A Feather In The Wind

Taranaki Daily News, 19 February 1938, Page 18 (Supplement)

A Feather In The Wind

BY FRANK H. SHAW

CHAPTER XIII. (continued). "Where was I? About Belle? This shop girl I was telling you about was really Redeslegh's daughter, discovered among the ruins of San Martino after the eruption and the earthquake— you know? Redeslegh was there with his wife. They both went out; but the child was fourid alive by a sailor chap who adopted her. Thought she was a peasant kid; no inquiries, wanted a child of his own. So Belle came to England, and to Middleton, of all God-forsaken places in the world. Had to scrape hard for a living when she grew up; father— putative father, I mean — married again, to a bit of a shrew, I gather; girl unhappy, found work, and so — well, there you are. Found unconscious in the road one evening by Claremont, Good Samaritan game, remarked on likeness to Lady Claremont and Redeslegh, found the necessary charm — aha! the long-lost child!" He was waxing almost incoherent, prodding his companion incessantly in the ribs. "I come back from the far-off, foreign wilds of Thibet, halt a moment at Monte, see the girl of my dreams, fall in love with her all over again, and j'y suis, j'y reste. Until I know my fate one way or another." "If it's the girl I saw inside there a bit since, you've uncommon good taste,, old lad." Forrester sighed again, but silently. Undoubtedly that golden tissue was dissolved into nothingness, for what chance could he, a stupid-brained fool, who could no nothing but sit a horse through the Grand National, or drill a troop, or hit a man hard, have against one of Carboyne's attainmentfe? Carboyne, back from fresh exploring conquestsU. "Besides," he argued with himself, "he's in love with her, and he's my pal. A man doesn't allow himself to fall in love with another man's property." But it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to reconcile himself to this philosophical viewpoint. Human nature is human nature all the world over, and Jack Forrester was very human. "Having let you into the secret history of it all, come and he presented to the goddess, Jack." A species of panic possessed the cavalryman. To sit and talk with the girl, talk coldly and casually— could he^o it? He braced his shoulders firmly. Derek wanted it, Derek expected it, and there was nothing he would not do for the man who had saved; his life 12 years before, when they were junior subaltems both. Why, by saving him Derek had prevented a silverhaired woman's heart from breaking, and had given her ten more years of happines than she would otherwise have known. Certainly, then, he must obey his friend's behest. "Lead on to the deepest dungeon 'neath the castle moat." They went into the Casino, and, ignoring the gaming saloons, with their super-heated, nerveracking crowds, sought the concert hall. The fme orchestra was giving a magnificent rendering of "The Night of Stars," and the sensuous passion of the melody, interpreted by, violin and 'cello, caused fresh aches to' beset Jack Forrester's heart. "There they are. I say, did you ever see such amazing loveliness in all your life?" "Not often, anyhow. She must have made a stir when she was presented. I'm not a society lion, so I don't follow these details, but I'll wager even a blase Court was stirred when she appeared." "She's not been presented yet; was to have gone up this year, but Lady Claremont's illness prevented it. I— I'm beginning to hope she'll make her first appearance there as Lady Derek Carboyne." He laughed self-consciously. "Oh, so it's gone as far as that? You haven't wasted any time, I must admit." They were now approaching the Claremont trio, which was seated in a far corner of the great hall. "It's not gone so far; I've only dreamed as yet. But — well, make your bow, and say something nice. And, Jack — " "Well?" "It won't make any difference to us, to you and me, I mean. There'll just be three of us, instead of two, if the luck holds good. I want you to love Belle as mvich as you can, hecause she's worth it." Fancy the man's madness! Jack Forrester determined that he would see as little of the future Lady Derek as was possible, compatible with common courtqsy: For what would it serve a man to stand afar off gazing through the gates of Paradise, well knowing the while that his unworthy foot might never be set across the threshold? A moment later and he was looking into Belle Redeslegh's eyes, holding her slim cold fingers, for she had unhesitatingly tendered her hand in friendship. There returned to his mind the words he had overheard a little while before, and hot anger against their speaker surged through him. "I should like 'fjtou to know Captain Forrester, Miss Redeslegh. He is my very dearest friend." Jack saw a quick light leap into Belle's astounding eyes as she turned towards Derek, and again that sharp stab came to his heart. But he was— he was only a spectator in the game; he could never be a principal. "Ought to be a pal of Derek's, Miss Redeslegh; he saved my life during the war; men don't forget that sort of thing." He w;as watching her coolly, there was nothing of rudeness in his regard, but it appeared as though he were askin® himself certain questions and finding answers to them. "That rotten little bounder lied, lied like the devil. She couldn't do a thing underhanded — evil. She's as pure as Thibetan snow; as pure as a dove." He comrnenced to talk, not easily; but he succeeded in distracting Lord and Lady Claremont's attention. That was all Carboyne required; he was with the

