“THE LOVE THAT TRIUMPHED.”

Wanganui Chronicle, Volume 82, Issue 305, 24 December 1938, Page 5

“THE LOVE THAT TRIUMPHED.”

By

AMY McLAREN

As he went slowly up the broad staircase to the Octagon Room, where he was told by the servant, who brought in his things that he would find the ladies and Colonel Torrens, he heard someone singing. It was Mary’s voice, and from the sound he could tell that she was accompanying herself on the old harp. He noiselessly pushed aside the heavy tapestries which screened off one end of the room from the Princes Gallery, and stood for a few moments in the shadow of the curtain. <He drew in a long breath, and something seemed to tighten sharply round, his heart as his eyes fell on the centre Cgure in the room. He had never seen Mary dressed like that before, and wondered if it were possible for any woman to look more beautiful than she did at that moment. She was like an exquisite, living, breathing, reality of the old picture.

She had ceased singing but her fingers still wandered idly over the harp strings. The long straight folds of her white gown fell back from her shoulders, showing the perfect modelling of her neck and arms, and the cloudy falls of lace gave a softness to each curve and line of the shimmering satin. Her chin was tilted slightly upwards, as though still in the act of singing, but there was an expression on her face which gave Gerald a sudden pang of fear. Her eyes had a questioning, wistful look in them which he could not interpret. He was in too humble a frame of mind to allow himself to hope that his absence might have caused even a fleeting sorrow. He put out his hand. It came in contact with a table which he had not noticed in the subdued light, and the ornaments on it rattled noisily. Lady Cynthia turned her head and then bent slightly forward in her chair. “Why.” she said, in her slow, sweet voice, “it is Gerald. Dear, how nice. We had almost given you up.” Mary saw him almost at the same moment, and with a nervous start tried to rise from her. seat. Her foot had been resting on the pedal of the harp, and the clinging folds of her gown caught round it. Before anyone could spring forward to help her the harp lurched forward, and with a crash fell on its side. There was the. sharp sound of snapping wood. The vibrating twang of the strings as they quivered and trembled into silence, and then it lay prone, the top of the framework broken in two places, and a gaping hole showing in the deep base of the pedestal. Colonel Torrens was down on his knees on the floor in an instant examining the damage. ‘By Jove, what a pity,” he muttered. "Why weren’t you in time to save it?’’ he exclaimed, turning tn Gerald. "Where were your eyes? What were you thinking about?” But Gerald did not answer. His attention was given to Mary, who had gone red and white by turns, and who was trying with trembling hands to disengage her dress from the wreck of the broken harp. “Are you hurt?’’ he asked. ‘ Did it fall on your foot?” “No,” she murmured. “But T am so sorry. It was very stupid of me to be so awkward. What a dreadful hole—see hnw broken it. is.” He stooped down to free the satin train which was pinned to the ground by the heavy weight, and as he did so K Colonel Torrens caught hold of his hand. “Look.” he said excitedly. “I don’t believe this is a smash at all. See this hole in the pedestal. I believe a bit of the side has simply dropped out. Here's the bit. No more cracked than my head is: put your hand right inside and feel. There's something soft there. Somethings got jammed in and I can't get hold of it. You try; your fingers ought to be more supple than mine. Hanged if 1 can make it budge.” Gerald slipped in his hand, over the wrist, and half way up to the elbow. “Yes, I feel it,” he said, and working with more care and patience than his excited uncle, he gradually loosened, and drew’ out a curious long-shaped bundle of something wrapped in what looked like a piece of faded tartan. It felt heavy’, and the ragged edges of the stuff were folded together , and fastened by an old-fashioned kilt pin. They all stood round and stared at it without speaking. Then Colonel Torrens touched it cautiously with the end of his finger. “What the dickens can be inside?” he said. “Who's going to open it?” Gerald looked at Mary. ”1 think you should. Whatever it is you have the best right to it.” The pin was rusty from age and / flisuse. and refused to give up the it had guarded for so long. It Held on tenaciously to its ragged piece of tartan, and Mary could not loosen it. Colonel Torrens whipped out. his penknife, and opening it, gave it to her. "Run the blade along lightly just under where the pin catches the stuff,” he sard. “Take care! It’s as sharp bs a razor.” The bundle had been placed on a table, and they all four gathered round it. When the outer covering was unfastened, a thick layer of course sheep’s wool was found underneath, and as Mary was about to open that also, Lady Cynthia leant forward, and arrested her hand. '3 know! I know what it is,” she sard. Her eyes were sparkling as she looked from one to the other, and there was a faint flush on her cheek. Neither of the two who knew’ her best had ever seen her so thoroughly roused before. “When Mary takes away that wool,” she exclaimed breathlessly, “I know what she will find—Lady Mary’s pearls.” I And she. was right. There they lay amongst their coarse wrappings. A great rope of them coiled carelessly round a thick twist of the wool. L’n■irneath. and protected after a similar ion. lay another rope, but smaller n zc and length.

