"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9915, 2 August 1910, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

COWARD OR HERO?

■(By ANITA GIBSON.) lather of '•'Fluffy." "A Torchlight t Adventure," etc.

[All Rights Rkserykd.]

Kitty Forsytho walked slowly along fho cliff with eyes cast down under • ', ■'•slightly frowning brows. Between her. .sight and the stubbly turf, a dim haze that floated before her eyes made the [>nth a litll o uncertain. There was a • Eonso of uncertainty, a half-regret, in ', . _ her mind also, that was a little irritat- • '_' ing. Kitty had just declined an offer of marriage, and her emotions were too* complex to admit of description.. Uppermost was the wave of anger at the revulsion of feeling that had set in inexplicably immediately upon the rc- ■ > rooval of the strain of her lover's persistence. She had felt, for a moment, * ■ a, wild impulse to call'him back: hut - . ,the curvo of the cliff round which he 'had swung was sharp and close at hand, and the- opportunity'was gone. When a girl refutes an offer of marriage she , . generally,has a very defiuito reason for Jicr decision. Usually .her. answer has , but one interpretation—she does not love the man, and never will. But

, jKitty's yoke had wavered and her eyes 'had flickered unsteadily, and Hugh SPenrhyn had seen both the signs of , , with leaping heart; hence the .wave of anger that had mingled with th'o flame of love in his heart as, at '*" - - 'last, he strode away from her round the bend of the cliff. But Kitty had persisted thai she did not love, hi in.' "I "'.- .have always known," she said,'with 'deepening colour, " that I could never really lovo a man until he had done Something to win my admiration—some- \ thing great—at least proved himself bettor than the ordinary, commonplace • ,rnan. Can you wonder at mo?", she '.'continued, with warmth, as his brows [jerked up over so slightly. " Look at- ' . the moil whom'ono meets in. our class ''of«,life —the middle-aged men—George Ennison—our own fathers—all the men "• , onjp knows. Think of-beinjr tied to ono ■>{ those machines —for life irrevoc- :•■ iblyl" Hugh's slight shoulders moved in. '*' ' ilow expostulation. "My dad is not a : bad sort," he said. " He's promised to vftre mo a junior partnership in the - firm in two years' time. He'd do any- ' ■ thing to help us make a start, Kitty." ' ' "Partnership!" repeated Kitty. scornfully. "And you would grub and .. .. ■' slave in a musty office all day and half tho night, till you hadn't an idea be- , rond money-making in your head! *'"' nun It of it! I've 7 seen your dad come .'' ■ * home to sleep. I've noticed the halfnirprised way he looks, up when your •not' l ?! 1 ki«es him:-as if ho had forgot- ;* ten her existence. Do you think women don't feel that kind of thing?" . "The dad's a bit of a plodder, of , course." he replied. "But, you see, 1 ," .that's how he's made the money -" '' "Made tho money! Yes!" she J pchood, hotly. " And can you tell me, honestly, that your chad—or mine—or < nny of them—have got room, by the f tV Wme they have made the money, for a " , " single thought of anything poetical or ; great?" ' • " * I , "They haven't much time to talk ,l .about it," he returned, dubiously, '.' but no doubt——"

/"They don't!' 5 slie pM'laimcd. "I've ' studied them. 31 v papa—sometimes ho mumble's aomrlhing about Loing , porfy if he's beaiish. He is always

„ ' bearish! Overwork and business '•■' worries, he says. And. mamma wipes -'''" her ovps, when she thinks no one sun*. i . and sits down on 1 lie silk couch in the , f ' drawing-room; trying to believe the >•,. finery makes up— —" "■ What could T do to please you—ifl to lot you see that J am different?" Jie said, eagerly. "Yon are in my ▼ thoughts night and day, Kitty——'' V ' '" "Oh! I think you are different —■ - fepr; 3 ' she retorted. "But, then, so • . .were they once, no doubt. What mattors most is what you will be when, you r-' i'rto middle-aged and I am growing /ugly. aj:d the little things don't count. '• s -(When a woman begins making compari- ;■' sons. Women aro supposed to lose "'.' their love of romance v.'hen they get "" olcL_ They don't:—they only hide it."

