Heart of Gold.

Auckland Star, Volume LIX, Issue 224, 21 September 1928, Page 15

Heart of Gold.

I By C. M. MATHESON |j E Author of "NUT IN THE HUSK," etc. etc. H

»"*" ....iiimiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiijtiillllullUllUlUUlliUliUUXUililWlj CHAPTER XIII. ''Mother, when can I see Jim?" •'lhat s how she goes on all the time," said Mrs. Mallory. "It's nothing but Jim. When can I see him? Where's he gone? Over and over she asks me. I don't know where he is. I don't know anything about him. If he did what he ought he'd come here and ask for her. It, would be only right and proper if he did that." * "He's disappeared," Tom said. "Slunk off, he has. Perhaps he's started out again to get to Brazil: I can't understand why lie never comes round to see us sometime or other. If Doreen hadn't stood up in court and said what she did it would have gone hardly with him. It doesn't seem to me right—going off and never a word to any of us, not even to IMP."

"Doreen must forget all about him. He'd never do for her after what's happened. It' he'd stood by her as slie stood by him it would be different. But he's never come near her."

"His lordship asked me what I'd say if lier ladyship took Doreen in the house us her own maid. He seemed a bit uncertain about, it, but I told him I'd be right down glad. He said her ladyship would be moving about a bit as soon as the season was over and Doreen could go too. He Mil id while her ladyship was jn town she thought she could get Doreen trained—hairdreasing and a bit of dressmaking and so on, and then take her away with her when she went."

"And what did you say to that?" "I said I believed it would be a godsend to my girl. Take her mind off all the trouble she'd had. Set her up properly again."

"It might be a good thing as you say," agreed Mrs. Mallory. "I'd rather she was here with me, but Doreen would be all right with her ladyship." The project was broached to Doreen, who received it favourably—that ia to say, she did not demur. Her ladyship, Lord Scotley's sister, was a woman beloved by all her employees and dependents. Older than her brother, a fine sportswoman, a notable hostess, with decided political opinions and her fingers in a good many charitable pies, she was a woman of the widest pympathies and complete understanding. Although she was by no means certain that Doreen had not actually committed the deed for which she had been tried and acquitted, yet sho considered the extenuating circumstances would condone even such a crime. Indeed, she said to her brother that one could hardly call the thing a crime. "Accident" waa the more appropriate word.

She was intensely sorry for Doreen, who had been made the vehicle of the tragedy. As soon as she knew her suggestion to have the girl trained to fill the post of personal maid to herself was acceptable, she made the necessary arrangements. Doreen took up this new life very gratefully, for the empty days succeeding the trial had hung heavily on her hands. She had but one desire—to see Jim again. No one could give her any news of him; no one had seen him since he had left the court a free man. Mrs. Mallory still spoke indignantly of his behaviour—he had never come near the child who had thrown herself forward to save him. She counselled Doreen to think of him no more. ''Some day," she said, "when you've got over what you've been through, you'll find another man to love you. Don't you worry about that, my darling "I don't want anyone else," Doreen said. "But he's never been to see you all this time. He's never even sent you a word. He's finished and done with." "He must have some reason for nfet coming," Doreen said. "Some day he will tell me about it. He will come back to me some day." "She's set on that man," Mrs. Mallory moaned. "He's spoilt her life for her." During these early days with Lady Edith, Doreen did not lack would-be lovers. Her story made a great impression on the susceptibilities of the men sho met. Her fair and childish beauty was undeniable, although the spai'kling animation that had lighted it was now lost. Men either entirely iipproved of Doreon or disapproved of her utterly. One of those who completely approved was a young colonial, a friend of Lord Scotley's, who often visited the Cadogan Square house. He, like all the others with whom Doreen came in contact (and many who did not), knew her story and felt its interest. i\s she descended the ■tails one evening he spoke to her. "Say," ht' said, "you surely are the whitest little girl! I've a great admiration for you." Bh3 looked at him, a swift glance under her lashes, and went on her way. There were so many men who had a great admiration for her. But • she l'earcd them all. She felt no interest whatever in any of them. One hot afternoon, as she returned from one of the courses of lessons Lady Edith bad arranged for her, she saw Jiin, met him face to face in the street. He, in his worn clothes, his poverty so apparent, was taking his aimless way along the pavement's edge. Doreen swift-footed in the crowd, daintily dressed, very attractive, actually passed him, without seeing him, so close that her sleeve brushed him. A moment or two later she turned back, having forgotten some small errand, and as she wheeled round she met him squarely, face to face. Despite his appearance she knew him instantly. Her face flushed rose. 1 r eyas shone like stars. She held out her hand to him and cried his name. "Jim!" He stared at her for a moment and then he, too, Hushed a dull red. What could he say to her—this girl whom he tried night after night to tear from his memory? He was overwhelmingly jealous of her comfort, overwhelmingly and bitterly ashamed of his own poverty and need. He was down and out, she was considered, she was the heroine, he was the outcast. The fact remained that, despite her acquittal, she had killed a man, she had had a sordid adventure; her innocent appearance was all a sham, her flower face a danger. The stern Puritan in Jim revolted, the proud man rebelled. He would have none 'of her. As she stood now in his very path, barring his way, he stopped dead, stared at her a moment, then shouldered past her, pushing her from him into the crowd.

