HIGH NOON.

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 59, Issue 121, 4 March 1939, Page 10

HIGH NOON.

By RUBY M. AYRES

The Story of a Woman

CHAPTED XXVIV. Events seemed to have tumbled over onto another in such quick succession .that Effie had hardly been able to realise them, but now with that Cape Town label on the big trunk staring at her from the other side of the room she felt the necessity: for “sorting her- ' self- out” as she would have expressed it. Vilette’s tragic death Caesar’s death—the strange story of a legacy which nobody had eVer dreamed would come their way—the sale at Tangley of their household effects, and their own removal to Henry Mathews’ big house; she found it' all very difficult to understand. One moment Heather had been engaged to Henry and Bruce to Vilette, and the next moment Adlette was ho more, and Bruce was to marry Heather. She realised that in a way it, was a wonderful thing and something which she had always subconsciously longed for—that these two whom she loved best of all should marry and live happily ever after, but her happiness was blunted a little by the vague knowledge that the. “others” seemed to be cruelly left out of things. ’ Slid had hated it when the furniture , .was sold and taken away from Tangley, even though Henry had tried to comfort her by saying that lie had bought the old house, and was going to do it rip with a new coat of paint arid all sorts of improvements, and let it to some friends of his who would love it just as much as they had loved it; she had sobbed herself to sleep the first night she had slept under his hospitable roof, realising that nothing would ever be quite the same again, and longing iri her childish heart for things to go on in the same old rut, forgetting that it had hitherto been her one. desire to escape from it. She felt as if some one had smashed up her lire with an enormous hammer. John had gone to London to a flat of v which she had entirely approved when this quiet brother had invited her there to: supper, but that did not help very much. Bobbie was to go to a new pub- , lie school after Christmas, and she and - Priddy were to stay with Henry until the spring, when they both to join Heather and Bruce in a place called South Africa, of which Effie already hated the name; Bruce had been sweet about it; he had found her one day weeping, and had taken her on his knee and tried to explain everything. She had listened with tear-drowned eyes while he told her that he had always ltoved Heather, and had wanted to marry her many years ago, “When you were just a tiny mite,” but that Heather had refused to leave them all, even for him! “Don’t you think it’s time she had a little happiness ?” he had asked, and Effie had nodded, even while the name of another sister trembled on her lips—- * “Vilette?” : He had turned his head away then and answered. “That is something I can never talk about, Effie,” but when after a moment she remarked, “And then there’s Henry,” he said with deep emotion, “Henry is the finest man 1 know, arid you’re going to be very good to hirn, aren’t you, Effie?” “I’d rather live with you,” she whispered, but he had only laughed and had reminded her that quite soon her wish would be granted; he and Heather would be there waiting for her—and Priddy, who would again have her kitchen kingdom to reign over. That had cheered her a little, though her troubled mind was riot yet satis'tied. “Then there’s Bobbie,” she had faltered. “Bobbie will come out to us too, when he gets his long summer holiday,” he told her, “and the others he will spend with Henry.” ■ “He’ll like that,” Effie had been ,1 forced to admit. “Bobbie likes Henry.” ; But it still seemed a violent uproot- . ing, and her heart shrank from the thought of to-morrow. Heather and Bruce were to he married very early at a registrar’s and then they would go straight down to Southampton and away to the other side of the world. The sight of the landing with its beautiful carpets and wide staircase comforted her a little; it was so much more luxurious than Tangley—dear Tangley .... She winked a tear determinedly away before she slowly descended the stairs. ' -Henry Mathew's met her in the hall. “Hullo, youngster,” he said cheerily, and put a hand on her shoulder. “All ready for to-morrow'’s excitement?” And then as he saw her g lip quiver he said, ‘‘l’ve got a surprise for you—come and I’ll show you.” “What is it?” she asked miserably, and he answered “What do you want most in the w'orkl?” “For Heather to stay with us,” she said quickly, ; ; His srnile faded, and for a moment he looked as if something were hurting him badly, though he answered almost at once, “Well—l mean after that, of course! What would be the next best thing?” “To have a pony of piy own,” Effie said dolefully, and then, “But . . . “It’s waiting, in the stables,” he declared. “It’s a dapple—Come along.” She was all smiles as she went with him, hanging on to his arm and babbling array in her excitement. “Uh you are a darling. ‘ What shall we call it? Oh, Henry, there can’t be any one so wonderful as you in all the world!” From one of the sitting rooms, which had been given over entirely to her use for packing and sorting out her things, Heather heard the little conversation, and paused for a moment to listen. How wonderful Henry was, she thought—always cheery and ready to shoulder other people - s troubles, and to devise ways and means of dispelling them. There were tears in her. eyes as through the window she saw' his broad figure with Effie clinging to his arm, disappear towai'ds the'stables. : It was Henry who had solved all her own problems, taking her in hand as if she w’ere his daughter instead of the ivoman she knew he loved. She thought of the night, a week after Caesar had died, when driven by her own unhappiness" she had'come here to see him and told him the wdiole story of her love for Bruce, and of all the mistakes she felt, she had made in spite of her anxiety to do what was best for every one,