: - The- uflte of intense feoling that vi- ' ' 'brat-ed in her voice stirred his blood:

'"Ton are making yourself—showing , : ' rourself ■ simply' irresistible, Kitty!" .he exclaimed. ''Dearest girl, I would never jyow indifferent to you! You ■ are different. You would keep love aflame' in a heart of flint. You will be ■ adorable always—" "I am not different!" she replied, her face flushing. "Mamma is adorable still. She is sweet, and unselfish, ~"' ~. aiid wistful. She loves to read about ' - romance. Papa calls it twaddle." Hugh's th*iightshad suddenly swung off at a tangent. Before him rose a ' x picture of khaki-clad figures, filing in • broken line across the parched veldt, under a blinding light. Over and again, . . one of tho moving pictures staggered, drawing himself up dizzily, and reeling on a few yards' further.. Then a mo t .mentary pause, ere the straggling line moved on again, burdened with yet another unconscious form. The vision

presented itself at the moment with startling significance, yet it was only _ the' remembrance of the ' graphic word-picture which lie. car- <• ried in his breast-pocket, a letter received that morning from a friend at the war. The writer had con- . , eluded with a note that read like a halffeproach. " Why don't you come out ?" . .was the terse appeal. Was that thought •Iso in Kitty's mind? What would the 11 »tep mean io him? he asked himself. ..Though scarcely sharing his father's ■ opinions upon the country's quarrel, .which tyere little short of pro-Boer's. he had never been conscious of any '■great desire to take up arms in his cause. It would mean nothing •hort of a life-long rupture with the dad, and the blighting of his mercantile career. He looked at the girl beside him, weighing the alternatives in his tfiiud. Was there anything he would toot do to win her love? 1 " "Can't you take me on trust, Kitty?" ho asked, passionately, the ■nest moment. " Can't you take mo as , I am—because I love you so?"

I, Her heart glotre-d for an instant, but alio *hook off the spell. f "It is impossible,!' she replied. "I do not really love you. I feel there is ■ only one way that my heart can be readied. When T have rea-d sometimes 'of a man "who has done great, noble ■things, I have felt that I could love 'fiuch a man. Honestly. Hugh,'"' she ■■went on, 'turning her eyes full upon him, "I have never met a man like that; one doesn't, in our clafs. Men v ' tell us they could worship us, hut what ■wo want is a man whom we can wor•bip." , I "May not a man possibly ho brave* enough to satisfy even you, Kitty, without ever having the opportunity to ' prove it?" he murmured, blushing at his own audacity. Even as ho spoke '' the doutit was in his own-mind, just as he feared it was in hers. All liis life Hugh had shown signs of the highly ptrung temperament, the keen, shrinking sensibilities which go to the making of the artist, rather than the hero. The toy's school career had been marked by no glories won either in battle or

sport. He had never shirked a duty or shelved a moral responsibility, though ho hated friction. anil loved smooth ways. But in physical emergenciesr* Most, of his friends would hare shrugged shoulders at the few might' have remained in doubt, and among the few would have been■ himself; More than once the question had arisen in the secret depths of his mind : Was be, by nature, a coward? Ho turned to Kitty now. with a faint tinge •of red on his brow. " T have never thought myself artything; of a hero, Kitty." he said;''quite the reverse. And T know I am not lit to brush your boots. But some day, p«-u'hayss, I may be able to prove to you that love-r-lovo like I-have for you—may be able to transform a fellow. Just as you say that something great in mo could awaken your love. «o 1 feol that, lore has power to make me something—well, greater than I appear to you at present." The note of genuine humility in his speech stirred her to the depths. She shook off the almost irresistible wave of tenderness that,swept overJ{i'ci\ _ " Good-bve," she said, with an air of finality, bn't a little unsteadily. "You know'" I return home to-morrow. Mamma's last loiter made me sad, and vexed. She says papa's temper is .more trying than ever. Poor mamma!" The sigh that left her lips almost broke down his-self-control, but the next moment she turned from. him. and the' decision of the action chilled him. Her half-hesitating glance back, a.minute later, was lost to him as he strode round the curve of the path. Kitty's mind as she walked back over the cliff was full of a curious sense of foreboding. Something; more than the disquiet produced by the ordeal through 'which she had just passed held possession of her. She told herself that there was thunder in the air, and'hoped-devoutly that the storm might pass,over. A thunderstorm filled her, at times, with ,unreasonable torror. ' Bcr vacuo fears turned her thoughts back to Bugh, and a conscious flush"roso to her '.cheek. Because she knew herself for a timid/ shrinking soul, a prey to terror and unconquerable fears,*she hated the thought of the words which she had said to her lover. But they were perfectly sincere, nevertheless. She was incapable, she believed, of giving her whole heart where she suspected a like nature, to her own'might exist. She simply worshipped the strength of -moral courage, the fearlessness of heart which Mature had denied her. -

