The GIRL and the COLT

Auckland Star, Volume LXII, Issue 103, 4 May 1931, Page 17

The GIRL and the COLT

By ELINOR MORDAUNT

Authoress of " Father and Daughter," etc.

CHAPTER 111. Terence Comes to a Decision. After Terence O'Sullivan left Jris grandfather—following upon the struggle with the scoundrel of a jockey —he passed through the spinney and park across the few fields which separated the O'Sullivan estate, Clonmalkin, from the Blakeneys' place, Fermagh Park. lie made his way to the etable yard, thinking he would find old O'Flartey there mid send a message to Moira. As it happened, she was in one of the loose boxey of the enormous etablos, which might well have housed a dozen families, bedding down her own mare, Callisto; for the family fortunes, reduced by bad times and Blakeney'u incorrigible mania for gambling—iii<s ingrained idea that by some sudden stroke of good luck he would regain everything—could not run to more than one man, and a couple of hunters to be tared for, work i;i the garden which must be done, and only one pair of lianas for it ali.

At a sidelong »< d and wink from old O'Flartey, Terence made his way to Callisto's uox, where he found Moira, who, having finished bedding , har favourite down, was standing by her while she had her feed, leaning against her with one arm thrown over her neck, her head buried in her mane. For, as always when she was tired and out of heart, she had sought refuge, found peace and comfort with her beloved mure. And this particular day had been more trying than most; for not only had the event upon which she and Terence had set their entire hopes failed, while she was wrung to the heart with sympathy for him, but she had returned to >find that the post—not \-ot arrived when she left for the races that morning—had brought with it a pile of biljs, which, as alwavs. bin- father tos.se:l oven- to her, Mr. Blakeney's complaint, us alwavs. being that "those wretched follows"—

meaning the tradesmen- were alwoys "after something or other".; while for his pas he wondered how on earth they could find time to write .so many letters, he would be blessed it lie could. But then, he had a hundred and une things on his shoulders- All of this with the surprised and aggrieved air of a child, which feels itself put upon. She had not heard Terence's footstep, and for a.moment or s-j lie stood gazing at her. taking in all her beauty. Then, without a word, they were in each other's arms, clinging together with ::II the desperate passion and despair or tinvery young.

After a moment or two, Moira gently disengaged herself and with a last caress to her marc, the two moved out into the tender, blue grey twilight of a May evening. From the stable yard, surrounded by its long low buildings, the young couple passed through the orchard, and so on into a long wood which was their special haunt, though Moirn protested. "You've no business on earth to lie jigging about with me aftci all you've been through, and a ncwlv-brokon and set arm into the bargain. It's at home and in bed you ought to be. and would be if I had anything to do with it.." "If you had anything to do with it," echoed Terence. "Look here, darling if you had anything "to do with the nursing of me 1 wouldn't grumbln at having both niy arms, my iegs, too, broken. If you were iny wife. —but there, what's the good of talking. It's nil more hopeless tluur ever now that. Flashlight has failed. Not that it was really he that failed —" "Rather not, the beauty! Is he all right?"

"I hadn't even the heart to go and look at him. Pat ueddod him down and saw to him.' , "The luck will turn again, it must turn. It always does when everyilmrj; seems at its blackest. Look here, •Terence dear, I can't stay long, and 1 can't ask you to conic back to supper with me. But let's sit down and have a ■ quiet talk for a minute or two. Then homo you go. Make old Ellen give you something to cat up in your room and 00 to lied, you've really no business to to trapsiii' about after that fall; and it's far and away the best thill JT for you to keep clear of your grandfather." "As if there were anything on 1 desired more." growled young O'Sullivan, as ho sank upon a bank of blue-

