GWYNN OF GWYNN.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLVI, Issue 14232, 1 December 1909, Page 4

GWYNN OF GWYNN.

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

BY HALLrWELL SUTCLIFFE, Author of "A Man of the Moors." " Bicroft of Withers." " Toward the Dawn," " Shameless Wayne." " Mistress Barbara Ounliffe," etc.

[COPYRIGHT.] CHAPTER Xni. " I am not afraid at all," Phyllis answered by-and-by, with a little catch of sheer pleasure in her voice—" except that the mare will take a worse chill than her mistress."

She patted the mare's neck, and the beast looked round at her with velvety, imploring eyes, as the four-footed folk look always to the human-kind in their perplexities. Gwynn had caught some infection from the girl's humour. " Phyllis," he said, finding the name come easily, "you should not have come out to-day. This waiting about in the mist is the worst thing .for you." Into their solitude, through the walls of fleecy grey that hid the world from them, the memory of Lady Gatborne came to Phyllis. She recalled, with pitiless clearness, the many hints, the open proprietorship of Gwynn, which had grown to be almost daily stratagems with her enemy. Gwynn's solicitude was no longer pleasant, and their solitude had lost its friendliness.

" Oh, we can ride up and down until it lifts. Even the mist cannot make us keep entirely still." Gwynn glanced sharply at her. She had grown as cold as the mist itself, and he was perplexed, not for the first time, by this sudden change of front. "Yes, it can," he said, bluntly. "The broken lands are a hundred yards away or less. We were almost on them when the mist came down." "We can ride away from them. Had you not thought of that?" He laughed quietly. "Which line takes us away from them, or straight over a quarry-face?" he asked. Their horses had been fidgeting from one point of the compass to another. Phyllis looked helplessly at the few square yards of moor which were left of the solid world she had known. She admitted, with a bewildered sense of -weakness, that all their bearings were lost; the quarries might lie just beyond the brink of this scanty strip of plateau on which the mist was encroaching every moment. Gwynn, with the same dry, easy laugh, assured her that there were dangerous marshes, too, on the side away from the quarries. '• You know the moor well," said Phyllis, with a peevishness that was unlike her. " I am cold, and tired of* waiting. Find me a way down the hill." "We none of us know the moor when the mists come down. We have to wait," said Gwynn, with a touch of mastery in his voice—a touch, too, of pride in this inclement weather of the hills he loved.

There was a long 6ilence between the two who cared for each other. There was a note of comedy, too. They were alone, with but a word needed from one of them to break their reticence; yet in between them, like an evil fairy, crept the memory of Lady Gathorne. They could not shake off the little lady, and the fingers of the mist closed round them, till they could scarcely see each other through the vapour. Their horses were subdued, by now, and Gwynn brought his raking chestnut close to the slim mare.

" Phyllis," he said, " I forget I'm hardup. I'm forgetting everything, I think, this morning. If only I had Gwynn itself to offer you" She met his eager glance through the haze, and for a moment her courage deserted her. " Not —oh, you must not speak yet. It. is all—all so serious. Indeed it is," she finished, lamely. If Gwynn had been choked by the mist in one hunt, he was eager on* the fresh scent. He did not know what he said, but suspected that some special gift of eloquence had replaced nis usual reserve. What lie said, in effect Phyllis heard it, that if—was what every clean, strong lover tries somehow to excess when he needs only one maid in the wcrld, and knows it. The girl lifted her eyes fearlessly to his. The evil fairy had left their mist-wrap-ped corner of the world. She was afraid no longer of his eagerness. Again she saw Gwynn Court, the portrait there; she felt a curious peace, a sense of fitness in Gwynn's abrupt love-making, as if this good thing had been destined to happen from the first. .....".

