FREEDOM FOR TWO

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXXV, Issue 22974, 28 February 1938, Page 4

FREEDOM FOR TWO

CHAPTER Xll—(Continued) So it had been planned and arranged between them. There was no heed to pry any further; Martin saw it all with pitiless clarity. But whose fault was it that he hail lost hert Who had surrunded himself of his own lree will with so many secret activities that she could not get near him? had found her jealousy of his far too many and too persistent friends ii.lniost amusing at times? Who had allowed himself to leave her alone for —was it possible? — three days, neglected, almost lorgotten, and all for the sake of a hair-brained adventure which had turned out to be a kordid tragedy ?. He could not forget her now. He could not get her out of his head, the tilt of her chin in anger, the glitter of her eyes which was at once .so beautiful and so sad, the bitter quietness of her voice saying, "I may not bo here when you back." Well, ho liad risked it, and it had happened; and serve him right lor the blind, reasonless, over-confident fool he was. But that she should have to know such unhappincss! Ho could not bear to stand there any longer, with their coolly disdainful, pitying eyes upon him. He must go and try to iind her, or at least must hopo that she would come back to iind liim. He dared not leave the hotel. It was the one place where she could be sure of meeting him, if she did choose to come.

"You'll find me another room, as near to that one as possible, and move my baggage into it." He was plunging away when the manager stopped him by holding out a small silver disc, with a scrap of ribbon attached "1 believe this must belong to Mrs. Hirst. It was found upon the rug after she had left.' Martin felt the deepest pang of all as he took in his hand the medal Erica had won at Dalgano. It was such a tiny, such a fragile thing to bring her before him so vividly as lie saw her then. It was a scrap out of his own lite, too, perhaps the only concrete thing which had ever come out of their love. Was that why she had left it behind? Was she deliberately cutting him out of her memories of the past, as well as out of her plans for the future? Perhaps if he waited there would be an explanation. At any rate, he would stay in Stockholm for a time, in the hope that she would come to him. Though if he made her as unhappy as he was ready to believe he had, she would never come back. He stayed. People asked him questions. which was horrible; others asked each ozher questions and avoided the necessity for questioning him, which was much worse. And Stockholm was unbearably lonely. Looking back, he could see, or imagine, immense in his own behaviour toward her. The worst sin ho had ever committed lay in thinking that he understood her. He had thought that, and he had stopped learning her. That was the sad part of it, for now his opportunity was gone. The flesh wound which had lost him so much blood in that running fight across the harbour healed swiftly, and Jameson in London was clamouring to have him back; but he could not, he dared not, leave Stockholm. Supposing she had no money, and was left alone in the town? There was no end-of the horrors, he supposed for her. No end, moreover, to the hurt in his own heart. That sjie, who had loved him, or had said she loved him, should leave him, after nine months of married life, for the sake of —well, what? Sea-blue eyes and a mop pf blonde hair like a lion's mane, and a flattering tongue? Or something as much worthier her own loveliness than anything Martin had offered, chivalry, and a real consideration for her moods, and perhaps even a better sort of love than he had given her at his best? What was the secret of this queer love? What did it demand of him that he hadn't given ? Martin wandered miserably along the gardens of Norrmalm, and played her favourite pieces softly to himself in the hotel, and still did not at all understand. The one thing of which he was sure was that she had not left him out of pique for that one wretched little quarrel; because she was no more capable of such pettiness than he was of deliberately hurting her. No, it was the long accumulation of estrangement gathered through every hour of their life together which had sprung into her lips in that terrified, terrifying valedictory: "I may not be here when you come hack." He had come back; she was not there. To think about that moment was like experiencing it again- Every sort of unexpected, - unavoidable pain in it. What was it that he had continually done, or continually failed to do, to turn Erica's heart away from him?

At the end of the first lonely week he was walking through a narrow street in Sodermalm, where modest and crowded houses jostled each other along cobbled paths. He was not paying much attention to the street or the people in it. but walking with his eves upon the ground, and his mind still intent upon Erica.

