Stronger Passion

Sun (Auckland), Volume III, Issue 645, 23 April 1929, Page 5

Stronger Passion

By

Glen .

CHAPTER XIV.—MACRAE BROODS "Elaine!” he exclaimed. “Elaine!! You’re safe! You’re not hurt? Well, thank the Lord! r heard what he said | to you—Elaine —Macßae here. It’s | me, isn’t it?” “Yes.” she whispered. In a dazed way, Macßae felt her; weight lean against him. She had fainted. Carefully, he laid her down; deftly tended her while ltollingward looked on ineffectively, jabbering out inconsequences. "She’s not —dead, is she?” he asked, and Macßae swore at him. “No. It would have been better for her. I think, if you hadn't shown up when you did I don’t know' why she should have gone off like that, when you came. It’s her mind that’s troubling her more than her body. Rollingward. I am not going to stop to explain how I found her and how she’d been trapped. Here! take this handkerchief and soak it in the water ■ down yonder.” i While the other was gone, he leaned J over the girl and, using such arts as were his. strove to coax her back to | consciousness. A score of endearing things he muimured to her then, and was so murmuring when the agitated Rolling : ward returned “It seems to me.” Macßae said, “that we might as well start carrying her down the hill. Probably the movement would help. Anyway, every vard we go will be taking her nearer to comfort. . . . Why do you stand staring at me like that, man?” For the first time he saw Rolling ; ward look abashed. Soon, however,' that defiance which he had demonstrated earlier in the night, returned. “It was you who found her,” he grumbled," but you heard what she said —that it was I whom she was going to marry. That’s what she meant, anyhow.” Macßae gripped at his shoulder. “Tell me the truth.” he demanded. ; “Do you love this girl as you pretend or ’* “Pretend? Good God you fool! Have you forgotten that I asked her to marry me before she ever knew you?” “I know all that, but you're not answering my question. Do you love her now? That's what I want to get

Author of " The Great Anvil." I The Best Gift of All," For Love or for Gold." &c . &c at . Do you know what l think, i Rollingward?” “No. I don’t. And i don’t care." “You’ve got to! I’ve an idea that you’re carrying things on because, according to your code, you’ve gone so far that you can’t back out. I may i be wliat you call me—a fool, but Lilian Manton ” “Drop it, I tell you!” “Well then, let’s put it another way. Will you pass your word to me that you really love Elaine. Will you say to me that you believe, deep down in you, that she really loves you?” “I’ll answer nothing.” Rollingward said. “You’ve gone too far to-night already. Now you’re passing all decent bounds. Let me tell you one tiling, though.” “Yes?” “Even if she didn’t love me, and even if she thought once that she loved you, that has passed. Do you understand? She cares nothing for you. You don’t interest her. No! that’s not quite true. She loathes you.” Macßae's shoulders rose, then fell slowly. “You may be right,” he returned. “Come! give us a hand with her — and walk cautiously. We’re carrying a precious burden between us you know.” Elaine did not regain consciousness j till she was near to the door of her j father’s house, and Sir Charles himself was hurrying toward her. When she opened her eyes she ; looked, first at Macßae. and then at Rollingward. Again she looked at Macßae. “Elaine.” he said, his voice husky, “you’re safe now. and inside a few minutes you’ll be feeling all right. I promise you that! Shall Igo away?” She nodded and, turning from him, held a hand out to Rollingward. On the following morning, and when Macßae, morose of mood, was arranging with Pringle to go out after

the loch trout, he saw a small boat nearing his island. There were two men in the boat, and even when they were far off he recognised them as Sir Charles Hart and Maurice Rollingward. Sending Pringle away, he went to the little jetty to greet his visitors, and, outwardly genial, helped them ashore. “Come over for a yarn?” lie suggested, “Good! But don’t let’s stop here. Let’s get up to the house and

have a spot of something. I’d meant to hang that up for a bit, but seeing you people has given me an idea that a whisky-and-soda would be a good thing to have right away.” They would have protested against that, but with an assumption of camaraderie, he insisted that they should fall in with his wishes, and presently all three sat in the pleasant smokeroom and toasting each other in the drinks which old Mrs. Cairns had provided. “Now. then.” Macßae said, as he

