The Opal Ring

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20125, 22 February 1937, Page 4

The Opal Ring

By ROSALINE MASSON. Author of “The Transgressors,” "Leslie Farquhar,” etc., etc.

. CHAPTER XXXIV. —Continued. “Mora Vent back to Glasgow to her •father without having told me. She never saw him again. He came to Glasgow—Mr Wilson saw him Jim, we must not be too hard on Charles —he has been punished. Mr Wilson told me he was ‘smashed’; that was the word he used. He cared for Mora. 1 think lie cared only for himself and Mora; but 1 think latterly he cared for Mora more than for himself.” *

“Poor devil 1” Jim said, in a low voice. And that was all lie ever said about Charles.

They sat quiet for a little, each busy with a line of absorbing thought. The soft, warm air, quiet save for little faint country sounds —bird life, the hum of a bee, the bark of a distant dog—soothed them.

June in the Scottish Highlands. To one side of them was the half-wild park of Druimdarocli, with here and there -clumps of trees or great single trees, a line of pale willows and Hags marking a dip in the park where water lay, and further on patches of dark green, where the park met the moor and grass gave place to the young June heather. Close on their other side was the dark brick outer wall of the garden, pale purple wisteria hanging in festoons over the top of it; and above it, far off in the summer sky, the peak of the great mountain.

June in the Scottish Highlands, and ‘ the cuckoo in every wood, in throaty j note telling his name repeatedly. I Jim gut up and walked across the strip of grass between the arbour and I the rose beds, carefully selected a perfect red rose, half blown, and brought it back and gave it to Mrs Stewart. “It’s bonza to smell English roses again,” he said. “Scottish,” she corrected him. “That’s right!” “Bend down, laddie.” He obeyed, and she stuck the rose in his buttonhole. “And now, Aunt Ally, where’s Mora?” “In Glasgow, dear. But she’s coming back the day after to-morrow. She said it was better I should welcome you alone, and have you all to myself for a little while. And perhaps it was. Perhaps I deserved it, after you had come twelve thousand miles to see me—and only me.” “Now then. Aunt Ally, you don’t be- ; lieve me! You aren’t properly grateful! I assure you I didn’t wait in Sydney even to have my hair cut ” “I can see that, dear.” They both laughed. Then Jim grew grave. I “The day after to-morrow —that’s a I considerable time,” lie said. “It needn’t be so long, Jim dear —• if you went to-morrow morning and fetched her.” “Oh!” said Jim, “but wouldn’t that be rather audacious? I mean she might lie angry—do you really think ?” “If you ask me what I- really think, Jim, I really think that she made the excuse about my welcoming you alone because she did not like to be—to be waiting.” “Do you mean she does not want to see me ?” “Oh. Jim—go to her!” He drew a long breath, and a sudden light blazed in his eyes. “I’ll go now!” he cried, springing up. She laughed at that, and as he sat down again, rather shamefacedly, she took his hand, and held it tight. “Do you remember, Jim,” she said, presently, “last time we sat together in this very arbour —nearly a year ago now? And then also you had come quickly, dear, so quickly that you had not waited to—you had on a" brown suit.” “I remember.” “And I told you about Druimdaroch.” Jjm looked up quickly, and opened his lips to speak. Then he said nothing. “Mora has been with me ever since she came flying back from abroad when she heard I was ill,” Mrs Stewart said, with change of voice. “She went back once to Glasgow for a day or two, to cheer up her father, and he came here once for a week-end when I was better. lam sure he must be lonely in Glasgow without her, though he seems happy to be living there again. It is very strange, but he likes Glasgow.” “Well, he mustn’t take Mora—but won’t he come here again, now you are all right?” “No, Jim.” Mrs Stewart’s voice was regretful. “It seems so ininhospitable of me not to propose it I’m sorry about it. But it’s not manageable. The fact is, my little home now is not a big one, and Mora has Miss Mackenzie’s room, and you have the spare room, and so ” “Whew!” said Jim. “Then I clear out!” “° ! -J ust a s I' have you again l Dont talk of such a thing!” She put her hand up to his head, and took a flrm grip 0 f his hair as if to hold him tight. “But I necdn r. go fur. I could sleep out here quite comfy. Aunt Aliy. 1 'e slept out in the open before prettv olten, and not in a gxrjou of either, I can tell you! Or—oh, I have it! I’ll camp at Druhndarocb, in my own old room I How’a that, eh?” But, Jim, don’t you know? D-uim-daroch—Druimdaroch has been sold Jim I” “Yes, I know that all right.” Well, dear, what would the new owner say?” “Oil, he wouldn’t mind. lie’s a good chap, though a bit simple." “Jim! Do you know who he is? We’ve never been told! Who is he?” Jim grinned, nervously. “Well, to tell the truth, it seems extraordinarily presumptuous now I-’ni here; hut the fact is it’s me.” “You? You, Jim! What do you ! “Yes, that’s right. I bought Druimdaroch.” “You—bought—Druimdaroch ! Jim ! then it’s yours! Oh, Jim!” “Now don’t take it like that, little Aunt Ally—my hat! lt’s nothing lo ci v about; ft’s all right!" “ But I'"‘ so happy. Jim. [ must erv. I never thought. T should lie so happv again. You hack—and Druimdaroch not to go lo strangers. Oh, to think of i!—Druimdaroch yours!” now. You don’t suppose 1 could let it go out of tlie fainilv? The lawyer chap in Edinburgh had the sense'to cable to me. so 1 cabled back to buy j if- 1 would have told you. but 1 wailed because of not knowing how Hifngs were here, and always thinking l should hear. !• didn't want lo barge in! bul l thought I’d belter secure if, in case someone else nipped il up—some war profiteer with a Cockney accent—which reminds me. do ‘ vou notice how my accent, has improved?” bhu laughed through her tears. “ H

