The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 331, 17 April 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

By

CHAPTER V. *T was that took back, Miss, that I obeyed him to the tick, and when he’d made you comfortable in a corner, he turns to me and says, ‘You’d best get her home as quick as you can. We two can do nothing here!* “I thought the same, Miss Jocelyn, and so when I’d shut the door, I got to my wheel, and drove as fast as I dared for the fog. It took me a goodish bit, but ” “Who was the man, James?” “I don’t know, Miss Jocelyn. I’ve been wondering ever since. But the tog was bad, and he’d a muffler round bis chin, and never once did I get a clear glimpse of his face. I would Sive a sovereign to know who he was!”

“And I.” said the mistress, thoughtfully, “j would give a hundred!” Curing the few days that followed her trying experience at Carlow Gardens, to Jocelyn Ambrose there came various things that caused her much an xious thought. The first of them was a telegram from her brother, sent in response to a note which she had posted to his chambers. It came from Dover and ran:

“Sorry not to have seen you. Re* happenings have worried me a S r oat deal. It is necessary that I go jo Paris. Shall remain some time. Will write.—Pat.”

When she received this, for a moment or two, there was a revival of jhe unspoken fears that she had fcßown on the night of her discovery the crime which had been committed at Carlow Gardens; and once more, she found herself asking if her brother knew anything of that dreadful business. “Recent happenmgs” might mean anything, it might mean that he knew something of what had led to the crime, or it mierht mean that Isaac ifrerstein’s death had in some way jeopardised the business which had rought. her brother from Africa. But since she could not believe Pat was capable of crime, or even of association with it< she clung: to the latter explanation; and as the inquest on ’ ae Murdered man revealed nothing to

SERIAL STORY

OTTWELL BINNS

compromise anyone, she dismissed once for all the more dreadful possibilities from her mind. The second cause for anxiety arose out of a meeting with her lover, Dorian Paxton. It was at a crowded reception, and Paxton, finding a quiet corner, renewed an old plea. “Jocelyn, I am glad to have met you to-day. I hoped that I should, for I want you to marry me immediately.” “I think we argued that matter on the last occasion we met,” she said, in a tone that revealed the subject was not a very happy one. “But things are different now,” he replied. “Indeed,” she said, “in what way?” “I am leaving England. I may be absent for a year.” She remained silent for quite a long ti'Jie, her eyes fixed on the floor. When at last she looked it was to find his eyes upon her beseechingly. “Where are you going?” she asked. “I am going to the Cape. It is necessary that I should. I hope to sails in five days’ time, and before I go. I want you to — “Yes! yes! I know, but I do not like it, Dorian. There is something not very nice about a clandestine marriage. And you know that aunt does not approve of you. She ” The line of argument she was following did not please Dorian Paxton, and he judged it expedient to intervene. “But, my dear Jocelyn,” he pleaded, “you promised!” She remembered the words she had uttered carelessly at the Harding-Harding’s, and answered, “It was scarcely a promise, Dorian.” “But I took it for one,” he urged. “And I was sure you would keep your word; so sure that -when I found yesterday that I had to go away, I was almost glad. I was certain that you would do as we had agreed, so certain that I went immediately and made the necessary preparations.” “The necessary preparations!” she echoed in a startled voice. “What do you mean, Dorian?” “Well.” lie said smiling, “certain forms have to be observed in England before a marriage can take place, s.ud in the case of a quick marriage a licence is essential. I got a special

licence, and we can be married anywhere.” Jocelyn Ambrose did not feel very happy, she felt like a bird caught in a net that had been set for it. For one moment the thought flashed into her mind that her lover, presuming upon her light half-promise, had purposely arranged this visit to Africa. It was neither more nor less than the truth, but she did not know that, and she dismissed the thought instantly. Dorian would not stoop to so mean a thing. He loved her, and even her inexperience knew that lovers were impatient. Her open nature shrank from the course he proposed, yet his apparent earnestness prevailed. “I —-I could not be married in London,” she said quickly. “There is no need that you should be, dearest,” he replied quietly. “And if I married it would have to be in a church. I —l do not like registry offices.” “They are like a steam-roller on all the romance of love,” he said with a smile. “I have no liking for them myself. A nice, quiet country church always seems to me to be a more fitting place for the greatest moments in the lives of men and women. It is far more fitting than a fashionable crowd at St. George’s. And, after all, Jocelyn, dear, the marriage of a man and woman is entirely their own affair, and it seems to me that for you and me, who have loved each other in secret for a year, to go away into the country to be quietly married, is a much more beautiful way than the WHAT TOMMY SAID— Tommy, mighty chief of the “Outlaws,” explaining his plans for the replenishing of their “tucker”: “Each member is to raid the pantry at midnight, and collar all the Dillard’s Potted Meats he can—these make ‘bosker’ sandwiches.” All Grocers. 1

ordinary one of a crowded church, a packed reception and a man from Scotland Yard to look after the presents. Don’t you agree with me, sweetheart?” “Yes,” she answered hesitatingly, “in part.” Dorian Paxton ignored the qualifying phrase. “Then, my dear, why scruple? We do no wrong to anyone, nor do we break any social law. And I have thought of a place that I am sure you would like, a charming old church in a very beautiful village.” “Where is that?” she asked, moved by curiosity. “It is in Hampshire, and the name of the village is Arnhurst.” “I have* never been there,” Jocelyn said slowly, “though I think I have been through by train. I seem to have a recollection of it.”

