THE FUGITIVES,

Auckland Star, Volume LIV, Issue 95, 21 April 1923, Page 22

THE FUGITIVES,

tAI.L RIGHTS RESERVED.*

A Story of the Early Days

BY ALICE A. KENNY. i

I CHAPTER NN. d INCLUSION". ill tho deepest dejection Mr. (Goodwin faced the missionary across tho table I in the outer room. "1 cannot expro.s lo you," he said, "how deeply this affects mc 1 know I fully appreciate all you can urge upon 111" a'l.iil my lifelong debt to tins young man. bill to see this blossom of a girl of initio, a daughter, an only child. entangled in such an unfortunate attachment !'" lie made a troubled gesture. "It is [impossible no! to „..o the th,. devotion between them, and he's no! oven a free man " His glance indicated the sailor guard lounging agains! the fence. : 'I ask you. what is to come ol" it':" "You have my sympathy." replied .Mr. Carstairs gravely. "I'.ut consider awhile. They must inevitably bo separated soon. You aro going to ihe Soul hern Sot; lenient ; Laurence, poor fellow, has no choice but to mako another fruitless escape, or .return to imprisonment. Time and distance, aro going io tost this attachment to the utmost." Mr. Goodwins face showed clearly the bitterness with which ho regarded the attachment, but ho said g'oomilv. '-He's entitled to any help I can give him. I'll take my girl nv.av from him if I can. but anything else 1 can do. mv test i mony, monetary help as far ns I am able, whatever you wish." "•Thank you. I will get a signed statement from you. and from Barbara before you go on your journey south, and if it should be necessary for you to come to Sydney -■-':" "Oh. we would come, no question about that." "Thank yon. Thou as soon as 1 can get my friend, the Key. Mr. Collins, to take my place hero. 1 will accompany Laurence to Sydney, and ho will surrender himself. And hero, curiously enough. I have occasion to l hank Heaven for a little matter that lias never given mc one hour's advantage before. You may remember. I happen to be of the cadet branch of a noble family. Carslnirs of l.ovington. and I shall not scruple lo use nil tho influence such a circumstance gives one in our old Entrland to have Laurence's case favourably considered. My noble relative is a legislator and a courtier " "But *' "Well?*' "Do yon know the young man's story. It may bo impossible for oven his gallant services to condone hi. offence." "I do now. T do now. poor youth: Wo talked long last night, and ho opened his heart to mc. As a boy of eighteen, the hope. alas, of a quiet country parsonage, ho involved himself with some smugglers, learning from them how to handle a boat skilfully by the way. and what was begun as adventurous folly ended in violence and tragedy- t Indent h of a revenue ollicor. Two of the unhappy boy's wild companion!) were hanged, and he nnd others transported for life. What a fate. Both his parents died during his first years of imprisonment, to complete his utter misery, to overwhelm Ipm with remorse." "ft was not. a vile crime, at. least." said Mr. Goodwin, who listened attentively. "How many years has he served?" "Seven before his escape less than a year ago." "And if he surrenders himself it may be years yet before his freedom is accomplished?" "It will take many months, it will call for patience and courage, it may even take years. I know his heart sinks at the prospect, nnd small wonder. But I am positive T can obtain a privileged treatment for him while I work through the proper channels for his release. There is a commission of inquiry taking evidence now witli regard to the penal system: they will not dare to exercise any harshness towards him." Mr. Carstairs was silent for a moment, and then he said stoutly: "Yes. T am going to carry this through, if I have to get the story of this girl's peril and rescue to the ears of that other girl on England's throne. Cod bless her young heart, and may it not be too long before her little hand writes "Victoria R'' underneath a free pardon for Laurence." Mr. Goodwin shrugged his shoulders despondently. "One thina more." flnid his companion. "'lf the time comes when Laurence can walk among us a free man you will not refuse him access to your daughter." "Xo," replied Mr. Goodwin. "How could I?" "-■Good," 'returned the other, rising with a smile. "That is the promise I wanted, to keep a heart lighted with courage and hope through the dark places I see ahead. 1 thank you, my friend." Laurence's heart did indeed sink at the necessity of returning once move to the penal settlement, .in his despairing! hours, when doubts of Mr. Carstair". I power to save him overwhelmed hi-. | niind. he was assailed by his old tempta- j tion to turn his hack on the coast and j let the forests hide liiin from civilba-1 tion. But the new hope, the strong love i that had blossomed in his heart braced ! him to endure. i Barbara recovered rapidly from her iilness, and all too i-oon the hour of I parting came. ■ ! Summoned by Mr. Carstairs. Laurence came to bid her farewell. She awaited him on the. slope in front of j the Mission garden. Her father and j mother had walked on down to the beach, where a boat lay in readiness to take them out to the schooner. He went up io her, and she turned her face, which had been set seaward, and ' laid her hand in his. He had hardly ] seen or spoken to her since the meeting at her bedside, and he found her look- j ing wan and lartrc-eyed, hut inex'pres-1 .ibly lovely to his sight, They stood holding hands, and gazed at each other, very pale and grave, and in spite of the sweetness of tlii. moment together all happiness died out of their hearts. "It will .be so long, "Laurence,"' said the girl, and her lip trembled'a little. "Yes, it will be long." ''And so wretched for you. It" wil! only be waiting for mc, not loneliness and suffering." Her eyes, grown older, were full of compassionate love for him, a yearning to cherish and protect him. He had fancied himself at this hriet ■parting falteringly asking her if she were indeed sure of her heart, truly

