SERIAL STORY.

Marlborough Express, Volume XLVIII, Issue 111, 13 May 1914, Page 3

SERIAL STORY.

PUSIPIE AID FiiELl^.

(By Lillias Campbell Davidson)

[all rights eeseeved.]

•■• CHAPTER XXV

"The,various turns of chance below." " . —Dryden. The girl was tapping at the keys of 'a shabby typewriter as if her life hung on the number of taps she could bestow in a minute. A girl _ with fuzzy, fair hair1, scooped] out in a tangle of hairy mop—a girl with halfsoiled blouse,, "and shoes that had the kid kicked off heels—a. girl with a general air of having risen in too must ha.'ite to make a careful toilet. Wynnstanley Jriad thought when he came in that Miss Mai-tin must have gone out for something, and he had a half-smile of greeting ready for her, as lie stood on the office threshold, x-eady to go. But the fuzzy-headed girl was still there—and she did not look up fron* her tapping. Wynnstanley stepped back and spoke to MarMiam. "By the way, can I spoak for a minute to your typist?" Miss Martin, isn't she called ? I wanted* to ask her .sometihing. . She was good ejiough to tell me something I wanted to know when I was here last time.'' Markhani raised his thin .eyebrows till they threatened 'to meet at the top of his narrow forehead. 1 "Miss Martin? She is not the typist here a.ny longer. ' She left us - some time back." , j A curious blank of disappointment • struck \Vy2lnsta4ley like a blow. He ( had not Jknown how much he had been l' counting, ;all the way here, on seeing • little Miss Martin. She had helped ! liim before. She would surely have j given him help this time. "Not left?, Can you tell me where I she has gonei then ? I should like her • address." He ielt for his pocketbook. Markhnni waved his hand majestically. I "I regret that I cannot do that. I have no possible idea wLeic she went when she left us. I was sou\, quite j sorry she had to go. A. useful >oima I ladj, very able. But young Mr I Barclay has made a gieat many j changes here. He thought ue ought !to ha^c sofmeone who undeistood German arid Fionch. Mis1- M.ntin only knew French, and I »athor th.it her knowledge,of that tongu^ was noi extensive. I have overheard some of the younger clerics who liave taken J Easter trips to Pads making merry. I amongst themselves at the expense of j lier pronunciation. I wias sorry it ■ wan considered necessary to,: part with' her. It would not have happened, of course, if our Mr Barclay .had been here still. <He would liave kept on Miss Martin. He gave- her the post, and he always was very considerate of her. ■', I may say, I bairdly think he would be pleased if he knew she had been dismissed. But times change, Mr Wvnnstanlev, eir—--change for all of us."" " i "You could not find out for me where Miss Markham has gone?" It was a sickly hope, but Wynnstanley. standing there with the halfshut door between him a«d th© outer officG, felt as if he rrnist move any lever'in earth or heaven to get the typist's address. .His desire to see her again all at once became immense. He could, not have told himself why her going seemed such a misfortune. In that moment, when ho wius_. disappointed of speech ■'■with -her again, she leapt all at once into importance in his? thoughts-—the• importance of the one1 .person )in the wholo world, he knew to be his friend, whom he could call on for a frienA's warm sympathy, whatever happened. He wondered,, with a vague amazement, that he had forgotten her for all these months, that he had so lightly regarded what she had done for him: what she would willingly do at any time—he felt that .with a proiottnd oohvictioii \ that nothing could shake. If he needed her—if anybody needed' Miss Martin—she would respond to their need, to their cry. Of her race axe the.strong helpers, the comforters, the props of this quivering world, torn and wind-blown Djr- trptiblei and unrest. .Such as she are born'to be its succorers. "I fear that is impossible—:quit© impossible!" Markhafn's blank eyes looked their blankest! "I have really no idea.' Mr Barclay would know her friends, no doubt, if he were in a condition to tell us. But the power of speech, unfortunately, has not come back yet. It is unlikely it will return at all. Mr Barclay knew all ■about Miss -Martin, I may say. In1 fact," he ( lowered his voice, as if the typist at' the far-off table had oars like a hare,- "he was specially interested in her; there seems bo hai'm in my mentioning" this. There were sad circumstances connected ■ with Miss Martin, very sad, as I have fathered from things our Mr Bare 1 ay let fall on more than one occasion. She is, I believe, the daughter.of an acquaintaince of Mr Barclay's—in old acquaintance, but she has not been acknowledged!. Her mother was a lady—above the father socially, but he seems to have treated her in a very reprehensible fashion. I understood'there was some deception over a marriage, and that. Miss Martin had no legal claim. "Very sad! Most unfortunate! When the young lady was left alone in the world, Mr Barclay interested himself in her, and gave her the place in the office. I am1 sorry it should not have proved possible to retain her in it. But you understand that young- folks incline to young methods. Good morning! Fresher for the rain last night. Yes, certainly." ■ •■ Tlie office door shut behind Wynnstanley, and ho made his way through the outer office, feeling as if something had suddenly been taken from -him, that till now he had blindly clung to. in the shipwreck of his vanity and his ambitions. . '* He went out into the sun-bathed tvb.ieet, where the air was drying back into hot oppression, and the world about him seemed bare and lonely— lot'ely—more lonely than words could have painted it. H© had not realised till now how mncih Miss Martin had. done for him. He had not believed before how he counted on her kindness, her help, her sympathy with him. There seemed nothing, left him, nothing in • the ■whole miserable, unsatisfying,, wide world, whei'e he stood, a man so rich that hf> could hardly realise his own •wealth, "without love, without friendship, without interest to" flavor his eri^tenoe. There was nothing to do, in this vrst. strange town, where not a fVniliar face smiled into his own, not a vice greeted him. He went aim-le-<ly along the streets, jostled by tho forw, treacling on the heels of the sa'irtcrer. He found his way westwards, without any volition on his own part, and wandered orf till he

