Love and Adventure

Waipukurau Press, Volume XXII, Issue 222, 13 December 1926, Page 7

Love and Adventure

AN EXCELLENT BRITISH STORY

(By

HORATIO FAIRFAX.)

CHAPTER XII. THE BEGINNING OF A WEDDING JOURNEY. That evening at dinner Caroline Chillington watched the lovers with great interest and some diverson. If their eyes met Dick immediately been Ac preoccupied and lost the thread of the conversation, and in Elsinora’s manner there was something umisual; her colour came and went quickly when she spoke; she seemed almost shy. but Caroline thought she had meV’er seen her look so beautiful, and she pererivcd that she had chosen this evening one of her prettiest dresses. “What a head, and what a neck,” she thought, “for our sculptor to dream about!” Something had been said of Dick’s departure, and this perhaps explained appearances. Caroline was a thoughtful sister, and determined that these two should have the evening together undisturbed. She was amused: love had brought her queenly sister down from the heights, and had made her shy like other girls. For the first time in her life Caroline felt like an elder sister. After dinner Dick rowed across the inlet to the cutter to mako sure that everything w r as in order on board, and Elsinora went to her room to put together some things for the journey. She could not face the ordeal of saying good-bye to Caroline. She wrote a note to her telling her that she was going with Dick, that they were going to be married, that his life was in danger and he could not remain in Ballyvonaire, and that she would be at home again in a week. Aly own (she wrote),'do not be angry with me for not coming to you; it was no want of trust in you. I knew you could have helped me, but I could not bear it. When I come back I will tell you everything. I shall need your love more than ever. Do not let mother be anxious. Think of me. Pray for me and him. Good-bye, my own sister.

She took the note to Caroline’s bedroom and placed it on her pillow. Greeting of one of her favourite Irish airs, which her sister was singing, ■ came to her from the distance. Her eyes filled; jshe' longed to run to Caroline and throw herself into her arras and tell her everything, but she could not face it. Caroline was devoted to her and a brave comrade, but would she understand? She would tell her when she returned. Or perhaps not even then She would be truly Dick’s wife. No one would know that she had not been through the form of marriage, with him. Connie had sworn to be secret. Why, then, should she distress her dear ones needlessly? She thrust from her the thought of that home-coming. A convent was now the only future restingplace which she pictured. She wrapped herself in the cloak with the red hood which she had worn on the night when she had danced with old Thady, and wenb down to the quay to wait for Dick. The night was ■warm with, the soft touch of the south-west. The young moon was aloft. A slow pilgrimage of silver-hooded clouds was crossing the sky .from the verge of the ocean to the unknown world beyond the eastern mountains. The pine woods slept, black and silent, and the dark waters of the nilct were traversed by wandering fields of light. The sound of dipping oars grew nearer, and Dick, puling vigorous strokes, brought the boat alongside the quay. “Now, darling,” he whispered as he came to her side, “everything’s ready. T will get your traps and bo back in a minute.”

He was in high spirits; no thought of impending death troubled him now; the excitement and joy of the present completely possessed him. She, too, felt something, of the same; she showed no hesitation, uttered no timid word, as she put her hand in his and stepped into the boat. “So you are coming with mo to be my own, my brave, sivcet girl.” he said. “Oh, but this is better than a thousand years of life without you!” When they were half-way across the inlet he said suddenly, “Do .you remember the last time? it was just here we listened to the echo.” A longing came over him to hear it again. “It has haunted me ever since,” ho said. “Will you?” The boat slipped into a space of silver waters, and a stream of moonlight fell about Elsinora. She stood upin the boat and gave the old Bav

arian cattle call,—a call to bring in the merry morning and sing the joy of the warm, earth. Like golden sunshine was the voice that c ailed, like pale moonlight the answering echo came back over the water from the Glen, of the Seven Whispers. And soon the sails of the cutter flashed' white in the moonlight, and she was running o,ut through the headlands. Beyond their shelter, the soft wind blowing in from, the ocean, filled her canvas and sped her merrily over a level sea. “North, or South’?” cried Dick, with his hand on the tiller; “which shall it be?” ■ “South,” she answered, and the boat swung round, and her boivs dipped southward through the summer sea. Dick brought up some cushions from the cabin for Elsinora, and after awhile he made fast the rudder and came to her side. The pilgrimage of clouds went on, trailing great shadows across the sea; the black headlands grew indistinct in the distance; the sound of the water meeting the shore faint and far. He put his arms round her and kissed her. u My beautiful girl!” he said. “My true-hearted, brave-hearted girl!” She smiled with pleasure; his glowing admiration was sweet to her. She thanked heaven for her beauty, ■since.he found delight in it*. “How I love you!” she whispered; “I don’t think you know how much.” She felt that love is greater than life,—is its very soul—the only meaning of creation, and she- breathed her faith through him. The riddle of human existence seemed solved to him at last; in the soul of this girl he found life itself; all else wrns but its encircling home. “Sweetheart,” he said, “ive were married to-day, and now wo arc off on our wedding journey. It is just the same as if wo had been married like others. AVe will fancy we were. We said good-bye to them this morning. They were all there—my uncle and Nan, and Margaret, and Tom, and old Humphry, and the rest of them—to wish us luck. And now we are away together. We have everything before us. You arc my own girl at last.” She blushed and put her arms round Iris neck and drew his head to her breast. The boat rose and fell gently; the ripple of w’ater played along its sides. “And all night long,” he continued, “we shall sail away down, the coast. No! By and by, before the moon sets, we will find a haven and drop anchor, and you will fall asleep and rest until morning in my arms.” She prosed his hand closer but did not speak. “And we have days and days before us —better than years. We will go ashore by day; we will visit strange islands, and anchor every everting in 'quiet, waters. Fancy not being proud of the chance of dying for a. girl like you!” A warm flush was in her cheeks; her hood had fallen back from her head, and the wind stirred the locks above her brow-. She nestled closer to him, and gave him back sweet whispers for his fervent words. She, too, had now for the time forgotten the future penalty in the joy of the present. The romance and mystery of the scene enfolded them. A path of moonlight lay on the Atlantic to the far western horizon; the wash of silver seas was about the cutter; a point of light shone on a hcadlqnd in the south —the world was far away. “And Elsinora, darling,” ho said, “it is no dream. It is real. You are mv wife.”

(To be continued.)