THE GREATER CLAIM

Auckland Star, Volume XLIX, Issue 244, 12 October 1918, Page 20

THE GREATER CLAIM

By ARTHUR APPLIN Author of "The Woman Who Doubted," "Miss Bamptor.'a Husband," '"The Chorus Girl," etc, etc.

CHAPTER XXl.—(Continued.)

Violet, etopped two days in Devonshire, and while there she remembered Jimmy Dark. She found his Convalescent Home was only some eight, miles away, so she hired a motor and drove out to see him. He was sitting in the garden of an old country house which had been converted into a temporary hospital; between his lips :i huge briar pipe, rying on his lap a ponderous volume on the subject of the cultivation of the land. She stopped the ear directly she saw him. and qnietly crossing the lawn stood behind his ebair. Below the terrace •on'y some five hundred yards away lay the sea. It was early autumn, and the sun shone from a cloudless sky. that deep purple of the .Mediterranean which sometimes is happily seen in Cornwall and Devonshire. The sea was sapphire, with here and there long emerald green I shadows. A few gulls sailed lazily overhead. Ihe only sound of life. The land stretching down to the cliffs wa« clothed with bracken and piirple heather: here am', there a late wild rose •waved in the breeze, and a bunch of honeysuckle threw its perfume across the. terrace. Jimmy was deeply engaged In his book. Now and again a faint cloud of blue smoke issued from his lips. i "How do you do. Mr. Jimmy?" Violet said at last. He looked up, rose to hie feet. 'How do yon do " Then recognition flashed in hie eyes. "Why. it's my little nurse, and I didn't recognise her.' He held out a hand, brown again and strong. "Oh, it's good to see you." "It's good to see you, Jimmy." "I'm not believing that. I'm not good to look at or to talk to. Hut sit down and toll me—tell mc everything. Or shall 1 tell you?" "Jimmy realised her black drees, for she had bowed to convention, though nothing about her advertised that «he was a widow. Jimmy also saw by the expression in her ey«s that she had gone through the fires. "Well, I'm more of a man'than 1 was.' , he continued speaking quickly. "My left leg doesn't seem to be doing his duty, in fact it might not be there for all the good it is. They pay 1 shan't ever fly again. And I'm looking at those birds" —he pointed to the gulk"and every tkne they swoop and curve and skim over the sea 1 feel I want a gun—oh. not for them." he laughed, "hut for myself. Still, I believe I'm to be allowed to go up in a balloon. Fancy watching the Huns from a sausage!" "I knew you would go back to yo»ir work. ,, Violet said. "I'm So glad.' , "Oil. yes. I'm grateful for small mercies. And you?" Violet was silent. , She did not know how to tell him. "I'm all right." she said. "That's good. And what are you doing here?" "I've been staying at Stoughton, and I came over to see you. Jimmy. I came down on Tuesday, and I have to return to London to-morrow." Jimmy stared hard at the howl of his pipe, bent down, and knocked it out-"Forty-eight hours, and you found time to come and see mc. Oh, and I never thanked you for sending those flowers. But one. can't Bay thank you for that eort of thing." There was silence for n little while, j They both sat staring away over the i bracken and heather to the sea of i sapphire and emerald nnd the purple j sky. "How beautiful." Violet said. | "Yes. it's heavenly, but 1 don't want heaven. I'm bored here. I want to fight. It'rt not the war. I just want to fight." j Violet leaned forward, clasping her ; hands together. "I think that's what I I wit lit. 1 want to light. I want to be in it. to do something. Jimmy." To her surprise Jimmy laughed. "Oh", it's a fine thing, this war. It's got into everybody's blood. Everybody wants to be <loinp something—(it last. AVe're. nil tired of eating and drinking, sleeping and praying: tired of looking at I Heaven from the windows of a country house, or from the beach at Margate." Again a silence. A couple of officers ■wore limping aero** the lawn. One called to Jimmy. "What aboirt that game of tennis?" Then he saw that Jimmy was not alone. "Right-ho. we'll carry on at singles," he shouted. "Fine boys, aren't they?" Jimmy said. "The pair of them have only got two legs and a-half- Rut you watch them play a set!" He looked at Violet out nf the corners nf his eyes. He felt there wan something she wanted to tell him. TTe filled hie pipe and lit it before speaking again. " You Raid you had come over from Stoughton. Did they find your man. then, and have they laid him to rest there in his own home?" Violet shook her head. "His mother died five days ago." "Oh!" '" Major Brooking married mc the morning he returned to France. He received a telegram recalling him a few minutes after our wedding." Jimmy slipped his arm through Violet's. The sound of a gong coming from the direction of the house warned Violet that it was time to go. Jimmy explained that it 'was tiffin, and they were not allowed to ask visitors. He limped across the lawn with her to the car. Suddenly Violet asked him what, supposing he had fourteen thousand a,year, be would do with it. Jimmy shook his head. " T should grumble because it had come too late, probably. I'd invent something, perhaps. Then there's Iris, you see. She ' might marry mc. Then T should have to I find some ways of earning my own living. That doesn't sound unkind, does it? ... Or else 1 might bury it." "Bury it?" " Yes." He touched the turf with the toe of his boot. "Put it in the ground and make wheat and corn spring up. ! Fruit and vegetables and (lowers. Yes, !by gad, that's -what I'd do; I'd put it into the. earth, where all good things go. I would make it part o"f the everlasting miracle." Violet got into the car quickly. "Goodbye, Jimmy." she said, "and Cod bless j ' you." ; "I shan't say it again," he said quietly. 1 " Never say good-bye to mc. It's au revoir." Violet leaned towards him as the car started, and gave him her hand. " All right, Jimmy. I won't forget again. • I know I shall never say troQi-iyc to • you,"

