OUR SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, 16 March 1928, Page 13

OUR SERIAL STORY

"LOVE’S STOWAWAY"

By

JOHN L. CARTER

v 4ll Righu Rutrvt*.

Molly Briant, niece of a New York Millionaire who is also her guardian, is travelling home from England, where she has been in College. On the ship she meets Lord Belden of Belden, a young and attractive Scotsman, and they fall in love. In New York, they are much in one another’s company, and gossiping tongues and newspapers state that the young lord, who is noted to be 5n the throes of poverty, is trying to arrange a marriage with the heiress to the Briant millions. Molly asks her uncle whether this is true, and be says that it is. On her refusing to be bartered for a title, Briant tells her that unless she complies with his wishes, he will send her off without a penny. To his surprise she goes; her pride wounded, and her ideal of Cecil Belden shattered. Unable to find employment, she stows away on a yacht owned, although at the time she does not know it, by George Knapp, a New York shipper to whom she had unsuccessfully applied for work. After the first night, Molly ventures from her hiding place and Knapp is very kind to her. Meanwhile Briant and Belden are doing ail in their power to find Molly, or at least to get news of her whereabouts. Listening-in, Molly and Knapp are surprised to hear an S.O.S. message offering 1000 dollars for news of her. The next day, a heavy gale sets in and the engine fails. For days they drift southwards, and are awakened one night ito find that they have run aground on a reef just before a tiny island which contains a tumble-down shack. The three men go off in the dingy to where land is seen while Molly and George remain on the island. Night arrives and the men are still away. Before long, Molly awakens to the fact that Knapp is falling in lov® with her. ■' (Chapter VII. Continued). She made an excuse t<s retire early. Should she speak to George, tell him plainly that he must fight down any feeling he had for her! Should she tell him that she eould never possibly give him her love? At the thought of all that this meant, her lips trembled, and in darkness she could feel the colour stealing into her cheeks. No, she could never give George Knapp her love, because that had already been given to Cecil. True, a thousand times, she told herself that she had cured herself of this mad infatuation for Cecil, ten thousand times she had fought it down, striven to forget him, ruthlessly turned every thought of him out of her mind, but, it had made no difference. Always Cecil had been the one thought before her. And her love for him —instead of waning under her discovery ■of the fact that he had meant to assure himself that she would bring him a dowry—had steadily grown. What though Ceeil did not love her, that made i>o difference, she loved him, would never cease to love as much as she loved him now. Times without number she had argued with herself to try to prove that her uncle had not of necessity been right in his assertion that Cecil had wanted to marry her only, or chiefly, because of the money. Surely such a cynical attitude towards life was the exact opposite of what she had experienced or Cecil, x And yet, what motive could her uncle positively have in distorting the facts?

Was it merely her pride that had been wounded? No, she was certain it was not that. Rather it was that she had had her ideal, the ideal that she and Ceeil, whose ideals had seemed so •similar, were to become truly one, and to make the journey of life in company. Well, that was all over now. She told herself that she had fallen in love with her ideal, not with the real, Ceeil. She did not blame him. It was so usual, in this cynical world, for men to marry for convenience. Had she been foolish, to run away? Could she not still have been happy, if she had married him, even though he could give her only pars ot his heart, even though his chief consideration was her uncle’s money?

Hideous thought. Such a Cecil as was represented by that thought, was no. her Cecil. No! she would rather never marry at all than sacrifice her ideal. And, certainly, if she felt that she could not bring herself to marry the real Ceeil, in what way was she bound to him? Why, indeed, should she not consider this very fellow, George Knapp, who was willing to give his life to make her happy. Still, Molly knew that that was Impossible. If she eould not marry Cecil, she would marry no one. If Ceci] had failed her, then she would put the whole idea of marriage aside for ever. But, had Ceeil failed her? Was it the fact that he had really failed her? It seemed incredible, Cecil had always seemed so strong and fine. Even now she could not really believe that he was the broken reed that, apparently, she had “discovered him to be. But, what was all this about? What was it that had revived it all, caused all this weary tossing and turning in thought? Oh yes! of course! it was about George Knapp, and that sudden intuition she had had that he was falling in love with her. Ah well! that was definitely settled. She could never marry George Knapp. And, she muss not be afraid to tell him so. But then, they would be going back to civilisation in the morning and perhaps that would not be necessary. CHAPTER VIII, TWO STRINGS TO HER BOW. Three days went by and still the dingy did not return. Molly and George Knapp speculated endlessly as to what could have happened to the dingy and its little crew, and they finally came to the conclusion that they had come upon ill-fortune, haw perhaps been attacked immediately upon landing and killed. Otherwise, by this time, they must have either returned to the island or sent some vessel. As day followed day, the situation seemed more and more incredible. Molly would ask herself how it could possibly have come about that she and George Knapp should be thrown .together thus, without another soul near. Not that George was not a delightful fellow in every way. certainly not that. And he was kindness itself. For instance, when, f ,-l the second day. they had discovered that lhev had omitted to bring any tea

