THE WAY TO WIN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLV, Issue 13699, 16 March 1908, Page 3

THE WAY TO WIN.

BY MADAME ALBANESI, Author of Capricious Caroline," " Til© Strongest of All Things." " Susannah and One Other," " Love and Louisa," Etc., Etc.

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

COPYRIGHT. CHAPTER XX. ANNE'S DECISION. Anne Danckoft had prepared herself for some objection on her brother's part to the move she had made, and t"he objection was not slow in coming. The girl listened, however, to all that Dancroft had to say impatiently enough. "You can go on just as much as ever you like, Jim," she said coolly, " it doesn't, and it won't, have any cflect. You've got your view of life, mother got Iter's, I've got mine! And if you think I'm going to live the sort of deadalive existence that is going on at Hunston now you've made a great mistake. Look here, Jim," the girl said a little excitedly, " you ought to remember all the line things that were promised me in the old days." "I made you no promises," James Dancroft said sternly. But Anne tossed her head. "I know that, but they were made all the same by one who practically put us where we are now." "Perhaps I've been mistaken," the man said after a long pause; "'but 1 am disappointed; disappointed in you and in my mother; she goes too far in one direction and you are going far too far in another. 1 wanted to see you both lifted out of poverty, I wanted to see her surrounded with comfort in her old age, and I wanted you to have a proper home and a proper life." . " And, 1 suppose," said Anne with a sneer, "you didn't want anything for yourself? The gutter was good enough for you." " Dancroft answered this roughly. "You'll go back and join mother," he said. " You've no right to bo here." "What do von mean by no right? Everybody's got. a right to make the best use of a chance. I don see what business it is of yours about my coming to stay with Mrs" Dudworth, Jim. If anybody had wanted to cut up rough it was that girl at unstop; but she isn't like you, she seemed glad I should enjoy myself." There was a crimson flush on the man's face, and he looked very steadily at his sister as he said : "And yet I suppose she helped you to come away ? You have shown that you 'got a rare way of spending, Anne. I'll be bound there is not a penny left' of the money 1 gave you just before you went to Hunston." " I don't .count pennies," said Anne doggedly. "It is share and share with us now; and if she did give me money, well, I consider, 1 had a full right to have it." ' , But James Dancroft banned his fist down on the table near. "No! that is just what you have not got! And, understand me, Anne, this is the last- time you go to her. Let me only know tnat you do this, again, I shall deal with'you pretty sharply "Then-give me my share." said Anne. " Let me hare what I've got to have, and let me do whatT'./jll with 'my own life." She spoke with pu-.sion and this passion seemed to calm Darnel. " Nothing has been arranged .as yet," he said. This lies to a great extent. in her hands. I'm not against you taking y&J V chance as you call ii, for my own chance has come to me. 1 have a place of responsibility, a place in which 1 can show what I am madfe.of, and 1 mean to earn my money. I mean to get into a wider life away "from all thht has so .crippled and embittered , me since my childhood." He spoke earnestly, and there was an expression on his face which Anne had never seen there before ; but she was vexed with him. < " Well, I suppose you don't want me to work? Because if you do I am afraid you'll have more disappointment." Before he could answer there was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Dudworth entered the room. She greeted Anne's brother with the charm which was so natural to her. : ■ "I have come to see if I cannot induce you to stay to luncheon, Mr. Dancroft," she said. ■ But. he reverted instantly to his old churlish attitude, and declined the invitation. • "I've got work to do," he said. " I cannot afford to be idle. 1 only tame 1 here to tell my sister that I consider she has made a great mistake in coming." Though " the man's manner and his word's affronted her, Mrs. Dudworth did not let this escape her. "Oh! Mr. Dancroft," she said. "If there is any blame, I merit the blame, for I persuaded your sister to come. 1 thought perhaps she would enjoy a few days in town, and 1 am always very glad to have a girl with me." " Well, Anne knows what I think," said Dancroft in the same ungracious way, and he took up his hat. " I'll come and take her down to Hunston at the end of the week," he added, and then ,with a bow he took up his hat and passed out. As he went Anne burst into tears. " And when he does come 1 sha'n't go !" she said between her sobs. " Jim can be as beastly as he likes, I sha'n't go! He is almost as bad as mother. I see very plainly that I must get everything fixed up, and pretty soon, too," Anne went on excitedly. " When I've got my own money sure, then I can snap my fingers at them ! I don't know why this shouldn't be done at once, If Jim won't hurry about this- I shall just take it to her. She's ready enough—in fact, site's only wait* ing !" "Do you mean Christina?" Mrs. Dudworth asked in a low voice. " Yes, of course, I mean her. If she hadn't known she'd got to do big things for us it isn't likely she would have given in to us as she has, is it? And if mother could get what she wanted, and Jim can get what he wants, it's precious hard lines if I can't get what I want!" Then as she saw Mis. Dudworth's face a certain compunction and a certain fear took possession of Anne. " Oh ! I didn't intend to say so much," she said. "It seems mean to be talking about her. business, arid I'm not mean, really '• Besides, I'm sorry for her; she's had an awful lot to bear." Mrs. Dudworth's lips quivered, but she stretched out her hand to the girl. These .last words went straight to her heart. " I will write to your brother," she said. "Perhaps I may be able to induce him to take a more lenient view of what after all is a very ordinary matter. Now dry your eyes, and let us go out for a little while. It is a lovely morning." She spoke cheerfully, but in reality Margaret Dudworth's heart was weighted with anxiety. The news Sir George had brought her"had startled her a good deal, but when it was set beside the revelation of the truth which Anne Dancroft had made so unconsciously, it perplexed as well as startled. What was to lie in the immediate future i _ , , On leaving Mrs. Dudworth's house Dancroft went back to the city for an hour or so and then travelled down to Hunston. He had sent a telephone message announcing his arrival and this time a motor was in waiting at the station. As they passed through the village and approached the grounds Dancroft stopped the chauffeur. He had caught sight of Christine. It seemed to him that she had made a motion with her hand that lie should stop. At any rate, he alighted and went through the trees to join her. It was a lovely day, the world wore its fairest aspect. It brought a pang to the man's heart to see how fragile this girl looked. Her black gown seemed an incongruous note amid the splendour of the early summer colouring. In remembrance he set her as she was now against that vision of her as she had been the night when he had , first seen her. -

