LOVE'S CROSS ROADS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19714, 13 August 1927, Page 14 (Supplement)

LOVE'S CROSS ROADS.

By. ALICE AND CLAUDE ASKEW.

CHAPTER I. ' BKTXIOTHEO. ~ "So that's your last word, uncle. I cm not to avail myself of the splendid chance that lias so unexpectedly been offered me. I ani to decline Cousin Reuben's offer to take me out to Rhodesia ■with him. I am to stay on hero at the Glen Earm —eating my veiy heart out f-kk to death of the Welsh hills an' tho days that merely reflect each other." David Hughes clasped his hands tightly together as he addressed his uncle. He •was" a tall, good-looking young follow with a fine pair of-restless brown eyes. His face was very long and thin, and he had a singularly determined mouth, but he had met his match for obstinacy in Owen Hughes. The stern old Welsh farmer, shook his grey head and frowned forbiddingly.

" You know my inmd, David. I ha\e forbidden this journey to Rhodesia —your place is at home. \ou ore as a son to ir.e, an' 1 have always intended to leave you the Glen Farm at my death—make vou my heir —you iirst pledging y our word to marry your cousin Gwen; an where could you find a better girl ? Why shouldn't the wedding take piace at dice. ?' . , " I am very fond of Gwen, young Hughes answered' slowly. "We have grown up together, an theie s 110 gnl 1 like better, but 1 tell you plainly, uncle, that I cannot agree to marry an' settle down without having seen a bit more of the world."

" 'Tis your mother s roving blood working in vou," Owen Hughes interrupted. "Terrible roving folk were lior people, the Morgans, for your father —my poor brother —desired nothing better than to bide at home, working 011 the farm—my right band in all things.; 'twas your mother urged him to go to Canada an get up for himself —an what happened I He. lost his money—he broke his heart, an' the cold winters killed him—an' she had to come back to Grynseion, a sad, silent widow, bringing you with her; an *sho died a year or two later —fretting fretting to the end." "Fretting for my father?" _ " Fretting more for what she'd missed out of life, lad—a discontented woman—a soured woman." David's eyes suddenly glowed. "My mother was like a bird in a cage here.; 1 remember, though I was only a lad when she died, how she'd talk to me about the men an' women who'd made great fortunes across the seas—filled their pockets with gold in the New World. 'Go an' do the same yourself, little Dave, one day,' she'd whisper. 'Follow your star.'." "* " An' " what good ever came of the jounjey she persuaded your father to take?" the farmer inquired gruffly. "My. brother died in a strange iand, an your j mother had to come back to Grynseion to live on the bread of charity. Why, if it hadn't been for me, lad, you would have 'both starved, - an' now you tain of following in vour parents' footsteps. You'd like to woo fortune across the seas, but you'd better stay at home an' woo Gwen." : The old man paused, then suddenly banged his clenched fist down on the table- by which he was standing. '' IVc had enough of all this nonsense, David Hughes. I've been like a father to you ever since you came to live at the - Faim, an.'-. I've . looked to you to earry things on here when my day is over,"for there's always been one of our name ut the farm —always; so 110 more talk of leaving Grynseion, unless you want me to • cut your name out of my Avill —for, indeed, that's what will happen if you set me at defiance." Owen*Hughes' voice rang through the spacious farm parlour, it was a very comfortable room. The brown rafters helped to give it a quaint, old-fashioned look, and the huge chimney enclosed with its wattled sides a larcge portion of the parlour. The window was , small _ and deeply set ini the walls. The furniture vas.* mostly of black oak, but there were two* or ; three ■ sosy beehive chairs, while the old farmer had every reason to be proud, of J-he well-filled china cupboard that occupied one corner of the living room.

