“The Opal Ring”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 135, 9 June 1937, Page 10

“The Opal Ring”

A THRILLING SERIAL STORY

l>v

Rosaline Masson

CHAPTER I. A Momentous Resolution. “T think we were right, my dear,” the old lady said gently. ••Undoubtedly.” her husband replied. He look off his gold cye-glasscs. rubbed them up with his silk handkerchief. pul. Ihetii hack into lheir case, and gazed dreamily into the log tire that leapt amt crackled, awakening bright reflections in the brass sides of the grain. His wife, sitting in a low easy chair al his side, wistfully studied her husbands face. Neither face betokened quite as bright relleclions as those made by the resinous logs. Colonel and Mrs Stewart of Druimdaroch had, in the seven Ih decade of their lives, come to a momentous decision. What was much more serious. (hey had acted upon it; and now they were awaiting Ihe outcome. Their action would; they (old one another, affect future generations ot I heir blood, the welfare of I heir beloved estate, the interests of all their tenants, and the whole social life of the countryside that was to them the world. ]t would also, thev felt deeply—but. on this they did not dwell —affect their own placid life together and lhe comfort of their old age. For they had done nothing less than write and Invite two unknown nephews to visit them, in order that, they might privately decide which was the more worthy to inherit Druimdaroch. The idea as was invariably the case, had originated in Mrs Stewart’s mind, and been by her introduced into Colonel Stewart’s with such insidious art thai, as was also Invariably the case, he had accepted it as his own. “I am glad you have done it. John.” she said, watching him as he watched the fire. ‘‘lt will make your mind easier.” “It. was my duty to the estate,” he told her gravely. “That Is how I felt it. Of course, had tt not been disentailed it, would have passed to Charles, and possibly that will be a natural and proper consideration—a bias in his favour. But we do not know him, and the fact that the estate was disentailed—so many have been since the beginning of this century, and not always to the benefit of the country—.md that is by the way—well. Alicia, my point Is that, rs I* am entitled to dispose of it by will. I must make my will. And before doing so 1 should like to see both my nephews.” “Of course, John.” “And I must judge the lads carefully—you too, my dear —J shall hr glad of your opinion. A woman’s instinct Is often very valuable. At limes very valuable.” he assured her. He took the little white hand and stroked it, tenderly. The middle joints of the tapered fingers were swollen with rheumatism, so that neither the wedding ring not the heavy diamond hoop that had guarded that sacred emblem for thirty-five years could now be taken off. It was a hand that had never done any work, and had always done good. “T wonder wntcli nepnew it win oe. John I” she said. “It would he satisfactory, would it not. if you did like Charles best, as he has lhe name.” “If I select .lames. 1 should require him to add Hie name Slewart to that of Brodie.” replied the Colonel, disengaging bls hand from his wife’s in irder to twist his moustache fiercely.

“Yes, John,” she answered, pleased that her suggestion, made by her the day before, had so soon solidified; but living sufficient inierogalive inflection to ensure thai he would stick to his decision, so that .lames Brodie's not having the name would be n deterrent f he should provq to the boiler man otherwise.

The luncheon gong sounded, mellow ind sonorous, and the Colonel ami his wife rose, he picking up her shawl and adjusting ii gallanlly about her shoulders, and thou drawing her hand through his arm to lead her to the door.

Each nf Hip windows as they passed them framed a picture, in Hip distance lhe great, jagged mountain that dominated lhe view, its outline, emerging from lhe. mists of the morning, the -ame yesterday, to-day. and to-mor-row: its lints and shadows, and the clouds that earressed it. and the storms that swept across it. never lhe same for one moment to the next. That mountain, seen in ils every mood by day. or only ns bloHing nut a patch of starlit sky by nighl. was a part nf llip lives of lhe people who lived henealh 11. H’lip old couple glanced nut nf each open window as they passed, al lhe great frees that swung their branches in the gusly wind. Ihere was a monotonous sound of •iien in lhe distance raking gravel, •uni above it came the shrill, sweet music of bird life. The. stone-flagged hall, hung with ■lictures. with old Highland shields and weapons, stags’ heads, and other trophies, struck chill after lhe wnrmlh nf the room they had Jeff. Tn the dining room throe flags, all faded and torn, one in (alters ami encased hi muslin, drooped over lhe silver on lhe sideboard, and two full-lcnglh portraits, of* r man ami n woman in satins and laces ami ringlets of Hie Merrv Monarch’s day, Hanked the high "carved fireplace. The. grave old butler pulled back his jnislress’s chair and, moving silonlly towards lhe sideboard, decorously paused behind his master’s chair, awaiting "race, and Hinn dnfprenlially ‘offered Mrs Stewart lhe fried mackerel for which gratitude had been expressed. H was all very orderly, very peaceful. it had been for many years, while they had been doing llmjc duly in that, stale of life Io which It had pleased God to call Hmm. making lhe lives of many others happier, making the lives of none, less happy, and themselves growing gracefully older. And now, two nephews were coming unknown quantities—one from Australia. one from—from everywhere, it seemed, but more immediately from America. But the old blood in them both, of course —it would be all right. Charles Stewarl. poor Charlie’s son, and .lames Brodie, lit I It? Kitty’s buy’ Men now. both of them— Charles thirty-three—older than poor Charlie had been when he went out Io —pity lhe son had not gmm inl«» lhe Army—never understood Dial: and .l imes Brodie twenfy-eighl. and burn Hid bred in Australia. '»ii. well, the ,|.| blooii on the mother's side—and vming Brodie had been a fine fellow.

