FLOWER OF THE BOG.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 19512, 16 December 1926, Page 20

FLOWER OF THE BOG.

(AH IRISH LOVE STORY).

CHAPTER XXllL—(Continued.) " God's truth yer spakin,'' cried an old country-wife with an alert, shrewd lace. "No deeper was Cluny-Mahon's." She was hustled out, and the interrogation resumed. " After you struck him, what did Cluny-Mahon do ?" • " lie seized a rifle and aimed it at me. Whether he meant to shoot or merely to frighten me I cannot say, but I believe he didn't know what he was doing. Almost as quickly as he lifted the rifle, Miss Eily Hartigan sprang upon him and attempted to wrest it from him. They were quite two minutes struggling for its possession." " You offered the deceased no assistance?" " I lost my presence of mind." " And then?" " In the violence of the struggle the rifle went off, and Miss Hartigan fell, mortally wounded." " Did it appear to he aimed at her as you say it had been at you." " Oh", no, no," Stella sa'id emphatically. " They were simply struggling, each endeavouring to wrest it from the other." " The deceased lost her life- attempting to save yours?" " Attempting to prevent Mr. ClunyMahon from committing a crime," she corrected. " Had there been an exchange of animosities between you and her?" " None whatever. Not a word was exchanged. " There had been animosities earlier in the day?" "Yes,, but you can't call it an exchange, seeing that the animosity was ■wholly mine. I had spoken harshly to Miss Eily Hartigan, without provocation, and I bitterly regret having done so now." ' "I commend your candour," said the coroner, and Stella showed a trace of emotion. Her mouth trembled. " I think," he concluded, " that will suffice, unless any member of the jury wishes further enlightenment," The jury did not, and sho returned to lier seat. Doctor O'Dea camo next, He deposed that the passage of the. bullet, which had torn upwards and slantwise through the chest, piercing the left lung and severing an artery, was consistent with the .previous ■witness' testimony that the rifle had gone off accidentally during a struggle. The urchin's story dwindled under sifting to the bald statement that he had peered through the bushes on hearing a Bhot and a scream, and had seen the girl full, and Mr, Dick standing " stupidlike " with nothing in his hand " good or bad.". The verdict of accidental death was a foregone conclusion, but the coroner did not allow the prestige oi the Cluny-Mahons to hinder him from severely censuring Dick, to whose recklessness, he said, a girl's life had been sacrificed. More dead than alive, Dick was led on by his mother arid O'Dea, the crowd Hvatohing in sympathetic silence, for it was rumoured that the police would bring a lesser charge against him, although he was acquitted of the graver one. The Bellamy motor waited for Stella. Neither Henry nor his, wife lent her the support of their presence, and as she passed to the car eyes hitherto friendly chanced to be looking in another direction. Her teeth clenched. " Finis," she jnuttered. " The sooner I pack and go the better, for myself." On a dull evening, grey with rain, they buried Eily in a graveyard in the valley below Whin Hill. When " Brown Mouse " was laid to rest, and piled flowers hid the ugly soaked sods above her breast, a shaft of sunshine made a golden rift in- the clouds, and down the misty grey'valley at thrush took heart of grace and burst into full-throated song. " Sun after rain," Parratt murmured to Aunt Susan, " and behind the lowering hill a rainbow flashing. See it yonder. Life's storms would overwhelm us if they ■weren't sure the sun would break through the clouds some day and reveal the bow of promise." Mr. Hartigan entered his desolate house depressed in spirits. Divesting himself of hat and waterproofs, he went to the sitting room in search of his. wife. The room was empty, the fire had dwindled to ash and cinder, and his slippers were not warming as usual on the fender. He found them, unlaced his boots, and thrust his tired feet into tha slippers, feeling forlorn and neglected. He wanted his wife—wanted, in helpless maa-fashion,. to be mothered and comforted. Maybe-she was upstairs. He shuffled back to the hall,. carrying his boots, and at t'n« bottom of the stairs it dawned on him that she and the girls were probably in Jane's dressmaking den, sewing at the hidfeous black garments in which convention decrees we shall mourn our dead. Turning the door-nob, he glanced in. The sewing-machine istood covered against a wall, and the workctable was bare. A morsel of fire smouldering in the grate, and a capacious armchair on the border of the hearthrug held, to his astonishment, Edgar Parratt and Jane. Jane enfolded in Edgar's embrace, weeping on his shoulder. " She's sitting on his knee!" Mr. Hartigan gasped inwardly. He coughed. "Jane," he said austerely. " is this seemly ?" " Dad," she replied over the top of Parratt's head, " I 'know it isn't but—but _ » Parratt slewed his head round, clasping her closer,- if that could be. He was singularly unembarrassed. j " Sir,'' he said, precisely dignified as ■usual, " I apologise for thrusting my personal matters upon you at such a distressing period while your sorrow is fresh, but for the position in which you find us I do not apologise. Jane needs me, and. I' need Jane. We love each other. I will have the honour of speaking to you later, sir, at your conveniencei." " I'm not a bit ashamed, papa," Jane bleated, her voice very diminutive for a young woman of her noble proportions. I do love Edgar, and I'm lonely, and jhe's so wonderfully nice that I just had 'so let him—let him—" " Confess his love," prompted Edgar. " And cry like a great baby," finished Jane. " Child," said dazed Mr. Hartigan, "I'm not fit to cope with the situation, but if you'd cease to sit on Mr. Parratt's knee, f and tell me where your mother is, I'd : seek her advice." They got up and approached him dutifully. " Miss Pettigrew has taken mamma, a!)' 1 Dora, and Con to Grange," Jane iniurmed him. " We waited for you, and we three are to follow across the bog. Miss Pettigrew and Edgar thought it would do us good to be at Grange instead of moping here alone, and I think the same. You won't refuse to come, papa dear?" "In a house of mourning it is unusual, - '' 1 he expostulated. " The circumstances are harrowingly unusual," said Edgar. " Our darling Eily only a week in her 1 grave." Jane's tears flowed anew, and Mr Hartigan appealed to Parratt, who was ' looking at Jane with all his soul in his ' eyes. J " Really, lamat a loss to decide what 1 to do," ' i " You could put your boots on, sir," £ said Edgar. ' , t " I—er—l will," the R.M. almost } blubbered. " And I thank heaven for i the blessed friendships that are pur prop J in time of trouble." CHAPTER™ XXIY. ; "Busy?" inquired Edgar, popping into Alan's office. J Not too busy to talk," smiled Alan, ,„iancuig up from his account books, t desfr 51 " '' 3e ' C 011 le e< 3ge of the writing-- c " a balance, old man'" i badly M Vera K° balance. I'm not ( tbo abggtrt Yo «' r <' a dogger, and f &o, dS'"S e y Y? ?. ct where lh °v ; -»iy doubts Ed. I'v« t ° o£ -yon 3 while back,.

