Stronger Passion

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 632, 8 April 1929, Page 5

Stronger Passion

By

Rowan Glen

Author of " The Great Anvil. "The Best Gift of All." For Love or for Gold." &c . &c

CHAPTER IV. —THE ISLAND.— (Continued.) “I suppose,” she went on, and though he did not see it, the expression in her eyes softened, “that as well as your estate and all your other possessions, you’ve got big ambitions?" "One.” he answered. “Eve one big ambition.” “And that?” There was a pause. "To catch the biggest salmon ever taken out of Loch Stragoil.” She. too, laughed then. "Rubbish!” she exclaimed. ‘l’ve knowu you for only a little while, but I know you better than to believe that you think sport the most important thing in the world.” 'What would you call the most important thing in the world?” he asked. “Can you answer that? Think! It isn’t worldly ambition, I’m sure. It isn’t money—nor making a name.” “It might be helping other people,” she suggested. “A doctor —or a surgeon—has more opportunities for doing that than most. I suppose, though, that the greatest thing of all is just to be happy.” Against his will, Macßae knew that his mood had sobered. He said something which he had not thought to say. “The greatest thing in the world.” he told her. and he spoke lightly, “is love. I’ve never known it myself, and because I’m sure that it must be terribly upsetting, I hope never to know it, but the truth's there, just the same. Love is the only thing that matters —it’s the biggest thing.” She answered him as lightly. “It makes the world go round, doesn't it?” she quoted. “Yes. It’s the centre of the universe. controlling the whole big whirligig.” After that they fell silent, and it was not till they reached Duck Islet that the silence was broken. “I'm afraid.” Macßae remarked, "that you’ll have to let me carry you j ashore. The landing’s bad here, and j I'll leave the boat tied up to this j rock.” Unquestioning, and as a child might have done, she allowed him to lift her, and obeyed his injunctions to grip mt his shoulder.

It was perhaps well for the retention of his final purpose that he seemed to see hazily then her father’s face instead of her own. She lay warm and adorable in his arms and clung to him tightly when he stumbled once over the rough rocks. He set her down on a strip of smooth turf, and, returning to the boat, fetched his gun and cartridge bag. “We’ve got to be like a brace of mice,” he warned her. “There are duck around, I know, but they're the shyest things in the world.” For more than an hour they waited patiently but uselessly near to the spot where they had landed. Twice there was the whirr of wings but the covey of duck which passed did so out of gun-shot, and at last Macßae sighed resignedly, and slipped out the cartridges. I “Xo use,” he commented. “We might step across to the other side of the isle and take our chance there, though the light's getting bad.” Willingly enough, she went with hint through the dew-touched blacken and heather, over a wooded knoll, and down to a little dell where the smooth turf was ended by a great mass of speckled boulders. On one of these boulders they seated themselves and as they talked Macßae studied his companion anew. Steel-cold still he yet contrived to put a hinted warmth into his talk; contrived in the ordinary phrase to make himself agreeable. And he succeeded. At twenty-four Elaine Hart retained a simplicity of outlook and of manner that was part of her quite unusual charm. She was trustiigandi to be trusted: a gentle-natured gen-1 erous-hearted girl who, though she ' had travelled widely in Europe, and ; had seen much of London’s social world, had never known any great emotional crisis. Intuition had told her that she i would like this man who sat beside her and would value his friendship. Intuition had not told her that, of set purpose, he was striving to make her like him. not because he would gain anything, but because in some way as yet undefined, he would hurt, through her, the man who had eon-

fessed that in her all his happiness was centred. Velvet shadows came to the hills, and the peace of the night deepened. Then Elaine, glancing at her wrist watch, rose suddenly, a little exclamation pf dismay on her lips, j “Good heavens,” she exclaimed. "D’you know what time it is? It's nearly eleven! Think of it! We’ll need to get off at once. Father’ll be getting scared.” Reluctantly, Macßae agreed and with swinging hands, touching now aad again, they climbed the knoll and returned to the place where they had left the boat. But the boat had gone! Macßae had fastened it securely enough, as he had thought, and it had been no part of his plan that they should be thus marooned. Yet, when he realised that they were powerless to leave the islet, he nodded subconsciously and gave unspoken thanks to that fate which, in frolicsome mood, had added an unexpected twist to this small portion of his lifestory. At first Elaine seemed unable to realise what the loss of the boat involved; seemed scarcely to hear the apologies which Macßae made for his clumsiness. “That part of it's all right,” she said. “I’m not blaming you a scrap. So far as I could see, you fastened the painter of the boat quite tightly round that stump of rock. X suppose it must have slipped off, and then the boat drifted away. There’s a current moving round the island and a swell, to, though I didn’t notice that when we landed. It’s had nearly two hours to drift —the boat, I mean. It may be anywhere now.” “Anywhere,” he agreed. “What can I say, Miss Hart? It’s a devil of a position, really. I’d try to swim to the mainland, but that’s well over a mile and I couldn’t do it.” She stared at him, her eyes greatly troubled. “But we must get off,” she insisted. “It’s not a bit of good saying that we can’t. We must! Why! we might have to stay here all night—longer perhaps.” “I know. But what else is there? The boat's gone, and we’re left, We've got to make the best of things. That’s what it comes to. When you don't turn up, your father’ll get anxious, of course, but he’ll begin to search for you. There are several islands on the loch, but he’s bound to visit this one before so very long. Even if we do have to stay here all night—well! we might be worse off. The weather's warm, and we’ll take no 1 hurt.” He saw how her lips were quivering, and watched her anxiety quite calmly. He had no wish to hurt her, but she was a means to an end. For the first time he saw the softness go from her eyes. "I can’t stay here—l won’t!” she said. “I believe I could swim ” She seemed to have been driven suddenly to the verge of hysteria. Starting away from bim, she ran uselessly toward the water. For a moment or two he watched her, then,

