THE STORYTELLER.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LII, Issue 299, 27 January 1910, Page 6

THE STORYTELLER.

THE VICTORIOUS VELDT. 111? Tyssendales were a happilyassorted, well - regulated couple. At least, there was no outward evidence lo the eontrr.rw

\\lien Gwendoline Raymond —as she was then—went out to South Africa for

tlie purpose of getting rid of the trouble.

some cough sh e had developed, it was 'lot with the intention of making a permanent stay there. She had left several broken hearts behind her in England, one of which, that belonging to Bob Lac-y, she was rather anxious to come hack and mend. But unforeseen

circumstances changed her plans. In

stead ot being allowed to remain "with her married sister and to have a good time of it in Pretoria, the doctor immediately ordered hej- lurther up country to a sanatorium, which did her

chest a great 'ileal' of good, but which she found exceedingly dull. Iler society at the sanatorium consisted day in day

out of two or three hypochondriacs of her own sex and the capable but crusty proprietor of the establishment. She had been there for three months and hail almost bored herself to extinction, when a welcome diversion, a veritable godsend, arrived in the sliape of George lyssendale. lie had clattered up ene morning in his spanking turn-out on onr; of his rare visits to his old friend. Dr.

Bovston. who happened to be out at the time. P.nd Gwendoline had entertained him on the verandah till the doctor's tcturn. After that, Tyssendale's visits :0 the sanatorium became rather more frefluent., and then more frequent still. One ■day he left at home the black "tiger" who always accompanied him, and offered Gwendoline the vacant seat on his phaeton, which she accepted with alacrity. He drove her over lo Kraakendorp. the railway junction settlement, which, was rapidlv struggling up into a flourishing town and the best part of which was his property.

Gwen was considerably impressed by what she saw. She was also, despite rebellious and reproachful memories of other things and other times, rather im-

pressed by Tyssendale himself. He was no longsr so very young; in fact, lie was already plentifully sprinkled with grey about the temples. But Ije had a strong, quiet way with him, and his •powerful jaw showed him to be cut out for a master of men—and of women, too, fo r the matter of that, as Gwendo-

line became gradually aware. And there could.be no doubt of it that lie was very wealthy. And Gwen was a high-spirited girl 3 who liked the idea of being permitted to drive that splendid phaeton of his as often as she cared.

And there were half a dozen thoroughbreds in his stable, any one or all cf which would "be at her disposal; it w r as different from the shambling mare she •had, as a great favor, been occasionally permitted to bestride on her grandfather's farm. Her sister also was rf opinion that ehe might do very much worse. So when Tyssendale, after waiting till Dr. Royston dismissed her from the sanatorium as fullv cured, asked her to marry him, she made a bonfire of Bob Lacy's love-letters and said yes. That was now seven years ago. Tyssendale, as time went on, grew more fond and more proud of his handsome wife. Gwendoline, although she did not j err on the side of demonstrativenees, j gave no indication of repenting of her | bargain. And then when George NumI ber Two appeared on the scene, nothing seemed likely to jeopardise the coni- | plete harmony and mutual understandI ing between husband and wife. Perhaps i Tyssendale relied too much on this ap- ! parent completeness. At any rate, havi ing gained his wife's love and, as he j thought, having established her Joi mcstic contentment, he felt free to de- < vote himself once more to the larger i outside interests of life. Nay, more, ( possibly with a view to rendering liim- | self a more lit object of her admiration, ; he developed new ambitions. He plunged ; into politics and got elected to the i Legislative Assembly, which necessi- ; tated his frequent absences from home. ; He left Gwen without any misgivings on his part. lie fyad a good substitute , in Georgie. Surely Gwen and Georgie ! were sufficiently good company for each I other. j So they were, for a time. Gwen felt [ no lack of diversion as she watched her | baby grow into a sturdy little lad, while j her husband 'was busy helping to forge | the chaotic components of a new nation | into an organic whole. When Georgie ' was barely five she bought him a pony i which she herseli taught him to ride, I and on which, after a little while, he ! cantered along "bravely by the side of ; her own champing mount. It was just ! about then that something happened

which made her see her 'whole existence in quite a new light. After considerable hesitation, for she felt instinctively that the issue was a great one, she translated the more or less vague hints she had thrown out from time to time into a definite request.

