THE LAST TRAVELLER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LX, Issue 18495, 4 September 1923, Page 12

THE LAST TRAVELLER.

'BY LILIAN, QUILLER-COUCH;*V ,v----,;S ;■ ; (Copyright.) ' •> ; Why Clifford Hornby should have chosen $; his twenty-ninth birthday for his < sudden :.!.. swerve from the life he had lived for eight years it would be hard to say.- But when he stood, razor in hand,' before his : mirror, on that April morning, two or three i* unexpected /thoughts came to him, .-"and:-be-fore ho was dressed for breakfast he had made a'decision. ' '"'••"•' •:••" ' *-'-v The thoughts were. First. By jove, I'm twenty-nine to-day. Second, Twenty- - nine ia uncomfortably near thirty. Third. \ 'And what a rotton sort of life it is—l i believe I'vo really been dead sick of it for seven out of the eight years. ■ Fourth, j Fve half a mind to cut it—walk-out- of it, somehow. The decision ha came to was to walk out of it, literally, before the day was over. For tho greater part of Clifford Hornby's life he had been dependent upon his tmly relative, a rich, domineering uncle, all gout and no sympathy. Even at school the boy acknowledged that if he had an ounce more grit in him he would run away to "sea, and be independent. But that necessary ounce of grit was then lacking, and when, four months before Clifford's twenty-first birtht. . day, the uncle died, and house and money fell to the young man's lot; he gained his . independence without the trouble of working for it. Liberty and gold, after . restraint and poverty, went as wine to the young man's brain, deadening tho best that was in him, and ho plunged into gaety and ' extravagance with recklessness of- reaction. But time took the zest but of* the pleasures too easily gained, the latent good in Mm stirred again, and as tho years wore on he passed from enjoyment to passivity, from boredom to dislike. With horse and motor-cars at his disposal it seemed, on this April morning, that the only thing ho cared to do was to walk. "I'll walk, and walk," ho thought determinedly, and I'll think things out." So, his breakfast over, ho went to a writing table and cancelled "every engagei ment. Then he wrote asking his lawyer to deal with tho house and servants for a time. Then ho told his valet that he was going away unexpectedly,~ where ho wo ald 'l. not need a man, and before the sun. had climbed directly overhead he > had tossed - & coin in the air to " decide the direction in which he should turn his face."' and was away upon his travels, whistling softly as he went, and feeling more light-hearted than he had felt for years. , ■ And I'll do something beforo I m thirtv," . he vowed to himself, "If it's - nothing better .than breaking stones, for' » good road." ■ '■-.' Good weather and bad days, heat and come cold, were packed into the first weeks ' of Clifford's tramp; and he enjoyed all by - turns. Ho made himself live on half-a • crown a day, and he enjoyed the novelty of • that, too, and sometimes spent les.3. Anl ho did a lot of thinking as he went along. At the beginning of tho fifth week a seemingly unimportant tiling happened. Clifford's heel became blistered. But, though trifling at first, before two clays had passed found himself one hot mornine dead lame, many miles from a town, and apparently far from any sign of human habitation. The heel had begun to fester, and the throbbing was so painful that Clifford was forced to sit beside the road and remove his hard boot from the anguish of pain, which was increasing momentarily*. :" . , ~ , Tho scene of his enforced halt was desolation itself.. On om side stretched mile : upon mile of barren moorland;- on the . other side lay a small, seemingly dense wood. Clifford smiled grimly to himself now and again, in spite of his pain, as he surveyed his position. But when morning was wearing to evening, he '■'■■■ realised that something ; must be ; done, ", and, with compressed lips, ho tried to replace his boot over the burning pain, that he might limp on to some shelter b0... ... lero nightfall. . " Are you hurt?" The pretty, cultivated voice was so unexpected that Clifford had no time to cover his bare foot, before the troubled .. eyes of tho speaker were upon it, and he '"'* blushed as he had never blushed before, and .tried to rise to answer the queenly- . ; ; looking girl who looked down upon him. " Oh, thank you," he stammered. "My 'foot is blistered, and I wondered how ."» near I could find a house where I could rest and bathe it." " My home is tho only house for miles," she replied. "If you can walk the short distance to it, you can certainly have relief." "Is there a house so near?" he ex-, claimed. Yes. If it were night you would have seen the light through the trees." "But I cannot trespass—" ho began, but his voice trailed into a moan as he tried to slip his foot into his boot. "It is no trespass," she said gravely. ■" I wish you to come. Lean on me, and try to walk without your boot. If you can't manage it .I will Boon get help." But- Clifford did manage it, and a strange, new joy filled' him, in spite of i' pain, as he leaned upon his escort's arm ;;:' and slowly made the journey.' Not a shadow of self-consciousness lay upon the girl's face. She helped him as iue would have helped a wounded animal, .", and gave him gentleness and sympathy. For two days Clifford lay on the sofa in the prettiest room he had ever neon, looking out on the loveliest garden in the world. _ This is what it seemed to him. His pain had ceased; his spirits were ~ dancing. ; He only longed to see more ■ of his hostess. "Miss Julia doesn't see much of the travellers," said Charlotte, the maid, in answer to his question, on the second "morning, as she bathed his heel. Char- '.. lotte had nursed him with unusual devo- , tion since his coming, and ; plainly ap- ; proved of him. "Why do you say 'travellers'?" .he asked. " Tramps with blistered heels . don't come often, surely ?", " Not just with blistered heels," she admitted. ."But there's many in a twelvemonth who meet with some trouble,or • other just about here. It's a bad bit , Of road, and this is the only mouse." " But—does Miss Julia help every■one?"

