THROUGH TROUBLED WATERS.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 4, Issue 47, 18 June 1915, Page 7

THROUGH TROUBLED WATERS.

COMPLETE SHOUT STORY

(■Copyright.)

The gathering darkness fell gently •over th? city, enveloping the tall chim-ney-pots in a dusky haze, and putting to flight the last stray gleams of the wintry sun. In the busy streets beneath, where the human tide surged to and fro in a neverending stream, the gleaming gas-lamps were already lighted and were sheddinsi their glow on faces young and old, joyous and weary.

In a wide, sombre-looking street some little distance from the brilliantly-light-ed thoroughfare stood a large hospital, its grounds enclosed by high iron railings, and looking as if thu winds and rains of centuries had beaten on lis massive walls. Streams of light filtered from its narrow windows and shed long, shining patterns on the roadway. Within the hospital, where science and skill waged war with disease and death, could be heard the sound of happy childish voices. These came from the Children's Ward, where rows of tiny beds, each one inhabited by a small morse) of humanity, stood side by side down the long length of the ward. The bright light from a gleaming gasjet overheard shone on spotless white walls and scarlet bed-covers; on happy rosy faces of wee mites in the convalescent stage; and alas! that it should he so—on wizened white faces of children in name only—poor little suffering mortals who lay stiJl and silent amidst the happy laughter of their more fortunate, companions. In one of these beds, separated from the others by a large screen, a tiny child lay sleeping. Her tangled golden curls were scattered over the pillow and her small dimpled hands were crossed on her breast as if she had fallen asleep in the act of her childish prayers. A kindly-faced nurse and a tall man with a keen air about his strong face stood gazing down on the sleeping child. The man. was the first to break the silence.

"She will do now, nurse. Give her this as soon as she wakes, and keep her quiet." Then, in a musing tone: — "Strange that her face should be su familiar to me. You say there was no mark on her clothing that might give a clue to her identity?" raising his eyes abruptly to the nurse's face. "No. none. She was brought straight here after the accident, and from wh:t 1 gathered, she must have been quite alone when she was knocked down. '

"Humph! Strange how some people let tlieir children wander about the streets —and such a pretty little maid, too!" Here a softer light came into the grey eyes that most people described as cold and hard. It lingered for the fraction of a second as his gaze rested on the flushed baby face, and then fled, giving place to the cold, hard look that earned for Doctor Curtis the title of "Stone faced .John." "I shall be here in the morning, and you know what to do in the meantime"; and without a look towards the occupants of the other cots, Dr. Curtis strode out of the ward, and crossing the wide entrance hall passed out into the night.

That same evening, about two hours slter, Dr. John Curtis sat in his study gazing into the glowing embers of the lire. His whole attitude betokened weariness and dejection, but his mind was in a tumult. The ashes of a dead past had been raked up by a fleeting likeness in the face of a sleeping child to a woman who, in the years gone by, had stirred John Curtis's heart as no other woman had before or since.

The old passionate love that he, in his mad delusion, had thought to be dead came sweeping over him, and so poignant was it in its intensity that involuntarily he groaned aloud. The spirit of past happiness mocked at him from the fast-dying embers. Tho spirit of dead hopes lay at his feet and wept; and the spirit of present pain was close against his side. Once again he could see her face .1; she had looked on that never-to-be-forgotten evening when they had walk ed together in her father's garden. He could see the sweet eyes upraised to lib and hear once more the low, musical voice.

He was going up to London the next day to enter for his final exam., and Jien He remembered how he had tried to tell her his hopes and dreams —dreams of a future when she would be -aith him always until death took one or the other. He had tried to tell her all this, but somehow the words would not come, and he had left her at last without one word of all that was in his heart. He thought she understood, and he went away with a smile on his lips and with hope singing high in his breast.

Then had come the shattering of his cherished love-dream, when the account of her engagement to another man was brought to his notice.

To a man of weaker fibre the news would have been utterly crushing, but the iron determination and rigid selfcontrol inherited from a long line of Scottish ancestors stood John Curtis in good stead, and he threw himself into bis work with a grim re.solve to overcome all obstacles. He never saw her again, and he did not .->eek to: and as ;he years brought him success and all that men count for happiness, lie believed that he had forgotten, and now the chance sight of a little maid with golden curls and a scarlet mouth had brought back the past with all its r:ijjluro and pain. Here .John's reverie v:a.-> disturbed !>.v he touch of a. cold nose on his hand, ■nd looking down, be met the faithful, idoring gaze of Pat, bis staunch companion—his almost confidante.