came to one of the parks. There h©

found sx seat, and sat watching the ducks on the ornamental water, the ' children with their shrill little voices and their toy boats, the ceaseless shuffle of passing, fefet along the asphalt. lie meant to stay away from Reyeily till the first pang of his chagrin was over. He longed, with an almost feverish longing, to know tha.t Markham had put in. train his orders, written to I\osaniund that she was free to marry whom she would, free to quit Revelly, and take from , them both the awkward pang of

, another meeting. He goi> up, by and by, and went on to the Academy—in its last dying days now, and filled with, a-fringe of repentant, hurried people who , had not been to look at the pictures, and were oonscienee-smittenly repairing their neglect of duty. He got through the day somehow —another day— many others. It was nearly three weeks since he -came up, and Markham had telephoned hint to his hotel that his instructions had been carried out, and Miss Belversdale was iniormed of her legacy—yet still he lingered. " ■AVhait- occupied his mind; now, even if he wero hardly aware of it, was the unwillingness to leave town till he had seen Miss Martin. He hpped still that Markham, might discover her whereabouts and inform him. He was coming along Piccadilly'one Saturday, .early- in the afternoon, swaying in his seat on the top of a > motor-bus. The streets were already : thinned. Here and there the August work, of picking up pavements, and ! throwing the traffic out of gear, was i gaily progressing. He- had an idle i and uninterested eye on the ground ! below him—a- stream of vehicles, of i pedestrians, slid past his gaze, and • none .of them arrested it. i Then, all at orice, just as they were [ rattling past the llitz, in full glory of i sound and, smell, he caught sight of a ■ figure walking alone, and at the sight j his heart leapt within him with a I sudden spring, a swift rush back to interest that almost startled him. it was she, it was herself. It was Miss Martin. Walking sedately and soberly along the hot; dusty pavement, in. a simple black frock, with a black ha.t that showed signs of wear for- alt its oheap prettiness. . Miss Martin ! He lettot from his porch on high and made a wild attempt to attract her attention—but vainly! Then ho was on his feet, and hurrying down trio swaying, plunging roof to the. winding staircase. He had dropped-from the bus into the traffic, narrowly escaped death frqm the wheels of a taxi,- been sworji at in. 'sharp tones of alarm, ■ reached the I kerb and. staggered on to it. It was ever so far ahead of where .she was walking by this, time—quite ! ui> to that old, old relic of a by-gone ''London, the pack-rest, where the i weary foot traveller from Kensington !or Knightsbridge might drop liis burden and take breath, from it. Pie hurried back along the pavement', [ threading the people in his way with I a keen impatience. At last he saw [ her—sfie was standing waiting to | cross the wide-street. He was at her j side in a minute, with hand held out. "Miss Martin! I'm so glad, I'm I so awfully glad to see yon !" - She turned at the voice, amd as she turned, the color flamed up in her, cheeks that were whiter _ than he remembered, and a trifle thinner1' too:' Her face changed—a smile stole