THE SPLENDID SACRIFICE,

New Zealand Times, Volume LIII, Issue 12363, 5 February 1926, Page 12

THE SPLENDID SACRIFICE,

[PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.]

BY

J. B. BAR RIS-BURLAND,

Author of: “The Half-Closed Door/' “The Black Moon/' “Th« Felgato Taint/* “The Poison League/* etc., eta*

1C O P Y R I G H T.]

SYNOPSIS OP PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. CHAPTER I. AND ll—Mrs Eden sobs because Joan, her younger daughter, engaged to Sir Richard Pynson, is going to marry ami will soon leave her. Mary, the elder daughter, tries to console. Later in the day Joan herself is caught sobbing by Mary. She confides that .she cannot bear Sir Richard, but declares she must and will marry him because she wants luxuries and a life of case. Mary learns that Joan loves another, but she does not treat this seriously. They go to London to get Joan's trousseau, and Mary takes her sister to a jeweller's, to buy her a wedding gift. Joan sees a wonderful diamond ornament, but the price is .£I2OO. It is put nick on the counter. A few minutes utter it is missing. Customers are not allowed to leave, and are searched, but ihe ornament is not found. Joan has a way of absenting herself from the hotel, ..here they are staying, for hours at a time.. Her sister surmises that she is meeting the man she is in love with, nicknamed "the rotter" by Mary. “I can do what I like," Joan replies, when ■ailed to order. Later on Joan sobs ier repentance, and Mary forgives. Two neu come to the hotel where the Edens no staying. One of them is tse proprietor* of the jeweller’s shop, and the other ;s a detective. The latter places the diamond ornament before them. It was found Ridden away in some of Joan's underwear. chapter hi. The simplest and quickest of all proecutions fur theft is the one in which he prisoner pleads guilty, and the man, who has been robbed, declines to prosecute. Mary was sentenced to a months' imprisonment in the first division. Mr Dagon had pleaded for her, and her youth and gentle manner had gone far towards mitigating her punishment. She .-poke of tho theft as an act of madness—a fsudden brain-storm, regretted almost as soon as she had got safely away from the shop with the jewel. It was admitted that the search had not been carried out in the way the police would have conducted it, and there was no talk of any confederate. Tho very fact that the jewellers had thought it necessary to take names r.nd addresses and follow up the inquiry, showed that they were not satisfied with the result of their searchers' efforts.

Mr Dagon himself pleaded that there should be as little publicity as possible—for his own sake, and for the sake of the prisoner’s mother who was in a very poor state of health. The case coincided with a criminal trial of great sensational importance, and it was perhaps a 6troke of luck that not a single newspaper mentioned this obscure little affair, which lasted less than a quarter of an hour. The theft had been a clumsy and amateurish business. It was obviously not the work of ;i professional thief, and the v.ery lightness of the sentence reduced the robbery to a matter of no importance. The -ingle reporter who was in the court -rote a small paragraph for his paper, but the sub-editor rejected it, and, for a time, at any rate, Mary Eden's secret was safo from the good folk of Mirchestcr.

“I must try and look on it as a kind of joke," thought Mary, when the ordeal was over, and she was removed to Holloway. She hoped that the truth would never reach the ears of her mother or any of her friends in Mirohester. But, whatever happened, she knew that she had done the right thing. She had made Joan's marriage possible, and it seemed to her that the whole of Joan's future depended on this marriage. As to her own future, she would go back to Mirchester, and look after her mother. She had never herself thought of marriage as a possibility so long os her mother was alive. The sick woman—really ill and needing every care and attention —would claim all a daughter’s time and devotion for years. "T am not even in love with anvone," thought Marv: “so that’s all right." Perhaps it would have been different if had been in love with anvone, if she herself had been engaged to be married. Then it would have been impossible to sacrifice herself. It would have required nn almost inhuman strength of mind to have done anything of the sort. As it was—well* the punishment, was easily to borne. And a* for the shame of the thing—well, what shame was there, if she was innocent! It did not even hurt her that Joan had so readily acquiesced in the arrangement. Joan was weak, and during the short conversation they had had, while Mary was waiting for hpr case to come on, Joan had roadilv given in to the argument.

