THE NOVELIST.

Otago Witness, Issue 3403, 4 June 1919, Page 54

THE NOVELIST.

[Published by Special Abrancemknt.] THE CROOKED MADE STRAiGH f. *By BEN BOLT, Author of "Linked by Peril," "Love Finds the Clue," " The Lifting of the Shadow," etc. [COFYBIGHT.] CHAPTER I. Near the low wall that ran along one side of the old quarry road a young man was standing book in hand. He was dressed roughly in the corduroys and heavy iron-shod boots customary among the labouring men of the district; but he was tall and straight and of manly bearing; and even the rough, ill-fitting clothes failed to hide the masculine grace of his figure. The face was clear-cut, the forehead betokened intelligence, whilst the steady grey eyes and firm chin suggested a strength of will that woidd not easily be turned from its purpose. His book interested him; he turned the small pages rapidly, and once he read aloud, tasting the music of the numbers it held.

It matters not how wide the gate, How charged with punishment the ecroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the Captain of my eoul " '"That's fine!" he murmured to himself.' " And what's more —it's true." He stood for a full two minutes looking into vacancy, the light of dreams in his eyes. Then, as the sound of wheels broke the stillness, .the absent look vanished, and as he swung round his grey eyes became suddenly ■ alert. A high dogcart was coming down the road, and in it was seated a girl. She was, perhaps, a couple of hundred yards away when first he saw her, and advancing at a rattling pace. Then something seemad to happen. The horse plunged and reared, and, a moment later flung forward as. if shot from a catapult, whilst a sudden, sharp cry broke from the girl-driver. As he watched it was clear to John Harland that she had lost control, and instantly he broke into a run down the road. _ Whilst he ran his mind worked quickly. On the straight piece the girl would be safe, notwithstanding the roughness of the road, but at the turn there was great danger for 'her; and it was there that anything that he could do for her must be done.

He reached the turn with fifty yards to spare, and stood there waiting with a set look on his resolute face. Behind him, less than a yard distant, was a line of discrepit rails, and a foot beyond that was the steepest part of the old quarry. He glanced at the corner, and then at the bolting horse. It was a moral impossibility that the horse could make the turn, .and John Harland sickened as he thought of ,the depths behind him and of the jagged stones at the bottom.

He held himself ready for the rash thing to be attempted, and. he looked at the 'girl. She was sitting straight up in the dog-cart, pulling at the reins, with apparently no effect whatever. Her face as he could see, was very white, and there was a look in her eyes that told him she was aware of fhe danger that awaited her at the corner. ' .

Then the bolting horse was almost upon him, a great roan beast, eyes aflame, and teeth "set hard on the bit, tearing straight for the flimsy rails that fenced the depths below. He did not cry out. He did not look at the. girl any more. His eyes were on the roan, and he waited—waited! The five seconds that, elapsed seemed almost interminable, then he literally himself at the maddened horse's head.

It had never been in his mind that he could bring the horse to a standstill. The utmost that he had hoped was that he would be able to deflect its course and turn it from the dangerous corner. And that he accomplished. The shock of his spring made the maddened horse swerve, and on the swerve there followed a sudden crash, as the further wheel encountered a great slab of stone that once had been used to weight a crane. He saw the girl flung clean out of the dogcart as the wheel collapsed, and the next moment he felt himself go down. He had a vision of stamping hoofs.—hoofs that seemed magnified a hundredfold, some-„ thing hit his shoulder with a sickening jar, the earth whirled about, then he passed into a sudden darkness. After a time the darkness passed, and he opened his eyes on daylight again—on daylight and something more. For between him and the sun was the face of the girl whom he had saved from a horrible death. Her hat was lost or tossed aside, and as he looked up he saw the glint of the red-gold hair, the delicatelvmoulded face full of concern for himself, the eyes, blue as heaven itself, swimming with tears. There was an intolerable oain in his shoulder, but that beautiful, pitiful fa-ce was very close to his, and, in spite of the pain, he smiled. "Oh!" cried the girl tragically. "I thought vou were killed." John Harland smiled again. " I suppose I ought to be ; but it doesn't matter so long as you are safe." The girl glanced at the decrepit rails, and shuddered. "It was a close call,' she said. "If you hadn't done what you did at that exact moment. T—T " "Please don't mention it, Miss Lisburne."

" And you are hurt. I saw you go doTvn as I was thrown, and cried out. I hope the hurt is not very had?"

