SUNSHINE AFTER STORM.

Otago Witness, Issue 3882, 7 August 1928, Page 80

SUNSHINE AFTER STORM.

By

Dulcie Carman.

(Copyright.—Foe the Otago Witness.)

The sleety rain dashed against the closely curtained windows, and the wild wind shrieked and wailed amongst the furiously-tossing tree branches. Norman Carew poked the fire vigorously, and a shower of sparks flew up from the blazing log. “ It’s a wild night! ” he observed, “ haven’t seen such a gale for years.” „ “ I never saw but one other quite so bad! ” acquiesced his companion, throwing the stub of his cigarette into the heart of the blaze, and feeling in his pockets for another; “jolly good thing I reached here before the worst of it. If you hadn’t been able to give me a sheltered paddock for the sheep I should probably have lost half of them.” “ Yes ! You struck here just at the right time. A gale like this is not a good thing to be out in.” “ The other gale I referred to was five years ago. I know all about that one, for I waited out in it all night—for someone who never came. It was down in the south.”

“ I was down south five years ago,” said Norman Carew, “and out in that storm too, I fancy—early spring, wasn’t it? About the end of August? ” , “ Yes ! ” grimly, “ the 29th of August. I’ll never forget that night—it changed my whole life.” “ And mine. I could tell you the yarn, but you wouldn’t believe it.” “I’d believe anything!” said the stranger gloomily, “ spooks—any dope you like.” “Not exactly spooks! ” said Norman, smiling, “ something rather odd, though.” He rose and went to the window, pulling back the blind, and vainly endeavouring to see the distant road. “No lights! ” he said unhappily, coming back to the fire, “ I’m considerably worried. My wife and her sister went to town to-day, and I stayed home to watch the kiddy. They should have been back before this. The Liz is a good little bus, and never sticks us up, but in this wind—with the hairpin bends and cut-outs on the Pukehinau —you never know what might happen. If they don’t turn up soon I’ll leave you in charge and go to look for them.” “Yes, do! ” assented his companion, “ I’ll keep house, and see to the kiddy if it wakes. They used to be fond of me once.”

“ Rosebud is a friendly atom—but she won’t wake —never does. You a married man ? ”

“ No,” gloomily, “ I might have been, but the luck ran the other way. It isn’t a subject I’m fond of—how about spinning that yarn you spoke of?” “ Oh, well! If you want it—here goes! Five years ago I didn’t own a run. I was gaining farming experience before the dad set me up in a place of my own. I was working on ‘King’ Railsford’s run. You’ve heard of him—the Romney breeder who is nearly a millionaire?” “ Yes—many times.” “ Well, some relative of his in England died and left his daughter a diamond pendant valued at £lOOO. They sent it out by a special messenger, but he broke his leg the day before landing, and they wired to Railsford instructing him to send down for the pendant. He sent me! ”

Norman Carew paused and smoked reflectively.

“ I had a motor bike, and I got the pendant all right, and started back for home, and struck this storm we spoke of just outside a tiny house on the road from Te Ngaio. I’d been having trouble with my ignition for some time, and just here the bike refused duty, and there was nothing for it but to ask for shelter at this house I mentioned before.

“ They took me in, willingly enough—there seemed to be a father and a young girl—it was only after I had been there some time that I discovered that the mother and a trained nurse were both in the room of an elder daughter, who was dangerously ill.” The man across the fire from the speaker drew in his breath with an audible hiss, but Norman Carew went on unheedingly.

“ I wanted to go on then, of course, but they would not hear of it. It was just at the height of the storm, too. By degrees I heard the story of the other girl’s illness. It seemed that she was very clairvoyant, and not at all strong, and bit by bit the brain had worn the body away until now she was just a wasted wreck. The doctor said he thought there was no possible hope for her. A long sea trip, and a complete change to other surroundings might possibly have done her good, but her people were poor, the trained nurse was more than they could really afford, so, like countless other unfortunates, they had nothing to do but wait for the end, which they .iudsted to be near.!’ . ___]

“ Dashed hard! ” growled the man across the fire, without looking at the narrator. “ Yes, it was hard—they were a fine family—it was just a case of plain bad luck. However, we suit round the fire, and the storm raged fiercely, and the night wore on, until —so quietly that she made me jump— a sad-faced, grey-eyed woman entered the room. Her husband and daughter sprang up to meet her, but she looked past them both to me, who was standing uncertainly in the background. » “‘ I wonder if you would do us a great favour,’ she said slowly, her eyes on mine, ‘ my husband has no doubt told you of our daughter’s illness? She roused just now, and asked for you, and I promised to bring you to her. It is the first time she has spoken to-day. Would you mind coming with me?’ “ ‘ But—-she doesn't know me! ’ I objected stupidly, ‘ She has never even seen me-—she couldn't know that I am here.’ “ The mother shook her head gravely. “ ‘ She told me you were here, and described you so well that I recognised you as soon as I entered the room. She is never wrong. I knew you would be here. Will you come to her?’