(COPYRIGHT.)

BY MADGE BARLOW.

You seem as sensible as I am." a " That all 1 Pray, have you a medical d certificate of sanity?" > "You rank impostor"' cried Alan, his face alight. "Why did you try to hoodwink me ? How did it come about ?" 3 " Split my skull in a street accident subsequent to an interview with Telfer, j of ' The Daily Signal/ managed to disq lodge the splinter of shrapnel, and sure geons 'rounded off the job satisfactorily. I've got to take caro of myself." jj " I'm tremendously glad," said Alan. e wringing Parratt's hand with such hearti- > ness that the latter jelled, " Ouch ! "I couldn't abide Telfer, you know, but I drifted in for lack of anything else to do, and I heard from him you were here, and Stella Marquis hot on the trail of the rich possessions." They laughed, and Alan said: ' "Honest Injun, Ed., were you and Stella lovers?" 3 "We were—very much we were, 1 assuro you. In fact we were to have been married on my second furlough, but there was no second, and Stella didn't wait to see if there would be. She hooked it with .my two thousand pounds." "Your two thousand pounds?" explo si vol 3'. " Which I had saved by hard work and pinching. I gave it to her to keep before I was drafted out. She begged me to lot Her keep it, said she'd no faith in banks. Can't you picture simplo Ed 1 cashing his deposit receipts and delivering the banknotes to her. to store and trea ' sure till wc were ready to start a happy homo?" "And sho robbed you?" exclaimed ; grim Alan. " Vanished with the booty after pen- ] ning a batch of letters full of love and loyalty. And mind you, did it when j I was unwounded and likely to emerge , scatheless from the melee. I forced her to admit that. Then I was kpocked over, and the spell of brain worry addled ' my memory. I'd a dim sense of having been basely wronged by somebody, but couldn't make head or tail of the thing. ; It took the final operation to clear up the muddle, and the minute I felt able ; to travel I set out for lullyduff, keen to ' frustrate Stella's designs on you. I 1 thought it best to say nothing about my recovery, to throw her off" her guard. She fell to the bait, and regarded me as she might the harmless village idiot. If ' I hadn't interfered that night at Bell--1 amy's you'd have been an ass enough to propose to her. On the verandah afterwards I ordered her to leave you and Cluny-Mahon unmolested, and bring her ' visit to a speedy close, or I'd charge her with embezzlement and disgrace her p'ub- ' licly. I completely turned the tables." " She was secretary to a literary k woman, wasn't she, Ed. ?" < " Secretary, my hat ! Sho was behind the counter of a West End tobacconist's, had a snug job, and preferred it to a ' toiiier because of the liveliness. That's where I met her. To use a Cockneyism, ! she and I were ' walking out' a whole year before you laid eyes on her." " And what of your money ?" asked 1 Alan. | " What of last winter's snow ? I've paid for experience, and I deserved to lose the two thousand, but on Jane's 1 account I'm sorry it's gone. Mr. Harti--1 gan has given his consent to an engage* ment on condition that we don't marry ' till my position is quite secure. I expect to convince him of its security inside a twelvemonth." | " Lucky fellow! Jane's one of the few whoso price is above rubies. You've ! drawn a prize, and I p blank. Well, I 1 won't gfouse, though my experience is - dearer bought than yours. The cost can't _ be counted in terms of c&sh. I've > paid in shattered faith, ruined hopes, and > a life's unhappiness. For mo there'll. be ■ no after-compensation." " You'll get over your disappointment. 1 Alan." "I dare say, as a man gets over having half his body amputated." "You won't go under for the sake of ; an unworthy girl."