CHAPTER XXn. When Violet returned to Windermcre House, Anderley, she found a large number of letters waiting for her. The first two she opened were from Ralphs Godsone. One was to tell her that he had heard his battalion was leaving from France. He had got four days' leave and he hoped to sec her. " Perhaps, this time you'll come and see us off." he said. " I rather thought I should be kept for home service. Still, if I'm lucky I shall get through all right, and if I do come back it will be to claim you as my wife. You won't refuse mc now. will you?" The second letter was from France. Of course, he had heard. He only told Violet that when he had returned to Anderley for his four days' leave, Mr. Maplesby had told him everything. Tie realised 'what a blundering fool he had been, and how he must have hurt her. He hoped the wound would soon heal, and that when he returned they would still be good friends. If the letter had stopped there, Violet would probably have sat down and written nt once to him. But unfortunately Ralph could not forget that he wan suffering the miseries of the trenches and the horrors of modern warfare for the sake of winning Violet. " It is even worse out here than I expected," he continued in his letter. "A man loses all rights, all dignity, everything. Some fc-llows pretend to find it in tempting and exciting, f don't. It's hideous. There are times -when 1 felt like running away —not because I was frightened, but because 1 felt T'd lost you. and therefore my reason for being here ceased to exist." I don't feel that now. I haven't lost you. One thing the Army has taught mc, and that's patience. 1 can wait. T don't mind how long you keep mc waiting, dear. Spare mc a thought sometimes, won't you, and take care of yourself for my sake." Tie added a postscript, telling her that he was a corporal, and hoped soon that he might be promoted to sergeant. He also said that he could easily get a commission if he wanted one. but thought a second-lieutenant's life was a bit too riskr. "They are the first to go, and T want to live for you." The other letters were from friends and acquaintances, who. since Lord Stoujrhton'a death, had read accounts of her romantic marriasre— and of the fortune 'which had Wen left her. ?he could not even call to mind some of the people who wrote to her. She had formed very few friendships during her life, and no ronl attachments. It wr« astonishinz how romance appealed to people who had formerly never troubled to write to her.

Two or three letters she answered, then destroyed them all. including Ralph's. One day her father asked her if she had written to Godsone.

"Tie's a good chap, ymi know. TTe may 'be very lonely out'there. You must remember he isn't the adventurer type, so Ite a pretty big sacrifice he's made." 1 thought he mirrht misunderstand if T wrote. I've ordered a supply of illustrated papers to be sent to him every week"

Mr. Mapleshy sighed. fiodsnne was yea rum- for sympathy, for love: all he would receive was some newspapers " Don't you think, mv dear you could ever prow to care for "him. in years to come. I ■nenn?"

