The Hillman

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 191, 2 November 1927, Page 6

The Hillman

by

E.PHILLIRS OPPENHEIM.

nun'EK XXXVI (Continued.) , John took up hi* hat and plovfs. I utu r<Ldy.' he announced. ‘'Let Ills motor waa waiting at the door. Be - TTohr. she said. ** re member tliat sensitive. Be careful I" -Tr r*- Is only one thing to do or t... jfci;.-, ' ■ ,»r. -* .vftr'tJ “There is only He drove the ear doan Piccadilly | filUy as u i-«i through ti>o traffic, and gl> nc;r.g every now and then with uni ii >on Lae finally he cs:o« . Ito a standstill before Louiae*, hou *<• land th* engine with deliberate I

Then he rang the bell, and was .<.-,wn into her little drawing-room, .. seemc.-l to have become a perfect bower of pink and white lilac. H sat waiting a* if in a dream, unible to d' ide upon his words, unable even to sift his thoughts. The one purpose with which he had come, the one question he designed to ask, was burning in his brain. The minutes of her absence seemed tragically long. He • h;k I up and down, oppressed oy •he perfume of the flowers. The room seemed too small for him. He longed to throw op-m all the windows, to escape from the atmosphere, in which for the first time he seemed to find some faint, enervating poison. Then at last the door opened and Louise She came toward him with a little welcoming smile upon her lips. Her manner was gay, almost affectionate. “Have you come to take me for a

ride before lunch?” she asked. “Do you know, I think that I should really like it! We might lunch at Ranelagh on our way home." The words stuck in his throat. From where she was, she saw now the writ- j ing o_n his face. She stopped short. is it?” she exclaimed. “Ever since I knew' you.” he said slowly, “there have been odd moments when I have lived in torture. During the last fortnight those moments have . become hours. Last night the end came.” “Are you mad. John?’’ she demanded. . When I left you last night, I went to the club in Adelphi Terrace. There was • a well-known critic there, comparing you and Latrobe. On the whole he favoured you, but he gave Latrobe the first place in certain parts. La- ! trobe, he said, had had more experience of life. She had had a dozen lovers—you, only one!" She winced. The glad freshness seemed suddenly to fade from her face. Her eyes became strained. "Well?” “I found Grail lot. I cornered him. I asked him for the truth about you. He put me off with an evasion. I came ; her© and looked at your window. It was three o’clock in the morning. I of unrest was in my blood. I stopped ■ at a night club on my way back. I “ophy was there. I asked her plainly to put me out of my agony. She was like GraUlot, She fenced with me. And then—the prince came!” “The prince was there?” she fal- : tered. “He came up to the table where Sophy and I were sitting. I think I was half m ,d. I poured him a glass > of wine and asked him to drink with l me. I told him that you had promised to become my wife. He raised his glass—l can see him now. He told me, with a smile, that it was the j anniversary of the day on which you i bad promised to become his mistress!” j

Louise shrank back. "He told you that?" John was on his feet. The fever was blazing once more. ' He told me that, face to face — told me that it was the anniversary of the day on which you had consented to become his mistress I” “And you?” “If we had been alone,” John answered simply, “I should have killed him. I drove the words down his throat. I threw him back to the place he had left, and hurt him rather badly, I’m afraid. Sophy took me home somehow', and now I am here.” She leaned a little forward on the couch. She looked into his face searchingTy, anxiously, as if seeking for something she could not find. His lips were set in hard, cold lines. The likeness to Stephen had never been more apparent. “Listen!” she said. “You are a Puritan. While I admire the splendid self-restraint evolved from your creed, it is partly temperamental, isn't it? I was brought up to see things differently. and I do see them differently. Tell me, do you love me?” The veins swelled for a moment upon his forehead, stood out like whip-cord along the back of his hands, but of softening there was no sign in his face. “Love you?” he repeated. 'You know' it! Could I suffer the tortures of the damned, if I didn't? Could I come to you with a man’s blood upon my hands, if I didn't? If the prince lives, it is simply the accident of fate. I tell you that if w e had been a I-me I should have driven the breath out of his body. Love you!” She rose slowly to her feet. She leaned with her elbow upon the mantelpieee, and her face was hidden for a moment. "Let me think!” she said. I don’t know what to say to you. I don't know you, John. There isn’t anything

left of the John I loved. Let me look. She swung' round. "You speak of love,” she went on suddenly. Do you know what it is? Do you know that love reaches to the heavens, and can also touch the nethermost depths of hell? If I throw myself on my knees before you now, if I link my fingers around j-our neck, if I whisper to you that, in the days that were past before you came, I had done things I would fain forget, if I told you that from henceforth every second of my life was yours, that my hea.rt beat with yo-urs by* -day and by night, that I had no other thought, no other dream, than to stay by your sid-"-. to see you happy, to give' all there was of myself into your keeping, to keep it holy and sacred for you— Jo h n. w hat th en ?” Never a line in his face softened. "Are you going to tell me that it is the truth?” he asked hoarsely. Nhe stood quite still, her bosom rising and falling. Evei* then she made { ne last effort. She held out her bands with a. little trembling gesture, | her eyes filled with tears. "Think for a single moment of that i feeling which you call love, John!” she pleaded. "Listen! I love you. It I has come to me at last, after alt these years. It lives in my heart, a greater thing Man my ambition, a greater thins -hat my success, a greater thing than life itself. I love you, John! Can't you feel, don’t you know, that i nothing else in life can matter?” Not a line in his face softened. His teeth load come together. He was like a man upon the rack. It is true? It is true, then?” he demanded. She looked at him wi tin out anv reply. The: seconds seemed drawn out to an interminable period. He heard toe rolling of the motor-buses in the street. Once more the perfume of the lilac seemed to choke him.

Then she leaned back and touched the I bell. "The prince spoke the truth.” she said. "I think you had better go!”

CHAPTER XXXVII.

Before the wide flung window of her attic bedchamber. Sophy Gerard was crouching with her face turned westward. She had abandoned all effort to sleep. The one thought that was; j beating in her brain was too insistent, j too clamorous. Somewhere beyond j that tangled mass of chimneys and telegraph poles, somewhere only j other side of the gray haze which hung about the myriad roofs. John and Louise were working out their destiny, speaking at Last the naked truth to each j other. She started suddenly back into the i room. There was a knocking at the door, something quite different from her landlady's summons. She wrapped ; her dressing-gown around her. pulled the curtains around the little bed on \ which she had striven to rest, and j moved toward the door. She turned • the handle softly. "Who is that?” she asked. I John almost pushed his way past her. She closed the door with nerveless fingers. Her eyes sought his face, her lips were parted. She clung to tht back of the chair. "You have seen Louise?” she exclaimed breathlessly. ”1 have seen Louise,” he answered. I "It is all over!” She looked a little helplessly around I her- Then she selected the one chair in the tiny apartment that was likely to hold him, and led him to it. "Please sit down.” she begged, "and tell me about it. You mustn't despair like this all at once. I wonder if I could help!” (To be continued.> i k