The Courage of Love

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 940, 5 April 1930, Page 22

The Courage of Love

COPYRIGHT

PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

by

MADAME ALBANESI

Author of '• Lev.’, Harvtot." •• Tbo Rood to Love." "The Way to Wih.v etc.

CHAPTER XXV. ( continued ) j “I shall give him that comfort, ! please God, before I am very much ‘ older. Oh, mother, just to know that she is still in the world! I have had such dreadful thoughts, such dreadful fears. I have never told you, but I have not been able to sleep I have walked the floor of my room nigh; after night.” “It was not necessary to tell me these things, dear son,” Mrs. Waverley said. “I knew it. But you must keep calm now, Hugh. If you really are going to be in touch with your lost happiness before very long, you must have strength. You will need strength, perhaps, not so much for yourself, as for Diana.” The young man caressed his mother’s hand, and lifted it to his lips. Then he said: “Yes, you are right, I must be calm, because we don’t know in what condition she will come back to us.” At that moment the telephone bell rang, and Hugh, jumping up, went_ to answer it; it was Martin Joyce’s voice speaking to him. “Something very queer has happened at the office tonight, Hugh,” lie said. “Just about the time I got back from dining with your mother the commissionaire told me that there had been a man hanging about for the last half hour, a man who was very drunk. He insisted, however, that he wanted to see someone connected with the paper, and so I said I would take him on. Well, he was drunk! As a matter of fact he .is still very drunk. But he’s sleeping now. I have put him on a couch in one of the waiting-rooms, and he is snoring like a pig. 1 couldn’t make head or tail of what he was saying, except that he excited me at once because every now and then he would curse a man called Felly. At first I thought he said ‘Kelly,’ but by shaking him a bit, and asking him a question here and there, I found that this name wasn’t Kelly, but Felly. And that's the name, isn’t it, that Gresham Townley says is the right name of the man who took Diana away?”

“This is a very wonderful night, Martin,” Hugh Waverley answered. “It’s just as if the clouds were breaking all round. For X have 1 had the most, extraordinary revelation made to me, and I seem as if I were about to face a new life. Shall I come down to your office?” "Not a bit of it, my dear fellow,” Martin Joyce said. “He’s sleeping too heavily. I’ll wait until the morning and then I’ll let you know. As a matter of fact I shall have to get him away from here somehow. I have bribed the commissionaire to say nothing about his being here, because I feel to a certain extent I must keep grip of him. He’s a very vulgar, coarse mail, and speaks with a very strong American accent at times, and is evidently a very undesirable individual. I believe I will take him back with me to my diggings, and 111 ring you up as early as I can in the morning. I have plenty to do here tonight, you know. Cheerio!” Hugh Waverley turned round and stretched out both his hands. “That was Joyce telling me that there is a man at the newspaper office whom he thinks is also mixed up in this business about which I have been hearing so much tonight. How wise and right you have been, my mother! You have always counselled patience and courage. It hasn’t been easy, but you were right, darling mother. Just as you always have been right all through your life.” CHAPTER XXVI. Mrs. Stantou kept to her word, and she induced Diana to remain in bed the next, morning. It was not a difficult task, for the girl complained of feeling ill, and Miriam Stanton knew that she had had a very broken night because she, herself, did not go to bed until quite late. And more than once she had gone into Diana’s room and had seen her tossing about; in fact, on one occasion she had found the girl sitting up in bed, and had noticed how terrified was the expression on the young face. So when she urged bed, and brought up a nice breakfast, she found Diana quite ready to fall in with her suggestion. In the course of the morning, too, the nurse whom she knew had been attending a case in a little house not very far away, was stopped by Mrs. Stanton as she was passing, and brought in. She was a middleaged woman and the moment she saw Diana she became professional. She felt the girl’s, pulse, she took her temperature, and she approved of keeping Diana in bed.

When she was downstairs, she said:

“Has she been very ill, this young lady?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Stanton. “She had a very bad acicdent and cut her head, and what is more extraordinary, she seems to have lost all remembrance of what passed with her at the time of the accident, and even before.” “Oh, that’s not at all unusual,” said the nurse, “but she looks to me very delicate. Haven’t you got a good doctor? You ought to have a doctor.” "I am not exactly in authority here,” said Miriam Stanton hurriedly. “But I will speak about this when her guardian comes.” “Of course, I don’t want to prescribe for her,” said the nurse, "but I don’t think you can do better than keep her in bed, give her light food, and let her be warm. She seems to be in a very high state of nervousness, even «of excitement. She’s a pretty creature,” the nurse added, “and very young, I should think. If you like I’ll look in this afternoon as I am passing.” “I should be very glad if you would," said Miriam Stanton. “You can take her temperature, and that will be something to go by. I don’t feel as if I want to take the full responsibility on myself. I hope she isn’t going to be really ill.” “Rest, warmth and sleep will probably do her the greatest good,” said the nurse. As a matter of fact, when she came back in the afternoon she reported the temperature was normal, pulse more steady, and she said that Diana w»as altogether better than she had been in the morning. She also said that a little bromide might be given to the girl, and that would ensure a good night's sleep. Date that night, Miriam Stanton had

