In The Flashlight

Sun (Auckland), Volume II, Issue 618, 21 March 1929, Page 5

In The Flashlight

By

Bernard Rowthorne

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

CHAPTER XII

The doctor, carrying the picture paper with him, stepped torward, and put a sympathetic hand on his friend's ! shoulder. “Mayliew,” he said quietly, “you've got to get a good grip on ! yourself, and take—and take your i gruel—like a man.” “What do you mean?” asked Noel, a quick apprehensive note in his voice. “You are not at the end of your woes yet, old man.” “Margaret ” began Noel, his face grown suddeuly ghastly. “Yes, old man,” said the surgeon grimly. “It is in this paper here. You’d better take a look at it. This page.” He thrust the paper in his friend s hand, pointed at the illustrated page with his finger, and then, walking ! to the window, looked down into the | street, for he had no wish to spy on a man's anguish. Noel Mayhew looked at the paper, and as he did so Margaret Melford’s beautiful face met gaze. Side by side with it was a man’s face, strong and brutal. For a moment he stared almost uncomprehendingly, j then mechanically he read what was printed beneath the portraits, i “Miss Margaret Melford. the daugh- ; ter of Charles Melford, Esq.. D.L., J.P., of Hawton Carew, and Mr. John Carston. the well known African millionaire. who engagement is just announced.” Again he read the words through, then a little groan broke from him. Barringley turned quickly round. Noel Mayhew was still staring at the paper with tragic eyes. “No mistake. I suppose, old chap. It i is the same girl?” "Yes,” answered Noel, a certain grimness about his mouth. I ' “Doing middling well for herself, I ! should say.” “It would seem so,” answered Noel ; Mayhew tonelessly, and then relapsed into silence, his eyes staring grimly r at the paper. For his part the doctor walked back to the window and again watched the traffic in the street. He knew the | vanity of words for wounds too deep ; for any consolation. Five days after his arrival in Eng:d. Noel Mayhew took up his residence in a famous fishing and golfing ..,,tcl cn the edge of the Mayhew ! estate. The proprietor was a stranger, I and there was no one In the glace who

was known to him. Even if there had been, his gaunt fever-woru face, with the beard grown in his illness would have hidden him from recognition; and he moved about the district without any fear of being identified as the long lost Master of Alayhew. On the second day of his stay, he took a walk in a direction away from the Court, and presently arrived at a wayside inn, “The Moormen’s Rest/’ The name on the sign Avas neAv to him: and assured that he was safe from discovery, he entered and called for refreshment. The landlord was a man of middle life, one of those happy, sloAv-speaking gossips, with whom the countryside abounds, and he needed but little prompting to talk. “Pleasant remarked the caller by way of an opening. i “Yes, zur, but terr’ble dry; good A*or i the corn, but bad vor the turmits.” His customer agreed with this piece ! of AA'isdom, and then asked a leading j question. I “Who lives at the Hermitage now? Do you know?” “Yes, zur. A gentleman of the name j of Carston —John Carston, Esq., an’ as • I rich as Solomon.” “Indeed! What sort of a man is ; j he?” “Well,” said the inn-keeper, half apologetically, “he’s not the man I want vor a landlord. He’ve a thought j i too much bull-dog in the face of en to ‘ make a tenant feel comfortable, j though there be them as profess to like en well enough, but how that yon gentleAvoman whom he’m to marry can stomach him, I can't think.’' “Who is she?” asked the caller, in a \ r oice Avhich, had the landlord been a more observant man, must haA r e aroused his curiosity. “Aliss Alargaret Melford, the comeliest young lady hereabouts! An’ there be more than me that be surp:ised that she can bring herself to take on, though, to be zure, money’ll gild a crow, an’ I s’pose that’s the explanation. But any loon wi’ eyes in

his head can zee that she baint too happy over the business.” “Is that so?” “Yes. Went by here day before yesterday, Tidin’ hoss-back, wi’ Mr. .John Carston, an’ when my good wife saw 'en pass, solemn as mutes at a funeral, she d’ zay to me. Yon be no appy pair o’ turtle doves, Henry Udy; but just a man an a maid Avhat ’ave agreed to run alongside the same pole,

an’ make the best o\ r it; an’ the best ov it baint going to be much.’ ” “And you? You saAv them. What did you think, Mr. Udy?” “Well,” answered the landlord slowly, “I baint the man to fly in the face OA r my Avife’s judgment, vor time an’ time I’ve a-proved her right, an’ I’m bound to zay that, if ’twas a happy maid that went by here wi’ Air. Carston. her face didn’t look it. An’ no wonder about that, for the gossips say how she used to be aweefc on as nice

a young gentleman as ever breathed!” A fresh customer entered, and Noel MayheAV did not pursue his inquiries further; but as he left the inn there was a A r ery thoughtful look upon his worn face. The inn-keeper’s words had set a new thought fermenting in his mind, and in his heart for the first t ime, since he had read of her engagement to Carston, there was a little surge of hope. If Margaret was not happy, there must be some cause for j it; and as he asked himself what that cause might be, his mind inevitably swung back to the inn-keeper’s explanation. Margaret’s heart was not in the contemplated marriage, and though she was engaged to the millionaire, Carston, she did not love him. He began to wonder if be had done right in not communicating with her since his arrival in England. That she must know that he had returned from the dead he was sure, for it had been in many papers, and he himself had seen the official announcement in three. Per- | haps she Avas waiting for some word from him; unhappy because he had not written; unhappy because of the j engagement into which she had peri mitted herself to enter in the belief | that he was dead.

