ERIC DACRES.

North Otago Times, 31 January 1914, Page 2 (Supplement)

ERIC DACRES.

(Copyright.)

A Romantic Story of Adventure during the MatabeleWar.

By William Murray Graydon, Author of 'Under the White Terror,' 'ln the Name of the Czar,' Etc., Etc. PART 3. CHAPTER V. FOR HONOUR'S SAKE. It wns nearly noon when Eric rose the next day, looking careworn and feeling in the w'orst of spirits. Ho ate n meagre breakfast, nnd an hour later found him closeted with the executors of the taenscd banker— Pnrchmont and I'ecnnn, ot Lincoln's Inn, And here he learned that which both stilled his lingering gleam of hope and at the ■same time braced his sturdy nature to meet the disaster that was now inevitable. With one exception, the solicitors confirmed the statement of Fergus Hnygarth. The exception was a receipt they had found a day or two before nmong some old papers, nnd it read as follows :- London, Juno *, 1890. Received from Andrew Haygnrth, banker, of Jcnnyn-slrcet, the tin box that has been' in his charge for the [last ten years. WILLIAM BACHES. When given this document, Eric produced a statement forwarded him. by the Southampton bank, which he happened to hnve with him, It covered an extent of six years, nnd showed that on the 10th of June, ISJlo—six days after the receipt of the box—William Dacrcs.had deposited various securities nnd moneys to the value of thirty thousand pounds. He had drawn on it steadily—there were no subsequent deposits-and but a small balance now remained, There was nothing further to be said or done. To Eric's mind the situation was clear, and after leaving Lincoln's Inn he walked down Chancery-lane like a man dazed.

"My father was always' eccentric, even absent-minded," ho snid to himself, "and he was so wrapped up in his hooks and scientific studies thnt such a mistake as this was quite possible. Yes, I see it all. He withdrew the box five years ago, and deposited 'the securities it contained. But in hjs last moments he was under the impression that the' properly was still in the care of Andrew Hnygurtli." That William Darres, after steadily spending a large income for years, should have left his son unprovided for seemed a strange and a cruel thing. Hut that such was the fact Eric hclicved-ho partly accounted for it by his father's oftshown indifference to linnncinl mnt-ters-nnd lie resolved to waste no furlher tinn in searching for a fortune that did not exist. "It's awfully hard lines on a fcl,low," he reflected bitterly, "though the blowi. would have been less severe had it fallen before. But I know the worst now, and must face it bravely. The world is full of opportunities, and 1 will lose ho time in making a start. First to sec Phil, and then what I dread the most-an interview with Doris. My darling, I will win you yet! For your sake I will toil in foreign lands to mako a fortune."

Feeling alternately depressed and cheered as ho went along, Eric reached the oflico of the "Illustrated Courier" In Fleet-street. He found Phil Courtney in, and had a long and private conversation with Mm. He told his friend all there was to tell, and I'hil agreed with Eric that his father's last words referred to Ihe box withdrawn from Andrew llaygarth five years before. Then the subject that. Eric had at heart was discussed, and it was late in the afternoon when ho rose-to leave. "Better decide now, old chap," said Phil. "Say you will go."

' "Give me a few hours to think it over," Eric replied. "It is too important a.thing to settle off-hand." "You won't regret it," urged Phil. "South Africa is the placo for for-tune-making nowadays, and you arc Just tho sort of man to succeed quickly. When you get there you will hme enough left of your little pile to give you a start in sonic proiuiiiug business or speculation. W'e can look round n bit together while I nm sketching and writing; and if you prefer a more adventurous life than the mushroom towns oiler, there are gold and diamonds to be found north of the Transvaal."

"I think I should'go in for that," assented Eric.

"By Jove! I wish I could stay there with you," exclaimed I'hil. "In two or three years you'll lie coming hnck a rich man."

"I hope so," Eric said, with a sad smile. "Well, good-bye, old fellow, and many thanks. I'll give you an nnswor in the morning." "And it will lie yes, of course ?" "I'm afraid it will have to lie," Eric replied ; and after a clasp of his friend's hand he drifted back to the roar of Fleet-street. He took a 'litis In Charing Cross —cab fares were not to be wasted now—and walked lo his hotel. He dined, put on evening clulhes, and strolled westward through lamp-lit London. At nine o'clock, with a fast-throbbing heart, he mounted the steps of Sir John Copleston's imposing residence in Ormc-sqiiarc, llayswntcr. Ho inquired for Miss Churton, sent up his curd, und was ushered into a richly-furnished drawing-room, lighted by the ricli glow of muny-hued lamps. Doris quickly appeared, and the first' glimpse of her dazzled and thrilled Eric. Her beauty of face and form was displayed to fullest advantage by a lustrous rose-col-oured gown, rich lace, and the sparkle of jewels. With a radiant smile, she held out her hand, and Eric clasped it tightly. "Doris!" he murmured. "At last !" ' "At last, Eric," the girl replied, blushing, "1 am so glad to see you. Long months have passed since we parted in the desert—since you saved my life. And Sir John and Lady Copleston, they will be delighted to meet you again," "I came to see you, Doris—you alone," ho said, hotriel}'. "My

