THE CHAINS OF BONDAGE.

Auckland Star, Volume XLI, Issue 172, 22 July 1910, Page 8

THE CHAINS OF BONDAGE.

BY EMILY B. HETHERINGTON,

'Author of "His College Chum," "Worthington's Pledge," "A Repentent Foe."

CHAPTER VL THE WAY OF A MAX.

"I shall be horribly dissatisfied tomorrow," Elsie Hood suddenly said.

Jim Ralston looked at her from beneath the brim of his straw hat, tilted over his eyes to shield them from the sun, and for a moment the regular, rhythmical slush of the .paddle was interrupted. "Why?"

"Oh, just 'bec-ause to-morrow will be i —to-morrow!''" Elsie Hood rejoined, smil- ■ ing across at him. "That's like a wo- j man, isn't it ? With a long, perfect day 'before us yet, and to-morrow ever so far ! away—to-morrow, wiien I shall be sitting in an office, where the windows are so I grimy that the sub: seems inclined to | stay outside, typewriting letters for the senior partner, and making all sorts of | absurd mistakes, 'because I shall be thinking of to-day instead of dull busi- j ness letters!" -she added, with a laugh. He liked to hear her laugh; there was a lilt in the notes of the clear voice that appealed to mm resistlessly, and the I prettiest dimples imaginable would come | into her cheeks at each corner of the I Bweet. smiling mouth. j Besides, it gave him a pretext for look- j ing at her, if he had needed any! And | what a dainty pioture she made for a j man's eyas in her white frock, leaning | istck against the pile of gaily-coloured j cushions in the Canadian canoe! As Jim's eyes lingered on the girl's face, j beautiful with its elusive, provoking.' charm, she seemed to him like an incarnation of spring—of a radiant April | morning. i "Yes," this is better than a dull office," : he responded Lazily. "I've -wondered j sometimes in my father's office —all red j leather and mahogany, and windows that j won't open—-how ho can endure eight | hours of it a day. But it doesn't seem ! to worry him*" She smiled, as her eyes met his from the shadow of the broad-brimmed hat, from beneath which a wilful strand of! red j brown hair had broken, for the sun j and the soft wind to caress* One of her I hands hung over the side of the canoe,! dipping in the cool water, that was so j clear that she could see the tall, un- j dulating river weeds growing in the green j depths beneath them. "Yori must lock all thoughts of to-1 morrow away in a mental cupboard, and ; drop thw key overboard," he told her. "Luncheon is a much, more. important thing to think of!" And he looked at his watch. "There tire lots «f more important things to Sthdnk of than luncheon, though I expect I shall be ready for that when it comes," she said, gaily. "Yes, Til lock to-morrow away and lose the key. It would toe ungratesful if I didn't, when to-day everything is a joy—the river j with the sunlight on it, and the green shadows under the trees of the steep, j sheer banks, and that lark singing far up I over our heads, as though he was as glad as we that the sun is shining!" Since tha>t d-iy at Epsom, more than three montihs ago, Jim's intimacy with the Hoods had made rapid strides. If, at first, Mrs. Hood had looked with apprehensive eyes on the friend-ship" between her daaighter and this man, who onoved in a very different plane from that of her straitened means, as she ■came to knew Jim her doubts yielded to personal liking. She realised that Jim Kalston was a man she could trust. Elsie had contrived to beg a day' 3 holiday, and before halT-past ten o'clock ithat morning Jim had iwhisked her off to Paddington, to take train to the river. September had come, but here, at least, where the Thames danced in the sunlight, dt was still summer. In London the foliage of the smoke-grimed trees might reflect summer's waning; but here the leaves were still green, showing scarcely a hint, as yet, of change. The chimes floated down the river to them from Medmenham. "We've timed it well," said Jim. "One o'clock striking, and here's where we're going to lunch!" It was a litt 1 " wooded island in a backwater, hemmed in by a forest of tall reeds and bulrushes, in a solitude almost as profound as the island of Robinson Crusoe itself. "Hope you have an appetite. I'll make the Canadian fast while y-ou lay the cloth. Isn't this fine?" "Fine!" she answered, her eyes dancing, as she began to unpack the luncheon hamper, and spread the feast in an ©pen space between the trees. An ancient frog moved away resentfully, and a continuous warfare had to be waged throughout the outdoor meal with certain of the island's residents in the shape of grasshoppers, that did their best to get inextricably mixed up with the food. And after luncheon Jim disposed of the remnants of the feast by the simple process of burying them; while Elsio washed her hands in the river, and gathered a bunch of tiny flowers growing under the bank in the shallows. Jim smoked cigarettes, and they talked and- laughed an idle halfhour away, and listened to the sound of the rushing, falling water of the weir, feeling that it was good to be alive. "A chap you've heard mc mention has a place close by here, with a lawn eloping down to the river—John Trevena," said Jim, when they were in the canoe again paddling up past Cookham. "Trevena's a man you would like—a really good chap! Not that I expect he's at home." As it happened, however, Trevena was at home, and in the riverside garden of ■his cottage as the canoe passed. He was reclining in a deck chair, with a pipe in his mouth, and had the appearance of being about to have an afternoon doze. Certainly his eyes were closed drowsily, and he was oblivious of the canoe, until Jim hailed him, and his fox terrier ran to the water's edge, barking a welcome. Trevena opened his eyes i lazingly; then sprang to his feet, his face ■ lighting up with a smile as he went forward. "What! You're not going to land and! spare mc half-an-hour after waking mc up? -\onsense! Of course you are!" hej cried. ' And, almost before he had been introduced to her, Trevena was assisting I Elsie to alight. Jock, the terrier, needed | no introduction; he was sworn friends with Elsie in a few moments, shainefuhV I neglecting an older friend in the shape | of Jim. Trevena told them he had been spend-1 ing the past three weeks here. | "I suppose if I were a sportsman, I should be away on the moors; but, then, I'm not. I don't see the fun of shoot-' ■ ing beautiful creatures that have been reared just to fall before a gun. Jock and I like the river best. Jock hasn't been long in making friends with you, Miss Hood-" •-* -- ' ,