A THRILLING NEW SERIAL STORY

There could be no doubt that they were the veritable lost pearls, whose history had been handed down from one generation to another. Their appearance tallied In every respect with • the ones worn by 'Lady Mary in the ' portrait. Colonel Torrens was rendered almost speechless by the intensity of his feelings. The sight and touch of them gave him unutterable delight. He sat down beside the table with the little bundle on his knee. ■•Wonderful, wonderful,” he murmured at intervals. "Ani after all .these years. They have suffered so little. Tho sheen on them is a trifle dulled, but that will come back.” i He glanced up at Mary sharply. 1 "Wear them—wear them,” * he jerked out. “Sleep with them round your neck at night. Thai's the best tonic for them, and lay them out in 'the sun now and again on a piece of soft flannel. Oh, you beauties 1" And he ran his fingers softly up and down the largest rope. “Perfect in shape, and graduated to a hair’s breadth. That’s where the real beauty comes In." For more than an hour they sat over the fire, and talked of the great discovers'. The broken harp was tenderly lifted from the floor, and laid aside to be cared for and mended when the full damage done to it had been ascertained. Lady Cynthia and Mary at length rose to say good-night, and as the latter was leaving the room with the tartan bundle clasped in her arms, for she insisted upon the pearls being put back in their original wrappings, Colonel Torrens touched it lightly. ” “Now, Madam," he said, and* his sharp eyes twinkled as he noticed the start she gave at his new mode of addressing her. “Aou take care of these. Perhaps you don’t know il, but you're holding a very tidy fortune in your pretty arms at this moment. That big rope, let alone the smaller one, is worth something like ten thousand pounds. 1 swear It is, or my name isn't—’ ' Mary flashed a look up at him from under her long lashes. i ‘ Bats.” she whispered very softly. “Eh, What? You naughty ’little—” IHe wagged his finger at her. “If I were Gerald, and you looked at me like that. I’d—” But she had vanished before he could finish his sentence. She heard him say, as the curtain fell to behind her, ! “No, I’m not coming down to the | smoking-room. I'm tired. I'm off .to bed. Gad, what a queer dav this 1 has been." I Before Mary reached the door of 1 her own room, a resolution which had been gradually forming in her brain ei er since the discovery of the lost pearls, took definite shape and possessed her. She had made up her mind what she was going in do, and with a fast bealI ing heart she wailed breathlessly in the shadow of the doorway. She had not fo wait long. In a very few minutes she heard Colonel Torrens's quick, impatient step on the stair, and then the door of his dres-sing-room closed with a bang. She did not give herself time for reflection. Holding the precious bundle tightly pressed against the bosom of her dress, she fled downstairs, and passed swiftly along the Prince’s Gal- ’ lery towards the Octagon Room. | Her fear was that Gerald might have gone to see Ronald, as he would be sure Io do sooner or later, but the lights were still full on. She drew aside a corner of the tapestry, and peered through. No, he was still there sitting beside the fire. She could not sec his face, but there was a tired, dispirited look in the attitude of his figure. She gave a little frightened gasp, and set her lips tightly. Before he knojv that she was in the room she was kneeling beside him—thrusting something into his hands. T have brought them to you," she said breathlessly. “Did you think I intended to keep them? How could I? 1 did not for a moment, but it was so difficult to speak. I did not know how I was to do it.” Her unexpected appearance beside him took Gerald entirely by surprise. As she saw his look of amazement her lips quivered piteously. I 'Oh, don't say that you cannot understand. Don't say that you will . not take them. You must—you must. They ought to be yours, not , mine. Surely you must see that.” She was so completely carried away' by the force of her feelings that she hardly knew what she was saying and Gerald's silence frightened her" He was silent because he could hardly trust his voice, and he did not know quite what to say. He saw she was in a fever of excitement, and all the pent up emotions of tho day were struggling for utterance. When he did speak it was as though lie were remonstrating with an overwrought child. "I do understand what you mean, Mary. lie said gently, “But you are taking, this too seriously. These are sours." and he touched the tartan bui»ile. “You must not give them away. J can't tell you how glad I ana that they have been found, and have fallen into your own hands. What could I do with them?” he added in a lighter tone. “And you heard what my uncle said. The pearls are worth a fortune.” “I do not want a fortune," she answered quickly. Gerald thought for a moment, lie was balancing in his mind how she might take his next words. “Their value would make you an independent woman," he said at length. Mary's colour rose. She kept her head down and played with the fluttering ribbons of the white cockade which was pinned to the breast of her gown. “Does not that appeal to you?” Gerald asked, as she did not answer, hut the next moment he repented of what he had said. She raised her eyes. They were flashing through unshed tears, and she noured out a passionate torrent of words in sharp quick sentences. (To be confinnprn I