THE NOVELIST JOURNEY’S END.

Otago Witness, Issue 3912, 5 March 1929, Page 74

THE NOVELIST JOURNEY’S END.

By

JOYCE WEST.

( Copyright.—For the Otago Withies.?

CHAPTER XIH.—SPRING. So on from the heart of things Winter shall pass— Spring breath renewing the Bracken and grass ; So from the heart of man Life shades must fall— After chill winter—God’s Summer o’er all. —Constance Gitting.

Spring it was when Shirley and Lance Shannon were married from ’* Mataeri ”. Spring—with the pmk-and-white bloom of fruit trees star-like in the orchard. Spring—with daffodils nodd,ing in the damp, dark, flower-beds that bordered th e white-flagged walk. Spring—with the haze of coming summer on the far blue ranges, and all the ai r full of the joy of a world made new.

Young Milt, was best man to them, and he was overcome with mingled pride and embarrassment. Barnett gave his ward away—Barnett with his lean dark face clean-shaven and supremely satisfied— Barnett with his feet mercilessly compressed into the trim shoes his wife-had deemed suitable for the occasion.

Helen had superintended Shirley’s toilet, also, and the result was—Barnett said—entirely satisfactory. The girl was garbed in a straight simple frock of palest cream silk. She wore no jewels, and carried no flowers but a sheaf of glorious trumpet daffodils. Among the limited number of guests invited were Nada and Jimmie Sherrill. Nada—a little slip of a girl with wistful eyes and a red gallant mouth. Jimmie was supremely uncomfortable in the conventional suit of black that one might suppose he was married in. The whole ceremony went off as - othly as might have been expected. The only hitch was the fact that the minister who was to officiate had a spill in the river His horse stumbled in the shallows with him, and he arrived at “ Mataeri ” dripping wet, to be accomodated with a change of clothina from the wardrobe of Jack Barnett, "fearnett happened to possess but one “ best ” suit—the one he was wearing. He offered to change, and bestow it upon the minister, but that reverend gentleman would not hear of such a thing. So it came about that the Rev. Mr Fraser stood up before the bridal couple in a most un-clerical looking belted sports coat, and a pair of grey flannels that, did not quite fit him. Nobody minded—the Rev. Mr Fiaser least of all—and nobody felt it changed a shade the clear deep tones of his voice as he pronounced Lance Shannon arid the girl he loved—“ man and wife ”.

When the last hymn was ended, they all crowded round the bride. Milt, was t'he first to offer his eager boyish handclasp, and his—“ Gee! I do hope you’ll always be happy—Mrs Shannon.” Jimmie Sherrill wrung her hand awkwardly, Nada clung to her with joyous tearful eyes. Barnett kissed her audaciously, and grinned over her head at the bridegroom.

“Just this once, Lance. Only a guardianly salute. Don’t grudge it to me.” The wedding breakfast was over, and the guests were gone, afternoon was drawing to a close.

Lance Shannon sat, with his wife, on the steps of the porch. Barnett was loungino ungracefully on the rail, Helen at his elbow. “We must be going home,” Lance said at last.

“ That’s my idea of a wedding,” Barnett said lazily, “No fuss—no silly boring honeymoon—just go home.”

“ You admit that you found your honeymoon boring? ” Shannon parried, but his eyes belied the lightness of his voice Barnett’s eyes met his wife’s.

“ No, but I had—select company.” “ Anyway, Jack,” Shannon said with abrupt irrelevance, “ One thing I’ll never forget is the way you’ve stood by me—even when I’ve been the snanni°st. mostungrateful beast on the East Coast. Strikes — nn f manv fellows have as loyal friends as I have—” “ You always ware one to talk a heap of rot, Lance,” Barnett said with soft derision.

There was a silence till Helen spoke. “ You must have tea before you go.” “Practical-minded soul, isn’t she?” Her husband inquired lazily, “You’re looking very like a bride yourself to-day, Helen, in that silvery-green thing. If it wasn’t for those three great boys kicking out on the lawns there, I’d find it hard to believe that you were a day older than when I married you.”

“ Flatterer! ” Helen mocked serenely.