- . "She was my girl. How'd vou feel if Jane turned traitress?" " It's difficult to put oneself in another chap's place, but I'd feel mighty blue. ( Of course Jane isn't that sort." Id have defied creation to say Patsv D'Arcy was." J " Excepting the Stellas, not one in a hundred would behave so abominably Forget her, Alan." " Easier said than done. Don't refer to her again, Ed. It hurts like jabbing a knife into a green wound. Now, run away, old son, and rave of Jane to Aunt Susan while I write a batch of letters." On a bracing morning a fortnight later, Miss Pettigrew saw Moyle rido in at the gates, and she went to the door to him. Sho was on the point of departure, jo please Alan she had prolonged her holiday, and assigned the re-opening of the t'oarding-school to her principal assistant. Alan had considered it expedient to enlighten her as to the character of Stella Marquis, lest Stella should, if in straits, foist herself on kindly Aunt Susan. Thinking wryly of the share she had taken in feting a fraud, and her matrimonial scheme for Alan, Miss Pettigrew awaited Nick in a whimsically rueful mood. ' Beautiful morning, Mr. Boyle," she called to him. " I "Beautiful," he replied, dismounting and shaking hands. " I've ridden from the Chase. I went to see young Dick. The police aren't bothering him, and his father has arranged to fetch him to Australia, to a sheep-farming uncle. The unfortunate lad will be better out of the country, but wherever he goes he'll carry a little private hell of his own around him." "I was at the Chase yesterday, and thought him dangerously depressed and piritless," said Aunt Susan in a concerned tone O'Dea is confident the voyage and jhange of scene will benefit him physi cally and mentally. He scarcely speaks, and they can't keep him from Eily's grave. The poor child lost her life for love of him, and he realises it, realises his mistake too late, and is devoured by remorse. .Frightful words, ' too late,' eh ?" " The saddest in the language." Nick's bright eyes fastened on Aunt Susan. His riding-crop tapped his thigh. " Women are great lovers, Miss Pettigrew. t Many of them, and some men." " The quality of women's love is different—finer, more of the spiritual in it. That's why misunderstandings and separations, and loss kill them 'oftener than they dolmen. They are so much finer." ' I like to hear you talk of women. Mr. Boyle." haven't a deal or knowledge of them, he floundered. " I've been wild got the name of a rake—but beyond turfy escapades and an odd bout at the bottle. I've never gone so. far that I'd flinch from looking Patsy in the face." " Your wife won't have serious fault to find with you," smiled Aunt Susan. "Are you afraid she will ?" " No. It's Eily has set me pondering. I knew her in pinafores, and to think she'd be alive only for Dick's foolishness and selfishness jars me. I can't get her out of my head. How can he ? I've been reading a fellow's poetry, and -a verse of it ! stuck in my mind. It drives home to us the awful finality of our actions, the things we ourselves do, not fate. I don't believe in fate, though evidently the poetic Johnnie did when he wrote this:— ' The moving finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on; nor all thy piety nor wit Shall lure it back 'to cancel half a line, Nor all thy tears wash out a word of it.' "And it our finger that writes. Don't tell me Dick couldn't help doing what he did. We are free agents." " I won't dispute the point," said AuntSusan, amused at his irreverent allusion to Omar Khayyam as a Johnnie. " Lays a heavy responsibility on us, that freedom to make or mar lives" he continued solemnly, and to divert him from the topic, Miss Pettigrew agreed, and hastened to inquire for Patsy. (l'o be concluded to-morrow.)! . 1