In The Flashlight

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 615, 18 March 1929, Page 5

In The Flashlight

By

Bernard Rowthorne

Author of “The Jewels of Sin,” “The Shadow of the Yamen,” Etc., Etc.

CHAPTER VIII. —Continued. “I doctored him as well as 1 could, : and brought him along by forced marches, afraid all the time that he'd j die on my hands; and I’m thunderm glad to have got him here safely, where he’ll have his chance. It makes me ill to think what he has gone through; I wonder if there are any more poor devils lost as he was?” "It is just possible,” said the doctor. “It was easy enough for men to get lost in the bush. He’s one of the lucky ones.” "Lucky! The Lord deliver me from such luck!” “Oh, I don’t know. It is oetter than ” An English orderly coming up the ward, and halting the regulation two yards away from the surgeon, caused him to break off his remark. “Well, Smithson,” he asked, “what is it?” “There's a lady here, sir, who says she must see the officer who was brought in last night: says that he is her husband, sir.” “Husband” “Yes, sir! She’s in a great taking, says he’s back from the grave an' all that sort of thing, sir.” The surgeon looked at the sleeping man in the cot and then whistled softly.” “I’ll have a word with her,” lie said. “You'd better come, too, Corfield.

She’ll want to know things, I expect.”! “Right-o. If I must. The orderly disappeared, and the | two officers walked down the ward together. In the room beyond they 1 , found a tall, dark woman of a flash- \ ing handsomeness, walking up and \ down in a state of great excitement. As his eyes fell on her. the surgeon I whispered a single word to his companion. “Creole!” The lieutenant shaped his lips to whistle, but no sound came from them, and the next moment the woman literally rushed at them. “You haf my husband found?” she cried, excitedly. “You haf him found a'.’ve?" “If Lieutenant Noel Mayhew is your husband ” “But yes—that is he! Oh!! I must see him at once,” she cried, shaken by excitement. “I am afraid that is undesirable at the moment, madame,” said the surgeon quietly. “You must understand he is very weak, and just now he is sleeping. To waken him would be to take a risk that 1 cannot sanction ” “But I can wait!” cried the woman. “I can wait. Now that i know that he lives I can be —oh. so patient. I had him though lost for ever, and now ” She threw up her hands In an expressive gesture, and the surgeon nodded. “I understand, madame. You can wait if you so desire. I have a room that I can put at your disposal, if you will come with me.” Turning, he led the way, and while the Creole followed him, Lieutenant Corfield watched her go with thoughtful eyes. CHAPTER IX. As Margaret Melford hurried homewards her mind was full of tumultous thoughts. That Donald Mayhew was guilty of the charge made against him by Carston, she could scarcely believe, and yet his own admissions and the logic of facts seem to point that way. It was impossible to think that the vile charge was just the outcome ! of the jealousy of John Carston. That there was substance behind it seemed to be indicated by the way in which i Donald himself had reecived it; and the fact that he had deliberately coui cealed the knowledge of his succession to Mayhew from the courtmartial, lest it should prejudice the finding, added weight to the charge. She was shocked by the possibility

of the charge being true. Donald had always been numbered among her friends,, and though she had been unable to accept him as a lover, she had yet had for him a very deep regard. But now “Oh!” she whispered, agonisingly to herself. “If I only knew what to believe. But she did not know, and her mind was in turmoil, inclining first this way and then that, unable to reach a decision, or find any ground of certainty. Presently her thoughts were switched in a new direction by a glimpse of the massive figure of John Carston, passing into a little spinney away to the right of her. She recalled his proposal, his masterfulness, his confident words, “I am accustomed to winning the thing I set my heart upon, and do you think 1 will be turned aside from the supreme desire of my life? Never! I will fight

for you; win you, set you aflame ” As she hurried across the field, the harsh, overbearing voice seemed to ring in her ears, then by some trick of the mind she suddenly visioned him as she had seen him standing in the stormy moonlight. shaking his clenched fist at the thundering seas off Argyle, defying the natural forces which had so nearly overcome him, and with the vision a swift fear of him surged in her heart. Could she indeed stand against him? He was so strong, so vital, so ruthless, so really masterful. that she felt he might sweep her off her feet. Her father was with him, favoured him, and between them she was conscious of her inability to fight victoriously. “Oh. Noel, my beloved.she whispered, “if only you had not died. If only ” And five minutes later the knowledge that Noel Mayhew still lived

was granted to her. As she reached I home and hurried to her room, her maid came to her, a certain intensity in her manner, and her eyes dancing with excitement. “Oh, Miss Margaret ” she began, and then stopped as she noted her young mistress’s troubled face. “What Is it, Emily?” she asked, noting the maid’s excitement. “It’s what is in the paper, Miss Margaret. But perhaps you have seen it, Miss?” “I have seen nothing very notable, Emily. To what do you refer. 1 thought ‘The Times’ particularly dull this morning.” “It’s not in ‘The Times,’ Miss, but in the paper which James, the foot-1 man, takes. There’s something there j about Mr. Noel ” “Mr. Noel?” Margaret’s voice grew suddenly tense, and her beautiful face paled. She had a premonition of part of the news she was to hear, and she looked at the girl with eyes that blazed with hope. “Yes, Miss Margaret. It seems he was not killed after all “Oh, thank God! Thank God!” “He’s been found, very ill, among a lot of heathens ” “Yes, Miss Margaret; but—but-—” The maid hesitated, and her mistress had a foreboding of ill-news to temper the good that had so unexpectedly come to her. “But what, Emily?” she said, quickly. “But—well. Miss Margaret, he is married!” “Married? Did you say he was married ?” Her face had grown suddenly as white as chalk. She stared at the woman with incredulous eyes, and stood there like a person turned to stone, rigid, and with a terrible stillness in her demeanour, waiting un- | believingly, but with the devil of fear j tearing at her heart. “Yes, miss! It’s all in James’s | paper. A party of soldiers found him, [ very ill, an’ carried him to a place with | a name I can’t twist my tongue to.