Young Hughes bit his lips. He realised that his uncle would be as good as his word—that it would take very little to make. the old man to alter his will—to disinherit him. but would it matter much if lie did ? For how David hated this farm set down within a few miles of Cardigan Bay! He longed to turn his back on it—to follow the road of adventure —to go out in search oi' fortune, but a natural awe of his uncle kept him silent, .lie ha<i never dared to cross the old farmer before: he had obeyed him implicitly, so it did not come easy to David to disobey how. Still, it was a fine chance that he was throwing away, for it was a wonderful stroke of luck that his mother's cousin, Reuben Morgan —a wanderer by nature, like all the Morgans—should have suddenly decided to Sell his big sail shod andl; emigrate to Rhodesia, and Reuben had'"actually offered to take David with him, paying his young cousin's passage money, an offer that David was indeed loth to decline. " You'll be writing to Reuben Morgan this very evening—telling him that your place is here—with me. You'll be writing at once, Dave, lad Owen Hughes bent his brows together and studied his nephew thoughtfully, and Dave noddod his head. He lacked the courage to make any further protest; besides, at that mpment the parlour door opened and Owen' Hughes walked in. Owen was a?small, sturdy-looking girl with a round, good-natured face and a pair of bright brown eyes. She had been an inmate of the Glen Farm for over four years—ever since her father's death. Her mother had died during her infancy, and a very great affection existed between old Owen and his adopted daughter, Owen ruling i£ as mistress at the farm, for she was a capable little body; and the :old bachelor often wondered how he liad got on without Gwen in tlie past. "It's solemn you two look." Gwen smiled, but rather an anxious expression came, into her eyes, and she gazed first at David and then at his uncle. " I've come to say that supper's ready—the potatoes ft re cooked to 'a turn—the milk's boiling hot.*'

Come hero, . Given." Owen Hughes spoke very imperatively, beckoning the young .girl forward as lie addressed her. " Your cousin Dave an' I have been talking to each other, an' I've been telling the lad that* he needn't think I'll bo letting liim go to Rhodesia. He's to stay on at the farm an' lie's to marrv you—otherwise not one penny of my money does he have —not one penny." Owen.flushed to her forehead, and she pulled nervously at the white silk kerchief that was folded so modestly across her brown,-stuff-bodice. Her embarrassment was very evident, but she looked prettied than she had ever done in her life, and David was startled by her good looks for a second; his heart warmed to his cousin—he liked her shy confusion. " Indeed, you're poking fun at the two of u.s," Gwen^tried to laugh. " You're a great one for your joke, Cousin Owen; but am I to tell you an' Dave again tha; supper's ready ?" " Supper can wait for once." old Owen thundered. ",I want to come to a clear understanding with Dave. See here, lad." He turned sharply on his nephew. Will you ask Gwen to marry you—exchange your vows—your promises—today?"

i . indeed, then, what are you sayCousin Owen ?" Gwen flushed to her the tears started to her eyes. suddeii;.'attack had evidently- taken wk

