THE PASS OF PERIL

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXIII, Issue 22615, 31 December 1936, Page 15

THE PASS OF PERIL

By EDMUND BARCLAY Author of " Karona," etc.

(COPYRIGHT)

CHAPTER XVll.—(Continued) But meanwhile, Captain Garvie, back in his tent in Walizanee, silently mourned for his two good comrades. Ho missed the Cockney's cheerful, if somewhat crude wit more than he cared to admit to himself, while in the subahdar ho knew that the regiment had lost its best native officer, and he, a very gallant friend. The Deemings? What was happening to them? Como to think of it, Sep. Deeming, for all his rough ways, was a fairly decent old scout. A bit hairy about the heels, of course, but there was no denying that lie had taken his last and greatest knock like a man. And then there was Myra. . . She of the Brave Green Eyes! With an impatient and weary gesture lie struggled to his feet and looking up saw that Ruth was standing in the narrow opening of the tent, looking at him with violet eyes that took no pains in hiding their unmistakable message. He should have been glad, wildly, happily glad, but with a dull shock, somehow not altogether unexpected, he realised that he was not as glad as ho could have been.

"Dear Michael," said Ruth, mistaking his gesture, "don't get up. I know you must still be very weak, dear man, and perhaps I should not have come, but I am being taken back by troop carrier in half an hour, and I felt that I must see you, before T go." "Won't you sit down?" he asked, indicating a camp stool, and his voice sounded queer even to himself. Ruth looked at him curiously for a moment, and her eyes widened. His gaze however, was perfectly steady, and she sat down near him, glad that the tent was gloomy, glad that ho could not geo her face. She felt that what had to be said must first come from her, after her past treatment of him, but it was very difficult, and in spite of herself, she could not keep her lip from trembling. "Michael," she said at last, "I have something to say to you, and I'm afraid it's going to be very hard for me to say it. No . . . please don't interrupt me, dear. I want to say how truly sorry I am. I was bitterly unjust to you, and deeply ungrateful, and I am sure you have every right to resent my injustice." She bravely put her hand out and took his, but it was strangely cold in her clasp. "Ruth dear," he said, "please don't distress yourself. I understand, and am very, very sorry for you."

"You mean, because of my poor brother?" Ruth asked. "But I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking that perhaps vour pride would not let jou come back to me, with all my bitter and unjust words still between us, keeping us apart. I've come to you, dear, to say how very sorry I am, and to beg your forgiveness. Please forgive, Michael, please." This was almost more than Michael could stand. To have his proud Ruth humble in submission before him like this! Why didn't he stop her from humiliating herself further? Why didn't ho take her in his arms, and protestations with kisses? Why? Good heavens, he knew why, well enough. "You don't speak to me. Is it so hard to forgive me, dear?" "There is nothing to forgive, Ruth. ... 1 ... I think I need your forgiveness!" She laughed softly, but delightedly. "Forgive you? Why, you dear, silly man," she began, and then she stopped, as she saw the expression on his face. "Michael" . . . and her voice was low and urgent, "you do forgive me?" "There is nothing to forgive, Ruth, and even if there were, it was forgiven long ago."

"Truly, Michael?" » "Truly, Ruth!" "Then, please, Michael . . . could you . . . would you . . . may I have my ring back?" "Your ring?" Michael stared stupidly at her, his thoughts and emotions in a mad bewildered whirl. She was hero begging for his love and God help them both, he did not want to love her, he could not love her, perhaps he had never really loved her. "Why, Ruth, he stammered, "that . . . that will be splendid." But it was too late. She knew. One long look into his troubled eyes, and she knew. She shrank back as if at a blow, and do what she would, she could not prevent a low sob. "We'll go back to England," went on Michael doggedly. "I'm due for long furlough, and then . . ." "Oh, Michael, stop, for God's sake, stop!" she pleaded. "You don't want mo now."

"My dear, you are wrong, I swear you are wrong, Ruth!" Ruth with aii effort regained her composure, and looked at him steadily and lovingly. From heaven knows what depth of courage she managed to bring a little tender smile to her face as she tried to reassure him.

"I know, Michael, my dear, 1 know. You are very chivalrous, aren't you, and you'd give tho rest of your lite to me, if you thought it would save me a moment's unhappiness, but I shall not let you do it. Besides, you couldn't succeed, my dear. You'd always be thinking of her, the girl you really love. Ah, you can shake your head, my dear. Still trying to deceive yourself? The truth is, Michael, that you never really loved me. You were attracted, yes, and would perhaps have been faithful in both heart and mind, if you hadn't met her. You were in love with me, Michael, but you did not love mo . . . Isn't that tho truth?"

He could only meet her truth for truth. "I don't know, my dear," he said slowly, "I don't know." "Oh, yes, you do, dear man, you are only trying to spare my feelings. I shall always bless you for that . . . and other things. You and she between you have taught me what constancy, faith and truth in love consist of, my dear, and now I've learned my lesson. Goodbye, and heaven bless you, dear man." She turned to go, and he staggered toward her, the agony in his shoulder, the distraction of his thoughts, and above all, the pain in her dear violet eyes sending him almost off his balance. "Ruth, my dear," he said, "you can't go like this. It's wrong, all wrong."

"No, it isn't, Michael, it's all right. Don't worry about mo, I'll bo all right." She tried to laugh. "I shall not become a sentimental old frump, or anything like that. Even if 1 have lost the biggest thing in life, I can make up for it, by loving a lot of little

A STORY OF THRILLING ADVENTURE AND A GREAT LOVE

things. Good-bye, dear, good-bye." A quick grasp of the hand, a brave smile, from that lovely, wistful face, and she was gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He sank on to his bed, not noticing that as Ruth went out K. 21 came in.

