LOVE'S CROSS ROADS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19718, 18 August 1927, Page 16

LOVE'S CROSS ROADS.

(COPTniGnT.s

BY ALICE AND CLAUDE ASKEW.

CHAPTER Vl.—(Continued). Gwen read David's letter through twice before she could really grasp it, for the ■words —the long involved sentences —swam before her eyes, and she was closer on fainting than she had ever been in her life. But at last she managed to walk back to old Hughes' chair, conquering her faintness bravely. She handed hirn back the letter silently. But a painful thought had come to her —a sudden suspicion. She wondered if Dave had been lying \\h<?n he swore that he loved her, for his proposal had been practically forced from him by his' uncle, so maybe he was" escaping from an uncongenial life. " What have you got to say to this letter, mv poor lass?" The old farmer addressed Gwen with a curious tenderness, but she flushed ■ painfully under - his pity. It hurt her. Sturcfy Welsh pride. « What can I say ? Dave lias shown his mind plainly enough. He is tired of the simple life of a Welsh farmer—he yearns to "gather up riches. Neither does he desire to have !i wife forced upon him —myself." Tears started to her eyes as she said the last words, then she raised her voice passionately. "That was the last straw, 1 expect—being ordered to marry me. Dave had to fail in obedience then—to take" refuge in flight. Oh, why did yoq fling me at his head? Why did you shame nie so?" The old man rose slowly to his feet. He looked very gaunt and fierce. Have done with your railings. What I" did I did foi your happiness and for Dave's. Besides, wait till you have read the letter that he is writing you, lass, before you maintain that Dave don't care for you. Not that I would have you keep faith with the ungrateful lad, for he's not worth an honest girl's leve—thrust him out of your heart as I intend •to thrust him out of mine. Why, I scratch his name out of the family Bible to-night—l do indeed; an' 1 write to she lawyer to-morrow to draw me out a fresh will. For 'tis to thee ail my money shall go, Gwen fach, all my substance. If you have lost a husband you shall be* mistress of a good farm—you shall own money in the bank, tor what 1 take from Dave I'll leave to you. 1 will beggar the lad an' enrich the lass. I will curse Dave with my dying breath —Dave, who has deserted me —failed me—but i will bless thee, Gwen, till.my fingers stiffen as they rest upon thy head, an' my spirit returns to God who gave it." "No —no —" Gwen protested wildly. "TDon't let me rob Dave of hi® inheritance,"- she began to pace up and down the room, her composure giving way at last. " Oh, my God, how can I wait till I get Dane's letter —the letter that will tell me if he lied when he said he loved me, or if he spoke the truth—how can I endure my soul in patience till that letter comes ? " 1 The old farmer frowned at her. " Forget him as he will forget you—es he has forgotten me." CHAPTER Yn. THE ADVENTURE EEGINS. ** 'Tis the most difficult letter, indeed, that a lad ever had to write—this letter to Gwerl. I hardly know what to say to her, but I won't break faith. I will come back to Grynseion if I make money abroad—l will marry Gwen if she'll have ane." David bent his brows together. He was sitting in the bare, poorly-furnished bedroom which had been the best accommodation that the. inn at Graen-y-daren could offer the travellers who had arrived so 'late the night before, and for lack of' a table Dave had to write on his knee. The rain was beating wildly against the window—the wind and the sea kept Tip a sobbing duet. June had forgotten to be June. Dave looked very pale and haggard. He Aad had a bad night, for one thing, a restless night of broken sleep and feverish dreams —wild,, foolish dreams that he "was doing his very best to forget this morning. For in these mad dreams he lad been courting that proud, disdainful little lady who' had been so vexed with iim when he caught her in his arms after she had stumbled up , against him at the end of what appeared to be a senseless xace last nights—the little princess whose delicate beauty had appealed so strongly to the rough young farmer —taken his breath away—Miss Rose Wildare, who had turned out to be the daughter of Sir Jordan Wildare—so a very great lady indeed. For how was Dave to suspect that a grand gentleman like Sir Jordan "was often at -his wit's ends for a fivepound note, and so deeply in debt that he never dared to pay more than flying visits to London for fear of coming across too many of his creditors ? 'Yes, I'll be true to Gwen," Dave repeated the words stoutly, but they seemed to come with, an effort. Then he bent over the sheet of paper and applied himself to his task. "Dear Gwen'," he began. "Don't think too harshly of me or blame me for going abroad so suddenly, for, indeed, i do mean to be true, and I trust to come back to thee with a fortune. I fear Uncle Owen will be very angry, and I feel I'm treating him badly, hut it seems as though I cannot help myself. And we are young enough—you and I—to1 —to wait a few years before we marry. God bless thee, Gwen, and have thee in His keeping. I know I am treating thee shamefully, Gwen, fach, some will say, yet I think you will understand, and that you will welcome me when I come back —that you "will be true to me while I am away.— Dave." " He drew a deep breath as he signed his name to the badly expressed letter, which was neither to.be regarded as an apology nor a vindication. Then he read it through slowly. "I can do no more," he muttered, "but I mean every word I say—l do, indeed. I will never be false to Gwen—never. She •will have to give rne up before I give her Up." He walked moodily across the room and stared out of the window—everything was a blur of mist and rain—a more grey or depressing morning could not have been imagined, nor, was it much to be wondered at that no one "was about. Suddenly a sound broke the silence— j the sound of a'girl's clear high voice singing in the parlour below—singing a love song. Dave started —the blood flew to his face—a queer lo'Jc lit up his eyes. " 'Tis her," he muttered, "'tis that proud little pripecss—an' she's not in one. of her scornful moods now—she's singing with all her heart in her voice—all her heart." He listened attentively to the clear sweet notes that floated up through the ceiling, and his face worked. "She's like a little queen—she could drive a lad mad I reckon, but she'd onlywed in her own station unless she wed great "wealth—indeed, she s just eaten up with pride." He drew a deep breath—his hps tightened. "She fell into ,my arms last nignt for •all her pride—fell like ripe fruit—an I 'held her close to me—close. An then she spoke as she did-M renting me as if i were the dirt under her f eet—scorning me with 'her big eyes an' her red lips, hating rne fbecause my hands had touched her—my trough hands." j He began to walk up and down the iroom. " 'Twould be fine to break such pride -—bend it. Proud princesses deserve to be Ihumbled—taught the truth about themselves. Why! are they better than the fr.est of the world, really? We're all the