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her completely by surprise. " Leave Dave to do his own courting," she continued. " I'm not the sort of girl he'll be wanting to marry in the future. I'm too plain and homely to suit his taste." She* spoke in short, broken sentences, but she could not hide her deep embarrassment, and David, yielding to a sudden, tenderness for Gwen, walked up to his cousin and put an arm about her shoulder. "The silly girl you are," he said gently. " I have been intending for a long time to ask you to promise yourself to me, Gwen, only I have so little to offer you as vet, for I have nothing of my own—nothing. Iho very clothes I wear—the very bread I eat —is paid for by .Uncle Ow'en; tho shillings in my pocket I owo to his charity; but. indeed, an' I do care for you, Gwen —indeed, an' I do c-are." Tho young man spoke with conviction, for he had suddenly realised how much this little Welsh girl meant to him. Also he was annoyed with his uncle for having put Gwen in such a hopelessly false position. It was an unfair thing for tlu old man to have done, he felt—a cruel thing. "Dave." Gwen's voico trembled a little, so did her lips. It was easy to see that she loved David Hughes—loved him with every fibre of her being. Is it true, then—really true—that you care for me?" Quivering with feeling—ashamed of betraying her deep emotion —she flung her apron over her flushed face and would have run out of the room without waiting for David's reply, if the old farmer had not caught her by one of her wrists and held her in his strong, muscular grasp. " Don't be so shy, my bird," ho laughed, " nor in such a hurry to leave the parlour. I want to put your hand into Dave's hand and to hear you both promise to be true and faithful to each other; an indeed there's 110 reason why we shouldn t fix a date for the wedding day at once, for what nonsense is this you're talking, Dave lad" —he glanced at his nephew over his shoulder —"about having no money no means of your own? Don't you know that 1 regard you as a son ? Why, everything I have 'in the world will come to you *"and Gwen at my death. You will inherit the farm and all my savings, and they've been pretty considerable savings, too." , • . , He chuckled, an old man's wise chuckle, then he put Gwen's hand into David's hand. "Here, Dave—sav after me: 1 love Gwen Hughes and will wed with no other woman, so help me God Almighty. Pledge yourself to the lass at once, lad—at once; pledge yourself to her till death shall you part." Dave hesitated for a second, but the quivering of Gwen's little fingers helped him to make up liis mind and take a vow which he felt he would be a dastard to break. " I love Gwen Hughes and will wed with no other woman, so help me God Almighty." His voice sounded very grave —very earnest, but as David spoke 110 felt as if he was repeating a lesson. The words did not spring spontaneously from his heart; but it was otherwise with Gwen. Her face shone transfigured —her eyes glowed—and, without waiting to be prompted by the old farmer she cried in clear, ringing tones: , " David, I pledge you my troth in my i turn. I will be true to you from this day forth —true and faithful. I will wed with no other man, and I will be yours —yours both in life and death." Her voice quivered. Her eyes brimmed over with tears, then she suddenly sunk on David's breast, hiding her face on his shoulder. He held her close to him. He was conscious—agreeably. conscious—of tho warmth of her soft young body. His nostrils drank, in the perfume of her hair; but before he could say a word the old farmer put his right hand upon David s head and his left hand on Gwen's. " God bless ye, my children. The Lord frive ye joy and comfort of each other 011 earth and life eternal in the world to come." A patriarchal look came over the old man's face. He might have been Abraham blessing Isaac at the moment—Jacob praying over Benjamin; but David chafed in spirit, nor was he touched by the simplicity of the blessing he had just received. He felt that he had been a mere puppet in his uncle's hands that morning, for how could he go abroad now—seek adventure in Rhodesia ? He had linked his fortune with Gwen's. He must remain on at the farm a prisoner—Gwen's prisoner: and yet Gwen was.not to blame, poor little girl. He absolved her—lie absolved her freely, and he loved her in his own way—yes, he loved her; but she was his gaoler all the same —his gaoler. The old farmer tip-toed quietly out of the room, telling himself that it would be as well to leave the newly betrothed couple alone together, and as soon as the door had* closed behind him Gwen raised her flushed face and glanced up shyly, and what could Dave Hughes do but kiss her upon her lips—the lips that she offered him so sweetly—so readily?"

" You have the taste' of honey in your lips, Gwen —indeed, you have," he whispered, but even as he spoke he was conscious—vaguely conscious—that a man soon clovs of honey—tires of if.

CHAPTER 11. DAVID fae.es roimr. " I shall havo to write to Cousin Reuben to-morrow and decline to go abroad with him. I am tied down here for good and all now." David ground his teeth savagely and frowned. He was walking moodily across the wet, shining sands, for he had gone out for a walk after supper that evening, pleading a headache, and his restless feet had carried him down to the shore, for he wanted to get as far away from the farm as possible—the farm where he had elected to spend his life. The moon rose golden behind the hills, throwing dark shadows across the sands, arid not a soul' was to bo seen; but David revelled in the desolate solitude. Pie desired above all things to be alone; he would have chafed against Owen's company at the moment—Gwen whom he had left alone at homo knitting away busily at a grey stocking, a calm, contented smile upon her lips, the question of her future happily settled. " "lis so sick of things I am—the dull life of never-ending toil —the farmer's life. I'm tired of the poor harvests—the sowing an' the reaping—the shepherding of sheep. I want to breathe different a , r —to —live—not to vegetate, an' now I've got to throw my chance away—my one chance of escape." David muttered the words low, half under his breath, then he sat down on a small rock and brooded heavily, till a boat suddenly came round the point, and in it David recognised his cousin, Reuben Morgan. As the prow of the boat grated on the shingle Reuben jumped lightly to the shore and smiled at tho gloomy youth who had risen slowly to his feet.

