The Clutch of Circumstance Or, A CHANGED HORIZON

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 161, 9 July 1910, Page 17

The Clutch of Circumstance Or, A CHANGED HORIZON

- CHAPTER XX. —Continued. - Tnes was stricken with remorse to • that so full of her own troubles ■ wTshe been, she had never given the ;~ or old thing a thought for all .this week- had never even missed the cu3tomary gleam of light far down the She took the old, trembling hands in j,er own. "Oh I am so sorry, so very sorry for this"' she said —and indeed the abject misery of this "cottage interior' as the nrtists call it, would have touched harder learhi "Own fault," said Mrs. Shore drearily, ''own fault, my dear. Brought it on jneseli. No one to blame." I "I didn't even know you were away. yfhen did you get back?" 'Two said the old woman, " "three p'raps. "Sat in this chair all the time. Don't never want to get out of it-""' • "But has no one been to see you?" Ines cried. fOl yes," said the old woman apathetically, "Mitchell and the new pleeee, and Johnnie^ —baker's toy, you know, good "(boy.'' . She looked with vague apprecia- ' twn at Johnnies silent tribute to misfortune —half a loaf of bread, an apple and a little heap of peppermints. "ilrs. Beattie can't have heard," said Ines, comforting herself. "Don't' go to church," said the old '■woman succinctly. Ine3 lit a fire and made tea, found a tin -of sardines, jam, biscuits, and insisted on a meal being eaten. Then for ten minutes they sat in eilence, battered old woman with the .■vristful eyes, smooth cheeked girl with I the corners of her mouth drooped over these world woes. j. ■ "Don' worry about mc, Missie * dear," ike old voice said at last, "I'm nearly through with things. Sixty's old when you've had a life like mine." . "Yon will live to he seventy at least," said Ines inexorably. "Now thG question is what are you going to do? . Ten years is a good time." Mrs. Shore looked round her stripped room with eyes into which fear began to creep. Certainly the prospect of ten years without any comfoTts left was a little terrifying. "It'll have to be the Asylum," she Baid sullenly. Then added with, a gleam in her ir.-es, "They're not kep' like prisoners, I hear.' They can break out sometimes. An' they've always got to take you 'hack after you've done your time." This to be the end of a life of almost unexampled endurance and devotion! It was more than any eager-hearted girl conld hear. - "Kow see here," said Ines, after her thoughts had moved with lightning Ewiftness for a time. "I have thought everything out. listen to this. I can't let my cottage, so I shall go on living in it for several months more at least. X is lonely for mc there with no one older than Hyacinth. 1 want you to come and live with mc as long as I am there." "I wouldn't live on no one's charity," Baid the old woman angrily—"leastways <mao one'-s :2>ut ,Staie'&r-t2iai don't count ■" Tve always worked my way along, I have." "I don't propose to show you charity," said Ines promptly, "I am not rich enough to—l have very little left and I cant send Hyacinth away. :js wiat I propose." She placed her hastily conceived offer iefore the old -vamaa. There was robi .t the cottage—now— . for one extra. Ines would make a room Seat and comfortable for her, her own • cupboard, own teapot, own bed and so on—«he would not feel too much uprooted. There would be meals for her always—either in the kitchen with Hyacinth or in her own room. In return she would do- Ines' washing and ironing, but there would be no wages—she must quite understand that" Ines could not afford to offer charity. Such work however would not take her more than one day in the week. Ines would undertake to find other work for her, a little washing, or nursing, or sewing, that would put a few shillings for spending money into her pocket weekly. Mrs. Shore thought the proposition out ia silence. AH the best part of her nature cried out in thankfulness at this prospect of being protected against herself from the temptations that loneliness and the long empty hours made so irresistible to her. "Well", she said, "since it's doin' you a favour, Miss Ines, I'm wiUin'. You'll ibe able to have all the white frocks you like now. But mind, I -wouldn't a«cep' no one's charity." "I'm sure you wouldn't," said Ines heartily. It was agreed that she should "move up" hi the morning. They remembered than another source of income for her •would be this cottage, which would posably bring something like half a crown a week. "Good-night," said Inea. "I must nm • iaek now, I have left Hyacinth alone." "I shall call her Eliza," said the old wmian firmly; "she can't expect mc to Hyacinth her." • It was too late to argue the matter ' BOW. "I wiH send her. down in the morning to help you carry little things," Ines - said, "and Johnnie baker t>oy Tvill ■■bring the rest. You will be sure to come? I feel I can't manage another day without a responsible person in the house." ; "It's hurryin' mc," grumbled Mrs. Shore. "There's a lot will want' doing here for a tenant. I don't think I can manage to be there till after dinner. You must wait till then, Mass Ines." "Afternoon will do quite Ines, meekly. "Good-night, Mrs. Shore." She lighted her lantern and started cat into the damp, dark air. Just outside the gate Scott was standI ing, as he had patiently stood all through ■ the interview.- " '• » CHAPTER Tnrr ONE WILD, WET EVENING." c moon made thy lips pale, beloved; The wina made thy bosom chill." —Shelley. PI M ;™ e y kai spoken no word to each 5; £L since, their J omx S hearts broken I oythe bitter cruelty of fate, they had ■ ?f eed to part for ever on the day when ,■;_ -ayacinth had remarked that it was almost like a party." What else might they do? ; _ Virtue is not a quality that belongs, as I ■S^ 1 " 0 exclusively to tha angels. I :+.- ere w « re two flesh and blood young : IT 1 ?* 3 ' with Tina-Railing love for ";■ r™ otl »er, and yet piteously, pitifully, : ■:' to do "the right thing." mJr°? Mul d they but consider that far- ; ■;™ pi who had so nobly stepped - f orI wartt waeu all tae xest of the. world Jraag

BY ETHEL TURNER. Author of "Seven Little Australians."

