“The Opal Ring”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 80, Issue 136, 10 June 1937, Page 9

“The Opal Ring”

A THRILLING SERIAL STORY

By

Rosaline Masson.

“Young Brodie? Oh, he was the son ■ of a man I knew slightly—a minister In Edinburgh—l met him In connection with some charitable work, and liked him—a good specimen of the Presbyterian clergy—fine character. That was the father. Then he died, and the son came to me about something, and I asked him up here. My mother liked him.” “She liked him?” “Yes, she liked him—they both liked him. mother and Kitty. But we never intended him to carry Kitty off. She might have done better—he was • no match for her—wasn’t even quite ( —oh, but a good chap. And then < the worst of it was he got impatient, and his notion of Australia took hold of him. Oh—very honourable — proud too. Wouldn’t take more than he gave. That sort of notion.” "Ah; Your mother must have felt the parting, John.” "Cried her eyes out. So did Kitty When no one was looking.” "But she went.” "Oh, yes, she went—left it all.” The Colonel glanced round, looking through the window fo where the line of shadow was creeping up the mountain, and the pinky-purple light dimming into grey. Mrs Stewart laid down her knitting and folded her hands. "Poor lassie —poor little Kitty!” she said. “She must have loved him vfry dearly to leave her mother and vou and her beautiful home and go to the other end of the world with him, and then she had only—how long was It, John?” "Nine years,” the Colonel answered, a little huskily. "And she such a merry little monkey | Fearless—l can see her yet riding her pony barebacked.” "I wonder if the laddie is like her?” his wife murmured as he paused. "She would have liked to know he would return here, and to you.” The Colonel made no reply. He seemed to be considering something. "We must have a good mount for him," he said presently. “We’ve a queer assortment at the stables now— —• pensioners mostly. Mrs Stewart smiled, satisfied. The smile remained on her lips, but left her eyes as the door opened to admit their other nephew, Charles Stewart. He certainly had the striking advantage, in an lieir prospective, of not only bearing the family name, but bearing a distinct resemblance to the family. It had been noticed by all the county neighbours. "Very like you, Colonel,” the men told him, and the’old man, who had never seen his type repeated in son of his own, was Inordinately gratified. But the likeness was with differences. For, instance, whereas the Colonel’s face, for all Its handsome features and innate refinement, was a fond, foolish face, like an elderly white rabbit’s, the young man’s face, with the same handsome features, was distinctly clever. He had the same eyes, drooping at the outer corners, but they were too near to the high, patrician nose, and the straiglit-cut moustache hid the mouth. When the likeness of their nephew to her husband was spoken of in her hearing Mrs Stewart made no comments. "I suppose he Is like his father too?” she had once suggested; but the Colonel had repudiated the idea. "Not a bit I Not a bit! Charlie was not like me—you should know that, my dear, from his photographs. Short and red, Charlie was. Short and red.” "Toots, havers, John I Charles mayn't have had your looks, but he was neither short nor red. What was this Charles’s mother, your sis-ter-in-law Evelyn, like?” But the Colonel waved his sister-in-law Evelyn aside. Charles Stewart’s month had been more than past before Jim Brodie’s ship was due, but he had stayed on, at his uncle’s request, to meet his cousin. It had been arranged, that each would stay a month on arrival, and then be free to see the Old Country, or, in Jim’s case, go abroad and visit the Europe he had never seen. And then both were to come back and remain at least another month or two before returning whence they came. "And one may remain—who knows?” the old pair had whispered before either came. "And I will see it no loss to the other that he came to see us.” The plan had suited Charles Stewart well. He had spoken vaguely of business in London, of friends scattered everywhere. But lately he had not needed much pressing to postpone all this. Was it curiosity to see his cousin? Or was it that the neighbourhood of Druimdaroch had acquired an added interest besides the obvious one that It might be his inheritance? The old uncle chuckled; the thought pleased him. "Oh, he has a way with him, and he seems popular already with everyone,” he said.

“Yes, everyone seems to like him,” Mrs Stewart agreed. It was true. The elder nephew had indeed fairly established, his claim, and made his place before the other possible heir arrived. Was he not the brother's son, the male line, the neighbours argued, besides being in himself the elder? And the old Colonel could not conceal his pride in the impression he made, and when he and Charles —Charles walking slowly, in deference to his uncle's pace—met anyone, neighbour or tenant, Colonel Stewart liked to stop, with the introduction, "This is my nephew—my brother Charles’s son.” The neighbourhood accepted the situation and were ready with their welcome and hospitalities, and to treat the newcomer as one of themselves. It was quite true that he had a "conquering way”—his foreign upbringing stood for much. He was a good talker and he was that even more ingratiating thing, a good listener. His eyes never roved in diverted attention; and when It was a woman—be she fair or plain, old or young—he had that air of deference and devoted interest that never fails to please. With older men also he was deferential, seeming to consider their opinions,

