LOVE'S CROSS ROADS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXIV, Issue 19731, 2 September 1927, Page 18

LOVE'S CROSS ROADS.

BY MCE AND CLAUDE ASKEW. •: jj

CHAPTER XXIV.- - THE END OF THE ROAD, " There,; Dave—now you know every- • thing—the whole story." Gwen folded her hands in her lap. She ' had come to the end of her long recital—a recital to which Dave had listened with the greatest attention, and now he edged his chair a little closer to hers and took one of herrhands in his, and Gwen felt no desire to draw it away. " Why, 'tis quite like a romance." Dave breathed the words softly half under his breath. " Indeed an' I'm glad that that poor young lad's alive, though—Mr. Roper. Fancy his being saved out of that shipload—fancy." He drew another deep breath. " And to think that he and Rose are ihamed—that she is his wedded wife! '' "I was so afraid that the news would make you unhappy." Gwen whispered—- *' thai" you'd be frightfully upset —disappointed." You cannot imagine what a relief it is to tne'to find out that you don't care as much for Miss Rose as I thought you did." " Cars for her?" Dave turned in his chair and looked very earnestly at Gwen. " No, I don't really care for her, for I have found out /by now that my ways are not Miss. Rosie'sVways, neither are my thoughts her thoughts. Besides, there's an icy barrier between us—the barrier her pride hai raised, and her heart could " never be iimne either. She gave it away to someone else, you see—to someone who never gave it back: but she's a fine little ladv all the same, an' I wish her well—/indeed asi' I do." . He paused for a second. " She's' in a tight hole, though. There will be trouble when she comes to confess to Sir Jordan about her secret marriage. It's a confession that's likely to make bad blood between father and daughter, unless

I am mistaken., so I think what I'd better do is ioVbreak with Miss Rose myself. See, Gwen- —I'll write to Sir Jordan an' I'll tell him that I'm rot so fond of Miss Hose as I thought I was—that she's too grand in her wavs for me—too fine a little lady altogether ;'*an' I'll release him at the same time from the' debt he owes me. and that ought, to set matters square between us. Yes, ,jl 5 1l write and ask him to regard the debt; as cancelled and to accept my apologies :at , the 3ame time for breaking with his daughter, and I'll take all the blame for the rupture on my own shoulders" " But you will have to make some better excuse than Miss Rose being too grand for you.'' Gwen exclaimed : " for of course vpu knew from the first that she was above you in and that she was a proud little Jady." " Well f how will this serve for an excuse ?" A humorous smile played about Dave's lips, then he gave Gwen a queer sidelong glance. " How would it be if I wrote and told Sir Jordan that I'd come across my little Welsh sweetheart again—the lass to whom I was once betrothed, the lass who had taken it into her head to break with me because she thought I didn't care for her, and to hide herself away in ftondon, but who has come back into myjlife again, .the lass I am not going tofsay gOod-bye to, either ? " " Davepwhat do you mean, what are you sayiiig ? " Gwen sprang from her chair. A' bright flush tinged her face with colesr. Her breath came and went in gasps. " Sit 'jrou down -again, Gwen lass." Dsvs walked > up to Gwen and . laid a hgnd' ; jou ,arm. _ " Shall I tell you a secret V he whispered. Shall I tell you that you and I are going to be married one of these fine days, for I've found out, an' it's the truth, that it's .you I want—that it's you I care for. You mean all the real things in life for me. Gwen, indeed, an' yoa do. You recall all my old home to nse, an* you are so warm an'' loving, so tender in your* ways, an' I tell you I'm sick to death of fine ladies an' their coldness an* their, pride—sick to death. I must go back to my own folk for a wife—to my own folk—an' you are the wife for aer Gwen." ' He put an arm' about her waist; he chew her to him. "I was; a fool to ever have left you, Gwen, I'm thinking—a great fool. But . there, thel path of adventure shone so bright in front of "me that I simply had to follow it; but the best path in all the world, lass, is the path that leads a man back to i his own fireside, back to his own folk, to his own home, an' that's the truth, mark you, Gwen, God's truth." " Oh, Dave, I don't see how I could ever dare to marry you now that you've frown so rich. . I should do you no credit, car lad. I'm such a quiet body, so homely in my ways." " But that's just what, I love, Gwen, your homely ways,'" Dave protested, "your :staid manner, your ready counsel. Oh, won't you help me to spend my money in the future, to spend it rightly, for yon could help me as no other lass could, ifor I've a grand idea in my head, an' it's this. I shall have to go out to Rhodesia. almost directly, and stay there a while with Cousin Reuben, an' then I'll be makin'. my - way -back to come home after a few months; but, anyway, if he

