OMNIA VINCIT AMOR.

Otago Witness, Issue 3888, 18 September 1928, Page 80

OMNIA VINCIT AMOR.

By

Emily Baizeen.

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.) Jim Cameron was in love. Not a very original state, of course, for any ordinary young man of e'ght-and-twenty to find himself in—even if the lady of his heart did happen to be another man’s wife. From King David himself, past many a prince, many an earl, and countless lesser lights besides, the unwholesome enigma is, by reason of constant repetition, far more common than original. But each incident is a story —serious and vital to those concerned, whether the love is a passing fire soon extinguished, or a love that remains sweet and true till the bell of Eternity rings.

Jim Cameron's love was strong and true, of the last order, although the eternal part of it had not yet commenced to worry him. The part that did torment his mind just then was all those hard facts of the case that stood out so clearly against him. He had known that she was a married woman from their first moment of meeting — indeed, he had almost been at the point of becoming engaged to the pretty mutual friend who had presented them to each other. “Jim,” Lucy had said after that first dance, “ I’m so glad you’re in town for this ball. I’ll introduce you to all our latest and best. There’s Mrs Monty Ainsworth over there, and Stella Mardon. They're both lovely—and excellent dancers. Mrs Monty is quite the rage. Her husband’s a dear, too. They’ve taken the Benmore sheep station over, from the Claytons you know, so they will be your neighbours when they move in, won’t they ? ” Tlr-s Lucy had prattled on as they went across the floor, ana thus had he been in full knowledge of the honest legal barrier that was between them ere their eyes met in that first long and strangely disturbing look. His immediate thought was: “Only 20 miles from Benmore to the Gorge-head; they’ll have a car— —” Lucy and Stella Mardon were talking eagerly, as girls do at a dance, and Jim, mentally counting up a car mileage .between his own sheep station and Benmore, answered as intelligently as possible in the circumstances. But she said nothing until presently he swung her gently to and fro in a onestep. Then she spoke so low that he had to bend his head quite close to hers No, that wasn’t true! He could have heard Mrs Ainsworth quite easily, and the reason he bent his head was because he wanted to be nearer to her soft, dark hair, and to touch it with his cheek —so soon had the desire of love begun within him. He did make one or two honest efforts to stop himself in those first moments, he was pleased to remember; he even ventured a silly compliment about her dancing—the cheek of him, painting the lily, gilding the rose, or stating the obvious, Or whatever you may call it!

It was all so unnecessary—just the same as her making a point of presenting her husband—tht big, smiling, soft looking, fair-haired chump who showe* l two long teeth in a curious way, holding them on his lip long after the smile had died off his face. No, again! Honesty must have it. The other chap really • seemed right enough. Jim knew he was —and in spite of it he meant to crosscut him if it was at all possible. Mrs Monty might have been aware of his“sudden captivation, and she may have shown reciprocation that first evening. At any rate Jim went home to his parents’ place in Fendalton as though he was treading on enchanted air. He was in town for the “gay week ’ —this November—and she had somehow let him know that she would attend thj races and all the social events of the week. The code of' his life before he had met her, and the half-serious intentions he had had of settling down to quietness and matrimony, with Lucy Mathers, perhaps, if he didn’t happen to meet with any other girl more alluring—the code of his life had been one of strictest honesty, the intentions of taking a suitable wife to himself and his home at “ Gorgehead ” was his mother’s idea more than his own. Well, that idea was out of the question now. His mother would be kind and loving as always, he knew', but she w'ould be disappointed when she found out what had happened to him. Anyhow, he would "live up strictly to her teaching—above all and before all, honesty. Still, it wasn’t honest to anticipate the love of another man’s wife. Then he wouldn’t! He’d have to go on loving her, though; something sure and vital within himself told him this with equal honesty—he’d love her for ever At the races he had watched her eagerly as she came along the lawn talking to her husband abstractedly. Her eyes seemed to be searching a little, Jim thought, then his heart bounded

