"The Lucky Speculator,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 30 December 1927, Page 7

"The Lucky Speculator,”

A POWERFUL LOVE STORY OF A MODERN GIRL.

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

~ CHAPTER All [. —Continued. Somewhere lie heard a clock strike “one.” Switching off the lights, he sought a sleepless couch. Dawned the morning on which Thai deed-of-gift was to he presented to Gyp, making her wholly independent of her husband, only to bring a deeper Jit of depression upon him. The fever of unrest seemed to have got into his blood. Though he had gone for a long tramp before breakfast, that meal was scarcely over before he was off again, to return , dog-tired, to lunch. ,Still the wander lust possessed him like a demon. He couldn't settle down to reading, he dared not think, there was nothing for it then but to be on the move once more. But he was weary of tramping; what to do? Instinctively his steps turned-stable-ward. The dumb companionship of his mare “Annie Laurie,” was always a solace to him when humans failed. After all, it was a heaven-sent morning, the sky of purest blue, dappled with little puffs of white that sailed across the ether like phantom ships upon an uncharted sea; the hedgerows sweet with early May-blossom, and on every branch of the burgeoning trees wee bunches of quivering feather and beak were pouring out floods of melody. Jove! —what a day! Brent lifted his cap to let, the scented air pass over his head, while he vaguely wondered at man s ingratitude to his Creator. There is nothing like action to soothe distress of mind, and drive away the blues, and his spirits insensibly lifted as he cantered away on a crosscountry run through Jlower-starred fields, by bridle-paths that suited his vagrant fancy. Although he found he could not ride away from Thought, the heavy sense of “finality” cleared from his brain, and he began to feel glad that the last visible link that bound Gyp to him was broken —broken by himself for her happiness. He had certainly done the right thing—the only possible thing in the shape of restitution. As the truth of this conclusion was borne in upon him, a sense of peace planed over his soul, as if some small, still voice had whispered “Well done!”'

Here Brent had to pull up his mind with a.jerk, for a stfffish bit of going required all his attention. It reminded him that his willing beast had had enough of it. He had no idea that he had ridden so far. for they had readied Furzebrook Common, a long way from home. He stopped then to give Annie a breather, while he looked round on an expanse of rugged scenery that recalled the Highlands to his mind. He had many happy recollections of this common. He had been a birds’-nesting boy when last he came here, and as his eve rested on this cranny and that crag, he could recollect where he found his rarest eggs; also the exact spot where he eamc upon a small bunch of grasses in which he found a fieldmouse enjoying his winter siesta, And there was the same old stile, leading to “Break-neck Hill" —as the twisting headlong road outside was locally called. As lie mused on these old memories, a sound, slight, but eloquent enough to a trained ear, broke on the still air. He stiffened in his saddle, and sitting motionless, listened acutely till that sound came again, trailing across the bracken. Then Brent became a tracker of the wilds once more. It took him bn. a moment to tether his mount to die stile, vault it, and take the steep cose ent outside with the speed of a greyhound. His sense of direction had never been at fault, nor did it fail him now. At a hair-pin turn, where the road plunged to a lower-level, he found what lie sought —a man badly smashed up, lying beside a wrecked motor-bike. From force of long habit born of his exploring days, Brent always carried a flask of brandy. In an instant he was on his knees, pouring some of that life-giving fluid down the throat of that poor victim of a mad adventure, while with a few skilled touches as ascertained that there was little to be done. He had taken off his coat to make a pillow for the head moving this way and that in the 'dust, when a pair of pale, lashless eyes slowly opened and stared up into his face, blinked, closed them, then stared up once more. “Damned odd!”' murmured a faint voice, “that it should be you of all men to watch me pegging out.”' “Not so very odd,” Brent said, “friends have a useful knack of turning up when they’re most needed. Anyhow, a friend is better than a stranger when one’s in your state. Tressler, old chap.” A spasm of pain dickered across those probing eyes. “ ‘Friend?’ Then you don’t know —there’s a stone under my left shoulder that’s hurting like the deuce. Thanks —I’ve played the deuce with your happiness, Brent. ’ ’ “Never mind about me. Is there anything I can do? Any wish of yours I can carry out? I want you to make what use of me you can.” ■Something like the contortion of a smile moved Tressler’s lips. “Then you, too, realise that I haven t an earthly?” “I’m afraid I do.” It was said with a grave compassion, infinitely comforting, while those big, tender hands busied themselves with the only task that remained to them —of easing pain. A moment later, a i labourer on a push-bike appeared on the top of the hill, wisely preparing to dismount and negotiate the steep incline on foot.

