KYRA'S FATE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 12070, 13 September 1902, Page 3 (Supplement)

KYRA'S FATE.

BY (MAPLES GARVICK. Author of " Ma id a." "With All Her Heart." " At Love' Cost," " Love. The Tyrant," •' In Cupid's Chains," CHAPTER XXXllL—(Continued). Kvp.a looked puzzled for a, moment, and considered; then she said, very quietly and slowly: " You were kind enough to offer to help me, Mr. Wicks; therefore I am sure that, you will help my friends if you can. They are—looking for the gentleman you have seen. He has disappeared, gone off—" She hesitated and blushed, but Mr. Wicks promptly filled in the sentence for her. "(lone off with the girl at. the horsedealer's!" he exclaimed, with an air of relief so intense as to be almost one of satisfaction. "What a slack-backed idiot I am! I never thought of her—" "In what connection" began Kyra; but Mr. .Wicks went on hurriedly, as if he were rather ashamed of something. "It's her. of course! And you want to find him! They've heloped!" Mr. Wicks' aspirates were Wont to go astray when he was excited. "A 'tec's the thing, -Miss Burns; take my word for it." "A—what? I beg your pardon," said Kyra,. feeling as if she were confronting an entirely strange language. " I beg yours," said Air. Wicks. " I mean a detective. No?" as Kyra shook her head. "Too public? Hem! let me see." His face grew grave with thought. a*id he thrust his hands deep into his pockets; then he looked up with an -air of determination. "You leave it to me, Miss Burns. Of course, I haven't much spare time ; but I know my way about, and I've got pals— friends at the bank—who will help me." " Oh, but I cannot give you so much trouble," nflirmnred Kyra. Mr. Wicks' face glowed a brilliant scarlet. "Trouble! you give me trouble! Oh!" He drew a. long breath as if labouring under an emotion too great fur words. " Trouble! Oh !" With this enigmatical ejaculation, lie raised his hat. set it on again with obvious indifference as to its lcvelness, and darted off with his watch in his hand. That, night at dinner, and wherever he met her. lor months afterwards, Mr. Wicks regarded Kvra with a mysterious gesture, half nod, half shake of the head, which would have amused Kyra if the subject with which it was connected had not been so terribly sad. The days passed and Bessie did not come back nor did any tidings of her reach White Horse Lane. Kyra went there very often and sat beside the stricken father. He. had sunk into quite an old man now, his business was neglected, the little house uncared for. and eloquent in its desolation of the desolation in the old man's heart. Kyra generally found him sitting by the tabled—the weather was now too cold for the seat under the elm, and he would not have sat there now in any weather, for the place was hateful to him, and his only desire was to hide himself from the eyes of his neighbours. He would look up when Kyra entered, shake his head sadly and would remain almost silent while she sat and talked to him.

" She'll never come back! I've lost my gel, my Bessie, miss!" was sometimes the only sentence he would speak during the whole of her visit.

And now the tap, tap of the carpenter's hammer was only heard at interval? in the yard; for John' Warden was more often absent than at his work. He would be away for weeks together, saying nothing of his destination, and returning with his worn face more worn, his heavy, dragging steps more heavy and wean - . Kyra had no need to ask him, when he returned from these unknown wanderings, whether his quest had been successful. The despair in his sunken eyes told her plainly enough. Sometimes, so interested was she in the great trouble of these two men. Kvra went nigh to forgetting her own trouble, the tragedy in her own life. It almost seemed as if the Kyra Jermyn of former days were a person who had existed in a dream only: and the Mary Burns who spent her days arranging and cataloguing intaglios and ancient gems for the expert, Mr. button, were the real person. But one evening a note was struck that aroused the long-forgotten past. They were at dinner at Danberry Square; Mr. "Wicks was gazing at the unconscious Kyra with an expression of hopeless melancholy which caused the two Misses Robinson to nudge each other under the table. Mrs. Tonks was waiting in her usual state or coma for the potatoes; Mr. Sutton was absently twirling a knife as he was mentally calculating the value of Ins last deal; Mrs. Mumly was remarking to no one in particular that " the winter reely 'ad come," when Mr. Mumly remarked, apropos of nothing :

