Leaves of Destiny

Waikato Times, Volume 99, Issue 16651, 17 November 1925, Page 3

Leaves of Destiny

Copyright. (Published by arrangement with tne General Press, Ltd.)

CHAPTER XIII. | “I 1c 11 you I will not see him! Oh, | Gassy, you who have been so good lo me—the only friend I have in the world —how could you play me lalse by giving my address lo the very person I am most anxious to avoid — whom I never want to see again! Oh ! what shall I do? I wouldn't have him come here and sec me like this, for worlds! I must get away ’ Barbara Denning spoke in a hoarse voice which was almost a whisper, and tears were running down her pale eheeks. Donald would scarcely haveknown her now —so thin and pale and altered, both mentally and physically, was she whose beauty and charm had taken his heart by storm. Her shabby garments hung loosely upon her attenuated form, her cheeks had lost their delicate colouring, her hair its glossy, golden brown. The coarse work upon which she was engaged had scared and roughened her pretty hands. For weeks she had lived with the friend who had taken her from

the hospital to her own poor lodging, Gassy Waldron the little chorus girl at the Diadem —and had managed to make a mere pittance by sewing coarse linings for packing cases to go abroad, thus adding a small quantum to the expenses of Ihe meagre menage which was all they could afford. Often and often Barbara told herself that she was coming lo the end of tier tether—that should not endure tier present existence any longer. For what had she to look forward to—with her voice gone and no held of labour open to tier, who had no references and no friends to speak for her? Stic wished stic had died in the j hospital—for what was life lo her now? She had entered the djjrk. gloomy tunnels of despair, and as yd no gleam of light had appeared to point to a brighter exit. Gassy Waldron was engaged to be

married to o young scene-shifter at the Diadem Theatre, and only yesterday she had informed Barbara that "Willie’ 'had bad an offer lo go tu America as assistant lo a 111 m photographer, at a good salary, and wanled Gassy to go with him —in which case the wedding must be in a fortnight’s time. The kind-hearted little chorus girl was distressed beyond measure at having to leave Barbara alone, but what could she do? "I might get you taken on to help the dresser at the theatre,” she said, ‘‘only you might not like that.” “No,’ returned Barbara, with a bitter laugh. “1 certainly shouldn't especially with Miss MacArthur to sneer at me.”

And then to-day, Cassy had returned bursting with the news that she had met Mr Anstruther, who had been looking everywhere for Miss Denning, and had given him Barbara’s address, to the latter’s unspeakable alarm and consternation.

“But you sec, Barbara, he did seem so very glad to hear about your being here with me, and said tie had been trying to find you ever since he heard you had been ill. lam sure he would do something lor you—if only because you were so good to bis little boy. You must see him!”

“I will not. He wrote me a cruel letter, and never let me tell him the truth when Sir Lindsay Charters let him think I cared for him. No, Cassy, dear, you’ve been very good t.o me, and l know you meant to be kind in giving Mr Anstruther my address here, but it’s use; I will not meet him again if l can help it.” And nothing would shake Barbara’s determination. She would go and take back tier work, and get the miserable sum they paid for it. Then, with tlie few shillings she had already saved, she would get a room somewhere until Anstruther had gone back to Collingham. In vain did Gassy argue, entreat, and even threaten to go and fetch Mr Anstruther there and then. Barbara was adamant.

“I will only yield one thing,” she said, "if you can convince Mr Anstruther that I have gone away, and you don’t know where, I will come back here, and stay till you arc married.”

“And after that?'’ Gassy asked anxiously. “Heaven knows what will become of me,” was the reply, with a mirthless laugh, and then, as though the full measure of her misfortunes descended like a mighty avalanche upon her overburdened heart, Barbara suddenly sank upon her knees by the table on which lay the piece of work she had just finished, and great heart-breaking sobs shook her frail form as the tempest beats down the delicate saplings unable to withstand its force. She did not know—how could she? —that these were the last tears of suffering she would ever shed. She did not hear the door softly open and someone enter, while Gassy discreetly withdrew. But suddenly she was lifted from the ground by tender hands which drew her close to a resting placo upon somebody’s beating heart and the voice she had never thought to hear again said softly:

“Barbara! Oh, my darling! What has happened to you? Why have you hidden yourself away all this time? And —how changed you are! I never thought to find you like this — —”

And then Barbara, with a little gesture afmost of repulsion, pushed away the clinging arms, and stood proudly upright, her hands gripping the table for support. “How dare you come here?” she said, in a fierce whisper. “Have you come to gloat over my misfortunes? I never wished to sec you again. I want nobody's pity, or—or help. Gassy had ne business to let you in to—to sec me break down as 1 did. I do not often givg way—it was only that—that I Oh, why do you stand there staring at me 'Haven’t I suffered enough at your hands, that you must add to my suffering by seeing mens I am now—poor and miserable, my voice gone, my means <if livelihood faken from me—surely that is enough."

Barbara, hear me I Don't look at me ns if you hated me! I can’t bear il ! T know’ I was a brute io have gone away as f did after rny interview with that scoundrel Charters, without letting you tell me your version of the story lie made up about your going to supper with him and going for a drive a f I nrwa rds ' ’

“In Hie pouring rain!” Barbara’s husky tones interrupted, and she laughed her mirthless laugh, “such a likely story was it not, for you to believe, so readily—taking bis word that lie was my lover against mine, denying it—Oh! I can't tell you what, I suffered " a soli caught her breath. Ansfrulher drew nearer to tier. “If you suffered, il must have been because you cared a little for me,”

lie said have loved you Bar-

(By DOROTHEA CORBOULD Author of ‘A Fatal Friendship,” “His Fair Enemy,” “Held in Bondage,” Etc., Etc.

bara, as I never loved any other woman, as I never even loved my wife, and your supposed preference for Sir Lindsay Charters made me so > mad with .jealousy and disappointment that. I could not bear the thought of our evening together, when I knew you could never be mine, and the words of love I meant to pour into your ears could never be uttered. I went abroad directly after my return home and was away two months. After I got back about a week ago, I received a letter from Bates, giving me an account of Charters’ villainous plot, amt of his own good fortune in being able to frustrate it- and take you safely home. He also informed me that you had left the hospital, - after recovering from your bad illness, and lie could not trace you as you were no longer at the theatre, having lost your voice. Oh my dear! my dear! if I had only known of all this, do you think a hundred Lindsay Charters would have kept me from coming lo you? As it was I set off at once for London lo try and find you."

“And having found inc, what then? Do you expect rne lo fall into your arms and tell you how grateful I feel to you for having realised that you misjudged me, and intend graciously to take me into favour again?" (To be continued to-morrow.)