ODE STORIES.

Timaru Herald, Volume CIII, Issue 15742, 28 August 1915, Page 4

ODE STORIES.

A NEW SERIAL.

A BRAVE MAN'S LOYE. BY HAROLD BINDLOSS. Author of "The Story of Hilary Legh," "Over the Harbour Bar," "in Niger Land," "AinfTie's Ju-Ju," etc., etc.

CHAPTER XV. (Continued). .AMONG IHE GALLOWAY HILLS Arter ail, there was 110 p«aco uk-j this iiuiu oi tiie ill 01 *ts> nipping rrost and. wnuei* ±±er« a man mignt i»ve out. ins ta.e oi years, drawing in vigour antl not disease witli every bieatli of lii-e giving air- bo, mm Hope sprmgJig in his heart and a in U.s evvs, V mcent swung Uioug,. soig.ng as te went, and. tne larks tuoit up cno song and earned it ta r towards tu« blxi6 lilt, above. ~1.1 Jr'or some strange reason the ballad or licciunvar obtruded it-seii upon mm, and tne rnvtUm 01 tne janes Kept time to tne beat of hj« footsteps as he strode atonii past green ineatiows and bnary copks, breasting up the siopes and swinging down the hokows Ittos a scboolbov Iresh frcm task- - 'Oh, come ye m peace or come ye in ■war?" — . So spake the bride's father, his hand on his sword"— rang through his brain, and v mcenfc laughed at the quaint, conceit. Carson "pero" might yield pen ur yard-meas-ure, but he was the last man on earth to grip a knightly sword hilt. Here there a wituere-d dame, sunning herself beneath the opening roses of her white-walled cottage, waved him to stav for a draught of cream-crusted m?lk. with the qniet courtesy of the North which the poorest cotter possesses. There laid been something in Vincent's face and his grave, considerate ways Wbfcn reached tho hearts of the Ste warty folk, who, in spite of "their rural iife, are great at analysis of character, and slow to accept surface polish in ptace of genuine metal. Even the herdboys remembered t-h© man who had thanked them courteously, and rewarded with some trifle appropriate to their seeds, for information as to a rising sea-troa't, and they touched their caps to him as he passed wit'n a respect which was far removed from servility. Vincent smiled, with 3 softening of tho lines which Africa Stamps upon every man's forehead, when he returned their salute. Slow and rough of speech, seeking favour from no man, and hearing themselves the same to all, he knew tho warm heart that beatbeneath the rugged surface of these Galloway folk, and his 'nearfc went out to his native land.

At length . turning aside from the ■white highroad lu> strode beneath the wide-girthed beach between, it and the Solway shore, and reached the dwelling place of Elvers Carson. He was not being kept waiting. The retired eotton»pinner bustled into the room, and with a strained attempt at cordiality held o*t 'nfs hand. '"Very glad to see yon, Mr Maxwell," he said. "We'll ]efe bygones be bygones. Of conrse. yon know, a father must- ?oofc after the interests of his only daughter." VI have no desire to recall the past/' answered Vincent coolly, f or there was that in the speech which jarred npon him; "and lam not a poor man now. T bronchi home £6.000 worth of goods which hardly cost me as many hundreds. and in another year I "may be rich. -There is a limitless supply." '"H'm! I hope so! But African ventures are uncertain—very uncertain," said Carson "pere." ■ and a look of what might have been regret crossed Bis face.

Vincent was puzzled. There -was something behind it all he could not understand; and more sharply than ever it struck him that he was in tne position of the old-time border raider. Then he took up his hat. "Where k Hrfen now ?(' he asked. "H'm, eh? fNell, perhaps it will' do no harm,'* wm the answer, and. while Mr SEaxwell gazed bewildered at the speaker. Carson continued: "She's in the C'ajily Park. Went there an hour ago with Mr Crossthwaite, I behove.." " I will go after her at once.' 1 said Vincent, and his face darkened at the name, '"and hope to eeo Mrs Carson when 1 return. Yon will naturaliy excuso me :l ; and he stepped out through the French window, leaving Elvers Carson staring open-mouthed behind.