He did not know upon which island Jon lived, but he supposed he could find out. Should he go and claim Erica? No. There came the anger again, burning through his many hurts. No. She had not confided in him. She had not appealed to him. She had simply gone off in the company of her Jon, with the opportunism of an old hand at the game. For all the consciousness he had of failure, he had done his best. She had not even done that. He could almost hate her, so much did he love her, so bitterly resent that she should love him only second best. No. It was for her to approach him; until she did, the affair was over

He raised his head as he entered a busier street; and saw Erica coming toward him.

The eyes of Erica met her husband's. The colour drained from her face in a second; and though she came bravely on toAvard him, and though her eyes did not leave his for a moment, but lingered with a look almost beseeching, yet she kept her pale face so expressionless that he could only guess at the feelings she hid behind it. He guessed at fear, and shame, both pitiful in her bold and candid eyes. In Martin himself anger came uppermost and became uncontrollable. He believed she would have avoided the meeting if she could, and since she could not turn and run without making herself and him conspicuous, she was going to carry it off by sheer bravado.

"Better be kinder to me," he had said, in his rapid but even tones, and with the swift gleam of a smile on his lips, "or I may feel it my duty to lead the police to Martin." "You don't know where he is." "Still in Stockholm," Jon had snid, meaningly; but she knew that he was merely drawing a bow at a venture. "That's your mistake. He's gone; and even I don't know where."

Well, if that was the only feeling he could inspire in her, she need not trouble; ho would not inconvenience her.

And she had plucked her arm from his hold and passed on, unhurried, secure, not caring whether he pursued her or let her alone, now that Martin was out of his reach. Several times sinoe that street meeting she bad passed and repassed that familiar hotel; but she had never seen Martin again; and she felt reasonably sure that he had taken her at her word and gone from Stockholm, somewhere far away, to the world's end, with the proceeds of his robbery in his pockets. Well, he would travel farther and faster, and probably be much happier, without a wife to hamper him. She supposed that she had really been to him nothing better than an infatuation, and that in a month or two he would be quite healed of his hurts at losing her,

They drew together, each of them scarcely breathing. He saw her hand flutter upward as if to ward him off. or perhaps to touch his sleeve in entreaty if he did make a scene. He saw, too, the stifled movement of her throat as she struggled to control the lump in it. Tho silence was like a wall between them. He passed her without a sign.

The first sign should come from her. Then, and fatally, he looked back. She was looking over her shoulder after him, the black handbag clutched against her heart. He could not leave her without a single word, like that. He turned back to her. She saw him coming, and her glance went desperatelv up and down the street. as if

By MARGARET WATSON

A STORY OF LOVE THAT ENDURED THROUGH STORM AND STRESS, A t OVE THAT WAS BIG ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND

seeking some way of escape. She walked onward a few steps, casually, and waited. She was not, then, actually going to run away from him. "Erica," he said, in a low voice. "Yes." There was something desperately unreal about it all. He could almost have believed that she was afraid, not of him, but for him. The one word of recognition, though so sott as to be hardly audible, was as cold and steady as tile voice in which he had spoken her name. Her face, too, was like ice when she raised it to him. She was resolved on her course, and lie had no part in it. That was clear. "I am still at the same hotel, if you should have anything to say to me. I shall stay there for some time." Krica put her hand up to her lips, as if she wished to speak to him, and could not control her tongue. J3ut after all, there was really nothing to say. If he cho.se to risk his lilo by staying in Stockholm, by walking in the public streets where he might be recognised at any moment, she could not prevent him. She supposed he was anxious that she should be safe, and should know where to find him in case of - danger; but it was madness to linger in the town at all, and worse than madness to suppose for a moment that he could deceive her again. Perhaps ho really wanted her back; perhaps he thought death worth risking if she would share the risk with him again. Risk always, risk for ever! The breath of life to him. Perhaps, then, she ought to tell him that it was useless, that she was never coining back, so that he might go away in peace and save himself. She looked up at him, and saw him as beautiful as ever, rather drawn of face after his narrow escape, but alert and cool, even, she thought, indignant at her desertion. She had failed him again, of course, she should have stayed calmly in the hotel, have faced the world with the cool effrontery which was his. She should have found it exciting, even exhilarating, to be the wife of a wanted murderer and jewelthief.