"It is possible," Mary had said, "that Richard will hear of this. But I don't think he'll give you up just becan.se vour lister has made a fool of herself. 'He's not that sort of man. But if Richard knew that you were a thief or the accomplice of a thief* there'd be an end of the marriage. All you've got to do, Jackie, is to swear to me that you will marry Richard"

Joan had hurst into tears, had murmured words of gratitude, had flung her 'irnis round Mary’s neck and kissed her 'gain and again. But Joan had given in, had sworn the oath, had recognised the force of arguments.

"You see," Mary had said, “that you can lift us all up if you marry a rich man. It’s to my interest as well a© yours that you are kept out of this. Now. Jackie, who is this man?" And Joan had answered, "There wag no man. T took the thing myself.”. "Nonsense," Mary had said sharply. “You knew that Richard would buy you all the jewels you want."

And then Joan had explained that- Sir Richard Pynson would never have purchased the ornament. * Sir Richard did not care for jewellery, and had even sold the family diamonds. What Sir Richard wanted in a. woman was simplicity and a quiet mode of dressing, and no flaunting of fine clothes, and splendid jewels. \nd Joan had added that she had stolen he diamond ornament in order to sell t—to provide money for her' marriage with the man 6be loved.

"Well, that t$ nil over now," Mary had replied. "You haven’t got the money, and you must swear to me that you’ll never see this man again, and that you'll marry Sir Richard."

•And Joan had sworn, and had seemed -aner to get out of her troubles at so .•small a cost.

There "was certainly no reason why Mary should have felt hurt at the euc•«.ss of her plans. She had made the loans herself ami it would have been idiotic to have hoped for failure. And jow could sho possibly think hardly of •nan.' She had put Joan into a posi;ion from which the girl could not have extricated herself. Who would have believed .Joan, it Joan had chosen to •speak the truth? Who would believe that a girl about to ho married to a man with twenty thousand a year, would ptpul anything. And Joan’s conduct had been less suspicious than her own. It was Joan who had asked to see the jewel again. Joan had laughed and jested through all that rotten search in the shop. Joan had stood up to her accusers, and denied the theft. She. Mary, had been cold and white-faced and silent —the attitude of the real criminal.

“The nursing home." thought Mnrv. ns she saw tho gates of Ilolloway. And ‘•he laughed, and the woman who was with her looked at her with a frown. It had been arranged that Mrs Eden

should be told that her elder daughter tnk f. n . ver y iU and intended to spend a month in a nursing home. mothef yS n CO la ? Sed ’’l sakl Joan to her ’ * k en , she retu ™ed to the little house at Mirchester. “I wrote to you a ”!', t Jt - The doctor says she wants absolute rest for a month. The fact is mater, she s been overdoing it. Things can tgo on like this. You must have a nurse. The woman who has been r. y< *"’ " 11 ? " -e ve been in iondon, must stay on here. And she's not to der'stand/’* Mary comes buck ' You ««■ ,; s to pay for the nurse?" , rs Lden, quite practical. ~, ! C . rc * find the money. I’ll . 1 J nm i l,st 10w matters stand. It V y° u overwork Mary." Ihe giiTs harsh voice sent a flush to sofa c leeks the frail woman on the oaa '” , she faltered, "you—one would tnink Id been unkind to Mary." ‘iou’ve not meant to be unkind. Mary s a brick. But she can’t he both servant and nurse. I’ll see that there’s money to pay for a servant." dea^ 1 swe ®t, little girl," said Mrs iden always so kind and thoughtful for others. But I really do think Mary might have kept up a little longer —until after the wedding. There is so much to arrange, and I’m no use for anything." Joan looked down at her mother’s'thin, miu ,t? ce „ arKi B r , e y hair. In spite of ill-health, Mrs Eden was still a handsome woman, with the fine, grey eyes that Mary had inherited from her. Joan uas more like her father in features, but she had her mother’s disposition. And perhaps that was why Joan had never felt any real sympathy with her mother. Only strength calf tolerate weakness. "We shall get on very well," said Joan after a pause. "It is to be such a quiet affair, isn't it? I wanted a big wedding, but Richard wouldn't hear of lt - ,P? course * Bishop or the Dean Sr'l, married us in the Cathedral. ■v/i M s all for the best, now Mary is "I must write to her, dear. What Is her address?" Joan shook her head. 'She is not allowed to receive letters," shu replied, “nor to write them. That's usual in a rest cure, you know. One inayn t. even read a book, or talk. It's a kind of—a kind of living death. Now you must go to sleep, mother. I've a dozen things to see to."