John's liand wandered caressingly ver the dog's shaggy brown head, and .• slow smile (based the hard lines from •■is month. Well, Pat, old Imy, we've managed m rub along together.so far, and 1 think i--Ml mauat'e to the end of the chapter, ■sentiment's all very well, but it's apt to disturbing at times, so what do you -ay to a run before dinner?" and *t-ret<'}i!n<r bis long legs, John stood up and gazed long and steadily at the rejection of his white faee in a small mirror that hum/ on the wall ; then '' Vou fool!" lie .said, slowly and ' arlv, and with a short he passd fiom the room, with Pit close at his I ■ Wdl. bow i« tie' liith- ijiic to-'htv?" The bri'dit December sunlight was mdmg the children's war.l and glint;ng th" unknown child's curls to a coppery line. Rh" lav still and silent nnd :az«i up into John', fa- with a pair of bmp'd blue eyes with 110 -J: ido.v of fear n their soft dopths, on.lv a great and so.'pTnn wond-i John's big band chis.'d ore! tie* till'.' i'uiple.l one, iin.i smiled down at - '■!'. TA ell. little one, 'j,ot ;inv pu'n any * f hr> "-aid. Klsie'n lerr hurts." I,lie ehild replied, ■«-ith a slight trembling of th" underJohn's boor* contracted as the sweet ' ahv treble fell on his ears, and he looked at. the wailing nurse with an air of nuuirv.

"Have you found out anything about I tfie child?" he said. I

"No; she keeps asking for her mother, but doesn't seem to know her surname. 1 asked her where she lived, and she said 'in a big house,' but 1 can't get any deiinite information out of her."

"Ah, well! We can only wait until someone turns up to claim her. I expect some mother's heart is weJl-nign broken this morning," and John turned once more to the child. "Is Muvvcr tummin' soon?" Pathetic blue eyes were raised to his, and once more he felt that odd contraction of the heart.

"Yes, mother's corning soon; but Elsie must be a good little girl, and lie, quite still, so that all those nasty bruises can get well." A faint smile crossed the baby face. "What's oor name?'' she said, sweetly-

"John," he said, quickly, and then wondered whv he had said it.

" I like 'oo, Don. 'Top with me til! muvver turns," and Elsie's small hand clung to his. "Oh, but Doctor is busy, darling," the nurse replied; "and has to see all the other little boys and girls."'

John laughed. "Tf you are a good little girl and don't cry when 1 look at those bruises you shall have a nice dolly next time I come," he said. The nurse, who was busy removing bandages, wondered why she had nev.r noticed what a charming voice Dr. Curtis had. She looked at him curiously as he bent, over the child, and noted the tender touch of the strong hands. I expect he's had a love-story gone wrong," she soliloquized, and heaved a deep sigh of sympathy. Elsie bore the examination manfully. "I'm not e'ying," she said, in a brav*c little "oice, as the nurse replaced the bandages. "No; I think you have won that dolly," John replied. "When is 'oo tummin' adain?" she said, with a seductive little smile. "As soon as I can, Elsie; and I shall bring the biggest dolly I can find with me."

"One dat can go to s'eep?" with an anxious little air.

"Yes, one that can go to sleep. Goodbye, lille maid" —and the soft light was still lingering in his eyes as he passed from bed to bed in the various wards oF the hospital. " 'Stone-fared John' looks jolly pleased with himself this morning," one young student remarked to another, and they both turned to gaze after the tall figure.

Late that afternoon, as John was sitting over a solitary cup of tea, his telephone bell rang sharply, and, jumping up, he answer it himself. "Are you there?' 1 a woman's voice asked: and he recognized it as belonging to the nurse in charge of the childlen's ward.

"Yes," lie said, sharply. "Anything « rone?"

"The littlo girl's mother came aboiu an hour ago/' was the reply. "The police have been searching for the child all day, but it was only this afternoon that she heard that one answering to the description of her own had been brought here. She came at once, and ■.was overjoyed to find the child only slightly hurt. I mentioned your name, and Elsie talked continually of you. The mother's name is Hutton, and she wants you to call at her house n:i you' way here to-morrow. The address i 9, Argyle Street."

"Very well." John hung i<,» the receiver slowly, and after enrH i.iy iotimg down the given address, wot back to his unfinished ten, wh'le an extra ordinary feeling of something pending brooded in the atmosphere. He could not analyse it. but it was there and remained with him for the rest of the evening.

The next morning, shortly after ten o'clock, John was standing on the front step of No. 9, Argyle Street. It was a solid, square-built house situated in a quiet street leading out of one of tho main thoroughfares, and his keen eyes noted the perfect tasto of the artistic curtains that shaded the broad windows.

A trim maid-servant opened the door rnd ushered him into a Lw-ceihnged drawing-room. "Mrs. Hutton will be here in a few minutes, sir," she said, ;«nd left him gazing curiously around.

Tt was essentially a woman's roon and John who had a keen eye for beauty, drew a deep breath of admira tion. The keynote was grey, relieved bv touches of pale mauve and lelicate pink. The grey walls were covered with dainty water-colours, with here and there a rare bit of ehina. Soft cushions reposed negligently 011 the low chairs, and a few choice hothouse blooms filled the air with fragrance. A bright lire binned briskly in the open fireplace, and a large, placid-look-ing cat purred contentedly on the hearthrug. It was a room that, without being at all sumptuous or extravagantly furnished, gave one the idea of perfect taste, infinitely restful to tired bodies and jaded nerves.

So this was Elsie's home, he thought, and fell to wondering what the of the child who had so stirred his heart was like.