a visit from her son, who seemed to j he in a great hurry. i “Listen, mother!” he said. “I’m i here to tell you you’ve got to do everything you are told to do. Don’t protest, don’t make a scene, no matter w}iat he orders you to do, you do it! Do you understand? He’s coming along here tomorrow, I think, sometime, to fix things for you and the girl.” “How do you stand with him, Francis?” the woman asked, almost in a whisper. “Have you settled things with him?” Francis Stanton smiled a strange smile. “Yes, I think we’re going to be about even! I’ve got his written agreement, and what’s more, I’ve got a wad of notes for a very large sum Of money. And look here, I am giving you both the document and the money into your care, Mother, because, well ” he shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t quite know what’s likely to happen, so I don’t want to have these valuables about me. Has Burke been here?” the young man asked. As his mother shook her head, Francis Stanton said: “Oh well, I wouldn’t he a bit surprised if he were to turn up. For he’s on his beam ends! Looks pretty sickly, too! Came after me this afternoon, and begged for a pound note just to carry on with. I didn't give it to him, I hadn’t got it to give to him. Though I’ve all this money, and I’ve also an agreement signed by Pelly setting forth that I am going to have a great deal, I’m not touching a penny of what he’s given me. It’s too dangerous. I suppose supplies must be coming in again from the American bank. Anyway, I’m as hard up as I’ve ever been!” “I can give you something to go on with, Francis,” his mother said eagerly.

But he shook his head. “No,' that’s ail right, I can manage. I suppose Garrett’s standing by? Well, Garrett’s a good chap, Mother. You know he worships the ground you walk on! I’d like to see you mate up with him.” “I can’t think of myself, or anything to do with myself," Miriam Stanton said. “Not while things are in such a queer state. What is going to happen? Oh, Frankie, my dear, will there ever come a time when I can have some peace of mind? When I can draw my breath easily?” “Yes, it’s coming, and it won’t be long, Mother. And how is the lady upstairs?” “Well, she has been very poorly, but I have kept her in bed, and she’s a lot better tonight. Will—will she have to see him tomorrow?” “Yes,” said Francis Stanton, “she will. And I ask you once again, mother, not In make any protest. Do exactly what he says you are -to do. It’s most important!” “I promise,” said Miriam Stanton.

And then they kissed one another, and the young man went away.

It was early the next morning when a car containing Pelly drew up outside the shabby old house, and Miriam Stanton had to open the door to the master of the house. She saw that he was in a high state of nervousness.

“Now then, Stanton,” he said, in his roughest way, “you’ve got to dress, and you’ve got to get that young woman dressed. You’re both coming with me, see. YY>u understand, you’re coming with me. We’ve got a very important engagement on this morning.”

Had she not given her promise to her son, Miriam Stanton might have made some protest, remembering how ill Diana had been. But she played her part. “All right,” she said, “give me a little time. “What’s the hour this important appointment is fixed for?” “Half-past twelve,” the man answered her.

She caught her breath very quickly, and turning she went up the stairs.

Diana was half-dressed and was sitting by the fire. She had asked Mrs. Stanton what had become of the paper with the picture of the cathedral in it, and Miriam Stanton had brought it up to the bedroom, and Diana sat with this page open, looking at the well-remembered places and feeling her heart surge with the strangest excitement and emotion. “I would like to go to the cathedral,”

she said, as Mrs. Stanton came into j the room. Miriam pretended to scold her. j “Now, my dear, what do you mean by sitting about without your dress on? You know you’ve only just escaped a very bad cold. And look here, my dear! Mr. Pelly is downstairs, and he’s taking us out for a drive, so will you let me help you to get 'dressed?” Diana put aside the paper; the colour had gone out of her cheeks and she looked with pleading eyes at the housekeeper. “Must —must I go?” she said. “I don’t like him! I don’t like these men, they are so common—they speak so strangely. They are very rough, so rough, with you. I don’t like them.” “Oh, they don’t mean to be rough, my dear,” said Miriam Stanton. “It’s just their way. They’re not the sort of people you have been accustomed to, that’s qjiite evident.” “Where did I meet them? That very j big, strong man, the one who frightens me a little, he’s a stranger, and yet he doesn’t behave like a stranger. It’s all very difficult to understand.” Mrs. Stanton went to her and kissed her, and then drew her out of the chair.