" What splendid chaps these fellows of ours are in West Africa. 'Pon my word, it makes you quite proud as there is such solfliers. Suppose you saw that account of the fight with the natives in the papers, Miss Robinson? The whole affair's only just published/' '"I rarely read the papers,"' said Miss Robinson, as if her abstention wore a virtue. "Is this anything special'.'" "I should rather think so!" replied Mr. Mumly. "' Just a 'andful of our men against a reg'lar mob of nativesand armed, properly armed, mind you : none of your bows mid arrows and spears, but proper rifles and guns. Our chaps was. hemmed in by 'em in a laager, I think they call it ; and there they fought, hour alter hour, until there was only a few of 'em left. But they beat the beggars off and held the place until help came. 1 see one of 'em has got the Victoria Cross. And he deserves if, too! Went out. single-handed, and brought in a young lieutenant who was wounded and being done for by the savages, a, young fellow named Gordon—wonder whether he's any relation to the general'.' Shouldn't wonder. The officer who saved him was Captain Lance le—le —something or other.'' Kyra had. been listening silently and with interest, and the name struck her like a bolt out of the blue. She sat perfectly still, but she. knew that the colour had rushed to her face and. ebbed back again as suddenly," leaving her cheeks white. '* A"Frenchman, by his name." said Miss Robinson. "Oil, Lor. no!" returned Mr. Mumly. "He's English enough; there's lots of French-sounding names amongst the English. 'Che paper's full of him and his 'croism—l've got his name now. TVs Captain Lance le Breton— it. Ah. sometimes we gentlemen in the city 'ave a 'ard lime; but just think of what that young chap has gone through!" His voice buzzed in Kyra's ears as he dilated on the theme. She raised her glass with a shaking hand and drank some water; and immediately dinner was over she went to her own room. But she could not remain there, and went, down to the dining-room again, where Mr. Wicks and Mr. Mumly wore smoking. They rose as she entered— they never faltered in their respect for her --and Mr. Mumly looked at his pipe apologetically. "May I have the paper?"' Kyra asked in a low voice; and Mr. Wicks sprang for it a> a Newfoundland springs to save a drowning child. "You read the account of that fight I was talking about. Miss Burns," said Mr. Mumly. '" Let me find it for you." She forced herself to stand quite still while he folded the paper and stabbed the column with his linger; then she went back to her own room, and, when she had read the account, she sat. with the paper in her hand, her eyes fixed on the opposite wall, on which she saw the fight in all its details. And Captain Lance le Breton, Mho had won his V.C. under circumstances which had made even a newspaper man enthusiastic, was her husband! Slowly the. colour stole into her pale face, a strange light glowed, star-like, in her lovely eyes, and her bosom rose and fell with the rapid, painful throbbing of her heart. Her husband ! Ah. but no ! He was the husband of Kyra Jermyn, who had died in that horrible house on the dismal marshes. CHAPTER XXXIV. A month later Lance le Breton entered the smoking-room of the United Forces Club. It was pretty full at the time —an hour before dinnerand his appearance caused that kind of suppressed excitement which is permissible in the well-bred Englishman. For the papers had not yet done with the little war at which Lance and Bertie had distinguished themselves, and much to his embarrassment, Lance had arrived in England to find himself a popular hero. His portrait, very flattering, had appeared in the weekly illustrated journals in company with paragraphs which, wrong in every detail, assumed to set forth in glowing newspaperese his various exploits. But notwithstanding his popularity his friends and fel-low-officers thought a great deal of him. and there was something approaching a general move towards him as he entered the handsome aval luxurious embrown. Lance responded to their greetings appropriately enough, but after a few minutes got away from the small crowd, and taking a chair in a dim and distant corner, got behind a newspaper and a, cigarette ; and the, men who had welcomed him so Warmly drew off, and, some of them, discussed him. "Looks a bit off colour," said a major. "Had a roughish lime, I should think." "Why. of course!" said another major. "It hasn't been all beer and skittles. I.romton told me that it was the hottest thing he'd ever been in, and that Le Breton handled the pitch like the very devil himself. Of course it's left its mark on him. How many wounds was it':" "I'm told that you can't put a finger on him without touching a scar." said the first major: "but in isn't wounds that makes a man look as Le Breton looks. 1 once knew a man. "The major's on his reminiscences!" said a young fellow, with good-natured cynicism. "I was only going to say that I once knew a man who was so cut up that he was like— a. ca'imped cod; and the. first thing he said, when the surgeons had done with him, was. ' Don't let my 'bacca get too dry!' and he was as cheerful as a bluebottle ever after. Now. Le. Breton would be just as chirpy if they hadn't left an ounce of blood in his body. He's an altered man. There's something on his mind;" and the major nodded and pursed his lips.