Very gravely she listened, and the delicate pink played bo-peep about her face. When he had ended, she waited a moment, and then the gentlest laugh escaped her. "Yesoh, it is yes. I suppose—l suppose it could never have been anything— anvthinc but just yes." There was no constraint between them. It did not seem that they had been strangers a few months since, that Gwynn's declaration was hasty and impulsive; both felt instead as if they had known each other always. Wrapped up, in the importance and the bigness of their few yards of mist-bound moor, they did not heed at first that a thin, penetrating rain began to fall. Little by little the oyev wall* of

mist receded from them. : 'AT>reej6e'got up,and wrung out the vapour -«*.-if it squeezed: a sponge, arid the rain thickened; 1 * Their island in the mist "began to extend its shores, and soon the whole ;ino6r lay open, to their view through sheets .oil driving rain; •' '„ "We did we]> to stay where we were, eaid Gwynn, pointing to the broken quarryedges that lay scarcely fifty yards in front of them. Phyllis instinctively reined back her mare a. pace or two, and shuddered. " And I— I was ungrateful just now," she murmured. "I was impatient to get away from the cold and the wet. It was babyish of me. He saw that her cheek* were flushed, her eyes unnaturally bright, and as el:e spoke she was shaken by a sudden lit of shivering. t " Oh, we must get down the moor, he said, sharply. " There's a farm half a mile away. They'll give us food and a peatfire there. You need both, Phyllis." His sense of ownership was plainly marked, and it seemed part of this wild day's adventure to Phyllis that she no longer resented it at all. "How far from home are we?" she asked, almost meekly. " Too far for you to ride. I've the mist to thank, Phyllis, for all it's brought me— but if it means" "I am very strong, really," she put in, with a brave little smile, " You must not exaggerate a cold in the head— you must not." Gwynn glanced at her face again, and knew that there was no exaggeration. He was glad when they reached the cart-lane leading to the farm below. John Earnshaw, the farmer, was in the yard, and touched his hat. He happened to be a tenant of Gwynn's; but no landlord, unless he were popular, could have enticed so frank a smile of welcome from a northern farmer. " Have ye killed, sir he asked. " I heard the hounds giving tongue, and was t running up to see what was to be seen when this blamed mist came down." "No, we've not killed, Job. The mist saved the game old brute. Is your wife indoors?" "Ay. Were you needing her?" "If she can give us a big fire and a cup of something hot—yes, we're needing her,' said Gwynn, drily. Earnshaw took their horses, and called cheerily across the yard; " Martha, here's Squire, and a lady with him. They're wet to the skin." " Then they've naught to do but to step ! forrard," came a brisk, kindly voice in answer. Phyllis, with the feVer glance that neglects no detail, saw a whatewashed room, a red peat-glow that shone on rows of pewter, and on china that was old as the oak beams above her head. She saw f 'a : plump, rosy-cheeked woman, and. a shaggy farm dog that came sliding a friendly nose into her hand. Earnshaw's wife made an old-fashioned curtsey to the Squire. Then she looked frankly up at Phyllis. " Why, bairn, ehe said, forgetting manners and all else in the bustle of her feelings, " ye ought to be lying warm i' bed. I lost one lass I . had through your ailment, and should know the look of it r.y now." "Oh, I'm quite well—quite well—now I see your fire" " Ye'll see the inside of a warm bed tipstairs before I've done with you," broke in the woman, briskly. "There! Sit,ye down oh the settle, while I put the warm-ing-pan between the sheets and make' ye a hot cup. o' tea." ; . The farm-wife seemed to find real pleasure in mothering this unexpected "guest. Perhaps she was thinking of. her own ,<3ie&A daughter, was filling a little chamber in her heart left empty, all these years. They heard her steps across the creaking rafters as she busied herself with the long-handled warming-pan. Phyllis shivered constantly, as she held her hands to the fire: but sho looked strangely happy as she watched the red peats glow and fade ■again,- Gwynn' watched her anxiously. Then Martha r was downstairs again, making the tea and persuading Phyllis to drink it scalding hot; and after that Earnshaw \ came in from stabling the horses, his boots making a great noise on the stone floor.