HEATHER OF THE SOUTH.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXII, Issue 18943, 14 February 1925, Page 5 (Supplement)

HEATHER OF THE SOUTH.

BY ROSEMARY REES. Author of " April's Sowing."

(Copyright.) CHAPTER XX.—(Continued.) The strength of his repressed feelings nave an edge to his voice. "You must pull yourself together," he said, almost roughly. " Where's your horse ?" " He's tied up on our side of the fence further up the hill." "I'll walk up there with you, and see you safely started home." " It was my fault—everything—for trespassing. But it wasn't true —what ho said " " Yon needn't bother to explain. Give me credit for some intelligence. I understand how it happened." " But perhaps he oughtn't to be discharged—because of me," said Heather, using the pronoun as though she could not bring herself to speak of Gillespio by name. " lie's not being discharged because of yon," answered Creed, shortly, and not quite truthfully. " lie's a blackguard, and he's been swindling me." " Oh," said Heather, in a very small voice. Without another word, she rose, walked out of Ihe open door, and moving to the baejv of the hous-e, began to climb the hillside. Creed, having pushed the table back into place, and pulled the door to, followed her and walked beside her. There was no further conversation between them as they climbed through the bush, except that Heather once remarked: "The rain did the country a lot of good, didn't it?" And Creed replied, ;i Yes, it did." It seemed almost unnecessary for him to hold the strands of tho wire f ence apart for her to get through, When they came to the spot where Bumble had been tied; she appeared so slight and elusive, she gave him the impression that no bars or cage could ever hold her. He remembered the cynical observation of some writer: " Marriage is a cage. Those who are in want to get out. and those who aro out want to get in." He supposed Billy Winter would hold the key of this particular cage, though so far he'd heard nothing of any engagement between them. Was Winter the man who could hold her? Even in the cage of matrimony ? Wouldn't something of her spirit always elude him? Another man might bring about the capitulation of the proud and gallant little citadel of her soul, not Winter — He pulled himself up with a jerk here—speculations of this sort were futile, and unnecessary. The girl was mounted now on the old pony, and again Creed had a sudden vision of the wistful, pathetic little fairy of which she had once before reminded him. " Goodbye," she said, in the voice of a very small fairy indeed. *' Thank you for —for helping me." And then she cantered off and left. him. It was the first occasion upon which she had ever said " Thank you," since she had known his name, Creed reflected. " We're getting on," he thought, with an ironic smile, as he watched her disappear in the distance. "Who knows? I may be on Mrs. Winter's visiting list yet." But at the thought again of Billy Winter, his smile faded, and it was with frowning brows, and a •somewhat grim expression, that he made, his way down the hillside, swung himself into his saddle, and turned his horse's head in the direction of the Maranui homestead. CHAPTER XXI. THE CONFESSION On his way home, Creed called in at the whare, and saw Sandy McAlister, the head shepherd. "I want you to come up to the house, Sandy, this evening. I've some business to talk over. You needn't mention the fact to any of tho men." Sandy—shrewd-eyed, and honest—asked no questions as to the business, but nodded. "Be up about seven-thirty shall I ?" " That'll do," agreed Stephen, and rode off. The owner of Maranui ate very little dinner that night, and had been sitting for some time in his own big room, when Sandy was shown in. Sandy, wearing a coat —a special concession to the occasion —hat in hand, and sitting somewhat uneasily on the edge of the big arm-chair which Creed pulled forward for him, presented in. his manner a great contrast to Gillespie's easy familiarity. Sandy laid no claim to a knowledge of the ways of those who sit in drawing rooms after dinner- of the life of those he called, "the swells"; but Iks knew his own job, and all station work from A to Z, and had been at Maranui lor the last three I years. " Saridy, Gillespie's leaving me. He's going to-morrow, and 1 don't propose at the present moment I" engage another manager. I'll do the work myself. But I've beeri away too long from the place to have a thorough knowledge of everything. I'm going to rely on you to help me." Sandy nodded again. Not for the world Would he a.ik for any explanation of Gillespie's hurried departure. Uu take everything for granted—never to show surprise or astonishment --constituted the savoir-faire of the back-blocks. " You, don't need a manager if you're here yourself," lie said. " Not if I have you to put mo in the • way of things, Sandy. I'd probably make a hash" of the business alone, but ■not if I've got you to advise me." Sandy seemed to swell visibly with importance, and Creed —though he had been absolutely sincere in all he said—knew that Sandy was intensely flattered by ]ii s remark, and Mould leave no stone unturned to prove his employer's high opinion of him well merited. for Mune time tluy discussed work on the run. Dipping would be over in a week or two, to In: followed a mouth or so later by crutching. Then until lambing began again in the early spring the sheep work would not be so heavy, but fences and flood gates must be looked to, and other jobs done on the station. —Sandy, having partaken of a whisky . with ins employer, and having said " Good, health, Boss '* as he drank it, was preparing to take his departure when Sirs. Trimble entered. " Mrs. Gillespie has called to see von, sir " (Mrs. Trimble, being an English girl, was not too proud to address her , employer as " Sir.") , " I'll see her in a. few moments, Mrs. | Trimble," said Creed; and then, turning to Sandy McAlister, remarked: " You can get out this way Sandy." lie indi* ; cat-eel one of the open French windows, and the head shepherd passed out over , the verandah and by way of the garden, , back to the whare. Stephen, in view of the information he j had received from the publican's wife at To Hau, was glad of this chance to ] renew his acquaintance with Mrs. Gil- ( lespie. j She came in now, giving not the least indication by her manner that anything ] Untoward had happened. (

