HER SILENCE

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXI, Issue 21759, 26 March 1934, Page 16

HER SILENCE

A GRIPPING MYSTERY SERIAL

CHAPTER Vll.—(Continued) " They aro devoted people —anyhow tho older ones," Poter said. " We'to lucky to get them, though they think thoy're in luck to come. They're used to each other and like being in the same place. You see, Lady Meadows was a patient of mine, so they know me. But they'll think themselves a hundred times more lucky when they've seen you. All three came originally from tho same village in Devonshire, tho cook and butler worked in tho 'grand liouso ' of tho neighbourhood till the family there grew poor and a stranger bought the property. So you may realise that you are getting treasures, my dear. Tho maid is half French, and she'll do her best at looking after you.' And as soon as you feel like choosing a car, you shall have your own chauffeur. Then you can run about as you like in my busy hours. And, of course, all Golders Green—my part of it, that is—will call 011 you. Ido hope that won't bore you too much." There was something pathetic in Peter's manner' as he asked this question. Mary guessed how ho must have been worrying over the subject for her sake, and perhaps a little for his own. sake, too, since it is not good for a popular young doctor in a growing suburb to have an eccentric or mysterious wife. " I won't bo eccentric or mysterious," sho told herself. " I owe him everything, and I'll risk everything for him."

But, after all, could there be so much to risk among the - pleasant bridgeplaying couples whom sho imagined as the inhabitants of Golders Green? When she had escaped from a great horror and rushed, unprepared, to this .suburb to die, sho had thought that, in a place like Golders Green, she would never be traced. Well, she hadn't died. Sho was to live and make a splendid man happy if sho could. But there was still no reason why she should ever bo traced to this suburb she had almost accidentally chosen.

" Supposing I hadn't thought of Golders Green!" she said to herseli, with a chill running through her blood. " I should be dead and buried by now somewhere else. I should never have met Peter. Oh, it is good to be alive when one is young and loved!" Aloud, she said to Tyrone that she wouldn't bo bored at all. " 1 feel yet a little like a strange wild bird in a cage I'm not used to," she went on. " That won't last, though. I shall settle down. By and by I shall turn into a good doctor's good wife. You'll see." The next day Mary Brown, spinster, aged 23, married Peter Tyrone at a register office, and went home with him to his house, which was named Garden Court.

CHAPTER VIII THE WEDDING GIFT Garden Court was an appropriate name for the place, because of the shape of the house with its two wide wings that partly enclosed the charming little flower-world which Peter had improved to great beauty in honour of his bride. Tho servants welcomed her with respectful and admiring smiles. Mary adored the house. There was nothing in it that she did, not love and she would revel in Peter's book, which he had begun to collect when ho was at Oxford.

The news of Doctor Tyrone's surprise marriage had already spread over Golders Green. Probably the tradesmen had talked and had told servants in the houses they served. Before dinner timo on the wedding night gifts of flowers had come, and patients had evidently dashed out in a hurry to buy more expensive presents than mere flowers. A great romance was suspected. There must be one, or Doctor Tyrone wouldn't have " sprung " a new wife upon his patients without warning them beforehand of his intention. No ono dreamed as yet, however, that the bride was the mysterious beauty in the chinchilla cloak seen at the opera one night about two weeks before. Even the manager of the Palace Hotel and Mr. Sholton,' his assistant, had no idea that the new Mrs. Tyrone was the lady bundled away in the hired car, very ill, with a nurse in attendance. The secret would leak out sooner or later, for when callers came Mrs. Tyrone would bo recognised by someone. But what if she had sat in a box at the theatre ono night, wrapped to the throat in magnificent chinchilla, when other ladies had dropped their velvets and cheap furs to show their shoulders! There was really nothing to excite malicious gossip in • an incident like that. No, not even if one or two persons had thought that Guido Carino had missed a high note or two while looking toward the lovely lady's box. And yet—people are curious. The question began to bo raised even on that wedding day when friends and admirers of Tyrone were buying flowers or silver spoons or gilded dishes. Who was she ? Mostly it was women who asked this question, and among them were several who had secretly marked down the good-looking, clever young as their own; a man with a career before him, who, in addition to that advantage, had been left a fortune. They were in a hurry to call on the bride, to see what she was like; but they didn't want to admire her. They didn't mean to admiro her. Peter didn't know whether ho was ■wildly happy or terribly unhappy that night. Ho suffered in loving Mary too much, and not knowing if, in the depths of her mysterious soul, she loved him at all. They had laughed together almost like 'children over the opening of their unexpected wedding presents, and then, while Mary was dressing for dinner in a gown Peter had bought for her, ho knocked at her bedroom door. She called," " Come in," and he obeyed, to find her more beautiful than ho had seen her yet, in a flesh-pink satin, which ho had known would be " all right," because it had been made by Chanel. " Here is my wedding gift for you," he said. " I couldn't get it before. I'd given it to an old friend" to keep in a rather wonderful safe he has in his own house. He has been away in the South of France, travelling from one place to another, so it was only to-day that the key of the safe arrived, sent by my friend —Lord Justico Graham—to my solicitor for me. These pearls," Peter went on, " were my mother's, and I thought you would rather have them than any other present. They will show, if anything can, how much I love and value my wife." As ho spoke, Peter opened an oldfashion brocade and velvet jewel case. Wound round and round over a cushion of satin within was :i rope of creamwhite pearls. To his surprise, Mary did not speak. The pearls were so perfect, so large and well matched —over n hundred of them —that ho had expected the girl to exclaim in admiration. When she remained silent bo glanced at her questioningly. She, who had been so exquisito a moment ago, looked almost plain. Her face was drawn. "Stricken" was the word that sprang into Peter's mind. Her colour had faded. Sho seemed

