"Her Hidden Husband,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 23 October 1930, Page 7

"Her Hidden Husband,”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

(Copyright).

CHAPTEE XIY.—Continued. Jim had stopped in front of the fireplace looking at a portrait which hung above it; a man, perhaps a little older than himself, wearing a iratlier oldfashioned coat and white waistcoat, a broad brimmed hat at a slight angle on his head, with piercing grey eyes and dark side whiskers. Pike joined him: “Clever—by an unknown artist. But probably you know who painted it?” King didn’t reply; he was .sure he was looking at the portrait of his father yet he couldn’t be certain. He was trying to trace a likeness. There was something familiar, yet try as he would ho couldn’t see himself. Nevertheless the features were familiar —the shape of the face and the expression in those grey eyes. The longer he lookd the more familiar they became until he was convinced. •He turned to Pike Avith a smile: “Pleasant to find that still there. It’s like a Avelcome home.” “Indeed it must be, sir. A fine gentleman of 'the old school. In spite of that dark beard and your sunburn it’s easy to trace a resemblance.” Pike moved away and unlocked a door facing them: “This is the drawing room; the dining-room is beyond.” ‘‘ Ah yes —yes. And the library on the otherside. ” Jim was trying so hard to remember. He had lain awake in the night thinking, trying to visualise Barton House. He had hoped and prayed that Avhen he found himself in the place Avhere he had been born and .spent his youth the darkness Avhieh now coA r ered him like a cloak Avould be dispelled. The shock of coming home and seeing old familiar things Avould restore his memory or at least stir it back to life so that he Avould be able to trace his past step by step. But AA'hen he had been right through the house and visited the outbuildings and stables —noiv a garage—he Aims as fair from penetrating the past as ever. While Pike locked up he Aimndered through the gardens. Was it, he AA'ondered, sentiment which made him pick a La France rose, groAving outside the library AvindoAV? Its 'tender colouring, its fresh-scented beauty, made him think of Pete. He put it carefully in the vest pocket of his coat, meaning to send it to her, and then suddenly the thought came to him —why shouldn’t he buy Barton House and give it to her? After all it Avas something of himself; something that once belonged to him. Though their love Avas fated to die still-born this would be an enduring memorial of it. And he Avouldn’t be cheating Vera of anything; when they were married she Avouldn’t A\*ant to be buried in the country, for her life Avas in the theatre, Avith the Avorld of men and women.

Pike drove him back to his office in the village; asked him in and gave him a glass of sherry. Then he said: “Well Avhat do you think about it, Mr King? We’ve a diraft copy of the deeds here if you would like to look through them, and our principal, Air Forsythe, Avill be coming over from the head* office at Taunton this afternoon, so you can discuss the matter AA T ith him. Don’t think I Avant to rush you but Air Lambshead is very keen on the place—it’s only a matter of price.” King said: “If everything’s in order I think I’ll buy it. I ought never to haA 7 e let it go but —”

“Well, you Avere out East at the time, Averen’t you, and it Avas no use leaA’ing the place to eat its head off as the saying goes.” The matter Avas settled that afternoon. '•King paid a deposit; it gave him a queer sensation draiving a cheque. He learnt that‘three miles of trout fishing Avent AA r ith the estate. Pike, a keen fisherman himself, suggested that King should spend the evening on the river, and provided him with a rod and tackle.

Jim was in no hurry to get hack to London. Having made up his mind that Pete was lost to him, ho dreaded meeting her again, yet the thought of being in London close to her without seeing her was unbearable; moreover, he had a feeling that the great town was inimical to him. He didn’t know half-a-dozen people, and those he did seemed to suspect him; even his dead pal's wife the day they met had hinted darkly at some evil in his past. Here the folk were friendly; they accepted him and made him feel he belonged to them, as indeed he did. While he wandered up the Exo and threw a fly in the burbling pools, the rolling hills of Exmoor looked down kindly on him, drawing him to themselves, baring their purple breasts as if to give him rest and refreshment. Yet the beauty and the peace hurt because his heart cried aloud for the one woman in the world who could share and appreciate it with him. On his way back to the inn soon after sunset he passed the village church and stopped to admire the old Norman tower. Then resting his irod against the moss-eaten wall, he went into the churchyard and began to search among the tomb-stones. It gave him a shock to realise that only by accident he had thought of visiting his father’a grave. He found it at last —a rose bush at the foot, the grass neatly cut, a large granite cross at the head. “Sacred to the memory of Phyllis King, beloved wife of James King, who died in her 39th year, January Ist, 1902. . . Also to the memory of James King, Esq., of Barton House,, husband of the above, who departed this life in his 61st year, December 9th, 1916.” The glow faded from the western sky; the hills stood boldly against the

BY ARTHUR APPLIN. (Author of “The Dangerous Game,” “The Greater Claim,” “The Woman Who Doubted,” etc).

blue, as tAviliglit began to fall in the valley, but still Jim stood Avith bent head and folded arms before his parents’ grave. At the foot of the stone was Avritten: “They shall rise from the dead.”

