JANE STONEHURST GOES HOME.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXVIII, Issue 20851, 18 April 1931, Page 14 (Supplement)

JANE STONEHURST GOES HOME.

BY 11. B. LAMONT.

Eagerly, vet timidly, Jane Stonehurst descended from (he train at Kaukapa-

kapa. There were a. number of people about and several other passengers liesides herself alighted. Somewhat/ fear- | fully she looked about, her. But she saw no one she recognised, and no one seemed to notice (lie slender, black clad figure that hurried away, while (he station was .still in a bustle from tlio arrival of the train. Soon, however, she was out on the open road, and she walked moro slowly. Taking a deep breath she looked about her. Changes, yes, in a way, and yet not so much as she had expected. It was 17 years siiue she had last seen the place. " Seventeen years," she thought. She was only 18 then. Then she had not dreamed she was leaving it, for so long, nor had she even faintly guessed how much would happen before she should again return to her old home. And now she was come as a stranger. No one to welcome her! No one even to know who she was—or to care if they did know. Still, it was nothing new to her. For so long now she had been lonely, had lived a life apart, and shunned all offers of friendship. ]t was her own fault she knew. People were kind and had made advances. But hurt and bewildered as she had been, she had coldly repulsed them, till, now, no one bothered her, no ono cared whether she came or went, lived or died.

A turn of the road brought her abruptly to the river.

" The old tree," she murmured to herself, and then, urged my somo impulse which surprised her, she walked across the grass, climbed (he fence and sat down under the shade of the old oak that grew so close to the river. Seventeen years since she had stood there last. Her mind flew back (o tlio picture that it recalled. A tall, slim, golden-haired girl, with deep, serious, blue eyes and a happy smile. There she stood, nestling in the circle of a. big man's arm, Jack Brooke.

" 1 wish you weren't going, Janie," ho Paid earnestly. " Please stay arid marry mo," he urged, sombre dark eyes bent on her happy face. " Don't i>e silly, Jack. Of course I must go. It's the chance of a lifetime. Why, just think," she ran on ecstatically, " tlio great Holmes himself has said I have a wonderful voice, and that with training 1 should have a wonderful future before me. Of course I must go. You wouldn't want me to miss such a chance, would you ?" "No. of course not." he replied halfheartedly. " But T love you so, .Janie. I lovo you so, girl. I can't bear to let you "go," he said, his voico breaking with emotion. Then as lie swept her roughly into his arms and rained passionate kisses on her startled, upturned face, he spoke in tones, hoarse with emotion, disjointed words. " Don't go. Stay. Marrv me. Our love will make lip fnr"all the "glory you will miss. It's a hard life. Lots "of'work and disappointments before you gel, the glory. And then if vou fail? What then?"

" Oh, then," said the girl lightly, definitely, withdrawing from his arms. " Oh," then, I'll come back to you and settle down to be a staid old married woman, and wash dishes, and iron clothes and all the old hateful jobs. But till then," she added, her voire growing in intensity, " I'm going to take my chance, live my own life. So, good-bye, Jack." "Janie!" he cried in agony. "You don't mean you'll break off our engagement, too, do v ol ' " Well, not if you're a good boy and stop tensing me to stay home." " Don't you love me at all?" lie asked, with a white, agonised face. "Of courso I do, silly," she replied lightly. " And as soon as I'm famous and earning a fortune I'll come back and we'll be married, and then you can come everywhere with me. Won't it be lovciy ? Lovely clothes, and lots of money to spend and everyone making a fuss. Won't you bo the proud husband then?"

"Oh, my Clod." lie said brokenly. " Janie," and with a strangled sob he turned and stumbled heavily away, leaving her standing, puzzled and amazed, beneath the old oak.