darling, 1 am a ruined man." "Ruined ?" she questioned anxiously, and with startled eyes. Eric sat down beside the girl on a deep couch, and leaning towards her, he hurriedly and in low tones told her what he had come to say—of his father's death, the promised legacy that had brought him to London, and how cruelly and strangely he had been disappointed.

"I am sorry for you," Doris whispered—"more sorry than I can express in words. But are you certain there is no mistake? It seems so strange."

"There can be none. To make doubly sure I went into the matter with the executors."

"And Fergus Haygnrth? Arc you convinced"—

"Is it possible that you know* him?" Eric Interrupted, in sur-

"Ho is an old acquaintance," Doris replied. "I knew he was in London now,"

"Fergus Hnygarth is a fine (ellow, and the soul of honour," Eric snid, warmly. "He was very kind to me, and I fell grateful for the sympathy he showed. He is a friend of Phil Courtney's, you know."

Doris inclined her head, nnd Eric did not oliscrvc the half-startled look of wonder and suspicion in her

"It is not for my own sake that I would be rich—that I feel this blow so bitterly," he resumed. "Do you remember our last parting amid the desert sands ? I said I should have a question to nsk you when next we met." "Yes, I remember."

Her voice was low and sweet. "What I rend in your face that morning gave mc hope, encouragement, keen happiness, in spite of the pain of parting," Eric went on. "I was sure that yon had learned to care for me, even in so short n lime. Oh, it is so hard to speak plainly—to make you understand ; but 1 love yon, Doris—madly, and with all my heart." He paused, knowing he had gone too far. The girl dropped her eyes before his passionate gaze, but nestled a little closer, and he could see her liosonr heaving tumultuously beneath the corsage of luce and satin.. He was fiercely tempted to throw to the winds his heroic resolutions, to cast over honour and principle, for he believed that he had won her heart; but by a strong effort he restrained himself.

"I would be a coward to ask you now to mnrry mc—to seek to bind you by a promise," ho whispered. "But Inm young and strong, I have faith in myself, nnd I am going out into the world to earn a fortune. And I will succeed, Doris ; lam sure of it. Some day I shall come back to ask you to be my wife. And you—you will at least give mc some word of hope to comfort—something to think of t by day and night ?" Khc looked him straight in the eyes. "I will wait for you," she said, simply, "be it one year or ninny." Eric's breath cniui) short and fast, and in a second more he would have drawn the girl to his arms, but just then voices and footsteps were heard on tho upper floor of the house.

"Sir John'nnd Lady Cop'cston," Doris whispered. "They ore coming down soon." "I enn't sec them," Eric said, honrsely ; "I can't meet them tonight. Make sonic excuse—anything. I will write to you ami explnln my plans. I won't trust myself to sec you again," Ho quietly drew the girl's head against his breast, and kissed her on the lips and forehead.