Ne-er in that w fl y." Violet replied. She had not gone back to the hospital! Of course, her place had been filled, but it would have ]~,„ e,sy for her to have f-'iind work. Anderlev had sudenlv become interested in U.|y Stnnjrhtnn."Kvon the two girls who hnd cut. her n few months ago greeted her effusively when next they met. Violet resisted the temptation to stare at them hlnnklv She tried to do everything George 'would have wished her to do.

He was only a dream man to her dream lover, dream husband- yet in a sense he was the most real thing in he lite because, slip began to mould her life on what, he had taiichi. her. to lonn her ™arn<.ter on the character she she had intuitively discovered he possessed. Sometimes when people addressed her by her married name she would start, surprised or frightened. She could not a.-n.stom herself to the knowledge that she had a right to bear it.

palled with the responsibility of posses sun, fourteen thousand a year. The months slipped by without the Maplesbys altering their mode of Ijvir." m any way. The general servant still worked from sunrise to long after sunset and Mrs. Maplesby helped her. Violet Mr m' TT ] F,,arP ° f the I'onMMvork. Mr. Mapleshy went to business every day. Once Violet begun a lomr letter i' o Jim asking his advice, but she'tore it up unsent. Somehow ~r other it did not seem fair to George. Mc had left her with a responsibility-will, his name, his house in Devonshire, his money.

He had left her with nil the tilings she could have done without and taken the one tliiiiLT she really wanted, the one thing every true .woman wants, a great passionate love.

But slowly, almost, pride wiw liorne in her heart. And tine evening as she got up frotn sHviirj her prayers, knowledge of what to <]o came in a flash. She slept soundly that niirhl for the first time for months.

Next morning when she appeared at the breakfast table Mr. and Mrs. Xfaplwibv saw a change in their daughter. It was almost as if the old Violet of a year ago had returned.

AVith a dilTcrence. They felt she had acquired somethiner which it had never been their fortune to possess. Something almost beyond their ken. Something gp'rifcual.

As soon as they were seated at the breakfast table Violet told them of the plans she had made.

"T expect you've been wondering what T was going to do, and when f was going to do it." she saM with a smile. "You have both been awfully patient with mc, and I'm fiiore grateful than you know."

"My child." Mrs. Mapleehy said with a catch in her voice. Mr. Maplesby avoided meeting his wife's eyes Hnd drank his tea htisiilv. He was glad it was hot and scalded him. it was quite true he had wondered what his daughter was going to do, and when she was going to do it: but now that the moment had arrived and she was going to tell them, manlike he wished he could run away.

Both Mr. an.l Mrs. Maplesby felt as if they were children again and Violet their mother.

"I think wo ought to shut up this house, let it or sell it with everything in it," Violet said, speaking very deliberately. "It's quite time father retired and mother had a rest. The lease of the house in Little Cumberland Place has still thirty-five years to run; I think we had better liv« there. You see I

want to keep on all tho old family servante. I don't knew what it will cost; but that won't affect cither of you." She waited a moment, and Mt. Maplosby took an opportunity of swallowing some more hot tea. "I've told my bankers to pay a thousand a year into your account, father. That's live hundred a year pocket money for yon and mother. You won't mind, will yon?" "Oh, Violet, my dear," Mrs. Maplesby said. Rho was crying, ehe did not know why. Probably all her female ancestors had cried on similar occasions. "I've dcci.led to give Stoughton Hall to the nation, to be a resting place or home for officers who have been badly •wounded in the war, unable, to render further services to their country, not rich enough to support themselves, and are incapable of working." "By pad, that's a eplrndd idea, that's magnificent," Mrs. Mapleeby eaid frnilllv. "It won't ibe easy,' , Violet continued, "because I intend to make certain stipulations. It isn't to be an ordinary home. It must belong to the officers who live there with the nation as ;i eort of truetee. A club, in fact.. There will l>c fishing and rough shooting—and the sea. . . . . I should like to feel that George was always 'there, a sort of gentle, invisible host. He will be, too, I'm sure." (To be Continued on Saturday Next.)