The Courage of Love

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 936, 1 April 1930, Page 5

The Courage of Love

COPYRIGHT PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

by

MADAME-ALBANESI

Author of ** Love’s Harvest,” " The Road to Love,” “The Way to Win,'-’ etc.. •**.

CHAPTER XIX (continued) There was rather a high wind blowing, and this brought to the girl’s mind the suggestion that perhaps her father, whom she still believed to be in existence, was having a bad time out on the sea. She longed to see him. She could not repress a feeling of excitement that sent a thrill through her as she pictured the moment when she would be in his arms. Her love for her father had always been a very beautiful thing with Diana. And now, although she was conscious that there was something strange working about her, and especially since this sudden move to another part of London, the uneasiness which possessed the girl became more definite.

She was very grateful to Mrs. Stanton and she clung to this working woman, although every now and then it came across her mind that she really did not know Mrs. Stanton, that she had never really had a place in her life before. And sometimes there-would come, when she was half awake, recollection of the old Thatch House, of the garden, and more particularly one night, when she and Hugh Waverley had met and spoken together. There was nothing very clear or defined in that memory, only it was something that gave extreme pleasure to Diana, almost a touch of happiness. And then her mind would slip away from that recollection, and she would be back in some vehicle that was travelling very rapidly, and all she was conscious of was a terrible pain in the back of her head. The pain in the back of her head came to her every now and then in reality, though the wounds were healing up, and there was no disfigurement, because Mrs. Stanton had trained the hair to curl over the injured part. It was strange how Diana’s memory tried to force itself into clear vision with her this night. The sound of Townley’s violent anger had frightened her, and at the same time it had served to rouse her. Once as she lay staring into the shadows of the room, she asked herself where she was? And what was passing with her? She was conscious that something very strange was taking place about her. but when Mrs. Stanton crept up a little later to look at her, she found the girl sleeping quietly. Sleep was, in fact, the one thing that would restore to her bodily and mental strength. And though Mrs. Stanton did everything in her power to encourage that return, her heart would falter when she realised what would lie before her if and when Diana should return- to full consciousness.

haven’t prepared a bed for’ him, and I told him so. But he only grunted and said anything would do for him, that he would sleep on a sofa. That isn’t like Henry Burke!” said Mrs. Stanton, with a sneer. “The best isn’t good enough for him. He hasn’t been drinking as hard as he usually does.” “I wonder if he’s got any money with him? I’ve half a mind to go in and face him. Bless you, I can put the wind up Burke; he’s quite a different proposition from Townley, and j i can make it very uncomfortable for him.” “Oh, he’ll have money about him I somewhere,” said Miriam Stanton, ] with the same" sneer in her voice. “I’m perfectly convinced that Townley would give a good deal to get rid of him, and he won’t grieve if Burke does run away.” “Say!” said Garrett, suddenly, “you j didn’t see, did you, the advertisement j that was in the paper this morning? Wait a bit, it’s in the evening paper, too.” He fished in his pocket and brought out a paper. “There it is,” he said. “Information wanted about James Ladbroke. That’s her father, poor kid! Looks to me, you know, Miriam, as if they was coming to a show down!”

The housekeeper and Garrett sat I talking together until a late hour, ! then, as Mrs. Stanton had stated, Burke arrived in a taxi. He blustered I as he came into the hall asking for j Townley, and he swore at Mrs. Stanton, though, at the same time, he gave her orders to serve him with ! some supper right away’. When she went back into the kit- 1 chen she closed the door. “It’s my belief, Garrett,” she said. I “that he”—with a backward nod of " her head —“he means to do a bunk! ; He’s got that cab waiting, it's stand- j mg on the other side of the road, and he’s got a suitcase with him, which | I know he packed this morning. I j

“Well, it was bound to come sooner or later,” the woman answered. “I wish you could get out of It be fore that comes.”

“I can’t leave the girl,” Mrs. Stanton answered quickly. “She has no one but me, and God knows what would happen to her if I went. Besides, I’ve got to study myself. Like you, they’ve kept me without wages, and when I ask Francis to help me, he tells me that he, too, is being kept very short.”

“Still,” said Garrett a little roughly, “he manages to do himself pretty well! I wish I could take care of you, Miriam, that I do! I know a little bit about you, .iust as I know a little bit about the man who was your husband. You was nicely done in, my dear! George Stanton was a rotter if ever there was one. I know you can’t bear to have a word said against him.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Stanton bitterly, “I’ve grown out of that, Garrett. Yes, he was a rotter, and he did me in. I And, worse than that, there’s the; some blood in my son! I’ve done my best for Francis, though, perhaps, I-! was too kind and soft with him, but j I did my best to give him a sort of education. In those two or three years when Townley and Burke were out in the West, I had him to myself, and things didn’t look so badly then. But when Townley came rushing back suddenly, and told me that he was going to make use of Francis, well, my heart gave way. What’s the use of fighting fate?” Mrs. Stanton asked, with added bitterness. “I, know'

