“The Courage of Love,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 18 January 1932, Page 7

“The Courage of Love,”

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT. *

COPYRIGHT.

CHAPTER XXIII. —Continued. All this of -course was very trying to the man, ancl equally so to Hugh. But Dr. Bravington, and Martin Joyce together were working all the time to try and get in touch with the men of whose exsitenco and identity they had been informed by Gresham Townley. They did not bring in any professional help, nor did they think it wise to take the matter to the police as yet. “But if it goes on much longer,” Dr. Bravington said once to Joyce, "we shall have to let the law come in. Time is passing, you see, and we cannot even imagine what is happening with this girl.” “That’s what is absolutely killing Hugh,” the journalist answered. “It is a queer thing, isn’t it, that someone can disappear so easily? It’s bad luck for us that poor Gresham Townley has cracked up so badly! However, I still feel in my heart of hearts that

everything will come right, perhaps not immediately, hut in a little, while. He was to have dined that evening with Hugh Waverley, but when he got to the lodging, Mrs. Waverley told him that Hugh had gone out. It appeared he had received rather an urgent message; she supposed it was in connection with his work, and he left his regrets,

and begged Joyce to dine with his mother if he coulu, and forgive him for being absent. The same paper that Diana had seen was open on the table, and Mrs. Waverley drew Joyce’s attention to the page which depicted the High Street, and the • Cathedral, and other parts of Middleston.

“Isn’t it strange?” she said, “that these should be in the paper just now. I am hiding it from Hugh, I am quite sure he couldn’t bear to see it. A strango thing happened this morning, Mrs. Waverley added. “Hugh received a letter from Diana’s cousin, the schoolboy, young Thorp. He wrote to say that ho had had to' go homo for a little while to get some things before the house was sold, and that he had gone out to the old abbey where m> boy was working so happily, and there he had been talked to by a man who looked like an ex-soldier, or a chauffeur, who had asked him a lot of questions about Hugh. According to Bill Thorp, this man was very civil and seemed to be very interested in the work that Hugh had been doing at the Abbey. The boy had added that he thought it would be just as well to let Mr. Waverley know that there had been a man inquiring for him two days before.”

‘I can't help hoping,’ Bill had written, 'that it may lead to something about poor Diana. I do feel so miserable when I think of her having disappeared like this. Life’s all broken up. Mother dead, Susan going to Canada, the old house to be sold, and I don’t know really what is going to happen to me. It s all bcas.-

ly.’ Mrs. Waverley had put this letter into Martin Joyce’s hands, and the journalist smiled as ho read it through. It was not very well written, and some of the words were spelt wrongly, but it had a touch of humanity and sincerity in it. •

“You know, I think this means a good deal, Mrs. Waverley,” he said, when he put the letter down. “Of course we are so eager that we jump at anything which we feel may be of a hopeful nature, but still there may be something to it. When did he write this letter?” He took it up again. “Well, it was posted yesterday, and it was written the day before. So, 1 suppose we must wait and see. ’ ’ The same feeling of hopefulness had communicated itself to Hugh Wavcrley as he had read the letter Bill Thorp had written him. And when a second letter came, a very' short letter, and he read it through, he suddenly felt his heart beating wildiy.

This letter was signed “Edward Garrett”, and it ran to only a few lines in which the writer begged to state that he thought ho had some information which might be of great interest to Mr. Waverley. He appointed a meeting at an address somewhere in Clerkenwell, and he begged Hugh Waverley to go to that address this same evening, the evening of the day on which the letter was received, where he would be waiting.

That was why Hugh could not remain to meet his friend Joyce at dinner. Jt was an evening of adventure for him, for just as he had left the lodging where he and his mother were staying, he found himself spoken to by a girl, a very respectable-looking girl, neatly and quietly dressed. It was dark outside, only that there was the light of a lamp, and as it fell on Hugh Waverley’s face, and she saw the look ' there, and noticed that he seemed almost stunned, tins girl put out her hand and steadied him. “Walk along with me,” she said. “Are you going to see Edward Garrett? I thought so! Well, I guess I’ll come in first, because I wanted to. “Who are you?’? queried Hugh Waverley hoarsely. “My name’s Lotty Parter—that won’t say any tiling to you,” said the girl. She was a working girl with a rather pleasant voice, and her manner was very friendly. ‘You won’t never have heard of me, All the same, I’m thinking I shall play a very important part in something that’s going on that you’ve got to know about.” Are you going to meet this man Garrett ’ ’ She shook her head. “No, I am here on my own. But I know quite well what Edward Garrett is going to say to you, and I just want to ask you a very big favour, Mr. Waverley. In a little while you will be hearing a lot about a young man called Francis Stanton. Well, maybe you

BY MADAME ALBANESI. (Author of “Love’s Harvest,” “The Road to Love,” “The Way to Win,” etc).