i and little Killy’s choice—and a good I name too. Brodie--Ihough not Slewart. James could take the name Stewarl, I of course, if CHAI’TEH ‘IT. Charles Stewart Makes an Impression* ! 11, was nearly two months since Charles Slewarl had been domiciled at Druimdaroch, ami already it seemed Imjiosslble to Imagine lhe' place wil.h--"ul, him. “Up has a conquering way,’* said Colonel Stewart, complacently, bls handsome, patrician, foolish old face very happy. “\Ve could not have chosen better, my dear. We mav congratulate ourselves. It might have been so different.” "Yes, dear,” assented his wife, looking down r| her knitting. She said very little; her assent was always taken for granted. “I—l assure you, Alicia, J feel him almost like a son.” The gentle old lady flushed, but her head was bent over tier knitting, and the old man, walking up and down the room concentrated on his own ideas, did not notice her. "Was Kitty fond of lhe place?” she asked presently, without looking up ’’Kitty? Little Kitty? Fond of Druimdaroch? Ay, she was mad about ill Fearless little rider. I taught her! Pul her up on her first ponv, when her foot couldn’t reach lhe stirrup. j see her now with her hair afloat —” ”1 wonder," Mrs Stewart said, musingly, “if jj ni j 8 jjk e her.” ‘‘•Jim? Janies Brodie? Yes, by the way. when is he due?” “I thought it so wise of you, John, to insist that nothing should be said to Charles to suggest, that you had the Inheritance in your mind, or to give any feeling of preference before Jim came.” Ah, did I say that?” The Colonel looked troubled. "Did 1 say that? Yes, J remember. Quite right, too.” Then his thoughts drifted. “A conquering way,” he repeated, smiling slyly. "Eh, Alicia? He may conquer others besides the old birds' in the nest, eh?” He paused in front of her, looking down nt her, and she looked up and smiled. “How clever you are, dear I Ye«, I see what you mean.” The Colonel turned, and positively strutted up and down the room. “Ah, I use my eyes—l use my eyes’ And Alt-nal-Garbh marches with us,” he added. “You have always been a matchmaker, John. It was you who. In the old days, brought Kitty’s lover to ’ Druimdaroch, wasn’t it?” The -Colonel’s expression changed He drew a chair up to the Are and sat down near bls wife. “Yes, yes, it was 1.” he said. “And I 'don’t know that T ever blamed myself 1 don’t know that I do, even now.” “Tell me how It all came about,’ his wife asked, counting her stitches. ,“Game about? Oh, I have told you “Yes, John, bm. iemind me of It al! again. Now’ that ier boy 1r coming I want it all fresh i.i my m a mnry. 1 wish J had known Kitty: She had gone just the year before 1 met you. John, and you spoke little of her then. | “Ay, I was too sore ahiut it. And it killed her mother, the parting. I , lost them both In those two years. ** “Yes, John. 1 often thtnk’that I ' —that it was your loneliness— —” sh<V paused. The old man, looking Into the lire, made no reply. “I often used to wish I had known ; your mother, too, John, even if 1 had I just seen her once. She must have | been so proud of you, and you—what a devoted son you were to her!—! never married while she Would she have grudged you to me, John?” She raised her eyes to a water-colour drawing of a very stern old Highland lady that hung near the fire. I should have liked to have told her 1 would do my best.” Yes. yes—l think she would! Tt was perhaps as well I met you later. She was inclined to be jealous. You see. she had lost the others, and there was oniy Kitty and me left. I was nearer than the others, being the eldest. Kitty was such a child.” "Ye-es, It was perhaps natural. But Kitty left. Did she grudge her?” “Bitterly. It killed her.” “Perhaps, when she had to leave you—your mother. 1 mean—and left you so lonely—she may have regretted ’ "I dmibl it. Rut they were lonely months till 1 met you. my dear.” "Ymi needed me.” "You came into my life as the sun breaks through the clouds,” the old husband responded gallantly. “I- felt my life warm again with the sunshine of a woman’s presence.” “Kilty’s first baby was horn the year of our marriage.” she said, with | apparent irrelevance. "I remember ; you cabled her.’’ I “Ay—nn doctor within twenty ; miles, and the child was lost,” he I answered gruffly. ; “Poor young things'.” i “And Hie second—a girl—died, .liih was her third: and when he came, ho cost his mother’s life.” “1 have often thought of her. She never had a child to love, any more Dian 1. And she. so young.” “Twenlx-nine when she died. Little Killy! Eighleen years younger than ; inn. «he was. I always thought of ■ Imr as a baby hersplf. Well, she ; « hosn t her life--a brave little soul . never complained, never regretted.” “i>nly twenty when she married. : I was ’’ the old lady bent her head I and lowered her voice, "thirty-five,” she confessed. “And I was forty!” her husband replied. promptly and loudly. “And so handsome, John! So tall, with such a soldierly bearing.” “And what about you? You were like a white rose, Alicia.” “Thirty-five, John!" “You seemed a slip of a girl to me —and you always will!’’ “Dh. John! don’t he foolish. I have reached the Psalmist's ” ••Stow Hie Psalmist! 1 tell you. Alida- ” "Tell me aboiit, Kitty and old days, dear, and don’t a vain old woman <>f me! Let. me piri'wre lhe time here when your mother was alive, and you lived with her, and lit lie Kitty's lover came. How did you Iconic to ask him'.’” \ pro be