now I’m never to know peace of mind, that’s very certain.” All the time she was talking, she was heating up a supper which she had prepared for Burke. And then when it was ready, she carried it on a tray to the sitting-room.. She thought he looked at hpr in a furtive way, and when he asked her who she was talking to, she answered that it was Garrett in the kitchen. “I suppose you know that Townley treated him roughly today, and turned him off? Well, he wants his money, and I’d better let you know that he means to have it.” “Well, he can’t get anything from me, that’s sure,” Burke answered. “I’m kept as short as you can possibly imagine. And I’m not going to stand for it neither, things are getting a bit too steep for my taste.” “Where are you' going to?” said Miriam Stanton. She saw that he changed colour, and then he began to bluster. "Oh, you needn’t pretend to me! I know a thing or frwo about you, Henry Burke. I’m coming to the conclusion that I have been a fool! The idea of you two men putting the police on to me, why that’s a joke! Why, you wouldn’t go within a hundred miles of the cops, either of you! There’s too much stacked up against you, and if you ain’t careful you’ll get them on to you sooner than you think!” “Now, look here, Stanton,” Burke stood up and tried to shout her down, “that’s enough from you, see! That’s enough! If Igo tonight it’s because I’m going of my own free will. I’m not going to stand for it. Cyril Townley can deal with this business by himself, he’s so clever. Now let’s see what he can make of it.” And then Burke gave a laugh, and looked up in a sly way at the woman standing in front of him. “Say,” he said, “I saw your boy, Francis, with his fancy girl tonight. It’s a bit risky, ain’t it, for him to go so dead against the boss’s orders?” “You mind your own business, Henry Burke,” said Mrs. Stanton, “and Francis will mind his.” With that she turned on her heel, and went back to the kitchen. “I was right,” she said to Garrett, “he is going to disappear,” “Good riddance,” said the chauffeur, and he laughed. “He counts for nothing; he’s a dud! It’s the other man I want to have a reckoning with, and I’ll have it before very much longer.” CHAPTER XX. At Martin Joyce’s suggestion, Mr. Gresham arrived that evening at the lodgings to be introduced to Hugh Waverley and his mother. He was received most -warmly by both of them; in fact it was almost pitiful to see in what a state of excitement they were, and how much Hugh Waverley was keyed up by the thought that in this man they -were to have the means of solving this problem that was working so disastrously on his heart and life. Mr. Gresham repeated almost word for word ail that he had told Martin Joyce in the lawyers’ office, but he added other matters. He told Hugh that the property which had taken James Ladbroke out to the West of America had been a property which had belonged to an uncle of his wife. At one time the ranch had been a very prosperous concern, and, as a matter of fact, it had been allowed to lapse into comparative failure because there had been no one to look after

He w-ent on to describe how he had gone out to Arizona. He had been a j mining engineer, and had been en- | gaged by the late Mr. Ladbroke’s j uncle to go out and investigate mat--1 ters at the mine. On his side Ladj broke had gone out to see what could ■ be done to the ranch, and so the two | men had drifted together naturally. I They were lonely, both of them, beI cause it appeared that Gresham had j lost his wife early in life, and had

become a wanderer in consequence. He was a fine, strong, upstanding man, and had made it his business, so he said, to take care of James Ladbroke. Just when and how Burke and the man who called himself Townley had drifted into the scheme of things', was a little difficult for this man to say. But one thing he did know, and that was that the first glimpse that he had of these two men he realised that they were, what he called, “a tough lot.” “Townley, whose real name is Pelly, was supposed to have been mixed up with mines. He also had more than a passing knowledge of how a ranch should be run, but he certainly had never been a working rancher, nor had he been a rider. He was a town man, a gambler, and in all probability had | came from England to escape the hand i of the law.” Burke was dismissed, contemptu- , ously. I “A great, big, fat, useless lump of a man, tacked to the one we call TownI ley,” Mr. Gresham said. “Possibly

because he knew a little too much. I had no use for him; he was treacherous, and he was a coward. It was not Burke who shot me, and then killed Ladbroke* it was the other man.” And then he made a disclosure. “The fact is,” he said, “Townley ! when he got rid of me as he sup- j posed he had, not only robbed me of ! all the documents and papers which j were in my possession, but also my | name. His real name is Pelly, as I just said. And it appears he was known in I certain of the towns round and about i as ‘One Man Pelly,* because he could | stand up and take on a crowd single- ; handed. Yes, my name is Townley,’* 1 ! the tall, thin man said, as he smiled ! j into Mrs. Waverley’s face. “I am , | Cyril Gresham Townley, and I am the : man who was deputed by her father to : look after Diana’s interests, and to see that all w r as well with her. These tw*o ; scoundrels must have made their i escape to England very shortly after j Ladbroke had been murdered, and 1 j had been shot down. They never ! w r aited to see if I had any life left in j me, they w*ere convinced I was dead. ’ “It seems to me,” the rightful ! Townley said, as he lapsed into ; silence a moment, paused, and then : w r ent on speaking—-“It seems to me I | saw a man like Henry Burke only a few days ago. I am convinced it ; was Burke,” he added, “because he 1 changed colour when he saw me, and | he disappeared very quickly.”

| (To be continued tomorrow)