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

suddenly to liavo aged by years, as if a spell of evil had fallen upon her. " My God, darling, what's the matter?" he fried out. " Are you ill?" She could not Bpeak at first. Peter saw that her lips were dry. She moistened them with her tongue. She tried to smile, but it was tho smile of a Bonda mask. " No —no," she said; " of course I'm not ill. What —why do you ask mo. that? I couldn't be—taken ill in an instant, could I? It's only—tho pearls are so —so lovely. There are no words —" I'etcr did his best to believe her as she slowly recovered, but ho could not. lie might not know very much about women, save as patients, but he did know that this was at least a very remarkable way of showing pleasure or admiration. It was his turn to be silent. No words woidd come, Mary raised her eyes to his face and saw disappointment and chagrin. " Peter, dear," sho pleaded. " Oh, you mustn't judge me. as you'd judge other women. You know —my nerves have been torn to pieces. You have been mending them, but I suppose I'm not quite normal yet, and this day has been exciting. Our wedding day!" "Our wedding day!" Peter echoed. " Please, please, bo happy," Mary said. "Ido so want you to be happy. You don't understand —you can't understand —how touched I am because you—think mo worthy of your mother's pearls. Me, n stranger, about whom you know nothing, whoso very decency you have to take for granted. Can you wonder that I don't just scream with pleasure like an ordinary girl?" The darkness-which had lain like a shadow on Peter's face began to brighten. " Are you sure," ho asked, " that that was all?" " Of course," Mary answered, steadily- " But you turned so pale," he said. " Good heavens, you looked so terrible for a minute! You—you were like some figure of Greek tragedy." Mary laughed, not a merry laugh, yet it'was a laugh. " What an imagination you have, dearest man!" she exclaimed. " 1 am such a strange creature to you, that you watch every change of my expression and make me quite nervous. 1 might almost be a mermaid you had caught and were trying hard to turn into a woman, with an awful fear of failure now and then. I am more than touched that you shordd give me your mother's pearls, and they are the most beautiful things I ever had."

"That's saying a good deal!" Peter tried to speak gaily. " Mermaid that you are, you came to me from your palace under the sea with plenty of fine possessions." " A few rings, a bag and a chinchilla cloak. That's about all," she chicled him. " But don't let's talk of them. I hate all the things I brought from —nowhere, and I'm never going to wear one of them again now that I'm your wife."

" Not even the gorgeous chinchilla?" Peter wanted to know.

" Not even the gorgeous chinchilla," she repeated. " Especially not that, if you can afford to buy me something else instead to keep warm. I should like the cheapest rag better. I hate my memories! I don't mean to keep any. You don't want me to, do you?" " I don't," Peter answered, his chilled heart growing warmer. " You shall sell your chinchilla cloak for charity if you like."

" I don't like," Mary said quickly. " I'll just put it away and never look at it again." "You don't grudge it to the moths?" "No!" sho cried. "I wish they could eat tho thing so that it would disappear off the face of the earth. Now—you'vo forgiven me for making yon a scene, haven't you ? It was just that you're too good to me—too marvellous. If I'm forgiven, you'll put your mother's pearls round my neck—and a kiss on my lips."

Peter did not need to be asked twice. As he slipped the rope of pearls over the gleaming head and let it fall on her bosom, he kissed her lips, as he had not dared to think of kissing them before.

He worshipped the girl. He feared that she might make him her slave. But, in spite of his worship, he didn't believe her. He would not say, even to himself, that she lied, but there was something which had come between them 011 their wedding night, something which—like her past—she didn't mean to explain. (To be continued daily)