GOLDEN FLOWER.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19417, 27 August 1926, Page 18

GOLDEN FLOWER.

BY DULCE CARMAN (Mrs. D. Drummond)

1 CHAPTER XX.—(Continued). One by one the precious minutes slipped by-shining beads on the long golden string which connects the past with the present. It did not seem long before Ailsa was standing before the mirror, dressed and ready to-tho last detail. Gleaming silkstockings and little silver shoes that had come from Paris—tho silver tissue frock that Chrysunthe's clever fingers had changed from a dancing dress to the most charming wedding-gown by the addition of a little exquisite lace, and some silver ribbon. Orange blossoms worthy to be brought into contact with the cobwebby veil that Brian had sent specially to Auckland for, were not to bo obtained in the little township, and had been overlooked until it was too late to send away for them. So the veil, artistically arranged upon the sunny head by Rosemary's slim fingers, was fastened with a spmy of silver leaves and flowers which gave the finishing touch of daintiness to the whole costume. Ailsa, ready dressed for her bridal, looked very like some piincess who had wandered straight out of Fairyland, and Chrysanthe smothered a quick sigh, as she quietly surveyed her cousin from head to' foot. " Y6u look adoiuble! Jim will hardly recognize you as the Ailsa of the blue washing frocks," she said lightly, " I feel quite proud of the way we have turned things about. Nobody would ever have guessed that your dress was meant to be anything but just what it is now—the loveliest wedding-gown imaginable." Never mind the luce dress from Paris, or the .bridesmaids with their georgette and ostrich feathers, dear!" said Rosemary. gently, " you've got something better than all these—perfect health—better than you have ever had in your life." Ailsa stared dumbly at the speaker for moment, then seized her by both arms. '"TloSemary—Rosemary!" she said, with a, thrill of wild excitement in her sweet voice. "Bo you remember—you must remember—" 1 " Everything —dear. I am sorry that 1 cannot be your bridesmaid, as I promised all those long years ago, but my heart is not light enough nowadays to rejoice! in weddings, so that even to be your matron of honour would be impossible for me. But lam here at your wedding—just as we always planned.' "Flower!" said Sunshine's voice at the door, apologeticalfy. " Yoii mother said I was to tell you that the minister is here, and the Hawk is coming for Ailsa j in a minute. Oh, Ailsa! You are the i loveliest thing I ever saw." The girl .stopped, regardless of her. wed- I ding attire, and threw an arm around the thin'! rose-clad little figure. " I am glad you think so, dear !" she whispered, "because I urn going, to be your sister very soon now, arid then in three days' time we are ail going to live together, and be very, very happy." A slight smile curved Rosemary's | mouth as she caught the whisper. In three days' time! Jiin was giving himself three days' honeymoon. For just that length of time lie was resolutely turning his back on the little farm in the bush-country—the farin that had been such a worry to him, b-.it was now his own—free of debt! For three short days he was ; going to forget the existence of his small sister and brother, and devote himself entirely to his wife—the Icively English girl who. he was taking down, .with him to the sea. ,'A three days' honeymoon for Ailsa! Rosemary . remembered that, Ailsa had always'planned that her wedding should be a winter one, and her honeymoon include a trip