As she entered her. hostess's house a telegram, lying tmon the hall table; caught her eyes. Her heart ■ bounded as she saw that it was addressed to herself. ' ,

• "Come at once," it ran; "iu trouble. Bo brave.—Mother." After a few moments' dazed halfpomDreliensibn, she was conscious ..of. a quick feeling of relief. The sender was hor darling mother. At least she was safe. It must be her father—_ perhaps ill--dying! Kitty could not have said how much she loved her father, but- the thought of this sudden, undefined visitation, under which Jher mother besought her to be brave, was terrible! Again her mind flew to the quick relief. ' "It might have been mamma-!" she thought, with a catch ill her breath. "I can bear anything else." In less than an hour Kitty was speeding back to 'London.. At Taddington there was'no one to meet her. nud the chill dread at her heart seemed to tighten its grip. Her mother met hor at the door, taking her iri her arras and holding her in a convulsive clasp. Kitty's tongue seemed tied. '-.'. "it is your father. Kitty." said her mother, in-a, strained'voice that rose scarcely above a whisper; "Is he dead?" asked Kitty, faintly.

A violent trembling shook the elder woman. "Worse than dead.!"'■ she sobbed. •■ ".Heaven help us, Kitty!" " Worst;—than —dead!" said the girl, on an .indrawn breath. "What do you mean, mother?" She listened to her mother's story in silence—the tragedy of her. father's shameful death by suicide; tho crack of the revolver that : had rung",out 'its ghastly portent on the midnight air. tho horror of tho discovery of the still form in the -library. Her mother's voice trailed in the dull monotone! of physical and:mental exhaustion, scarcely " disturbing the curious .sense- of dreaming which had fallen upon Kitty at the first shock. The girl's- mind wont back reproachfully to tho disparaging words which she had so lately spoken of,her-'dead, father—already lying in that awful sleep. Men call the suicide a coward'; but, oh. the desperate, courage of that plunge into tho unknown K How far beyond her own capabilities, that voluntary forcing of the secrets of the grim 'shadowland! The i»ext moment the overwhelming bewilderment of moral chaos swept over her. "Oh! why did he do it, raamnm?" she wailed.' "Why did he do it?" The worst was yet to come. Her mother's face grew stonier. "Tiie disgrace,' Kitty—he would not face it," she said. "We are ruined! —beggars!—worse than beggars—we are hopelessly in debt. It seems he has seen it' coming on for many months." She turned from tho girl, wringing her hands distractedly. "Oh, Philip! Philip!" sh 6 ,sobbed. "Why could yon hot trust me? Why could'you not let mo share it' with von?"' '

Kittv took the twitching hands and covered them with kisses; words were futile.

The financial.storm that had swept Philip Forsythe to destruction had left no scrap oi : salvage, from, the wreck ol his fortunes. All had been swept away, even to the little annuity which' his wife had fondlv intended to hand down to Kitty at her own death. After the first terrible days of mourning, Kitty's thoughts had turned to Hugh Penrhyn. She "wondered that, among the shoal of letters of condolence, no word had come from him. The mother and daughter were not long in" discovering the number of friends remaining to them in their changed circumstances. Compared with the wide circle of former days, the total wa6 small indeed. Was it possible that Hugh must be numbered among those who had turned their backs upon them, like rats deserting a sinking ship? She. shrank from tho thought. And yet, how else could she account for his continued silence, at a time when a true lover would have sped to her through all obstacles? She had been right in refusing him, eho told herself; the man was even below-the average in nobility. It was ' fortunate that she had not yielded to his entreaties to pledge herself to him; he might have been ashamed to acknowledge his changed feelings. But the silence was terrible, nevertheless. She knew, now. that her heart if not her entire confidence had been given to the man, irrevocably. She missed him through the dark days of mourning with a fierce heart bun get, that not even the summoning of her womanly pride had power to subdue. But, there was, '.perhaps fortunately, little time for fretting. The problem of life had to be faced; life's burden, had to be taken up; the practical support-of herself and her heartbroken mother. Kitty put her shoulders to the task bravely,

congratulating herself upon, the possession of at least one undeniable talent, the gift of painting, which her parents had allowed her to cultivate in her life of leisure. At the recommendation of a friend, she obtained employment in a great London firm of art decorators. The routine of her daily work, and the hurried manner of its peiiorhpnce, served to take the sharpness from the girl's grief; but the days were passed in «■ curious, -dream-like existence that witnessed to the still lasting effects of the storm which had broken over her.