How little lie had understood her; how incapable she was of living up to his queer, irregular standards! Yes, she must certainly, and briefly, make it clear that she was her own master now, and that all was over between them. Then he would go away with one of his sea captains from the quays, and be off to some alien land where he could squander his thousands and thousands of kronen, and forget all about the dead policeman. If she gave him any hope, lie would wait, and be captured. Dear as he was, and much as she loved and pitied and feared for him, her face must not soften nor her voice tremble at this moment.

She said: "I shall not have anything to say. You had better go away at once. I am not coming." She said it steadily, though she 'felt the hot longing for tears burning her eyes, and the dead whiteness of hi? face hurt her with a sharp physical pfl'ln. "Very well. Bat if you should want money, I shall leave some in the bank for you."

He turned, and walked away. What was the use of staying, or of saying anything more? She would never come back to him. She was satisfied with her bargain. Her resolution was almost admirable, and he would not stoop to shake it. He had done what he could for her, and the next move—if ever there should be another contact between them—was hers. He walked away from her without a glance, though with every step he longed to turn back and carry her away with him. Erica stood looking after liim. Ho might leave her all the money he had, all his thousands and thousands of kronen, but she would not touch a penny of it. How was she to know in defence of which part of it the policeman had died? Nevertheless, she went on to her modest lodgings in the street through which he had just passed, with tears in her eyes. CHAPTER XIII. A FUGITIVE PJ.EADS FOR SANCTUARY Life in the back streets of Sodermalm was quiet with a quietness which Brand lord, in retrospect, had nothing to match. Erica lived in her drab and lonely rooms, and went regularly from one modest house to another giving singing lessons, as if she had been doing these things all her life. Sometimes it seemed almost as if she had, so far away were all the former parts of her life, the confined spaces of Brandford, the magic of Martin's coming, the brief illusion of their marriage, even the nearer stress of Jon's love for her. Pupils were not hard to get, though she made little out of them. Having to work hard for her living was a new, and not a hard experience, in spite of some difficulties of teaching in a foreign land and a foreign language. It kept her from thinking too long and too deeply about what she had lost. Only twice had the monotony of her new life been broken; once by that painful meeting with Martin 'in the street; once by an encounter with Jon.

They had met upon one of Stockholm's many bridges, in the middle of a stream of people; and he had taken possession of her arm, and drawn her away into an alcove, where they could look down into the water below them. Erica had disengaged her arm calmly, and made to move on; but Jon had none of the tenderness of mind which could be dismissed without a word.

If her husband had displayed half his power of decision and singleness of purpose she might have been with him at that moment.

"Listen!" Jon had said in her ear, with the hurried speech of desperation. "If you'll break this marriage I'll do anything you please. I'll get Martin away wherever you choose to have him sent; and I'll give you everything I've got, and 3'our liberty, too, more liberty than ever you had before. I'm a rich man, Erica, and I lovo you." She had looked at him as if at a stranger, and an unwelcome stranger. "Get away from me. I never want to see you again." But it was impossible to hate him in the measure she wished; perhaps because, however unscrupulous his methods had been, he had valued her more than Martin had.

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ami resume his old wandering life without a regret. Without a regret, of course; because she had them all. As for Jon, she never thought of him at all, now that she was out of his power and his presence. Jon had his own troubles, and must cure them himself. Ho was npthing to her. The living she earned by giving lessons was meagre enough., after the casual plenty to which she had been accustomed; and presently she began to look round for a way of augmenting it. Music as a means of life had a very different character from music as an amusement and a hobby.