" I don't know; I can't tell. My shoulder pains me pretty badly, and I can't move my right arm." '" It will be best not to try," said the girl quickly. "' I'ou must lie just where you are, whilst X slip down to Farmer Trenciiard's lor help, i'ou might do yourself really grave damage by attempting to move, and 1 should never forgive myself if I allowed you to try." " I will do exactly what you advise, Miss Lisburne, but before you go, tell me what happened when I fcnrew myself at your horse." " Your weight and the shock made him swerve: The left wheel caught a big stone and smasned, and I was thrown into the bracken.' The shafts went also, and the cart is a wreck, whilst the horse is now doping the herbage round the corner." " But you are not hurt?" asked the young man anxiously. ".Not in the least,* thanks to you! You saved my life, and I am very grateful, so grateful that I will not stop here thanking you when I should be running for help. But before I go I will try to make you a little more comfortable. Your head is against one of the ruts.") She straightened herself a little, and slipped off the woollen sports coat that she was wearing. This was rolled into a pillow, and she leaned over him to put it under his head. Their faces were very close to each other, and John Harland was thinking that her eyes were the bluest that ever were, -when an astonished voice broke the stillness.

"Molly! Molly! What is the meaning of this?" The girl looked hastily round. A handsome woman of perhaps forty-five years of age had just come round the corner of the road, and was surveying the tableau before her with amazed displeasure. Before the girl could reply, a second person appeared, a gentleman of between fifty and sixty years of age, on whose face was an expression of utmost consternation.

" My dear," he cried, bustling forward. "What is the matter? What has happened? We saw the horse and " The girl interrupted him. " There has Seen a smash, father, and Mr Harland saved my life. Teddy was swarmed_ by wasps and bolted. He was making straight for the quarry oorner there, and we should have been over but for Mr' Harland. He flung himself at Teddy's head and turned him, but he went down, and I am afraid his shoulder is smashed. I was just making him jjiore comfortable before going for help." "But you—but you? You are not hurt?" : H *&

"Not even a scratch, fathefr!" She rose from her knees. "Mr Harland is-pretty badly damaged, though, and if you will remain here I will run down to the farm for help. I shall go faster than you." "Sir Anthony has not time," broke in the lady, who was her step-mother. "It is -important that he should catch a train!

"Sir Anthony!" The girl's voice betrayed extreme surprise. • " Yes! A telegram came an hour ago. His cousin—Sir John—died suddenly this morning, and your father succeeds —at last."

u But I shall remain—l shall lemain, train or no train," said her father. "Run, my dear, for help as you suggest. I may have calls elsewhere, but I cannot forget that Harland has saved your life. As quick as you can, Molly."

The girl darted away, and her father took a step towards the injured man. There was a troubled look in his eyes, and it was clear that he was a little embarrassed. A few seconds passed, during which his wife flashed an inquiring glance at him. Then he spoke: "Is the shoulder very bad, Harland?" "I don't know. There is a good deal of pain, and -I can't move my arm. The horse trod on me, but I am very glad that Miss Lisburne was not hurt.'' "Yes! Yes! So am I. And when you are well we must do something for you. We must see to that. We must see to that!" " Thank you, Mr Lisbnrne, but "

"Mr Lisburne is Mr Lisburne no more. He is Sir Anthony Lisburne. baronet, and you should give him his title, Harland," broke in the watching woman. A faint smile played about the lips of the injured man.

"I beg pardon," he said in a voice that was not perhaps altogether apologetic, "but as I was about to say, Sir Anthony. I should much prefer things to remain as thev are. I could not think of allowing vou to do anvthing for me. T am very glad" to have been of service to Miss Lisbume. and there the matter ends!" " Tut! Tut! That is because you have those Socialistic notions. You can't -possibly exnect that I can allow mvself or my daughter to remain under obligation to a labouring man !" " I am a farm-bail iff," corrected Harland.

"The same thine: —the Fame thing." said the tiew-fleduced baronet briefly. " And I can't allow it—T really can't allow it!" John Harland d'd not replv. Through his ■ mind there flashed the proverb about taking a horse to the water, but he refrained from giving it utterance. Sir Antbonv fidnretfed unensilv, and a? the young man closorl his oves as if he found conversation a little trying he moved towards his wife, who had turned and walVed a few paces awy. "It is verv odd. Sara —very odd!" he said in a half-wbisner. " What is odd?" asked Lady Lisburne, looking at him sharply. " Whv. that we should have an encounter like this to-dav of all days. That lad "

" Be careful!" whispered his wife, lookin? hastilv round. '" T can guess what von arc- 'coing to sav. and it is iust rubbish. There is nothing fatalistic about this merino:. Tt is iust an accidentthat is all." Whatever the matter referred to was. appa.rentlv Sir Anthony was overborne by his wifo's view of it, for he refrained

from speaking again, and walked to and fro by her side, glancing now and again towards his daughter's saviour, with a troubled look in his eyes. Then the soanu of voices came round the corner, and a moment later Molly Lisburne appeared accompanied by four men bearing an improvised stretcher. A look of relief came on the baronet's face as he hurried forward to take charge of operations. "Gently, men—gently I That's right. Now take him to the cottage hospital I shall have to hurry on, as I have a train to catch. But— —" He put a haad im Lis pocket, and produced a sovereign whi 'h he thrust into the hand of one of the men. "There is something for your trouble." He turned to go, and then, remembering, swung round to the injured man. "I shall se you again, Harland—l shall see you again!" " les, Sir Anthony."

