MARCUS QUAYLE, M.D.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LIX, Issue 18077, 29 April 1922, Page 3 (Supplement)

MARCUS QUAYLE, M.D.

BY E. EVERETT-GREEN.

•Author or " Tlie Master of Marshlands," etc. COPYRIGHT.

r '"■' CHAPTEB.S—| Continued.) Three beautiful women, each a. type in herself. Marcus Quoyle had been dubbed a misogynist His friends would say of him fctat he " was not a marrying man." ill the same for trrat, the thought of marriage was occasionally present with him. He was too male an animal not to feel tho need of his mate. A stern moralist and a singularly cleai lived man, he held rigid ideas upon the dignity -and ' sanctity of the marriage tie. Heretofore the stir.-* ot professional 'rife had held B iro. tin had been climbing the ladder of success lumi 'iv«r hand. He had not had much iirae or thought to spar© for domesticity or the more human relationship of life. B.:t saving attained assured success —bara:; "'-'< hed a breathing space,- so to speak—he was conscious of new impulse, and iesires. and something seemed to iraken wiilun turn as he exchanged greetings with the throe beautiful women who welcuaed him to their company* which gare 'o his speech riming the exquis'tely•mved repast which followed, a verve and point and piquancy, which held the <<nnnanr breathless with interest. A m*n is generally at his best when he feeis that he holds the Attention of the tabie. Mamus Quayle was a singularly . abstemious man in lus daily life, seidom touching wine or spirits, and eating Utile, and chat of the plainest. So that when at the uolea of his friends, he broke through these habits, tested delicate viands and sparkling wines, ho often felt that stir and uVw of spirits which follows upon suoh variation of a rigid regimen; and to-mghi ha was mjwontediy brilliant, genial, grunly entertaining, unwontedly jipproachxcxe.

Lorraine watched him fascinated. Already be had become enshrined in her susceptible heart as an idol of no mean proportions. She regarded him as Dinah's knight and lover. She looked from one face to the other to-night, thinking how splendidly these two were matched. Marcos took the foot of the table, a placfl that Beatrice Lindislea delighted for him to occupy. Dinah and Lorraine faced each other, and it was often Dinah's TOTCB which took up some word of Marcus' and offered criticism or opposition to some statement of his. Then Lorraine would catch her breath as she listened, marvelling that anyone l should venture into the arena against such a giant intellect. But Dinah held her own with a quiet, smiling firmness, and Lady Lindis"aa. who Listened intently, and watched with narrowed eyes when this oair talked together, made observatiana "herself at length. Yon are a firm believer, then, Miss Vanecourt, in the rights of women?"

" 1 am a confirmed believer in the wrongs of womanhood," was the instantantoua response. " Marcus and I are old antagonists there." " Not entirely. I admit the wrongs. But I deny that modern methods will help 'Jo right them." * Oh I they will ha'ip," Dinah answered, quietly. "Nothing eve? put the world to rights. No one is foolish enough to think it. But certain -anomalies, injustices, tyrannies, and oppressions will automatically cease with the recognition of women as a political entity. Not that I see much hope. Men hold the power, and use it quite ruthlessly in this particular question. You, Marcus, are one of the most ruthless persons I know, tiough no one holds womanhood in higher estimation. That is one of the factors which adds to the difficulties of the fighters, the lack of understanding shown by otherwise noble-minded men."

Lorraine caught hur breath. Beatrice mulled inwardly. One marvelled at the courage of the speaker, the other felt satisfaction at this indication of some deep and fundamental disagreement.