" You jvanfc to see me?" asked Creed. Yes, I do," answered Mrs, Gillespie, t^i«:»j)otioHallr.

"Then sit down here.'' Creed pushed up a chair to the other side of his writing table, so that the light from the lamp would fall directly on her face, Pie made no effort to open the conversation, aud after a moment Mrs.' Gillespie spoke. "I understand you've had a difference with my husband, Mr. Creed." " Your husband leaves Maranui toMrs. Gillespie. That's settled.'*' You've got to give same reason for dismissing him," she persisted, obstinately. She showed no trace of any mental disturbance, save in the brightness of those curiously alert, dark eyes. " He's served your father and you faithfully, and there's such a thing as justice."

" I've already told your husband I won't discuss the matter further with him. lie knows my reason well enough. That's final." Ho rose as though to terminate the interview, but Mrs. Gillespie continued: "You can't take the word of

. . . of a girl like that against my husband !" For the first time, some excitement bitter and violent—seemed to shake her, and she gripped the table with her two hands and leant towards him. " That girl's brother was bad—he cheated you. And she's the .same as him bad—leading a mail on —a good man who'd never think to look at another woman but me— —" Creed made no attempt to stop the torrent of her words. It is doubtful if he even heard them. He was staring down, fascinated at her hands, laid there oil the table before him. Knotted and hardworked they were, and the tip of the first, linger oi tins right hand was twisted and bent. After a second or two Creed resumed his seat. " Leave Miss Burnside's name out of the question altogether," he said. "Your husband is leaving Maranui. You think, I suppose, that lie s entitled to some compensation for so sudden a dismissal ?" "Yes." She was watching himi, with her eyes like bright black beads—evidently puzzled by the change in his manner. \Yritc down on that paper what you consider fair compensation." It would be a year's salary, at any rate,'' she said slowly, still "with her eyes on his face; "and something to make up to him for setting him adrift like this." " Write down the amount." He passed her paper and pen and ink, and, after a moment's hesitation, she began to write. " You'd better put it in the form of a letter," said freed. *' On account t>! sudden dismissal, we agree to accept from Stephen Creed such-and-such a sum." She had written a line or two when Creed took the paper from her and glanced at it. " Now, on that other sheet of paper, write this ' When I bought Sorcerer, I him to be a horse disqualified for The pen dropped From Mrs, Gillespie's hand with its crooked finger, and she looked up at Creed with a face of chalk. iou ought to have no difficulty in writing that sentence," lie remarked. xou tried it over in many ways, bee y° u wrote it on the back of the envelope that day at Te Hau, and persuaded lom Burnside to sign it. You see I've got the imprint of vour first attempts here in this little bock." He pulled open a drawer in the table beside him, lhe book belonged to Mrs. Dickson, but she evidently tore off some of the blotting paper from your writing ? i- V 1 or( ' ei ' *° blot- her figure. It was foolish of you not to destroy that incriminating sheet, and now too you've been good enough to supply me with a sample of your handwriting, which is exactly the same as the imprint on the blotting paper." I don't know what you're talking about, ' said Mrs. Gillespie. . " know as well as I do. But the tact that concerns you is that I know! Look! He held the .small pink sheet between her eyes and the lamp. " There in your own handwriting are the sentences you oneo wrote. Now before you leave this room, you're going to sign a confession that will clear Tom Burnside." Mrs. Gillespie half rose from the table. " I won't do no such thing," she asserted. " You can't make me put my name to anything I don't mean to sign—that I don't know nothing of." " Sit down and listen to mo, Mrs. Gillespie," said Creed very quietly. "If you don't sign that confession to-night, I'll prosecute your husband, and your brother Grailiey for conspiracy, and fraud against me—here at Maranui. For falsifying the books, and robbing me." It was a shot in the dark, hut Mrs. Gillespie sat down so suddenly, and with such an abject expression of fear and collapse, that Creed knew his shot had gone home. " You can't prove anything," she whispered.