- ! ,2. * J i* "Make a little less din!' said the wife, who was easily, master,; as^women < in times of sickness. " Men are' all alikemeaning no disrespect, Squirethey're, ail feckless, and in the way when folk -.are, ill." ■ •■.■■•/;• \'\ Phyllis glanced once atOwynn. -Shewas smiling at the farm-wife's tartness, but in her eyes there was a* suggestion that 'l he, .'. at least, was neither in the way nor. feckless.. -.' J.'-. - ■ '. '-+ -»■- ■'! You are kind,". she said, turning^to Martha, "but-I—l not ill v at all.:' > "Maybe not; but up ye come to bed this minute." '•- * • ? , ; "Oh, it's making, so much of so little," she protested, appealing to Gwynn. '• "Mrs. Eamshaw is right, I think," he said, gravely. " I'll ride down and tell your uncle, and bring him .back with-me." r Phyllis held out obstinately against all this pampering, until a sudden giddiness overcame her, a sense that the cosy roomy and the peat-fire, and the pewter, on the walls were slipping away from her, .*"' CHAPTER XIV. - , Gwynn carried her upstairs, and left. her in, Martha's hands. When /he - came down he found Earnshaw walking, aim-. , lessly about the room. .'■>[. :\ Sickness do worry me, Squire, fend; always did," he said. "I'm like atom-r cat left to guard a litter ; > o' 'kittens—wanting to do my best by ihe little ,'ims, but not knowing rightly now to set about it," ..-■'.. ". ; '.. -v '• * " Have you a decent horse .in- the stable, Job? Of course you ; have. . I never knew you yet without one. Clap a saddle on him, for I've -worked my own a trifle hard to-day," \ In five minutes Gwynn was riding his new mount out of the stable-yard. * The moon was up, and; showed him every crumple of the moor below him. Winter as it was, the breeze blew moist and warm against his face as he, picked his way between the quarries and N ine marshes and found the road at last, find gave his horse the reins. • As he galloped to Saul Dene's Gwynn could not tell which - of the two feelings had the —intolerable >■ dread 'that Phyllis would die, up yonder oh the moorland farm, or keen, buoyant knowledge that she cared for him. '' '. When Said's horse had been saddled and brought to the door the elder man j glanced sharply at Gwynn, as if asking for his confidence. He had read so much in the man's face when first he stepped, mud-splashed and weary, into the library. "Oh, hurry, sir," said Gwynn, impatiently. "Your niece —is very illand' she "needs friends about her. You know Earnshaw's farm on the moor, just under the crooked firs?"' Saul nodded. He liked the decision of Gwynn's voice. " Thank you, lad, I'm by way of finding a track when I need it." "There's a moon to help you between the marshes. I'll ride to the doctor's and bring him up with me." Again Saul nodded, and without further word the two men rode on their separate ways. Gwynn found the doctor out when he reached his door, and spent a half-hour pacing his borrowed nag op and down the village street. He would not tether the horse and go indoors and —indeed, he could not, for he needed the night and the moonlit sky about him, lest fear got the better of him during this intolerable waiting-time. He heard the pit-a-pat of hoofs, and saw a thick-set pony trotting wearily up the road towards him. "I want you, doctor," he said, bringing his own horse square across the road with little ceremony. " Oh, the deuce you do, Mr. Gwynn !" snapped the other, who was tired as the pony that carried him. "I've done enough for one day, thank ye, and am not going to be. held up by any highwayman" along the road." Gwynn knew his man, his bluntness, and his warmth of heart. " It is life or death, doctor." There was a moment's pause. " That only makes it worse," said the other, irritably. " You put me on my honour. It is risky, Mr. Gwynn— I tell you as much plainlyto put a tired man on his honour. How far?" he broke off savagely- ■ . ■ ■ "Seven miles.* ■ . ■■ I