"George," she said to her husband one day, "I want you to take me to Europe. A holiday will do you good, and I " "There you go!" he interrupted her rather testily. "Who told you I wanted a holiday? I feel as strong as a lion and fit as a fiddle. And as for you " "Yes, as for me?" she prompted him quietly.

"1 can't for the life of me see why you should he so dead set on going—going home, as you call it. From what you tell me yourself you haven't a single near relative left alive there. Your sister has been out here many more years than you and she doesn't say a word of going back." "1 am losing touch with all my associations. Scarcely anybody ever writes to me still.' 5

"Oh, 1 wouldn't break my heart over that. Lok here, Gwen," he said, more conciliatorily. for lie saw the mists <'f storm gathering in her eves, "you don't know liow much, Afrikander that I am. born and bred, 1 loathe the idea of going to England. I still remember how I felt when I stayed there for six weeks nearly thirty y ears ago. I seemed to be choking all the tim::; the evil fumes of their conventions stilled me. If was to me like being in a prison. At the first opportunity I rushed back to the spacious freedom of the veldt and swore I would never go back there again. 1 haven't changed my mind." "Rut there's Georgie," she urged a«j a last resource." Wo ought to sec to his schooling." "Georgie can get all the schooling he wants out here. If lie shows any grit, we can always send him to Cambridge later on. But there s plenty of time to think about that."

Gwen kept silence. She waited for i'lie only alternative suggestion he could make —to send her and Georgie over by themselves. But he said nothing. Gwen saw, rightly or wrongly, that at the bottom of her husband's love there was a great selfishness. She might—only ;t did not occur to her to do so have taken it as a compliment. She brooded on it as a great and growing grievance. More and more often, as a distraction from the grey future. she allowed her thoughts to stray back to the rapidly receding splendors of the past. What centuries it seemed since the days of her girlhood! Was there still—had there ever been—a place called London? Were there still theatres, such as those to which Bobby Lacy, an enthusiastic firstnighter. had been in the habit of taking her? I)id people still have suppers at the Carlton, and was there still punting on Saturday afternoon at Molessy Lock, with slim, white-flannelled young fellows. like Bobby Lacv, showing their prowess with the pole? She wondered. She was onlv twenty-seven —in England she might still have passed as a slip of a girl. Here she felt an old woman. The veldt, with its relentless loneliness, aged one so quickly. And there seemed no escape from it. When Georgie was old enough to go to Cambridge! It began to dawn upon lier that she had made a bad exchange. The phaeton, tli > thoroughbreds, were all very well \n their way, hut had slie not paid just a little too dearlv for them with her vouth, her liberty?

The question was answered for her with strange and startling appositeness. "A gentleman to see you, ma'am," the servant told her as she returned home one afternoon from a furious crosscountry ride.

"Bobby!" exclaimed on seeing her visitor. The long disused name glided fluently, familiarly from her lips. He stood before her, the same slender, debonair young fellow she remembered. Only just now he looked rather pale and his hand trembled perceptibly as it gripped hers. "A surprise, eh?" he said with a touch of his old buoyancy. "You see. my brother, Sir William, is head of a syndicate to build a new line of rails fifty miles from here, and he wanted s'ome one to come here to look after things. So I volunteered."

"Is that really the reason why you came?" She did not know what prompted her to ask the question.

Bob Lacy grew still a trifle paler and hesitated. Then the words broke from ■him .with a rush. "Oh, hang it all, Gwen, I can't tell you a lie. I came because I wanted to see you. It stiil smarts, Gwen, and I thought it would do me, a bit of good to get anotner glimpse of you. Homeopathic treatment, you know. And now that I've made an unmitigated ass' of myself, I'd better go, eh?" "No; stay," she said quietly. "Mr. Tyssendale will be home presently. Meanwhile, I will introduce you to Georgie." She got up and went herself to fetch the boy. Perhaps there was a vague notion at the back of her mind that she needed a protecting presence. About an hour later Tyssendale came in. He gave Lacy a cordial welcome, and was delighted to hear that the latter was' staying in the neighborhood. He would be able to run over now and then and keep Gwen company, especially as the day after to-morrow he himself had to leave for the openm- 'he Assembly. "It's ntain to Ma. .. iini -'th p

"Only the other day Gwen said she wanted to go and see her friends, and now her friends are saving hor the trouble —eh, Gwen?" v

Gwen evidently did not take tne same jesting view of the matter when she referred to it again the morning of his departure. "Is there any chance of your altering your mind about our visit to Europe, George?" "Not the least. If you -want a change so badly, why not come with me to Cape Town?" "It's not quite the same thing." He shrugged his shoulders airily, and she turned from him with a curious gesture of finality. It did not seem to strike Tyssendale, and even when saying good-bye to her it did not occur to hint that lie was perhaps' not q«ite leaving his house in order.

