OUR SERIAL. THE GLARE.

Waimate Daily Advertiser, Volume XXIV, 20 December 1926, Page 5

OUR SERIAL. THE GLARE.

BY

CARLTON DAWE.

CHAPTER IX (Continued. She smiled cut into the night, the smile of a woman who realised the growth of her importance. But wasn’t he really straining the matter? To him much might seem cheap that .to her carried a fairly high value. But a little while ago Dudley Whinstone and Esme Dundas had seemed as far beyond her as the stars. She had never a hope of revolving in their exalted circle; perhaps not ever a dream. Theirs would have been the condescension. Very curious, all this, productive of more than a passing thought. Slipping an arm round her, he drew her to him, kissing the palms of her hands, the tips of her fingers. “ I’m jealous of your dignity, my dear.” “ How has my dignity been offended?” “You see, when you’re my wife ” “ Ah! ’’ she said.

“ It’s coming. Denise; it must come. If heaven won’t help us, perhaps the lawyers may. Things can't go on as they are. I want you, Denise—l .want you so much that I’m ready to go to any extreme. Something ought to be done—must be done. You dear, precious one, I wonder if you know what

you mean to me “And you to me, Prin,” she said; “but what are we to do?” “ We must do something—anything. Suppose she refuses to move?” That, too, Was a thought which often kept her company—very objectionable and irritating company. So far spite, scruples or conscience had prevented her from moving, and if heaven refused a much needed aid there seemed little hope for them. But what if, on the other hand, there was still love, some sacred memory? “ She must be made to see reason.” " Make a woman see reason against her will?”

“ It's spite—sheer, downright spite. There's not even the excuse of child-

ren. Everyone knows we don’t care for each other; somehow I don’t think we ever did. One of those marriages, you know, sort of thing that seems right at the time. Of course, you’.ve heard stories; gossip has been a bit busy with

my name. But the right sort of woman, met early, might have made all the difference. My dear, I’m not searching for sympathy, or any of that nonsense, but I'm not quite as bad as the popular brush paints me. Anyway, all that’s gone—it went the moment I met you. I don’t like to say I’m another man, that sounds too stupidly conventional; yet it's true. Other fellows said long ago all the things that really matter, and we can do no more than repeat them; yet to each and every one of us they have a new and thrilling meaning. Your dear eyes!” He kissed them, straining her to him. He found her lips and held them with his own. Heart to heart, spinning through eternity to oblivion. Of what account now was the clashing of worlds, the battle of life? Here was rest, joy, the forgetfulness of self.

“ I love you,” he whispered. * I adore you.” And again, “ My rosetinted lily, my wonder-woman.” And still again, “ Precious and priceless, and bevond all things wonderful.” And she drew his head down on her breast and held it there so that he might feel the beating of her heart “ Sweeter than the smell of Lebanon,” he said, as one who breathed in Paradise. “ My dear.” And then the car swung into the fatal street, and she put him from her. “ Let us drive on,” he said, drive on through the night.” And the thought of it swept like a madness through her. To drive on through the night! What did anything else matter? This was one of those moments which are big with fate, when one .sees, or seems to see, the way, and is ready to follow it. He knew she was his now, his utterly, completely. Almost like a dead thing she lay in his arms, the heavy lids languishing over the burning eyes. He stooped forward to g.vc the order when the car pulled This woke her, startled her. brought her back to earth and the realities. “ N'o, no,” she said; “ I must get out. Good-night.” “ I must get out," she cried wildly, like one in terror. The man had already alighted, and was standing at the door. Seeing her rising, he opened it. “ Good-night. Lord Marshaknead, she said in a curiously strained vo.ee, “ and thank you ever so much.” Her hand shook horribly as she inserted the latchkey. , “My God!” she gasped. My God! Up the dark stairs she stumbled trembling in every limb. She paused for a moment at the bedroc-m door as if to steady herself, then quietly opened- it and stepped in. The window was wide open, 'the blind pulled up, and in the dim light she could discern Phil sleeping peacefully. Softly she stole over to the window annd looked out. Quietness, stillness oppressive. Al! thewofld was asleep, or so it seemed; everything was at rest but the tumult in her brain and blood. Even the Glare had faded out- an inarticulate struggle for mastery between night and day was taking place in the sky. Dimly the stars fought, dimly her brain reeled with its unaccustomed weight. Her burning face she pressed between her burning P a g w eeter than the smell of Lebanon! Awakened by her unconscious sigh. Phyllis stirred and sat up, frightened. “ Denise! ” she called excitedly. “Yes, yes.” “ What are you doing there r “ lust getting a breath of fresh air.”. “It’s late, isn’t it?” “ Not very.” “Aren’t you coming to bed?” “ Yes, yes.” Reluctantly she turned away from

the window and began to undress in the dark. “ Why don’t you switch on the light?” “My eyes are aching.” “ Poor Denise! ”

Poor Denise! The thought of how near she had been to the edge of the precipice still frightened her. Another step and she had been whirled into space. Shuddering, she literally tore her tilings off. scattering them in confusion. Confusion was in her blood, in her brain •in all things, it seemed. What was to he the end of this madness? In spirit she railed at him, called him ■ cruelly selfish. He should have held her up when she was sinking, not striven to overwhelm her in the tempest he had wakened.

