"The Lucky Speculator,"

Wairarapa Daily Times, 24 December 1927, Page 7

"The Lucky Speculator,"

A POWERFUL LOVE STORY OF A MODERN GIRL.

BY MARY BEY WE TEMPEST, Author of: “Ills Last Shot,” “The Second Mrs Fairfax,” etc., etc,

Cl lAPTEIi XL—Continned. From what sounded the other side of The Crest she heard her husband's voice: “Here drink this! .I'm awfully.sorry to have had to cauterize' it before your eyes, but there wasn’t a second to spare.” Then, with his delightful smile: “I've got to stand on iny hind logs, you know, till I can get you away. ” "Are you sure it's cured.’" Gyp’s eyes were wide with anxiety. ‘‘Absolutely—thanks to your promptness. •’ ’ Almost an armistice —brought about by a deadly snake! One of life’s little ironies. The next, day always stood out in Gyp’s memory -as a beauty-spot. Brent no longer “sulked in his tent”—like the famous warrior of old, but in a queer, hesitating way, devoted himself to amusing her—invited her to come over The Crest with him and see the results of his labour; showed her the sited lie had built for their cow; the little harvest of roots he had laid in to provide her ladyship with provender; his kitchen garden, full of succulent vegetables; showed her his precious collection of pearls—for her next birthday present! invited her to fish with him. All this time Gyp's ardent spirit rejoiced in the sunshine of his kindness, while she schooled herself into thinking he was just trying to forgive and forget her wickedness; to believe there was some good in her. Gyp didn’t fish; so she paddled among the pools instead, leaving him to wield the rod.

Brent, looking tip from time to time, thought he had never seen a lovelier picture than she made, her charming face with the goldy-brown hair blowing about it, stooping over some tiny denizen of those pretty lagoons, her lissom body swaying to her whim, and always tlio.se slender white ankles shining wetly in the sun. An unforgettable day for little Gyp. There was a wonderful exaltation singing in her veins when she went to bed that night. She woke out of a deep sleep to hear weird sounds —like the howling of a pack of wolves —outside in the darkness; then the rattle of thunder, followed by torrential rains. She sprang up with a scream of terror as forked lightning Hashed across her hut. leaving behind a smell*of sulphur. •‘Frightened, little Gyp?”

At the sound of that voice she leapt out of bed and feverishly withdrew the bolts. “Oh. Stephen,” she panted, “1. shall die if you won’t stay with me!” Brent stayed, blit it was well that Gyp could not see his face as he gently detached her clinging arms; madness lay there, and controlling his voice as best lie could, promised to stop till the storm was over. “Xow get back into bed and. try to sleep,” he bade her, out of the darkness. “I’ll see no harm comes to you. ’ ’ Obediently she went, and greatly comforted by ins unseen presence, slept like a tired child. She woke at nine to hear his shout: “Brekker!” , She looked so virginal and sweet when at last she joined him that Brent could scarcely trust her eyes to glance at her. All the same, it was a wondrously happy meal, lightened by half-gay, half-tender talk, pooled by silences that seemed more eloquent than words. Suddenly Gyp sprang to her feet and stood swaying, like a daffodil in the breeze, one hand shading her eyes. “ Stephen!—there’s a ship, and they’re putting off a boat!” Her voice shook with excitement — but it held no gladness, CHAPTER XII. Followed two bewildering hours that scampered through Gyp's mind in a kaleidoscope of vipid colours: the hurried packing-up, the silent leave-tak-ings (she realised witli a pang at the heart how dear some inanimate things can seem when one has to say goodbye to them!), the pushing-off through the surf, the sailors’ curiosity, the captain’s reticence —except when he and Brent paraded the deck together, the tearing asunder. As the coaster swung round and stood out for Jamaica, Gyp drifted to the rail to bid a last farewell to the island. Presently Brent joined her—just as a bird with shining blue wings rose from Tho Crest and soared into the ether above their heads. Gyp lifted her bright eyes to watch it as thrice it circled their vessel, then (lighted its way back to their vanishing home. “We’ll call it ‘Blue-bird Island,’ ” she said, involuntarily, as if speaking her thoughts aloud. He nodded acquiescence.' Suddenly a tear splashed on to the brown hand gripping the rail beside her own. “Bo sorry as that?” Brent asked, glancing down at her. She laugh ted unsteadily, and drew up her big storm-collar to hide her face. “Suppose I am,” she admitted. “Sounds absurd, doesn't it?” “Same here.” There was some new quality in the laconic response that found an echo in the girl’s heart. She leant a little nearer, touching his sleeve. “I mean to see it again some day,” she said, softly. His hand slipped over hers, and she felt the flame of his gaze on her averted face. Both touch and look were magnetic; she wanted to c-ry, she wanted to sing; she ached for the feel of his arm around her. Then Brent’s voice steady and cool, recalled to her mind their empty relationship.