"Oh, I think dogs know I like them, and that's why we get on so well together," she said.

It was a charming, roomy cottage, with thatch on its gabled roof, and the sloping lawn was shaded with old trecc. Elsie did not wonder that he preferred this retreat, with the voice of the river singing as it ran past to the sea.

"I suppose you've seen this woman everyone is talking of, Jim —Miss Fairfax, who came in for George Craven's millions?" said Travena presently. "Myself, I've been out of touch with everything for a month; seen nobody. I remember that this George Craven died quite suddenly, within an hour or so of ni's landing in England. A bit tragic, wasn't it?" "Yes; I've met Miss Fairfax. She and the Ellstrees have become very thick, you know," said Jim. "A handsome woman, and I'm sure very charming. Only," he added thoughtfully, "there's something about her eyes that strikes mc sometimes " "What do you mean?" "I hardly know," admitted Jim, with a laugh. "Possibly it's all my imagination, but more than once a look in her eyes struck mc as though they were looking back into some great fear or some deep sorrow in the past. It may he my fancy, of course.". "Well, if, as you say, her eyes seem to be looking back, one can hardly won : der—eh?—when one remembers that bad scandal about her father," said Trevena. "Wonder what happened to Fairfax when he went under? Changed his name, I suppose. Anyway, he disappeared from everyone's ken. And now Fate comes along and chucks a couple of millions into her lap by way of recompense! And I'm jolly glad! It was too bad that she had to suffer for what her father did, poor girl!" "A couple of millions! Oh, more than that, I fancy!" rejoined Jim, lazily. "And coming on the top of poverty, too! She's ■been earning her living as a governess, I heard, somewhere in the south of I France; was out of England when the ■news came. A couple of millions! Jove! ,1 wonder what she'll do with the dust?" "I expect Ellstree would know what to !do with a windfall like hers at the pre- ! sent moment," said Trevena. "He was ! pretty well on his last legs when Meriel won him the Derby, I fancy. He's a I gambler ingrained, is Ellstree—more's the

pity. And I fancy some of those bucketshop people have burnt him to a pretty big tune."

-Elsie looked up suddenly from plajing with Jock. She remembered what she had seen when, for a few weeks, she had been employed in a concern that called itself "The Legitimate Investments Company"—a gigantic trap for swindling the unwary by "blind pools."

''That's what you're going to have a tilt at, Jim, when you go into the House —bucket shops, eh?" added Trevena.

Jim laughed, but there was a thoughtful look on his face.