He was gazing abstractedly into the fire, and did not hear the door open. He became aware of a soft rustling noise and, turning quickly round, found himself gazing into two deep violet eyes upraised to his. " .lohn! " " Mary ! You 1 " There are times in life when the whols. world seems to stand still and when one's mental faculties seem temporarily paraly/ 'd. For one long, agonizing moment .John Curtis looked into the eyes of the woman be still loved, while his heart throbbed and leapt in hi*, brea.st. Mary was the first to break the silence.

" I wanted to thani: you." she h:iid, simply, "for your goodness to my dariing. When the nurse mentioned Dr. lohn C• irtis I felt sere it was you, and il weemed nli if Providence had decreed that my child dionhl be liroiight to your hospital." and, sinking iuLo a chair, (die molioned him to .sit do\\ 11. ''lt certainly docs -eem as if Prowdel'.ce liietl'l! OS (a meet again," John replied, -in in.: opposite her and trying to keen hi- vaiee a.tder control; 11 j:lid by t hi' hae,.| <>,' Intl.- cl.ihl." _ ' Vi s ; il l.iod had taken her from me I .re-lid !■;. ,e I,: en indeed desolate," she 1. pie d. " .sic is all 1 have. 1 ler nurse left I: 1 alone iii the nursery when I r. as out. and. K-aicj. of .1 somewliat rov- > 11 lc d'-f: i-.il ieii, K'sle found her way to the front d' or, whieh by -onn- oversight had been h It c.jicu. Sin l found her way into the sin el. and i;i<i-t have wanden d a long way from home. What took placo afterwards I can only conjecture, but 1 shudder to think ot what might have happened." Iler voice broke. John's eyes were alight with sympathy a- he looked at her, so pale and loiely, with her bright head thrown into sirong relief again-t the vioh t-hucd cushion. - I- your h 11 :b:ijid ih-ad, then?" he inipiired, gent 1 \. Yes ; threi years ago," she replied, briefly. There was n short, pause, nnd the/. John spoke again. '• 1 heard of your engagement . nil mibserpicnt marriage, but I did not know you were n widow." "No?" A 'light smile played round the norfeet mouth. "But I think your

interest in my affairs ceased —shall wo say, five years ago?" And she looked at him questioningly. John leant forward in his chair and regarded her steadily. "A little more than five years ago," lie said, slowly, "I was the happiest man on earth, living in a 'fool's Paradise.' I loved a woman whom I believed loved me in return, and it was my great dosire to make this woman my wife, hut tilers were other things to consider as well —work to be done and a certain pasition to attain before 1 could offer her n home worthy of her acceptance. I was alone with her one night in a garden"—his voice'becamc low and tender a.s he spoke —"and the moonlight was shining down into her eyes. The birds had all sung themselves to and there was a cool, sweet smell of pines in the air. ] wanted to toll her all my hopes and aspirations, but the words 1 wanted would not come, yet I thought slip understood and would wait for me. But I wa.s mistaken"—and the old bitter note crept into his voice—"for shortly afterwards I was told she was going to marry another man."

"And you judged her without question or knowledge? How like a man!" and getting up she paced the room with slow, graceful movements. "I am going to tell you something.' 1 ' 1 she said presently, and paused before him. "Something von never knew and never even guessed. It's an old, old story, and one that has been enacted over and over again in drama and in real life. "To outside observers, my father w.v; a reserved and kindly man, if somewhat eccentric. My mother, as you know, ivas a confirmed invalid. We iived comfortably and even luxuriously, and F was brought up to look upon the good things of life as my natural heritage. It was when F was twenty years oi ago that I learnt the true state of affairs, and was told that unless 1 married Owen Hutton we should be penniless and homeless within the year. I need not go into details of how matters came to this pass; sufficient to say that my father had been living on his capital for years, and the inevitable smash had come. My poor mother was unaware of all this, and it was for her sake that T sacrificed myself to a loveless marriage with Owen Hutton.

"His money saved us, and the outside world, which knew nothing of the real state of affairs, congratulated me on having made such a good marriage. That is all." And she turned away and gazed out into the street. John's face was pale with emotion. He clenched his hands until the knuckles shone white.

"1 had no idea of this," he said, speaking slowly and huskily. "I thought you were like other women —only ton ready to barter yourself for the sake of gold. Forgive me," he cried, with sudden passion, "for only God knows what I went through, and oven now I Mary, is it too late?" and lie held out imploring hands. She turned round with a great joy and wonder dawning in her eyes. "You love me still?" she breathed.

" 'Many waters cannot quench love,'" be replied, "and though they threatened to engulf me, they did not drown my love for you." Her face was beautiful in its tenderness —a little tremulous smile played round her I ins.

"I too, have suffered, and yet loved you through it all." she said, softly.

He came towards her with outstretched arms. "And you will come to me—you and Elsie?" he cried.

"Yes," she said simply, as he drew her into his arms, " for I love you John."

And later on that Jay, in the ward of a certain hospital, a n:an and a woman might have been seen ltonding over a child's cot. The three fare'' were irradiated with happiness. Two, because tliey had found their hearts' desire "after many days.'' and one because "Muvver had told her that 'Don' was going to 'top with them alwa vs."