“Listen, my dear, perhaps one day very soon things will be made clear to you? Now, will you let me help you to dress? I think you had better put on something warm of mine. You know you haven’t got a winter coat yet.” “But you gave me a coat the other day, can’t I wear that? And I have a winter coat,” said Diana. “I wonder what has become of it.” Miriam Stanton said nothing, but she bustled about. She brought in a sort of warm woolly coat which she made the girl put on under the coat which she had provided. It was one that belonged to herself. Aud though, it was too big for Diana, she had been obliged to make the girl wear it because she could not let her wander out in the damp and cold without something of this nature. She also had provided a small felt hat. The hat that Diana had worn that memorable day when she had gone to Middleston had been all crushed aud bloodstained when the girl had arrived in London. She felt that Diana was trembling in every limb and so she supported her when they were coming down the stairs. When they got into the hall the girl clung to the housekeeper. “I am afraid,” she whispered. “1 am so frightened.” Then Pelly had come out of the sit-ting-room and stood looking at her. “All ready?” he asked. “Well, come right along. We’ve got a goodish way to go, and I’ve no time to lose.” The man who was driving the car was the one whom he had called Austin a few nights before. A man who always signified disaster to Miriam Stanton. She saw a sneer and a smile on this man’s face as he looked at her and then looked at Diana. But he played his part outwardly; he touched his cap when Pelly spoke to him, and he received the order where to drive in the same respectful fashion. In the car Pelly tried to be affectionate and cordial to Diana.

“Ah, you’re looking a bit better,” he said. “That’s how your father will want to see you when he comes back.

It was, as it happened, a very unfortunate remark. Diana’s face flushed suddenly, and her eyes became full of light for a moment. “Father!” she said. “Daddy! But when is Daddy coming? It’s such a long time! I thought he would have been back before now.”

“Oh, he’ll be here pretty soon,” said Pelly, cursing himself for his foolishness, “and you’ve got to look brisk and bonny when he comes. You must get a little more flesh on your bones, and have some colour in your cheeks. You know, you’re looking like a ghost just now.” The colour faded out of Diana’s face. She answered him in a pathetic way. “That’s just what I am—a ghost. I am full of memories, and nothing is clear. I ,wish I knew what is happening to me. I wish—l wish I could get out of these shadows. I can trust you,” she said suddenly, putting her hand out and slipping it into Mrs. Stanton’s, “but I don’t know you,” she added, turning to Pelly. “1 don’t know you, and yet somehow I feel I have known you somewhere else. You are so strong, so big. I think you are a very cruel man.” Pelly turned on her with a scowl. “Stow that!” he said. ‘I don’t want to hear no tomfoolery from you!” - Diana drew back from him, and her hand gripped Mrs. Stanton’s. Her voice was clear and proud as she answered him. “You must not speak like that to me,” she said. “You are not only cruel, but rude. What is my father doing with such men as you? What can he have in his mind to leave me with you? Oh, Daddy, if you are alive, why don’t you come back?” This evidence that the mind of the girl was moving, working, that light was breaking through on her darkness, was something for which Pelly was not prepared; it might mean danger. He stopped the car suddenly. “You go right on,” he said to the man who was driving. “You know what you’ve g’ot to do. I’ll take a taxi —-I’ve got to call somewhere.” He suddenly felt that he could not sit in the small space that the car afforded with this girl looking at him and saying such accusing things. They had driven into a different and a better neighbourhood, and he got out and walked a little way 4 while the car drove on at an easy* pace, moving through certain streets until they came into the West End. Here Austin, as the pretended chauffeur, slackened. He was before his time, and he drove along leisurely quite ignorant of the fact that he was being followed very closely by a taxicab in which there were two young men. It’s like a dream, Martin,” Hugh Waverley said once in a low voice. “Just to think that she is there In that car only a few yards from me!” “Brace up, old chap!” said Martin Joyce. “Keep your head—we are not through wit it yet, you know. Oh, I don’t doubt young Stanton; as a matter of fact, he’s got Garret there to keep him going if he should begin to wilt. And don’t forget that your new friend, Miss Lottie Parter, will be on the scene, too. It strikes me that she is a young woman who won’t be dismissed very lightly.”