"Hello, Dave! Not hearing from thee I made up my mind to come over an' see thee, lad, an' the evening is my best time. I'm the busy man. All being well, we sail for Durban on the third of next mouth—to seek our fortunes, lad, an' find them."

Reuben Morgan's face lit up as ho spoke, lie was a tall, lean man of fifty, wih a grizzled beard and a pair of curiously bright blue eyes. He was a bachelor, and he had lived with his widowed mother up to last year, and now her recent death had enabled him to carry a cherished plan into effect. He was selling his farm and emigrating to Rhodesia with the intention of buying a gold claim there and working it himself, and his great idea was to take David with him, treating the youth as a kind of partner. " 'Tis no use, Cousin Reuben," David shook his head mournfully. " I've been taking matters over with my uncle, an' he absolutely refuses to allow me to try my luck in Rhodesia. He'll disinherit me if I go without his leave—indeed an' he will." Reuben Morgan laughed—shrill, queer laughter—then lie put one of his thin, 1 bony hands upon David's shoulder.

" Let him, my lad—let him! You'll not lose much, for what sort of a life do you load here : What does the Glen Farm really mean to you? lou'd be happier following the road of adventure ——indeed nn' you would, for even if youi pockets wero empty an' your boots cut an' broken, you'd always have tho vision of tho golden palace before your eyes, tho palace standing up fine an' glittering at tho top of the hill—tho palace you hope to win for yourself one day—an' tho vision would bo with you always, even if you failed to reach the palace; but you wouldn't fail —you'd get there all right, Dave—you'd get there!" Dave's eyes glowed, then ho looked down. .. . _ . " I believe i should, Cousin Keuben. 1 believe it's in mo to succeed, but I'm fated all tho same to remain on here—at Grynseion —for I've promised to many Gwen i Wo'vo exchanged our vows this very afternoon. Wo are to bo married next month! 'tu all settled."

He'spoke 111 low tones, keeping his eyes fixed on tho wet sand, but ho heard Rueben Morgan draw a deep breath, and his cousin's fingers tightened on liis arm. "So that's what Owen Hughes is doing—tying you to a lass's apron strings to keep you at home, thrusting a wife into your arms, giving the child a sweetie to quiet him; an' tho bribe's acceptable, eh? You put Gwen before all that I've promised you—risk, adventure, wealth, an' all that stirs tho blood—little roundfaced Gwen." David flushed. " 1 love Gwen. She's the best girl in all the world."

".What do you know of the world, lad, ail' of other women, or what do 1 know, for tho matter of that; but I've had my dreams —such dreams—an I mean those dreams to eoino true. Reuben paused a second. " We thirst for adventure, Dave, an' what's the good of denying it ? We're not stay-at-homes, you an' I. You ro your mother's son, every inch of you, aii sho was a Morgan; there's roving blood in your veins—warm blood—you ioel about things as 1 do." David nodded his heail. Ilis cousin Reuben had always influenced him—fascinated him —and ho fell easily enough under his spell to-night. Resides, the moon was up—there was a witching about everything. The very cliffs looked strange and fantastic; the little waves beating upon the shore seemed to whisper together, and sing and croon. "I'd love to travel with thee, Cousin Reuben, but you see how it is with me. I cannot desert Gwen."

"Who talks of deserting Gwen V Reuben laughed. " Make a fortune for her, though—leave the lass for a season an' coine hack to her later, bringing your sheaves with you. Gwen s very young; she can afford "to wait a few before she marries, indeed tin' she can.

He slipped his arm through David's, lie lowered his voice to a soft, persuasive whisper. "Gome into my boat, Dave; let me row thee to Graen-y-daran. We can sleet) at the inn there an' write to old Owen on the morrow. 'Tis the world that is before thee once thy back is turned on Grvnseion. I!iinlc of that, lad, the world."

