"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 10305, 9 November 1911, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

' A BROKEN ROMANCE. (By AGNES E. MELVILLE.) Author of "His Three Fates," "A Game with Fa to," etc. [All Rights Reserved.] CHAPTER I. Annabel hummed a song while she jftirred the pan of gooseberry ja.ni that was boiling on the fire. Although she sang, it did not follow that she Was particularlv happy on this gunshiny day of early summer. Indeed, jt was quito the contrary; hut it was Annabel s way to make the best of ' ' fching3Unfortunately, the same could not be ; paid of Annabel's mother, the middlelady who was supposed to be knit, ting in a comfortable easy-chair by tho [ Mrs Bentley could be seen to dab her eyes openly every few minutes with a clean pocket-handkerchief smelling lavender. 1 (If Annabel noticed the repeated action, she preferred to ignore it, and to <ro on singing while she stirred the 3am. [ It was a clean, bright farm kitchen . containing a table of white wood, a dresser and plate-rack to match—the jatter filled with blue-and-white china I—and a gay array of healthy-looking 1 geraniums in the two small windows, garnished with snow-white muslin Blinds. 1 Suoh Is a full inventory of the contents of the kitchen, with the exception of Mrs Bentley's easy-chair, four - ordinary chairs—scrubbed white to match the table—three cats, and a tremendous fire of crackling logs. j ' It woitld he impossible to imagine an. ■ atmosphere of greater homeliness and peace than that which lay like a benediction 011 the quaint old farmhouse in 4ts sweet-scented garden on this May Iftfteraoon. I Yet 110 one In the kitchen was happy except the cats. Annabel's expression betrayed her, in spite of her song; and , " Mrs Bentley's tears fell faster from aggravation at the fact of Annabel's apparent indifference. ' At last her irritation burst forth Jnto speech. • " I wish you'd stop that noise, Annabel} it's well-nigh drivin' me crazy, and my head's like to burst already, without bein' dazed wi''that hummin' in my ears. How you can sing _wi' the eword o' Demosthenes ; jhangin' over our heads it heats me to think! It would be more fittin' if we wept by the waters of Babylon." ' Mrs Bentley's tendency to classical v and Biblical figures of . speech (which ' Bhe usually managed to jumble up in tie well-known fashion of Mrs Malaprop) Was always increased in times of trouble. • Annabel received this speech with the coolness of long custom. "If I sat - and wept, mother/the jam would burn," she_ returned, mildly. "I'm sorry the singing worried you." I " That's the least of my worries, ;J resumed Mrs Bentley, becoming majestic as her grief received attention. ," Nine-and-forty years have I sat in this farm, being but twenty when your Sather married me. Fifteen years have , I worn widow's weeds for my John, and 'ptriven to keep the place as he left it, with the help of that thievin' John Coatesf, who, has managed to bring us , , io ruin. To-day I'm given six months' j notice to leave tho farm or to buy it. Buy it"—with bitter emphasis---" as well might they expect me to buy up Buckingham Palace, with the King; inside it! Every penny your father left, . .Annabel, has gone 011 the upkeep of j the place, and all we've got in return has been llard work, and a shelter for our heads. Six nr&nths from to-day we'll be a pair of wandering Jews, seeking whom we may devour." ! "Not a Kit of it, mother," returned : 'Anna, stoutly, striving, as usual, to j 'put the best faoo on things. "You , M know that Fiidc William has asked us ' ' for yearsi if we wouldn't think fit to ! 1 come and make our home with him in ! Manchester. He'll be very glad to give : i'\ ft shelter, and I can go out to work. 1 j I daresay I'll get something to do." • • "In a factory.?" shuddered Mrs 33entley, closing her eyes, as if to shut <mt some horrible vision. " That I : fihould lfre to see a (IsuHjhtar of mine in the grip of Mammoth'!" ''lt needn't be 'a factory. There 1 i- are shops in Manchester." ,

"Mammoth-rules them all!" asserted Mrs Bentley dogmatically. " But it serves you right, Annabel,"' she continued f with rising vehemence-. "A girl oi eight and twenty should be in a. home or her own, >vith a good man to see that she gets fair play in this •wicked world. What aro two defenceless women against the bows and arrows of outrageous fortune ? Thoy'ra at the mercy of all the tliievin' John Ooatesos that prowl in sheep's clothing." "John's not to blame, mother. Ho couldn't help bad harvests." "I'm not talking of John Coates. I'm talkin' of you, Annabel," snapped the old lady, waxing more fiery. " What would have hindered you to accept, Richard Bentley, own cousin to your father, and a fine figure of a faan ?" I didn't care about Richard Bentley—that's reason enough for me, tnother," responded Annabel, decidedly.

