A DOUBLE VICTORY.

Woodville Examiner, Volume XXVIII, Issue 4627, 7 May 1915, Page 3 (Supplement)

A DOUBLE VICTORY.

<Complete Short Story . (Copyright.) “I think I ought to go.” The words were spoken with a certain amount of diffidence, as if the speaker were feeling his way by degrees to an uncertain object, but, on the other hand, there was nothing uncertain about Milton Fane’s strong personality, and the girl to whom the words were addressed, realized that fact -at once. “What nonsense!” she returned, with a pout of her red lips. “For there are plenty of others to fight, without you. Let the men go who have no claims on them. 75 He turned towards the window and stood there, looking out on the peaceful scone. In that quiet country spot, with the park stretching away to the rippling river, and the blue hills beyond, war and all its horrors seemed very far away. “If everyone said that," he went on, after a short pause, “there would bo no Navy or Army at all, and then — where would the women of England and the children be?” Dulcie Vernon drew her finely-pen-cilled eyebrows together in a sharp frownn. Pretty, spoilt child as she was, she had never been used to contradiction, and her fiance’s obtuseness on this point irritated her immeasurably. “What does all this argument amount to?” she asked, in a cross voice. Does it mean that you want to go to the front?”

“Yes!” He turned round and faced iier squarely.. That is just it. I want to go. In fact” —his blue eyes shadowing as he spoke—“ I feel utterly asham«d that I am not out there already.” A thwarted look settled on her lovely little face. Tho only child of very wealthy parents, and idolized from her youth upwards, self-sacrifice had never conic her way, and she could not understand the need of it. “We could lie married quite quietly at the end of the week,” he went on, still in the same low voice which yet betrayed such latent strength and purpose in every word, “and go straight away from the church to Devonshire tor n few days afterwards.” Her eyes flashed at tho idea, and the hot, indignant colour flamed into her fair face.

“What! Give up the big wedding and the bridesmaids and tho reception at Claridge’s? Be married in a travelling dress instead of white satin and orange blossom? Why, you must be mad even to suggest such a thing, for the invitations are already out.’ “I know they are, and every time I think of that big wedding I feel I want to ’aide myself. Don’t you see, dear, that it is not the time for festivities — not the time for rejoicing—when so many brave men are facing death, and so many families arc in deep mourning? Though nearly four hundred people accepted, I don’t believe a quarter of them would come now, for it would seem utterly out of place.” The sullen look deepened round her lips. “ One very rarely has the chance or getting married more than once,’’ she said, with deliberate desire to hurt him, “and I call it pure selfishness on your part to try and deprive me of tho day of my life.” . His eyes flickered a little, and then with a sudden change of manner lie dropped on the sofa beside her and placed an arm round her slim figure. “Dulcie!” he pleaded, earnestly. “Give me my way in this one thing, dear, and let us have a quiet wedding immediately. The few days of honeymoon in Devonshire would be something for me to look on and remember, and then you could come back here and stay with your father and mother until I return.”

But Dulcie was in no mood for persuasion. Pampered all her life by her parents and friends alike, she was finite unaccustomed to consider anybody except herself. “And supposing you never do return?” she replied, cruelly. “That would leave me plain Mrs. Fane, with no hope of being anything further.” He winced under the words, and his fond arms relaxed their hold of her. If only he were not heir to his childless cousin, Lord Castletown. If only she were not so rich and he so poor! If only they were just two ordinary people with nothing but a few hundreds a year and a great love between them —why, surely then he could have drawn her to him with passionate persuasion and' made her see things in a truer, better light. “Is it only to be Lady Castletown that you are marrying me, then?” he .asked, a little coldly. “No, of course not!” Even Dulcie was wise enough to see that such a line ■of argument would not help her cause in any way. “I an! marrying you for love but I don’t think you can care much about me, or you would nob talk •of leaving me less than a week after the wedding.” “Perhaps it is because I care for you so much that I talk of "leaving you,” •was his quiet reply, “for I love you so greatly that I cannot bear to give you a dishonoured name.; And,” he addled, forcibly, “it would be dishonoured if I did not do my duty to my country and go to the front at once. As for the big wedding, I simply could not face it. It would make me want to sink into the ground with shame.” Her head tilted a shade higher. “In that case,” she said, icily, “there will be no wedding at all. You can just take your choice and—take it at -once.”