■back? Not once did Ines feel anything but admiration for her; not even m her wildest moment of temptation did she contemplate reaching curt for her own happiness at the expense of that of iris. As for Scott, he did her bidding. Almost he would have sacrificed Iris; this when his love for the girl so close to him became a pain past endurance. He would tell himself at such a time that Iris had not really cared for him—had acted as she had done out of a very insanity of pity. At others he saw the absolute improbability of so acting; indeed, the girl must' have cared—have cared so genuinely that, with a nature organised so excessively finely as was hers, to brutally write that he loved another would be to give an actual death blow. At other times, again, he forgot everything, and gave himself up to the intoxication of the incredible fact that it was for himself that Iris cared, not for Douglas, not for any of the men she had met in the past —just for him alone. Night after nig«£ he would walk his garden, staring with tireless eyes- at the lamp light shining through the blind of her sitting room. Fate was Telentless with her dealings with his life; well, he would not whine — would just forge along as best he could on the directed lines. His was a perfectly simple nature, and took it that there were directed lines. One was never left in doubt as to which were these lines. It was only when one was not honest, and tried to confuse the -issues for- oneself, that one paused to wonder whether the lines that led through the luxurious valley might not actually be the ones directed, and not those that ran to the austere hill's top. ' . But he allowed himself this weakness —this standing in the garden and flooding his heart with the Tight of her lamp and the knowledge that she had loved him too.. Ine3 made an even more heart-breaking effort than his; she tried to cut herself off from thinking of him at all. He belonged to Iris—it was wrong, actually wrong, for her to Temember the dear clasp of his arms, the Tain of his kisses on her face, his eyes with their look of incredulous happiness. Yet they seemed with her always, these memories; with her when she rose, with her as she filled her day full as she might with work that should make her forget; with &er as, wearied, yet sleepless, she put out her light.' It was his eyes that she seemed to see all the time; those grey, insistent eyes that had always been watching her when he talked to her father; that made themselves felt across the wall of stones, across the street when they passed each other, across life itself. But she must not think of them, they fc were for Iris to think of, brave, noble = Iris watching on the other side, of the '• sea. For herself, she must work, walk c till she almost dropped, anything, any--0 thing to get away from ibis love and feel a at peace with herself. Yet when the'jrottagevwoiild.no.t let, joy leapt forth like a live thing in her r heart. She need not go away—she could ' not go away; indeed,..how,..if-she went, might she have enough to live on? Besides, she was of a little use here; she was making a home for Mrs. Shore and 1 for Hyacinth, who, if she left, would be *• condemned to the drab of life again. 3 Her first thought for taking Mrs. Shore had been, indeed, for the woman's r own protection. Instantly afterwards she hugged the new tie she had made * that kept her where she could still see 1 'tbe man she loved with all her heart. 1 They had agreed that they must not ' talk to each other; that might make the ' conflict hard, beyond all hope of victory. " But for her to see his cap moving about ' the wheat, for him to watch her light, 1 sometimes to hear her voice—ah, the » Fates must leave them little things like I that! ' And then she ran out into the rain, and ' almost into his arms. Almost. He ' dropped them to his side "the next second. ! "Ah," she said, "you should not have " come—you should not have come." 1 But her heart leapt high and insolent with joy. He steadied his voice. 1 "I can't let you run about like this r alone," he said; "I watched you come 5 out. It is now nearly eight." Had it taken so Mbg -co persuade the " obstinate old woman that she would not 1 be taking charity? She steadied her voice, pressed her f hand to that leaping heart, and told him ' j of the occurrence. 5 "You should have sent Hyacinth for ' mc," he said. "I would have gone to Mrs. Shore. You mu3t never do this 3 again; do you hear, Ines?" The assumption of authority did not ! vex her; it only wrapped her warmly like a garment in the bitter cold of winter. c "Promise mc," he said. "I promise." 1 "The house let; wnafc-are you going to do? I "No, it hasn't let} no one ynH take , it." "Thank God for that."' '" "Oh, bush. You shouldn't. Ah,. we oughn't to be talking—it makes it harder, r oh, so much harder." "Nothing could fee harder than it is, ? Ines—it is too hard. I can't bear it." * He stopped stock still in the rain; they \ stared at each other with, wet, white ' i faces and wild young eye 3. ', j "Ines!" be said—the odour of his -wet macintosh so close gave her a feeling of '"! dizziness. "Ines, one more kiss." " i One second since he had been swearing I 1 to-himself he would not say it. ,;! "No," she said, and prayed that ihe , j would not listen to her. ij "No," and prayed that be would. , I "No," and prayed, like a Jesuit, "Yβ, j yes; I can be sorry after." I Then the clean rain s\yept her face, a "I gust of it sent cold, sword-like, from heaven. "No," she gasped. "Dear, dear Scott, no. Don't let's do anything we'll be sorry for afterwards. Think of her. Let us think of her." . ■'" Still he did not move. Still his lips ' seemed seeking for her face in ihe darkness. "Think of mc," she whispered; "don't 1 make it harder for mc." That was the weapon. He yielded to it at once. 1 They were almost at her garden gate. 5 He opened it; almost pushed her inside. Then plunged back to the darkness of the bush to walk and walk till he should f have ihimself in hand again. (To be continued on. Wednesday -next}.. r . * ' COIBS CAUSE HEADACHE. . LAXATIVE BKOMO QTJININE, the worWwide Cold and Grip Besnedy removes '" cause. Call for full name. Look. for._«en*-