Presently, however, with a slight sling she turned and went home, still daydreaming about the future. Next day, she had gone With a sigh she thought of the years that followed, years of training and hard work; more work and harder than she had dreamed possible, crowned at last by success, and in no uncertain terms. She had gone from height to height. Gradually she came not to wear the simple little diamond ring Jack had given her. It looked too cheap among the wonderful jewellery that she now possessed. Softly, lingeringly, her hand strayed to her bosom. Gently she drew up a, slender gold chain and with moist eyes looked again at the little old-fashioned ring. Somehow, of late it had comforted her to wear the ring again, to feel it, against her cold numbed heart. It seemed to warm it a little. Foolish thought—she chided herself.

At the height of her success was that wonderful year when her parents came to see her. Then just after their return that crushing blow, the motor accident, in which both her father and mother wero killed. She now felt that all bonds which held her to the old place had been broken. She instructed iicr agent to sell the properly, and continued her wonderful career.

She. no longer wrote to Jack, nor ho (o her. Their correspondence, through her indifference and neglect, had gradually died a natural death. So she. did not give Jack a thought when handsome Lionel Deverctix, with his whirlwind lovemaking ami passionate words, wooed her, and she, who had had a hundred proposals, succumbed to his charm like the veriest school girl. In a few short months thev were married. She was 28 then.

There followed a wonderfully happy year, then that fearful bout of influenza. Lionel was almost insane with anxiety. Day after day, night .after night, his face white and drawn, he watched and waited for news that the worst was over. At last she recovered. She was only a feeble ghost of her former self. "An ngly old hag," as she murmured weakly to Lionel when first she saw herself in the mirror. But Lionel had laughed her notion to scorn, and had coaxed and loved her back to health and strength. Then almost without, warning the dastardly blow fell. She would never sing again! Her voice was gone and only a hoarse croak came when she tried to sing. She wept in her agony, and turned to her husband to comfort her. He failed her.

It was no use to liim to he the husband of a singer who was done. While she was in (he limelight he was all that a loving husband should be. But now, it was not long till his cruelty and neglect, and bitter taunts made her glad to accede f,o his request and divorce him. Though his newly-acquired freedom did not last long. Less than a year later she heard of his death in a. drowning accident. But, somehow, the news seemed remote, it did not touch her. Her heart felt numb, frozen, as though never again could she really care for anyone. or enjoy anything. She had saved from flio wreck, sufficient to enable her to live in quiet comfort. Now. broken and humbled, she retired to the, country, and there lived a solitary secluded life, making no friends and encouraging •no one to como near her.

One day a strange urge came to her. She must go hack and see the old place once more; sco her father's and mother's grave.

A NEW ZEALAND STORY.

(COP YRIGUT.)

She packed up; made the trip from England to New Zeajand, travelling the whole way in her cabin so as to avoid her fellow passengers. Now, here she was!

But enough of day dreams, and unhappy memories. She had still to find the graves in the cemctry and then catch the next train back to Auckland. As to what she should do then she had not thought.

"Something—or nothing," she shrugged her shoulders. It did not matter. A short, walk brought her to the graveyard. She wandered round seeing familiar names of long ag<">, here and there. At last she came to her parent's grave. Just a simple cross stood over it. But the grave! How well (ended it- was! With compunction she thought of how long she had neglected it, failed (o see that some arrangement was made for its care. But someone remembered and cared for them still. That was obvious. Not a weed was to bo seen, and fresh tloweio lay beneath the cross. She .must see about it later, she decided, ' Yes, when she got back to Auckland she would write to (he ministei, she could not bear to face him in person. But she would write and he would tell her how she might arrange for its care. " And now I suppose I may as well go back to the station," she said to herself. It was still early. She glanced at her wrist watch. " A couple of hours to wait," she noted. " I'll go along the road a little way and have a, look at the old home."

A few minutes later she was passing familiar paddocks. It looked the same, green well-cared for paddocks, w'ell-ied cattle and horses, and in the distance sheep on the hills. It almost seemed as if she had never been away. The garden! She caught her breath sharply as she lingered at the gate. It looked the same. Almost'she could have sworn it was the same, well-cared for like the rest of tlio place. The house had been repainted recently, she noted absently. " Someone loves the old place," she sain to herself as she looked.