bells at Moira's side. When Terence got home, lie immediately went to bed. During the first part of the night he slept the sleep of the completely exhausted. Then he to awake every few minutes, turning from his back to his left side, and then to his back again, feeling that if only he could lie upon his right side unhindered by his broken arm, all would be well; parched with thirst, and feverish with pain. It was already daylight when he once more dropped into anything like a real sleep; was awakened at ten o'clock to find Ellen by his bedside with a strong brew of tea and a pile of thick toast and butter. , \s Terence wag sitting up in bed, not so much to eat as to drink—for his throat felt like a lime kiln—Pat, the boy whose special delight lay in looking after Flashlight, whenever it happened that Terence thought it safe to smuggle the colt into his grandfather's stables, came into his room with a long face, to eay. that he had that morning been dismissed by the O'Sullivan, and told to take himself off the place before night. This was by no means unexpected news to Terence, for he knew that the mere fact of him showing a liking to anything or anyone was fatal. However, hcVeassured the boy as to getting a new place, by scribbling with his left hand a note to Lady Bridget Malone, asking her to give him a job in her stables. As he pushed the note awkwardly enough into its envelope, he as _ to whether he would not send Flashlight over with Pat, beg her to take care of the precious colt for him. But upon second thoughts he came to the conclusion that he could not bear that he and hie horse, which seemed almost a part of himself, should at one and the same time be separates fro:i. the girl he loved; for during the long hours of that wakeful night he had made up his mind that it was impossible for him to endure his grandfather's company any longer; that it must, supposing he attempted it, inevitably end in the mur-j der of one or the other.

Late that evening, when he thought it possible that he might get a quiet halfhour alone with Moira, say goodbye to her, for he intended to get away early next morning, Terence went to the stables, and taking out Flashlight, rode the short distance to Fermargh, and dismounting at the garden gate, slipping the reins over his arm, led him by a path between the overgrown box hedges of the kitchen garden into the stable yard, and put him into a loose box. This done, he walked to the house, where, out in the hall, he found Moira waiting for him, and together they went out to the stables.

"I've brought you round the colt because I know that there's no one on earth who will take care of him and get the best out of him like yourself," said Terence, with his desperate young eyes feasting upon the two creatures that he loved best in the world, constituting, indeed, his entire world: "Darling, it breaks my heart to go away. And goodness only knows how long it's going to be for. The one comfort is that I'm leaving you together —by jove, the most perfect girl and most perfect horse that any man ever had.

"I've got to go, you know. If Igo on hanging about here with nothing to do, living in the same house with that precious grandfather of mine, I'll get as bad as he is. Look here, Moira, you do understand, don't you, sweetheart? I've got to make some sort of life for both of us. I can't just hang skulking about here waiting to step into my grandfather's shoes, swallowing any sort of insult he chooses to heap upon me."

"No. no." The girl flung round facing him, her lovely face flushed, her eyes — the precise colour of the old, soft blue knitted woollen dress that she wore— alight with a line courage. "Terence, I'd hate you —hate you! —No, perhaps not hate you, but be ashamed of myself for loving you as I do—if you did stay —go on putting up with it all."

"You'll wait for me? -.

"Wait for you, is it?" The girl leant forward and putting a hand on Terence's either shoulder, gazed into his frank eyc6 with her own: "Boy of mine, if I have to wait till the end of my life I'll wait. I don't want it to be frightfully long, simply because 1 don't know what oil earth I'm going to do without you, and I'd hate to get all wrinkled up and ugly, to think that we were going to waste half our lives apart. lint it's only for that, Terence. Tell me," she continued, "what are you thinking of doing 'over there'. , '"

"You've heard me talk of that English chap. Collins, who was over here fishing last summer when you were away with your mother. He'd always been asking mo to go to stay with him; and as I've got money enough to last me for a bit, I thought I'd go to him. and try and get a passage out to Australia. Everyone says there's money enough to be made on the large sheep stations there for any man who can ride." Moire drew back for a moment, her face as white as though all the colour had been wiped oat of it. "Australia? 01), but it's such a long way away!"' she breathed; and then pulled herself together. "You're right, Terence. There's nothing for a man to do here, or in England either from all they say. You do what you think best. " Only keep on writing to me. and directly you can get some sort of shanty together I'll come out to you.

"And now you must go. I can't bear any more, only —only, take care of yourrelf," she cried, and clasping him to her ia a last passionate and desperate embrace, with a passing pat to Flashlight, she ran out of the stables ancl across the yard; stumbled, blinded by (cars, up the stairs to her own room, where she flung herself upon the bed and buried her face in the pillowe. (To be continued daily.)