" Impossible ! I wouldn't ask ■'»■■>£&s pony. ' ~;.,- . '?*.]?* "You can. my horse. He'&Mlf and he knows the way to Job EirnshS ; farm as well .as you do, I bc™2isßP from Job." , ' m /' M ™^huß "To Job's? Between'the bo,s m the unfenced quarries^t9#pdMnf|Sl it of myself .much less ift^MgS "Doctor, there's *■*»'Saflys?.', T-'v j The doctor sniffed impatient!* **&$ Mr. Gwynn, but It^thS Gwynn reined up beside him, and erin ped his arm "It is life „ deal, % tor," he said, quietly. • ' *8 The other.paused for a moment, con' quered his weariness from long habit • «Si shipped suddenly from his ponyV back Gwynn was already out of saddle pf : G^tpee e d: d ° Ctor '" h6 Baid > Vwa 3 Oh, ay," answered the doctor as h. set a foot in the stirrup. ."It's alwav 'Save save, when the other help is nas praying for. My pony's not so tired bu what he can do a few miles more Squire Follow me up the moor, and' ride I thought more quietly than you want to 1 Gwynn got to the tired pony's hack and with some persuasion got him pas his stable. In front of him he heard th doctor galloping hard, and smiled in th midst of his own perplexity. It was a ways a terrific ride with the doctor wbl a life was to be saved; and the twjjfl borrowed horse would carry his new jill likely, at scarcely lessened pace ' : wH they reached the perilous lands that IB between the quarry-faces and the mar«B| When Gwynn reached?the. arm at 1 he found only Saul Dene arid the fail in the kitchen. The,-doctor was 1 with his patient and Mrs. El shaw was running up arid, down in" ob ence to his orders. Warm as the ri was, in spite of the ruddy fire and cheery shimmer of pewter on the W{ there was that indefinable air of.gh .and unrest about it which seems to s out of a sick-room and fill the ho itself. ■ X •■■,-" Gwynn glanced anxiously Saul's The answer to his unspoken, question i written plainly there; hut'the elder n tried pluckily to forget troul "It is grave, of course,"yery.'grav hs said ', "but we'll pul(%er- through tween us, God willing;. ,v The bluntness of thi£:n|isnrhiVbofc way of speech, were cphs)§i%ous';npw; their quiet strength. He <|ee|ied Ji pi here; He., had a '.pwnfS keeping r v\vith -the old :£ss»», oyerhe|| with'the old-jfthina on the - ! i«lvos, ihec|t subtle fragrance of ther^SonM of many generations livirig2Befe.ivii^|S' Yet. all:sthe>hile Saul was in krri!)t« ■ anxielty:,;.;.'The', doctor h*la : i(sM in ft was indeed a case.ol life and.kdeath in the room.'-'aboveflvTlii'- . girl's chill ".had developed, ■ during%tkt in * Gwynn, 1 m.tM sharp attack'of^rieunfoSS "She ban a splendid constitution Saul haH- declared} whentt||. dorter, * Jifctie whiler'beforo, had run.-.down for * moment to/te)l',him the tiue?isl&teMfM| case. *! HeVl father .had. -So have I. We're tpu|h^-penes.^^P^W ",-Jf dpubt, A^sriapped .th^cCpc|s^i^ was alwayssfrij»bje wheh^M^^gh^OT a • ellow-creature's.-right, to pJv?; <Jl I've fittest. cOnstif|rti^S^t^| . world' go under at'Stmomeht'sWtiiajj^ wish to v prepare yen* Mr„ , De|r-^^ . mine© matters- at- these times— and I Ml youHhatpneumpnials the trilkiest 1 meS we doctors '$ .deal;withj^<|^^ ■\ The v < doctor was with his: ;pati|S^^ and GwyhnSand SaurDehet^ere|^^ gravelyJat,each other';'and the, p]d|r|» was ' trying -hard .-^.■'•.'.cheer^he^ag^p arid "Job Earnshaw, ; the farmer, ami noisily.'. about.; the' puttirigpS; peats-on the-firei••»p^«ieS^f'to/tK(^il ' that was 'burning well : cnough'rMtpj Miis.help. .. A^-timm^m :•< Earnshaw was' certainly; - -.:*.