"Can't Ave?" returned Creed, coolly and confidently. ".Mr, Brown low would tell you a different story. But the money's gone, and I sha'n't make any effort to recover it unless you refuse to clear Torn Buniside. It rests with you, you know." " I must see Gillespie . . . . " " You shall see no one," answered Creed. "If you leave this room without signing that confession—-telling the truth at last—your husband and Crailley will be arrested to-morrow."

" And if I sign, you won't prosecute ? Not that I'm saying you've got anything to prosecute for . . . . "

" You and your husband, and Craillcy, had better get out of the district,. I'll give vim till Thursday next —if you sign. Jf not it means some years in gaol for Loth of them—ami I don't know that you yourself wouldn't be implicated." She hesitated for a moment, and then said in a low tone. "On your word of honour —us your father's son—you won't prosecute or take steps against me or my husband or my brother, for anything ?" " I won't if you tell me the whole truth about that ringing in ease, and give me something in writing that will exonerate Ton Burnside." " Ho didn't know the horse was Sorcerer. Gillespie and Craillcy met Samuels in Ohristehureh five years ago. Gillespie mentioned Tom Burnside's name as a likely one to buy the horse. Sorcerer wasn't any use to Samuels after lie was disqualified, and they all thought they'd win big money over him—not on the lotalisator—with the bookies. But the protest queered tiiat. They never thought the horse would be recognised up hero in Wairiri, so far from Canterbury."

" Your brother won on him on tho totalisator ? That story of his clerk's mistake was all a put up thing?" " Yes, he von a few hundred, and Gillespie had a tenner on too. They didn't like to put too much on the machine, for fear of anyone smelling a rat." " Write all that down, and sign i(." " You swear l»y the memory of your mother and father, you won't take any action against Gillespie or ('raillev " There's no need for me to swear by anything," said Creed. " You. know I'll keep my word." " And you won't, give any information to the Racing Club till after we've left the district?" , " I think a promise or that sort is making me some sort of accessory but 111 chance it." , " And the salary due to Gillespie?

Creed pulled out a cheque hook from his pocket, and filled up one of the forms. " Your husband shall have the .six month's due to him on dismissal, according to the agreement with my father. He's robbed me of far more than that, and deserves nothing, but you shall have this cheque in return for that signed statement." Mrs. Gillespie took up the pen,_ and Creed had a sudden realisation of the satirical humour of the situation. The queer way in which history here repeated itself, and consumated an act of poetic justice. Mrs. Gillespie, who had herself once worked hard for the signature to an incriminating document, was now, by means of that very document, forced to sign a confession. And to complete the ironv of the circumstance, she wrote at Creed's dictation. He called Trimble and Mrs! Trimble in from the kitchen to witness the signature, and when tljat was done, and the Trimbles had retired, he handed his late manager's wife the cheque. " Let your husband tell Crailley that he'd better leave the district. In view of this statement the Bacing Club would

be bound to prosecute him for conspiracy ii> the Sorcerer. case, but as I say, " I'll toKo no steps to see the president of the Racing Club until Thursday." As soon as Mrs. Gillespie had left him, Creed rang up the Wairir.i Post Office, and through the telephone, dictated a telegram to "Brewster, .Mount, Vernon Station, Canterbury."