with a sudden, almost incredible, joy—she had stopped her search as soon* as her glance found himself. What small hills become mountains when we are in love! She certainly' led her husband half-way’ across the lawn to meet Jim, and frankly said so. Ainsworth, very smartly dressed, was busy with his racebook. “ What’s your first fancy? ” he inquired politely. Jim could have told him so easily: “ A dear, dark lady dressed in blue,” but he said the name of a horse that was not in the field that day, and gained a look of contempt from the other man. Jim felt a contempt for himself also at the moment, because she must thinklie was—only she didn’t! She was smiling at him instead. \ “ If you wish to back a winner,” she said, “you just put a pin through your race book, and back your station on the names that are marked.” Jim laughed, then answered: “ I don’t want to lose my station now that I am getting such charm ” " Look,” she interrupted him quickly, “ they are coming out now—those horses! Aren’t they beautiful creatures?” Just so! Well, he readily' would have to be very careful not to frighten her away or cause her the least annoyance.

He stayed with them as often and as long as he might do, however, watching his chances to stand by her side, when, their other friends moving on, he would seize the opportunity, and for one half hour he talked with her undisturbed and alone in spite of the big, gay crowd around them.

Of course, he dared to talk about anything else on earth but love—yet there was the deepest tremor of that passion in all he said and did. Once their hands touched lightly, and involuntarily they looked at each other. Mrs Monty was the first to gain normality. But her look had told him that the’ sweet thrill of the contact had been noticed by herself—her quickly-averted gaze afterwards confirmed it. And what a beautiful lady she was with that blush spreading over her face, Jim thought joyously, as his heart raced in a high speed to match the horses on the track. Mrs Monty’s eyes grew troubled-look-ing. She knew, as all women do on these occasions, that the man was in love with her. Other men had loved her and gone their several ways, and she had not wasted a thought regarding them. This was different. Never in love before she now found herself in a state of bewilderment at her sudden fascination for this stranger whom she had met only 12 hours ago. She had always viewed with strong distaste those married persons whom one knew indulged in outside “ love affairs.” She had always been so sure of herself, having felt secure in that quiet affection she had for her husband, and in that marriage certificate tied with ribbon and orange blossoms.-'Now she was stirred dike this! A keen glance at the face beside her convinced her that Jim Cameron knew, and was elated by the certainty of her feelings. Anyhow, she must not look at his face—not like that again—whatever she did. She had a great heritage to live up to, generations of good women and noble ancestors—Jim Cameron was blue blood, too —she knew that much about him—she would not encourage that love between them. She wished Monty would come. She glanced at Jim, with elaborate pretence of bein" bored. ° . “ I’m getting tired,” she said. “ I’d like Monty to take me home.” Jim Cameron raised his hat and left her at once. * * * During the gay week that followed they met almost constantly at the social functions, the theatres, the races, and at the homes of their mutual friends. Jim felt that his passion must be known to everybody. His love was true and deep, and that she returned it with an equality of emotion he now had very good reason to believe. There was that moment when they were alone after a dance in the hall at Mardon’s. “Oh, Jim Cameron!” she had cried when he had tried to draw her into his arms, and she had pushed him away .with her two white hands desperately against his chest. Firmly and tenderly he caught those hands and held her. “Just tell me I am nothing to you, my—Anna,” he whispered, “then I’ll go away from you forever.” She leaned towards him. . s “Oh, Jim, that isn’t fair of you! ” “It’s love,” said Jim Cameron. She turned her head away. The next dance had started. “ Please let me go,” she pleaded, “ I’m dancing this with John Doranfield.” He released her hands, then drew one through his arm. At the door of the ballroom, just before her partner claimed her, she said: “ My name isn’t Anna—' it’s Helen.” Without looking at her he shook his head. “ My Anna,” he said again with ferVour. i