«' .';'* these times of indoor trouble;-though.;* on the farm'he.oould hold'his own;-wM any man." The noise, of his. boots' texm the floor,' his" i poliaK; certainty,"^|^| between-times he found,, thatl/J would yet be well, exasperated; Gj«®|| .i "Job," belaid at last, (t I -wisßM give a look to-my horse. Thit *.'he»'k4 the K mobr-top--and the, mifitj ./rmi^ ,'that-:V.-.. ■•:/.•■ .; . . .■ ' £4} « ' C ':l know my way now, Sginrej^blffl . ?!itt'« the "■ farmer, moving > bHsklx^toig door. • -"? Give me a Sickneisß|thl^|g"p« four feet, instead o' two, and I'm all ■ good nurse,'as : nurses go." :- ''■*$$&*& '. * There'was nothing amiss ,withjthg*m as Job found when he ru^edMrtftg lantern ,to the stable. ' Yet: hp.stayrt : - there a iull hour. The stable wa»MM : and quiet, and its-50>ell of hay and'ta* flesh ? was sweeter than Kiyfinder,{to^W man. '- \ • ' ' .-.'. ■■:■' ' GWynn looked 'at- : Saul. Den6y|^| their host had .gone.-- "I ought never ti . have let her hunt to-day, v he sai« ' Saul, heard the fresh note ot '*Wm in Gwvnn's voice, bul «id not hew i He ' could , think only , of the foots"! overhead;' of *Ihe ■ d6ctor's;;ordera>tt||| sounded from time ;to time, fain^au muffled, through the; rafters. " . .v - "It-was mv doing,»lad, said baoji r™ ing •hims'elf. ,!'There s no; c^n»Tto|» because Phyllis 'went. hunting. Her o« Rcimo spirit took' her that, Ud m advice of -'Never coddle.'" : s *'.-S^J ' ■ Gwynn ? wa««p4cu^ i: floor. "We were caught-by, the ,&ssss she asked-toilet her aare mowaboM ■ cause -she was so cold, and,Xlike,jMraj I wouldn't let her. : : The q««n : w««^ one' side,. you,ee^:didn^.kn^ ; 1 ;-" - „ uwe esgg "Then how could you nwe let no f» them?" askediSaul- •'■;.:.'.;. '.' ~ S •In his worst moments of '""""jS anxiety Saul' Dene never ibgt. his.ptWS grip of'life nor his ready. synipatliyjK friend in.need. He cto«?ef to TO. side aaad.laldj^hand^nS^^S \ "We all get fanciful »i these twjj, J said, 1 "«dfunk,43 mi *™*g& ferent if We'd • done' this and ttefc/« old nurse whovlicked>me■#:.Jfflg boy was all against 'that view ; oMgMg was rough, and her speech would to«« Lady Gathorhelihto a' f&'nt^ nt ~;7v-JS hai.fine,gr^o^ife;sMrSaM^P sit moping with ■mtrntf^MMm she'd say; +> treat and forget 'em, ahd^tep : ™Vpmm day won't dawn again;, hut M morrow -will..* " Bless mc, I can Jgg voice as if she was speaking to »*w The old house"' ;- , Iffigm Saul checked himself. There w-gg! iust now-to tell Gwyhn4:ih»MSW^ born arid cradled here, that «v*n J^»J twenty years of exile and njf^JS he would rather sleep within thejo^g of this roomy farmstead than in the big house where, the countf were glad to eat his dinners. , . ■ feh - There was' a sound v of quick'«Wf down the Stairway that led:*« room. Both men looked up. gWJJj . reliaf from their own thoughts, i^,^ tor's face was- tired and grave. ; "Well?" asked Paul. t „■ ..^fcj " Yes, as well as may fyi£&smm tor. "I can do no. 0 Earnshaw's wife is as handy at * r,j*M anv day as I am." ' ' *%, mi pi " Will she—" Saul Dene »a' d Jf c^-j his question. ■ . X% >, t'urv "Recover? God of^^m^SU with all reverence, Mr. .^MBrff" may take any course ,\ h^hfM " You must stay the night, GW^ W "£l| peremptorily. ' A {i«H " I cannot." : - ■Virtf-H "There's no cannot. YoU^^Mj The doctor drew a pa^Wf?3?*l from his pocket, and PU<V§^^ffl square, weather-reddened ch«M||^M "By your leave, Mr, W W£SSW other patients on my WSr|a knows what will happen, to th*m U snatch an hour or two of "^^^■| You're rieht," said SftdsSSSMSsH and quiet; "but you'll ride W.g**tyM "Yes, yes, of course. $*?*}&» JM "Yes, yes, of course. s«P|»li|« Mr. Dene, hope for the best. u< f , ; v .^ (To be continued next Saturday ,M