was almost the first tiling I noticed, after 1 noticed how thin, you had grown,” she cried. “But, Jim, dear, could you afford it; we never thought of vou—you never told us ”

“Oh, 1 could afford it, right enough. Besides it was really Druimdaroch money that did it, with some help from dad's opal mine.”

“I can’t believe It true! Druimdaroch not out of the family! Oh, how thankful I am, and what would your uncle she paused, uncomfortably. "[ think my uncle would have approved, in the circumstances.” Jim spoke with a little return of his gravity and sententiousness. Mrs Stewart smiled recollection of this. Then suddenly she remembered something. “Jim.” she said, turning to him, “do you know Mr Wilson tried to buy Druimdar.och. lie was just too late.” “Mr Wilson? Cripes; Oh, was he vexed? I say, perhaps you would have preferred ” “ I ? Oli. no! I—well, to tell you the truth, I—it was, of course, very kind of him. I know he did it from very friendly motive,'but I felt—l could not help thinking what dear John—Druimdaroch, you know, —Jim ” “Yes, I understand, Aunt Ally.” “You would, dear; you are one of the family.” “That’s all right.” A sudden thought made Jim grin broadly. “Just too late, you say?” “Yes; it had been sold that very morning!” “Then—why, that was me. ‘Australia will be there !’ " “Australia—yes, that reminds me, Jim, what have you done about your station out there?” “Taken Tom Martin —I told you. about him —into partnership. He’s a dinkum mate—a white man—and deserves it. A bonza little wife, too, and the eldest son is my godson. You should see him—a rummy little kid! They’ll run the place all right.” “Jim, I‘m beginning to realise, you have a great deal out there, and you are leaving it ” “Some day I’ll take you to see it. Yes, indeed, it’s no use shaking your head: a journey there is quite easy—you would enjoy the voyage. And talking of Tom Martin reminds me, if you would like me to, if you wish it, I would take the name of Stewart.” Jim! It was your uncle’s wish, “That so? Well, that settles it—l mean, if it’s yours?” “Unless you feel that your father’s name—would be " “it’s this way, little aunt. Tom Martin told me just before I left; we were talking over business matters, and so on, and he knew I’d bought Druimdaroch. He told me that dad had once said to him, when I was quite a kid—you know dad and he "were mates and worked together—dad was one night speaking to him of old days and mother, and Tom remembered his saying that she was such a tender little thing, and that he had taken her from you all. and from her beautiful home, and that he would like to think that some day I might go home to her relations, and might perhaps take her name—the name of Stewart. Tom remembered it, he said, because if was the name of the Scottish kings.”

“Perhaps, Jim, your father had it in his mind that you might one day inherit Druimdaroch?”

“Oh, I don’t think so! But he used often to say that a man never minded Ills daughter, when she married, dropping her father’s name and taking her husband’s, and he did not see any reason why he should object to his son, if he wished to, dropping his father’s name and taking his mother’s. My father was a very fTne man,” Jim ended. simply.

“You need not drop your father’s name. Jim. You could call yourself Brodie-Stewart—a double name, you know, with a hyphen.”

“Oh. that’s rather swanky. We’ll drop the hyphen. Now, we’ve talked enough about, that; you’re looking tired; you’ve had enough of me for the meantime, and we have plenty of time before us. I am going to carry you indoors.” And. suiting the action to the word, he gathered up the little woman into his strong arms and set off with his light burden towards the Dower House. “Is this how you carry your lambs?” she asked, happily. “That’s right,” Jim assured her. (To be continued.)