"Good afternoon, men." He bustled away, accompanied by his wife, who called over her shoulder, " Are you coming, Molly?" "Thank you, no. I shall go as far as the hospital with Mr Harland.' Lady Lisburne tossed her head impatiently. "My step-daughter is very self-willed, Anthony,' she said grumbling ly. "A little! .A little!" agreed Sir Anthony. " But after all, it is ve.y natural that she should want to see Harlaifd safely bestowed. He saved her lite But I would give a hundred pounds —yes a hundred pounds, if it had only been someone else."

"■Well,-", replied Lady Lisburne, laughing a little harshly, " that sum would be no trouble to us now. The lean days are over. I -wonder what sort of a will your half-brother made?" Sir Anthony Lisburne did not attempt to reply to the question, but as he pressed onward, there was a very thoughtful look upon his face. CHAPTER 11. " Here is some one to see you, Mr Harland." As the nurse spoke, John Harland, lying in his cot at the cottage hospital, turned his head a little that he might see the speaker, and then his pale face flushed, for behind the nurse walked Miss Molly Lisburne, carrying a small book in her hand. As she approached his bedside she smiled radiantly. " Good afternoon, Mr Harland. I am delighted to hear from Sister Stenhouse that you are getting along so nicely, and I hope that you feel that you are." John Harland smiled cheerfully. "I think I do, but I find it rather tiresome lying here." " In spite of your visitors?" asked the girl with a quick smile. " You had my father and step-mother here yesterday, hadn't you, to thank you for saving my life, I believe?" "No," answered the young man in a hard tone; " they came to pay me—for doing so.'-* "Ah!' said Molly thoughtfully. "What did they offer you? ' " A passage to America and two hundred pounds." ."And you —what did you say?" "I declined the offer M r ith thanks."

The ghost,of a smile showed on Molly Lisbnrne's face as she asked, " Why?" _ John. Harland's face flushed. He hesitated a moment, then blurted out the truth. " Because I do not think that any man should make such an offer to another in payment «for a duty which the moment demanded."

The girl nodded, and said quietly: "I think I agree with you." Then she gave a little laugh. " But you are terribly proud, Mr Harland." " Possibly. -But that anyone should seek to pay me for a service that I was only too glad to render hurts me, Miss Lisburne."

"But have you thought that it was just a way of snowing gratitude, and " "Do you think that Lady Lisburne knows anything of gratitude?" he interrupted impulsively. As he asked the question she looked at him quickly. His eyes m§t hers searchingly, and, though she would have preferred to evade the queston, she was constrained to reply, " Perhaps I don't. Yet I feel I cannot forget that she is' my father's wife. But why do you ask such a question ?" " Because yesterdav she rated me for not accepting the offer; and I am certain that it was not thwarted gratitude that led her to do so. I think she was chagrined and disappointed because I did not aaree to leave England for America." Molly Lisburne was silent and very thoughtful for a moment, then she spoke. "I think you must be mistaken," she said. " Wbat difference can it make to her where you live? Mv step-mother is very imperious, and naturally she would be chagrined at having her will crossed." "Possibly," was the Teply. "But Tam quite sure that she iirgently desired that I should leave England." . '

"But why? wby? why? Tell me that. Mr Harland." " I can't," he answered frankly.

"Then.' laughed ISTollv, "we will change the subiect. T always hated conundrums. A.nd T am forgetting that I came to nlay Ladv Bountiful. I have brought gifts—-fruiit-offerin.gs and flower-offerings " She broke off and hurried from the ward, "returning a minute la£er with a large basket of fruit and flowers. A maid followed her with a tray holding flnwer glasses, and after setting them on a table withdrew. Mollv Lisburne began to arrange the flowers in the glasses, chatting merrily as she did so.

" These are my gifts. Sir Proud-heart, and T won't have them refused. The fruit jilsol Out of my savings I bought it, and neither Lady Lisburne nor my father wots of it. And, though you reiected their gifts, mine you sball not. Such is the slaw and the prophets. There!" She stepped back to mark the effect of the flowers, then nodded approvingly. " I

think that will do—but there's one over—a rose. What can I do with it?"

" You can give it to me—since it was for me you brought it," said John Harland with a boldness that surprised himself.