They did not clasp hands, and lie rushed instantly into speech. " i have come down," he said in his blunt way, "on purpose to see you. I have something to say to you." And Christine answered : "1 am glad you have come, lor I have something to say to you.'' " I have seen my sister," Dalicrolt said, abruptly. " I don't, approve of what sin; is doing, and 1 have told her so; above all I strongly object to her coming to you lor money." " Need that, trouble you?" she said. " Yes," he said, uncompromisingly, "and it troubles me a very good deal," he added. They walked on, and with a little sigh Christine took her hat from her head and brushed her brow with her hand. " You approach the very matter on which f am anxious to speak to you, -i!''. Bancroft," she said. " Yes?'' " l—l want something settled," Christine said. " I—it is above . all necessary now that I should know just exactly where 1 stand. I am prepared to do everything that you may consider right and just, but —but J want to have a little of the weight of the, burden lifted." They had come to a spot where the ground sloped gradually; in front of them stretched a beautiful view. This had been a, favourite spot with Henry Fielding, and some chairs were always placed under the trees here in summer time. Dancroft pulled forward one of these chairs. " Sit down," he said. Christine obeyed him. .lust for an instant she closed her "eyes, and then she opened them to look at the familiar scene in front through a, mist of tears. " 1. ho]R> I shall be able to make you understand what is in my heart. 1 want you all to be satisfied," she said, "and then 1 want my life to belong to myself." "You mean," the man answered her a little disagreeably, "that you contemplate sharing this lite with another person. It is because, of your marriage, which I hear has been definitely arranged to take place a few weeks hence, that you want to have things settled She Hushed and then she paled. " —because of that, but not altogether because of that. Mr. Dancroft, I—l did not quite know what I was undertaking, what the coming of your mother into this, my own home, blessed with so many exquisite memories, was to mean to me, or J doubt if I should have had the courage to have met her wishes as I have done.' Dancroft was biting his lip rather savagely. ' "Well, 1 warned you," he said roughly. " You can't say 1 didn't tell you that I thought you were doing too much, .i asked you if there wasn't someone who could work "with you—-someone to whom you could turn, and you answered me that there was no one." " And I answered you truthfully. There was no one—there is no one who can help me in this matter." "What! You are going to marry, and yet you. stand quite alone to fight your troublesthat seems queer!" Christine closed her eyes again. She* had brushed the tears away. " I am dealing with you straightforwardly. lam putting my position before you just as it is. The cause for which I have done what 1 have done is dearer to me a hundred fold than it was. I do not look for sympathy, eveii for comprehension, from you; but somehow I feel that you will be just." He thanked her, but there was a mocking sound in his voice. • " Do not credit me with imaginary virtues," he said. "There has been so very little justice iu my life up to now that I am not quite sure that I know how it ought to go, but you are wrong if you think I lack comprehension. I quite understand you wish to have all disagreeable things wrapped up and put away on a shelf before you marry this fine gentleman with , his fine title! Well, you know, jo f co>\Yt"r?e, t'hjt this in my -hands. The person wU_h jviioni you will have to come to terms is my mother." He was speaking with deliberate intention to hurt. Sir George Burns-tone had lost no time. Ho had Communicated the information that his marriage was definitely fixed to the heads of the office in the city. The matter had been freely discussed in Dancroft's presence and as freely criticised. When he had gone to see Anne that morning a sullen , rage, a jealousy which would not be set aside was