(To be Coniine -df

I won’t think he amounts to very much ! when you’re told what’s in the wind, i The reason I’ve waited to see you is because I want to stand up for him. I w r ant you to know that what lie is seeming to do is only a put-up thing. He isn’t going through with the scheme that Felly’s got on hand.” Hugh Waverley stood suddenly still. “Pelly!” he said. “You know the man called Pelly?” “Not me! Thank God I don’t know him! I don’t want to know him. He’s a scoundrel! But I know of him,” the girl said almost passionately, “and he’s a dead wrong ’un —if ever there was one!” “I beg of you to tell me everything you know,’’ said Hugh Waverley, still hoarsely. “_lt means life and death to me. I have" been looking in every direction for some sign of where this man could be found. Pelly! Didn’t lie call himself Townley?—Cyril Townley, just a little while ago?” “You are right,” said the girl, “he did. I suppost he’s had a few names in his time, but his real names is George Pelly—and he’s about as bad a lot as one could hope to meet with. Oh, it’ll be new life to me when Francis has done with Pelly for good and all!” They were walking slowly along the street, and at that moment they were passing a tea-shop. There had been a sound in the girl’s voice, in her last words, that touched Hugh. “Como in here with me,” he suggested. “You are telling me marvel-

lous news, Miss Parter —so wonderful that I am almost afraid to believe you. I have been so broken; it has been such a dreadful time of mystery and anguish. ’ ’ -She followed him into the weli-light-ed and warm shop, and he ordered some coffee.

“Now,” Hugh said eagerly. “Go on —tell me what you have to tell me.” “Well, I expect,” the girl said, as she sipped the coffee when it was brought, “I expect Garrett will be a bit sick with me for coming ahead of him in this. Still, we’ve all got to think for ourselves in this life, Mr. Waverley, and 1 am not tliinkin’ for my. self only; it’s for the man 1 love —the man called Francis Stanton, that I hung about waiting for you,'because I have to ask you not to judge or condemn too quickly, no matter what you hear.”

CHAPTER XXV. i It was late before Hugh Waverley got back to his lodgings. Martin Joyce was gone, and his mother was waiting

up for him. She had some supper prepared. and when she heard him come up the stairs, she went to the door to greet him. A glance at his face told her that an immense change had come over him, and as he went forward, throwing off his hat and coat, and folded her in his arms, they stood just for a little while in complete silence.

Then he said: “It won’t be long, Mother, it won’t be long now! We shall have her with us. Oh! it doesn’t seem as if it could be true!”

‘ ‘ Come and sit down, my dearest, ’ ’ Mrs. Waverley said. “Tou are shaking, and your hands are burning. Tou are not ill, are you, Hugh?” He laughed. “ill? No. I have been ill, but now

lam well. Oh, Mother, I have liad the most extraordinary evening!” ‘•You have found her?" queried his mother eagerly. “In a sense, yes —in another sense, no. It is a very strange position, Mother. I know that she is m existence, I know that she has been very ill. I know now that she was very badly injured the day she was taken away from Middleston. and that is why she has never tried to get in touch witn us, because she has been so in.” “Poor little Diana!” said Mrs. Waverley. “But come, my dear, you must be calm.' And have you hact anytiung to eat? I’m sure you haven’t,” she added. “Therefore, Hugh, you will have to eat something before you go to bed.”

“Oh, I can’t go to bed,” Waverley said. “I should go mad. I should like to go to see Gresham Towniey, but I suppose it’s too late?” “Much too late. You must not go to him just now,” his mother said. “Dr. Bravington told Martin Joyce that he was a little bit better pleased with Mr. Towniey, and that he was decidedly on the menu, but ho wants him to be kept as quiet as possible. You must not excite him unless you can give him the comfort his heart de-

sires. ’ ’ ,“I shall give him that (comfort, please God, before I am very much ouier. Oh, Mother, just to know that she is still in the worlds I have had such dreadful thoughts, such dreadful fears, i have never told you, but I have not been able to sleep— Iliavo walked the floor of my room night after night.” “It was not necessary to ted me these things, dear son,” Mrs. Waverley said, “I knew it. But you must keep calm now, Hugh. If you really are going to be in touch with your lost happiness before very long, you must have strength. You will need strength, perhaps not so much for yourself, as

for Diana. The young man caressed his Mother’s hand, and lifted it to his lips. Then he said:— “ Yes, you are right, I must be calm, because we don’t know in what condition she will come back to us.’’ At that moment the telephone bell rang, and Hugh, jumping up, went to answer it: it was Martin Joyce’s voice speaking to him.