JILL OF THE FIELDS

Evening Star, Issue 21632, 30 January 1934, Page 3

JILL OF THE FIELDS

A ROMANCE

[Uy KEX X A WAY JAMES.] t Author of “ Hors to Command,” “ What Hargreaves Knew, etc.l

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. JILL MERRfDEW. motherless, pretty, and headstrong. becomes, on the death of her lather, the owner of a considerable farm. She decides to retain her inheritance and to fill her father's place. In taking this decision she counts on the continuance of MARK HANSON, the head man. Mark is devoted to the place, and has not even a wife to distract his attention from it. An unusual character. Mark. He is stolid, and seems to be wrapped up in agriculture; but he is, also a very studious fellow, and there are those who see in his face and bearing traces of a parentage more distinguished .than that of a farm man. It is said that he has a hopeless passion for Jill. Late one evening a strange visitor calls at the farmhouse. Jill is about to retire for the night, but she decides to sec him. He is PHILLIP BARBOUR, who professes to bo investigating the history of old county families on behalf of the College of Heralds. At first Jill receives him coldly, but as the conversation progresses she finds much in common with him. Next day Barbour is permitted to make some notes which he says ho requires for the College of Heralds. Actually, returning to London, he gees to a dingy restaurant in Soho, where he meets two cosmopolitans who are evidently expecting him. Their conversation reveals the real purpose of Barbour’s visit to Jill. Her father, for some time before his death, had been engaged, as a hobby, in devising a new chemical fertiliser in conjunction with an old friend, who was an expert chemist. JASPER MERRIDEW was desirous that the secret formula should bo used for the benefit of his own countrymen, and should not be sold abroad, although a foreign syndicate was anxious to buy it. Barbour is now acting on behalf of that syndicate, and is endeavouring to obtain, by any means, the formula which Merridew refused to sell. Meanwhile a conversation between Jill and her head man, Mark, takes an unexpected turn. ■ Mark shows that he resents Barbour s visits, and finally he confesses to Jill that he loves her.

CHAPTER VII. Two Women —One Man

“ I love you, Jill.” Mark’s admission struck Jill as unexpectedly as lightning in a storm which had been foreseen only as a passing shower. Not lor a moment had she thought that Mark was to change their relationship in a sentence. She was at a loss to know what to say to him in return. His hands remained s on her shoulders and she felt compelled to face his eyes which looked into hers so purposefully. She averted her own and tried almost frantically not to look up at him again. It was "Larry Luby who saved her a prolonged embarrassment. He came shuffling quietly along to the dairy at that moment, and, heedless of Jill and Mark, began his accustomed task of cleaning up the dairy after the separator had done its work. For this Jill was grateful. It gave her time to think, and, as she saw it, an opportunity to escape from something which she subconsciously did not wish to avoid. Hut the subconscious has often to obey the conscious, and so it was on this occasion. As soon as Larry Luby put his dull face round the dairy door, Jill walked hurriedly from Mark’s presence. She passed across the farmyard seeing nothing; she crossed the threshold of her own door in equal oblivion. Then she reached the only part of the farm in which she could really feel unchallenged, and that was her bedroom. Having reached this sanctuary she sat down on her bed in an attempt to regain her emotional equilibrium. There is no girl living who could he untouched by such an avowal as Mark’s, pretend ns she may; and Jill was no exception. She felt flattered by Mark’s words. That he loved her was indeed news to her, and it took her some time to recover her ivonted poise of mind. The episode, in one way, bad frightened her, for she could not help fearing the outcome of it. It would probably mean Mark leaving her to run the farm by herself, a position which she contemplated with dread, whilst, if she remained, the situation was bound to be one of perpetual embarrassment. She decided not to leave the house again that evening. At first she tried to busy her mind with a book, but her thoughts continually turned to Mark

