“The Courage of Love,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 19 January 1932, Page 7

“The Courage of Love,”

BUBLISHED BY SBECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

COPYRIGHT.

CHABTER XXV.—Continued,

“Something very queer lias happened, at the office to-night, Hugh,” he said. “Just about the time I got back from dining with your mother the commissionaire told me that there had been a man hanging about for the last ha f hour, a man who was very drunk. He insisted, however, that he wanted to see someone connected with the paper, and so I said I would take him on. Well, he was drunk! As a matter of fact is still very drunk. But lie s sleeping now. I have put him on a touch in one of the waiting rooms, and he is snoring like a pig. I couldn t make head or tail of what he was sayin,, except that he excited me at once because every now and then lie would curse a man called Belly. At lirst I thought he said ‘ Kelly-,’ but by shaking him a bit, and asking him a question hero and there, I found that this name wasn’t Kelly, but Belly. And that’s the name, isn’t it, that Gresham Townley says is the right-name of the man who took Diana away 1 ’ “This is a very wonderful night, Martin,” Hugh Waverley answered. “It’s just as if tile clouds were breaking all round. Bor I have had the most extraordinary revelation made to me, and I seem as if I were about to face now life. Shall I come down to your office?” “Not a bit of it, my dear fellow,’ Martin Joyce said. “He’s sleeping much too lieaiily. I’ll wait until the morning and then I’ll let you know. As a matter of fact I shall have to get him away from here somehow. I have bribed the commissionaire to say nothing about his being here, because-1 feel to a certain extent I must keep grip of him. lie’s a very vulgar, coarse man, and speaks with a very strong American accent at times, and is evidently a very undesirable individual. 1 believe I will take him back with me to my diggings, and I’ll ring you up as early as I can in the morning. I have plenty to do here to-night, you know. Cheerio!” CHABTER XXVI.

Mrs, Stanton kept to her word, and she induced Diana to remain in bed the next morning. It was not a di icult task, xy- *6 girt eo>np amed of feeling ill, and Mirm~ dn , night that she had had a very broie?..

because she, herself, did not go to bs?fl until quite late, \ And more than once she had gone into Diana’s room, and had seen her tossing about; in fact, on one occasion she had found the girl sitting up in bed, and had noticed how terrified was the expression on the young face. So when she urged bed, and brought up a nice breakfast, she found Diana quite ready to fall in with her suggestion. In the course of the morning, too, the nurse whom she knew had been attending a case in a little house not very far away, was stopped by Mrs. Stanton as she was passing, and brought in. She was a middle-aged woman, and tlio moment she saw Diana,, she became professional. She felt the girl’s pulse, she took her temperature, and she approved of keeping Diana in bed.

When she was downstairs, she said: “Has she been very ill, this young lady?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Stanton, “She hail a very bad accident and cut her head, and what is more extraordinary, she seems to have lost all remembrance of what passed with her at the time of the accident, and even before.” “Oh, that’s not at all unusual,” said the nurse, “but she looks to me very delicate. Haven’t you got a good doctor? You ought to have a doctor.” “I am not exactly in authority here,” said Miriam Stanton hurriedly. “But I will speak about this when her guardian comes. ’ ’ “Of course, I don’t want to prescribe for her,” said the nurse, “but I don’t think you can do better than keep her in bed, give her light food, and let her be warm. She seems to be in a very high state of nervousness, even of excitement. She’s a pretty creature,” the nurse added, “and very young, I should think. If you like, I’ll look in this afternoon as I am passing.” “I should 'be very glad if you would,” said Miriam Stanton. “lou

eari take her temperature, and that will be something to go by. I don’t feel as if I want to take the full responsibility on myself. I hope she isn’t going to be really ill.” “.Rest, warmth, and sleep will probably do her the greatest good,” said •the nurse.

As a matter of fact, when she came back in the afternoon, she reported the temperature was normal, pulse moro steady, and she said that Diana was altogether better than she had been in the morning. She also said that a little bromide might be given to the girl, and that would ensure a good night’s sleep.

Late that night, Miriam Stanton had a visit from her son, who seemed to bo in a great hurry. “Listen, Mother!” he said. “I’m here to tell you you’ve got to do everything you are told to do. Don’t protest, don’t make a scene, no matter what he orders you to do, you do it! Do you understand? He’s coming along here to-morrow, I think, sometime, to

fix things for you and the girl.” “How do you stand with him, Francis? ” the woman asked, almost in a whisper. “Have you settled things with him?”

Francis Stanton smiled a strange smile.