Later on in the day, Sir Richard Pynfv 11 kig car glided up to the door of the little house, and Sir Richard sprang out of it wtih all the eagerness of a lover. He was a tall broad-shouldered man of 45, with a clean-shaven face that more remarkable for its strength of character than for its good looks. Like so many men of his type, he had chosen, out of the hundreds of women who would only have been too glad to marry him, n frivolous fragile butterfly of a girl, young enough to be bis own daughter. "I can do the thinking for both of us," he had once said to Joan when she had openly doubted her fitness to be his wife. “You'll supply the beauty and the joy of life."

Joan met him at the open door, and when the door was closed, and they were in the darkness of the tiny hall, Sir Richard picked her up in his arms and kissed her—lifted her off her feet as he might have lifted a child. "Mother is not to be disturbed/' she laughed, when he set her down again. “Let us go oi't in the garden, and 6it by the river." They 1 the house, walked down the ion<? strin of turf that was bordered with great clumps and masses of herbaceous plants, passed through an archway cut in a great wall of clipped yew. and did not nause until they reached the edge of the stream. It was growing dark, and the western sky a dull red, like molten iron that is rabidly cooling from white to grey. The tower of the cathedral—that wonderful building that meant so much to M-'' v v and so little to Joan-—was so dark that it was impossible to distinguish the outline of the windows or the nlace where it soring from tho great horizontal bulk of the roof. Like a dark solid pillar it was—against the fading light in the sky. Th»y seated themselves on a wooden bench, and Sir Richard took Joan in his arms again. “You poor little thing." he said. “I'm soon going to take you out of all this." Joan nestled closer to him. She was not in love, but it was pleasant to think that this man could nlace her beyond the claws and fangs of poverty, that he was strong and reliable, that he would fight her battles. And yet how nearly she had lost him £*ho shuddered as she thought of that. "You are cold," he aaid. “It is cold bv the water/’ “Tt is warm in your arm*. Dick." she whispered. And then she suddenly struggled t«» free herself. But he held her tight and her struggles ceased. She lay motionless in his arms, and the passion of his kisses did not stir her to life. "T shall never let vou go," he said in a low voice, "not until I am dead. And even then I may hold you." Ten minutes passed, and it was so dark that the river was like a sheet of black steel. Sir Richard a6ked after Mary. “She has broken down," Joan replied. "She has been overworked. T left her in London—in a nursing home." “But she will be at our wedding?" "No—she will still be in the nursing home. She wants a long rest. Dick, when we are married, you must let me help mother and Mary. They ought to have a servant, and I think mother ought to have a nurse." “I’ll see to that, little girl," he replied, and then, after a pause, “Can you give me the address of the nursing home?" "No. Dick. Mnrv can't write or receive any letters, and of course, no visitors ore allowed." "I’m going up to town to-morrow," he persisted, “and I'd like to 6end her round some flowers." "Oh, she mustn't have flowers. The matron said so—l asked her that—particularly. You know how had it is to have flowers in a sick room." /'Only flowers with a strong scent," Sir Richard replied. And then after a pause he said. "I don't care about all this secrecy, Jonn Surely there i<? no need to keep Mary's address a secret." "Yes there is, Dick. No one is to write to her, or call on her. She has had a nervous breakdown. I promised her I would not give the address." Joan wa« well aware of the ridiculous position she had taken up—a position that could not be defended. She was only arousing Sir Richard's suspicions. And he was a man who liked everyone to be ae straightforward as himself.* She knew well enough that he could not understand her refusal to give the address. As for the flowers—well, any invalid could receive a gift of scentless flowers. "Poor little girl," said Sir Richard, after a long silence, "you're a brave little fighter. Jonn, but you've not had enough experience in the sort of fighting that call* for deceit and falsehood. I’m glad of that, and I'm glad that you’ve had the pluck to stand up for Mary. 1 know well enough/'—and he lowered his voice—“that Mary is in prison." (To be Continued.)