"A Stronger Passion.”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 24 May 1928, Page 7

"A Stronger Passion.”

A FINE STORY WITH A STRONG LOVE THEME.

BY ROWAN GLEN. Author of “The Great Anvil,” ’The Best Gift of All,” “Eor Love or for Gold,” etc., etc.

CH A PTE it XIX.-—Continued. “You've got to! And 'phone through from his house to The Lodge. Sir Charles may be crazy with anxiety by this time. Get him on the line if you can, but if on can't, leave a message to say that Miss Hart's all right, and that we're looking after her. Now then! —get to it!” In the doorway Pringle paused. “And about to-morrow morning, sir?” he asked. “You won’t be forgetting that the train leaves —” “Oh, hang the train!” Macßae exclaimed. “Get on, man! I may leave here in the morning, or I may not. .1 shan’t know till I've had a look at Miss Hart.”

whatever arc you doing here? I didn’t know that you were to be downstairs till to-morrow morning, when we were to. leave for The Lodge.” She did not answer him, and Blair, suddenly sorry for her, spoke to the judge. “There’s been a little mistake, Sir Charles,” he explained. “Elaine decided that slic’d like to leave Arnavrach this evening, but I managed to persuade her to wait on. L don’t think that she’ll take any hurt from havingbeen up and out.”

“Out? You don’t mean to tell mo that she’s been out?” This time it was Elaine who answered. She did so with a half-pathetic blending of contrition and defiance. She explained exactly what she had done, and why, and how, because MaeRae had offered to let her go, yet had asked her as a favour to remain, she hack allowed herself to be persuaded.

Elaine was very ill indeed —so ill that her father accepted gladly MacRae 's invitation to stay in Arnavrach while she drifted nearer and nearer to the danger-line, which had been-vision-ed when chill followed on nervous prostration.

“I can see now that it was a mad sort of thing to do,” she said. “But —oh! you wouldn’t understand.” “Most certainly I wouldn’t,” her father agreed. “It isn’t as though you were still only semi-conscious, Elaine. You’ve got all your wits about you now, and I can’t, for the life of me, make out why you should want to run away from this house and from—our host. It isn’t like you, to be uugracious, and by jove! y’know, it was pretty ungracious to try to bolt off like that. What’s behind it? I thought that you and Macßae were such good friends. I’m sure he’s shown both you and mo nothing but kindness since we’ve been hero.”

Lucid only now and then, Elaine explained how it was, that, caught in the storm while near the island, she had headed towards it, only to be caught in its most venomous mood and to have her boat swamped when she was no more than a few yards from the shore.

“I was coming to Arnavrach, anyway,” she had 'kept repeating. “I was coming to Arnavrach. . . .”

It was Macßae rather than Dr. Cairns who tended her during that anxiety-filled period when, as her father had done so recently, she 'seemed to be hovering midway between life and death.

It was he who, devoted, untiringly watched over her, and it was he who, on an evening when all danger seemed to be over and done with, discovered that she had gone from Iter room. Worry-driven, half-stunned, as it were, by this new circumstance, Recalled out for her and sent his servants to search the house, lie was the more anxious because Dr. Cairns was not on the island then, and because Sir Charles had gone in Pringle’s company to Dochrine tQ get certain requisites from the local chemist. Macßao found Elaine by the boathouse and in the act of pushing a boat

“Don’t Father!” she begged. “I wish you wouldn’t talk like that.” “But I must!” he insisted. “Whatever differences of opinion you two may have had of late, you were the best of friends once, and I’d like to see that friendship re-started.” Macßae was growing more and more uncomfortable. “I’m with you there, Sir Charles,” he said, “but all the same I don’t think we should say any more about it now. Elaine’s had a rough time these last few days, and I expect her nerves are still a bit jumpy.” “But I—”

away. She was dressed as she had been dressed when Pringle found her on the beach. She' scarcely seemed to sec Macßae when he spoke to her and laid a hand on the boat ’s gunwale.

“Father, I’m sorry, but I can’t‘listen any more,” Elaine said. “You’re right, of course, and I’m Avrong, but Blair’s right, too. . I am jumpy-nerved, I’m going to my room. To-morrow — avcll! I hope you won’t make any fussing sort of leave-taking then:” When she had gone the men looked at each other. It * was Macßae who spoke first. “I can sec that you want to talk about her, and me,” he remarked. “Please don’t. Not so long ago you gave me a promise that Arc’d leave that subject, alone.’’