set his half-empty tumbler down. “What have you come to say—you two ?” Rollingward glanced at Sir Charles Hart, and Sir Charles Hart glanced at Rollingward. The judge hummed and hawed for a moment or two, then looked at his host. “We’ve really nothing to say,” he began slowly. “Nothing of importance, that is. Matter of fact, Maurice here has got to slip down to Dochrine at once to keep an appointment, but he wanted to be with me when I thanked you for what you did last night. It’s —the second time, Macßae.” “The second time, Sir Charles ?” “Yes. Confound it all! you must know what I mean. The second time you’ve saved my girl. I’m here merely to thank you, and Maurice —who’s going to be her husband —wants me to add his thanks to mine.” Macßae had never felt so calm. "It’s good of you both,” he remarked. “You really shouldn’t have bothered. We were all out on the hill last night, hut I happened to be the lucky man. That’s all.” As he looked at the judge, he found himself wondering whether there was any sense, any point, at all. in continuing with his scheme of revenge. Somehow, the bottom seemed to have dropped out of things. Life itself appeared as a tawdry affair; and | at best no better than a bad joke, as he had heard a cynic say once. The whole thing seemed like some gigantic and evil web into -which he, a very tiny fly. had been pulled steadily and mercilessly by a malignant fate, representing the spider. His pessimism went all the deeper because it -was not natural to him. but a product of the last few years. After waiting for one of the other i men to speak, he said: I “We’re all pretty solemn, aren’t we? I wonder why?” The „judge stirred uneasily, i “It’s' the hump, Macßae,” he answered. and the slang phrase sounded odd as spoken by him. “We’re all | suffering from it. T think. It’s tem- | porarv, of course, but infernally upI setting. To tell you the truth, both ! Maurice and I have been worried by i the turn that things have taken of tate. We like you, and yet there’s a feeling of hostility all the time. M'.nd you, it doesn’t come —” He faltered, and Rollingward. who had risen, took up the unfinished sentence. “I know what Sir Charles meant to say, Macßae. He wants to say that the hostility isn’t on our side. But naturally enough, so far as I can see and knowing the in’s and out’s of things, he’s right in feeling that you’ve got your knife into him. That does i make things damned awkward, you j know.” i Macßae rose, too. “If I said ‘Rot!’ to that I’d only be | repeating myself again,” he an- | swered. “If either of you care to as- ! sume that I’m hostile, the thought | springs from your own minds. Wouldn’t it he wiser to -wait till T : prove the hostility. Your luck seems

to be in, Rollingward, and mine seems to be out. But,' Lord bless you! I m not going to hate a man simply because I envy him.” “Quite!” the other agreed vaguely. “Oh, quite. But, you see—well, dash it! at the moment I’m thinking more about Sir Charles than about myself. I know he feels a bit sore because you seem to blame him for the fact that you were shoved into quod. After all, when that bunch of addle-headed jurymen returned a verdict of guilty, there was nothing else for him to do but to pass sentence.” “Another old story!” Macßae commented pleasantly, though a little: wearily. ‘‘Don’t let’s start on it again. There’s one thing, though.” He turned suddenly to the judge. “Yes?” the latter asked. “We’ve got to get along now. Macßae, but of course, if you’d like to ask anything “It’s only this. 1 know, as you know, that you were unnecessarily vigorous, shall we say? in that sum-ming-up of yours. It dished me. Why was it, Sir Charles? Y'ou didn’t know anything about me beforehand. If you did, I don’t think you’d have found anything wrong. Why did you lambast me as you did?” “If I don’t give an answer to that question,” Hart replied, “that’s because it’s really too foolish to deserve one.” ! “I don’t agree,” said Macßae. “I : hope that you’ll answer it some time, for though nowadays I take an almost | impersonal interest in the thing, there ! is that interest.” ! He went with them to their boat and

waved a good morning as they pulled away. Afterwards he stood watching them broodingly. Then filling and lighting I his pipe with an action almost mechanical, he went up the shore and j seated himself on a great stone there. Presently Robert Pringle came up to ; announce that everything was ready j for their fishing expedition. Macßae regarded the man dully. “What’s that?” he asked. “Everything ready? Well, if you feel like ; fishing, Pringle, go ahead by yourself. Y'ou can have the day off. There’s every chance of your getting a good basket.” i “You’re not coming, sir?” “No. Somehow, I don’t feel like it. I’m fed up, Pringle! Fed right up, so that, though l know it'll be bad for me to sit here and think, that’s what I’m going to do. Ever felt that way?” “Often, sir. Most people have. But if I might be advising, I’d say that you were right about it’s being bad to sit and think when one’s feeling down in the mouth, as the saying goes. I do wish you’d come, sir. I’d feel sort of } rotten-like, out in the boat by myself. Besides which I could hardly row and fish at the same time.” A slow smile came to Macßae’s i eyes and nodding, he rose. “Right!” he agreed. “I’ll come, after all. But. Pringle. I’ve got a sort of idea that I mayn't stay on here much longer. I may close the place, or let it, or—oh. do something about it! and clear right away. After all. I’ve no ties to keep me, and though I’ve seen a bit of the world. I want to see a bit j more.” Quite, sir.” Pringle answered. “I

| hope that you wouldn’t be dismissing ; me, though.” “Dismissing you? Not I. I know a j good friend when I see one, Pringle. And I need friends.” “Thank you, sir. Where will you I be going?” “Where? Oh, anywhere! It | doesn’t matter. And now, let’s geT along to the boat.” Despite the fact that nervous ten sion seemed to affect all the principal actors in the drama that was being worked out. Sir Charles, arranging a ; big shoot over his moors, insisted that Blair Macßae should be invited to take part in that shoot. “We won’t be here much longer. :he explained to Elaine, “and though he’s made a deal of trouble and may make more, the fellow certainly de serves well from us. It’s the least 1 can do—to invite him as before. Pro bably, he'll fix up some excuse or other and refuse to come. He’s as proud as the devil.” “I know that,” Elaine answered “Still. I think that he’ll accept/’ ! She was right there, for Macßae. i though his pessimism remained, had swung back to the outlook that had | been his when he had first met Mr 1 Justice Hart on equal terms, i Not once, but tw’ice now, the judge. | so it seemed, had contrived to drop on his, Macßae’s life, some corroding j acid which burned away every atom of happiness and hope. < Continual cbiily.i

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