I the girl he loved, and happiness tore at his heart-strings. As, much later, Forrester wandered through the grounds of the Casino, he encountered a roysterous party of three, linked of arm, dishevelled and uproarious. He stood aside to let them pass; but' it chanced the light of a lamp fell on the face of one, and the cavalryman recognised it. He stepped forward and seized the face's owner in a grip that almost drove the breath from his lungs. "Perhaps you rememher me," he said grimly, as Lemuel Lorritt groaned and f ought for freedom. "I gave you a trouncing a bit since for making too free with a lady's name. There's a question I want to ask you. Was there a grain of truth in what you said?" The cold ring of his voice sobered Lorritt amazingly; the words he had spoken without thought recurred to him with a rush. , „, , "N— no; I lied, I lied, I tell you! he said hysterically. Forrester pitched him aside as if he were so much refuse, and stalked on, with. the beginning of a song in his heart. "I knew it couldn't be true, I knew it. Still, it's better to be sure. Derek's wife must be beyond all reproach." CHAPTER XIV. HE COMES ! Belle Redeslegh sat idly watching the sparkling waters of the Mediterranean, where the boats darted briskly to and fro, and the cries of the nsherfolk rang like music. The happiness of a sunlit day was all about her; the world was aglow with radiant hope. And hope and happiness companioned her joyously. Now she knew the real, the inner meaning of love. She thought with a slow shudder of that other year when she had believed a man's flashy manner had captivated her heart, when her starved soul had expanded like a lotus to a few words of fulsome praise coming into the barren wilderness of her life; but in a moment she had set the thought behind her. "I will not think of the past; it is dead, dead, thank God!" she cried. "As he— that man is dead. The present is mine and the future, my own, to make what I will of them. I deserve happiness, I have suffered— but— but— to make him happy, to give him such a love as he deserves, that is all the happiness I need." Wheeling seabirds cried gaily, as though the blazing sunshine had filled them too with joy. Children laughed near at hand; somewhere a boatman was singing a passionate love song in a deep, full baritone; a song of worship for two bright eyes. "Yes, the past is dead," thought the girl. "and to that death there is no resurrection." She was very sure of herself now. The years between her discovery and now had only served to prove viat all the unreal fancies that had filled her life before were true. There was no doubt that the man who had married her and Left her at the church door, handcuffed, under a grim charge of murder, was dead. She had read, in the privacy of her own room, with burning eyes, every detail of the startling tragedy which had given her freedom. Line by line and word by word she pored over the newspapers; she had sought and secured fresh journals which devoted more space to the sensational incident. Miles Buckford was dead, as he deserved to die — horribly. The cowardly assault on the warders of the prison had resulted in the death of one. He had been struck down from behind with a spade whilst he was all unsuspecting; the escaping prisoners> had even stayed a moment to administer a second, more telling blow. Exactly the dastardly thing Miles Buckford would do! Eagerly, with almost ghoulish mtereal in the sordid tale, Belle had devoured' the columns day by day, always afraid lest her beliefs should be shattered, always more and more deeply convinced that those beliefs were true. She read the story of the inquest on the man who had called her "wife"; she read the evidence of identification. again and again, and still a third time. There was no doubt about it— there could be no doubt. He had been seen scrambling down the cliff, he had been fired upon, he had fallen; there was his crushed and triangle d body as proof, with his prison number on the garments as further proof. The coroner's jury had returned a verdict of accidental death, and Miles Buckford had been buried hastily, without ceremony, in the Potter's Field of the prison. That was all. And no one knew of that foolish step of the past; the secret was safely locked in her own heart. No one should ever know; one did not willully take up past follies and expose them t~t the clear crystal light of noon-day. She ha'd never been the man's wife, as wifehood was meant; she was still a maid, although a widow. She made a sudden gesture, as though washing her hands of some transient stain. "Finished— done, Fra free," she said, and in a moment was thinking of another bondage; one so sweet, this, that it made her tremble like an aspen at the mere thought. For Derek Carboyne still remained on the Azure Coast, unable to drag himself away, although learned societies and very great people indeed were clamouring for his return, to flood London with the story of his exploit. Belle knew now that she was the magnet which held him immovable, and because she returned his love with an intensity that at times frightened her, she would not have it overwise. This was love; this glowing, splendid passion of self-sur-render that made her ask for no other gift from life than the right to be held in Derek's strong arms, secure against all the world. Love? It was surely more than love, or love was more wonderful even than her wildest imaginings. (To be continued.)