j While he was lying there Mrs. Mayhew came and claimed him—” “But it may have been some relative, and not his—his wife?” cried Margaret, clutching at a sudden hope, i “No. Miss Margaret. It’s all in the paper quite pat and clear. ‘Back from the Dead—A Romance in Real Life. Wife finds husband, for whom she had worn weeds.’ There’s no mistake, it’s

I “Fetch me the paper!” said Margaret stonily. “Yes, Miss!” The maid disappeared and the girl sank into a chair, and sat staring in front of her, seeing nothing that was in the room, but visioning painful things. Presently the maid returned, all agog with excitement, and carrying a picture paper in her hand. “There it is Miss Margaret,” she said, pointing to a short column with staring headlines, “and there’s Mr. Noel’s picture on the next page—a very good likeness—” “Thank you, Emily,” interrupted her : mistress, taking the paper. “You may ! so. I will ring for you, if I need you." “Yes, Miss Margaret.” The maid withdrew reluctantly, and when the door had closed behind her, Margaret looked at the paper. The staring headlines were like a blow to her sensitive spirit. In the first glance she saw that the maid had quoted them correctly, then swiftly she ran over the paragraph that followed. “News has just arrived from Nairobi, in East Africa, which illustrates the old saying that fact is sometimes stranger than fiction. It will be recalled that during the operation against the Germans, a small party of British levies under Lieutenant Noel Mayhew, were ambushed in the M’ssente River region, and utterly annihilated, the help that was sent arriving too late to save them. At the time Lieutenant Mayhew’s body was not found and though there was some thought that he might have escaped into the thick bush after a time he was posted missing, and later was presumed to have died. It appears, however, that he escaped the massacre and quite recently an exploring expedition under Lieutenant Corfield discovered! him in a native village in an almost j inaccessible forest region, at least 200 | miles from the scene of the disaster, j He was very ill, and had no recollec- ( tion of the events that had led to his I strange exile among a very degraded \ people, but his rescuer carried him J with all speed to Nairobi to place j him in competent medical care; and j scarcely had he arrived at the hospital when his young wife, whom he had married while on service, and who for ! years had lingered at Nairobi in the j forlorn hope of hearing news of him, i appeared to claim him, as one back from the dead. There are still some j sanctuaries into which self-respecting I ing journalism does not seek to pene- ■ trate, and we must leave it to the t sympathetic imagination of our readers to conceive the joy of this happy reunion between husband and I wife. We join with our readers in congratulations to Lieutenant and to Mrs. i Mayhew; who we understand will be returning to England as soon as the I invalid is in a condition to travel. | Our portrait on the next page shows Lieutenant Mayhew as he was when

he left England to take up his commission with the Nairobi Rifles.” With stony eyes, Margaret read the long paragraph through twice, then mechanically turned over the page, to look at the portrait referred to. It showed a frank, open face, with eyes that looked smilingly out of the picture, a rather boyish face, not without determination, and indicative of strength of character. Upon her table, draped in mourning purple was a panel photograph, exactly like it, and in front of it was a small vase of flowers a vase that her own hand had dally renewed since the bitter hour when Noel Mayhew had been posted missing. Now, as she looked from the paper in her hand to the photograph on the table, a flood of bitterness surged in her heart, and a sudden storm of weeping overcame her. All that long time she had been faithful to the memory of a lover who had proved himself unworthy, who had been actually unfaithful to the sacred vows they had exchanged. The most sacred thing in her young life had been suddenly

destroyed, turned to merest mockery, and all her maiden love outraged by an unfaithfulness that was absolutely inexcusable. Bitter sobs shook her, hot tears of utter humiliation scalded her fair face. Then suddenly she threw the paper from her, and, rising from her chair, crossed to the table, w r here stood the portrait with the little offering of rare flowers. For a moment she stood looking straight into the smiling eyes, and then her mind wandered to the unknown woman who had won her lover from her, making him forget love and honour. Who was she? Was she very beautiful? —a siren woman, with that fascination which made men forget all old affections and solemn vows? She did not know, she could not guess, but Noel Mayhew’s desertion was inexcusable. The knowledge of it stung her deeply. As she stood there, a look of contempt came into her eyes, and suddenly she snatched the white flowers from the vase, crushed their delicate beauty in her hands, and flung them into the waste paper basket by the table. Then she stripped the purple silk from the portrait, lifted the latter from the small easel on which it reposed, and , tore it across and again, and flung i the pieces into the basket after the flow r ers. Henceforth Noel Mayhew was nothing to her, and in the years to come she would never think of him but with contempt, and with a feeling of bitter humiliation that she should have loved a man who was so utterly unworthj*. | She stood looking out of the winj now with eyes that saw* nothing until there came a knock on the door, and | a moment later her father entered There was a look of trouble on his j face, and he began to speak hesita'

ingly. "Margaret, you—you—have heard the news?" “Yes,” she answered coldly, “Kmily told me, and I have read the account In the paper.” For a moment Mr. Meltord' was silent. He was surprised at her selfpossession, and did not know what to say. The silence threatened to grow prolonged, and with the panic of a weak man he hurried to break It. “1 am surprised at Noel. I never thought that he —that he—” His voice faltered. He was sorry for his daughter, and afraid of adding to the anguish that, as he wasure, was hidden under her external calm. ‘‘After all,” said Margaret quietly. “I suppose there Is nothing very surprising in a man's defection It ap i pears to be common enough in the world.” “But Noel ” I "Noel Mayhew is of common claj, ■ like the rest of mankind.” (To be Continued) ,