out, \ like the sun from behind clouds. She j gave her hand to his eagerness. "Mir Wynnstanley! How do you do? I didn't expect to se© you. Have''you omno up to London for the day, or are. you staying here?"He beamed down on her. "Why, a. good chance! I never knew anything so lucky! I was on the top of that Hammersmith 'bus. I just caught1 sight of you. They told me at Barclay and Ponton's that you'd gone. I hadn't a notion where to find you." ' . A shade of puzzlement stole over the clear, steady eyes. /" "Did you want me?" she asked, half-uncomprehemding. > At'that moment it seemed to him he could never have wanted anything half so much. He wasi astonished at the intensity of his own anxiety for her. ■ "Yes." May I walk on with your I'M tell you, if! I may." He slipped his hand under her arm, and piloted her across the street, through the snorting 'buses and the rushing taxis. How good it felt to have a strong band hold her and guide her steps. How nice it was to have someone take care of her, even for jost that moment across Piccadilly! , ' ■■ . ' ~ The ,longing thait lies deep in tJie heart of every woman, however much she may think it a sign of superiority to repudiate it—the desire for man s strength to protect and support, of man's care to encircle—it came with ■a. warm rush into the heart of Sylvia Martin. She realised that till that i moment no man had ever -taken I across a street, and lookod after her. It was like the opening of a new f world to her. .'.,', !■' They reached the further side, and ,walked along together. . "I've wanted to see- you/ Wynaistanley be.£.ynn. "I didn't know how .•much'l hoped for it till I went to the I'office and found you Weren't there any longer. Mr Markham told me vbu'd gone" , .■- ... " She lifted her head mi the shabby Mack hat, that was yet so pretty and {'"becoming, .and looked"at him with ! quiet, eyes. "Yes. My languages weren.t good \ enough! They wanted somebody j better." ■■ , "So you took another place? | ' She shook her head, still gently. \ "J <jould.u't get another place. 1 '■ tried luit there are so many girls, ;: <uid 'most or tiheni had someone _to | recommend them. So I'm working ' in a shop nowa-doing the accounts, I aud making th# change. I was for- ! tunate to act sometWng kooii. Some- : times girlsliav.e to wait a long time. ! ' (To bo Continued.)

The whisky of unbeaten qualityWatson's No. 10.—Advt. "The frozen meat comes direct from the ship to cold storage Refri^erator cars are alongside the cold i stora«>e sheds, and the Great Western ! Railway 'conveys the frozen meat i rio-ht under Smithfield Market in i London, where i|b is delivered ;by j means of lifts to the stalls, the Great 1 Western Railway being the only rati- ! way in a position to do this," said Mr :H ' L Risley, in advocating the !; claims of Bristol as a port for New • Zealand produce at a meeting of the 1 Auckland Chamber' of Commerce on ' Tuesday. The cost of distributing frozen * meat, butter, apples, and otiier produce landed at to the large centres in England.' was, he said, in all cases lower than the cost of distribution from London, the difference between the ._ respective raytes amounting in some instances to as much as 20s per ton. The cold storage arrangements at Bristol were second to none in the United Kingdom.