CHRIS: A LOVE STORY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19216, 4 January 1926, Page 12

CHRIS: A LOVE STORY.

SY JOHJf IRONSIDE.

I SYNOPSIS, i Chris Carey, a radiant/ girl, is wading in it secluded stream in Combe gorge, gut-her-ing forget-me-nots. A Btran§:er, vreorgc Lorimer, thinks he h'ns never seen a lovelier picture. He nsks the way to the Manor, the home of Sir John Carey. Before lie can start hia car again an aeroplane crashes near by and bursts into flames. Chris rushes forward and drags the airman away , "from the burning machine. Lorimer—-for whom Chris has developed an intense dis* I like^--infnrnia her that the unconscious man is tho famous V.O. net-, Captain Dick Rayi mond. Chris; discloses her identity—Sir .John's daughter. She directs LoTimer to Ibe Manor for help. A fully trained V.A.1)., Chris succours tho injured man, who ro trains consciousness before her aunt appears in charge of a rescue. party. Hitherto heart free, Chris feels strongly drawn io Dick, who exacts a promise that he will her again. Lorhner Snds some withered forget-me-nots in thf> enr and carefully puts them in his pocket-book. CHAPTER 111. AN OLD MASTEII. "Who is Mr. Lr>rinier, father? I '' " Lorimer ?" echoed Sir John vaguely, ■with an inquiring glunco at Chris. " The man in the motor-car who so providentially arrived just in tirao to save poor young Raymond," explained his sister Sybil, who, Lke everyone, else, tacitly assumed Larimer to he tho rescuer. Not that he had claimed the feat. lie had merely omitted to mention that Chris was the actual heroine, when he had presented himself in haste to fetch help from the Manor to the scene of the accident. " How on earth should I know who he i:5 ?" asked Sir John. "Never saw the nan in my life till this afternoon, and then only had a glimpse of him through the window. And I certainly never heard his name before, to my knowledge!" " That's strange," said Chris. " For 1 o was coming here, and ho had just hailed me and asked his way to Combo Manor—Sir John Carey's place, when we saw* the 'piano falling and ran toward it." " Did he, by Jove? That's queer. 1 don't know what he wanted," Sir John answered. For years ho had been an invalid, partly paralysed as a result of a bad accident in tho hunting field, and now sat, in his Vr'heeled chair, drawn up to tho dinnertable. Dinner was later than usual that right; there had been so much to do through the exciting events of the afternoon.

Upstairs in the one guest chamber stil! available in the cornet' of tho rambling, tumbledown old Manor House, Dick Raymond was installed —quite comfortablo and fast asleep now, as his self-appointed nurse, Miss Sybil, had reported. Sho had been very busy since the arrival of this helpless and totally unexpected guest, to whom, piteously poor as they were in the eyes of the world, tho Careys had extended instant hospitality as a matter of course. To send an injured person miles across country to tho nearest hospital when they could possibly givo him or her shelter and cure, would have been unthinkable to any one of the three. That was the Carey way. Moreover, Miss Sybil was justly proud o'f her well-earned reputation as an excellent and most experienced nurse; and herself had rendered active assistance to Dr. Dennison throughout the operation of setting and bandaging tho broken limb. She would have done the same for any hurt creature, but also sho had taken an instant liking to Dicky. He reminded her somehow of the two dear lads, Ohristabel's elder brothers, the very last of the Careys, ■who, since October, 1914, had slept side by side beneath tho poppies of " Flanders Fields." . " Well we shall find out who he is and what he warns soon I suppose," sho remarked with more composure than she felt, for her keen, kind eyes had been swift to notice her brother's expression. " He asked if he might call late this evening—ho has put up at the inn, I understand—and I suggested nine o'clock. I thought of course, he would only wish to inquire for his friend." The meal' was nearly over—a very frugal one, but exquisitely served by old Bowen, in his threadbare, irreproachably teat " butler's" garb, punctiliously donned every evening. Chris glanced hurriedly at the ancient grand-fauier clock. Five minutes to nine! " I don't want any coffee, auntie," she said, rising. " I've just remembered that I diidn't shut up the chickens, and—" " That's, all right, Miss Chris," interposed Bowen, with the privilege *of an old servant. " I shut 'em up my.'ieif—-" The house* bell pealed, and Bowen set down tho coffee tray, and glanced interrogatively at Miss Carey. " That will be Mr. Lorimer. Bring him in here, Bowen, then bring in an extra cup." Chris drew an inpatient breath., She had meant to avokt seeing Lorimer, tonight at any rato, \nd now her retreat was cut off. Bowen returned, ushering in George Lorimer. Miss Sybil rose and received him graciously. They saw \o very few visitors at Combo nowadays.' She presented him to hir brother, anil then ho turned eagerly to greet Chris. Sho could not refuse to give him her hand, but her instinctive aversion quickened as he held it for a few seconds longer than was necessary. She drew it away with an inward shiver. " None tho worso for this afternoon's adventure, I can see. Good!" he said in his decisive, assertive voice. She noticed that he did not troublo even to inquire how Raymond fared, but moved to the t'.hair oposito her, and turned to her father.

