LOVE SET FREE

Sun (Auckland), Volume IV, Issue 1055, 20 August 1930, Page 5

LOVE SET FREE

COPYRIGHT PUBLISHED BY SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT

By

L.G.MOBERLY

Aataor si "Clmannc Pir««,'‘ “In Apply Bkwxn Tune/' “ Thread* of Ltff*," ct*.

CHAPTER XXI. His encounter with Judith in the East End; Herbert Holt’s death, and the uncomfortable knowledge that Judith had learnt from him of his treachery to her father, had all combined to give him a very unpleasant time. That combination of uncomfortable circumstances had almost made him look small in his own eyes, and he disliked remembering either Judith herself or anything in connection with her. He had dropped into the way of calling frequently at the house in Cavendish Square; he had skilfully inserted himself into the position of tame cat about Millicent Dasliwood; and i» had become a recognised thing that he should take her out fairly oftdn to lunch or dinner; should accompany her to the theatre, should, in fact, act the part of a preux chevalier to the very exacting lady. It was no habit of Horace Robertson’s, to perform acts of courtesy or chivalry without some ulterior motive —a motive bearing on his own advantage; and all his attentions to Millicent were directed toward one end. He had come to the conclusion that to marry her would be the wisest policy; and he intended to carry out that policy with the least Possible delay. It was all cut-and-dried in his own mind; he had put it quite coarsely and crudely to himself, and he intended to over-ride Millicent’s will power by his OWQ blatant determination. His for tunes were at a low ebb. To many a well-to-do widow like Alillicent Dash jvood seemed to him, as he put it to himself, "jolly fine business.” “Of course, she’s a shrew,” he had added, when he first thought things over, “but 1 can tame her. She’ll drop her airs and graces and tantrums when I’m her husband. I’m her match in temper, and I shall be able to manage her. * s Jj5 n t stand any nonsense!” The whole matter had culminated on this particular afternoon in a visit to Millicent, and a suitably worded Proposal. He flattered himself ha oad done well, very well indeed. He Knew that forceful persistence was more likely to win its way with her nan gentler methods; and he was right.

Although she would not have owned t» even to herself, the big, dominating man, with his bullying, half-insistent manner, fascinated her. He had more Power over her than her chivalrous, ourteous husband, with his refined -mo sensitive nature, had ever Possessed. Where Francis would ave drawn back in chivalry, Horace Pushed forward. Where Francis muld have pleaded, Horace deanded, and she liked Horace’s methods better. But she was a Quette, and she looked up at Horace rough her eyelashes—a laughing. Provocative glance, shook her head Payrully, and said with a smile which J T J® ew h a <i power to inflame a man: It s all very well to abuse Miss bn» vale! I don’t say she wasn’t very rii^ Zen an< * Pushing; but I daresay you had rea^y hnd her attractive. She and ? cer f tain amount of good looks, fer 1 on t believe you were as indifMm?* to er as y° u make out!” Here uicent caught sight of her own

lovely face in the glass, and smiled confidently, convinced that Judith’s looks would stand no comparison whatever with hers. “Oh, leave that wretched girl alone,” was the rough retort. The thought of Judith still mad 6 Horace feel sore and angry. “She’s gone. For Heaven’s sake let’s forget her; we don’t want to worry about her any more. She is nothing to you or me. Let’s think of ourselves and forget that Judith Merivale ever existed.”

Nevertheless he could not forget her, nor her eyes, cool and scornful, or alight with indignation. They had a haunting way with them which irritated him. “She’s married that confounded trustee of yours. Let us leave her out of the conversation.”

