The Shadow of a Dream

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 276, 11 February 1928, Page 20

The Shadow of a Dream

By\

Charles Procter

Mithot ot • A Splendid butterfly.* -Jhe. Worrten Pay*/ ,**The Socftwee Combine* 'An Innocent'Adventures* ~ 4c. dc

CHAPTER XXVll.—(Continued.) The cottage was nearly two miles from the station, and the hotel, and at the time that Jervis was on his way to the house, Lady Valentine, unconscious of the approaching' danger, was interviewing Monica. She had become obsessed with the idea that Monica must be driven to destroy herself, and had concluded that the girl had now been reduced to such a state of misery that she would welcome the idea of death. “I hate to see you suffering, Monica,” she remarked in her cold voice; “and unfortunately everything seems to indicate that your condition becomes more hopeless every day. There seems nothing for it but to have you sent to an asylum, where you will probably end your days.” „ “You fiend! You know I'm not mad!” breathed Monica, holding herself in check, for she knew that to spring at her aunt or even to give vent to her indignation would result in the vigilant Altkfen rushing in and chastising her—as she had been ordered to do by Lady Valentine. “You want to drive me mad so that you can rob me of my fortune.” “Poor child! Your sufferings must be terrible,” exclaimed her aunt in loud tones. “I wish I could do something torelieve you. Here ” She produced a small box as she spoke, and her voice dropped to a whisper—“here are some morphia tablet. I used to take them to deaden the pain and to make me forget. Don’t take more than two—five would be enough to kill you.” She put the box, which contained at least a dozen of the poisonous tablets, on the table, together with a small lancet, smiled knowingly, and went out. Monica sat gazing at the things fascinated. Two pellets would mean forgetfulness, five would mean a sleep that would end in death—a sleep from which there would be no awakening. And her aunt had talked of sending her to an asylum to end her days among mad people. There seemed to be no escape —no one would believe that she was not mad—and she was miserable, desperate, wretched. Five—sleep, then death, and an end to misery. Her hand went out to the box, and she turned the contents out fingering the tablets. Five, Lady Valentine had said; perhaps it would be better to take six—to make quite certain. She counted them out into the palm of her hand—one, two, three, four, five, six, and hesitated, and as she hesitated she heard a scuffle and a crash in the passage below, and heard Jervis O’Neill’s voice calling her name. For a moment she believed, that she had really gone mad, and was suffering from delusions, but again Jervis’s shout of “Monica!” came to Her ears, and she cast the morphia tablets from her and screamed, rushing at the, same instant to the door and battering on the Panels. “Jerry! Jerry!” she screamed, gaspingly, and cried < -it as she heard a. rush e t, arid the door handle was rattled. “Stand back from the door, Monica,” rang out Jervis's voice; “I’m gding to burst it.” i Obediently Monica stood back, and as she did so Jervis flung, his weight against it with a crash. The l#ck held, but at the second charge the frame splintered, the door smashed, open, and Jervis staggered headlong into the room. “Jerry! Oh, thank God!” sobbed Monica, hysterically, and next moment she was safe in his strong arms, and he was holding her close, kissing her, white face, fondling her, and gasping out agitated, disjointed words of love. “Jerry, I’m not mad!” Monica sobbed, brokenly, cliging to him. “Take me away, dear, please take me away.” “You shall not take her away!” snarled a high-pitched voice from the doorway, and Jervis wheeled round instantly, his hand closing instinctively on the automatic pistol in his pocket'. It was Lady Valentine who had spoken, and she stood in the doorway, livid with fury, her eyes dilated, her lips twitching, and her bony hands clenched. “If you try to escape, I’ll—l’ll kill you,” she snarled at Monica. “Dare to attempt to get away, and ” She choked, and suddenly her expression changed. “Monica, think of your promise to your dead father!” she wailed. “Think —’” | * “Get out!” snapped Jervis, producing |

his pistol arid brandishing it. “I’d hate to shoot a woman, but you make me tired.' Get out, I say.”

He fired at the ceiling as he spoke, and both Lady Valentine and. Mrs. Aitken, who had appeared with the evident intention of supporting her employer in a .desperate attempt' to detain Monica, screamed and fled. , “Get your things on, Monica, and come along,” drawled Jervis,, smiling grimly, as he dropped his automatic back into his pocket. “And don’t cry, little woman?’ Haw Monica got out of the house she never quite knew. She came to herself in the hotel in the village to find herself seated in a big armchair with Jervis on one side of her, and the garrulous landlady on the other, both looking ,vei*y , anxious. Jervis was panting, and beads of sweat were running down his face. Not until long afterwards did Monica discover that she had collapsed soon after leaving the house, and Jervis, had, carried her most of ; the way to . the village. “Don’t leave me, Jerry,” said Monica faintly, putting out her hand, which Jervis grasped at once; “and don’t let them take me back.” “I guess not!” said Jervis unsteadily; wiping his face, and smiling. “You take, a rest now, my dear, and I’ll keep watch. You’re safe—and you’re mine now for ever.” Monica, completely reassured, allowed herself to be assisted to a clean, bright bedroom, and put to bed by the motherly landlady, who had been captivated by her appearance at first sight, scented a romance, and was burning with curiosity. Jervis waited in the passage until the landlady emerged from the bedroom, and informed him that the young lady had fallen asleep; then he went down to the door of the hotel, seated himself, lit his pipe and waited. He felt that something was going to happen—although what it was he had not the remotest idea. He anticipated trouble, an attempt on the part of the village constable to' arrest him, and he was determined to resist at all costs and to take Monica back to London with him.

Two hours elapsed and nothing happened, but Jervis still sat on a window chair in the hotel doorway, sucking at his pipe and waiting. Then something did happen, but as usual, it was the unexpected. The landlady suddenly appeared, looking concerned but important, as one who has news to impart. “Oh, sir, have you .heard?” she asked. “An awfu’ thing has happened! Lady Valentine got a telegram an hour syne, and she’s had a fit.”

“As.a result of getting a telegram?” inquired Jervis, raising his eyebrows, and betraying no emotion. “It was from the War Office,” explained the landlady. “It said her son has been killed at the front, SecondLieutenant Geoffrey Valentine, his nairie was, and he’s beefi killed. It was the postmistress hersel’ that told me. Killed in. action, the telegram said.” “A good finish,” said Jervis, after a long silence. “Go and see if Miss Moncrief. is awake and well enough to travel by the night train.” He sat u very still and thoughtful, puffing at his old briar, his rugged face inscrutable as that of a sphinx; but he sprang up at once at sound of a light footstep, and turned to greet Monica .when she appeared. She was smiling, and looked calm, but there were tears, in her eys. “The landlady has told you?” asked Jervis, quietly, and she nodded. Jervis stood still for a moment, then took her hands gently. “You’re free, little woman, he said slowly. “We’re going back to London to-night, and the day after to-morrow you’re going to marry me. I’ve waited long enough and there’s a lot of happiness overdue. You won’t refuse me now, Monica mine?”

Monica drew a long breath and looked at him shyly, her eyes shining. “The day after to-morrow, Jerry,” she said, in & low voice, and the warm colour crept into her cheeks. “You have a special licence?” “Yes.”

“Then why not to-morrow?” asked Monica., with a shaky laugh, and hid her blushing face in her lover’s shoulder (The End.)

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