. " And there was young Cyril Hill- . .yard, who went to America." i Anna's reply did not come so readSly to her lips this time. " He d-didn't ask me," she mumbled into the fire, and the hand that stirred the jam trembled. "Dinah Morton and he corresponded—you've heard her say / eo." " And Dinah's a female Ananias, if ever one was born!" observed Mrs Bentley, who was now quite animated by argument. "-If Cvrii Hillyard didn't want you, what did he come so much about the place for ten years and more ago ?" < • "I don't know," was Annabel's half Inaudible answer. I It was not the heat of the fire that . had made her checks so red, nor was it a reflection of the leaping flames that Caused her dai'k grey eyes to glisten. 1 All unwittingly "her mother had touched an old wound, and it had

smarted painfully. Up from the past tlicre sprang into vivid life the face of a youth with eager blue eyes, and a strong, dogged mouth. He had boen only the son of a small crofter, but the village schoolmaster had prophesied that Cyril Hillyard was marked out for success. There had been a time once when Anna Bent-ley had been the chosen confidante of Cyril Hillyard. Them darkeyed Dinah Morton had come between them, and Anna's pride had made her shrink into a reserve that rose up like a barrier, for ever shutting her in and Cyril out. So he had gone to Canada without a word, except good-bye. Since then his name had never crossed Anna's lips, though she had listened to many tales of his advancing fortunes, told by the old villagers. Now her motherly had suddenly remembered that broken romance of Anna's girlish days, and it was only likely that she would continue to harp on the one string for some time. Anna was aecomplished in devising expediments to ward off a threatening attack of this kind. Leaving the jam for a few seconds, she picked up a newspaper and handed it to her mother. " You haven't read the paper today, mother," she remarked. " Tell mo If there's anything in it, for I won't have time to look at it myself." | Mrs Bentley fell into the trap, and f was perfectly quiet for a few minutes, ; but at the expiration of this space of time Annabel heard a sharp exclamation. "Well, if that aren't a coincidence!" cried her mother, handing the paper to Annabel, with a finger upon a certain paragraph. "To think I should have mentioned his namo no less than ten minutes since 1" Annabel followed the indication of the finger, and read as follows: j " A Fortunate Canadian.—One of tho most successful speculators in Canadian land is Mi* Cyril Hillyard, who emigrated no longer ago than 1900, and is now only thirty years of a«e. Already he has made a large fortune, and we hear that he is about to settle down in his native county in England ~to pursue the congenial calling of a gentleman farmer. A young man of such enterprise will be an acquisition to rural England, where he will no doubt experiment in new methods of cultivation."

"Well?'' demanded Mrs Bentley, when she considered that she had given her daughter ample time to read and digest tho paragraph. " What do you think of it ?"■

Anna laid down the paper, and kept her attention fixed on the boiling jam. " Nothing, mother," she responded, quietly. "I am glad to hear of Mr fti'ilyard's success, but it makes no difference to us. We'll be gone when he comes back."

Sirs Bentley groaned. " Annabel Eentle.v," she ejaculated, vexatiously, "you're the perversest creature that ever was born! Don't you see that Cyril Hillyard's coming home for a wife? And Dinah Morton's married!"

"That doesn't concern me," repeated Annabel, firmly. And it was plain that the rankling wound was hurting badly, for her hands trembled more than ever. "No man will ever be able to say that I have waited ten years in the hope that he'd as!: me. Besides, he never will-, so there's an end of it." At that nfoment the postman's double knock resounded 011 the back door of the farmhouse, and Annabel could hear the voice of their maid-of-all-work. who rejoiced in the name of Florence Jane, responding from an adjacent washhouso.

Next instant Florence Jane appeared in person within tlicf door of the kitchen, holding out a letter in a gingerly fashion, occasioned by the fact that soapsuds dripped off her great red hands.

" It's for Miss Anna.bel," declared the maid. " And it's from Canada, all the way. Jem, the postman, told me. He knew by the stamp, he said." Annabel took the letter wonderingly. It was the first letter site had ever received from abroad, and it seemed impossible that it could really be meant for hor. She spent several minutes in gazing at the handwriting on the envelope—bold and clear—leaving no room for doubt as to the letter's destination. It was only when her mother levelled a whole battery of questions at her that she broke- the seal.

While she was reading the deep colour mounted from her cheeks to her brow, till it seemed as if the very gold of her ha;r caught fire. Without a word she handed the letter to her mother, nnd after that lady had read it she gasped breathlessly, and looked at Annabel as if she had just been the subject of a miracle.

"Well, I never! Well, I never!" was all she could ntter for full five minutes.

She applied to the letter again. "He says he's coming home for you, Annabel—if you'll have him ! If! There can't be an 'if' about that, I fancy, unless you're an utter and absolute lunatic. Here's a fortune flung in your face!"