" •■n't badce. J shall come home, an' then I'll be makin' my way back to Grynseion, an' maybe - you'll be coming with me, Gwen. We will enlarge the farm, an' I'll purchase the sail-yard if I can—old Morgan Jones' :;ai 1-yard dpwn in the village —for I know he would be ready to sell it at fair profit, an' I'll make it three, nay, four times the size' it is now, so that -we shall. be able to provide all the village of Grynseion with work—honest •work that" will be paid for with honest money—an* there'd be an end of poverty in the .village then, wouldn't there—hard poverty T :For,' by the Lord who made me, Gwen, I have a mind to live the "rest cf my life among my own people, and to spend my money on nn T own folk. I'll see to it that there's no poverty in Grynseion same as there used to be. I*l make the lives of the old folk easy for them once they are past work, an' I'll start the young "folk in business. I'll build- an almshouse, I'll provide for a hospital. I'll finance the fishing fleet. All this I'll do-if you'll consent in the future. tp be my helpmate, my adviser, my wife." He bent toward Gwen. She could" feel his hot breath on hrr cheek, but she still held back from him, for she could hardly realise that he meant what he said—that he had grown-to love her above all women —-and yet his looks did not belie his words. . " But, Dave, you'd repent making such a poor marriage after a time —you'd he bound to repent it," Gwen exclaimerl. " Why, there's not a lady in the land ■who wouldn't be pleased to marry you sow that you're so wealthy. An' of course,', you'd -prefer living in London, spending your money like a prince, to going back to Grynseion." " Prefer living in London ? " He laughed loudly. "Not, 1, Gwen. 1 have learnt what a holiow life a society life a purposeless existence most of thij'* smart folk lead—the men and women who are so bored that they hardly know what to do with themselves—the men and .women who have no real occupation beyond the spending of money. Mark von. I'm not referring to the great landowners now, or to the country gentry, for they have their responsibilities and they live up to them; but it's the idle Londoners who T can't stand—that bored vapid crew who spend their money recklesslv,. I fitting no good out of it—no profit.'' ' He began to pace up and down the room. He looked bigger and stronger than ever, or so Gwen thought—a rugged Welshman —a lad who, having conquered fortu earnestly desired to make something fine of his life—something splendid -Mo, d 6. some ppod in the world, some real and 6wen's whole heart went i>:jt lo him, hut she did not let Dave tns? this.';"/ - " These Londoners, have all got (heir price, GweiiT—that's, the worst of it," I)ave "they, only care for you for what they can get out of you—for what you .are ready to spend on them.

(COPYRIGHT.)

Oh, I am sick of them and their ways—sick." He stretched out his arms. He drew a deep breath. "I want to get away from London. I want to turn my back on this big hotel. There's no comfort to be had here, Gwen—no real comfort. It's all shine and glitter—bandplaying and kickshaws. They give you delicacies out of season, and they charge you God knows what price for them, an' nothing tastes right. It's all forced—artificial—expensive. Why, I've not had a real comfortable tea since I've come to London—that I haven't; weak dish-water—what they call China tea—an* bread an' butter cut as fine as a threepenny bit—that's what they give you here, or else little cakes that are all sugar an' froth an' cream—an* queer sandwiches. Why, they put stuff they call * fois gras ' in these sandwiches, an' fois gras ts made out of geese livers; but as for real tea—why, I should be half afraid to order one—the waiters would stare at me so an' think I'd gone mad." " What—do you mean tell me that you haven't had a nice tea to-day, Dave ? Ring anrl order one at once. What does it matter if it is a bit late ? " Gwen smiled at her lover. There was quite a roguish sparkle in her eye. "If you're afraid of the waiters, I'm not," she continued. " We'll order real tea, We'll have new laid eggs an' jam an' cake, an' I'll make you some buttered toast by the fire, lad, same as 1 used to do. J,< "Ay, lass—not in this fine room." Dave looked at Gwen in blank astonishment. He envied her courage—her fearlessness of public opinion. " An' why not indeed ? " Gwen laughed—her cheery laugh—and a mmute later had gone up to the telephone and sent down some orders—orders that vastly surprised the dignified official who received them; but she got her way, for in less than a quarter of an hour Gwen and Dave were facing each other over a tea-tray that reminded Dave of the tea-trays at the Glen Farm in the past, so loaded this trav was with homely delicacies —with good, simple fare—and as the young Welshman cracked the shell of a delicious new-laid brown egg a slov smile stole over his face—a smile of intense satisfaction. " Why, Gwen," Dave exclaimed, V we might be having tea together at the Glen Farm. Seems as if the old days had come back, doesn't it?" He leaned across the table. t His face was very close to Gwen's face. " See, Gwen, the road of adventure brought me home to thee after all," he whispered. " Will you let me find out one day if the taste of honey is still on your lips, lass —the sweet taste of honey? " Gwen nodded her head. " Yes, one day, perhaps," she whispered. " One day." Sir Jordan's pride was distinctly up in arms when he received David Hughes' letter—the letter in which the young Welshman broke off his engagement with Rose, but his wrath was somewhat appeased by the knowledge that he was now completely out of Dave's debt, for David had insisted in this letter that the matter of a thousand pounds, which Sir Jordan owed him, should be forgotten—ignored. "Indeed I feel that it's I who owe you far more than a thousand pounds," Dave wrote, "for I have no business to be breaking with Miss Ross like this, only I'v found out during the last few days that our married life could not be a happy one, for we are not the least bit suited to each other."

