The Stronger Passion

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 641, 18 April 1929, Page 5

The Stronger Passion

Sjy

Rowan Glen .

Author of " The Great Anvil." “The Beet Gift of All," For Love or for Gold &c . &c

CHAPTER X.—Continued. “Thank the Lord that’s all over and done with now,” he ended. “Luck came my way when I get my estate, and the money that went with it. And now, Elaine, it’s for you to speak.” Tie knew that his recital had impressed her. She had listened to it carefully, and once or twice, particularly when he had been describing some prison experience, an inarticulate expression of sympathy or distress had come from her. Yet even before she spoke he had an instinctive feeling that her mental attitude toward himself had undergone a swift and gravely important change. The warmth of affection which she had demonstrated earlier had gone. Sue seemed to be afraid that it would return—seemed to be trying to fight down the emotional part of her nature. “Well!” Macßae urged. “What have you got to tell me, dear? So far as I can see, it must be one of two things—either you’ll say that you’re going to understand, and that you sympathise, or you’ll say that, because I once wore the broad arrows, you’re going to turn against me.” Very slowly she shook her head. “It isn’t quite like that, Blair,” she assured him. “I’m trying to get my thoughts together. I can’t think why father didn’t tell me.” "He’ll be explaining that if I don’t,” Macßae answered. "He did not tell you. Elaine, because I asked him not to. On that night when 1 fished you out of the loch he said that there was uo favour I could not ask of him which he would not grant. I asked him to keep from you the fact 1 that I had been in prison. I knew ! something about the curious way j people regard these things. It doesn't matter whether a man’s been in no- j cent or not —once he’s ‘lagged.’ as the convicts say. it finishes things. Ts j it to be that way with you?” Just Arrived' —A shipment of new j Paste Necklets, now so fashionable. — j Wool worths, Ltd.. 53 Karans ah ape j Road (.next Howiet's). i

She waited for nearly half a minute before replying, and by that time they had passed through Dochrine and were thrumming up the side of Loch Stragoil. “It's not a bit of good my saying that all this has not made a difference,” she admitted. “It. has. lam more sorry for you than I can say, and the only wonder to me is that you can have been so friendly with father. It’s true that, as you say, he was only doing his job, but—well, I think that if I had suffered as you’ve suffered I’d almost hate the man who sent me to my suffering. Y6u must be wonderfully broad-minded and bigminded. And yet—” “And yet?” “AVell, I’ve changed. That’s all. Something seems to have been killed in me—something that made life very beautiful has gone.” “Elaine, you don’t mean that your love has gone! It could not have been love if it went as Quickly as that. Anyway, you know the whole truth now, and you know that I was innocent of any crime.” “Yes, I know that, but oh, it’s a terrible thing to say—but I can’t trust you now, Blair. You have been frank with me, and I’m being frank. I’m not going to announce our engagement now. Perhaps there never will be an engagement. Somehow I don't think there will be.” “Elaine!” “It’s true, Blair. Your having been in prison does not matter. What does matter is that wot] went on cheatiug me about yourself, even when we were speaking so solemnly about not having any secrets from each other. You wouldn’t have mentioned a word about having been a convict once if that waiter had not tried to blackmail | you. If you’d loved me the way you made out. then—l don't say at first —but when love really came, you’d have put all your cards on the table. Yes. you would. I know.” “And if you'd loved me," Macßae returned, “you wouldn't have let a little thing like that stand in the way of j our happiness.” “‘A little thing?’ ” she repeated. : "I don't count it a little thing. To I me it seems terribly, terribly big. You’d have let me get engaged to I you; you’d have let me marry you, j