“Yes, fancy Derek Stanesley marrying her!” Millicent was always ready to go off at a tangent. “You know. I think he must have been hopelessly taken in by her. She probably made the running for him when she found it was hopeless to try and get hold of you. Though how she ever managed to see enough of him to make him ask her to marry him I can’t imagine.” “Well, what does int matter, anyhow?’’ To think of Judith married to another man fretted Horace into a state bordering on frenzy. “What on earth does it matter how that farmer chap got to know the girl? He is a farmer, isn’t he? Didn’t you say so?” “A farmer? Oh! I don’t exactly know. He has some sort of old property somewhere in Gloucestershire. Yes, I believe there is a farm or something. Francis loved going there; but I never would go. I hate these back-of-beyond places, and I always looked on Mr. Stanesley’s place as a derelict hole. I hope that Judith woman likes it,” she ended viciously. “It doesn’t matter to us whether she does, or whether she doesn’t,” was the answer, spoken in an irritated tone. Robertson was finding his wooing more difficult than he had expected. “Do let us get back to ourselves. Why do you shilly-shally? Why can’t you give me a straight answer to my question? I only want to talk about you and me. I’ve asked you to marry me? Can’t you say yes or no, and have done with it? We should pull very well together. I’ve said that before; and we should have a very good time. You ought to have a man here. You’re too pretty to live alone, and we should get on so well.” “Perhaps, but I don’t feel like making up my mind in a hurry,” she smiled at him bewitchingly, as she knew how to smile. “There’s no such violent haste. I’m not totteri«& to the grave. I’m atill young/ don’t be cross and look like a bear with a sore head because I won’t give you an answer straight off. Take me out for a run. Let’s go into the country at express speed in that new car of yours, and think things out. When we come back—l’ll—perhaps I’ll give you my answer,” and again she smiled, a maddening, bewitching smile, which made Robertson draw her roughly toward him and kiss her passionately.

CHAPTER XX IT. THE RIGHT STEP In the little house by the river, on thajt same afternoon, a man with j grave eyes and set mouth had put up | his final figlH against temptation and ; had won. Alison Derwent’s firm assertion had been right. He had j come out on the top! The fight with | himself over, ho wrote a short note j to Alison. “I am going to see my wife today. I cannot say what will be the exact outcome of it. I am acting on your advice. I will take up my old life and responsibilities if it is possible; and if my wife wishes to have me there I will go to my old home again. In any case, whatever happens, this is goodbye, which, after all, means God be with you.” To Ben he merely said that he should be out for the afternoon. Then, still with firmly-closed lips and valiant eyes, he set his face westward. It was nearly six o’clock when he reached his own door, and rang the bell; a flood of miserable memories pouring over him as he stood on the j familiar doorstep. He wondered vaguely what he should say to the parlourmaid as an explanation of his sudden appearance. But a strange, woman answered . his ring, a tall woman who looked upon the man with the brown beard and quiet eyes as a total stranger. “Is Mrs. Dasliwood at home?” he asked, and at his question a scared expression crossed the woman’s face, her eyes grew wide and startled. She drew back with a little cry. “Oh, no, sir—she—oh, you haven’t heard? But, of course, you haven’t heard, you couldn’t have.” She looked at the visitor with fear on her own face, and her words came fast and incoherently. “Heard what?” he questioned. “What has happened?” “Mrs. Dasliwood, sir—she —we got the news an hour ago by phone. It was me that went to the phone, sir, and it gave me such a shock. Well, it seemed to turn me right over. I couldn’t hardly speak at first to tell anybody else the news.’’ “News about what?” “Please to come inside, sir.” The woman seemed all at once to realise that she was keeping a gentleman standing on the doorstep, and some of her trained instincts suddenly came back to her. “Please to come into the hall, sir. I’m sure I’m sorry, but what we heard upset us all. Me and cook, sir, we don’t seem able to realise it, even now. It knocked us over. Well, it would do that, wouldn’t it, sir? Seeing -Mj*. Robertson was sitting in this very dining-room at lunch-time, and then at five o’clock for us to have that message over the phone.” The doctor saw that to attempt to check the flow of words would be worse than useless. The woman standing beside him in the hall was on the verge of hysterics, obviously suffering from some very serious shock. He knew that he could only wait patiently until she had recovered her self-control sufficiently to be coherent. He spoke very quietly himself, feeling strangely as if he were in a dream. He was back here in the familiar hall of his own house, where the very tick ing of the grandfather clock awoke old memories, and the sight of the wide staircase brought a vision of Millicent sweeping upstairs in one of her gusts of anger. “You have had some bad news, have you not?” he said at last, very gently. “The news came by phone, sir. Mrs. Dashwood went out with Mr. Robertson in his motor, sir, after lunch, and an hour ago we was telephoned to. There has been an accident—a bad accident.” Francis Dashwood saw that