with that in his eyes which had never been there in the days before his suffering, ran after her and caught at one slim shoulder. “What are you going to do?” he asked. Momentarily she had put reason aside. “I'm going to try to swim,” she answered. “That’s madness. You must know

it. You're going to stay here. You must!”

His arms went about her and he felt her tremble against him. Slowly, she raised her face. It was quite pale. “Why do you look at me like that!’* she asked. It was Macßae who broke the silence. ‘Tm sorry,” he said, and his arms dropped from her. “I didn’t know that I was looking—like that —whatever that may mean. You'll have to

forgive me, Miss Hart. I spoke to you, and caught at you as I did, because I thought you were going to do something very foolish. “You’re looking at me oddly now, y’know—almost as though you—were afraid of me, or something. Why, bless 3 t ou ! I’m as worried as you are about the boat’s disappearance. As I say, though, we must be reasonable and make the best of an awkward situation. “It’s useless standing here and worrying. The best thing we can do is to get up into shelter of that little crag yonder and smoke and yarn, and —yes', we’ll make a fire. We don’t need its warmth, but it’ll look hearty and it’ll be a signal, too. What d’you say?” A long sigh came from her and he saw the dawning of a smile in her eyes. The spirit of it went to her lips and presently she nodded, as though in submission to his will. “I suppose you must have thought me a little mad,” she said. “Just for a moment or two I really did feel crazy and I’m a very sane person as a rule. But it was the thought of father—and then the thought of being here for goodness knows how long.” “Was that thought so very terrible?” he asked, good-humouredly. "Surely you weren’t scared when you knew that you might have to wait with me till morning—or even longer? It isn’t as though this island were in the middle of an ocean. We’re in Loch Stragoil and the folk at The Lodge and the folk at Arnavrach House will know that we can’t be far away.” “They may find the empty boat,” Elaine pointed out. “They may think we’re both drowned.” “That’s true, but they won’t go on thinking like that for long.” He paused. “I'm almost tempted to try it,” he said, as though to himself. “To try what, Mr. Maeßae?” “Swimming across to the mainland. I might manage it. There was a time when I’d have done it without trouble, but of late I—haven’t had much time for swimming. Your father would understand. He knows how busy professional men are kept these days. Still —” She believed him to be in earnest, and so believing tugged lightly at one of his sleeves. “You’re not to try it,” she said. "Please! I know I have behaved like a baby, and that I said I’d trj- to swim myself. But you’re not to try it. I won’t let you. Why, you might be drowned. Promise me you won’t try. I’d feel so awful.” “I won't, then,” he said. “We’ll wait and, as I say, make the best of it.”

Perhaps the spirit of boyhood, which he believed to be dead and gone, touched him friendliwise. Whether that was true or not, lie set gaily enough about the building and the lighting of a wood fire, and, when it was crackling, he and Elaine sat beside it and smoked cigarettes, and talked and watched the violet gloom of the night wrap itself more securely about the mountains. An hour passed, and then another, and still they talked. At last the girl yawned behind dainty fingers and Macßae, who had been watching her sideways, said: “I’d rather been waiting for that. You’re tired out. The—circumstances are peculiar, so might I suggest that you use me as a sort of pillow? Lean against me, and close your eyes and try to sleep. Tin wide awake, and if our signal’s seen and a boat comes, I'll waken you at once.” She shook her head. “I’m not really tired,” she said. At least I don’t think I could sleep.” Yet when he urged her. she did lean against him and for a moment he was

stung shrewdly by the knowledge that she trusted him. “There! That’s the way,” he complimented her. “You’re rather won- ; derful, y’know. Many a girl would | have been raging against me, because | I’d been to blame tor keeping her here. Has no one ever told you before that you’ve got the sort of personality that makes strangers into friends for ! you right away?” | Again the beautiful head moved i and he felt a tendril of fragrant hair i sweep his cheeks softly. “No,” she said. “I don't really think you should say those sort of things jto me. You might make me conceited. D’you know, Mr. Macßae, I'd like to confess something to you. ' “Go on then. What is it? I'm interested.” “Oh, it’s nothing much, but you’re —a puzzle to me.” “Am I?” he returned. “Well, then. I’ll confess something, too. I’m be- | ginning to realise that I'm rather . puzzle to myself.” (To be continued daily)