offering none of his own. And it was discovered that he rode well, and. though he was modest about it, that he was a sportsman, and had done some big game shooting in India. Altogether. a decided acquisition to the neighbourhood. "A bit rough on the other young chap who’s coining,” it was said, when the Colonel’s full project was remembered. •'Yes— coming so far loo,” someone else would add. "Oh, he 11 get thing—enough to make it worth h.s while, surely.” "No doubt. But not Druimdaroch, I fancy.” "WeD, this one would have been the heir if the entail hadn't been broken.” So it was settled. And the only people who never suggested in any way that the matter was not a foregone conclusion were Mrs Stewirt and Charles himself. In that, 100, .ie was very modest. The idea th.<t he might be made the heir seemed never to have occurred to him. And so matters stood when idly s son, Jim Brodie, arrived iron; ?»ustralia; and when he did, Mrs Stewart s heart failed her. Somehow 3he had built on him; though she hardly recognised that she had, and certainly did not acknowledge, even io herself, her distrust of the other. She took herself to task for being jealous of Charles, Jealous, not on her own account, but on account of that dreamchild that the motherless wife cherishes, it may be almost unconsciously, and on whom she lavishes all the unused, wasted love in her heart. A husband never satisfies it when the days of lovemaking are past and the disillusion has come. And the dream-child was the rightful heir —heir not only of their possessions, but every look of pride the Colonel gave Charles was the dream-child’s Inheritance, and had been given him oflen in his mother’s dreams. But somehow she felt no such jealousy about Kitty's son. She felt very tenderly about her husband's little sister, and she thought of the other nephew coming from Australia, only as Kitty’s baby, little exiled Kitty, dying in giving him birth—losing him: She did not expect him to be still a child; but she had always thought about his weak dependency, his motherless babyhood —and she did not expect what arrived. Jim Brodie was six feet one, very broad, very muscular; he was serious to the verge of solemnity; he had an honest, good-humoured, face, a very strong chin, blue eyes that looked with disconcerting directness straight at the person to whom he was speaking, close-chopped curly brown hair, and an almost unintelligible Australian accent. CHAPTER 111. Jim Brodie From Australia. It was a difficult dinner, the dinner on the first night of Jim Brodie’s arrival at Druimdaroch. The gentle old pair, unused to divergent characteristics within their own social surroundings, and consequent strained situations at their own hearth and table, had no methods ready to cope with them, save what were supplied by their kindness of heart and complete simplicity. They had invited two nephews to stay with them — what more natural? They had invited them much as they would have invited them for the holidays from school had they been available in those days. The only difference was in the provision to be made for their entertainment. But all needful provision for the entertainment of young men in the country was, Colonel Stewart, felt without any false pride, thoroughly available at Druimdaroch. As to whether the two young men would get on well together—were they not cousins? It was an added satisfaction to the Colonel that the cousins—Charlie's son and Kitty’s son —should meet under the old rooftrer. There must be no hint of rivalry however —no preference shown. “You were quite right in ..at, Alicia,” MnStewart was assured. It was as if, o! two schoolboys, one was not to be put before the other—allowed a gun while the other was forbidden. And so the two men met.

Charles Stewart’s father, the Colonel’s younger brother, had served in the Indian Army. The boy, born in the N.W. Frontier, had. been sent to New York when he was live, to be brought up there by relatives of his mother,, who was an American. Seven years after, his soldier father had been killed in a frontier raid, and the widow had rejoined her child and her relations in New York. The boy was educated there, and, after obtaining his training at a military college, was j sent for a prolonged tour of travel with a friend, to complete his education preparatory to his settling down in one of the big firms in Broadway, with whom his mother’s people had family connection. There had followed Paris, Rome and Florence—and in each he had found himself in American circles. Finally, from Brindisi to Port Said and Cairo, and thence to I-ndia—lndia, which he hazily recollected as a dream of babyhood. At Bombay, shortly after landing, he heard of his mother's death. The two friends had nnianl to make the usual tour —Agra, Delhi, Lucknow, Cawnpore, on to Calcutta, and thence to Rangoon and Mandalay; but at Bombay they met a man who had known Charles Stewart’s father, and who recommended him to have some big game shooting. They changed their plans, and went right on witji him from Bombay to Bangalore, where he introduced them to some officials of the Mysore State. And so it came about that a fine tiger skin, with head and claws, was despatched to Colonel Stewart of Druimdaroch. It was the first communication his uncle had ever received from him, and was sent in reply to the first communication he had ever received direct from his uncle—a letter of condolence on his mother’s death. (To be continued.)