" Of course," she cried laughing, lightly. " That is the obvious thing to do. Why did I-not think of it?" She tossed the rose on to the bed, where he could reach it with his uninjured hand; then, as the sound of light footsteps came from the corridor, she said, " There is Sister Stenhouse coming to throw me out. I must go, but I shall come again. Good afternoon, Mr Harland."

She gathered up her gloves, -waved them to him in farewell, and passed out of the ward. John Harland heard her talking for a minute, caught the sound of girlish laughter, and listened to her retreating steps, then he looked at the rose in his hand. His face was very thoughtful. He lay so for quite a long time; then he whispered to himself: " Did she mean me to ask for it or not?" He smiled at himself as he asked the question. "Of course, I'm a presumptuous fool!"

But all the same he set the rose to his lips.

A week later John Harland walked along the old Quarry road where he met with his accident. His right arm was in a sling and his face was a little blanched by his stay indoors; but otherwise he was quite well; and as he walked he revolved some problem in his mind. "It would be best," he muttered. "It is a fine country, and a man has chances there."

He reached a small spinney in which the pheasants were clucking, and there he reclined himself against the rails to rest and think. So immersed in this thought was he that he did not catch the sound of a light step on the pine needles which carpeted the spinney, and he was quite startled when a merry voice hailed him. " A penny for your thoughts, Mr Harland."

He jumped with surprise; then, turning, met the laughing gaze of Molly Lisburne's blue eyes. " Well, to tell the truth, Miss Lisburne, I wa« ? T*t making up my mind to leave England." '* To leave England!" Molly Lisburne was startled, and her tone showed/ it. Then she asked quietly, " You are not accepting my father's offer?" "No!" he said almost brusqnely. 'But it was that offer which set. me thinking.' " But why should you leave England?" she asked, something like dismay showing on her beautiful face. " Because I am ambitious," he said with a laugh, 'and. in this neighbourhood ambition is frowned upon, as, perhaps, you know."

, "Yes," was the answer, "I know. 'God bless the squire and his relations, and. teach us all our proper stations.' That is the acceptable prayer of this countryside," she laughed derisively. "But this countryside is not England. There are other places where a man can realise his ambitions."

" That is true/' he admitted; " but for a man of my oalling the dominions offer a larger scope and a quicker realisation of desires. You are to remember that I am a farmer with a, special knowledge of sheep, and that, whilst I might begin in a small way here, it would take a" whole lifetime to get even moderately prosperous, whilst abroad "

"What part?" broke in the girl. "Australia," he answered promptly, "or New Zealand."

"Yes," she answered slowly, "I think you are right. The new lands offer an ambitious man a great" field, and the possibility of riches, and. I suppose you desire to become rich?"

" Who does not?" he asked smilingly. " I should never have thought it of you," she replied .gravely." The young man laughed cheerfully. "I could never have thought it of myself—until recently." "Then something has happened? Something has caused you to change your views?" " Yes,' was the brief reply. " Tell me," flashed Molly Lisburne quickly. " I am interested. I should like to hear what has caused the change." At her request a sudden confusion fell on John Harland. His face flushed; he. opened his lips as if to speak, then did not do so, and the girl read his embarrassment like an open book. "I am waiting," she said. "You cannot guess how curious I am." "I cannot tell you," he began stam--meringly. " But we are friends. Surely you can tell me?" " You least of all," he blurted out. A splash of colour came suddenly in her "cheeks, and her blue eyes sparkled." " That is not very complimentary," she said rallyingly. "I cannot stand very high in your esteem; and I was flattering myself that I " " No woman could -stand higher," he cried impetuously. The truth was out now, and for a moment they stood regarding each other, the man a little abashed at his own temerity. Then Molly Lisburne. smiled very gravely. "I shall not pretend to be surprised," she said. " It would be foolish of me to do so." "Then you understand?" lie asked. " Yes. I think I do." replied the girl. "And you are not offended?" " Offended at the greatest compliment that a man can pay a woman! Mr Farland, women are never reallv offended by

such compliments, whatever they may pretend." John Harland looked at her with eyes that were shining with hope. " Then " he began eagerly—"then " " Yes?" "I may live for the future, I may hope?" No one can prevent you doing that," replied the girl, again smiling, "and I shall not try. I owe you too much to dream of doing so." " You owe me nothing," was the reply, impetuously given. " You have given me an incentive which will make it Impossible for me to fail. And when I have succeeded I will write, I will come back." "Yes!" she answered, still smilingly, " perhaps that will be desirable." She held out her hand. " I must go now, Mr Harland. Good-bye!'' He took the hand, flashed one look at her for consent, then raised it to his lips, and a moment later he stood watching her as she went up the road, her face flushed and her eyes sparkling. (To be Continued.)