“Yes, but it’s all so confused, Martin. God grant it will he all right. But it isn’t going to be easy. I do trust Stanton,” Hugh said, and no doubt Garrett is straight in this. He is a rough fellow, but he’s been very frank with me. I suppose he is not what the world would call a very honest kind of a man for a friend, but I trust him; I believe in him.” “That’s all right, then,” said Joyce. “Now, then, we’re getting near to the

place. Pelly has risked a good deal, j you know. He didn’t dare put the I announcement of this marriage out i for all the world round this neigh- j bourhood to read, so he has had to get j a special licence which has cost him j a pretty penny. I wonder where he ! is? He wasn’t in the car when we passed it just now. Now, then, here j we are, Hugh! Puli yourself together, j man! Remember what you’ve got at stake.”

As the car in front of them slid al- j most noiselessly to the pavement in i front of a big building the cab stopped dlso. “You’ll wait here,” said Joyce to the j driver. “I don’t think we shall be very | long, but I’m not quite sure. But you ] must be here when we come out. You understand?” “I understand, guv’nor!” said the! taxi-driver. He had already been j given a pound note, so he was not I going to lose very much if he stood i there all day. Joyce and Hugh paused to watch what happened with the car. Austin got down, and as he opened the door he took Diana by the arm, and pulling her out of the car, he hurried her toward the door of the town hall. She did not struggle, but turned round and j held out her hand to Mrs. Stanton, who pressed closely to her, clinging to that hand. It was with difficulty that Joyce restrained his companion from rushing forward and taking the girl in his arms. * “Wait!” he said. “Wait!” CHAPTER XXVII. Although he urged his friend to wait, Martin Joyce drew Hugh on, and they followed closely behind Diana and Mrs. StantoD. It appeared that the girl made no effort to free herself from the grasp of Austin’s hand on her arm; in fact, she seemed to be really very weak and fheble, and had to be supported up the steps and along a passage until they reached a certain door. Outside this door Austin paused and when he suddenly realised that there were two men standing quite near, looking at him intently, a queer expression swept into his face. “Take hold of her. I’ll be back in a minute,” he whispered to Mrs. Stanton.

And he slipped past Hugh and Martin Joyce and hurried out of the building. On his way down the steps he encountered Francis Stanton. The young man was not alone; there was a girl with him; a girl who had her hand slipped through the young man’s arm in a very affectionate and intimate fashion. “Hallo, Austin!” said Francis Stanton. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?” But Austin did not pause to answer. He made his way in a great hurry to the car, clambered into the driver's seat, and drove off almost immediately. “He’s wise to something,” said Francis Stanton to the girl beside him. And then added, shrewdly, “I expect we’ve seen the last of Austin for some time to come!” A statement that was made a fact a few hours later when an empty car was found deserted in a side street and taken possession of by the police. And Lottie Parter laughed up at him. “Well, he don’t count, does he? It’a the big boss we’ve got to deal with. You’re not getting the wind up, are you, Frankie? Y'ou know you look a hit pale?” “Well, you don’t know this man, Pelly; I do,” said Francis Stanton, in a low voice. “I don’t mind telling you I’ll be precious glad when .this business is over!” As they passed into the building, two or three men followed them very closely and walked behind in a seemingly indifferent manner until they came to that group outside the door. Then Martin Joyce looked at these three men, and gave them a nod. Then he whispered to Hugh: “I think we had better go inside. I don’t think there is anyone in this room, but we may as well get out of the passage. We don’t want to attract too much attention.” And then it was that Hugh went forward, and taking one of Diana's hands in his slipped it through his arm. The girl was almost in a fainting condition, and the heart of the man who loved her beat hurriedly, and with deep anxiety, as he realised her physical weakness. But Miriam Stanton had her arm round Diana. “Come darling,” she said, “lean on me. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.” And then she spoke to Hugh. “Do you know her, sir?” she asked. Hugh nodded his head. “Yes.” In a voice choked with emotion he added: “She belongs to me—she is going to he my wife.” They led Diana into the room, and Miriam drew forward a chair. At that moment Pelly appeared towering behind the men who were standing about the doorway. His expression was ugly: he looked about him like an animal scenting enemies, and as he saw Hugh Waverley bending over Diana he moved forward swiftly, but before he had taken more than a few steps, the three men who had been brought on to the scene by Martin Joyce, stepped forward, and one of them tapped him on the arm. “Your name George Pelly?” he queried. “I have a warrant here for your arrest.” Pelly turned with a snarl ready to fight, and at that moment he caught sight of Francis Stanton and the girl who was with him. He advanced on Stanton. “So you have done me in, have you? You

And as he spoke he put his hand into an inside pocket and brought out a revolver. But before he could use it, the plain-clothes men had closed on him, and one of them had caught hold of his wrist, and with a swift movement had jerked the pistol out of his hold.