"Yes, he's changad. wonderfully changed. But 'something on his mind!'" echoed the young fellow who had chaffed the major. ."Why, if ever a fellow was in luck's way Le Breton is. He goes out to a twopenny halfpenny war in a ' details' corps, gets his V.C, and is presented with a, first-class cavalry troop —" "Which he deserves," put in the major. ''Which he deserves. I agree. But there's luck as well as merit in it. And the luck doesn't stop there; it's been at work for him while he's been away, and he comes home to find both his cousins dead. Both, mind ! Arthur was always a poor crock, and not likely to hang on; but who'd have thought that Edward would have caught this beastly influenza and joined the majority? He looked good enough for half a century more. Aad he might have married ; it was just Le Breton's luck that he. didn't! It's awfully sad and all that, but dash it all! it's all" in the day's work; we're all mortal, and if some of your relations have got to die, it's as well that it should be those who stand between you and an earldom. Why. they say that out in that beastly pla-ce, ' Le Breton's luck' was a catch-word. It was always his company that dropped on the blacks and got their change out of them : it was always Le Breton who found water when the rest of the force was parched as peas, it was always "Dry up; here's young Gordon!" said one of the men, warningly. " Don't let nini hear you abusing Le Breton—" "I wasn't abusing him!" " Well, talking about him in anything nut a complimentary fashion — nothing but your blood will satisfy young Cordon.-

