The Nets of Fate

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 334, 20 April 1928, Page 5

The Nets of Fate

SERIAL STORY

By

OTTWELL BINNS

CHAPTER VII. The car drew nearer, and she moved to the side of the road to allow it to pass. It was close behind her when she heard the engine slacken. It was Dorian then, after all. But she did not look round. “Pardon me. Miss Ambrose —” As the voice sounded, the voice not of Dorian but of a strange and yet with a note that seemed faintly familiar, she stopped dead, and swung round. She found herself looking into a pair of smiling eyes, set in a strong, lean face. Where had she seen those eyes before? Even as she asked herself the question, her mind answered it. She had seen them on the night of the disaster to the Flying Highlander. The face was the face of the man who had saved her from a terrible death, and then had disappeared without leaving his name, or giving her any opportunity to thank him. In her surprise she forgot everything else for the moment. “You!” she cried in amazement. “Yes,” he replied smilingly—“l! I know it is insufferable of me to address you, but ” “Not at all,” answered Jocelyn Quickly. “You saved my life that uight, and after that I imagine that even Mrs. Grundy herself would not stand on ceremony. lam very glad you spoke to me.” “Then, if there is no need to stand on ceremony,” he said cheerfully, “may I introduce myself, Miss Ambrose, and offer you a seat in the car? My name is John Lancaster, and as I am going up the road, and as you apparently were very tired just now when you were seated upon that log ” He stopped abruptly, as her face flushed painfully, and then to help her over the embarrassment which had suddenly manifested itself in her, he slid along the seat and threw open the door. “Please do not deny me the pleasure, Miss Ambrose!” The girl looked at him, and then accepted the invitation, and as he touched the starting gear, and the car glided forward, John Lancaster inquired in a casual voice, "How far are you going, Miss Ambrose?” “I am going to London,” she answered as carelessly as she could. ‘ Rather a long way to walk, isn’t R?’ he said, laughingly. •focelyn Ambrose laughed with him.

She was perfectly willing to let him believe that it was weariness that had overtaken her when she had sat crying on the log, and as she laughed she replied: "It is! Much too long a way for me. I was just walking to the next station.” "It is there,” he said, with a forward jerk of his head. “We shall be there in a minute. But that stopping train is a terrible one. I have travelled by it and I know. It is the milk train, and at every station this side of Woking it stops to pick up milk-tins.” "It is the only way there is ” she began, and stopped as she caught the smile on his face. "No,” he said quickly. "It is not the only way. There is the alternative of the open road, and a Rolls Royce, which, if I give her her head, will outrun any train on the line. I am going to London myself, Miss Ambrose, and I shall he very grateful for your company.” Ambrose laughed. "From what you say of the train, the debt of gratitude will lie with me.” she said. "Then you agree?” he said, and she saw a light of gladness flash in the