THE WHITE STONE

Waikato Times, Volume 100, Issue 16815, 5 June 1926, Page 14 (Supplement)

THE WHITE STONE

By CHARLES A. PALMER, Author of “The Time of Their Lives," etc.

THE STORYTELLER ! L_ !

Published by arrangement with the General Press, Ltd.

(All Rights Reserved.)

“To him that overcometh X will give a white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knoweth saving he that rceeiveth it.” —(Rev. xvii, li.)

bored to death all these long years, that breakdowns were so constant then? Oh, Geoffrey, cannot you sec where it's all leading to? Pi|t me on one side. Don’t think of the misery it’s been for me, think of it from your own point of view. You arc rapidly putting yourself outside the pale. Decent men and women avoid you. Your health’s breaking down. Soon you’ll be bored to death on a couch you can’t leave if you wish. Dr Johnston says so. Isn’t it better worth while to regain your health and standing among others, others who count, to be what you might have been, with all your advantages of talent and money.” you’ve hardly an organ that’s sound in “You seem suddenly to have begun to take quite an interest in me,” ho sneered. “You’d better let me go to the deuce my own way. Your sermon’s rather belated 1 At one time perhaps you might have influenced me. Not now.” “Perhaps you’re right. Yon see, I was very young. I hadn’t been accustomed to men who got drunk. I didn’t bke to ask others what to do. That would have been giving you away. The horror of it seemed to paralyse me, and I let things drift. But now I’m determined to try and save you. Do he reasonable.” His only answer was to pull the bellcord violently. The nurse came in. “I’m going to sleep now. Please don’t admit any more visitors.” Madeleine took ihc hint and left him. Ted would never persuade him, of that she felt sure. Never had things seemed so dark and hopeless. There could be only one end. to it all. A shiver ran over her as she went out. from the hot room to the cold night air. 4K In one of the houses across the street someone was playing, playing most exquisitely, one of Chopin’s nocturnes. There was a lingering sadness in their touch. Were they unhappy too? Was everyone unhappy? So occupied with her thoughts was she that she ran into someone coming up the street. “I beg your pardon,” she said. . "My fault entirely. I hope I haven’t hut you." “Not at all." As the speaker was passing on, she causht sight of a kind, smiling face and a broad pair of shoulders. “What a nice voice,” she thought, and wondered vaguely who It was.

CHAPTER IL At six o-clock the valet came into I the room to take up the duty of watch- ; ing. The doctor, after giving a few j necessary instructions drove home. , After breakfast he superintended the ; moving of the patient into a nursing home, and having seen him comfort ably settled in, suggested to Madeleine that she should accompany him in the i motor while he did his country round, | and talk things over. This she gladly f agreed to, so the afternoon found them driving through the country lanes together.

The sun shining, the motor hummed along cheerily, reeling off the miles along the white main road. As yet nothing had been said —in fact, only scrappy little bits of the most, ordinary conversation. Then they turned into the cool green shade of the lanes. “How lovely to see the primroses and violets growing wild again,” she said.

He pull up the motor, and getting out, gathered a bunch of primroses and gave them to her. “What have the poor violets done to be overlooked?” she queried, laughingly. Te jerked the gear-handle out of neutral, and once more they spun along.

“Where arc you taking, me?” she asked.

“To see the place where I want you and your husband to live. I want to get him away from his old haunts and so-called friends. I’m going to try and help him to pull up, so he’ll have to be near me. If I can get his consent, I’m going to put you both in a quiet out-of-the-way, comfortable old farmhouse. Plenty of hunting, good fishing, no public-house within miles. It's his only chance. You’ll have to dismiss that valet, I don’t trust him, and get a reliable, decent felow as companion to him. I shall run over frequently in the motor, but you mustn’t let him come into the town at first.” “He’ll never agree to that.” “Yes, bo will. I’ll scare him into it.”

She looked at the strong purposeful face beside her. “You’ve changed u good deal, Ted.” “How do you know? You're almost, I was going to say, a stranger.”

“Whose fault is that?” she began, and at once saw the mistake she had made. Once more they touched the mam road, ran up hill for a mile, turned right-handed into a little lane. 3“0hl how glorious,” she exclaimed, as. suddenly beneath them a beautiful view of woods and hills unfolded itself, with the silver of the sea in the far distance.

“The farm’s only two minutes from here. You’ll love It.”

Reaching the farm, they made conditional arrangements. As he had said, she at once fell in love with, the house, the situation, with everything. But as they drove home again doubts began to assail her. Even if her husband agreed, in one of his penitent moods to come here, lie could never "stick it, out.” His promises had been so frequent, hut never had he really endeavoured to keep them. It would be just the old story over again. “He’ll never stop there," she said aloud.