.Brent shouted to him from between hollowed hands: “Fetch a doctor —quick as you caul ” As the man gaped this way, that, and the other to see whence came that voice-, he called again: “Hurry. man, there’s no time to lose! ” Tressler made a grimace. “ What’s the use?" he fretted. “Oh, you needn’t worry; he’ll come in time all right —to certify! But there’s something on my conscience concerning von. Give me another nip of brandy and I’ll try to get through with it.” “Never mind me,” Brent said again. But the stricken man was not going to be denied this poor consolation. “It concerns Gyppic’s happiness ever more than your own,” he said distinctly. At the mention of that mine, tlie framework of Brent \s face suddenly took visible shape. “Then go ahead —if you can,” he cried, his voice breaking with urgency of his desire to help the woman, he loved. Tressler swallowed a stiff peg, and with the temporary strength it lent him, made his confession: In slow, halting phrases he fold how Gyp had complained to him that Brent •—with his craze for possessions—was Inlying her, without an atom of love to make that sale tolerable; how Prestwick had trapped her; how she had leapt at his (Tressler’s) offer of marriage solely because it. offered the only means of escape; how she had pushed that note' under his door; how Prestwick had tempted him to part with it and used it to try and get her into his power again; how in a desperate effort to free herself from his persecution, she had given him (Tressler) £.1,500 to buy it back; how she nearly went mad with despair when Prestwick again fooled them both. There was something more he wanted to say,.and for a minute Brent feared lie might not be able to articulate, but: lie seemed to make a supreme effort, for his voice suddenly grew strong: “You’re the luckiest man T know to have won the heart of such a girl as Gvppie,” he said. Brent’s eyes were suspiciously bright by the time that whispering voice fell away into silence. “My dear chap, you've opened the gates of an earthly paradise for Gyp and' me.” he said huskily. “I believe—because of it—you'll win through to a heavenly one.” Tressler’s sight was going out, and though lie still staved unblinkingly into the face stooping above him, he could not see its transfiguration. “You think she'll forgive?”, he asked, with dropping lids.., “I'm sure she will bless you —as I do,” Brent answered fervently. “Ah, thank the powers that.lie! here’s the doctor.” The colourless eyes flickered open once more, and the old, reckless spirit spoke its last jest: “As I said—in time to certify,” he muttered, smiled at the tender May sky, and slipped into unconsciousness. “Better not move him. yet,” the doctor said, after a brief examination. Brent uncovered, and with heart blundering: between a wedding march and a- funeral dirge, waited till the end. It was dusk when lie went up the hill and untethcred his mare. As 1 ic- rode homeward, he debated in his mind whether lie would follow his star and go straight to “The Little House” or get home. Home won. He recollected that his clothes were stained with mud and dust from that roadside vigil; also that “Annie Laurie” had had enough. A man must be merciful to his beast. So he reluctantly decided to possess his soul in patience, change and dine, then motor there after dinner. But Brent was going to learn that there would be no need for his presence at 4 ‘The Little House ’ that evening. As lie came to that decision, he let “Annie” have her head, to reach stable and manger at her own pace, while he rfave up his thoughts to those happy reflections crowding upon him. Though —coining fresh from the passing of a younger man than himself, he couldn’t help feeling some sadness, lie vet could not help his heart over-leap-ing time and space to another heart—as tender and passionate as his own. What a crass fool he’d been —looking l,ack —to have thrown away so many glorious months of happiness! How manv times his proud, young wife had held out a clue for him to follow up! He remembered, with quickened pulses, how she had hinted at a desire to “enjoy home-life,” and how he, believing that she was merely trying to do her duty by him, had left her alone. She had had so much time for thought, was what she said when she gave him that blow between the eyes in asking if she might live away. Oh, blind, blind fool . . . eaten up with his own mad longings . . . and because of that beastly letter, full of distrust of the most loyal heart in all the world. He drew rein, and, in the simplicity of his soul, made his vow: “ ‘Her happiness first ’ shall be my slogan. Never again will I put my pride or dignity before it!” A momentous ride. As lie let himself into his house, a faint fragrance of lilies coated to him, intoxieting his senses: surely it vas a harbinger of her return to him . . . A glance at the. hall-clock told him there was yet time to read his mail, and, with the ghost of a hope that her acknowledgment of his provision foi her might be among them, he turned into the library. (To be Continued).