“ Well—to make a long story short, I went with her to the bedside of her daughter—a girl so frail and thin and white that she might have been dead but for the light that blazed in her big, dark blue eyes.

“‘You came!’ she said, and her voice was such a slender little thread of sound that I could scarcely hear it. ,‘ I wanted —to warn you. I had a dream. Y’ou have a jewel entrusted to your care—am I right?’ “‘Yes!’ I answered in a bewildered fashion, for how on earth could this unknown invalid in a poky out-of-the-way district ever have learned the object of my journey? “ ‘ You are going on in the morning? ’ the girl continued. ‘ I want to warn you. Don’t go by the Kiwiroa track—will you promise? The other way is further round, but safer.’ “You will understand, of course, that she didn’t say it as I have done —her words were spoken singly, with long pauses between, and I, like a fool, said clumsily: “ But I’m not afraid of the Kiwiroa track.’ “ She shook her head the merest fraction of an inch. ‘‘ ‘lt isn’t the track. There is someone waiting there to steal the jewel from you and he mustn’t—promise me vou won’t let him!’

‘ She had worked herself into such a pitiable state of excitement at the bare -idea that, of course, I promised. What is more, I kept my word, and went the other way. I have often wondered since whether there really was anyone waiting for me on that track or not. It is one of life’s mysteries that I suppose will never be solved—and Primrose could not tell how she knew that the man was there.”

“But I can!” said the man across the nre curtly. <c I can solve the mystery for you. There was a man waiting for you on the Kiwiroa track that night of awful storm —a desperate, would-be thief who was determined to obtain that diamond pendant at any cost—myself!” “Y’ou!” echoed Norman Carew amazedly. But, man, I never saw you before to-night—how in the world did you get to hear of it ? ”

“The messenger from England who broke his leg was taken straight to a hospital where a friend of mine was porter. I never found out how he got the information, but he happened to ring me up, and amongst other items of news he mentioned the pendant, adding that a man on a motor bike was taking it with him on his journev north, and commenting jokingly that here was an excellent chance for an expert highwayman. I seized upon the idea °at once, figured out the way you would probably take, and when you stopped at the junction for lunch I happened to see you, and recognised you from the description my chum had given of you. J a m °t°r bike myself, and scorched off ahead of you, lying in wait all night on the Kiwiroa track—but you never was m Y onl y attempt at a thief s career—and it failed.” But what on earth ever induced you lo tiy such a thing? ” demanded Norman Carew energetically .“ Man alive—you’re no crook.”

No! ” with a twisted smile, “mv only attempt at being a crook was *a sorry failure. But I was an unlucky devil—practically down-and-out—and I loved Primrose Dare, and she loved me. You know what the doctors said about the long sea voyage, and the change of surroundings? Well—she was dying for lack of them, and her people couldn’t help. It was up to me—and that was the only thing I could think of that would bring in sufficient money in time. It would have been useless anyway—when I went up to confess to her, three days after you passed through in safety, I rode beside the cemetery, and there, in the sunnv comer sdxa hkzl ~Q n „a

own was a new-made grave smothered in primroses. I knew then, but I went on to the house, only to find it shut up and empty. Of course they couldn't bear it after Primrose went. After that things went better for me. I’m manager now for Guy Carlyon—about 30 miles south of this. I came to the North Island to try and forget. But I wish you had ridden the Kiwiroa track that night.” ‘ Why ? ” demanded Norman Carew eagerly, “do you think money got so would have helped her any? ” “ Money’s much the same however you get it! ’ the man said wearily, “but it is a rotten knock to find that she knew I was going to steal it.” . She saved you! ” Norman said quickly, “ and that saved her. I don’t know whose grave you saw, but it wasn’t Primrose s. When I got home the next morning and told my boss the story, he chose to believe that she had saved the pendant for his daughter. Things move fast when he takes them in hand, and a couple of days later, the father and Heather were up on Railsford’s run, in a comfortable little cottage—the man is working for him still, by the way, and the mother and Primrose were off for a lazy cruise about the islands.” kh* 2 lived! ” said the man, in a strangled tone.