"Well he takes it sensibly, thank gpodne®!" said the pompous spinner to his portly wife. "I thought there tronui have been n scene enoujen. t-o ■bake my nerves. I dont- Jiko those deadly quiet people: you never know vhat they'll do next After aft, it's • Pity, for Maxwell's a gentleman, and Crossthwaite is not—and ho will be rich too"; and the worthy -nan heaved a «eep sigh, as that overwhelming sense of failure which occasionally overtakes those who would be wiser than Providence came upon him. Meantime Vincenfc brushed L-astily through green fern and clustering grass, until he entered a sihady avenue of beeches, and here he stepped as if •hot, and turned suddenly cold. A pair of lovers paced slowly down the narrow; pathway where golden light and chequered shadow trembled across the velvety mosses at their feet-. The face of the man was that of Farndou Crossthwaite, and He'en Carson "nunc upon his arm. listening with downcast eyes t-o the words he spoke.

When Vincent stepped out from among the trees and stood before them the girl plucked her arm free, and advanced hurredly a few paces. Then 6he stopped dead with a crimson flush sweeping from cheek to Vow. Vincent never fealt cooler »r more composed. In such cases it is usua-'ly ihe woman wht>_ shows most self possession, but a hard and dangeronc life had 'trained Ma*weß to be -eoual try anv f-inri'LTncv. end the p-'rl's eves feTI before his steady paze as he raised Irs hat and waited for her to speak. A few. lnconcrent words rose £o her lips and died away, and with twitching fingtrs she gianced appeaiat- Orossthwaite. Again the* unes, " .bat tiit? poor craven bntlejjroom spake never a word/ 1 flashed tiirougn Vincents fancy, as such trifles do even in the faco or a tragedy, while Crossthwaite iidgetted uneasily to and fro. The whote matter was clear now, and the reason of his curious reception made _ plain. Witli a coolness which was almost cruel Vincent gazed at the trembling girl, and her lover also shrank beneath his eye. Then 'ae •aid quietly: I have come ▼ery tar to see you, Helen. Perhaps yon will explain—with your husband's perm:«non?' J Helen raised her eyes imolortngrv. How oould she speak before* the old lore and the new? But there was no relenting in the keen eyes, snd the gasped: . "We «» not married yet—it is next week—and I -wrote. It is all a mistake-**

"So I begin _ to think," answered Vincent, .very grimly: and Helen continued in a fluttering voice:

"7 thoneht I cared for you. lint that could not have been : and yon v/ere very poor my father and mother said—and netec jrrptg,'«

In after years, remembering _a certain scene wiien a broke:i-'lo\vn adventurer witn no pretence ax eiiaiactur matte a famous appeal for mercy for a prisoner Vincent leit almost ashamed ol die part lie took, but at the moment it was bairn 10 ilia wouiideu priuo 10 see n.s successful rival writhe at tlie girl's words.

'"I wrote every mail—when I could," lie interrupted sternly, "and once it ccst me two bearers'" lives to carry the letter to the coast." ''They never reached mo. It must 'nave been mamma. How 1 hate " and the girl's spirit rising she poured out a flood of bitter words, many of which must have rankled .in Crossthwr.ite's heart for years to come. Vincent bowod. '"I see it a.T. There l is no need to prolong this interview ; it cannot he pleasant to any one of the three. "Permit uie to ivish you both happiness, and to express my regret that I intruded my presence upon you." Then, with no further -word, he turned awav.

Swinging through the rolling parkIsnd. Vincent felt ai sudden sense of elation spring'ng up within his hearty and wondered. Instead of bitterness and dejection, there was a strange feeiing of release and content, and as he breasted up the slope of Craigenmally Lodge, lie trolled forth an oldworld bailad, for tho spell of the hills was upon him. H s aunt met him in tho doorway, and there were tears of joy in her eyes as sho held him from ner at arms length and gazed upon his face. "TVeX in health and strong, a constitution of iron, and the blood of the old raiders," she said, proudly, "and your eye is bright and your stop a firm, though you look older —much." ''Not quite the .appearance of a broken hearted man, aunt," interrupted Vincent, laying his hand >-pon the white-haired ladys shoulder: "and yet- I'm cast- off and forsaken—jilted in favour of Farndon Crossrihwaite. iHyperion to Satyr, eh?" "Thank Heaven!" said the lady fervently, and Vincent burst into a merry laugh. "Surely that's not kind, aunt, to return thanks for niv broken heart?" '"Ah, \:i>cent, if yon only knew how thankful I am! No good would ever have come of that union. But come away in. Why did you not telegraph for us to meet you?" A Maxwell coming home on foot!"