same under our skins, rich an' poor alike, an she ought to be taught' that. She will be taught it one day; 'twould please me to teach her, too. Why, if it wasn't for Gwen I'd take on the job myself—woo her. win her." Dave laughed. He knew that he was talking madly, boasting foolishly, but, after all, he was only indulging in the dreams that all adventurers indulge in—the dream that has haunted every soldier of fortune from time immemorial, the dream of winning the hand of some little princess. Only, in his case, he was bound to a simple little country girl; he had given his word to Gwen Hughes, he had vowed to be faithful to her, and he would be true to his promise. No one should ever tempt him to break it, not the most . golden-haired princess in the world. The door opened somewhat abruptly, and Reuben Morgan entered; he looked very flushed and excited, and he walked straight up to Dave. <•. "Lad, I've been talking to the two grand gentlemen downstairs, telling them all about my plans and projects. They came upon me in the yard of the inn half an hour ago, an' we three fell into talk together, an' presently they asked me to have a drink with them, so we all went into the parlour an' we've been chatting as friendly as you like Real gentlemen they are, an', indeed, they think that we'll do finely out ie Rhodesia; in fact, Sir Jordan Wildare made me promise to write and let him know when we'd struck oil, as he called it. An' I will —indeed, ail' I will." Reuben's eyes glowed. " Clapped me on the back, Sir Jordan did—might have been my own brother, Dave, instead of an English baronet. ' You'll ask me an' my daughter out to see you, to stay with you, when you've blossomed into a millionaire.' Those were his identical words, Dave, an' he was serious, mark you—ho meant, what he said." Dave ifiook his head. " Indeed, an' I doubt that, Cousin Reuben. Sir Jordan an' his daughter would be too proud to stay witli any except gentle-folk. Why, Miss W ildare is the proudest little lady I have ever seen—fair eaten up with pride." " You wrong the lass. Why, she tripped swinging into the parlour while we three sat there drinking', an' she smiled at me as friendly as possible, then perched herself down on the arm of her father's chair an' listened to what we had to say. But, as for Sir Jordan not being in earnest about wanting to come an' stay with us if we did succeed in making a fortune in Rhodesia, why, he really couldn't have been more in earnest —he actually gave me his card with an address on it that will always find him—an' we'll write to him one day, Dave, my lad; we'll ask Sir Jordan Wildare to be our guest in the future, that we will, for fortunes are to be made in that land to which we are bound —great fortunes—an' we'll make one." Reuben paused to take breath, and Dave bent towards him—his eyes burnt, glowed. " Would she come, do you think—Sir Jordan's daughter—come with him, granted that this great dream of ours of conquering fortune ever comes true?" Reuben laughed and plucked at his beard. " That depends, Dave, on how long we take to' find gold. For, maybe, if we're years about the job the little lady will be married. There's a lad after her as it is—the only son of the rich gentleman who's staying here with Sir Jordan —Mr. Robert Roper—an' I understand they have jusi got engaged; there was talk about it in the parlour, I remember. But Miss Rose laughed, an' told me that she was in no great hurry .to get married." " So she is engaged to that tall young fellow ? I —l thought as much ; she was running up the road with him last night.' David tried to steady and control his voice, but it had a sharp, jealous edge. " They will be well matched —they'll make a good pair, the two of them, and I doubt if either will ever cross our path again, pretty Miss Rose an' her fine young sweetheart; they'll go their way even as we shall go ours." He smiled, but it was a forced and somewhat bitter smile, for it seemed t< Dave that all his future life would ! tinged with vague regret for something lost—something that he might have owned had he been free to fight for it, to win if But as things were, what had he to do with little princesses, however amorous red their lips might be, however golden the'ir hair. He had exchanged vows with a lass who belonged to his own people, a lass who was simple and single-hearted in her ways and in her thoughts, homely and good and pure, but she would never open the scented book of Romance for him; there was no mystery about her, no elusive charm, no subtle grace. He might love her tenderly, he would never love her madly. He ' turned and walked back to 1 window again; the world looked more grey than ever—it seemed to have lost all colour, its warmth. " Dave, we start for Liverpool in less than two hours. Eh, lad, the adventure commences." Reuben spoke in low, thrilling • tones, for this gaunt, middle-aged dreamer was approaching the great moment of his life —the wonderful moment when some huge steamer would carry him out to sea and he would put all the dull past behind him and look forward—just look forward. Dave started; his.thoughts flew to the Glen Farm and his old uncle. In two hours' time he would be even farther from his home than he was now. The train would be taking him away from the two people who had such a special claim on him—his adopted father, his promised wife. But he was not going to turn back from the road of adventure; for good or for ill he had thrown in his lot with Reuben Morgan. He had made his choice and would abfde by it. (To be continued daily.)