One day the- dream .life- was broken upon in a startling manner. Tho day had been hot and sultry, almost unondurnbly so in the confinement of the studio'with its glass skylights and scanty ventilation. Tho studio was at the ton of a tall building, wedged in among a .labyrinth of others in the heart of the teeming city. Below the studio in which Kitty sat at work with her companions was the room i,n which a. score or two of girls were employed folding and packing tho finished work. From still lower in the building rose the whir and drumming of machinery, mingling with the roar of traffic from the streets. That evening a sigh of relief rose from more than one pair of 'girlish lips an the. hour struck for ceasing work and a general stir arose among the -little crowd. Kitty put away the hand-screen upon wttieb she was working and joined the group of lnugliing girls hastily donning hats ind cloaks. The first girl who left th\i room, after flinging a merry good-night over her shoulder, came running back the next minute with blanched cheeks. "Smoke!" she cried. "The stairs are full of smoke !"

As the gills turned startled eyes upon the- speaker a babel of cries and girlish shrieks came up the smoke-choked stairs. The next instant arose the cry, "Fire! Fire!" mingling with an indescribable tumult of voices. Kitty and two others rushed half-way down the flight or stair*, growing each moment denser in the swirl of stinging smoke. At the first landing the three paused. clutching at each other and turning back to the room into which, already, a thin pall was creeping, half hiding the terrified girls from their companions. A sheet of flame had greeted their eyes as they peered down the next flight.

" Shut the door! Keep it out!" shrieked one of them hysterically. "Wo arc lout! There is no getting down!" Some of the'girls burst into terrified weeping, and for a moment Kitty felt her senses leaving her. But she sliook off the blind terror and, strangely enough., from that moment became- the leader of tho little crowd in its desperate plight. "Keep quiet, girls! 1 ' she called, shrilly, above the clamour. "Wo out of this trap. Let us see what is to be done."

The weeping girls chocked their sobs and followed Kitty, who was running to fling up the window of the dressingroom: She turned round blankly to tho crowding group behind her. at the first glance. " Look !" she cried, hoarsely. " There is nothing! Nothing but a. narrow parapet—it loads nowhere !" ' Down below, a narrow yard between the buildings was .deserted. Away in the street, in front, could he heard the hoarse shouts of the crowd, mingling with shrieks of terror —perhaps oi' pain. Cries of "Wait! Wait! Don't jump! Wait!" told the story of the mad panic among the girl packers in the burning room beneath them. How long before their own plight should be as desperate?

"The roof! Let us try the roof!" Kitty cried, breathlessly, beginning to drag the furniture under the lowest skylight. Tho girls rushed to the task, piling Up the tables and heaping upon them boxes and chairs until all were stacked in an unsteady pyramid.

"It is no use!" Availed the girls, distractedly. "It does not reach now!"

"1 cannot pull myself up," she cried; u but you might be able to climb up me. Try! Come, carefully, one at the time."

And, one by one, the trembling girls climbed the pile, held firm by Kitty's desperate grasp upon the framework of the skylight above her, planting their feet on her bent shoulders, and reaching the roof with cries of .joy. Kitty's breath was coming in quick gasps, her trembling arms almost refusing to support her as the last girl climbed the pile, mounted the heaving shoulders, and, reaching safety, turned to stretch down helping hands to her. Too late! With the tension of her task removed at last, Kitty swayed and fell, crashing down with the overturned pile to the floor. The girl above, alone amid the wreathing smoke that streamed from all sides, looked wildly round, and, with a scream of horror, sped after her companions in their scrambling flight across the roof.