Doreen reached Cadogan Square. She fled to her room. She shut the door and turned and threw herself on the bed. She had seen Jim; she had spoken to him; he had thrust her aside, thrust her out of his way, disowned her. Now, truly, she told herself, her heart was broken. There was nothing left to live for, nothing to hope for. She had been upheld by this one desire—to meet her dear Jim again, reconcile him to her, love him and receive his love, make all hia life blossom. This hope was dead now; Jim wanted nothing from her, he would not even speak to her as he .passed her in the street. She shivered as she lay there, facing her new tragedy. The heavy thrust of his shoulder had told her more than the most urgent and impassionate "speech. He hated her. He had finished with her entirely. She was worse than nothing to him. Her spirit, so long crushed, awoke, renewed its brave strength. Her pride returned to her. She reacted to the stimulus of Jim's contempt. She would think of him no more, forget him, pretend he had never been in her life at all. He had looked poor; his face was thin and pale; he had looked wretched. All this was his own fault. If he had not sulked in hiding all this time, if he' had come to see her as she supposed he would he wou'J not have so long been in trouble. Lady Edith had said again and again that his lordship waa prepared to help Jim if Doreen ever found him. All her love for Jim, she told herself, was dead, killed in that ugly moment in the street. Doreen rose from her refuge on the bed. She went to the mirror .and brushed her hair till the silky fair waves shone and glistened, she adjusted her neat dress. Then a thought came to her —a thought" that had never until now entered her head. "Did Jim after all kill Conrad Murray 1" Doreen held her breath as though she faced, not a query, but a revelation. "Is that why he is lying low? Is that why Le is afraid?" She was momentarily convinced that Jim was guilty of the terrible deed. Following this thought came another. "If Jim really killed him how could he let me go through the trial?"

She answered it. "He was afraid. And he never really loved me." In the tribunal of her own heart Doreen judged Jim. She waa sure that Jim waa the murderer; that he still went in fear of discovery, in fear of recognition. Nothing else could excuse him for thrusting her aside in the street. Nothing—nothing could excuse his silence towards her all this time. Throughout all these weeks of sorrow and foreboding which olie had endured that he might go free, he had sent no word either of inquiry or gratitude or love.

And yet, if he had indeed killed Conrad Murray as people first thought, he knew she was innocent of the crime. He had known it always. And he had kept silence and let her go—she a young girl —up to the Very gates of. death. Jim! In whom she had reposed her love, her confidence! In that hour of revulsion Doreen went to the other extreme of feeling for Jim. She resented even bis memory. She could not bear to think that Jim—Jim-—had done this thing. Some other man—but not her lover. Two men. One whom she had loved— still loved—still tenderly remembered. One whom she had, in some degree, wronged. She some day might again meet him, love him, be happy with him. The other—this rough man who had pushed her in the street. This coward, this heartless brute. This ingrate. The first was her dream, the second reality. Her dream sha cherished, the reality she abhorred. In order to forget what had happened she steeled her heart; she set out again on her quest— to find true love in the world.

(To be continued daily.)