"Good-bye!" ho breathed passionately in her car—"good-bye, my own darling ! May God keep you safely till I come to rlaim you !" lie released her, seized his hat, and- made a swift and unobserved escape from the house. He had fought a hard battle,and won, but there was little consolation in that for his aching heart. He wandered long through streets and squares, and when the big bell of Westminster was striking the midnight hour ho found himself under the trees of the Embankment, lie looked at tho dark, swiftly-flowing river, laughed heartily, and turned in the direction of Trafalgar-square. "My answer to I'hil will be yes," ho reflected. "Farewell to England and Moris ! Welcome to the golden land of South Africa !" CH.U'TEH Vt. True to his resolve, Eric informed Phil Courtney the next day that he had decided to accompany him to South Africa, there to remain and seek the favour of tho fickle goddess Fortune. Tie confided all i to his friend, and l'hil's sympathy I proved very comforting in this time i of trial. It is now Wednesday, and the two were to sail on Saturday from Southampton. Eric returned from Fleet-street to his hotel, and wrote a lone letter to Doris, explaining his plans, and most nobly assuring the girl that he did not consider her as bound by any promise. Then he paid his account, and took up ! lodgings with Phil—nn offer that ho j had gratefully accepted for reasons of economy. i The next two days were occupied in purchasing a suitable kit, and by Saturday evening Eric and I'hil ! were aboard the big South African liner, watching the shores of dear old England fading in the distance. I Just here n few words may be said 1 about Eric's father—no more than ' Eric himself knew. William Dacres 'had gone out from England to India in 1860. There he married an ' orphan girl, who died when Eric. ' was born In 1870. Several years later he came home with his son, and settled down in Edinburgh. Hero Eric was educated, and meanwhile his father travelled extensively in South Africa, America, and Europe, | When the son was eighteen years ' old, William Dacres look a perma- ] nenl residence in Jersey, where until jhis death he devoted himself to j scientific research; and during those I past seven years Eric had spent : much of the lime in adventurous 1 travel. j It is necessary to explain who : Doris Churton was, since the girl found no opportunity of telling Eric i about herself. Many years back two young Englishmen of excellent family-Humphrey Churton and his

brother Junics-went out to South Africa and settled in the Transvaal. They 'did fairly well, and In time James Churton married the daughter of an English ollicer. J 'oris was the only child of this union, nnd when she was twelve- years old her parents wero drowned while fording a flooded river. Humphrey Churton, who wns unmarried, gave his niece a home nnd all the advantages that were possible, A few years later he moved from the Transvaal up .to Salisbury, In the newly-opened Mashonn country. Here Doris met Fergus Hnygarth, and twice refused the offer of his hand. Sho felt only aversion for the young man, nnd this feeling wns shared by her undo. Then, in 1893 came the great change in the girl's life. Her mother was an old friend of Lady Copleston, and the latter wrote to ask that Doris might pay her a long visit. Humphrey Churton could not refuse—he saw the splendid advantages of such a step —and so Doris came to England. She brought fresh life and cheer to the home of Sir John Copleston, who wns a man with a secret sorrow, and lacked an ardently-de-sired heir to. his title and riches.

And now' to relate certain things that happened on the Wednesday when Eric definitely promised Phil to go.; to Africa—things of which the two friends were in complete ignorance when they sailed from England. Doris received a letter from her uncle, nsking that she. should come out nnd visit him for a few months. "He had lately moved to a beautiful spot in Jlntabeleland, near lluluwayo," Humphrey (.'burton wrote, "and'in his loneliness lie longed to see his niece again. He promised that she should return to' England very soon." That he should make such a request at all showed how utterly unsuspicious of danger the settlers in that part of South Africa were at the time.

llather against their wishes, Sir John and Lady Copleston consented at once, and it was arranged that Doris should tnkc n bont leaving one week from the following Saturday, by which time a suitable companion sailing by the same vessel could be found for her, Humphrey Churton was to meet her at some point far down the country.

Doris looked forward to the trip with mingled happiness and sorrow, but on the whole she was glud to escape at the present time from bleak nnd crowded London; and she loved her uncle almost as a second father. She went to her room, wrote n long letter to Eric at the Grand Hotel, and posted it before retiring. But Eric had already gone from the hotel to Phil's lodgings, and as he thoughtlessly left no address behind, the letter lay uncalled for. Little did he dream into whoso hands his own letter to Doris had fallen.

That same Wednesday evening Fergus Hnygurtli called at Ormcsquare, and though he did not see Doris, he had an interview with Sir John, lie was on intimate terms with the bnronet, but he was too clever by far to say anything about Eric Dacres.

However, Fergus learned of Humphrey Churton's letter, and of Doris's early departure for Africa. The news delighted him, and he at once resolved to sail on the same steamer, instend of waiting until spring. He did not inform Sir John of (his, thinking it more prudent to keep his intentions a secret to tho last.

At ten o'clock, coming down stairs unattended from the baronet's private study, Fergus saw a bunch of letters lying on the hull table. One addressed to Doris, and bearing the imprint of the Grand Hotel, caught his eyes. Ho know that Eric- had been stopping at the Grand, and after briefly weighing the chances of detection, ho slipped the letter into his pocket and left the house.

In the privacy of his Jermynslrei'l rooms Fergus llaygarth tore open the stolon letter. As he read it his face grew amazed and wrathful, At the end he swore savagely and tossed sheets and envelope into the fire, lie watched them until they were consumed to ashes, and then began to tread the floor impatiently.

