake and mine. Don Mario wanted
to marry me to save me this exile. But
refused: / told him was pledged to
you, and he was furious. He is power