seething in his heart, and when he had come face to face with Sir George on the stairs, .it would have been some small gratification to him to have lifted his strong right , arm and struck out at the other man. 1 1 Burr,stone was the typo of man he loathed. The knowledge that such a man held first place in Christine Fielding's life, and presumably in her heart, too, brought into existence a rush of bitter feelings; and yet, deep, deep down below them there was a sense of sorrow, for now he knew the quality of this girl's nature, and it hurt him to think that she should give herself and all that was most precious to her into the keeping of George Burnstone. Christine had winced as he had spoken. She did not know until this moment how much she had built upon obtaining his help, nor did she know till this moment how strangely she had felt that he was not only reliable but comforting. She did not answer him immediately, but when she did so she said in a very low voice: "That closes all discussion. Even if I would permit myself to approach your mother I should know before doing so that I should meet with nothing but the bitterest treatment, that 1 should have to listen once again to all that is most hurtful to me to hear." t Her weary voice, her pathetic look stirred something deeper and stronger than anger and jealousy in the man's heart. Nevertheless he made no change in his rough manner. / " 1 don't suggest that you must do this," he said. "I go back to my old argument. You ought to have someone with you. Someone who could act for you. That is a nice woman with whom Anne is staying now." He saw Christine wince and involuntarily the girl's thought escaped her lips. " Peggy loved my father. She thought him all Chat- was good and honourable." Dancroft shrugged his shoulders. " Well, then, why not let your future husband and my mother light this out?" Christine put up her hands as though to push away something which was definitely threatening to her. The way in "which she said "No, no," was in itself a. confession, and just for an instant the hot blood flooded Bancroft's face. It gave him a curious sense of exultation to realise that despite the fact that she was promised in marriage to Burnstone in reality he stood outside her intimate life. Following on this, however, came the swift thought that possibly it was because she cared so much for this man that she dreaded the effect the knowledge of the truth might have upon him. Perhaps he hardly realised himself how such a. thought swayed him; indeed, if was possible that the man had never paused to take count of what was passing with himself where Christine Fiehliug was concerned, or how consciously her influence was permeating his every thought, his every action. He got up and moved a few yards away from her and Christine looked at him with something like despair in her eyes. She felt, that he would do nothing for her,land there came sweeping back upon her all the miserable tumult which had possessed her heart these many weeks. It had been such a natural impulse which had, urged her to listen to Burnstone's pleading. She was practically worn out with the mental conflict, she was yearning for tranquillity. The void left in her life by her father's death seemed 'to have grow wider and deeper of late. All her life she. had been surrounded with tenderness, with the most delicate care. The bleak atmosphere in which she lived now drove her to look for some protection. Was it so wonderful that she should let herself imagine that she would find this protection with the man she had promised to marry? Was it so wonderful that sho should turn from the cruelty, the bleakness, the hatred, and hope to find in love a consolation from all this? It was fitting to the situation that it should be Dancroft who bluntly led her to face the reality, who brought- her sharply away from dreams. The suggestive that, she should let Sir George Burnstone ileal with his mother was such an impossibility that Christine saw with clear eyes the impossibility of all the rest. UXo be couiiiiueil daily.)