Then, impelled by some inward urge she opererl the gate and walked quietly through the garden to the back door. She knocked timidly. A tall, bony woman of 60 opened the door. , ■ i " I—l used to live here once, ' said Jane Stonehurst timidly. " I was just passing and I wondered if you would Lie so kind as to let me see the old place once more." " J'll just ask the boss," she said. " I'm only the housekeeper," she added, by way of explanation. "If you'll just sit here, I won't be a moment." Thankfully Jane sat down in the chair in the kitchen. Idly she looked about.

It was the same, she realised with a start, the same furniture in the same place. Even the same impossible old picture of a snow Christmas, such as is never seen out of a picture postcard, hung over tho_ heavy, massive mantle. Wildly memories chased ono another across her bcwildereyrl brain. " Whoever bought it must have bought nil the • furniture, too," she thought. But even so, she wondered that it had not at least been rearranged. How long ago it all seemed, and vet how close it all came to her now. tf only she could come back, here, where all she loved lay buried. She felt her heart-strings crack and the deadly numbness of years fall from her .

"I must come back! I must!" she thought, passionately, as healing tears welled up under her lids. " I must. I'll do anything—anything—to get the old place again. They, must sell it to me. They must!" In her agitation she walked up and down the room. Suddenly the door behind her opened. "My housekeeper " began a deep masculine voice, as she turned. " Janie!" " Jack," came simultaneously. Jane spoke first. " I've just come to see the old place again," she babbled incoherently. " It's just the sajne. How did you manage to keep it just like that. I think it's marvellous." At last, out of breath, she stopped, and a silence fell. Neither spoke and the silence grew in intensity until Jane thought she would shriek. At last, almost hysterically, she spoke. " Well, I suppose I must be going. I've a train to catch. Good-bye," and she held out her hand. Jack did not seem to see it. Ho just stared and stared. " Good-bye," she faltered again. " Janie, oh, Janie," burst from him at last. "Can't you slay even now?" " Stay?" she asked at last in bewilderment. " But, it's not my place now." " No, but it's mine, and what is mine is yours. It, always has been, and you know it. Why do you think I bought the old place? Why do you think I have kept it the same?" Words came now in a torrent. " Because I've always hoped—hoped that some day you would como back; some day when you were tired of the glories and hardness of life in the hard world; some day when you were tired and longed for love and rest-, that you would come back. To-day, when 1 saw you standing there T thought that time had come at last,. And now, all you have to say is. ' I must get back.' Just idle curiosity. That'is all it was," he said brokenly as lie turned away. " You never even bothered about your parents' grave. I might have known you were heartless. Go! And do not dare to come here again." For many seconds there was silence. Silence, pregnant with emotion, as they gazed steadily at one another. At last Jane broke it. " Jack," she said gently, " I came here to see the old folks' grave. 1 see it has been well cared for. 1 have to thank you for that. Do not, be, too liard, Jack. lam a broken woman. Life has been hard for inc. I had hoped to buy back (ho old place once moro that I might live here and end my days in the only place I have been truly happy. But since it is yours and you say, ' Go,' well, go I must. Goodbye," and she turned stumbling to the, dooi. " Janie," he called after her in a voice resounding with hope and joy. " Don't go. Oh, Janie, would you, could you— I mean will you stay here with me?" He stepped toward her with outstretched arms, and happily she entered them and •laid her head on his shoulder. Words seemed superfluous. After a long time she raised a tearful, smiling face, and fumbled, at her throat. " What is it, dear?" he asked (enderlvAt last she drew up a slender gold chain and on it was a simple diamond ling, a love gift of long ago. "I've still got if, you see," she said smiling happily. Peverently Jack look it. in his big rough hands, still warm from i!s home against her breast. " May I?" he asked gently. She held out her hand, while slowly and a little clumsily he replaced the tiny circlet that he had first given her in the days when she had as yet known no sorrow.