" Marcos would never stand a militant suffragist as a wife/' mused the hostess, as she gava the signal to rise. She smiled upon him in her low, seductive way as j ±6 passed him as the door. " Follow me soon, Marcus, but make yourself ni home first." She looked into Me. (ircss wr.h a glance whimsically sympathetic. She had quite a number of very charming expressions wnich she could use with rare effect. Marcus laughed' as ha met the glance. But ho did not make any verbal response. Dinah and Lorraine, as Beatrice had rarmised. were engaged in talk together. She strolled over to the piano and struck gome chords idly, brealang into snatches of song at intervals. Voice and touch upon the instrument urere alike excellent. When Marcus came up, ha went jxver to her, and presently his deep baritone voice ■was sounding through the room, to tho accompaniment ol Lady Lindislea'3 clever fingers. Lorraine listened breathless. Marcus Quayle was wonderful in her eyes. She looked from his face to Dinah's. " Does he know Lady Lindislea very well?" she whispered. "Oh 1 yes.. Once he lived in this house as Sir Peter's assistant. Did you not knowr " No, I dont liko widows to go on like that. One would think she wanted to marry h lTn - Dinah laughed, and Lorraine felt better. "You do not think she will—l mean, he will? Ycm do not think—" " I never trouble myself about other people'? love affairs, little girl. I aiways think these are best managed by the parties concerned. One thing you may be quite sura of— Marcus Quayle is quite capable of taking of himself." The music had ceased at the other end oi tho room. Beatrice was speaking in a low voice to Marcus. " Why did you never mention her to me before?" " I never suspected you would be interested. She is not in or of your world. I have friends who live their lives poles asunder. •' Ail the same, t am interested. She is—" He seemed to sweep her approbations or criticisms isi'ie. " Dinah Vanecourt is one of the salt ni ihe earth.'' he said. "There you have J&o whole thing in a nutshell.'' CHAPTER XII. Ersk.ne Eysham was looking his last npon his old home. The dark blue eyes were clouded The instinctive, dear-cut, high-bred features were- somewhat sunken. and* beneath their tan almost colourless. The strain of the past weeks was showing somewhat severely. He had come to the point of being almost glad that the last turning had been reached. it the great hall his dogcart stood, ord the one horse he was retaining for h:s own use and behoof. His few remain:nz personal belongings had been placed in :t. Farm < :n"s had removed previously such family heirlooms and plenishings as u '- nad iesirfd to remove to his smaller ii iufe the outskirts of the property. Ha - iise wore a dismantled and desolute .ok. Some effects had been sold to I jK-rsrriiii 'nerd.:. Some had been bought ! by ic a: dealer* Erskine did not desire that 'he purr-hater of the property (al- i '.'■"luh willinc to do sol should take over I 'f»u many oi the Kvsham family furniture | jiid r>i-s.-ss!<".v\ .\ great many remained ; i.mi -t ~f ijif-e>-sity. and the house was ';]) lairlv iOwii',',',-lv But the wall? iu :;"a -tamed and bare bereft of their piftui"? I'he dilapidations of the •'n:, •ire vficwed rnui-h. more plainly now. It seemed a.- •hough 'hr old house, like a ■'Oi~ perse nat-e. hi;: held up bravely to ifi last, but n:ih ihe deat'a, of hope liad rfered s'tne ui ( ollapse, and was ready ;.i fail .n*. .-.enile decay. In 'he hai! tl.e old housekeeper was waiting, ».e«p:ng silently to herself, U.cugh -ir:.!iig 'o bi'.i.-h away the tears a la*' i -ev gathered. When 'die heard her <nr L ' ma-tcr's step she ehpked i'-u.-k ,i ••;, hm h e heard it. and came down th» hail' w oak steps two at a ' me. lie laid his hands upon her shoul-' • lers, ii:rl his own voice was a little husky! as lie tried to --neak cheerily. " \'o\v dear -hi Movie, cheer up! You'll be -laprner here in the old plafee tb'<■*ith me .ii Heron's Pool. And I AU't .nlord the luxurv if a liousekeepei now. Miss Vanecourt is goinii to keep you on ail right; and you say she u a kind Udr— "

So she is, sir. I'll say no different, for 'twouldn't be right, aor just. Bui for all that, Fd sooner be with you, Master Erskine, seein' after your little 'nonse—", _ - *

" I know you would, you good old soul; but it would be beastly selfish for me to let yon. There's no housekeeper's room, and I'm not clear that tho house is specially dry; Mid ail the waya will be different too. No, no, Moyle, yon stop on here, and come and see me ever}- week, and tell mo all tho news of Darkmere. That will be the beat for both of us. And now let me be gone. It's been a bit too long drawn-out, all this parting. I shan't be very far away—" And you'll come to see us sometimes, sir. won't y%u?" The young face clouded. The mobile mouth took a line of bitterness foreign to the habitual sweetness of the expression. ' '

" I can't say as to that, Mbyte l\ don't feel much like it at present. Time is said to he a great healer, and «o doubt the wisdom of the ages is right. But healing will have to come before I' show my face as a stranger and guest at Darkincre. It isn't as though a man were coming here—" ; " Why. I thought that made it easier,] like, sir. A man might get your bristles up. • But a lady—and a really sweet-! spoken one. too —not a bit stuck-up or con-1 sequential. One can't but like Miss. Vanecoiu't; and I say it who was goin' tx>' tell her straight as I could have no truck with strange folk in the old place-'' ; " I know Movie, T know. And lam very glad she is what you say. But it does'nt make it easier for me. In fact, j it makes it much more difficult. Everybody will be watching to seß whether I] and the new lady of the manor are not going to make a-*natch of it—" " Well, Mr. Erskine, and why should you not? I'm sure—" " Yes, you dear old goose! And so am I—quite sure. It's not fhe kind of thing the Eyshams do "Moyle. You must see that for yourself, No, no more about that, please. .You come to me at Heron's Pool as often as you can. But don't expect me here at Darkmere, That's a bit too steep." He kissed nor quickly on both cheeks, held her hands for a moment, aEd then walked swiftly towards the waiting cart, took the reins, mounted the driving seat, nodded to the stable lad to loose tha horse's head, and started down the drive at a slingiag trot. He never turned his head to look back as he swept first out of one gate, then through the park, and past the outer gate, at which the lodge-keeper stood, her apron to her eyes. He sang out a cheery good-bye, but looked straight before him. Lis young face very pale and set, the vivid blue of hia eyes rather more bright sad dark than usual. The road ran right ;\nd left from the park gates. Ho took 'ihe right-hand fork It led him past the outer fringe of the lake from which the ho'iise took its name. The water of this mere was curiously dark in colour, perhaps from the fact of its peat bottom. Sedges and bulrushes grew Stick along the bank, and waterfowl nested there, affording excellent sport through "the autumn and winter months. Past' the lone sedges and tie darkling water Erskine drove at the same slinging speed. It seemed as though he wanted to leave his old life behind him, and were being driven fortJi by some fewer from which there was no escape- His eyes were fixed always straight ahead. About the lips, with their clean cutting and inherited firmness of outline, the shadowy bitterness still lingered. At the end of the lake a stream of water issued, dark and peat-stained. This ran through lush green meadows, all of them belonging to the Eysham property, tfll the meadows merged into another largo pool upon a lower level , '