“Yes, he will. Without the others to tempt him, your love will hold him there.”.'

In the silence that ensued she looked away into the far distances, not only of the country, but of her life. “That died long ago.” “Then your duty must.” “You don't know what I’ve suffered.”

"Yes, I do; it’s written in your face. He’s got “to try again; so have you. You’ll perhaps' both of you reach happiness through it." He stopped the motor at a cottage door, and went to see a patient. Inside she heard a child crying fretfuly then Ted’s voice speaking a fewkind words. The tone of his voice was so altered she hardly recognised it. He had spoken almost roughly to her. When he came out he got into the motor, and his,voice was again harsh.

“I can never understand while children have to suffer so. We grown-ups go' battering our heads against brick walls, and then cry out when we are hurt, but the poor wee kiddies 1 It makes me savage at times.”

She did not konow how to answer him. Some women might, hut her heart seemed to have dried up under her own suffering. So she sat quietly beside him, and they drove home in an almost unbroken silence. “Shall you come in and speak to Geoffrey to-night?” she asked as she was leaving.

“ No, to-morrow morning, I expect, will be quite early enough.” With a strange feeling of disappointment she left him.

Arrived at llic hotel she went up to lmr room to take off her outdoor things. I-’or a moment she stood hesitating, with the bunch of primroses in her hand. Then, chansing her mind, she went across to the nursing home, and arranged them in her husband’s room.

“A little touch of spring for you,” sho said, and shutting her eyes, kissed him.

He looked at her with a wondering expression. “Whatever made you do that?”

“I’m going to try again. Will you?” “I’ve tried so many times and it always ends in failure.” ( “I don’t think you have. You’ve never really put your back into it. Won’t you really try this time? Cut yourself off from all those who keep you back. It isn’t as though wc were tied to one place. It isn’t as though wc had to meet them. We have money and it’s Die first time I’ve thanked Heaven for that since I married you, so that we can start again in new surroundings, and make new and decent friends. Dr. Johnston wishes us to take a farmhouse near here. Plenty of hunting and fishing, and such lovely country round. There you would regain your health and strength, and wc couldViake this fresh start. He would come over and look after you, and we would get someone to come as a companion for you.” “And how do you think wc are going to ‘stick it out.’ as you call it, in such a place as you describe? .1 should be bored to dealh in a fortnight, and that would mean another breakdown.”

The pleasant-faced man walked on, wondering who the sad-faced woman was, till he arrived at Dr. Johnston’s house. He rang the bell and walked In, with the air of one sure of a welcome. “Anyone at home?” he called out as he entered. “Come in, George,” answered the doctor’s voice. “Just the very chap I wanted to see. How are Elxna and the kiddie?”

“First rate. Joy grows inches every day in stature and wickedness.” He walked over to the mantelpiece, filled his pipe from the tobacco-par, and flung himself full length on the sofa. “It seems ages since I’ve seen you. I had to run into the town on business, so put up the motor at the George and came on."

“Had anything to eat?” “Yes, thanks; but a whiskey-and-soda will be comforting and grateful.”

One was duly mixed and both men puffed at their pipes in silence for a iitime. “Funny thing you should have looked in to-night. I want your advice on a rather ticklish matter, and was thinking of writing you to come over.”

“Wireless telegraphy between kindred souls, eh ? I had a feeling I must come in to-night. Fire away. Out with the trouble. Someone’s turned up out of the past. Not the lady of the photograph." “Yes, plus a husband with delirium tremens. Wants me to take him in hand and treat him. I have suggested they should live at Mist Hollow Farm, have a decent companion for him, and I would run over occasionally and try to keep him square.” George became grave. “Have you looked at it from all sides, or just acted on the spur of the moment.” "More or less on the spur of the moment. Y 7 ou see, you must cut him off from all his old haunts.” “That’s all very well; but is the past the past? Arc you strong enough to help without being a hindrance? You know what I mean?” “She’s come to me as her friend, and in the name of that friendship asked for my help. llow can 1 refuse? If they arc not near me how can I help?" “if I were not a parson I should say it’s the very deuce of a dilemma. However, though you ask my advice, I suppose you have really decided on your course already, and all I can say is that Elrna and I, and I am sure Olroyd and his wife, will help you and them in every way. You get Mrs Olroyd to run over and see her. She is a brick in cases like this.” “I’ll he quite candid. I love the woman, and always have done since I was a boy,and hate the man, hate him for every line he’s scored on her face, but for her sake I’m ready to bury the past, and try my utmost to save him." “Does she love him?” “She says that’s dead. “What if her gratitude and the memory of the past turn into love for you? Wouldn’t she then have a double load of misery to bear?” “If she didn't in the old days she won't now, and it will be time enough to face those imaginary difficulties when they arise, if ever they do, which is unlikely.” “I don’t think they are unlikely, and ■r want you to weigh the matter carefully before coming to any definite decision. “Confound you, Kingston! Instead of helping you seem to have conjured up extra difficulties. Don’t you see that I'm the one person who is most likely to be any good? Because of what has gone before, because of my friendship l'or her, I'm the more likely to put my whole strength into the business, and therefore my influence will lie the greater.” “Yes, 1 sec I hat, and liial/s llir very tiling which makes il so hard ot decide. However, there is Ibis In he said, that if your love for her is real love, as it must lie lo have, laslerl all llirse years, Ihrn il will help ;mi In art honourably, and so | say iliis, if you feel yourself strong enough. Iry it. If not, then I oil her frankly that you