“Elaine,” he began, “what in heaven's name does this mean? Y'ou should be back in your room. I told you this morning that you weren’t to be allowed to get up till to-morrow morning. It’s crazy, this. Don’t you realise that you’ve just managed to cheat the biggest adventure? Drop that oar! You’ve got to come back with me. As it is, you may have a relapse, and —” She turned towards him and spoke quite steadily. “I'm sorry, Blair—that you came up now,” she said. “I know that I’ve been sort of mad for days, and I know, too, that once ’again you’ve helped. But all my craziness has gone. I didn’t run away because I was light of brain, or anything. I ran away because I wanted to avoid having to thank you once more, and having to face you when father was there. I'm going over to The Lodge, and if you try to stop me-'” “What then?”

“Oh, A'ery avcll,” Sir Charles halfgrumbled. “But I’m not satisfied. Elaine luioavs now that there’s no sort of feud betAveen you and me. I explained everything fully this morning, and though at first she pretended not to believe me, I know that she did believe me. I knoAV, too, that Avliat I told her made her glad. Are you still -intending to leave Arnavrach, Macßae?”

“Yes. After you and Elaine have gone, I’ll begin to think about getting away. And now it’s about time for a pre-dinner drink, Sir Charles. Perhaps it’s the last avc ’ll ever have together. ” “I hope not,” the other ansAvered. “I hope that avc’ll meet often in London, even if Ave never meet again on this island of yours.” CHAPTER XX.—AT THE SHEPHERD’S COTTAGE. On a mellow afternoon, Macßae, Avho had arranged to leav? for the South on the folloAving morning, set out to climb Ben Alsh for what, as he realised, might be the last time.

“Well, I’ll take the very first chance I can get away. I know that must sound horribly ungrateful. I’m not ungrateful, Blair. It’s the other Avav round really, but this afternoon, Avhen I began to see things more or less clearly, I felt that I simply couldn’t face another sort of official intervicAv Avith you and father —and another attempt to thank you. I’a*c dreaded telling you again how much avc oavc to you.”

He Avent alone and did not desire to meet, nor to talk, to anyone, but Avhen about to step from the road at a sharp corner, he came face to face Avith Elaine.

“If that’s the only Avorry, you must forget it,” Macßae answered. “Come, Elaine! I haven’t asked you to do anything for-my sake, but I ask you now to Avait here till to-morrow, as was arranged. Whether or not you’ll take any ill-effects from this mad attempt to get away by yourself, I don’t know, but if you really feel that you OAve me anything, repay me by coming to the house and getting to your room again. Sir Charles should be back from Dochriue before long, and I promise that you and ho Avill be able to leaA'e to-morrow, unless this outing brings a relapse along.” A pulse in her temple AA’as throbbing visibly,' and she stiil kept a hand on the oar Avith which' -she had been trying to push the bone off. Her glance Avavercd, howCA’CV, when it met his. “I shan’t try to stop you if you insist on going,” lie continued. “I’m only asking you to do me a favour by coming back. Cairns'will Avant to see you to-nght, anyway, and it wouldn’t be easy to explain your disappearance.”

Speech betAveen tl cm Avas unavoidable, and both contrived to make that speech gay-hearted. When he learned that Elaine Avas going back to The Lodge, Macßao told her that he A\-as leaA’ing on the morroAV, and that they had perhaps better say a good-bye. Smiling at him, she shook her head. “I Avon ’t have that,” she said. “I hate good-byes. Father says that you’ll be sure to call on us in London, so avc ’ll make this just an au revoir. Where are you off to noA\q Blair?” He nodded toAvards the ben, towering, austere and magnificent, above them. (To be Continued”).

.She sighed, and gave a little nod. “Very well, then,” . she agreed, “because you ask it, I’ll come back. But you promise than I can lea\ r e tomorroAV ’ ’ “Yes—unless, as I say, you suffer any ill-effects.” “I Avon’t,” she said. “I feel quite strong and avcll again. I’m not going to be an invalid any longer.” Once in the hou3e, they stood talking about things of no importance whatsoever, and Avere about to part Avhen Hart walked into the room. Pausing surprisedly Avhen he saAv his daughter, he glanced quickly from her to Macßae, the a back again. & “Elaine!” he exclaimed. “My dear,