This was the Heron's Pool, where herons had nested since-the beginning of the world, according to local tradition. And at the far end of the pool, upon the extreme limit of the property, stood a quaint old panelled house, which for a great while now had stood empty. In past days it had been inhabited, but with the growth of modern ideas and modern demands the situation had not l commended itself. It lay low. It was damp. It had no modern convenience. Everything was extremely old-fashioned and what is now called obsolete. But Erskine had made of the empty house a boyish retreat for himself. He loved the ancient rooms, with their mullioned windows and their dim panelling, which absorbed the light and collected! shadows in the corners, amongst which "he i could sit and dream those "long, long: thoughts " of boyhood. There was no garden proper to the! house, but an old-world stone-flagged terrace, against which the water of the pool/ lapped with a sibilant whisper. The I house was clothed in a growth of creepera, which, having been pruned and ten-' ded of late, showed the colours of rosei and jessamine cluster. There were a few j outbuildings in the rear of the house, in-1 eluding one roomy loose-box and a shedj large enough to hold the dog cart. j Erskine'was aßbut to dispense with the kind of service to which his former life had accustomed him. A worthy couple advanced in years would " do " for him to the best of their ability. For the rest, he intended leading the simple or anchorite life. There was sufficient grass land runmaf' with Herons' Pool to enable him to rear' poultry and embark upon a little farming if so disposed. Onesmall farmery went with this portion of the property. It wan let at the present time, and Erskine would not disturb an old tenant. But if ever it fell vacant he might very likely work the place 'himself, and possibly might very likely enter into some sort of partnership or co-operation with the tenant farmer in occupation, which

would be of mutual advantage. j Erskino loved the land, and his pursuits I had always centred in rural pastimes and occupations. He was of a contemplative I cast of mind, and the activities of modern | life seemed to him futile and sordid. Hei felt 110 distaste at the prospect of dwelling apart from men in this small, dim house of ; solitude. But the wrench of quitting Darkmere had been severe, and he went thither with something of the instinct of a wounded creature seeking solitude and seclusion in which to hide its hurt. I Ho drove round to the rear to leave I horse and cart. The old man was in waiting: "but Erskine stayed to unfasten the buckles and lead the handsome animal to his strange abode. Plenty of fresh straw had been laid down, and the furbished .ip a bit; but it was all vastly! different from the well-appointed range of stabling to which the beautiful creature had been accustomed. He whinnied anoU nuzzled his nose into his master's palm as thoirah in sympathy with some mood not entirelv comprehensible. The wirej haired Irish terrier who 'lad accompanied him leaped up to caress both horse and I human alike. . i " Yes. old chap, you and I and \ I'Charger" must have pot-luck together j now. I'd have left the pair of you hehind if I did not believn you'd both be ' happier here with me. A party of three j I we've been on many a lo lg day's ramble, I and we'll weather the storm together yet. We'll not lack for bite < r sup, at least, ; : and here is not such a, bs,d place to come j to to hide our diminished heads." | Dumb creatures have a. world of sym- j pathy in their ways. Horse and dog ! reemed to understand- an i respond. Ers- ' kin e went on with " Jock" at his heels, resolved to keep his eyes Sxed i ahead, without looking hack, and as he walked up the flagged pa,th to the back door of the house he whutled some fragment of a half-forjzotten tune. The woman bustling about the kitchen, rosv with firelight, dropped him a airtaey and cavehim a smile oi respectful weli come. He answered her with a kindly greeting, over courteous to those about i him, and passed on through a swing door i into the other part of tho house, the dim oak-panelled hall, with it;* stone floor and stone stairs leading upwards, its. three , doors opening each into one of those lower | ' rooms which he had set n order when he ■ ' broup-ht his belongings thither from Dark--1 There were faded Eastern rugs upon ■ t',i« flagged floor, but he had eschewed ; carpet for the stairs. Old oaken bits of .; can-en furniture stood r,s he nad placed i them, and ho threw nig cap upon a quaint I corner table set in an angle. (To be continued on lUtuxdw n«t!