Whei) Creed took .his car in to Wairiri next day to bring out tlio MerrickStrouds, ho avoided Broivnlinv's otlice. If Up were to keep faith with Mrs. Gillespie, he imist not give the lawyer a hint of what had transpired, until after Thursday. Fentan Browulow was a good fellow---none better—but • Stephen doubted whether ljo would consent.-to give (!railley the few days" grace which (,'ioed himself had promised. W.rh tlio ]\lerri("k-8l i oud>, ( 'reed lunched at the Bangitiki Hotel. .Lois kept the conversation going, in spite ol the somewhat marked pre-oceupat ion oi the two men.

Stephen Creed, though he knew now that he could establish Tom liurnside's innocence, and though that fact was a source of intense satisfaction to him, seemed, with the accomplishment of this task which lie had set himself, to have come to the end of all things. What nioro was there for him to do? Work on the station ? Yes', he'd have to keep busy there. But in itself what did that lead to ? The making of money; that apparently provided a life's interest, enough for many men—money-making— but not to Creed. To make money for his wife, his children —that was a different matter.

Paul—knowing himself to be bolter—knowing that Doctor Bland (certainly an optimist!) hoped to make a complete cure in his case—was not looking as happy as this prospect should have made him. Lois, apparently, , had acquiesed quite calmly in this plan of Bland's for his lonely dwelling in the bush. Only three miles from Maranui, certainly, and Lois had remarked casually, that she would see him every day. Long ago he had endeavoured to accustom himself to the idea of her indifference to him, and he imagined he had succeeded —to. a certain extent—and yet here he was, ready to whine over it afresh! Resolutely he pushed the bitterness from his mind. Told himself that he was becoming selfish, and exacting, and so roused himself sufficiently to partially shake off the mood of depression that bound him. They drove out to the station early in the afternoon, and though there was no one else at the homestead but the Merrick-Strouds and their host, Paul was determined to ask no questions.

"You'd hotter eat a substantial meal!" said Lois to her husband, as they sat having afternoon tea, in the garden at Maranui before leaving for the camp. " I

don't suppose your head cook in the bush will bo an expert, chef; but apparently Stephen has sent you out asparagus, and anchovies, and caviare, and all sorts of good things, and ail the tradespeople—that is a man from the station homestead —will call for orders every day." They set off soon after tea; Stephen and his guests, attended by one of the station hands leading a pack-horse. Paul had taken it for granted that this was to 1,0 the man who was to valet him—-or rather act as his man-of-all-work during his stay in camp. He would infinitely rather have been alone, but Doctor Bland had definitely vetoed that suggestion. " You must have someone with you—not that you aren't quite well enough to do everything for yourself now—but for company, and to see that you don t, overdo things," he said; and as MerrickStroud had' put himself unreservedly in Bland's hands, he protested no more. Tho camp itself was delightful. The little tree-shaded hut, perched up here in the hills, commanding such a glorious view of the valley and the distant ranges, the bush behind the house, and the deep gorge of the river to the right, was a resting place from which one might enjoy a continual feast of beauty; and within, the deck chairs with linen covered cushions, the white matting on the floor, tho filled bookcase, the writing-table with its bright printed cotton cover, and the widely-opened panes of the walls which framed such a wonderful landscape picture, painted by the hand of nature, gave the room an air of comparative comfort, and simple charm. In the canvas annex, with its galvanised iron chimney, the stores had been placed: and this extra room, would .serve as larder as well as kitchen.

" Stephen you've thought of evcryIhing!" cried Lois delightfully. "Poor Thoroau! Ho had nothing half as grand as this. Tho occupants of this home in the woods could never envy him!" When the baggage from the paek-saihro had been brought in, Stephen said goodbye. Two of the horses had been tunud out in a small paddock, watered b,y_ a little creek which supplied wafer, also tor the hut, but the other two animals, with the pack-horse, were tethered to a fallen log in the clearing in front of the. house. Patd stood in the open doorway to watch those who had ridden over with him, depart once more. He thought that lie had sounded the deepest abyss of misery long ago, but he knew now, that all the suffering, all the bitterness of the past, would be as nothing to the anguish of this moment—the moment when Lois would ride away with Stephen Creed. With the knife turning in his heart, he smiled at them; and then to his amazement, he saw that Lois, with a farewell pat to tho neck of Stephen's horse,.waved too to their host, as ho and the man with the pack-horse, rodo off down tho hillside.

(To bo continued on Saturday next.)