He knew nothing of the truncated report in the sensational newspapers Avhich Alargaret had read: did not even know of the Creole woman Avho bad claimed him for her husband; and then, while he lay between life and death, on being admitted to see him, had repudiated her claim. No one bad spoken t.o him of that; for of the tAvo people who had witnessed it, by the time he was able to take an intelligent interest in things, the one, the doctor, was dead, smitten by some swift tropical disease, and the other bis rescuer. Lieutenant Corfield, was already away on a new expedition. As he walked the hope Avithin him grew. Reaching a gate he leaned over it. and suddenly he whispered to himself: “I must see Margaret! I will see her —this very day! Perhaps ” The sentence went unfinished; but hope flashed in his sunken eyes, and the shadow went from his worn face. He lingered a little time longer, considering b~w best to obtain the interview he desired; and was just about to resume his way, when he caught the thud of a horse’s hoofs on the grass which bordered the lane. He took a step forward, Avhich brought him clear of the hedge, and then be caught sight of the rider, a girl on a great roan hunter. She was almost upon him. and as he saw her face his heart stood still, and the next moment, a hcaI—>. 1 —>. yearning cry broke from him. “Margaret! Margaret! ”

The girl checked her horse to suddenly that she was almost thrown out of the saddle, then as the horse came to a standstill she looked at the gaunt l fever-worn face in wonder. Not a yard separated them, and he saw the light of recognition in her beautiful I eyes. The next moment it died away. | and a look q| scorn came on heg face.

j “You!” 'die said coldly. “You—Noel | Mayhew!” ! “Yes!” he answered wonderingly. ! Alargaret still looked at him, and the | flame of scorn in her eyes startled him, then her gaze lifted. She looked slowly round as if searching for someone, then her gaze came back to him. “I do not see your wife,” she said | coldly. “Have you not brought her ; with you?” “Alv AA'ife!” he cried in wonder, his face indexing extreme amazement. “Yes,” the girl answered in the same cold tones. “Your wife. The woman who was waiting for you at Nairobi, and who claimed you as her husband when they brought you in from the bush. I suppose I ought to congratulate you on your escape, and on your marriage, Air. Mayhew.” “Aly marriage!”

For a while after the word had been jerked from him by the emotion of the moment, he stared at her dumbfounded. too astonished for further words, while Alargaret looked down at him in cold contempt. “Yes!” she answered in a A'oice that cut him like a whip. “Your marriage! Perhaps you thought I did not know of that! Perhaps ” “But you cannot know it.” he cried | tumultuously, finding his tongue at. : last. “I know nothing of any mari riage, or of any woman at Nairobi.

I cannot think what you mean, Margaret! There must be some mistake ” “The mistake is yours,” broke in the girl quickly, “the mistake of thinking that I should not hear of it; of thinking that after that you could come to me ” “Margaret!” he cried, in horrified protest. “Keep my name off your lips, sir! ’ she cried. “Oh, I will not be so insulted! I ” She half lifted her riding switch as if to strike him. while her eyes blazed with indignation, which at the same time choked her utterance. “My dear Margaret ’* “No!” she cried. “No! And —there is the proof of it!” The next moment the switch descended. It fell on his gaunt face lightly, a mere flick, scarcely the weight of a feather behind it; but the man staggered back as if from a mortal blow, and the next moment the horse, pricked suddenly with the spur, half reared, and then shot forward down the road. As Margaret Melford rode down the lane, her face was flushed with anger and her eyes flashed with indignation. Not once did she look back toward the man upon whom she had laid her whip in scorn, but presently her anger cooled and reason began to assert itself. Suppose, after all, her old lover was innocent of the unfaithfulness she had charged him with? At the thought her heart stood almost still. That he loved her still, his voice, his words, his demeanour had assured her, and as she allowed her horse to slow down to a walk, her mind began to review the events of I the last few moments. It was little

- she could remember of the interview. Her outraged pride, and the surging indignation she had experienced had i somehow prevented her mind from ■ registering the words that had been spoken, her remembrance was contused, but one thing stood out quite clearly, and that was the vision of he--1 : lover's face when she had mentioned . ! the woman she supposed him to have | married. Again she saw the amaze.s ment it had betrayed, and the startled . ' look in the deep-set eyes. And sudj denly the doubt that had assailed her 1 was intensified. A look of something very akin to anguish came on her beautiful face, aud her heart smote ; her. “Oh, if after all ” she whispered, i broke off, and then added, hearu ■ brokenly, “And I struck him.” i She looked at the switch which she : had used, and her face flushed with - intolerable shame. The thing seemed * to burn her hand, and, following a sudden impulse, she flung it from her, ■ over the hedge into a neighbouring field. She rode forward a few yards, ' her face an index of troubled thoughts, then she pulled up her horse and i looked back. She had travelled a considerable dis--1 tance since leaving Noel, and It was 1 quite impossible for her to see -1 thing of him; nevertheless, she remained so for a few moments an ‘ irresolute look upon her face, i “It is possible,” her thought ran, r “more than possible—and I struck i him! Perhaps I ought to go back—f ; to explain—to beg forgiveness.” 5 j _ jtTo be Continued*