without having been open with me. Just think what it would have meant if you and I had been on our honeymoon perhaps. and that waiter, or another waiter —or anyone—had come to me and said: ‘Your husband is an ex-convict.' ” “I'd have told you what I've told you to-night. Your father could have proved the truth of my story in half a minute—that I was innocent.” “Innocent? Oh, yes! That part of it would have been all right. But do you think I could have forgiven easily—having been fooled; having been kept in the dark?” “It was for your sake,” he urged. “I can’t see that, Blair. You must have thought very little of me if you thought I’d turn against you because you’d suffered for another man’s crime. What you’ve done is this—you've killed my trust.” From that position he could not sway her. The more he tried to do so, the greater seemed to grow her powers of resistance. “No,” she said. “It’s not a bit of good. I feel utterly wretched, utterly alone.” He gripped at one of her wrists and held it tightly. “Listen,” he said. “There’s only one thing I want to know —do you love me, or do you not?” “I —loved the man who told me that there would never be any secrets between us. He didn’t speak the truth, Blair. I don’t know what’s go ing to happen to you and me. But you’re not the same, and I’m not the same. Perhaps we made a big mistake.” Falteringly, almost ashamedly, she went on: “There’s somethig that I’d fprgotteu for the moment. I’d forgotten that I’m alive to-day only because you risked your life for mine. I’m really—in that sense. I’ll marry you. if you ask me to.” “Because I saved your life?” There was no answer. “Never speak to me like that again,” Macßae said “If ever you give yourself to me it won’t be because you want to square a debt between us. There is no debt.” The car had pulled up outside the gates of The Lodge. A yard or two inside these gates, Maurice Rollingward was chat.ing to Sir Charles Hart. Elaine, stepping from the saw the others and waved a gay hanu to them. “Will you come in?” she invited Macßae. He looked straight into her ey'es. “Thanks—no,” he said. “I’m go-1 ing home to think about the curious | : ways of women. But Elaine?” “Yes?” j • “You can tell ’em what happened | i to-night, but you cau tell ’em, too, ] if you like, that I am going to b<=> a very persistent wooer.” j < He stepped into the car. slammed ! c the door and gave a curt order to the j 1 chauffeur. j ] He did not look back. 1

Had he done so, he would have seen Maurice Rollingward gripping, 1 in his schoolboyish way, at. both of Elaine’s hands. CHAPTER XI. —AT THE DANCE ‘ Strong sunshine was beating down J on Macßae’s island on the following ] day when Pringle came to him to announce grimly the presence of a ‘ visitor whom he, Pringle, had recog- s nised. \ “No. 10S he was, sir,” Pringle said. “an’ he told me that he’d met you last night in an hotel in Inverglant. t You want to watch him, sir. William * Noakes is his name, and if you ask 1 me. he’s here to try to get money.” ~ “I know he is,” Macßae agreed, j ( I’ll fix him, Pringle. He's done ail j | the harm that he can do. Where is ! he ?” “In the garden, sir, just by the < sun-dial. But if I might ask a fav- ! . our, I’d like to go in ydur place, sir. j i It *ud be a fine treat to me to kick I j Mr. Noakes into the boat that brought I ' him.’’ | X

“I know how you feel, Pringle, but this is m3' job,” Macßae said. “Noakes gets no money from me. What he does get, if he’s not careful, is a smashed jaw. Anyway, he goes off at the double.” He talked to the blackmailing Noakes for less than a minute; then propelled the latter roughly toward the boat that was waiting. “Shout out your news all over Scotland, you damned little guttersnipe,” he said. “But come here again, unless 3'ou want to be chucked into the loch. Clear! That’s all you’ve got to do.” Grumbling, cursing. crying out threats as he stood wobblingly in the boat that bore him back to the mainland, Noakes had yet in his cunningly’-

t | constituted inner self a deep respect for the man who had refused to bar- . gain with him. He bad a greater respect still when, s some hours later, Macßae—not the ex- { convict now, but the expert surgeon—- ? 1 stood b>' a bed in the Royal Stag Hotel | at Dochrine. 1 1 It was Mr. Justice Hart who told Macßae how Noakes had been dam* r j aged by a crazily-driven car a mile or *j so from the village. Elaine was there, 5 i too, and Maurice Rollingward. But * I Macßae gave scarcely a glance to 1 j them. He was driven to the Royal Stag, \ and there, through that magical skill 3 of his, he saved, as the local doctor ' | admitted, not merely' Noakes’s leg, but * ] his life. i Days later, Noakes, about to be i i moved to Inverglant, took Macßae’s hand and saii: (To be continued daily) Good-bye. Freckles. Stillman’s Freckle Cream is guaranteed to remove freckles. | It is also a wonderful skin bleach, j Booklet on request. Price. 2s 6d a jar. ! —E. W. Hall, 117 Armagh St.. Chr;*t- | church. 1.