Our Serial Story

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume LXXXII, Issue 19478, 24 December 1925, Page 12

Our Serial Story

HER DAY OF ADVERSITY

Dy

MRS PATRICK MACGILL.

(AU Eights Reserved.)

CHAPTER IX. (continued). Jacob Stone’s Triumph. Carol’s brain which, until that moment, had been almost incapable of sustained thought, suddenly cleared, as if a miracle had been performed. Jacob Stone marvelled at the complete change of Carol’s tone and manner to normal, as if she had not just been apparently on the verge of a mental breakdown; but he knew nothing of the complexity of a woman’s psychology when the love which she bears her man is about to be tested. It was a woman’s voice that came from rhe soft, childishly-curved lips; it was a woman ’s philosophy that was embodied in the young girl’s reply to surely the crudest proposal ever made. “Mr. Stone, if I allowed myself to be forced into this marriage which you so greatly desire, what happiness would vou derive from it? You say that you iove me?” “Every hair of your little head, every breath that you draw,” Interrupted the Jew, fervently. “Then, if that is so. you will want to make me happy,” persisted Carol, gently. She paused for a second, as

if studying the man, who seemed scarcely able to contain himself for “I’ll make you the happiest, most envied woman in London, Carol. I’ll have the finest d] cssmakers from Paris to clothe you, and you shall have the most glorious jewels ” “Stop, Mr. Stone.” Carol held up a protesting hand. “It’s a poor sort of love that looks only to riches for happiness. If I loved you, I’d marry you if we only had one room to live in. and I’d bake and cook and scrub and sew and sing all day doing it—but only if I loved you, Mr. Stone. All the riches in the world can’t induce a sin glc heart -throb of love in either man or woman.- Won’t yon do your best to help us—David and me—and we’ll always be friends?’’ pleaded Carol, her lovely eyes moist with tears. But Jacob Stone had never wanted anything so much as he wanted Carol Oliver, and his conception of love certainly did not include self-sacrifice. “Friendship’s a poor substitute for love, niv dear,” be said grimlv, and, reaching out a fat forefinger, he touched the electric bell at the side of the fireplace.

There was silence in the little ror>-i until Bundy, answering in about two I minutes, knocked at the door and eii- jg tered in response to his master s K “Come in.” He glanced sourly at the pathetic little heap of tumbled white chiffon on the couch. He had never liked Carol — he instinctively disliked women —and they were in this trouble through her fault. But there was perfect understanding between his master and him- j self. “Bundy, I’ve decided against helping Mr. Murray to escape the conse- 11 quenees of last night. Ring up Scot: land Yard , and w’hen you’ve got some- | body in authority at the other end of the line switch them through, to me.” As he finished speaking Jacob Stone moved towards a table on which was a telephone, an extension of the ono in the hall. “Very good.” Bundy cast another look of keen dislike in Carol’s direction, and went out. Carol sat like a frozen creature staring straight ahead of her. What terrible sin had she ever committed to justify such punishment as she was undergoing? What had she ever done to anybody? Was her mother aware of the dreadful consequences of her child’s appeal to a stranger for the money with which to bury her? Did the dead know anything? Hundreds of thoughts chased each other like butter- i flies in her brain which, thought excited to fever pitch, seemed as cold as marble and as clear as daylight. Suddenly, by a trick of her unnatural cairn brain, Carol found herself a little girl of nine, sitting in a ring of other litt'r girls around her Sunday-school teacher, who happened also to be the daughter of her mother ’s employer, so that Carol had always to be very careful to learn her text. She could see Miss Mannering’s kind face now as she took, the red-covered Bible from her little hot hands and “heard” the marked portion. “If thou faint in the day of adversity, thy strengh is small,” she heard herself piping in, a thin, grave little voice. She had not then know what it meant. But now she knew. Carol was jerked back from her wandering, reniinisccnt thoughts by the shrill clanging of the telephone bell. She saw Jacob Stone’s tweed-clad arm stretch out and remove the receiver from the rest, heard him ask conversationally, “Are you Scotland Yard?” and then it came to her with sickening force that this thing could not be; that, if it lay within her power to save David Murray she had no choice but to save him. More she could not do, less she dared, not, if she were to serve that force which with its evils and its blessings, its impotence and its power, its sin and its holiness, will nevertheless continue the theme of nature and of art until the great pulse of the universe is stilled. Jumping up from the couch on which she had been half-sitting and half-re-clining, trampling the silken eiderdown underfoot in her hurry to reach the side of the man who held her lover’s liberty, if not his life, in his hands, Carol seized the hand which held the telephone receiver, and gasped rather than said, “Very well, Air. Stone. 1 give in. I’ll marry you —do anything you like, but David must not suffer. Tell them to go away —tell them! ” she cried, wildly, pointing to the telephone, which, as a matter of fact, was not connected with the exchange rrt all, but was merely plugged, through from the main instrument. There was an indescribable look of mingled joy, passion, and craven fear on the face of the man who turned and caught Carol in his arms just as she i was about to fall. There was a sound like the distant rolling of thunder in Carol's cars, and as Jacob Stone picked her up in his arms and bore her, just as she was, through the hall, down the front steps of the house, and placed her carefully in his car which was waiting at the door, he experienced such a savage jealously of David Murray that for all his love, he could have inflicted a physi-

cal hurt on the white slim little creature who was so entirely at his mercy. Instead after covering Carol carefully wire a rug lie barked out an order to the chauffeur to take him to Marie Lotov’s. in Beak street. “Look after Miss .Oliver carefully. She's not very well just now. Miss Oliver and 1 hope to be married in a day or two, as soon as the preliminaries can bo arranged, he added, witn a passionate glance at Carol, which brought forth no response except a stony glance from the great grey eyes that caused a flicker of compassion to cross the dressmaker's hard, sallow little face. She showed them to a small, plainly furnished bedroom, and, murmuring something about a cup of tea for Carol, left them alone together. When she was well out of earshot, Jacob Stone turned to the hard-eyed apathetic girl who, sitting on the side of the bed, with her chin cupped in hir upturned palms, was staring unseeingly at a crude olegraph of a gypsyana a child which hung just above tho washstand.

“Listen to me, Carol.” The pretty name fell without any beauty of sound from his lips. Witnout waiting for any sign of attention from the misery-wracked girl, Jacob Stone said heavily, You’ve got to keep your mouth shut about last night, do you understand? Y r ou might as well go straight to Scotland Yard and give —you know who’ ’ —the harsh voice was elaborately lowered—“in charge as let Marie get the faintest inkling of the affair. Nobody who was present last night will open their mouths for their own sakes. If anything leaks out, and trouble comes of it, it’ll bo your fault, and nobody else’s. Do you get me?” (To be Continued.)