" Curiously enough, Sir John, I was coming here on, tho chance of seeing yow, when everything happened at once, on the hill vonder." *> "Yes? But lam afraid I don't remember you," Sir John answered. * Of course not, you've never seen me. It was Lady Letty Harden—s;he's your niece, isn't she?—who suggested • that I might introduce myself—" "Letty Harden!- Why we haven't seen her for years," interposed Miss Sybil. * I know—she told me—asked mo to make her apologies for not writing and nil tha* She has taken a house down here; that's how it came about. We were talking of the neighbourhood, and old F laces and so on—and she knows how keen am on antiquities—pictures especially—old masters, you know, and said you had several here. So I couldn't resist the temptation to ask if I might have the privilege of looking at them." It was not the whole truth. George Lorimer was a connoisseur of antiquities, pictures included, but he only regarded them in a commercial sense. A fairly wealthy jnan, he posed as a collector, and his spacious flat in Grosvenor Gardens was indeed filled with treasures. Only—those treasure;; came and went, the most, precious usually passing into tho possession of American buyers, to the fjreat and financial advantage of Mr. George Lorimer. And what JLadv Letty had said was j "If you're, anywhere near Berrydown | a forsaken hole in Devon—you'd better look up the Careys at Combe. They're as poor as church mice: hut they've quite a lot of lovely old things at Combe a picturesque ruin! If ycu. could persuade pm to sell if would be a mi send to 1 ih<*m." He realised already that she was right rnough. His keni eyes had instantly noted tho signs of present poverty, but njso. the value of the few remains of the family treasure Why, the contents of this cna room were enough to make an ardent connoisseur turn burglar, and acquire them by foul means, if fair ones jSfUled.

(COPYRIGHT.)