" Flung in my face! You put it well, mother," repeated Annabel, and the concentrated bitterness of her tone was almost past belief. "He will find that an English girl is not to be won by the glitter of his e:old, although ho flings it in her face till he is tired 1" " But you're an idiot, Annabel—you're an idiot!" almost shrieked Mrs Bentley. " The man loves you. He must have eared for you all the time." "He has been rather long in finding it out," said Annabel, and now her face r was very pale. " I -wonder if he offered, himself to Dinah, and found out that she was married?'' "What have you to do with that?" demanded Mrs Bentley, furiously. " Cyril Hillyard has made you an offer, and you " " And I am going to refuse it!" said Annabel, with her head very high and defiance gleaming in her fine eyes. CHAPTER 11. July was drawing to a close in a violent rainstorm. It had come on suddenly at noon, after a warm, grey morning, and the valley in which tha Bentley's farm lay was'being swept by tho summer hurricane. Everyone was sntfglv indoors, except Florence Jane, who had run out with a sack over her head to close a door that was swinging loose in the wind. Flo-

renco Jane ran with her face bent againts the lashing rain, consequently she did not see the man who was taking shelter inside the barn till she was about to slam the door in his face. She said, "Mercy 011 us!" and started back.

The man raised his dripping cap. He was in a deplorable condition from the wet, and it was difficult to say whether he might be a superior sort of tramp or an inferior sort of gentleman. The part of his face above a fairish brown beard and moustache was strongly tanned, as if from exposure, and his neck also showed deeply brown abovo the soft collar of his shirt.

Florence Jane looked him up and down with the frankest scrutiny, and all the while he kept smiling to- himself, with a whimsical look in his blue eyes. At last he spoke. " You don't mind my taking shelter, do you? I've walked across the hill and been caught in the rain. I promise not to set the place on fire." "Mercy on us!" remarked Florence Jane again, as she observed the pools of rain made by the drips from his clothes " I never see anybody so wet. I'll ask the missis if you can come in to the kitchen fire."

"Who is your mistress?" asked the man, conversationally. " Mrs Bentley. There's only her and Miss Annabel."

"Is Miss Annabel young? I'm rather shy of young ladies." " Oh, she's getting on. 'Pears as if she'd be an old maid one o' them davs.''

"Then she hasn't a young man, eh?"

" She don't want one. That's what's wrong with her. She seems fair set agen the sect. Wait till I come for you, mister. I'll have to ask the old lady it 1 can bring yei in. She don't allow followers." Florence Jane ran across the yard laughing, and dodging the rain under her sack. She was back in a minute. " You're to come straight in. The old. gel is asleep, and Miss Annabel says you're welcome."

The stranger followed his guide across the yard and into the kitchen, where everything looked so clean and bright in the glowing firelight that he paused apologetically in the doorway with a glance at his boots.

Annabel, who was ironing, looked up, and understood his slight hesitation. " Never mind the floor," she said cordially, with the warm, bright smile that she seemed to reserve for people who were poor or in trouble. " Come right in and take off your boots by the fire."

The stranger thanked her, in a scarcely audible voice, aud proceeded at once to do her bidding. Annabel watched him with solicitude, seeing how wet he was. " Florence Jane, ' she whispered, softly, to her handmaiden, "go upstairs and get some of the master's clothes. He can't sit about in those."

Florence Jane complied with alacrity, the stranger having won her favour completely. The fresh garments were put at the fire to air, and shortly afterwards the stranger was despatched into the washhouse to change.

When h© came back Annabel was still ironing, but she looked up to say: " Now you're more comfortable, aren't your Florence will fetch you a glass or milk and some sandwiches."

Slio was thanked in the same low touo as before, but without any superfluous words. This stranger seemed to bo of a remarkably quiet disposition. Ho did nothing but look into the fire with an absent air. Annabel could r ee little of his face it being a dork afternoon, but, unlike Florcnoe Jane, she had no doubt at all but hewas a gentleman, though down on his luck. The rain showed no sign of abatement, and the stranger still sat. by til? fire long after Anuabell's ironing was done. She took a seat opposite him, and began to knit, making occasional remarks of a general nature He grew more talkative as time went on, and before it became quite dark he and his young hostess were on the be»t of terms.

By-and-by he drew out his watch with a startled air, saying he was trespassing too much on hor hospitality. " Tut! You mustn't think of going. I have given orders that a bed is to be made up for you. It would be attempting suicide to put on your wet things again," said Annabel, in her most decided tone.

Til e stranger stayed, and nort that night alone, but many nights. For next mor.aing he was in a fever, and the doctor had to bo sent for.