Lacy did not fail to take full advantage of the standing invitation extended to him. Things were turning out rather differently from what he had expected. He had in truth intended nothing more thaii to exercise the nagging memory that had obsessed him all these years. He had hoped to effect it by bringing his ideal face to face with the reality and to be blessed with instant disillusionment. To his' dismay, the first glance told him that instead of finding nepenthe lie had only rammed the iron deeper into his soul. She had gone from him as a girl in a thousand, he had come upon her once more as a 'Woman in a

million. Even during that first handshake he was already revolving in his mind how he might take flight from the danger with any show of decency. But it was not lung before an astonishing, an intoxicating conviction came home to iiim. He was wanted here, lle'lilled a void. To the woman who had become to him an unattainable luxury he was, if he judged right, s'oniethiiig of a necessity. Yes, she had ueed of him. hi fad, it was not many days after his arrival that she told him so in as many words. In an access of self-torturing bravado she threw her pride to the winds and made him hor confidant.

"I have nothing to hope for in my life, Bob," she said with tense lips. "Look where [ will, my horizon is bounded by the veldt. I am doomed to lifelong exile. My husband lias said so. He never says but what he means; Bobby, if you want to do me a favor, get back to England as soon as yon can. The sooner vou go the sooner I can begin to fit myself for my only vocation in life—that of feeling dead.'' By breeding and inclination Bobby Lacy was a gentleman. .Instead of seeing that he was merely humoring an hysterical woman he felt honestly called upon to assert his chivalry, to play the role of a Bayard. But even now, convinced though he was of the justice of his cause, he hesitated long before speaking the decisive word. Gwen looked at him tongue-tied, shocked beyond speech as she realised to w.-iat interpretation her confidences had lent themselves.

'■' Let you take me away. Bobby?" she said at last. ''Perhaps I ought to —if only in fairness to my husband. But what about Georgie?" "Well, what about Georgie?'' he asked quickly.

"I can't leave him behind." "Then he shall come with us."

"What, and bring his father after us' in hot .pursuit? He won't in the least mind being rid of me, but he will never forego his right to the child."

"He will have to find us first," said Lacv truculently. "And suppose he does not? There'll be Georgie himself."'

"Wliat do you mean?" "That t.o me he will be p. constant reproach, and to you a constant danger. When he grows up he will be his father's avenger."

"If you will risk the reproach. I will gladly ris'k the revenge," lie replied. "Gwen, either you go or stay. Only, in the one case, regret is a possibility, in the other it is a certainty." "I know, I know but there's Georgie," she murmured, harping on the thought, as the keynote of her despair. Then she drew herself taut with a sudden resolve, "I'll tell you what I will do, Bobby." "What's that?" lie queried eagerly. "lill take three days to consider." "Yes—and then?" "And then I expect my answer will he —no."

He looked at her keenly, as if to make sure of her sanity. "Then why not say so now?" lie asked bitterly. "Because I .want to give myself that respite of uncertainty before I definitely ring down the curtain on my future. You see—there's Georgie." He did not urge another word, knowing that she must be left to herself to struggle out of her dilemma. But he was wrong. Neither he nor she—it was Georgie himself who decided the question, and that the very next day. They were returning from a long drive, when already from afar they saw the house stirred by a great commotion. As Owen sprang from the phaeton, Georgie's halfcaste nurse rushed out and flung herself on her knees before her mistress.

"Mas'ter Georgie Master Georgie!" she Availed inarticulately.

Yes, Master Georgie on his pony had escaped the vigilance of his groom, had been thrown, and was now lying indoors with a broken neck. Stiff and silent, as though turned to stone, Gwen passei into the house, end Lacy walked lneditativelv back to his hotel.