Hugh Penrhyn had gone to Scotland immediately after his parting with Kitty on the Cornish coast, and, fatefully enough, in his reckless mood, which made him for the time being indifferent, to the affairs of tho woi-ld outside his own disappointment, the brief account which the newspapers published of the city merchant's suicide- was missed by him. It was not until two months later that an acquaintance, upon his return to town, broko to him the astounding news of the Forsythes' domestic calamities. Hurrying to tho widow's lodgings, be listened to tho details of the tragedy with throbbing brows. At the end of tho story ho snatched up his- hat and hurried in search of Kitty's place of employment. His way was blocked by the excited crowd Avhich stretched so far from the burning building that it was some time before the truth became known to him. Then he fought his way through the crush like a madman. A group of terrified girls were being

carried down, one by one, from a perilous position upon tile roof. They were the artists, from the top floor, ho was to id, and nil wort? safe, but one—Kitty Forsythe. The studio., by this time, had been burning for sonic time, and become utterly impenetrable. The girl's ease was hopeless. Flinging off trie hands that woujd have hold him back. Hugh sprang up the ladder. From the roof tof the studio dense volumes of smoke and flame boat him back.

" Kitty! Kitty!"' he shrieked, hoarsely. ."Canyon bear mo, Kitty?" Above the roar of tho crowd below

a faint cry reached him—" Hero, Hugh, here!" canto from, tho other side of tho roof, his heart leapt in his breast. \Sith scrambling foot lie reached the edge and peered down to the spot whence -the faint voice guided him. Upon the narrow parapet, dinging with convulsive grasp to an open' window above her, stood Kitty. She. had reached the dreesing-room window, and, climbing out, found, footing upon tho copmg which ran beneath it. Hugh looked wildly round him. To reach the trembling girl was impossible. To cry for help was useless; they were cut oft completely from the view of the roaring crowd below. How long could tho girl eling_ to her dizzy refuge? How long before. tho flames that already thrust threatening tongues through tho window should reach her? "Courage, Kitty! Keep tight hold," ho shouted firmly, though 'his heart was beating wildly. Opposite the window to which tho girl clung, separated from it Iry the narrow side alley, a similar window in the adjoining building eain;/.i his eyes.' Upon this Hugh set'his hopes. If he could reach her, somehow, from that window!

Scrambling back over tho roof, lie discovered that the two buildings were connected at tho rear. A few' moments found him upon the roof of the adjacent warehouse, smashing frantically at a closed skylight with his heels. Letting himself down, he ran breathlessly in tho direction in which the window must be situated, meeting not a soul in his progress. Instinct seemod to lead him ■aright. Rushing to a small window facing him. he flung it up, and Kitty was but a few feet away from him! He looked round frantically for a means of bridging the space, between them, and I'enienibercd- with a thrill of joy that his eyes had fallen, almost unconscious' !y. upon a ladder as be rushed through tho deserted passages behind bun. Dragging it to the window he flung it across to the smoke-wreathed sill opposite.

'• Now, Kitty," lie cried, " draw back and throw yourself on the ladder! One moment, my darling, only one moment in tho flames, and you will be safe. I am holding the ladder! Lock straight at mo. Kitty—my arms will scon reach you. Come, now !"

The girl looked over her shoulder at the swirling flames belching • from the window: half turned, and shrank hack with a little cry.

I "I. can't, Hugh! I can't do it!" she wailed. His heart stood still. If Kitty's courage, failed her she was lost. But his entreaties were in vain, Kitty clung trembling to her narrow foothold'. " I can't turn round!" she repeated, hysterically; "I can't got into those flames!" ' ' "Then T must fetch you, Kitty," he cried, flinging his length across the rocking ladder. The tongues of fire leaped to meet him, enveloping him in a mocking embrace. Heedless of their tormenting grip, he flung his azms. round the trembling girl, drawing fa.or back and lowering her to the ladder. "' Climb across—quickly, Kitty!" he gasped. . Kitty crawled with closed ryes across the bending support, while her !<wer clung to the narrow ledge,' lost to sight in. the fiery cloak that wrapped him closer each, moment. The frail'bridge would not support the pair of them—would she never reach the other window? A momentary unconsciousness made, him reel forward, but he tightened his desperate clutch, pulling himself together with a. superhuman effort. He must light against the deadly faintness, or all would bo lost! A glad, cry from the girl told him sho had reached safety. Thank Heaven! Then, ho began his own progress across the charred ladder. This pain in his scorched limbs seemed to sink into numbness in the awful strain of the long moments. Half conscious only, like one Labouring in the grin of a terrible nightmare, he dragged himself through the seething flames, reaching the haven at the moment when o, dozen strong hands were reached out to receive him. But he. alone, had saved Kitty from that awful death that had stared her in the face; and he it was who, after the weeks of suffering wore over, led the happy girl to the altar, a man who had proved himself worthy of a woman's love and admiration.