“ Lived, and got well again. More than that, as her health increased, her clairvoyance diminished. I don’t think she will ever suffer badly from it again.” You kept in touch with them,” a little jealously. Yes, I think them a very fine family, and I was working for Railsford too, vou must remember. Afterwards mv father gave me a helping hand, and'l went into this little place here, and married.” “ Oh, yes! I had forgotten you wero married. I lost her, and you found her, you married Primrose! ” there was infinite bitterness in the man’s voice.

“ I married the girl I loved from the moment I first saw her,” Norman Carew answered quietly. “More than that, I have made her happy, I know. You will see her in a little while. You will like to see her again, I am sure.” The man threw back his head defiantly. “ Yes, damn you! ” he said fiercely. “ Alive or dead—your wife or any other man’s—l should like to see Primrose.”

“ And I think she will be pleased to see you!, ” Norman added heartily, “if only they would come.” He paused and looked curiously across the fire at his companion. “ What made you guess I had married Primrose? ” he asked with interest.

“ Y’ou practically told me yourself,” with a short laugh, “ You ‘ kept in touch with them’; you married; Primrose got well; you called your child Rosebud—it all fits together like the pieces of a puzzle.” “ Y’ou are pretty quick-witted,” admitted Norman Carew slowly. “ Listen! Isn’t that a car? Yes! It’s the little Liz—l’d know the sound of her through the howling of any gale. You just stay here, and I’ll go out and fix things up. We’ll be back in a moment.” His guest nodded slowly, and a moment later was the only occupant of the cheerful room. The storm still raged and beat about the house, and the man left by the fire felt that his mind was in almost as great a turmoil as the elements outside. Primrose—his mourned love—not dead as he had believed, but alive and well. He could hardly realise yet that, living, she was more lost to him than she had been dead. It seemed impossible that the Primrose he had worshipped could be the wife of another man—the ffiother of his child. He wanted to go—to slip away through the storm, and defer the meeting that was inevitable, but, at the same time there was an irresistible urge in his blood drawing him towards the little Ford that had come to a stop outside the front door, which now banged sharply behind someone who came lightly and rapidly down the narrow passage and stopped at the living-room door. The hot blood rushed to the man’s face and sang in his cars as he sprang to his feet and faced the woman who entered the room so unconsciously. Here was Primrose indeed, but such a Primrose as he had never seen, with her air of fresh vigour, her sparkling eyes and alert pose, and in all her new radiance she was lost to him!

“ Why—Roger! ” she said in amazement. ’ “ Oh, my dear, where have you been all these years ? ” “Thinking you dead!” the man answered hoarsely. “Oh Primrose, why did you vanish from my life without leaving a word ? ”

“ But I didn’t, Roger. I was too ill myself, when they took me away, to attend to anything, but Heather left a note for you with Mrs Smith, who used to live next door to us at Te Ngaio, you remember. In it she told you everything —did you never get that note ? ” “Never!” replied the man gloomily. “ I found the new grave covered with primroses in the corner you had always ea-llml vaiiri. ami went on and found

your home shut up and empty. I did not think there was need to seek any further. Primrose—if I had found that note, would you be Carew’s wife now 1 ” “ 1 should never be Carew’s wife at any time, my dear!” the woman answered gently. “ 1 have always been engaged to you. In any case, Norman never saw further than Heather from the first time he ever saw her. She was the only girl in the world for him. She is Mrs Carew—not II”

“ Primrose!” With a few quick steps he had her in his arms. “ What a heaven-sent mercy, beloved—and now little I deserve it—l, who was so nearly a thief!”

“ But I saved you from that—oh, Roger! How perfectly happy we shall all be now. The loss of you has been our only shadow since I got well—now we have reached a cloudless sky.” “ Love must be deaf as well as blind, my darling!” laughed Roger Tremaine, as the cottage shook with the fury of the gale which shrieked and moaned amongst the wildly-tossing tree branches. “ I shouldn’t call it cloudless yet, by a very long way, but there is every ind’cation of ‘ Sunshine after Storm.’ ”