HER SILENCE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21757, 23 March 1934, Page 16

HER SILENCE

' CHAPTER V.—(Continued) Peter took her in his arms and hold her close against his .breast. " It doesn't seem like that now; does it? " he asked. She let him hold her and even pressed tightly against him, as if she had found refuge. He took out a clean, big handkerchief and dabbed gently at her eyes. " Could you Btand it to marry a man you hardly- know? " ho asked. "I'm human. I'd try to make you love me, but till I was sure you did, I would not ask anything of you except friendship and to stand between you and the dark-side of life that you weren't meant by the powers of good to see. As for banns and waiting three weeks, don't worry. I'd get a special licence and in three days you could be my wife. Mrs. Peter Tyrone, with no trace of Mary Brown left." She laughed through her tears. " Mary Brown doesn't matter. I've been Mary Brown only since I had to sign the first name I could think of in the visitors' book at this hotel.*' "Well, then, that's all right!" returned Peter'/ " Are you going to be a brave, sensible girl, and say 'Yes'?" She pushed him away from the bed, where she had sat up, with his arms around her. " Brave?" she echoed. , " I'm not sure I wouldn't be a coward to say ' Yes,' instead of being brave. I might be shielding myself at the expense of your happiness." " The only way to make me unhappyis by saying ' No,' " Peter persisted. " But think of it," she exclaimed. " I can't believe you have really stopped to think. Or else, you don't understand. If I should marry you, you'd be marrying a woman out of the dark. For never, never would I change myj mind. Never would I tell you anything about my past. You'd simply have to take my word for it, that —as you put it a little while have been all against me, and that I am not bad. Do you see yourself living your life, day by day, week by week, month,by month, year by year, with a ■wife you knew nothing about except in the present and future?" " I'd be only too happy to see myself in that position," Tyrone assured her, " with a woman like you. Even if you'd been 1 bad,' as you call it, I'd feel the same, because the real you —your soul as well as your face —is exquisite." "You are sure?" the girl urged him. " Damned sure, if you want me to speak as strongly as I feel. Do you think it's just possible you could ever learn to love me? Not that I wouldn't risk it, even if you thought the opposite!" ' " " I could ad<)re you!" the girl cried. " What would I be made of if I couldn't ? Stone ? Marble ?.. . I believe I've begun to adore you already, now. I didn't suppose there was a man living like you." U CHAPTER VI THE INITIALS There was a song of triumph in Peter Tyrone's heart. He had been so desperately . afraid when he proposed his plan, that the girl would refuse' it, that she would tell him she loved some other .man, or worse than all, that she was> married! But instead, those exquisite words fell from her lips: " I could adoro you. I believe I've begun to adore you already." Even then he didn't dare to touch her, as a man touches the woman he loves, if she loves him. He had just vowed that he would stick to terms of friendship, even if she'd consent to marry him. He had said that his one thought would be to stand between her and evil, if she would screen herself behind his name and take him for a husband. He knew how easily, nowadays, girls use the word " adore." Often his patients said they " adored " him, when they thought of him merely as a clever doctor who had done them good when they were ill. " You—mean it?" he stammered in a jhy way, foreign to his self-confident nature. The girl laughed, her strange, sweet laugh that had more, of wistfulness in it, and a kind of sad cynicism, than joy. " If anyone heard us, they would be amused," she said. " First I ask if you mean things, and then you ask me! Yes—l do pioan every word. I told you that I didn't dream there was such a wonderful, chivalrous man in the world as you've shown yourself to be, last night and to-day. I mean that, too." Tyrone's pulses slowed a little. As she spoke he made up his mind that if, even in her gratitude she were .willing, he wouldn't test that " adoration " of hers in the normal way. With all his soul he longed to snatch her in his arms • and cover her face with kisses, but he wouldn't do it. If she wero merely grateful, it would bo taking a mean advantage, ,and he would no longer be chivalrous (in her eyes. He would be just the obvious man. And from what she'd hinted, she had cause to hate such men as had been in her life. However, he wasn't going to let her think that he was cold. He knew women just well enough (though not so very well, save as a physician) not to make that mistake, which he might have to regret for the rest of his life. No, he wouldn't be Victorian, or like, the hero of a novel written by a sentimental old maid. Keeping up the bluff, brusque air which had been successful last night, he said: " Well, you've made me so happy, my dear, that I could howl with joy. What I want to do is to kiss and hug you till I take your breath away. But don't be frightened. You're my patient, as well as the woman who is promising to bo my wife. I am* not going to try any ' rough stuff.' I don't want you to regret your promise. And I'm rememboring what I promised, too. I'll keep* my word till I can get you to love me for, what I am, not just for what I've done. But,' for God's sake, don't imagine that I'm not making a big sacrifice, because I am."

" I know you're making a big sacrifice," the girl echoed. " I don't mean what you mean," said Peter. " I mean, in not doing what other men do to their sweethearts."