"Suited to my daughter —no, that you certainly are not," Sir Jordan commented, as he tore up Dave's letter —tore ifc into a hundred small fragments. "I daresay Rose will be thankful that she's let oft this marriage," he reflected; "and yet it's a nity in some ways that the match has fallen through—a " great pity, for rich husbands are not to be picked up like blackberries, and I doubt if Rose will ever get so good a chance again—still it's no use crying over spilt milk. I wonder how Rose will take the news, however —the news that she has been jilted—thrown over. I should think she would feel distinctly affronted —oh, she's bound to be annoyed." Rose did not appear at all annoyed, however, when her father broke the news to her that she had been jilted. She took things so quietly—so calmly—that Sir Jordan was quite amazed, but he was still more astonished a month later when Rose, accompanied by Anthony Roper—for Anthony had returned to England by this time—called at his rooms one morning—the somewhat dingy room which he rented, when funds permitted, in HalfMoon Street; for the young people had a somewhat belated confession to make to him —a confession that fairly took Sir Jordan's breath away. They had to admit to their secret marriage, and it was useless for Sir Jordan to rant and swear, and declare that he would have the marriage annulled, for Tony spoke very decidedly to his mercenary father-in-law. He "told Sir Jordan a few plain, home truths, and he ended bv informing the irate baronet that he intended to take Rose to Canada almost immediately. "We are going to make our home in Canada," • Tony explained. "Better reports of the Bancanton property have come in hand, and there's a chance —though only a chance, mark you, Sir Jordan —that we may be quite a rich couple one day, Rose and myself, for the land that was sold 'to my poor father by a crew of swindlers is beginning to have some slight commercial value, so anyway Rose will have enough to live upon in the future —to live in comparative comfort, and she will be rich in one thing—just as I shall be rich—arid that is love."

Tony turned on his heel, and walked out of*the room as he said the last words, taking Rose with him. nor did Rose feel much real regret at leaving her father, for how could she honour or respect the parent who had been ready to sell her to David Hughes in payment of a gambling debt —the father who from the very first had been willing to bestow her hand i!nor) the Inchest bidder: and Rose was glad, infinitely glad, to be savings goodbye to Sir Jordan's world—the world ruled and governed by King Mammon. Vanity Fair held no attractions for Rose, any more than the mere pursuit of pleasure did; her thoughts were fixed on a home, the home " which she would sliare with Anthony Roper, and which would not only be her home and Tony's home, but the home of their children in the future, please God —the home of which her husband %vou'd bear up the pillars: while as for herself, might it be said of her as the woman in the Proverbs: "Her lamp goeth out by night. She layeth her hands to the distaff and her hands hold the spindle. She stretched out her hand to the poor; yea, she readiest forth her hands to the needy."

This little golden-haired princess had no fears for the future as she turned her back on her father and her father's house. She had infinite faith in Tony and in his love for her and her love for him; and Rose's faith was rewarded in the future, for there came a day when Anthony was able not only to call himself a rich man but a very rich man, and when that day arrived, Sir Jordan was the first to declare that he had always believed in Tony and in Tony's luck, and was glad—exceedingly glad—that it was Tony whom Ros®. had married, and not that mad fellow David Hughes. Dave, who had settled down quietly at Grynseion after marrying his cousin, a simple, homely, little Welsh girl, and who, if all reports were to be believed, seemed to think that there was no world beyond Grynseion. for he .appeared to be perfectly content to live there, year in year out, spending his monev like, watpr on the poor of his native village. He had actually persuaded his cousin, Reuben Morgan, to If»av» Rhodesia and t« come back to Wales, for David had said that, however fine the road of adventure might be—however glorious— was a better road still, and that was the road that led to a ihan's home—straight back to the hearth-fire. THE JLND.