“You don’t mean that!”—his eyes seeking hers with a passionate longing. •“You can’t mean that really!” But Dulcie for the time was beyond reason; so, with a disdainful shrug of her shoulders, she went blindly to her •doom.

“On the contrary,” she stated, firmly, “I mean every word I say. You -can take your choice this very moment. A big wedding or none at all.” ,He rose slowly and heavily to his feet and walked towards the door. Perhaps a word or even a look on his part might have changed everything and saved them both a world of regret, hut “bo gave neither. He just turned swiftly on his heel and left the room, and a moment later the door closed upon him. Dulcie waited some time for the sound of his returning footsteps, hut lie nevef came. “He will come back. Of course he will come hack and be properly repentent,” she kept saying to herself: hut minutes drifted by and even an hour passed and still there was no sign of Milton Fane.

It was towards evening when a short note in his handwriting was brought her, and her fingers shook a little as -she tore it open. It ran: —

I am leaving for London to-night, •and to-morrow I shall have joined my old regiment, which is leaving immediately for the front. Good-bye •and may God bless you. I love you so much that I am going to fight for tou. —Yours always, Milton Fane.

Dnlcie sprang to her feet and rushed -out of the room towards the retreating maid, for all the men-servants had long ■3>.go joined the colours-

“Where is Captain Fane?” she asked, pantingly. The girl stared back at her. “Captain Fane left an hour ago. miss,” she said

* * * It was the very height of the battle, ana the darkness of the night was torn in every direction by spouts and flashes of flame. The sky was alight as if with a gigantic firework display, while on the ground lay a carnage which was indescribable —a ghastly carnage of human lives sacrificed to one man’s greed. Bodies lay still and blood-stained among the cornfields. Bodies floated down the river unheeded. Somebody’s brother, too mutilated by shrapnel to he recognized. Somebody’s father, with his face downwards on the hard ground. Somebody’s lover, with his glazed eyes still open and fixed staringly on the (ire-lit sky. Captain Fane drew a deep bi;eath ot exhaustion. He was hit in two places, and there was a stinging pain in his right shoulder; but he had no intention of giving way yet awhile, for the Bntish'troops were separated from the enemy by a wide canal, and the bridge of that canal was up, with its mechanism on the German side. To get across and lower that bndgo before*”it could bo blown up was virtually necessary, but a terrible fire was coming from the other side. It meant almost certain death to attempt it but for all that Milton did not hesitate a moment. He just thought of Diucic and wished he could send her a parting message, then he tore olf his coat and plunged into the water. Merciful Heaven! How the bullets rained around him in a murderous fii e, and the shrapnel kept exploding above his head with a deafening crash! the wound in his shoulder, too, gave smartin" shoots of pain every time he struck oid with his right arm, hut in spite ol that he kept steadily on, swimming under water as long as lie was able, and dodging his head as the bullets splashed into the water on either side of him. But his task was accomplished at last, and the bridge was lowered. Milton kept his senses long enough to see the troops dashing across it with a rousing cheer for his magnificent act ol bravery, then lie remembered nothing more until ho found himself being carried back to the base by a young Lancer barely twenty years of age, who had put him across his own horse. _ “What!” he cried, rn a dazed voice. ‘■'You stayed to rescue mo in that hellboy gave vent to an odd sound. To the wounded man it seemed as it he were wrestling with the sobs in Jus th “ 0 yes,” he replied, huskily; “for men like you can't bo spared.” Milton turned his head to look at him, for there was something strangely familiar in the sound of his voice; but tho movement gave him such agonizing pain that bo was forced to desist. “They got across all right, didn t they?” he asked, faintly. “ Yes, indeed, and stormed the lull. The Germans ran like hares and lets the guns behind them. - ’ Milton gave another restless movement, for again lie felt that sense of something familiar. The boy s voice took him back to peaceful Kngland and the serene happiness ot Dulcie s homo. He wondered whether she would mind very much when she heard of his death, for ho did not deceive himself. He knew pretty well what that stabbing ago meant in his side, not to speak of other wounds in his arm and shoulder. “Will vou —will you take a message for me' 1 ”' ho gasped out, as they clreu near to tho hospital. “To-to someone in England ? My name is 1 Fane —and I want you to toll the gill I was going to marry tnnt—that t thought of her to the last that his laboured words coming to a lagging l ia lt —-‘that I my country s sake and —for hers.” m. The boy gave a broken crj. T hei e was no mistake about bis condition then. Ho was sobbing audibly, and the tears were racing down his cheeks. “There is no need to give tne niessage,” he replied, hoarsely, ‘for the giH herself has heard it already. Oh, Milton, Milton 1 Don’t you know me. He pulled off his cap as he spoke, and, instead of the usual close-cropped head of a soldier, a stream of golden hair appeared, which tumbled down on his shoulders in a sinning mass. It was not a boy who had rescued him at all. but a girl with wonderful gre> cj e = a white skin showing under the tcai tracks running down her smoke-gum od cheeks; and as Milton stared at her in tho dim light he knew he was face to face with Dulcie herself. But by that time, he was bejond all pleasure and beyond all feeling, too. He just remembered willing hands outstretched to lift him of the horse, and he just remembered the touch of a ,P^ l of soft red lips against his own. and then he drifted into unconsciousness.