The thin exquisitely kept silver —genuine Queen A:nne, candlesticks and all. This oak refectory table, and yonder settle — a real " bacon cupboard,"—three hundred years old if they were a day, in themselves wero worth a small fortune, and the pictures—well of course, he couldn't tell in this light, but they looked "the goods." " I'm afraid Lady Letty has misled you," said Sir John with a smile. " The family portraits were by masters, Vandvck, Lely, Sir Joshua, there was even a Gainsborough —but—" I Ho smiled ruefully, and waved his hand I with an expressive gesture toward tho paintings that hung on the dark panelled walls. " Those aro merely copies, quite good ones, hut comparatively valueless, except, of course, to ourselves. The originals wero disposed of long before my time, seventy or eighty years ago." " I sen—hard.luck! Though lots of old county families have done the same; had to turn to good old Wardour Street—eh ?" responded Lorimer. Sir John winced inwardly, and inenI tally decided that his visitor was " a rather impossible person"; while Chris set her white teeth, and flushed with indignation. Her instinctivo dislike of Lorimer was rapidly increasing to something very like hatred. " But what's that other canvas ?—not a | portrait—it looks as if it might be interestin'," continued Lorimer, peering through the gloom at a large dark painting that hung on the opposite wall. " It. is, but only from associations. It was found by one of my ancestors—my great grandfather—in Spain, during the Peninsular War. Literally found by the roadside, rolled up and flung away! loot, doubtless, abandoned as valueless—the enemy had been sacking and looting broadcast, and were then in full retreat. He brought it home and I believe had it mounted and framed here in the village, and here it has been ever since." "May I have a closer look at it? Thanks. The candles will do for tho moment." Lorimer seized two of the silver candlesticks, and, with one in each hand, strode across and surveyed the painting. Miss Sybil rose and followed him, taking a third candle, but Chris did not move. Sho merely flashed a most eloquent look at her father—but •he was watching Lorimer with absorbed and anxious attention. " It's quite ugly enough—what you can see of it—to be an old master of some school or other," said Miss Sybil. " A Biblical subject—Jacob's dream, I think, for you can see one angel and a bit of another, though the man looks too old for Jacob and so coarse—again what you can see of him! But I'm afraid it's cf no value at all—a dealer once said he might give ten shillings for it." All Lorimer could see in the candlelight was the robust figure of a sleeping man, reclining against a dim heap of ruins, with a smaller figure erect beside him, a beautiful figure, stately, erect, with outspread wings and floating reddish drapery. Beyond were dim glimpses of a rugged landscape and of other shadowy figures—more angels doubtless. , , But even the grime of ages that dimmed the surface could not' conceal from Lorimer's expert gaze the subdued richness of the colours and a certain peculiar red-brown effect that pervaded the whole. His keen face actually paled, his heartbeats quickened. Could it be possible that he had stumbled on a work of Nicolas Poussin—most famous of all French seventeenth century painters—one of " the lost P.oussins " which every collector in the world was now searching for, openly or covertly 1 It had all the signs of the master, so far as ho could see at present, and some inner instinct that had never yet failed him told him ho was right. And; if so, it was such a find as could only be expected onco in a century or so. " I can't tell, of course, without a close examination," he said,-at'last, and none of his listeners guessed the effort ho made to speak unconcernedly. " But I certainly think it is worth cleaning at any rate; and is probably worth something—not more than two or three hundred—that is, of course, if you would like to sell," he added, turning to Sir John. " Of —of course, I can't presume to question your opinion, Mr. Lorimer," said Sir John, a trifle tremulously. " I have told you all I know about the picture's antecedents, and —I assure you I should be very glad indeed to exchange it for—for two,'or three hundred oounds." "" Then if I may, I'll come in to-morrow and see it by daylight. Awfully good of you to let me intrude in this way." " It's exceedingly good of you," said Sir John cordially. " Now, do sit down and have some mors coffee, Mr. Lorimer." "No thanks—l'll be off—though I'll come to-morrow morning if I may. Goodbye for the present—Good-bye Miss Chris" (how, dare bo call' her Miss " Chris!", Good-byo Miss Carey. - How's your patient ?" " Quite comfortable, and still asleep, I hope." . '. . . . "Lucky Dick, to be in such hands! I expect Lady Letty will be rushing down to see him. I sent her a wire tnis afternoon, in case she should see anything in the papers and be upset, you know," " Why—does Lady Letty know Capiain Raymond ?" " Know him ? Rather! Why everyone expects the engagement to be announced any day. .1 don't know though. Dicky's a general lover—frightfully popular.. Well, I mustn't stay chattering here. Goodnight, again, Miss Carey." "What a curious young man; I don't think I like him yery much," remarked Miss Sybil, as his retreating footsteps sounded on the weed-grown drive. "But oh, John dear—Chris—suppose he does buy poor old ' Jacob.,' Won't it. be a windfall.?". ' • But Chris had already 7 slipped awajr. She felt as if a cold hand, had been laid on . her heart, an evil shadow .cast on her life. . But why? . 1 (To be continued, daily.)