David's face worked. " llow can I leave my uncle like a thief in the night'! Ho has been like a father to me all these years. I owe him everything." "Sons leave their fathers every day; 'tis nature herself ordains that the young birds desert the nest. Besides, you have worked like ,any labourer on your uncle s farm, an' for no hire." Reuben led David to the water's edge, The moonlight was flooding the sea with silver, and the young man yielded to the glamour of the hour and followed the secret inclination of his heart, forgetting his scruples and stifling the whispers of his conscience, for he clambered into the row boat, and a few minutes later he and Reuben were out together on the moonlit bay. Tho sea was so wonderfully calm tonight that nothing could he heard but the creaking of Reuben's oars as ho rowed and the dripping of the water from the blades, and a curious apathy came over David. He knew that he was behaving with singular ingratitude to his old uncle,, and that he was treating Gwen cruelly, but he really hardly cared. He only knew that his adventures had begun; each stroke of the oars was putting the past further behind him —further. Reuben laughed, and-David heard him as though in a dream, yet he was vaguely aware that he had cast his lot in with this strange wild—eyed man—that for good or for ill, he and his cousin had become travelling comrades; but when or where would their journeyings end ? " You're laughing, Cousin Reuben ?" David spoke somewhat pettishly. "Yes 'tis a strange night's work, this. You've lured me to break faith with an old man an' a loving lass—to leave a good home." " You had to come." Reuben rested on his oars. His faco looked curiously pale in the moonlight. His beard shone like silver. " You an' I want to find out what the world has to offer us—an' wo must follow our star—our star of destiny, We must go where we are drawn."

He paused a second, then gazed hard at David.

"I loved your mother in the past, lad; there—the truth comes out at last—Tint she wouldn't b;.ve me. Wo were too close of kin, she thought—still, 1 loved her—loved her—an' for her sake I'd help you to riches if I could—for your mother's sake." He began to row again, bending fo the oars, and David maintained an embarrassed silence, a silence that Reuben was the first to break.

"We won't mention this again, my lad—but I thought I'd open my heart to you once. Now we'll let the subject drop; but you'll understand why I take such an interest in thee—eh, Dave—you'll understand ?" David nodded his dark head. He felt too moved to speak. So it was his dead mother whom Reuben Morgan had loved, and it was for his mother's sake that this queer man was so readv to befriend him—so eager to push his fortunes. A dead woman's influence was at work. He was being played with like a pawn—moved from one square on tho chess board to another. Unseen influences" woro moulding his destiny—unseen forces. The boat glided swiftly through the water, and presently the lights of Graen-y-daran appeared in tho distanco like small stars piercing through a dark cloud. David had visited the little fishing village by daylight, but it looked strange arid unfamiliar to-night. A heavy veil of mystery appeared to hang over it—it was his first halting place.

" yVe'll sleep at the inn to-night," Reuben announced as the boat grated on the shingle. " An' to-morrow we'll push on to Liverpool for we sail from Liverpool." David sprang out of the boat, then as he glanced back across the bay his face fell—ho suddenly felt the deepest remorse.

" What will Gwen think when T don't cotno home ? It's badly I'm treating her—badly." " She'll be hearing from you to-morrow • —you'll lie writing her a long letter. Why, the lass will wait for you patiently enough when she knows that she must—'tis a way the sex have. Besides, she'll be pleased, won't she. if you pick up a fortune in Rhodesia?"

Reuben spoke 111 short, broken sentences and David turned to him with a sudden flash of passion. Both men looked nervous—over-wrought—the prey of emotion.

" I mean to be true to Gwen—be my witness, Cousin Reuben; I mean to be true to her; if I make money across the seas, she shares it with me." Reuben nodded his grizzled head. " God forbid thatl, or any other man, should ever try an' tempt you to ho false to love," ho answered. " Maybe for you there will only be one woman in tin world, an' that woman will bo Gwen; but you'll find this all out presently—you'll learn of yourself an' your heart. Ho paused a second, then pointed to the littlo red stars that pierced the black velvety darkness. "Yon's Oraen-y-daran." he wispered hoarsely, " an' beyond Cnten-y-daran stretches the world." (To bo continued daily.)