The chill was a grave one, and Annabel became his nurse and attendant, fighting for his life through three long days and nights. It was a curious position, for all this time she did not lcncnv the name of the man on the bed, though very often something in his voice or glance would strike her as strangely familiar. Tlie glowing August sun was hot on the harvest fields before Annabel's patient was able to sit up and talk; but his recovery was marvellously rapid onco the turning-point had passed. He had reached the stage of lying on a couch by the open window of his bedroom when the third week of August came. Sometimes ho lay there alone, with a book in his hand and clusters of red roses nodding in at him through the open casement. Yery often Annabel sat opposite, with a piece of sewing in her hand and a great tenderness in her grey eyes, as of a mother towards a helpless baby. She had learnt to call him Mr Burnet by now, and he had told her that ho was without relatives in the world, and temporarily out of work, so there was no one to' whom she need write concerning him. One afternoon, as they sat thus, Mr Burnet looked at Annabel with so intent a gaze that she put down her work and said, half-breathlessly, yet in that frank spirit of comradeship that had grown up between them: " Well, what is it? You want something?" "Very much indeed," was the slow, deliberate answer, while the blue eyes smiled quietly. " I was wondering what it will feel like to go out again into the world alone, and I've come to the conclusion that I shan't like it a bit. You have spoilt me, Miss Annabel."

" You are not strong enough to go. Don't talk of it," said Annabel hastily, and she tugged her needie through her work with such a jerk that the thread broke.

" But I must talk of it," insisted he. " I am a man, and I ought to be ashamed to lie here in idleness. At my age most men have made themselves a home-nest of some sort, and that is what I must do too. I am tired of a solitary life."

Annabel plied her needle with great industry. To her surprise she felt a strong hand, laid over hers, and the piece of sewing entirely disappeared. , "Look at me, Annabel," said a deep, compelling voice. "I want to speak to you of the future, and I must see your eyes as I go along." Ho was holding both her hands now, and she did not pull them away. Her upper lids fluttered, and revealed the pools of liquid grey beneath the silky, dark lashes. It was a timid glance, but it sufficed.

" My darling," said he, with sudden passion, "I lovo you beyond all words.

and I can't face life without yon. It is you I want—you, and. nothing else. Perhaps you think that a man in my position has no right to make such a declaration. You may ask me how I imagine i can support n " Indeed, indeed, I do 1101;, ' broke in Annabel, with a rain of tears. " Don't misjudge me £■ 0. I could trust you with my life and soul, l- l love you." He took her in his arms, and held hei in a close clasp, while she sobbed for joy. Ho kissed her hair and her cheek rapturously. "It seems too good to he true,' 1 lie whispered. " I thought there might be someone else. Annabel, darling, was there never anyone else?" She let her eyes meet his bravely. "Yes," she murmured, half-reluctant-l.y, '' there was one whom 1 thought ( loved when 1 was a girl, tie went away to Canada ten years ago. and I never heard from him any more." " Is 1 ever any more?" repeated Annabel's lover.

" Mot t—till a month ago. That was too late "—with a proud lift of her head. " I was not to be bought with his money when he had kept away for ten years. Besides, I—l knew that ho cared for someone else, only she Is married."

It seemed a long time before Annabel's confession evoked a reply, and then it was a strange one. "Annabel, did it never occur to you that you had seen me bofore? Am 1 so very much changed?" She sprang from his embrace, and retreated as far as the length of his arm allowed her. "What do you mean?" she panted, almost fiercely. . " very alarming, surely. Come and sit down again, like a good little sweetheart, and tell me who the other person is for whom I was supposed to care more than 1 did for you." "Then you are—Cyril Hillyard?" "That is my name; and after I have shaved off this beard of mine, which I only wore for convenience during my travels in the Wild West, you'll not have the least doubt of iny identity." Annabel was drawn to his arms, despite a feeble attempt at a struggle, but she still looked dazed from the effects of his revelation.

"Did you come here on purpose?" she stammered in bewilderment. " Oh, I con't understand it at all." " Then let me tell you," said he, quietly. " After your cold little lett-er refusing my offer I could not rest on the other aide. 1 came over months before I had originally intended, and I put up at Lexton, on the other side of the hill. On that memorable day when you took me in I had walked across the h ill to lobk 011 the spot where my heart had always been. You know the rest, my darling." "Then you didn't care for Dinah Morton? You didn't write to her?"

. " Never! What an absurd idea! I've only cared for one woman all life, and now, at iasfc, I know that she cares for me."

Florence Jane came in with a teatray, having omitted to knock at the door. _ "Mercy on us!" was her audible ejaculation.

a Annabel both laughed. Don't be alarmed, Florence Jane," said the former. " This is your own doing, you must remember. If you don't think you'll like me for a master, nobody is to blame so much as yourBelf."

"For a master, sir—master of the farm?" \

Yes; I intend to buy it." "?'™ re ' s news for t,ie mistress!" cried Florence Jane, in a burst of triumph " She needn't be afeard of the iMvord of Demosthenes after all!"