"Was there ever such a turn of luck ?" he uttered. "Dacres going to Africa on Saturday and Doris and I sailing n week later! This is I'hil Courtney's doing-curse him for a meddler! It is « good thing I got tho letter ; at least (here is no engagement, though it is nearly as bad. But f will triumph in the end, Eric Dacres. I shall have Doris nt sen for three weeks, and I will be a fool indeed if she is not my promised bride before wo reach port. She can know nothing of your plans, nor where you have gone from the hotel. And you say you dure not trust yourself to see her before you sail ! Ah, how she will wait for this letter that can never come! Her love will turn to scorn—you will lose what hold you have on her heart.

"South Africa is large," lie went on, "and each will be ignorant of the other's presence there, But they may meet; it is far from impossible. And if my suit hangs over until we are up country, I can make no headway against Humphrey ('burton. One thing I s«ear : I will hesitate at nothing to put Eric fiacres out of tho way if he Tosses my path. Luckily I hnve a tool ready fur, a day of need, and I know how to use it. Let me sec: tho mail goes on Saturday. Yes, I can reach him in time."

llaygarth entered the other room and returned with the tin box, Ho took out the packet ol papers, and studied them long and thoughtfully, with knitted brow. Then be wrote a letter ol several pages, which he scaled and addressed to Jacobus Mynhart, Johannesburg, South Africa.

Far up in the lonely bush of Malabeleland,far north of the Trnnsvual, a camp-fire was sparkling redly soon after dark on the evening of the 24th of March, 18%. The camp itself was in a cleared spot a few rods to one side' of the rough road lending from Toll to Buluvvnyo, and about fifty miles to tho south-east of the latter settlement.

Two bronzed young Englishmenwere chatting after supper by the fire. They were picturesquely garbed In flannels, high boots, and slouch hats; they wore revolvers and car-tridge-belts ; and their repeating-

rifles close by. On the right of the clearing stood a small but strongly-built waggon, canvas-covered and well stocked with supplies. To the left four mules and two saddle-horses were tethered, and under the waggon the colonial boy Mopo, black as the aco of spades, was sleeping soundly. All round the camp stretched tho bush country, dense, scrubby, dotted with wooded hills nnd granite kopjes. The moon and stars wero shining overhead, and in tho remote distance a leopard was crying dolefully. From a nearer .quarter, where tho rond crossed a drift of tho Lomc-na river, camo tho faint gurgle of running water. It was a wild neighbourhood, nnd Eric Uacres and Phil Courtney had good reason to believe that no other human beings were within many miles.

"Moro than three whole months since wc left England," Phil wns saying, "If roally seems longer, but that is because my sketches and letters kept us loitering on the way. Wc might have been in Duluwayo a fortnight ngo." "I'm not in a hurry," replied Eric, pulling a meditative cloud of smoko towards his companion. "It's a jolly w'ny to travel-riding alongside o( Jropo and the waggon, or swinging off into 'the bush after gunio when you choose, And since wc left Tuli behind—ay, nnd tho Transvaal—the loneliness nnd the grandeur of the country have been delightful."

I "Yes, it's nn English paradise, Matalielelnnd," Phil assented. "And .to think that scarcely eighteen months ago old Lo Hen and his ' warriors were holding high ' jinks at 'theirown royal kraal of Duluwnyo ! { I hope lhat, little war and the way I the Maxims mowed down the impis j taught them a lasting lesson." | "You may be sure it did," dc- | clured Eric. "The country is thorI oughly settled nnd peaceful now, I and the outlook is splendid, except ; for the rinderpest that is killing the entile. The Matabclc arc contented, and every one will tell you that there isn't the remotest possibility oi their attempting to throw off the yoke of the Chartered Company."

"Yes, I know Hint's Hie common beliif," admitted I'hil; "Imt I don't altogether share i(, though I may lie n fool (or saying so." "Why not, old fellow ?"

"I've got several reasons," rhil replied. "One is that the Malaheln hate the English as bitterly as ever. They are cunning devils, and it is said that no white man can over fathom the workings of their mind. But to my mind the chief danger, if there is any at all, lies just hero the Knllirs far and wide know that .lamicson took the police force out of the country and down to the Transvaal hist year, and now they have heard of the English defeat at Krugersdorp. I can't help thinking it will impress them strongly, and perhaps tempt them to rise."

"You arc always sensible, my dear fellow," said Eric; "bill, ronlly, judging by the common opinion hereabouts, I can't say. that 1 agree with you. The Knllirs .arc cowed and crushed. They won't pluck up spirit for a scoro of years to come."