" Every one. The master did it in his • lifetime; and Miss Julia wouldn't fail in his wishes. " But they might bo scamps—" "Yes, sir; but I take caro of Miss Julia —the dog takes care of us both." Clifford lay this morning with disappointment at his heart. His foot was really well enough to travel. He ought, in common courtesy, to go on his way. And ho did not want to go; and— was only one of many Tho door opened, and his face brightened. Charlotte, having performed her task, left the room, and Miss Julia came and took the big chintz-covered chair opposite , his sofa. Her face was pale this morning; her eyes were heavy. " You arc better?" she asked. " I am practically well," he sighed, " thanks to your great kindness. I must move on to-day" "Is tho foot well enough for that?" she asked hesitatingly. : "Yes," he admitted, " and sorry as I am to go, I ought to move on and make room for another possible traveller. Charlotte tells me you are good to all." To his astonishment her eyes filled with tears; and the sight struck him like a blow. For moments a silence fell. " There will not be another traveller," her voice shook as she spoke. " In some way I have distressed you," said Clifford, with concern. Forgive a blundering stranger." "There is nothing to forgive," she assured him. "You cannot help me," she said.. But the tears splashed upon her hands. "I am afraid you are in trouble." Tlion taking his courage in both hands, he said, " Although I am a stranger, please believe that 1 care very much and wish I could help you." ,>*. Can oven a stranger do nothing?" : j She looked away and shook her head. '!•■;', Then with a swift hnpulso sho turned to . him. <•'!. " Yes, just.. because you are a 1" stranger, and becauso I shall never see you :';;v:.;.;;^';!'';-•'•".•

again, and because* you are the last I can ever befriend there in my '. father's ,' place," you can, listen to the fact. In two days' time I i shall have no • shelter to offer to anyone." "You are leaving" " I must leave. The house is not mine. I don't understand it, and I'm sure my ■■ dear father did not know, the truth. '/;vßttfc.W lawyer writes terrible letters to. mo from London. . ;He has'told me" that my;'homo is mortgaged, and, in spite of all 'I can say, I' have but two days '•' longer and afters th&C-~ !" ;C She spread'her hands despairingly.";":" . . : Clifford leaned forward : his brain working, his tongue silent. / ■".You need not go," he said at last. She gazed at him eagerly, the blood surging over her face. But the flicker of hope was short. "I explain badly," she said, sadjy. ."But it is dreadfully true." -;.-', " You have explained quite clearly," he declared, " and I quite understand. A mortgage can be easily arranged I assure you. It is only if you don't arrange it that the house goes." " But I know nothing of business. I don't know how to arrange. What should I do, I wonder?" .. ■ . ; . "Let me," he said earnestly • "do service for service. This is a man's work. I can start for London to-day, and your homo shall be saved before to-morrow j is over." • There was no more thought of Cramping in Clifford's mind. Trains and motors could not carry him as swiftly as his heart desired. "My money shall do a good thing at I last,'* he thought. And when after hours of travel "he ; walked into the lawyer's office at his journey's end, his heart was buoyant as a child's. Left behind in the quiet cottage Julia Endean went restlessly from room to room. Was it joy?/ Was it anxiety? Was it dread or hope that surged in her heart? The day was one of many emotions, but only when the night drew on did she begin 'to realize and confess to herself that it wa3 of the messenger she chiefly thought .not of his message. ... *. The chaos of inexplicable happiness whirled in her heart and mingled with her dreams; and in the morning the world was to her more beautiful than it had ever been before. Only—the sofa was empty. She missed the messenger. When, before nightfall, a dusty telegraph boy brought the welcome words "All safe," it teemed unreasonable that her joyshould diminish. "I -wish he had come himself.," she admitted to her heart." "Perhaps he will coma to-morrow." \But on 'the morrow it was the cruel little London lawyer, venomous because his scheme had failed, who faced Julia in her pretty cottage; and his were the coarse words which opened her eyes. " You are fortunate in having a rich youngah—man, Miss Endean," no began And he gloated to see the blood drain from her face.

But, shy and unbusiness like though slio was, Julia's instincC mad© her hicle her feelings from the man she felt to be her enemy. His bad manners lent her selfpossession. ~.'■■ " Have you como to see mo on business?" she asked coldly. " Yes, this business, of the mortgage. of course. I was saying you are lucky to have a rich young man " But the business is settled, I understand," she said steadily. " You did not. come so far, I presume, to tell me I! am lucky." The lawyer had not expected this quiet directness. He looked more foolish than j he ' enjoyed looking. _ j "Is not the business satisfactorily settled?" she asked, after an embarrassed silence on his part. " Oh, ves, yes" he began bluster-! xngly. : ■ ' , ';■:''■'•) "Then I need not detain you," she said gravely, a;nd with a slight bow of dismissal she rang the bell. But it was when ho had gone that she broke down. "He has deceived me. fooled me," she cried in her heart. "Ho has shamed me before that man—" And with her face buried in her arms she wept scalding, anguished tearsand all the time she knew that her anger and her shame were as nothing compared with the pain of Clifford's deception. It was a pair of strong hands, which raised her tear-stained face at last. And at the sight of the truth in the eyes that looked into hers, her pain died out in a great throb of joy. " That cad merely tried to guess," declared Clifford, when ho had listened to her broken words. "Ho was angry because the business was taken out of his bands, and he wanted to make someone suffer for it. He doesn't in the least know where the money comes from. As for my sin of deception towards you dearest, there was no time, was there, preliminaries. I wanted first to save your home, and then to try to win the owner. But I loved you "before I lefh you. I love you doubly now.. May not love plead for pardon? and will not love forgive? Let me, in truth, be your last 'traveller' here. Tell roe, my darling, will you not travel with me for' ever and ever, fill death do its part?" ;•: " Oh, my rich young man ! she smiled through her tears "It looks as if your money had bought me, but—l will give you my heart. The rest docs not seem to matter now.''