Erica found that she could sing sufficiently well to obtain occasional engagements at unimportant halls; and once the now career was fairly launched, ambition came to life in her, and she sang with larger ends in view, if she could not keep her chosen prize from life, she would at least have some sort of consolation prize, and music was the most consoliifg of all. A sort of forgotten zest returned into her "mind. She was still young; it was much too early to settle into a mere slough of memories. She dared not use her own name for these concerts; and when she was faced with the sudden necessity for choosing another she found her mind blank., What was it Martin had called himself?/ 01 af Elson. But she was finished with Martin, so why hark back to that closest chapter? None the less, the name remained fast in her thoughts, and do other would replace it. "Olave Elson," she said, and 01 are Elson she was upon her first concert bills, before she had time to change/her mind. I She sat beside the window of her small sitting-room, toward the end of an evening, writing a letter home.|only one place was home, now, and tliit was the rectory at Brandford; and there they did not know that the sofl-in-law they had blandly accepted at their daughter's hands was either afburglar or a murderer, or that he and his wife had parted company once and for all. Nor would they ever know any of these tilings, at least from Erica. | It was not so much consideration for them, but pride and humiliation on her own part, which moved her to write in the deceptive vein she wasfiising now. "We are still here in Stqpkholm," she wrote, "and likely to stav liere for some time to come, probably for many months. Martin's business has developed into a chase from island to island, all over the town. 1, of course, don't understand anything about i£ and he knows 1 shouldn't follow if he tried to explain it to me, so he Wisely doesn't say anything. Still, we have a great time together whenever he's free to play. "We spent last week-end at IJpsala; and next week we're going to see the copper mines in Dalfcarlia. Martin likes that part, because," it's connected so much with Gustavfls Vasa. They have a lot in comnion.ll don't know very much about the hero king, but I believe he was constantly having the most hairbreadthfescapes from death. "I am enjoying Stockholm so much that I may never want to come home to England again. We are both very well and very hjppy."

She stopped there, staring at her own words. It was' very easy to tell lies like that, much easier than she had ever guessed. ,she looked up through | the open window. The summer twilights were all gone. Nights were nights again, instead of fairy afternoons. It was nearly October. Where, she wondered, was Martin now? Alva, the little maid of the house, came in with cocoa and biscuits; and putting her tray down ypon the table said importantly: "There's a gentleman to see you. Shall I tying him up?" "Oh, jrho is it? Didn't he give his name?"' "Xo, he said it would mean nothing to you/ But he is a gentleman." She dwelt upon that with pride; they were few aid far between in her experience. Erica, still looking listlessly out at the /half light round her window, thought instinctively: "Perhaps it's a boat a now pupil." She folded the letter into its envelope, and said: "All right, send him up." She was writing the last few words of parents' address when he came; a light step, half-remembered, and yet somehow more hasty than she remembered it, made her raise her head even before the door opened. She felt her heart quicken, although as yet she had ' not seen him. The door swung, quickly and nimbly, and was shut into place again in a second; and Jon Bernstorn stood with his hack against it, smiling thinly, the breath hurrying between lips slightly parted. "Jon!" she cried, and was on her feet facing him in one startled movement. "How dare you come here? I told you—" She did not finish the sentence, not because his reappearance had caused her any emotion as yet, but because he was not listening to a word of what she said, because ho had left the doorway and crossed the carpet with the speed and grace of a cat to the open window, and, with body pressed close against the wall, was peering down cautiously into .the street. He stood there quite still for a moment, and then his body seemed to relax, as if he had just realised that he was tirerl. He turned languidly, pivoting upon his shoulder, but still, she noticed, out of sight of anyone who might bo watching the window. She saw the old, remembered smile touch his lips. "You don't mind, my dearP I couldn't think of anyone elso who could be trusted."

"What's the matter?" she asked. "What's happened? Why have you come here?" "Go to the window," he said, "and look out, and see what you can see." She went, stealthily; it was odd how that cat-like quiet had infected her own mind. She looked casually up and down the street. "I don't understand. Maybe I'm being blind, but I don't understand. There's hardlv a soul in sight. No, wait a moment. There are two policemen coming along the other side of the street. ' She remained still, tensed. "They're crossing the street. I think they're coming here." She turned and looked at him in sudden bewildered fear, her eyes questioning. "Not for you," he said softly; "for me." "I still don't understand."

"1 prefer it that way. But they are coming for me. I thought I'd shaken them off, but I was tired, and I suppose I muffed it. In a maze like Stockholm. too. Ah, well,. Dngmnr will have her triumph, after all. I'm sorry I troubled you. my dear." She did not realise for a moment what lie was about to do. His hand was at the door before she could see that ho was going out to meet them. Then she ran and caught him by the arm. "My bedroom, quick. They won't search. They've no right." Yielding to the urge of her hand, he turned. "You'd do that for me? But why? Don't you remember what I did for you?" "I don't care what you've done. Do bo quick! What do you expect me to do. open the door and call them in?" "Why not?" he said, with his faint smile. "Dagmar sent them to the island after me, and I don't know that she had half your reason to hate me." (To be continued daily)