Excepting his attendance at the funeral, lie did not go near her again for a week. In a way he was disappointed. Bobby Lacv was something of a fighter, and it was rather poor fun that Providence should step in and win liis battle for him. Eor that was, of clinvse. w•>!•.(•. it meant. There was "io The only link that had •5 s'lapt. Thimrs v ridiculously easy. To en dale, was' playing into his hands ny hurrying straight back to Cape Town two days after Georgie was buried. He still did not go to her. To test her he waited for her to do what be was certain she would do. He was right. The following day site sent for him. He found her calm and self-controlled, with a clear light in her eyes, as though all her doubts had been washed away by her tears.

"1 sent for you to know when ;yo:i are going," b'he said. "As soon as you are ready;' he replied instantly. She moved away from him with a strange shrinking. "I'm afraid you don't understand me, Bobby," she said.

"Don't I. Gwen?" he asked, taken aback. "I asked when you were leaving here, because li have made up my mind to tell my husband, -and I can't very well do it while you are still —still accessible. There .might be consequences."

"What do you mean?" he asked. His brows puckered painfully. "What are you going to tell him?" "Everything."

His eyes opened wide, almost flaming with reproach. "Gwen. Gwen, since ■when do yon think so badly of me? simply want me to turn tail and run like a cur? If there is any telling to be done, it's for me to do it—not you. I started the mischief, and I—will guarantee for the consequences."

'"Oh, forgive me, Bnbbv!" slic cri?d, catching hold of bis liand. 'You're a noble boy much too good *o wis!,? yourself on me. Go and find one v.lio deserves you." "Perhaps one of these days VII taki your advice," he said grimly. Ho iuniei to go and then faced her oucf: isic-rc resolutely. "Look here, Gwen this is the last chance I have of sayin* it to you. I don't mean for a moment to plead mv suit—that's all done w'th, I know. But I'm thinking of y» \ and you only. You're just now ir- an heroic mood. You feel yourself p"[t;n: to anything. But the mood may pass. You will sink back into the dreary, -weary round of things. You have told me a hundred times that you hate the veldt with a morta" hatred. And then—re member, Gwen, L'ra only trying to make your ease clear to yourself—what have you to expect of your husband? In hour of your direst affliction he ha-> left you and gone his own -way." "That's not for you to say!" slic cr"'l in a SUddca access of anger, stung by

his mentioning the: very fact that Lad exercised her bitter thoughts all tUse hours. ■■Lin sorry, Gwen," he auswe.eU w:i!i bowed head. . , I •'And ini sorry, too, iSobby," no »a:d ; | lier anger melting away into tl'C > iiess 01 .sudden tears. "1 know you try mean to be honest with • <■ 1 ibiiik lm honest with i... when 1 I'm prepared lor eve.. ' iio,u true I hated the veldt, t '""- 1 1 hate it any longer. It has - dear to me. It has taken into ing ail I held dearest and best, established a good enough claim u.: j love. I believe you will be glad to h that, Bobby, before you go. It shou.. | make vour going easier. Good-bye! ' > In the solitude o£ the next twentyfour hours she became convinced that hor faith in herself was justified. She , felt that in no long time she would become strong enough to stand alone. All she needed was to battle down her last pangs of disappointment at her husband's brutal callousness. She would only have to find excuses for his leaving her without a word alld without aiu definite promise of his return. She had nearly succeeded ill doing so. when Tyssendale came back_. as suddenly i as he had gone. _ ; "And now I'm all yours again!" he : said, catching her to him fiercely. She gazed at him in dumb wonder. Was there rpallv a reason of which she had not thought? He quickly told her. . •'•'l didn't want to say anything to you till it was an accomplished fact, Gwen. I was afraid you might have .tried to dissuade me. And then I owed an explanation to my party, and I had_ to show them the courtesy of explaining to them in person. Gwen, 1 have given up my seat in the Assembly, so that! can devote my life to you. J'm afraid it conies rather late, but I'm ready to go with you where and when you want to go." "Yes, George, it does come rather late —too late," she said with a catch in her 1 voice. "I can never leave the veldt now. I must stay here and keep guard over Georgie's grave." "Then I'll help you to do the; guarding, Gwen," he said, following her to the window from where, they could see the distant crss'ses of the. little cemetery gleam white in the setting sun. "Thank you. George," she said quietly. < The veldt had conquered after all.— |