The sun tipped the western ranges in a burst of golden glory.. Purple haze came stealing down the shadowed valley, the river moaned softly and sullenly at the bend away below. “Mataeri” was yet in sunshine; the hills looked warm and mellow, traced by shadowed gullies. Lance Shannon came riding back— Ranger at a swinging gallop Laddie trotting beside. Shirley waited on the steps, clad in breeches and belted tunic.

Lance, also, had changed to his riding clothes, and, as he came up the path, the last rays of the sun shone in his strong, clean, young face, with its grave, yet joyous, eyes.

Good-bye for to-night. We’re ° r oin°' home.” ° °

Barnett stood on the top step, his arm interlocked in that of his wife’s. Good-bye, Mr and Mrs Shannon. May you ever be as happy as you are to-day.”

Slowly, Lance Shannon and his wife rode away into the sunset glory. At the point where the track curved down out of sight, Shannon turned in his stirrups to wave back; Shirley fluttered her scarf. “ Wave to them,* Helen of Troy,” Barnett said softly. There was a queer choke to his voice. His wife was very close to him her pale-gold head on a level with his lips. Oh! Jack—to see Lance happy. And to remember Evan did that fine, fair thing. And to see Shirley and Lance and, perhaps in the years to come—their children in ‘ Journey’s End ’.” Barnett stooped to draw her closer, to kiss the fair, pale, upturned face. “The finest man I know. And the sweetest woman—but one, my Helen of Troy.” • 1 •

CHAPTER XIV.—JOURNEY’S END. “ Strengthened by faith these rafters will n, u , lt ? stani the battering of the storm. This hearth though all the world grow cnill, Will keep us warm."

A dancing fire in the great broad hearth drew bright gleams from the burnished brass, and the panelled walls showed inconsequent reflections. The many eyes of the quaint Maori fireplace were warm and friendly. Outside, dusk was falling. The ranges loomed deeply and serenely blue against the paling gold flare of the western sky. Pui pie twilight softly enfolded the valley, and the first stars of evening gleamed out white and clear. The faint breeze rustled the young fluttering leaves in the grove below, and stirred the worn blue curtains at the wide-flung windows. It brought the tang of the damp fresh earth, of springing pasture, of the open spaces. It brought the rolling thunder of swollen waters, and the age-old scent of the dusk-filled night.

Inside the fire-lit hall, Shirley was laying tea. The flickering flames drew reflections of fire from the ruby on her hand. She paused once, to watch the deep magical gleams. She was glad that Lance had given her this stone. Diamonds—they were beautiful, but they were white, fiery, hard! They would have made her think of Evan Sohvvn But the ruby was deep, warm, true —the colour of heart’s blood.

Lance Shannon leaned on the arm of the settee, by the fireplace, and his contented eyes dwelt on his wife as she moved about the room. Only one change there was in the hall. A new picture hung above the mantel—a painting of blue mountains and silver river. The photograph of Waiapu Pride was gone. Waiapu Pride —whose untamed beautv had wrecked a life, and battered the homestead of ‘ Journey’s End.’ “So many years ago,” Shannon said softly, “Lawrence Selwyn brought his bride up that track from the river-bed there. All the way from the Old Country she had come, to join her lover. After so many weary weeks—perhaps months —she had come to the end of her journey. Ton are the third bride to come to ‘Journey’s End,’ Shirley.” Shirley smiled at him over the teacups.

■“ I’m glad. The house looks so—friendly towards me.”

“Why should it not be, my wife?” The colour ran high in Shirley’s face. She lifted the tea-pot, and bent over the cups.

“ Tea is ready—my—” “ Come here.” Shannon demanded. She went to him, softly, across the dark old floor, the worn blue rugs, the snowy sheepskins. He took her slim wrists in his bronzed sinewy hands, and drew her against him. “Why didn’t you finish it?” Her upturned joyous face, her shining eyes, her red gallant young lips gave him no answer. He shook her very gently, and bent above her. “ Say it.” My husband,” she whispered very softly. Outside, the mantle of darkness fell softly. Stars gleamed out from the steel-blue heavens over a world of sleeping range and restless river. The night wind was strong with the age-old scents from the wide sweet acres of ‘Journey’s End.’ - - - (The End.)