"God grunt that you are right—that's nil I've got to say," Phil answered. "And wo don't want any now while we arc in the country, do wo, old chap ?" "Xo, or my prospective fortune will tnkc wings," said Eric, with a rather bitter smile. For some time the two smoked in silence ami watched the fire, Phil 1 pondering various plans that would cam kudos for him from the "Illustrated Courier," and Eric thinking sadly . of Doris thousands of miles awny in wintry London. Then the latter rose, si retched himself, and knocked (he ashes of his pipe ont on the heel of his hoot. "I'm tired," he said—"l'm going to turn in." "Come along, old chap ; I'm with you." Phil assented, They heaped fresh fuel on the fire, climbed over the side of the .waggon, and were soon sleeping soundly under warm blankets. In the distance the tide of the Lonicna river still sang to the night breeze, but the prowling leopard's voice was strangely still. Hours lafer-it was long past mid-night-Eric was roused by a tug nl his arm and ut voice in his ear. He opened his drowsy eyes and saw Phil bending over him. "What's up?" he demanded, instantly wide awake. "I can't make it out myself," Phil answered, hoarsely. "Look youder—what do you make of it ?■' Ilolh stood to their feet in (he bed of the waggon. Following the direction of his friend's outstretched arm, Kric saw, one to the east and one to the north-east, two glaring red patches limning on the dusky horizon. Somewhere, perhaps miles away, settlers' homes were burning. "Houses on lire, and in different places!" gasped Eric, "lly Jove! what can it mean ?" "Merciful Heaven, have my fears been verified already'/"Phil cried, hoarsely. "Can the Jlutabclc have broken out ? But no, I won't believe it !" "What else can you believe ?" exclaimed ICrie. "If it was one fire Wail; we'll question Mopo." He leapt out of the waggon and looked underneath. "Mopo Is gone —he is not here!" he shouted, in dismay. "Do you see him anywhere ?" "No; ho's not in camp," cried Phil. "I say, tw'o of the mules have broken loose and wandered off. llopo must have gone after them." "Or stolen them and bolted," suggested Eric, "It looks like treachery." "It does, by Heaven!" exclaimed Phil, who ■ was on the ground by this time. "Old man, we're in for n scrape.":— As he spoke three ritle-shols rang out in quick succession from no further away than a quarter of a mile, and they were followed at once by a shriller report of a revolver. CIIAPTEIi VII. A CKY FROM THE NIGHT, For an instant Phil and Eric could only stare at each other speechlessly and with faces that looked white and frightened in the moonlight, No longer did they doubt the awful truth; wlint they lnul Just

I heard confirmed their fears that the demon of slaughter nnd bloodshed was abroad that night in Matabclcland. And yet it wns hard to realise—hard to believe that such a fearful thunderblast could (all without warning from nn unclouded sky. "Listen !" whispered Phil, with a warning gesture.

Hut a few seconds had passed since, the firing, and as they stood silently by tho waggon they heard a clamour of shrill and savage voices, evidently from the same quarter. This died aw'ay, ending with a couple of single shouts, nnd all that now disturbed the quiet of the night was a distant nnd muffled sound like' a groat bird Happing its wings.

"Do you hear that?" Eric asked."Yes; and 1 don't know' what to make of it," I'hil replied. "Hut we must be looking out for ourselves, old chap." Ho strode quickly (o the fire ami kicked and trampled the dying emliers until not a spark remained; then lie nurricd hack to the waggon and picked up his rifle. By this time Eric had his own weapon in hand, and was ramming shells into the magazine. "The Kaffirs havo risen !" Phil said, hoarsely. "There can be no doubt of it." "Not a hit," Eric assented, " incredible as tho thing seems, Over yonder in two places the wretches are burning settlers' homes, and the row behind us meant that some traveller has been waylaid and murdered—(he shooting came from the road towards Tuli." "Yes, you're right," assented Phil, "Goon heavens, this is awful ! And we are in imminent peril ourselves, old fellow" — "Hark!" interrupted Eric. "What's that ?" It was the muffled sound they had heard before ; but now it was much nearer and louder. As they listened anxiously to the plunging, threshing noise, they suddenly comprehended what it meant. "A horse is coming," muttered Phil. "By dove, I believe the traveller has given the Kallirs the Slip !" "Or his steed has thrown him and galloped off," suggested Eric. "If the man was mounted and all right, he would take to the road, whereas the animal seems to be making straight for our camp through the hush." (To he Continued),