from the wreck, and she had declared that she couldn’t possibly manage without tea, he had got up early the following morning and swum out to the yacht, bringing back a sealed tin. The first knowledge she had had of his intention was when she saw him coming up the beaeh, in fact, looking a most bedraggled sight in his soaking pyjamas. And how soundly she had rated him for running the risk. How was he to know that there weren’t sharks tn these waters? And what would have happened to her had he got cramp half way, and gone under? George had enjoyed that rating, and he positively beamed as she revealed how much she would miss him, how utterly desolate life would be without him. Then, the following day, he had rigged up a rough raft, of gratings and empty petrol eans lashed to some planks from the wreck. And for some days thereafter the chief business of their life was the carrying to land of the contents of the yacht. Always his chief object in all this was to add to her comfort. Gradually the shack was transformed. The roof and sides he rendered weather and mosquito proof with canvas, while to the doors and windows he fitted casements of cheese cloth. He also brought over two bunks, fixing one in her little bedroom, the other at the further end of the main room. His last load had been made up ot odds and ends, books, periodicals, and so on. It had given Molly a little thrill to see that he had brought that copy ot Town Topics. The moment his back was turned she picked it up and turned once again to that photograph of Cedi. And, keeping an eye on the door, she hurriedly tore out that page and slipped it in her bosom. Oh, if only she eould have had that photograph that Ceeil had given her to fit her locket, with: “Yours devotedly” written across! But then she upbraided herself bitterly. Why should she want his photograph? No doubt he had never, since her disappearance, given her a thought—unless, indeed, it was disappointment over being robbed of the Briant millions after all. Their first week on the island had been remarkable for the difference between her own attitude and that of George, with regard to their predicament. Molly was longing for- that moment when they should be discovered and taken away to civilisation. Not so George. Never once had he expressed any desire for rescue. And, as the days passed, and she found him uniformly content, indeed, apparently wholly satisfied, she realised with some alarm, what was in his mind —that, if only he eould keep her there long enough, well, he might hope to make her fall in love with him. That was it and the mere thought of it horrified her. Repeatedly she told herself that slie must be on her guard. And yet, what did she mean, exactly? Never did George treat her in any way but with the utmost respect, indeed, reverence. Besides, she was grateful, literally grateful, for his company, for her sense of utter loneliness was intense, and it increased instead of diminished as the days passed. To look out over the sea, always that same, stretching, limitless, empty sea, with its lovely changing blues and greens, its dancing whitecaps of breakers, only to realise that somewhere beyond—utterly un-get-at-able was freedom, life. Was it surprising that she turned gratefully, eagerly, to George, much as she would have turned to some friendly, trusted dog, to anything alive, in fact. Moreover, when in the grip of this intense consciousness of her loneliness, her thoughts would turn to Ceeil, begin again the old, old, weary, wholly-un-contemplation of the whole question —as to whether he had loved her at all, »how much he loved her, or how little. Indeed, she was sure that if she had not had George to turn to, she must have gone mad with it all. Thought, by itself, thinking, without action; planning, without possibility of performance and achievement —that way madness lay. One day George discovered that there was quite a good crop of potatoes underground, for, though the haulms had dried and rotted, a plentiful crop of potatoes still remained at many of the roots. He had also discovered that certain sea-birds laid their eggs on the reef, and each day he went out on the raft to look for them. One morning they went out on the raft making the round of the reef, with an ommelette for lunch in view, when he turned and said: “Do you realise that it's just two weeks that we’ve been here?

“Only two weeks?” cried Molly. She looked very adorable as she knelt at the edge of the raft holding on to a bunen of sea-weed and sb enabling George to clamber down from the reef. “I know,” he said. “It seems like months, doesn’t it? Still it’s been the happiest time of all my life,” he added, with conviction, as he placed two eggs in the basket.

Molly did not reply. Something in his tone had made her vaguely afraid. They were kneeling one at either end of the raft, paddling it towards the beach. “Molly dear, I want to tell you something,” he said at last. “I didn’t mean to speak yet, but I simply must.” He looked across at her now, and the anguish on her face stopped the words on his lips. "Oh, don’t say any more,” pleaded Molly miserably, “Oh, please, George. I’m awfully sorry. But I couldn’t, I couldn’t really.” That seemed to take all the life out of George Knapp. Up to then he had Slowly Molly nodded her head, and George Knapp uttered a groan of the direst misery. But then he seemed to rouse. “I can’t believe it,” he protested. ‘Molly, I can’t believe that there Is anyone in the whole universe.” Molly’s lip was quivering. She hated to give him such pain. “Nevertheless it’s true, George,” she said firmly. “I could never think of you—like that.” Neither of them was paddling the raft any more. George Knapp closed his eyes, and bowed his head. He hadn't a word to say at the moment. At last he blurted: “But I still can’t believe it. I simply can’t believe it, Molly. Everything seemed so right, with you and me.” Molly put her hand gently on his arm. “Please George —don’t,” she pleaded “It hurts.” (To be Continued).