“ Anna,” she wondered as she waltzed, “ Why did he call me Anna?” * * * One day a month later Jim saw the big blue car of Ainsworth’s turn in at his gate. He wondered if his new neighbours' at Benmore would return his visit or not. They were out motoring when he had called just a week since. Ainsworth was alone. The two men greeted each other d’ith a certain amount of cordiality. They talked of sheep ami of their many mutual interests as sheep farmers; they talked of other lands; they talked of war and peace; they talked about grasses and the different kinds of soil; they discussed the prospects of the Dominion’s wool clip, of their own station’s expectations in that particular—the number of sheep each run carried, and the general outlook for the quickly approaching shearing time. Jim took his visitor to the most interesting places on the station, returning to the house again for a drink just before departure. Then as he went towards his ear Ainsworth said: “I’m sure Helen would like to see the Gorge-head; the view of those hills from here is very fine.” Ainsworth looked expectantly at Jim. Mas the fellow a fool or what? He had mentioned her in a natural way, of course, Jim thought, but didn’t he know? No wonder he kept thinking of her as “ Anna.” A strong desire for aboslute honesty on his part towards this man then took hold of Jim Cameron. Ainsworth was holding out his hand, but Jim waved it aside. “Just a moment,” he said. “I want to tell you something you ought to know before you bring your wife to Gorge-head. Ainsworth gazed at him in a puzzled way. Jim could get nothing from that expression, so he forged ahead. “ I love your wife. I love her more than anybody or anything else on earth Didn’t you know that? ” Ainsworth laughed. “Go away with you, man!” he said. “\ou must be mad or dreaming—in love, with Helen—ridiculous nonsense!” Jim went close to him, anger nearly choking him. “ Ridiculous nothing!” he slanged. “ I do love her, and I’ll take her from you if I can, so now you know.” A serious look chased the scornful smile from Ainsworth's face.

“ I say, you’re damned impudent or honest about it, aren’t you?” Cameron nodded.

Ainsworth went on. “Do you know that if you told that sort of thing to some men they’d knock your head off, or try to?” Jim nodded again, and eagerness prompted him to sav encouragingly, “ M’ell ? ” “ I’m not a bad-tempered man.” Aincworth answered. With this explanation he drove off, leaving Jim Cameron gasping from utter amazement. No wonder that Anna could not love this man—a man did he call him? Forsooth, he wouldn’t fight! * * * The shearing began about that time, and Jim was “ up to his neck ” in work and too “dog-gone” tired for words at the end of each hot day to think seriously of another visit to “Benmore”— that was, just yet. Not that he wouldn’t have willingly crawled there on bare knees if he had only known that in a few short weeks, or days perhaps, the Ainsworths were leaving “Benmore” for ever. This disturbing news camo to him so suddenly that his heart seemed to miss a dozen beats. and his brain almost ceased to function. His wool-classer, Bartropp, busy with his work, failed to notice Cameron’s, agitation, and continued to address him. “ Funny thing, to buy a run, order a few improvements, then sell it at a lower figure than he gave for it, and clear out ot the place in the middle of the shearing-” Jim spoke at last, and his voice sounded queer to himself. “ I suppose it’s a fact—l mean, you’re sure that Ainsworth has sold Benmore? ” “Yes. They are going to England. 'S.es, I’m sure,” he added convincingly. Jim stopped working. He felt like a man in a nightmare—a fearful dream, ■when he is robbed of his very clothing and there is nothing left on earth except far-away, hollow sounds. The men busily shearing, the piles of wool, the big, familiar shed owned by his father and remembered since his boyhood; all seemed unreal, as though he. was gazing at a scene of a drama that he himself had no part or interest in. He went to the doorway and gazed out towards the road that led to Benmore. Then he made a quick resolve. “Bartropp!” he called to the woolclasser, “I want you to carry on for me in there. I’m going out with the car—l don’t know how long I’ll be away.” Bartropp could scarcely understand the Ainsworths’s leaving in the full swing of shearing time, but that Cameron should do so, even for a day or an hour, frankly astonished him. Of course, he’d look after the shed all right, but what on earth could hav®

made the boss decide so suddenly to leave? People did queer things at times, he reflected, but young Cameron was not that kind—not the sort of chap at all to lose his head, or heart either, for that matter—there must have been something very important or urgent, though, to cause his departure in such a hurry just now. Bartropp reflected on the matter no further—he went on vigorously attending to his duties, never knowing that he was the most un-subtle man alive.