If only they could come to him noAv, just for an instant, speak to him — but here they slept side by side, keeping their secrets and his locked for eA r er in the tomb. He said aloud: “Father, mother, your .son is here!” And then he laughed grimly—he couldn’t go back, he just had to go on Avitliout knoAving Avhat port he sailed from. “Jim!”

He started. He was afraid to look up or turn; the voice, that had spoken Avas so loav and quiet almost as if the dead had answered him. But it stirred him to his depths, so that he knew it was the voice of the lhung —the voice of the one person in the Avorld he loved. It Avas his imagination Avhieh had conjured it, he told himself, until lie felt a small hand slide into his, then slip away, creep up his,arm, and find its fellow around his neck. He turned Avith a glad cry and held Pete tightly in his arms. They sat on a rustip seat built round a yeAV tree in the centre of the path. The kindly darkness gathered round them; lights gleamed from cottage Avindows, and the stars came out. Silence sat ivitli them, and there Avas no sound save the distant barking of a dog, and at rare intervals the more distant cry of an oaaT from the Avood Avhere the river ran. It a\ t us the church clock striking the hour which reminded them that time Avaited for no man. “How did you find me here, and why did you follow me?” Jim asked.

“I folloAved you because I love you. When I learnt you had left London I Avas Avorried not knowing Avhat might happen to you or Avliy you had come doAvn here. I knoAV iioav” she glanced in the direction of the grave Avhere she had found him —“and I’m so happy, Jim —oh, so happy!” He didn’t understand; he knew happiness Avas not for them, but he couldn’t tell her again and spoil the perfection of this hour they Avere .stealing from eternity. “You knoAV I love you better than anyone or anything in the AA'orld, ” he said. “That’s why I must keep a promise I’d forgotten —never kneAv I had made. If I loved you less, dear, perhaps it Avouldn’t matter. ’ ’ She put his hand to her lips, fond-ling-it. In the darkness he saAV her eyes shining like torches that flamed, he thought, shoAving him the road he could folloAV.

“You don’t ask me Avliy I’m so happy, Jim, but I must tell you. One reason is that Avhen I saAV you standing by your father’s grave I kneAv you had found your home again. There’s a bigger reason than that though. A esterday I lunched Avith Vera Carviek.' She lias discovered your secret; Mr Denny suspected something from the beginning. You see I had to tell Mr Denny before he took me out to dinner that Ave were engaged to be married; he told Vera.”

“That’s why she wanted to see me. She kneAv that you—the real you, couldn’t be pretending to love tAvo avomen at the same time. I think she Avas beginning to suspect you Averen’t Jim King at all, but iioav she understands. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ Hoav could she understand —I don’t understand myself! I can’t believe I ever loved her. She means nothing to me —the other night it Avas like talking to a stranger. Pete nodded. “That’s Avhat she said of you, Jim. At first it seemed natural that you .should have changed but Avhen she began to talk to you she kneAv that somethnig was Avrong —that you Averen’t the same man.” “I am the same man!” he said slowly as if trying to insist on the truth to himself. “I haven’t altered; it’s only that I can’t remember.” There was a moment’s silence then Pete said: “If you can’t remember Vera doesn’t Avant you, dear. She said I could tell you—you Avere free! . . .

You needn’t be afraid—she Avas perfectly sincere. She couldn’t have deceived me if she still cared for you, Jim.”

He turned to her sloA\dy, his eyes as bright as hers, his body tense Avith emotion.

“She was so splendid,” Pete cried. “She understood everything. If she hadn’t seen "me and heard my explanation she said she might have suspect-ed-—oh, all sorts of strange things about you. But now she knows she wants us to be happy . . . Everything’s all right, Jim. Nothing can keep us apart now, can it—nothing in all the world. ’ ’ The warning note of the church clock echoed again through the valley. He didn’t reply, but pressed his lips to hers in a long, passionate kiss. Then he told her of his purchase of Barton House. (To be Continued).