(To be Continued)

“I am glad you feel that way, too,” he said. “You see, we lived so near to Nature there that we depended on each other for—for—” “For happiness.”' breathed Byp, and could have bitten her tongue out. ‘‘l wouldn't presume to say that,” lie answered, gravely. But. he made no further attempt to explain his meaning. The glory of a new-born hope died out of Gyp’s eyes, and the old, wistful look eame back as site watched The Crest melt into the purple mists of which dreams are made. Even when Blue-bird Island had again become but a speck in a world of Dimpling waters, her thoughts did not wander to the homeland for which they'were finally bound; they had flown on the wings of her soul to that Jean-to behind the lint —-and a kiss she had given there. At Kingston they transhipped to an ocean steamer. An uneventful voyage, then in due course, their ship drew to her moorings in home waters, and Gyp walked sedately down the gangway by Brent 's side on to mother-soil. After all, it was good to hoar pleasant English voices in genial greetings; to sit in a corner of a railway carriage and see golden daffodils nodding in the wind, shy primroses smiling palely at you from tho banks.

But Brent, sitting opposite, found ail tho beauty he cared about in the face of his girl-wife, while he wondered at the change five months had wrought. The dewy freshness of youth was still with her, but womanhood, with all its mystical sweetness, looked out of li or shining eyes, and deepened the elusive charm of her smile. For the hundredth time he marvelled, with a clutching at tlxc heart, how such a girl could so dishonour her marriage vows as to write that letter to Brest wick; how she could have brought herself to make that scoundrel a present of trust-money; how she could have cut the traces and gone to him. He pulled himself up with a jerk. No need to suffer nightmares in the daytime. But ilierc wore cobwebs woven by pain in fine line's round eyes and mouth when, arrived at their destination, he turned with forced gaiety to his wife: “Hurrah for civilisation! Our car’s outside.” . As they entered their home again, Gyp looked curiously about her. “How odd —nothing seems changed,” she murmured, “and we’ve been such years away! ” To the servants’ discreet inquiries, she gave a general description of trips to tropical places, declaring herself greatly benefited by the long sea-voy-age. For her visitors she used other tactics. The next afternoon chanced do be her “third Wednesday,” when she was usually at home to friends. In spite of the fact that she had only been back a few hours, the news of her arrival seemed to have been broadcasted, for quite a bunch of smart, callers invaded her drawing-room, their eyes veiling rabid curiosity, their lips adroitly questioning. Lady Friston and Airs lluntlcy-Gore, with their respective husbands, were in flic first flight. These were intimates of Lord Prestwick’s, and Gyp became wariness itself. “Awfully nice to have you home again, you naughty person! So queer of you going off at a tangent like that and neglecting all your friends. Not even sending a post-card to tell us your whereabouts,-” complained Lady Friston, her lorgnette in full play. Gyp wickedly slithered forward a slim, silk-clad leg, with the idea of giving that lady (of substantial understandings) something worth admiring through that hateful quizzing-glass, flicked open a 'box of cigarettes, took one, and lit it from the match held out by. Sir George, then answered negligently: “Can you see ‘Rapid Gvp’ going round popping I’.P.C. cards into fifty letter-boxes before she started? It would have spoilt the whole spontaneity of the thing. As it was,” she stopped to blow a spiral of smoke into another while she considered how it was, “as it was, we had a spiffing time: sailing in and out the Isles, and spinning round the moon.” Here a girl who had always been jealous of Gyp put in her spoil: “But all alone with her husband — how horribly boring, old thing! Whatever could you find to talk about; your first quarrel? Your last reconciliation? ” Gyp lifted her pretty brows “Stephen was far too busy doing things to have much time for snakk’ing; killing -savages, curing snakebites, shooting, fishing. 1 can assure vou we hadn’t a dull moment.”