Cameron went to the house, hurriedlybathed and dressed, and was just on the point of getting his car out when he noticed that Ainsworth’s big blue one was at the same moment coming up his front drive. Before he could see who was in the car he was certain that it was Anna—alone. He stepped eagerly forward as she stopped the car, and regardless of the full vie\v from the shearing shed, the cook’s hut, the servants at the windows of the house at his back for all he knew, regardless of the whole open world and the broad sunshine about them, the hills and the birds and the sheep, he took his lovely lady in his arms and crushed her to his heart. Tears were in his eyes when he released her at last and led her on to the wide veranda at the side of the house. He made her sit in a lounge chair whilst he went to order tea. Coming back at once, he seated himself on the arm of her chair, his hand touching the fine silk collar of her summer motor coat. “ The angels must have sent you,” he said, “ I was just going to get you myself anyhow.” “Oh, Jim!” she said. “We can’t, you know.” “ Can’t what ? ” “ Have each other, like—like—Anna. I know now whom you meant —poor Anna Karenina—poor lovers. I wouldn’t drag us down to that misery. Jim, they were fiction people—we are real—how could this have happened to us here in this new country? Doesn't it seem strange that it could?” “ I suppose love happens in every sort of country. I’m glad it happened to me, anyhow,” he added, reaching for her hand and holding it between both his own. “Aren’t you—Anna?” very gently. “ Yes —honestly I am,” she replied. A sudden' extra gladness welled up within him—she didn’t attempt to equivocate—she was in every way a woman after his own heart —there could not be any true happiness without honesty. However had she come to marry Ainsworth? As if answering his unspoken thought she said: “ I never loved my husband, but I liked him. I still am very fond of him, in fact. I thought that would do—my people wished us to marry —and I know that we are as happy as most married people. I could not have guessed that I’d ever fall in love afterwards—l’ve always regarded women who did that as wicked; and I would not be telling you all this now only I’ve come to explain everything, and to say good-bye.” She looked up at him steadily. The maid came with the tea, and Jim drew a small table close to her chair. “ So—l’ll pour your tea for you, Jim dear. I’ll pour your tea.” She couldn’t bear the stunned look on his face, and she felt that she must £alk and talk, though what to say for the best she didn t know. Jim watched her silentlv for a time, then he said: / ‘Do you think it’s honest to go away with him when you love me and I love you ? ” “Honest! Why, Jim, it wouldn’t be anything but dishonesty to~him, to you, and to myself if I didn't go with mv husband.” “ I told him that I loved you, and that I’d take you from him if I could. Did you know that ? ” Mrs Ainsworth nodded. “Yes, he told me—and I told him how it was with myself then,” she added. “Is that why he sold Benmore—to take you away from me?” His look distressed her. “Oh, Jim! He sold Benmore because I asked him to take me away—it is best to go away. I would not trust myself to see you often. My love would master my strongest desires for your good name, your good future—and I have my own to think of as well.” White misery shone in his eyes. She rose and held out her hand to him. “We must say good-bye.” Jim did not move. " This is our last moments, Jim Cameron. I came to say good-bye—-should I have written you instead? ” Jim suddenly pulled himself together. What if she hadn’t come like this to him? He’d never have borne the misery of it afterwards. She was doing what she honestly believed to be the right thing—and she had given him this hour of dear love and clean explanations to think of for ever. The darling woman! Wasn’t he to be envied by all men—now? With a low, grateful murmur of happiness he took her to his heart in a rapturous farewell.