anil to Barbour, who. for the past hour, had .strangely receded. Until recently she had never thought there was any likelihood of her being involved in things sentimental; yet here she was with one man’s declaration of love stdl ringing in her ears whilst her uppermost thoughts were with another man in London. She wished Mark had not been so precipitate. There had been moments, until Phillip Barbour had come upon the scene, when she thought it might be possible to fall in love with Mark, whose protectiveness appealed to all her feminine instincts, but now she felt herself growing almost angry with him lor having caused this rift between them. On the following morning she ionnd herself once again laced with the necessity of meeting Mark under awkward conditions, but she decided, as before, not to shirk the meeting. Meanwhile Mark was harrowed hv similar emotions. He blamed himself unmercifully for his impetuous words of the previous evening. He was convinced that his staying at Stone Town had become.an impossibility. Yet he loved Jill and shrank from leaving her without Ins help. Into what a quandary, he thought, had his incurable jealousy brought him. They met in the cutting-house, a small barn in which hay was cut into chaff and in which turnips were pulped for cattle food. It was a pleasant place always redolent with the combined perfume of hay and turnip juice. Mark looked up from his work somewhat foolishly as she entered. “ Good morning, Mark.” she said cheerfully. “ Everything all right?” “ Yes, Jill,” Mark replied. Then he added: “ I—l’m sorry about last night.” . It was a weak thing to say, and he knew it. ' , “ Don’t let’s talk about it—not now,” said Jill, “ Perhaps—perhaps later on.” A gleam of hope entered Marks breast, but he sought Jill’s eyes in yam for any visible sign of her emotions. No, she could not mean that she, too, might come to care. Her eyes seemed too disinterested for that. The meeting over, matters concerning the farm were discussed and the day passed in much the same manner as any other. 11l the afternoon Mark walked over to Morley village to discuss a job with the local wheelwright. He was about to return when he heard a pleasant voice sing out: “ Hello, Mr Hanson. You’re looking verv serious.” tie turned to meet the flashing dark eyes of Freda Lane, the daughter of the Vicar of Morley. Mr Lane was not' a popular parson. Ho was one* of the kind who, having secured a fat living, from which nothing save death could dislodge him, had lost all interest in his parish, tie was rarely seen in the village, and on those rare occasions when he was displayed a hurtful taciturnity to those he mot. He had become, in fact, a recluse. What he lacked in amiability, however, was made up for by his daughter, who was a favourite with most of the villagers. She was a short girl with dark hair and eyes which made most people smile who looked into them. This is what Mark found himself doing a moment after she had spoken to him. 11 As a matter of fact,” he said, “ I was really feeling rather serious at the moment.” Ho was glad he had met Freda, for ho had known her a long time and liked talking to_ her. At one period she had been a friend of Jill’s, blit in some way the friendship had grown cold, and Freda’s visits to Stone Town had become less frequent than they had previously been. She was a girl of keen perception, and had not failed to notice the look in Mark’s eyes when in the presence of Jill. “ But you mustn’t be serious,” she said, laughing. “ What’s the matter? Something to do with Jill, I suppose. Ah, these little things blow over, you know.” Mark was slightly perturbed by her instant diagnosis of his case, but he laughed it off. “ Miss Lane,” he said, “ do you think I’m the kind of man to be worried by affairs of that kind ? Not. on your sweet life.” But all the reply he got from Freda was a twinkling eye as she hummed a little tune. She liked Mark, and on her visits to Stone Town had always sought opportunities to converse with him. It may have been this which was the underlying cause of the comparative estrangement between herself and Jill. Not that Jill was actually jealous, but she knew she had on her farm as fine a man as ever walked, and she regarded him as her property, whether she wanted to marry him or not. It was not often now that Freda saw Mark, and she decided to make good use of the present opportunity. “I don’t know if you’re aware of it,” she said, “ but it’s tea time, and I’m looking for a cup. Will you come in and join me? Father’s glued up in bis study as usual, so you needn’t be afraid.” Mark hesitated for a few moments. She had asked him once before, hut he had made an excuse out of some vague sense of loyalty to Jill. To-day he was hardly in a mood to consider the feelings of anyone, and he accepted the invitation. Presently they were seated before a friendly fire in a room which Freda called her own. Tea was brought by the housekeeper who had managed the vicarage in things domestic since the death of Freda’s mother some years before. As Mark leant back in a comfortable ebair and looked at tbe booklined walls he felt peculiarly at home. Opposite him, the firelight flickering upon her face, sat Freda, presiding over the tea on a silver tray between them. She was good to see, and Mark began to blame himself for having refused such an opportunity before. Presently the conversation turned to books. Freda was a well-read girl, and bad a collection of books that reflected good taste and definite spheres of study. Her library fascinated Mark, for he was for ever trying to raise himself towards Jill’s intellectual level. Often, however, he found himself in difficulty about the books he should read, and it was a joy to bear Freda chattering about each volume as they stood side by side looking over the shelves. Moreover, it was not often that he talked to any girl save Jill, and the state of his mind when in her company had of late made it impossible for him to enjoy conversation with her. To talk freely to such a. girl as now stood at his side was a joy which surprised him.

