“THE FOREFRONT OF BATTLE,”

Wairarapa Daily Times, 13 October 1933, Page 7

“THE FOREFRONT OF BATTLE,”

COPYRIGHT. PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

CHAPTER XXXl—Continued. "He knew. He had independent medical advice. He was sick of the life he was living, and he seized this opportunity to go out. It was like him. He was a Catholic, you know. The one thing he was unlikely to do was to take his own life.” David nodded slowly. "He was very generous. I really never knew him properly. I looked upon him as a thorough blackguard, and yet he could write like that. He [could think for others when he was face to face with a dreadful death!” "We know very few people, really, David,” said Ayres. "I confess this letter ; does not surprise me very much. I saw a side of Montero that you never saw. From the point of view of conventional morality he might be a rotter. But he had queer streaks in his nature. He was proud and generous, like most Spaniards. He was an evil liver, if you like, but he hurt few people beside himself. To his wife he was cruel, of course. Such a man ought never to marry. I don’t doubt that his repentance for making Paula suffer was quite genuine. He rvas victimised by his own nature; he would not willingly make anyone suffer.” "God knows,” said David humbly, "I would not condemn him now. I feel that I can never condemn anyone again. ’ ’ "Good!” Ayres said. "If this letter makes you feel like that it will have the same effect on Paula. We must find and see that she has this l'etter.” David shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know. This letter excuses my action. Montero knew that he was going to his death, but that does not alter the fact that I withheld Grant’s report. ’ ’ "Bah! You warned him. He says so himself. My dear fellow, women don’t chop logic; they don’t argue about metaphysical subtleties; they feel that things are right or wrong. Paula will be deeply moved by this letter. You were moved yourself, but she will be affected much more. She will take Montero’s words as a message from the dead, which it is, and also as a kind of supernatural command —a command to do just what she wants to do. I bet my life Paula has wanted to forgive you for a long time—if only she could see her way to do it. Here is the way! ” ' A gleam of hope came into David’s eyes. "You really believe that, Bill?” lie cried. *

"I eertainy do, and I’ve known Paula for years.” "But we’ve still got to find her,” David muttered. "Where is she?” "I must say that it is proving extraodinarily difficult to find her,” admitted Ayres. "But I’ve tried all the likely places on the Continent; 1 think I’ll try England now. She may have come back here. She wants to be alone. That’s it! She’s gone to some quiet place in the country where she won’t meet people she knows, and have to explain why she is not with you. ’ ’ "That, may be the case,” said David dubiously. "But if she came to England, she would be sure to meet someone who knew us both. That is almost certain. On the boat or in the train. And if she met anyone I would have heard about it.” Avres rose to his feet.

"She very likely flew over,” he said. "Or she may have come over on the long sea route during bad weatiler. Supposing she crossed HavreSoutliampton way on a bad night? Anyhow, it’s no use guessing. If she’s in England I’ll find her. In any case, you can rely on me to do my utmost. Now I’ve an important client calling, old man, so ” He held out his hand and David shook it warmly.

"Thank you, Bill, a thousand times,” lie said. "You’ve given me fresh hope. ’ ’ CHAPTER XXXII.

Paula half lay, and half sat upon a couch in a small cotlage parlour. The room was gay with bright chintz, and enlivened by an enlarged photograph of Mrs Bates as a young bride upon the arm of Mr Bates, now deceased. There were other pictures of almost too-an-gelic children and collie dogs, with pathetic captions below in case any error should arise as to what the tableaux indicated. There was some fine pewter, and a grandfather clock which would have interested a collector. A bookcase held a complete set of Sir Walter Scott; some of Ouida’s novels; and a copy of "Lady Dudley’s Secret. ’ ’

The cottage was very restful. The afternoon sun came through the lat-tice-paned window and splashed across a faded, brown carpet. From where Paula reclined she could see an ancient pear tree with its bare branches slightly swaying in the wind. There was no sound but that of Mrs Bates’s voice as she sturdily sang a hymn in a slightly false contralto.

Paula smiled to herself. After some months of trouble and depression she had found peace. The meeting with her old nurse had been one of those miracles which occur, fortunately, in every lifetime. We all of us believe in them; more, we confidently expect them to happen, and we are never surprised when they do happen. How could we continue to live if we did not have faith in God, or Allah, or Luck, or Destiny? The lyune does not matter. We believe in something. Paula told herself that she had been led to Cliffdean, and to “Nanny” Bates. In her hour of need she had found a tried friend, a mother, one who could give her just the support and love she required. There came a rattle of cups and saucers and the bang of practised knees against the door. Mrs Bates entered carrying a tray upon which was tea, milk, sugar, bread and butter, and home-made marrow jam. “I thought you’d like a cup of tea, miss,” said Mrs Bates. “There, I’m calling you ‘miss’ again, but I can’t help it! ” “That’s all right, Nanny.” Paula stretched herself luxuriously. “Marrow jam! Nanny, you’re spoiling me! ’ ’ “It’s the last pot, so make the most of it,” said Mrs Bates. “You always did like my jam, didn’t you? I remember you making yourself sick once on your birthday.” “Please!” protested Paula. “Can’t you forget my awful past? You’ve a terribly dangerous memory, Nanny!”