‘ If that's jour only argument, it's not worth considering. It simply moans you refuse to try. Haven't wo Iried ycur own way long enough? "W ere you

cannot undertake her husband’s case. Make any excuse you like, but if you have any doubt, don't do it.” “And leave her without a friend to the mercy of a beast.” “Perhaps you wouldn’t be her friend. But on the other hand, your striving to save him .and to act the honourable friend would make a liner man of you. You’ve, been drifting lately, Ted, old man, and it would give you an object in life. After all, I think you’d better try, and I hope, with all my heart that you’ll succeed.” “If I find I’m failing, I’ve not one dependent on me; I can clear out, and no one will miss me.”

“ Don’t get morbid. A good many people would. But you won’t faiL I say, look at the time. Elma will be conjuring up motor accidents and all sorts of horrors. Goodnight, and don’t worry 100 much.” “I’ve got to take the dog for a run. ni walk down with you and have a last pipe before turning in.’ So they walked through the town together. As they were parting George said: “I say, old man, I wish you’d como out of your shell a bit. It is dull sticking at work all along, and never going out at all. Why don’t you run over and see us sometimes? .Toy would do you good, and she'd love a, new uncle.” “ Perhaps I will some day when I’m not too busy.” “Oh, hang business! Throw it off for a time. Good-bye.” CHAPTER HI Next morning Dr. Johnston examined Hainton thoroughly, and looked grave. “You’ve absolutely played havoo with your constitution. As a matter of fact, your body. Another attack like this and I can’t answer for consequences. It is necessary that you take six months’ rest in a quiet place, and give up alcohol.” “The simple life and all that sort of tiling, eh? Madeleine has already laid your attractive plan before me.” “That saves a lot of trouble. Are you going to do it, or arc you not? It comes to this, are you going to live, or do you want to commit a peculiarly obnoxious form of suicide, involving others, hurting them unspeakably, and disgracing your family?” “You put things rather bluntly, I must say.”

“It’s no manner of use doing otherwise. I’ll give you to-day to think over it. To-morrow, if it’s fine, I’ll motor you over to sec the place.” “Has it got good stabling?" “No, but you could run up temporary stalls; and the hunting and fishing is good, i’ll give you introductions t.o some of the men round. There’s Major Olroyd, who’s a jolly good sort, and will ‘give you a lead’ to start with.”

“And why all this solicitude for my welfare? Interesting case? Is that all?

“No.” The monosyllabic came out sharply and crisply. “Your wife and I were brought up as boy and girl together. She’s come to mo us her only friend to help her. It happens that I’m a doctor, and therefore in a position to do it. I’ll conic for you at twelve to-morrow.” “And what if I refuse to como?” “You won’t. Y'ou’ve far too much respect left for yourself. Good-bye.” He left the room and went to the telegraph office and sent off a wire to the farm. “Mr and Mrs Hainton and self coming to-morrow at one o’clock.” Then he told Madeleine what he had done. "Have you persuaded him to try?" “No and yes, which sounds cryptic, but isn’t. He’ll go, and when lie gets there he’ll be taken ill, much too 111 to move, but you mustn’t be alarmed. I shall keep him In bed till wo get the horses down and our plan of campaign fixed up." They were talking in the coffee-" room of the hotel, and were the only people there. He got up and walked to the window, standing with his back to her, watching with unseeing eyes the people passing in the street. “By the way, your husband asked me why I was doing this." “Yes?” Somehow, the one word, instead of the expected question, seemed to make it harder to go on. “I told him it was friendship for you, but it’s more than that." “I was afraid so. I saw the photograph on the mantelpiece.” “I’m doing it against my better judgment.” She came forward and laid her hand on liis arm. “If you always remember that I trust you, perhaps that will make things easier. I don’t think you'll fail, Ted.” “You don’t know everything," he burst out.