And the sweet bitterness of that mighty struggle with death! Just one sigh more, a firmer pressure on the hand, a whispered word, a maddening caress—and oblivion. Was this the great secret that life held, to realise which one had to die? Not die the ordinary death which is understood of all—no, not that sort of death; something far different. Glimpses of worlds beyond; infinitude upon infinitude. Sweeter than the smell of Lebanon!

CHAPTER. X. While Phil and she were at breakfast the next morning, rather late, and without much appetite, the old soldier made his entrance in dressing-gown and slippers. With the grey of his unshaven beard in distinct evidence he looked uncommonly old and weatherworn. Usually he did not permit himself to be seen in deshabille, being as punctilious in this respect as a vain woman who is no longer young. Therefore some matter of the utmost importance must have rendered him careless of the exposure of faded charms. He was smoking a cigarette, but not with his usual complacency. Briefly he greeted his daughters and was briefly greeted by them. Then he shuffled over to the window and peered out. Phyllis seized the opportunity to shoot a warning glance at her sister. "Bit late, ain’t you?” he remarked, his back still to them. “Are we?” replied Denise, her eyes suddenly smouldering. “ Bad thing for business,” he continued. “ Once begin slacking and over goes the apple cart. Nothing like putting your shoulder to the wheel, and keeping iv there.’ Then he turned to them. ” I heard the car pull up last night, and an infernal clatter it made." “ Sorry if it woke you.” " As a matter of fact 1 wasn’t asleep. How can a man expect to sleep when he goes to bed feeling like the end of everything?" He pulled desperately at his cigarette, his cheeks falling inward with the effort. Phil hurriedly folded he, napkin and stole from the room. “’Ycfii arc unwell?” asked Denise, but without alarm. ”In mind, in mind. Fact is, I don’t like these late hours of yours. “ Sorry.” “If you were, that would be _ a matter for congratulation, but you re not. Have you looked at yourself this morning?”

“ Not particularly.” “ Then you ought to. You’re a wash-out. Burning the candle at both ends. Good neither for you nor the business."

“ Ah, well, we must try to make the best of it.”

“ But you’re not making the best of it; you’re making the worst of it. Besides, our neighbours will begin to talk.”

“ Do you think it would be the first time neighbours had talked?” A flush of annoyance shot over his grey face. . 1 . . “ That observation, in addition to its implied rudeness, is quite beyond the mark. Misfortune is incidental to humanity. As a family we have always been noted for tact and intelligence.” As a family she was not aware that they had been noted for anything in particular, but let the assurance go for what it was worth. Why strain the point? Yet his attitude was none the less provocative of thought. Inconsequence did not apparently signal out youth as his sole associate. And how clanging, intolerable it seemed after the glory of last night! “ I want you always to remember that,” he said.

“ I try to.” “ Doesn’t appear much like it,” he growled. “ Would you deny me the right to any sort of relaxation? Have you forgotten what we’ve, waded through, the intolerable dullness, the constant strain?”

“ I’m an old man,” he said, “ a miserable old man ” —a statement he would have stoutly controverted coming from another—“ and I cannot possibly cumber the earth much longer. Therefore I think my few remaining days, should command a little peace, if no great- respect. You’re not the girl you were, Denise; something has happened, or is happening. This out late every night, dancing and racketing, how do you think it’s going to end 5 The girls of these days, bitten by the maggot of excitement; restless, plea sure-loving, pleasure-seeking. Look at the social disasters of the day, the crimes with which every newspaper you pick up reeks. We’re all rushing to the devil at a mad gallop.” “ Somehow I think the day will take care of itself.” But it was all very annoying. Just then, at grips with herself, fighting strenuously, quivering in the throes of battle, she was in no mood to lie preached at. Probably he meant well —she would give him all credit for well-meaning—but was he the one to inculcate perfection of conduct? Though she may have hidden them with subtle> art, or let a suspicion of them peep out occasionally, deep in the depths of her were no illusions about father. Apparently times have changed, to the detriment of paternal authority. , (To be Continued.)