He felt that he had boon missing something all this time. " I'm going to lend you some books,” said Freda presently, •“ if you’ll promise to return them.” ” Of course I’ll return them,” said Mark gladly, for many of the books non- such ns be had been unable to afford, or even to find. ” You've no idea bow stale one nets on the farm. ”What, with .iill about?” asked Freda mischiecously. ” I'm speaking of the evenings,” said Mark. Again Freda bn in mod her little tune and Mark laughed. “ 1 don’t know what that tune means,” he said, “ but I shall begin to guess soon.” A few minutes later Mark prepared to go. and Freda accompanied him to the door, which opened on to the main street of the village. For a while they stood talking on thn threshold., Mark looked up the strot and saw Jill approaching them on the opposite side. Quite unreasonably a sudden feeling of guilt assailed him and he raised his lint to bid Freda farewell. “ Wait a moment,” said Freda. “ I've got another hook to lend yon.” She had an impish desire that Jill should see them in conversation at her door. Presently Jill was passing opposite them and recognised them in the dusk. She waved merrily to them hut made no attempt to cross the read. A moment later she was out of sight. “ What’s it like working for a woman, Mr Hanson?” asked Freda as Jill's figure disappeared. Mark was often asked this emestion, generally with facetiousness behind it. ‘sometimes perhaps he exaggerated this in his sensitive mind and mistook the question for a suggestion that lie was weak-minded. Ho was not quite sure about Freda’s asking the question, but be answered amiably enough. “ Very nice,” he said, 11 when the woman is someone like Jill Mcrridew.” Freda laughed, and began to hum her little tune, then: “ Oh. I forgot, I mustn’t do that!” she said. “ Goodbye.” As Mark walked down the street on his way to Stone Town it occurred to him that Freda had not given him the other book she had mentioned. Ho wondered for a moment if she had really meant to do so, from which it will be seen that Mark Hanson’s knowledge of women was not profound. Freda’s last words were an invitation to call again next time he was in Morley, if by then he had read the b( oks slic had lent him. The thought entertained him on his walk home. Had she not also, said that she considered him well-read, a remark which gave him'infinite satisfaction? Later that evening, after seeing that the cattle had been fed and bedded, it was Mark’s intention to retire to his cottage and spend the night reading Freda’s books. He had by no means forgotten Jill, but he endeavoured to put her out of his mind. She had,, purely because of his own fault, become a disturbing element in his life. But he was mistaken in thinking that he was to have the evening alone; for no sooner had he begun that exquisite combination of the first page and the first book than there was a knock on the door. Mark opened it to see the grinning face of Larry Luby. “ If you please, Mr Hanson,” he said, “ would you mind a-going lound to Miss Merridew.” “ Was that the only message?” Mark asked. He wondered why Jill had sent for him. Barely if ever was he asked into Stone Town in flic evenings, a fact which had long keen a minor grief to him. “ That’s all she said, Mr Hanson,” ’ replied Larry Luby, as ho shuffled away into the darkness. (To ho continued.)