" But —I don't mind your kissing me, if you want to," she said. " Don't mind?" he repeated. " Kind little girl! That isn't the way I want you to feel about it. . I won't do inord than touch your»hand till you care about me anyhow one quarter as much as I care about you. And with such common sense as I've got-.left, I know that would be impossible for you to do now. For one thing, you've gone through too much to care a lot for anything or anyone. For another, you don't know^me."

By MRS. A. M. WILLIAMSON Author of " The Moat House," " Behind Double Doors "

A GRIPPING MYSTERY SERIAL

(COPYRIGHT)

" And you don't know me," the girl reminded him. " You know me still lesi than I know you. For I've seen that you are strong and—and good." " " Horrid adjective, ' good 'I" exclaimed Tyrone. v " Not as I moan it," she explained. "A good man! A decent, fine man! That seoms ideal to me." " Well, I hope some day to seem more than coldly ideal to you," Peter said. He was full of hope; yet he was disappointed, too. Even while he assured her that love impossible from her to him, ho longed to be contradicted. He longed to have her impulsively hold out ■ her arms. But she didn't contradict him. She didn't hold out her arms. " It's different about my loving you," ho went on with his assumption of bluntness that covered wistfulness. " You are the most beautiful thing I over saw in my life, and not only that, but the most appealing. You are just well, romance come alive. I have to love you. You couldn't expect Beauty in the fairy tale to love the Beast, though she married him—for a purpose., as you are going to marry me. All the same, the poor Beast managed to win the lady's affection in the end. So who knows?" " The Beast of the fairy story didn't show Beauty that he was 9. Prince until after she'd begun to love him," the girl argued. "You are a Prince to'hegin with." " Her kiss broke the curse and turned the Beast back into the Prince he used to be," Tyrone remembered. Mary smiled. " Would it turn the Prince into a Beast if I kissed him?" she asked. And shd held up her face to his as he bent over her. ■ It took all Peter Tyrone's self-con-trol not to turn into something less, at least, than a saint._ But he was determined to „do nothing which could cause revulsion in her, nothing to remind her, perhaps, of some hateful episode in the past from which she had escaped—from which he was helping her to escape. He would remain for the time only the protector. : n He kissed the sweet lips • softly and gently. "My dear!" he said. "Thank you, Never has there been so wonderful a moment in my life. Please believe that. But T look forward to a daywell, anyhow, it won't be my fault [if we don't both have moments even more wonderful. Now, let's talk of what we're going to do. You've shown me that you trust me. You're willing to be my wife as soon as can be—as soon as I can get that special licence?" j " More than willing," she answered. " You told me that your ' plan ' would be an easy way of hiding; not like hiding at all, really. Now, I understand" what you meant. You are making yourself my screen. You're sure —sure you won't be sorry? Think hard. Think of not knowing one thing about me, except what you see every day. Think of having a wife without any background." Her words and manner were so grave, so earnest, that Peter did suddenly see before him a picture with a single figure in it, painted against—blankness. He realised that there might be moments when curiosity and vague jealousy would be one and the same, a fierce dragon for him to conquer. But he would conquer it. He had' incentive enough. The figure against the blankness was so exquisite. " Maybe you'll want to tell me things about yourself some day," he ventured. " Maybe the time will come when I can help you best by knowing." The girl shook her head, her eyes fixed on him, sadly. " The time will never come," she said. " It must not! Believe me." ... ",Why do you put it that way, 'must not'?" Tyrone persisted. "It sounds as if you meant that you were thinking of me—of my good. But I —" "I can't tell you why I put it that way or what I am thinking of. That's where I foresee sorrow for the future, if you—take me for yohr wife." " Don't borrow trouble," Peter said anxious again to save her all anxiety. " I tell you I shall' be satisfied just with you—you- —you, as you are; sweet, dear, beautiful. Am I to call you Mary?" " Yes, call me Mary," she answered, " unless you dislike the name?" " No, I love it," he sqid. " Always it's been one of my favourites. To me, it sounds so dear, so—so home-mak-ing." The colour rushed over the girl's face. " Oh, if I can make you a happy home," she sighed, " then I can repay you a very little-"of what you are doing "for me. I'm christened, then, from now on, 'Mary'?" "My adorable Mary," Peter said, and taking her hand, kissed first one, then the other. But even in .the sweetness of that moment a memory came to him of a thing he had seen last night, when he laid the unconscious girl between the sheets, after throwing off the chinchilla coat and flinging away the buckled silver shoes and sheer silk stockings. On the one delicate, white garment that clothed her there had been a monogram embroidered with a coronet above. He had scarcely thought of it then, in his fear for her life. But it seemed to appear again now before his eyes, the initials intertwined, the letters "L" and " T."

And she callqd herself Mary Brown. She was always to be, Mary to him. He was never to know what were the two names beginning with " L " and " T," nor for what the coronet stood. (To be continued daily)