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CLASSIC
me, but I felt I had a right to know. “What became of imother?” I asked.
I “She enraged me,” he went on. “‘Faith,’ says I to her, ifGod has given me Eve to keep from a life of sin, and I’m ■§:oin’ to keep her from it. I dont intend to have my soul damned for bein’ lax.’ But the devil possessed Faith, and Ijthat night . . . she . . . jumped from the east window upstairs ... a storm was beatin’ like a hurricane against ’CepI tion. She hit on the rocks and was washed away. That’s liyour sinful history, child.” ji Twas heartbroken. “Poor mother,” I sobbed.
“So you’re sidin’ with her in her sin, are you?” he exclaimed, seizing me and pushing me so violently that I fell to the floor. “Well, you was raised here and here you stay. You’re goin’ straight.”
i' “You cant keep me from the man I love,” I answered.
I “Cant I?” and Dad laughed bitterly. “I’ve already told him your history. Told him just before he went away. He knows you’re a child of sin. You’ll never hear from him again.
He’s done with you.”
I dont know how I reached ny room. I was dead at heart.
W'ould I, too, climb out that cast window up there into the [storm . . . and forget? Days Ijpassed. Shall I ever forget the phter loneliness of them? The jwretchedness . . . the growing ii'ealization that Philip was not
“’CEPTION SHOALS”
Adapted by Albert Capellani and June Mathis, from the drama by H. Austin Adams. Produced in seven parts by Metro. Directed by Albert Capellani, under the supervision of Maxwell Karger, director-general. The cast:
Eve Mme. Nazimova
Faith..’. Mme. Nazimova
Philip Blake Charles Bryant
Job Coffin Henry Harmon
Maude Standish Nancy Palmer
Brad Standish George W. Davis
Luke Allen T. Morse Koupal
Jim Smoot Tom Blake
writing . , . was not thinking of me ‘‘Pvc already told hiir . . . was not coming back . . . your history. Told
T? 11 i.1 • 1 i. r . 1 !• him before he went
Finally came the night of the big a^ay. He knows
storm. Dad had been growing steadily you’re a child of sin.
feebler in the weeks that had passed, and You’ll never hear
he told me to tend the lights up above again. He s
until morning. He even locked me m
the place, alone, with the shrieking wind,
the blinding, beating rain, the lashing thunder of the sea.
Then it was I debated if life was worth while — to go on and on without the one you loved, into the hopeless, loveless years. I almost opened a storm-beaten w’indow. The ledge seemed so narrow, the black outside so cool, the end so quick. But I couldn’t. The rocks down below were so cruel, the sea so relentless.
All these hours I little knew what was going on below me,
in the room beneath. Unknown to me, the Driftwood had slipped behind the shelter of ’Ception to weather the storm, and Philip had managed to land in a small launch.
Then it was that Dad gave him back the letters he had written in the past weeks . . . the letters I had never known of. And he told Philip that I was dead ... as my mother had died ... on those rocks beaten by the sea.
And Philip, broken-hearted, had made . his way thru the
(Forty-five)