the speaker was trembling all over. “Mr. Robertson—and he was only lunching here today-—he was killed outright.” Her voice rose on an hysterical note. “It seems awful to think he was alive at lunchtime. And Mrs. Dashwood —they’ve taken her to a hospital nearby. They said —” “Where is the hospital? Nearby where? They told you the place. I suppose?” “It was near Dodderley the accident happened, so they told us over the phone. I don’t know whether it was the police who phoned, or the hospital. But they took Mrs. Dashwood to Dodderly hospital, and she’s there. She’s very bad, sir.” The man standing in the hall waited to hear no more. Leaving the parlourmaid gazing after him, wondering if the strange visitor was mad, he ran down the steps, called a passing taxi, flung himself into it, and was driven rapidly to Waterloo, his thoughts going at racing speed with every movement of the wheels. He must go and see for himself what had hap-

pened. That was his one central idea. He must go and see Millicent. He thanked God, how he thanked God, that he had resisted the overwhelming temptation to hold his peace and remain in hiding; that he had come to the decision to return to his home and his responsibilities. He thanked God, too, for Alison’s wise, upright judgment; and above all, that he had fought and won his battle before news of the disaster to Millicent had come to him. He had done the right thing, not under compulsion because of the accident, but only because of his conviction that it was right. As the train carried him swiftly to Dodderly his thoughts were chaotic; memories of the past with Millicent; of his old passionate love for her; of the few, the very few happy days of their married life; of the terrible days that had come later; these memories came first, and then came others of Riverside Cottage and Alison; _of his work in dockland; of all that had come and gone. All these thoughts were jumbled together in his mind

while the train sped through the dark W'intry landscape to the rolling line of downs among which Dodderly lay. He had not succeeded in unravel- : ling these tangled thoughts, or reduci ing them to any definite shape, before the train had stopped at the small sta- [ tion. He chartered the one dilapid : ated fly waiting at the entrance. 1 “The hospital?” the flydriver, as i dilapidated as his cab, looked curiously i at the stranger who had arrived at . this time in the evening, without lug- •, gage, and was demanding to be taken ■ to the hospital. “Did you say the hospital, sir?” the man repeated, feel- , ing that he could not have heard the order properly.

“Yes, the hospital. I have come down to see someone who is very ill.’’ “Ah! you now?” The driver was slowly beginning to climb back to his box. “Well, p'raps it’s got to do with an accident there was out on the downs this afternoon. They tell me it was a nasty smash-up. The gentleman, he was driving, yke the very devil himself, they say, and dashed into a cart by the roadside, and smashed the car pretty near co bits. Killed ’isself, he did—killed straight off. he was, and the lady with him, she was took to the hospitai and ” “Will you drive me there as quickly as possible,” Dashwood said, sharply, as the old fellow seated himself and gathered up the reins. “I have no time to lose.” The note of authority acted as a spur, and the dilapidated old horse and driver contrived to get their fare to the hospital In what must have been record time. “You may as well wait for me, Dashwood said to the man as he

alighted. “I may have to drive bac': to the station,” and the cabmat settled himself contentedly for a long wait while the doctor made his wa" into the building. He was ushered into the room ol the Night Superintendent, a woma : with a capable face and courteous manner. On hearing the name of the patient he had come to see, she looked very grave, and for an instarst hesitated before speaking. Then sh > said gently: "Mrs. Dashwood? Are you a rela tion. an intimate friend, may I ask ’ I am afraid I have not any good news for you. She is badly injured. Th accident was a very serious one, and her injuries are very grave. The doctor is afraid ”