BY MARTEN CUMBERLAND. (Author of "Behind the Scenes,” "Loaded Dice,” "The Perilous Way,” etc.)

Mrs Bates set the tea on a table close to Paula’s couch. She poured out; one lump of sugar for Paula; two for herself. The two women ate and drank for a time in silence. "I saw a lovely film last night at the Drill Hall,” said Mrs Bates, suddenly. "John Casey and Peggy Walsh were in it!” "Really,” said Paua. "What was it all about, Nanny.” "The usual thing, miss. Love, you know. She has a lot of money, and she’s a widow. At any rate she thinks she’s a widow, but really her husband is alive all the time. He’s a nasty man, the husband, if you know what I mean? She thinks he died on one of these North Pole expeditions. But lie’s alive, and he comes back. Another drop of tea, honey?” "Thank you,” said Paula. "Well, he comes back. Go on. ’ ’ ‘ ‘ Yes, he comes back, but that’s later on. When the picture begins you think she’s a widow, and she thinks it, too. And she’s very rich. He’s made a will that if she marries again she loses all her money, if you see what I mean?” "I see. The nasty husband made the will? ’ ’ "Yes, miss. One lump of sugar, isn’t it? Well, when the film begins she’s in love with John Casey, such a nice boy! And she looks lovely, too, all in black velvet with just a little lace at the cuffs and collar. Simple, but smart. She was rather like you, honey. Well, he loves her —John Casey, I mean —but lie’s only a poor doctor, and she has thousands or millions a year.”

"Which she loses if she marries again?” "Yes. I told you that part. Well, John Casey —lie’s called Ralph Mountstuart in the film —he can’t ask her to marry him because lie’ll ruin her, if you know what I mean? Then he makes up his mind to go abroad. He finds himself being tortured, and his feelings- lacer —lacer —” "Lacerated, Nanny?” "That’s the word; lacerated every time he sees her. So he goes to her to say goodbye. And then the husband, who was left for dead among the ice and bears and things, he turns up again. He sees his wife —she’s Peggy Walsh—in Ralph Mountstuart’s arms. You see he was saying 'goodbye’ and she began to cry, and he just put his arm across her shoulder, friendly like, if you see what I mean? But the husband doesn’t understand, and lie’s insantly jealous. "He draws a revolver and says: 'No man will ever come between me and my wife. ’ At least, he doesn’t say it, because it’s not a talky, but it’s thrown in words on the screen, you see?” "I see. And how does it end?” "Well, the husband faints clean away just as lie was going to shoot — John Casey.' You see lie has been through an awful bad time in the ice, and he’s very ill. The excitement of seeing his wife again, and in another man’s arms, is too much for him. So lie drops in a dead faint. And then the young doctor proves wliat a good fellow lie really is. He does all he can to save the husband who is so ill. And Peggy Walsh, she stops by her husband’s bedside all the time. She looks lovely in a kind of tea-gown of lace, with very long, wide sleeves like they used to wear in the middle ages. Before her husband dies he realises the awful position that he, in his jealousy, and through his injustice, has put his wife into. And he understands how good John Casey, or Ralph Mountstuart, has been to try so hard to save his life. So he calls them both to his bedside, and tells them that he has made another, and a just will. With his last dying breath almost he takes her hand, and John Casey’s hand, and he joins them together, and he says. ‘l’ve been a thoughtless and selfish man all my life, but’ —Lord! Was that ,a knock?’ ’

Mrs Bates jumped to her feet, and as she did so, there came a second, unmistakeable knock at the door.

"Yes, that was a knock,” said Paula, smiling. "If it’s the laundry don’t pay them until they find that handkerchief of mine.” Mrs Bates collected the tea-things on to the tray, and took them with her out of the room. Paula heard her open the cottage door, and heard the sound of voices. Mrs Bates came back, rather breathlessly, into the parlour. "Don’t —don’t be scared, honey,” she said. "But there’s a gentleman to see you from London.” Paula's eyes closed for a moment, and then opened again. She tried to speak, but failed. The old woman, however, read the question in her eyes. "It’s not him, miss,” she whispered. "It’s a gentleman who say he’s your lawyer. Name of Ayres —Mr William Ayres. ’ ’ Paula’s hands clenched at her side, and she leaned back on the couch. "All right, Nanny,” she said faintly. "Would you mind showing Mr Ayres in here?” (To be Continued.)