Again Vincent laughed. "Ay. on foot, aunt, and with richer plunder than any savage moss-trooper of all mv forbears. There's .£6,000 of ,'old and ivory now beiug sold, and the cleverest jewellers in London town aro looking for a gem to match the setting of rich, red gold you'll wear for your nephew's

Later Maxwell fell upon the food placed before him with an appetite

born of the salt sea and sharpened by a ten mAe tramp. Afterwards there wero many things to be discussed, and \-.*iien the long, meilow sunset ol tne North —so dilferent from the euddeii darkness of the tropics—tided ail the western heavens, and the grey bulk of (Jairnharry rose dimly before them against sp.'endours oi satfron-and green, they still sat side by side beneath the wnispering cedars of tne lawn, 'liic glory of the summer twilight was still about them, and the water of Fleet sang drousiiy tnrough the xuisty meadows be.ow. "Vincent, laddie," said his aunt at last, '"I render thanks ihis night that the match was broken off. The path of a deceitful woman ends in confusion and she has over-reached herself. I know more of the story than you choose to tell, even to your father's sister, who loves ' you better than a son. There were many letters from the Cape, asking if T had tidings of you, which spoke eloquently in your praise."

'•'lf you care to listen aunt 1 will tell you all," was the answer and slowly and deliberately Vincent related the story of his temptation and his victory.

Then the old lady made answer, laying her hand upon his arm: "If I do harm, may it lie forgiven me. but Vincent, these dim eyes have looked quietly on t-ne busy world for many yeare. and old age sees far. There was that in the letters which, in spite cf the writer's will, told its own tale;

and I had other tidings, too." Then, w th a caressing touch, she continued : "Think well, Vincent. before you throw a treasure away."

llis man turned h's fare towards tho darkening west, wliero a little radiance lingered, and for a lime he said no word while a flood of memories-ioyous and sad—passed through his brain. At last, in a low even voice, lie spoke: "What can I do? No woman who is worth the seeking would listen to a tale .ike mine. Besides, I ain too proud. What right bave Ito olfer a cast-ofE affection ? It canuot be now." "Bo wise in time. Faint heart never won a lair lady," was the quiet reply. "Women understand these things better than men. Toll her all, and—who knows? —she may l.ston."

"-No, aunt,*' said Vincent; "not yet. There is work to be done, and lortuiio to win. 1 cannot leave my partners now. Afterwards it- may bo M—Heaven grant it wih! JJuc ihe dew is fali.ng fast; 1 must be careful of you.'' As his aunt took the arm eiferecl sue shook her grey head and s'ghed, and Vincent caugnt the half-spoken words, "A wiifiu man That night he slept but little, and an hour alter dawn broke across the eastern hiiis lie was np and away to the banks oi the silver i*\eot- A plunge into eigiit feet of sparkling water in. a still, black oddwashed away care and regret, and ho strode through the groves of Anwoth, where eve ry sombre branch glistened with liquid brilliants in the early sunlight, his face was calm and his'step was light. In spite of good resolves, it is hard for a man of action to take even a much-needed, rest when there is work on hand, and long before a- month uas done \ incsnt pined to he away At last a letter from his Tyondou brokers, statins: that a handsome- sum had been paid to his -jredlt at the bank, and there was likely to be. an cxco lent demand fcrr further supplies, sett .ed t'no matter.

The following day he'packed Irs things, and when he parted from his ?unt at TJromore St-nt'on he Gladdened the old lady's heart as he said: '"lf the next consignments do as well I nmv +nk o your advice and go down to the Cane.'"