“You’ll not take me alone,” panted Pelly in his rage. “That—that young swine there —he’s here to mary this girl.”

It was Lottie who answered. “That’s all right, old fellow,” she cried in a shrill tone; “there’s nothing against Francis. He can’t mary one, because he's married already to me. See?” The rage that overpowered Pelly, the language that poured from his lips, the fight he put up, the noise and the struggle, brought people running to the scene. But he was at last overpowered, and finally he was led away beaten, and yellow with fear. And then, as Martin Joyce took Stanton and the girl out of the room, and Hugh was left alone with Miriam and Diana, he took the girl’s trembling form in his arms, and he held her close to his heart while he called her by name, and spoke words of love, and tenderness, and courage. The officials of the building had come forward, and it was necessary for someone to give a clear and concise account of what was happening. This fell to the duty of Martin Joyce

who was able to perform the task to the satisfaction of everyone. And then weeping Miriam Stanton j was taken away by her son, and Diana i was almost carried to the cab that ] was waiting, by the man who had j loved her with so much faith, and so j much courage, although there had j been times when he felt he might never see her again. CHAPTER XXVIII. Though the hearts of Hugh Waverley and his mother were full of gratitude because Diana had been given back to them, they were also very full of anxiety. Martin Joyce had run after Miriam Stanton, and had begegd her to folio wwith him to the house where Mrs. Waverley was staying. “I know' how good you have been to the child,’ ’he said, “and she may look for you. She has grown to know you, and from what Edw'ard Garrett has told us she has grown to care for you, too. Of course, Mrs. Waverley will be like a mother to her, but still Diana doesn't know her yet. So please, won’t you ‘come?” And Francis Stanton urged his mother to do what was asked of her. “We'll seey ou later on,” he said. “You’ve got to meet my w r ife, you know, mother, and when you've heard w'hat a real good sort Lottie is, and what a fine part she’s played in helping me to cut out all kinds of old tricks, and look on life in a different

' way, why. I’ll bet you’ll find it as I easj’ to love her as I do!” j So after Hugh had practically car- | ried Diana up the stairs to the-waiting-I room, where his mother was wait- | ing so nervously, it was not more than | a few minutes before Miriam Stanton ! had arrived, and was kneeling beside i the chair in which the chair w'as lying. “If she could be put to bed at once,” she urged, “and if you would be so good as to have a doctor! It is only that she is exhausted. She has gone through so much, and that man always frightens her. Poor child, she needs to be treated so carefully.” And then Miriam looked up from the ground where she knelt, into Hugh Waverley’s face, j "She spoke your name for the first | time a day or two ago. She has been | like a creature wrapped about in a ! fog. Her memory has gone back to I old things. She thought she was going jto see her father, poor child! That : has been one -of the cruellest parts of i the game they played with her.” I Both Hugh Waverley and his mother . entreated Miriam to remain. They i saw with what care, what tenderness, what real love she waited on Diana, t and when Dr. Bravington had been . summoned, and he had questioned . Miriam and approved of her suggesi tion that Diana should be kept in bed l j awhile he at once decided that Mrs. 1 j Stanton should be engaged as a -1 nurse. [ ! It was like facing a new world for ; ! Miriam Stanton to find herself sur-

rounded by people who were grateful to her, who treated her not only with kindness, but with respect, and never spoke a word that might have been construed as a reproach because of her share in ail that had happened to Diana. Indeed. Mrs. Waverley was more than considerate with this pale, quietmannered woman. She urged Hugh to go to his work. “Now you know that Diana is here and I am taking care of her. and Mrs Stanton is here, and is going to take care of her. too, you must go back my dear boy. It will be the best j thing for you to get your thoughts I off all that has happened. You won t ! be able to grasp it all quietlv and sensibly for some little time. I know I that, but it will come in time. All you have to know now. my dear, is | that Diana is back in your life, and please God. she will belong to you altoI gether in a very little while.” * * • The story that had to be given to | Cyril Gresham Townley was a verv j exciting one, and it was Martin Joyce who told him the whole business. It had been indeed an exciting morning on the whole for Martin Joyce, because before snatching an hour or so of sleep on his return from the newsj paper office, he had glanced in at the j room where Henry Burke had been put j to bed and had seen that the man was j still sleeping heavily.

To be concluded on Monday.