"Yes. I'd sweep every one of 'em oft the face of the earth, and their promoters into Portland prison if I could," he said. "My father doesn't agree with my views a bit, you know; he says I'm a fool to trouble about it—that if people want to dabble in 'blind pools' it's their own lookout if they lose. But that doesn't alter my views," he added.

They stayed talking on Trevena's lawn for half an hour; then Elsie and Jim left iheir host to finish. the nap that their coming had interrupted. About five o'clock Jim paddied to an old inn of his acquaintance, where tea was ordered. And while it was being prepared he and Elsie wandered through the little riverside town to explore the church.

The town, with its one quaint, irregular street, was delightfully rural; even the police station had a climbing rosebush sprawling over the front of it. Jim paused to glance at the bills on the board by the door. Among the bills was one, weeks old, offering a reward for "Information leading to the arrest of Judith Hardress," and followed by a description of the suspected murderess, whom, so far, the police had utterly failed to trace.

They had tea in the garden of the inn —a garden, overlooking the river, fragrant with thyme and old-fashioned flowers, screened hy a hedge of lilac. To-day they were the only visitors, a fact upon which Jim congratulated himself.

It was a delight to him to sit here and watch Elsie daintily dispensing tea, to hear her gay laughter, to watch the dancing light it brought to her eyes. After tea, they lingered in the garden, while the sun sank lower and lower behind the distant woods, its dying glory touching the girl's face, and finding wandering gleams of gold in her hair.

"And now the day is over, and we shall have to think of London again," she said, with a half sigh, breaking a sudden silence. "But I shall look back on this perfect day you've given mc When to-morrow comes "

It hat" been a perfect day for him, too; this girl, winsome and sweet, attracted him as no other woman had ever done. The remembrance of his father's words on the day of the Derby was back in his mind—that and his own reply. To-day had made him surer than ever that it was no mere passing fancy— that he loved this girl by his side as he could love no other. Jim knew his father's ambitious plans for him —that self-made man who wanted him to make a socially brilliant marriage, to ally blue blood with his riches. And Jim laughed. His own wishes surely ought to be considered, it was unfortunate that his wishes and old Paul Balston's ambitions did not :"jump together." And his father's threat—that was not to be taken seriously. 'It was absurd to think his father could have meant it seriously. But even if he did

A sudden gleam came into Jim's eyes. Even if his father kept his threat, that would not deter him from his o\vn set purpose.

"Xo-morrow! Ah, but to-morrow may ■bring us new gifts!" he said suddenly, his eyes on the beautiful face, the colour on which deepened at something in his look. "I. shall look forward, not back, Elsie—to the hope that to-morrow is to bring mc a gift that I long for above everything, else."

All through that sunlit day it had hardly been, in his thoughts to put his fate to the test; he had known her so short a time. There was happiness enough for the present in their deepening intimacy. But now, suddenly, a resistless impulse like something outside himself seemed to force him to speak.

As he touched her hand, at the contact a swift thrill ran through him. Then suddenly, swayed by a rush of feeling, by a passion of tenderness that swept him .away, he caught her in —is arms—that slender, girlish figure,

round wliom he had woven those dreams that belonged 'to youth and love—held her tight to him. '"Deaj, you know —you must know— that I eaa-e for youJ Will you he my wife?" he whispered, his voice not quite i under his control. ••'Jim-!" There was a little startled thrill of gladness in the cry that told I him all he wanted to know—that told him she loved him; gladness, but with it a note of doubt, almost of fear. "Bat

—but your father f* she suddenly whispered. Instinctively she knew that his fathet would oppose such a marriage. She loved Jim too well to want to be the cause of a disagreement between father and son, that might injure Jim's future, his career. He laughed. " You've told mc that you love mc, sweetheart — your voice, if not your words! And it's my wishes, not my

father's, that matter in such a case as this. And even if —if you have to marry a poor man, sweetheart"— as the remembrance of Paul Balston's threat flashed across him suddenly—"well, I'm strong enough and able enough to work for the woman I love!" Just for a moment she thought of Jim's father, the sight of whom had seemed to startle her that day at Epsom. Then this new, overwhelming happiness claimed her, blotting out the memory of

Paul "Ralston's grim face, as she surrendered herself unresisting to his arms, while the wind, whispering through the sedges of the river, wove their love story into its murmured song. t (To be continues daily. _"••?.*