, Tl'p'i. with a s-roam of the whistle, the ["nc trmn vo'led nwav aej'oss the quaking mosses, and Vincent felt his .onlses at the thought that- he was in harness again. CHAPTER XVI. HOW THEY .AIARGHED WEST AGAIN. Eighteen months passed away. Helen Carson and Farnclon Crossthwaite had attained their wisu. The ono was tho wife of a man of means, surrounded by tho luxury and show she had been taught to regard as the greatest things on earth, and the other should have been happy basking in , the smiles of the bride he had stolen from a better man. So both had gained their heart's desire, but leanness entered into their soula withal, for there are lower depths to which even a man cf few ideals may be dragged by a woman whose mind is set on the mere pleasures of life. Helen Carson, too, now that she possessed fnafc which she had longed for found these thincrs_ pa'd upon her, and 'he h nil own ess of it. all became apparent —too late. Thus both looked back with regret, and there was no escape, for what a- man has .sown that must he reap—eve.rv ugly tare and cruel thorn, as well as the scanty ears. •\nd so they pas-? out of the storv. There are manv I'ke them, who grope I T ' the mire. shutting their eve? least •ilin-t- should see the crown helrl out before tliem.

Meantime, tii.ngs had gone both well and iii wUli the bonguo-ii exploring txpixlition. it.ell c-onsignmeins had been sent home, and a goodly sum lay t>o their credit in London. I'iiey suffered muc-h from fever and rhe climate, and since the last visit of the Arab trader, strange rumours passed through the bush of heavy lighting going on. in the ''hinterland' 5 beyond. One of the characteristics of the fever land is the v.ay m which' news travels tnrough quaking suamp and almost untrodden forest. As the riopks widen tii-1 they lap upon the farthest shore when a stone is Hung into a stagnant mere, So, if thero is trouble in the unknown wilderness, the restlessness spreadsaiul widens, and there is a b.owing of horns and sathering of savage warriors through" endless leagues of forest.

One sweltering night the leaders of the expedition sat- in a basket-work hut set apart for their 'ise, the light of a swinging lamp falling on their haggard, careworn faces. Wayne—no longer the impulsive, for lie had dwelt two years ill the steamy forest, though there was a glitter in his eyes that showed tho old fiery spirit had nob gone out was spokesman.

"After tho next consignment," ho said, reflectively, "we had better clear out, before we take root here or die. There should be a handsome divide all round, and I'm sick of Africa. Better sell matches at home than slowly rot in this pestilental hole/' There was a low murmur of assent and Bert Considine rose to his feet. He was little more frian a skeleton,

for thrice his life had hung wavering on the balance. No man can live long at a temperature of 10S degrees, but each timo Vincent's care had pulied him round.

His speech was slow liis voice was shaky. '"Yes," he said, "wo should go back, if it's only for Maxwell's sake;

he's go:ng under at last. Perhaps we'd better leave at once, for if the niggers speak the truth Amaro 'nas his ! hands full just now. The bush men are arming everywhere., and there's evidently trouble on hand." Then he crossed the room towards the pile of mats where Vincent Mnx- ' well lay with blackened lips and soaking hair, burning in the grasp of the fever. "Any easier now?" he 1 asked gently storming down. "My head's on fire, and there's a racking pain in every joint." gasped the sufferer, "but that's all in the bargain. T overheard, and ;ny advice is. wait a little to see if Amaro sends u •«'<«& then march {or coast before.

it is too late. I can't talk any more —Wayne's in charge now." The heavy eyelids fell, and, turning his head away, Vincent, .apsed into unconsciousness, and h;s comrades knew the deleriiun was upon liim again.

Through tlio open door came the scent of tno ii'lies and lime Sowers, and \ the far-oil: ocean the song ,of the river as they listened the yellow water 1 rolling"on beneath the stars towards called them westwards too. Herman P. JJtfiriug, whose tattered garments hung about his attenuated form as though it were a frame, brushed the dew >-jT perspiration from his forehead and said softly: "Maxwea'o right—it's all in the bargain. You've got to pay for any good thing you gut on earth. The difference is some folks get a discount and others pay in full, to tno last cent, and that's the way in Africa. Therfc are times, too, when it Takes all a roan's grit to pay up and !ook cheerful, though Vincent never winced."' "Don't philosophise; you don't do it well," said Wayne, and Mallih chuckled —he rarely obtruded opinion or advice. Then, the men sprang to their feet, for the blowing of liorns came out of the darkness, and the hoarse challenge of a sentry reached their ears.