(Copyright).

'sLast Chance to Love.

He had listened in absolute silence, with no sign of emotion, until she had finished, and then he had said, very simply: “This isn’t news to me, my dear. I’m a short-sighted man in many ways, hut when I’m . . . fond of any one, I can see all there is to see. 1 ahvays felt that Logan—cared more for you than ho did for that poor child Vilette, hut I wasn’t so sure about you, perhaps because I didn’t want to be.” He cleared his throat loudly. “Well, now we must just sort ourselves out, that’s all, and see what’s the best thing to do,” he said, in a businesslike way. Silo had looked at him unhappily, “You must think I’ve behaved very badly-—stupidly.” But lie had silenced her quickly. “Whatever you do is right for me,” he said. “I admire you more than any other woman—or man either—l’ve evermet.” . And then for an instant his voice had faltered as he added. “If you’re going to be happy, that’s all that matters. You’ve had more than your share of trouble, God knows.” But he had not allow'ed much sentiment to creep into their conversation; he had talked about the future, about the family, and had made the generous suggestion that they should all come to stay with, him, as Tangley* was to lie sold. “If .... things had gone as I . . . . thought they' would,” he said, “I should have had you all, for the rest of my life, so don’t you think I might bo allowed to have some of y r ou just for a few weeks?” He had put his foot firmly down on Heather’s , suggestion that she and Bruce should take Effie to South Africa with them. 1 ‘And spoil your honeymoon ?’ ’ he demanded. “Xonsense—let her stay with me and Old Priddy, and they can go out to you in the spring. I may even bring them myself; it’s years since I had a real holiday.” Ho hadn’t spoken of his own hitter disappointment, and when she tried to say something to express her deep affection for him and her gratitude, he said: “I once thought you might have been my wife, my dear, but I can see now it is better as- it is, and .... I shall think of you as a daughter—a loved daughter —if I may.” She had not been able to answer for tears, and he went on. “There is only one thing I should like to ask you. It may seem presumptive. If you think so, don’t answer, but it’s this: Do you really love Logan? Are you really going to be happy with him?” Heather smiled through her tears. “Yes,” she answered with such complete confidence that Henry winced, though lie said, “Then I’m satisfied . . . . quite satisfied.” And now, in a few Lours, she would be married. It seemed almost an impossibility that after so many years, of estrangement she was to become the wife of the man she had always loved; it was a greater happiness than she had ever dreamed of. The family were all coming to the wedding, quiet as it was to be. Peter and Maisie and Betty and her husband, John, Bobbie, Effie—she would have them all with her at the last, hut, “If only Caesar and Vilette could he there too,” she thought witli passionate longing, and quickly tried to dispel the sari ness, for surely she .must only allow happy thoughts on the eve of her wedding day? Priddy, who suddenly seemed to have grown younger, came into the room all smiles. “A letter for you, my dear,” she announced, and it was evident she knew from whom it had come. She lingered to say diffidently, “And I’ve brought you a little present, Miss Heather, and I thought maybe you’d wear it to-morrow for luck.” She handed Heather a little box with an old-fashion-ed brooch in it, which was shaped like a star and made of aquamarines. “They do say something old and something new, something borrowed and something blue,” she said, “and that’s old and it’s blue. It belonged to my own mother—she wore it on her own wedding day.” “Oh Priddy,” Heather put her arms around the old woman and they hugged each other till Priddy, seeing the tears on the girl’s face, said with pretended anger, “And no crying, or that will undo all the good luck, my dear, and whafc have you got to cry for anyway? Isn’t it time you had a bit of happiness same as other folk? You’ve seen that they’ve all been happy for long enough, dear knows.” (To he concluded.)