“Yes, I think I do. You’ve asked him to try. You’ve asked me to try. Surely you can try yourself. And wo must remember that wo are rowing in the same boat together, and that if one fails, all fail. That will keep us straight.” Ho turned round and faced her, looking into her eyes, searching her face. “You’re a brave woman, Madeleine. Most of the woman I know would have left him years ago. I’m not at all sure that wouldn't bo tho best thing now. He would soon come to the cud of his tether, and you would bo- free."

“Free for what? Free to reproach myself ever afterwords that I abandoned him in his need. Do you think there would be any happiness for me if i was freed under those circumstances? You yourself said my duty was to hold him."

“I spoke as the doctor, not as a man."

“No, you didn't. Y'our best self spoke. You aren’t yourself now.” 11c began lo pace up and down the room, and as she watched him the tears rose to her eyes.

“My best self doesn’t exist. It's been rubbed out, squashed. I’ve lived by myself, and for myself. At first I was ambitious. That soon died down, and since, I've worked like a carthorse for the price of my food.” She let him go on, as she thought it would case him, but her heart was full of pity for him. Site saw him as tlie boy she had known years ago, and he saw her as the girl of tho photograph. Suddenly he slopped. “I'm a nice sort of chap to talk about helping you; but somehow it had to come out. Now we’ll make a start, and we’ll not mention Hie past again. Y'our coming so suddenly into my life again upset my balance.” Then im saw how near she to tears. “Try lo forgive me, Madeleine. I'm afraid, thinking of myself, I've hurt you horribly.” Siie laughed bravely, “A bad beginning makes a good ending, we used to say, Ted."

Someone knocked at Hie door, md he hastily shook hands with her. “Your chauffeur wishes To see you, sir. An urgent message, I think," said the porter. “lie’s waiting in the hail.”

“Remember, you’ve only got your (bin overcoat on,’’ she called after him as lie went out. At lirst the'thought for his welfare touched him deeply. She must care fm- him, or she would not worry over the thinness of his coat. But then, lie. thought billerly, “it's only what she’s uruslomed lo say. As (ieoffrey’s wile slie says il constantly I" him. As (5 eo (Trey’s wife —all! Iha I was il. i ieoffrey’s wife. A had beginning,” he mullererl lo himself. “Beg pardon, what did you say sir?"

asked John. I “.Arc you deaf, man? Where’s the call, of course?” “Out to Horscley’s, sir.” “Where Die dickens is Horseley*s?” “A mile beyond the Gale Inn, down the little lane on the left.' After they had left the crowded thorough fares of the town behind, Johnston jammed down the accelerator and drove furiously. The surface of the road was just drying, and the car skidded from side to side. John held on grimly, enduring for a time in silence. But soon the recklessness of the driving became too much even for his nerves. -“Be pardon, sir, but aren’t we going just a trifle too fast? 'The roads be main skiddy, and we’ll be in the ditch 500 n..”

“You're getting old and nervous, John. By Jovcl that was a shave.” Another car had swung round the corner that they, were .approaching, and only by great luck they just cleared it.

After that the doctor slowed down, and drove at a mare reasonable speed. “I was trying to keep pane with my thoughts, John, and they were racing on ahead.” They drove over the moorland, and presently came to the Gate Inn, a lonely third-rate hostelry, with a look of decay about it. In the doorway, stood Iho landlord, a forbidding-look-ing, surly-visaged man. As they passed the doctor shuddered. “That place always gives me the creeps. Somehow I associate it with tragedy.”

“A rare place for poachers, I’ve a-heard, and they do tell that he’s not too particular what he do buy, and who ’e do buy It orf. ’E do worse than that; that I do know of for certain..”

“What’s That, John?" “Well, I 'ardly likes to tell, sir, but ’e do shoot voxes.” Johnston laughed outright. The black mood had vanished, but John looked hurt at his serious statement being received' with such levity, and maintained a dignified silence till they reached their destination. On their way home again the oar went badly. “You can’t play no tricks with anything that wears a bonnet, zur. You’ve a-got to humour them. If you don’t they turns spiteful.” “Pll take your word for it, John, but I haven't had your experience." “Better for you if you had, zur. You ouslit 1o get married, you did. You wouldn’t go risking your neck and other volks’ lives then, so reckless." “Ah, well, we must see about it. Perhaps some ray—who knows?” (To be continued next Saturday.)