"Word from Amaro at last,'" said Wayne moving towards the door. There was a clamour in the narrow way between the mud walled huts, and later three weary men stood before them, the leader bearing the staff of Amaro in his hand.

"Listen, white men," he said. "We l'ave travelled very far to bring you the words of Amaro-bin-Assad, "and threo there fell by the way. The message of the chief is this—'There was e-oth and beeds paid me over and above the last ivory, and though hardpressed—and it may bo I shall not escape my foes—l, too, would keep faith. Therefore, here are ivory and gold, that the ta'e of merchandise may be complete. Take warning, and go quickly through the forest while the way is yet open, for my enemies are too strong for me, And the heathen have cast off my yolk. And now, we shall' not meet again, and I pray you accept these finest tusks in rem cm iterance of Amaro-bin-Assad, who is hunted and a fugative in his own domain. S.o, greeting and farewo'l, white men. As ye have dealt with me so have I dealt with you. and Allah shall judge between us, and find there is nothing wanting.' " ° "These are ail the words of Amaro?" asked Wayne, and the envoy answered : "All, save that he bids you. go by the forest, for the heathen watch the river."

"Bravo. Amaro!" broke in Considinej but- Wayne beckoned for silence. '"You have done well," he answered. "There are ten pieces of cloth to every man. 'When you have rested and eaten, go back, bearing these rifles as a gift to your master, and say the white men are li : s servants. The* llearfc of a man the. same, whatever be the colour of Irs skin, and they will remember Amaro-bin-Assud in this far land across the sea."

"A most gentlemany brown image," drawled During, as tho messengers withdrew. "We'll take his advice'and ligjh'fc out; this land was made for the b'.ack man. Say, Wayne, suppose we muster tho carriers at dawn. There are provisions in store, and we can march by sunset—see?" The leader agreed, and in half-an-liour tho party was wrapped in sleep, save Bert Cons'dine, who sat by Vincent's couc'n, listening to bis incoherent rambling, and moistening the blackened lips from time to time. More than once he heard his sister's name, and frowned. This was the , on'y shadow, that lay between them, and he was destined never to understand it a'l. _ _ _ j At midnight the American relieved h:m. and just then Vincent moved in his doze, and called out in a hoarse voice. Consindine understood—his comrade was going through the defence of the drift again; bnt During wondered. • "I've heard a sick man ramble about one woman before, but Maxwall here caPs on two. Well, it's not our busi- ■ tiess, and there are secrets in every life. L-ay out the anti-pyrin and sleep while you can." Then the American stretched his lanky limbs upon the mats, leaning against a pillar to keep watch, ' and Considine turned away, thinking many things. In the cool of t'ne morning Wayne mustered the fighting.men and carriers, and addressed thorn in the best vernacular he could muster:

"The chief is sick, and I am now leader in his stead. Tli:'s place is an evil one to dwell in. and soon it will be worse, for Arabs of the hinterland come down, and they love not- t!lio coast men. Tlioi't'iore we depart with speed. Your lives are placed in the white maai's hands, and ' he has kept faith. When you were sick he hea.ed you, and twice he broke the power of the heathen that ye might go free. 'Again there is danger about you, but be fearless and obedient, and each man shall see his home beside xhe beaches again."

A rattling of machetes and a long shout from the Krooboys drowned his words; then Wayne turned to the men of the Arab blood:

"Choose tins day whether ye will follow the white trader or turn back to t.lie men of your own. station, for, by the beard of the prophet, a traitor dies."

A tall man stepped out of the ranks. "Save Amaro, we never saw a leader like the. sick white man," he said, "and tne power of Amaro is no more. Also, we have eaten of your salt, and now the chief is sick to death, shall we forsake Mm like cowardly heathen?" Then a fierce ery went up and rolled across the plume grass, and the speaker added: "That is their answer. .Lead on, ancl wo will carry ihe white man to the coast, though all the heathen in Africa bar the way." 'lt is good, talk,-' said Wavne, drawing himself up, "and. if it bathe wiM of Allah, this thing shall be done.." Afterwards there was a great cleaning of arms and packing of provisions, and At sunset they marched. cut into the forest, for news came in that a horde of Arabs were close at hand.