to Switzerland,' to revel in the winter sports. After all, "Man proposes and God disposos," Rosemary thought with a sigh. t ; She realised once anew how changed everything was, when presently she'stood in the;'dining room that was a sweetscented bower of lovely flowers, with-tree-ferns and toi-tois in tho corners,, "and streamers of the brilliant green mountain flax upon the walls. . The doors aud windows were wide open, a soft river-born breeze lazily stirred the fern-fronds, and A bltindering .bee, which had' been attracted by the scent of the roses, buzzed helplessly about the room. * « Sne rejoiced in the look of utter ' de? yotion that Jim bestowed upon his bride as she took her place at .his side, but as. the solemn and beautiful words of the familiar service fell upon her ears, her. thoughts-'drifted irresistibly away into the past. • ,*•' " j She remembered another wedding—a winter one—with whirling snowflnkes and bitter, cold wind.-* A bride, younger than Ailsa, dressed in white; with cloth in place of silver tissue, ermine instead, of lace ribbon, and a dear little pull-on hat of velvet, with silver wings, in place of silver flowers and • floating veil. There had- beeu tho same perfect happiness in the,eyes of that other bride —the .same look of adoration in the black eyes of the man who stood at her aide. In nothing else could these,, two marriages be compared, save that the man had stood beside bot<h tho girlbrides as the solemn words were spoken. They found Rosemary very quiet for the rest of the day, but Ailsa was naturally the" centre of attraction, and when, by and live the train pulled out of the little station, and all that .was left of Jim and Ailsa was' the trampled confetti and rose-leaves .upon the platform, it iwas Flower, who, noticed first how dark and shadowy' Rosemary's eyes were --how colourless her cheeks. 1 "It has been too much for you!" she : said remorsefully; " How horrid of me not to.,have thought, of you more. You: must t come 'straight to tlie house and lie down, and I will bring you a cup of tea. Or Would you, rather have some soup ? Perhaps that Would be better. I can warm some in a'minute. We should not have let you do so much. Y.ou|were up so very early this morning, tdo. Bride will never forgive me." " I believe that I am rather tired!" admitted Rosemary, with a wan smile. " I haven't had time to think of it before. Everything went off most successfully,, d'dn't. it? 1 have been to dozens of weddings, of course, but I do not thinkthat I was ever at a happier one than thifc has been." "They are both such dears!" Flower s*iid warmly. _ "I am awfully fond of both of them. And don't you think they are perfectly edited to each other?" "Yes!" answered Rosemary, slowly, " Belter than most couples. Ailsa is giving up a great deal for him —more than perhaps you realise, but I think he is fully worth it. So few men are!" " Oh! Jim is a darling!" Flower said with b'upremo confidence. " Very few men i«re. so fine as Jim is. But come—we shall have you ill again. You must come and rest." " I wish you would promise .me one thing iV Rosemary said suddenly, turning h white and weary face to the radiant <>ne besido her. "If I do as you tell me and .go and rest ,:ow—will you come and have a talk with mo later on, when all the work is done, and nobody wants you ?" " Yes! , promised Flower readily, though her heart gav* a wild leap. What on earth could Roscma'ry possibly have to sa.V' to her—whom she had met by chanco? Could she be going to raise the veil of mystery that separated her from the every*""' '".