*.. iilinj* to wait for hint: but so complete was the communion of their two lieait? tl'.at the doubt was too idle to utter. "flli, if only I did not have to leave you I"' he muttered. ■Mr. . arstairs came from the lioiir.o and parc-ed them on his way down to the beach. "Come, in.' child," lie said gently to Barbara, ami lie went by. awning bis glance from (heir . pale b'.tiks. "Yes. Mr. Carslnii*..," she answered, Lm. she -till clung in ihe young man's I hand, ami pu.tine her free band np l-'!:e gently touched |,i; fo.ehcad, |iiiT; liia l-.air "11" i;. I "1 ma-: go . . . dear Laurence | . write io nn'." | "I will . . oh. bin ii*s hard ((' 11 -pit -t.'oinL' yon like Ibis and lii en l.i-iiw yon." I "But. ob. Laurence, never despair again. Pray to Cod. and I Thini. inf mc i.f.i n." j "A!*.v,.\ -. nhvav. . . . it uil be my only' ... riMi«U_." I •■And come hack tn mc " Hot" I* Mv dear! ~ mv love*. ' . .*" I They hist,*,!, lias ~.,-sod lo lips, and jtears mi their e'ucc'.s as they clung "Barlmra »,,:> l-iiyc I" j "Cootl bye. I.uur: ic'c. and and and •! lii! e..i:i!"iii I yon, dear !" i I .... More i bam a year lni i pissed, » year of ibe m-w' life in t.'ue \igormi« young "ettlenieiil of Wol'ington. It jlitui been a year of -triiuge co:n!itions, ne.v iiile.e.*-.t' and nc.\ friends for 11"' iliiutdvtiii-. a-year of una and hope, of ibilter nnx'eiv. and a few inneli longedIfor letters. I Barbara wa*. alone in the 11*.'nig room. | Dusk bad fallen, and a cold wind blew. She wii-. kneeling in front of ihe open jlireplaee .building u;i ihe lire with dry itilree stick, which she had cut herself. The hear! of the lire glowed red and shone .vi her grave and delicate face. .Memory and thought d.veit in iier eye-. j A mail was expected, tor a -iip had entered the harbour Cunt afi c: nnon. A I step mi.iiidcd without, and 'hen :i knock (in the door. She rose and opened the door wide on ,i »u->l of wind and a los«----ing gleam of r p a . Two men stood outside. '•Barbara.** said Mr. Carstairs. calmly, "are your parent* in?" She cried oin in surprise. "Don't be startled, my dear." he said. "I wrote, bill we travelled with our letters. And bore be my friend. Liiu-ence Peniiold." I "Laurence!" I She beard her lover's voice uttering I her name, and the happinefi. that rushed | upon her stilled her speech and made her tremble in eve-.y liiuli. I Her hand was in hi- warm grasp ■again, she fell bis kisses and found bvj inns about, her. Someone drew them [into 1 lie warm firelightetl room, and »-- j'-lie lirst bewilderment of her mind subsided every heart belt seemed to carry 'ii wave of unutterable joy through Dpi. j It needed only Mr. Carstairs' kind moved voice saying beside her, "Free and pardoned at last, my dear. God bless you and give you nil the happiness lyou deserve." j (Till. KND.)