The rajah looked at him in silence ior a moment, and then tiptoed quietly out as he heard Garvie mutter through clenched teeth, "Oh, what a muddle, what a ghastly muddle!" The Hindu prince took good care that Garvie was not disturbed for half an hour, after which period he himself entered the tent again, bearing in his hands a pot of cofi'ee well laced with brandy. He found Garvie stretched at full length on his camp-cot, either in very fact, or else pretending to be, fast asleep. He opened his eyes at a touch, but K. 21 was blandly oblivious to anything but the hearty welcome which those same eyes conveyed. "Coffee," lie said, pouring a hot cup of it for Garvie, taking good care that the savour from the pot should reach the white man's nostrils, "coifee and cognac, drink, and you'll feel considerably improved." Garvie took the cup gratefully, and was taking a long sip, when the deep roar of a tri-motored aeroplane was heard sweeping over the tent. In answer to his unspoken query, his companion took a peep outside tho tent, and then said.

"That will be the Mem-sahib Conyers returning to India. The Deemings, father and daughter, aro also being transported in a like manner." From which Garvie gathered that tho Deemings and Ruth were travelling together in the same 'plane. He listened intently as the roar of tho engines faded into the distance and remained wrapt and silent long after the dull hum of the engines had faded away into nothingness. So, she had gone, she of the green eyes—gone out of his life for ever. At last he shook himself impatiently, and extended his cup for more coffee. Looking up, he saw that his Hindu friend was regarding him with grave eyes; eyes which held a world of understanding in them. "So," he whispered, "so, you have let her go, my friend," and Garvie knew it was Myra he meant, and not Ruth.

"How could I prevent her?" he snapped impatiently. "Confound it all, you know how I treated the girl? You know how 1 spoke to her, how I . . .

well, 1 choked her off, the stupid fool that I was. Gad, I was brutal to her! Caddish and beastly just because I hadn't the courage to admit to myself what I should have faced long ago. Hang it all, she would think me a weakminded, vacillating ass, if I went crying to her now." And he flung himself down on his bed again, showing as plainly as he could that he wished to be left alone. "Anyway, it's too late," he added. "It's all over and done with."

The Hindu shrugged his shoulder, and remained'silent for a while.

"I ask your pardon, my friend," he at last said, "for intruding with heavy foot upon what is obviously a painful subject to you. However, if as you say, it is all over, 1 shall not refer to the subject again." Instead of leaving him, however, the Hindu sat down on the stool recently occupied by Ruth, and begun talking, lightly enough, of the events of the previous night. "By the way, captain," he said, "did you not get the message 1 left behind for you on the wall of your room ?" "No," came the impatient answer, "all 1 found was a scrap of paper in my haversack with the symbol K. 21 upon it. Interesting as an autograph, hut I'm dashed if it was at all helpful." Tho Hindu smiled quietly to himself. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not realise just how badly you were knocked about, but I left a ranch more significant message for you. I suppose that in your weakness you could not decipher it." If he meant to sting Garvie into action he had chosen his words very cleverly. "Did you mean to say that you did leave a message and that I missed it?" and then Garvie's face reddened and he fell to silence again, as his mind conjectured up the vision of the gloriously beautiful, almost nndraped figure which had met his hungry gaze just before lie collapsed. His heart yearned for her loveliness, and his face burned as he recalled the bitter words lie had spat out at her. "Come with me, my friend," said the Hindu, "come with me, if you are feeling strong enough, and 1 will show you Chunder Lai's last message." Again he had chosen his words cleverly, for it was certain that Garvie would never admit he was strong enough to walk up the hill to the fort. So out they both went into the strong sunlight, walking slowly through the long lines of tents.

When at last they reached the cool shade of the fort, Garvie was almost exhausted, but he carried on with compressed lips. He was tired of lounging about his tent, and moreover, certainly curious as to what and where was Chunder Lai's last message.

"I always thought you were a downy bird, Chunder," lie said smiling faintly. "Even before 1 began to suspect just how exactly downy you were." They walked across the deserted courtyard, and into tho long and winding corridors. Garvie noticed that his friend was walking delicately, almost on tiptoe, and almost unconsciously ho copied the Hindu's softness of approach. Tho Hindu quietly opened the door of tho room last occupied by Garvie, peeped in, drew back and then waved the white man in, with a persuasive hand, and his old benevolent smile. "Go in, and find Chunder Lai's last message," he said, and Garvie walked in unsuspectingly, jumping back too lato as he heard a deep amused chuckle from behind him, and tho turning of a key in tho lock. He was a prisoner, but not alone. Standing by tho bed ho had last slept in, and staring at him as if he were a ghost, was a woman. . . Mvra.

"Michael," she whispered, "Michael," her lovcl.v ftrcen eyes staring and staring at him, as if she conid hardly believe in the reality of his presence. . "Myra," he whispered in tnrn, and then his arms wont out as ho strode towards her. She came forward to meet him, saying, "Oh, my dear, I was .saying good-bye to' your memory in here." "Silly ass," he said as his arms went about her. "Dear silly ass." "WhoP You or I?" she asked, with her old provocative tilt of the chin. But ho found better use for his lips than the answering of questions. From outside came the high clear note of a trumpet, and up on the white eternal snows of the hills the mounting sun gilded the peaks with the promise of a perfect day THE END

"THE FLAMING CAVERN," A Story of Intrigue, Adventure, and Secret Service. By ANGUS Mac VICAR (Author of "The Screaming Gull," etc.), Will Commence Publication in SATURDAY'S SUPPLEMENT, instalments Will Appear Daily.