So the subject was changed as Bertie came towards them. There was evidently nothing much on his mind: and, notwithstanding the terrible ordeal he had gone through, his smile Was as boyish, his eyes as bright as they had been when he and Lance tramped side by side and messed together before the fighting began. As he came down the big room, with his light but firm step, he nodded to all and exchanged a laughing greeting with some. "Come and sit down. Gordon?"' "Dine at our table, will you?*' "What do you soy to bridge to-night?" Bertie smiled in response to the various and heartily given invitations—he was a great favouritebut he shook his head and bis eyes wandered round the room and over the group. "Thanks; but I'm booked for to-night. Anyone seen Le Breton':" The major nodded to the ante-room where Lance sat behind his paper and almost Within hearing, and Bertie wen: off at once to him. Lance looked up and nodded in the grave fashion which had become habitual with him. and Bertie laid a hand on Lance's shoulder before he spoke. The action was significant enough and was indicative of the warm affection that existed between them; for men are not demonstrative nowadays, and are not fond of even shaking hands. Come and have some dinner. Lance." said Bertie; and the tone of his voice was as eloquent of his love lor the man as the touch of his hand. "Yes; but nut here, if you don't mind. It'ssomewhat public, and talkiug's rather a. bore, I ordered a chop or something of the kind at my rooms"' "That's good enough," said Bertie. The two men passed out. every eye following them, and in the street they attracted attention; the policeman pointed out the Captain le Breton to the crossingsweeper who stands opposite the club, and the passers-by stopped and stared at the face which the illustrated papers had made so familiar to the curious public "Walk or ride'.'" asked Bertie. ''Oh. walk," said Lance, absently. As absently he sat down to dinner at which the handy Spilkins, now honourably discharged, waited with the devotion to Lance which lie had displayed all thiough the campaign; and as absently, with the same air of abstraction, Lance ate the plain, but admirably cooked, meal. Bertie, who knew his friend's mood so well, humoured it. not by a bored silence, but by a- gentle strain of conversation, but when .Spilkins had gone and Lance had reached for his old pipe. Bertie said, gently: " What- is it. Lance?" Lance looked at him in silence for a mottle ci . "A letter from my uncle. T must go down there to-morrow.'' Bertie nodded. "Of course; you were going, you know." "Yes, to-morrow, or the day after." said Lance. They had only arrived in London two days previously, and they had had to report themselves. "Bin— funk it. Bertie. It's the solid truth. I'm ashamed ; but there it is. To face that poor old man with his two boys dead. To present, myself—l, who ought to have been shot half a dozen times—as the heir-- Great heaven! how will he be able to keep off exclaiming : ' They ate dead: why are you alive'.'"" Bertie was too wise to point out the morbid injustice of this; and he smoked his cigar in a silence which would have done credit to a much older man. "Besides," Lance went on. but hesitated and frowned sadly at the lire, "the sight of the place will drive me mad. To think, only a few months—not a. yea/ ago— Fie stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly remembered that he was not talking to himself, but had a. listener. Thru Bertie spoke. " Would if make it any easier if I came with you, old man?"' Lance turned to him eagerly, but checked himself and bit, his lip. " What a selfish beast I am," he said, with a short laugh. " I was actually about to accept your offerto take you away from your mother." " She knows I'm going," remarked Bertie, quietly. "It was she' who suggested it. Fact. Oh. there's nothing the mater would draw the line at where you're concerned. She'll even sacrifice her darling baby-boy, as you perceive." " Lady Gordon is very good," said Lance, gratefully. " I'd like to have youit's just on the cards that you'd be (lie means of saving me from going stark, staring mad at sight of the place" He, stopped again, and Bertie leant forward and touch-ad him on the knee. "See here, old man," he said; "there's something more than the two deaths that makes it hard for you to go down there, Goodness knows. I don't want to know; but, it it would help you to tell me—if it would ease your mind— Do you think I don't remember the day you got leave and the way you were knocked over by something you read in the paper? I didn't a*>k you then; nor when you were down with the fever and raving like a lunatic did I listen. I haven't asked you since; but now —what- is it. old man? See here; it hurts to look on and see you suffering aud not be able to help you —to help you with even a word. ; '

Lance laid his Land on the lad's shoulder and looked down at him.

'" Bertie, there is a dark .shadow over my life, a piece of kid luck, that has left it's murk on me like the mark of one of those niggers' spears. But they only mark the flesh: my trouble scarred my" heart, and it hurls still; it will hurt while. I live; that's what Tin afraid of; and the sight of that place will wake up the pain and the smart of the old wound. No, stop here with your mother, my boy—" Bertie rose and got a, Bradshaw. "There's a. train at half-past eleveu.'' he said. ''We'll go down by that. I took the liberty of writing; to Lord Ashleigh and asking him if I might come with you; and he was good enough to write and say he'd be glad to see me—at least, it was' from Lady May—' any friend of yours,' she said. And so there you are. you know." "Little May!" said Lance, almost to himself. "Little May!" Then he scowled at Bet tie. "You're ail obstinate young beggar." he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. But Bertie understood; he had caught the look of gratitude that Hashed behind the scowl. "Oh. I may as welt go down with you," lie said in. a '.•usual way. " You'd be getting into some scrape or other, if 1 wasn't there to look after you." 'To be continued on Wednesday next.)