“How did you manage it?” Milton, the first time he ivas allowed to talk and ask questions of the hnely nurse who had never left his side dm mg the three days of dohrium w ien his hfe was despaired of. “Oh, Dulcxel How did you manage it?” ~ f She smiled happily, for she could afford to smile then. Had she not i«trieved her past mistakes, and retrieved them nobly? ~, , , “I came out soon after you did, sno told him; “ for, though you never knew it, L had been all through the Bed Cross training soon after I left school. You see, you went away thinking I was vain and ‘selfish. Oh, yes, you did —as he made a vigorous protest with his uninjured hand—“and small wonder either, so I had to prove to you that I was not quite the despicable person you imagined me. Therefore I volunteered for the front, and left England at once. “But after that?”—his thoughts returning with a shudder to her deadly ride in the face of raining bullets and shrapnel screaming over her head. “How did you manage that? A shadow crossed her grey eyes at the memory. . , „ f “Oh, it was so easy,” she said, loi I had seen you ride past the hospital m the morning, so 1 put on the uniform of a voung Lancer who died here the before, and tucked up my hair undei cap Then I stole out in the darkness and luckily caught a horse which was coming back without a rider. Nobody ,ay’you love-me stilt. » is I H,ou£l.tT”ho" ld°h«« Vd v.1u... went away and left me. o(-r„<rffled This time it was he who stiuggie with the sobs in his throat, and he who failed to accomplish his object. The man who had faced an almost ccrtam death without a tremor n 0 VcTteans^ > my r °li?e''’^ r h <e whispered, strata -only wait till I conqnered «,« accursed weakness, and then—then i shall be able to tell you properlj what I think of you. * * *

After all. Milton had his way, and they had a very quiet podding direc y they returned to England. Only tne

father and mother of the bride with a few other relations were present, but there were great rejoicings in the old home 'when they returned from the honeymoon and the bridegroom produced the little iron cross which the King had pinned on his breast the dity before. “But there is someone who has a greater right to it than I,” he said, as the tenants hurrahed themselves hoarse on the terraces below, “and to that peison I am going to make it over at once. Now, boys, you have cheered me enough. Give another one to the soldier to whose courage I owe my life. Give a big one to the young Lancer who faced a murderous fire for love s sweet sake.” . And as he spoke he took the ictona Cross from his own breast and pinned it among the laces on his wife’s gown.