“Then why not make a closer ac quaintance with the place? It is very beautiful, and I know no better spot for bringing a dream to realisation. You can run down by train after an early lunch, we can be married and have tea at the village Inn, then run back to town for dinner, and no one will be a penny the wiser.” “Except ourselves!” “As you say, ‘except ourselves,’ ” he answered, smilingly; “and we shall never tell until we are pleased to take the world into our confidence. It will be a delightful secret to share.” I “It sounds -very simple,” said the girl musingly. “It is simple,” answered Dorian Paxton, “so simple that I am sure you can’t have the heart to refuse me, Jocelyn.” His voice grew more urgent. “Why should you, dearest? We only anticipate the future by a few months, and when I come back from Africa we can make the matter public, and set up housekeeping. You can even find the house’ while I am away, furnish it. if you like aDd how you like, and have the nest all ready for us to slip into when I return. It will

be really much more romantic than the stereotyped way. Don’t you think so?” Jocelyn Ambrose did not answer his question directly. Instead she asked one for herself. “When did you say you go away, Dorian?” , “I am going on Friday morning,” j her lover answered, his eyes gleam- j ing with triumph. “Is there —is there time, Dorian?” I “Oceans!” he laughed. “We can be j married to-morrow if you like.” “To-morrow would suit me,” she | said, hesitatingly, “but —but ” j He did not stay to hear the objection which he saw was coming. “Then let us make it to-morrow,” he broke in hurriedly. “You can go down by the train that leaves Waterloo at one o'clock, and I will slip down by an earlier train, make all arrangements, and be waiting for you on your arrival. You will do it, Jocelyn? You will not deny me so small a thing, small in view of the fact that you have already promised yourself to me? Say yes, dearest, that I may know you agree.” Jocelyn said “yes,” very hesitatingly, and regretted it the moment ! after, but Paxton gave her no opportunity of withdrawing it. He rattled ! on at a great rate, and when they I parted, after he had given her final instructions, she felt that she was the most miserable girl in London; for though she had agreed to do what her lover wished, she was wholly averse to the course he proposed. She would have infinitely preferred to tell her aunt before doing what she proposed to do. but her aunt was far from well, and would no doubt be greatly disturbed by the mere suggestion. And besides, Dorian would not like it. The

secret was to be their own —and after all, she whispered to herself, it was her own affair, and not her aunt's nor anyone else's, except Dorian’s. So, by such reasoning, she tried to banish her own disquietude, though when she stepped out of the train at Arnhurst, she was still far from happy at the thought of what she was doing. There was no other passenger for this place but herself, and as the train departed she looked round the trim little station for Dorian. With a slight shock she realised that he was not there, then she looked again to make sure. Except for herself and a sleepy porter standing by the exit, the station was quite empty. The porter moved toward her, curiosity showing on his bucolic face. “Ticket, please, Miss.” She handed him the ticket and for the third time glanced round the empty station. “Be ee looking for someone. Miss?" “I am,” she answered, ignoring his open curiosity. “I am looking for a tall young gentleman, a stranger in these parts. Have you seen one?” The porter shook his head. “There haven’t a-been a stranger, exceptin’ yourself, miss, about this station for ; a whole week.” 1 “Are you quite sure of that?” she

asked, looking round ' once more, though this time her eyes wandered beyond the station to where a grey stone tower showed amid some trees. “Quite sure, miss. If there had been I’d have seen 'em. ’Tisn't much that I miss.” Jocelyn looked at hi» vacant bucolic face, and only with difficulty checked a smile. “Is that the church?” she asked, nodding her head toward the tower rising among the trees. The porter nodded his head, then a slow grin of comprehension wrinkled his dull face. “Ee be the young woman what's to be married this afternoon, then?” Jocelyn Ambrose’s face flushed crimson. “What do you mean?" she ' asked sharply. “What do you know i about any marriage?” “More than ee think, miss, or what’s the use of lodging at the verger’s? He told me not an hour back as how a couple from London S was to be special licensed at twofifteen this afternoon, an" when you i steps out o’ the train, I zays to myj self ‘here’s one o’ them, but where’s | th’ other” ! Jocelyn’s face flushed a still deeper crimson. Without a word she brushed

by the grinning porter, and passing out of the gate, descended the halfdozen wooden steps that led to the road. The porter leaned over ihe white railings to watch her go, the grin still on his face. When she was half-way across the road a thought struck him, and making a trumpet of his hands he bellowed after her. “Hey, miss, if yee don’t find him up to the village, it be all up a tree, for there bain’t another train up or down till three-ten.” (To be continued).