{A NEW ZEALAND ROMANCE.) (COPYMGUT).

" Yes!" she repeated, "Of .course I shall be very glad to come. When I have milked, and got mother comfortably settled for the evening, I will ask Bride to see after the children. Will it do then " Perfectly. There is no hurry at all. Only there is something that I want to say to you, and there is no chance here." " Well —we will settle it so then. And i now you must go to rest, and I will get y;ou some soup." Rosemary nodded absently, and went into her room, and Flower departed to tho kitchen, to prepare the soup, and help Bride with the clearing up. " I think the ' afterwards ' of anything almost spoils the pleasure of it, don't you ?" she said to Bride, when the last ot the best cups had been safely washed and locked up in the sideboard cupboard again. " 1 have looked forward so immensely to this wedding, and everything went off perfectly. There was nothing I wanted more than for Ailsa to marry Jim. aiid she has only gone away for three days, and yet I feel almost like crying now " "It is just the reaction, dearie!" said Bride wiselv. " You have been having very long days lately, and a great deal ■>f extra work and worry. Now that it is over, you are letting go a bit." "But I mustn't do that!" Flower demurred. " There is far too much for me to see after for anything like that to , happen. Ncsw, I wonder if you would miiid keeping an eye on the small ones for a littlo while'' Mother is talking to Mr. Damarel, and Mrs. Damarel asked me to go to her when I had time." "You run along, dearie. A quiet little time together will do you both a deal of good. 'Faith, the children will be safe enough with my eye on them—not that they are the kind to get into much mischief in any case." "I am sure they will be perfectly safe!" Flower said warmly, smiling back at the old woman as she left the room and went to where Rosemary lay looking over the shadowed garden to the beautiful reach of the Kiwi flowing silently down between her fern-clad banks. "Here I.am at last!" she announced, brightly, "Have you got tired of waiting for me*? Or have you had a nice, little sleep ?" Rosemary turned slowly toward her. "No! I have not slept—but I have not got tired of waiting either. I knew that you could not be here earlier—and there was no hurry. I have just been thinking. I liave done a lot pf thinking since my memory came back." "Perhaps it is bad for vou ,to do too much of it!" suggested Flower nervously, "Vou must take the, greatest care of yourself now, you know. You owe it to little Dawn! and—to Mr. Damarel, too." Rosemary looked at her with a strange, little smile on her lips. "Yes! I owe it to Brian!" she assented quietly, "That is why I am being so abominably lazy, and letting everybody rim round waiting upon me. Flower, I am going to tell you just how much I owe it to Brian to get well and strong as soon as possible." Flower shrank a, little. "Von are sure that you really want {,.> tell me ?" she suggested gently. "It isn't because there has been a wedding, and we are: all a little bit excited and tired ? Don't tell me anything you will bo sorry for afterwards. Be quite sure first." Rosemary drew herself up very proudly. -"! have nothing to tell that I should I>o sorry for' vonr knowing!" she said evenly. "Anything that has been unfair in my life has been caused by the affliction that God saw fit to visit upon rac!" Flower coloured distressfully, and wondered what best to say in answer, but Rosemary went on' speaking dreamily. , "Ever so long ago there were two boys arid two girls, and they were always together. They used to play in a beautiful, big' garden that . belonged to the boys. Such a garden. Flower! Conservatories by the dozen—marble statues ainutig the trees—oil!" with a reminiscent. little., smile. Miow those statues used to frighten the younger girl if she came on them unexpectedly about dusk. Tho boys -'twere elder—tall, arid strong, and dark. One of the girls was fair and very lovely—the other was dark. The elder, boy used to be the slave of the fair, little girl, and so did the younger girl. The' younger boy, who "was the tallest of them all. used to be the restless imp who dragged them into and out of all sorts of scrapes. If the elder boy took the girls for *a ride, in one of the gardeners' wheelbarrows—the younger one tipped them out. In everything it was the same. . The elder boy played with the girls, and the youngbr one plagued them. Well—they grew up—it always happens, doesn't it ?" •;v "Tlsually, I think!" Flower laughed. "Of course we know that the good die young/ lint none of your quartette sound exactly saintly enough for that. I should think that the boy who teased probably grew-into a very fine man." .'. "You will j see! When tlicy grew up, the elder boy and the younger girl were still • the fair girl's slaves. Then the war came. They took the elder hoy, but the younger they rejected because of nn old injury to one of his feet that had been broken when lie fell from, an old crabapple tree as quite a tiny child. Not a deformity, you understand—but they said that it might interfere with his marching. It almost, broke his heart." L : '-Poor boy!" interjected Flower pitifully. . "His brother went into the Air Force!" continued Rosemary. "He became a quit© famous' aviator—but that was afterwards. A![ this wa-s in the days—quite late in the war—when everyone was still mad over khaki, but expecting the war to he over any time. Before he went to the war, the young aviator and the fair girl became engaged. Everyone waS? delighted —it was a very suitable match in everyway—money, and birth, and good 'ooks on both sides—besides it was a match that everybodv had expected all their lives. Life slid along like a stream in the sunlight. Only the younger boy was dissatisfied." "Did he worship the fair girl, too ?" Flower asked interestedly, as Rosemary paused. "No! He never had much time for gir's. except, perhaps, his two playmates —but he worshipped his only brother, and be never agreed that his hero cared snflicientlv for the fair girl—or she for him. Well, be went. And when he was gone,' though it did not seem to affect his fiancee very dreadfully, strangely enough, the o'her girl found that all the best in life had gone with him." (To be continued dailv.i