“Yes, I think we’re going to be about even! I’ve got his written agreement, and what’s more, I’ve got a wad of notes for a very large sum of money. And look hero, I am giving both the document and the money in your care, Mother, because, well ”

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

lie shrugged his shoulders, “I Jon t quite know what’s likely to happen, so I don’t want to have these valuables about me. Has Burke been here?” the young man asked. As his mother shook her head, Brands Stanton said: “Oil well, I wouldn't be a bit surprised if be were to turn up. Bor he’s on his beam ends! Look pretty sickly, too! Came after me this afternoon, and begged for a pound note just to carry on with. I didn’t give it to him, I hadn’t got it to give to him. Thougi I’ve all this money, and I’ve a l so an agreement signed by Belly setting forth that I am going to have a great deal, I’m not touching a penny of what lie’s given me. It’s too dangerous.. I suppose supplies must bo comiftg in again from the Acmirean bank. Anyway, I’m as hard up as I’ve ever been! “I can give you something to go on with, Francis,” his mother said eagerly. But he shook his head.

“No, that’s all right, I can manage. I suppose Garrett’s standing by? Well, Garrett’s a good chap, Mother. Yen know he worships the ground you walk on! I’d like to see you mate up with him.”

“I can’t think of myself, or • anythin" to do with myself,” Miriam Stanton said. “Not while things are in such a queer state. What is going to happen? Oh, Frankie, my dear, will there ever come a time when I can have some peace of mind When I can draw my breath easily?” “Yes, it’s coming, and it won’t be long, Mother. And bow is the young lady upstairs?” “Well, she lias been very poorly,.but I have kept her in bed, and. she’s a lot better to-night. Will—will she have to see him to-morrow?” “Yes,” said Francis Stanton, “she will. And I ask you once again, Mother, not to make any protest. Do exactly what he says you are to do. It’s most important! “I promise,” said Miriam Stanton. And then they kissed one another, and the young man went away. It was early the next morning when a car containing Belly drew up outside the shabby old house, and Miriam Stanton had to open the door to the master of the house. She saw that he was in a high state of nervousness. “Now then, Stanton,” he said in his - “you’ve got to dress, roughest Way* . ' *- voung wound you’ve got to §9 t to*-- . mail dressed. You’re Doth cwiiliig me, see. You understand, you’re coming with me. We’ve got a very important engagement on this morning.”

Had she not given her promise to her son, Miriam Stanton might have made some protest, remembering how ill Diana had been. But she played her part. “All right,” she said, “give me a' little time. What’s the hour that this important appointment is fixed for?” “Half past twelve,” the man answerer her. She caught her breath very quickly, and turning she went up the stairs. Diana was half dressed and was sitting by the fire. She had asked Mrs. Stanton what had become of the paper with the picture of the cathedral in it, and Miriam Stanton had. brought it up to the bedroom, and Diana sat with tli is page open, looking intently at all the well-remembered places and feeling lier heart surge with the strangest excitement and emotion, “I would like to go to the cathedral,” she said, as Mrs. Stanton came into the room.

Miriam pretended to scold her. “Now, my deal - , what do you mean by sitting about without your dress on? You know you’ve only just escaped a very bad cold. And look here, my dear! Mr. Felly is downstairs, and lie’s taking us out for a drive, so will you let me help you to get dressed?” Diana put aside the paper: the colour had gone out of her cheeks and she looked with pleading eyes at the housekeeper. “Must- —must I go?” she said. “I don’t like him! I don’t like these men, they are so common —they speak so strangely. They are very rough, so rough with you. I don’t like them.” “Oh, they don’t mean to be rough, my dear,” said Miriam Stanton. “It’s just their way. They’re not the sort of people you have been accustomed to, that’s quite evident.” “Where did I meet them? That very big, strong man, the one who frightens me a little, he’s a stranger, and yet he doesn’t behave like a stranger. It’s all very difficult to understand. ’ ’ Mrs. Stanton went to her side and kissed her and then drew her out of the chair.

“Listen, my dear, perhaps eno day very soon things will be made clear to you? Now, will you let me help you to dress? I think you had better put on something warm of mine. You know you haven’t got a. winter coat vet.”

“But you gave me a coat the other day, can’t I wear that? And I have a winter coat,” said Diana. “I wonder what has become of it.”

Miriam Stanton said nothing, but she bustled about. Sho' brought in a sort of warm woolly coat which she made the girl put on under the coat which she had provided. It was one that belonged to herself. And though it was too big for Diana, she had been obliged to make the girl wear it because she could not let her wander out in the damp and cold without something of this nature. ("To be Confine-dL