OUR SERIAL STORY

Taranaki Daily News, 7 April 1928, Page 16

OUR SERIAL STORY

“LOVE’S STOWAWAY”

3y

JOHN L. CARTER

Jl\l Rights Res treed,

CHAPTER XI (continued). Molly merely stood there, her hands clasped, miserably shaking hor head, and biting nervously af her lip. “It’s no good, George,” she protested. “It would be a crime.” “You’re hysterical—that's what’s the matter with you!” he flung at her. “You’ve promised to marry me. You’re mine now. And, I don’t intend to let you go. Understand that, Molly. I’ve had more, than enough of this.” “Never, George!” she cried. “George, don’t fail me! nor yourself! We must both fight for the highest that is in us. That’s why I confessed to you, even so late as, I did, I’d no right to give that promise.” “I won't hear a word, Molly,” roared George. “Anyhow', you changed your mind before, you must change it back again.” And then he frowned in sudden suspicion. “Is it Lord Belden again?” he demanded. Molly recoiled before that cruel scowl. But then she summoned all her courage. “Yes George, it is Cecil Belden. It’s no use —I belong to him, and always shall.”

“That settles it then,” snapped George. ‘lll send out no more S.O.S.’s You can take my word for it. Once you reached civilisation you’d give me the slip. But, you can’t do that here. Here, on this island, we are primitive man and woman, and you’ve got to bow to the law of the wild, where might is right. Yes, don’t forget that, so long as you and I are here, you belong to me. Understand that, Molly. Either you come to me of your own free will, or else it's as the captive of my bow and spear. No, I’m standing no more nonsense! I’m going to keep you for myself, I'm not going to wait—if you please—until you know whether Cecil Belden wants you or not.” Molly had endured more than enough of this, and, seizing her opportunity, she slipped through her door, and barred it behind her. She felt terrified almost to" death by his threats and oaths. She had never believed it possible that George would behave so insanely. Was he indeed insane? Had his wound turned his head? It seemed like it. She knew what it really was; George was suffering from unrequited love. He was experiencing something of the torment that she had suffered over Cecil, only, women were supposed to endure those things without any outside manifestation.

She stood there for several minutes still grasping the bar of the door as though to keep it in placa. At last she heard a knock.

“Molly, forgive me, dear!" he pleaded. “You can come out, I won’t- do you auy harm.”

“No, George dear, I think I’ll go to bed. It’s time you were in bed too, she said firmly. “Good-night, dear. We shall both bo calmer in the morning.” And then, as she listened breathlessly, she heard him give a growl, and then turn away.

Molly could not compose herself. Sleep seemed to be utterly out of the question. There was the future to be thought about. George had delivered his ultimatum, and she, hers. And now it was to be war between them, a war of wits, that old, age-long conflict between the sexes. Georgs had claimed that his superior strength was to oe the deciding factor. But, such a theory was barbaric, unthinkable! She could not submit to so obsolete a law.

Gradually her indignation lessened and she began to consider what was to be done. She was filled with alarm at the thought that George would no longer broadcast those S.O.S. messages. But, how could she expect him to do so? His intention, now, would be to keep her here, all to himself. That was obviously what he had meant.

When dawn broke she realised that she had slept, though it seemed that she had tossed and agonised all the night. And now she put on her bathing costume, hurried down to the sea, and made for the wreck. She believed she knew enough about the wireless set to enable her to get a message through. Anyhow, ehe could but try. First she would tune in until she could hear Morse distinctly, and then she would transmit that S.O.S.

For just over two hours she sat there steadily tapping out again again that long series of dots and dashes, that message which meant so much to her future happiness. She worked away feverishly —dot, dot, dash, dot, dash—and so on—always concluding with “George Knapp, Molly Briant, wanting help.” She had once again concluded the message when a slight noise behind her made her turn. George Knapp was standing in the doorway, looking at her in drearlful understanding.

“George!” she gasped, flinching away.

“How long have you been at this game?” he demanded, with a scowl that suggested hate rather than love. Molly never spoke. Thia was terrible! Still, do what he might, he could not cancel all those broadcast cries for help. “Oh, so this is it, is it?” he said grimly. “You'e made up your mind to escape me, at no matter what cost. Isn't that so? Well then, that’s the last wireless message you ever send!” he cried. And picking up a spanner, he smashed the eight-valves in quick succession, broke a couple of condensers in as many blows, snapped the leads to the aerial and earth, then flung the spanr.er to the floor with an oath. Molly sat there unable to move. There was something so devastating, ruthless, cruel, about this new George. “Behind my back, too!” he raved. “How you must hate me! Yes, you loathe the very sight of me! I know!” “George! you must be mad, to go on like this! Why shouldn’t I try to get a message through? I have every right to get away from here if I possibly can. And, you shan't prevent me!” He glared at her. “I believe I would kill you before I'd let you go to anybody else,” ha said. It was as though he revelled in surrendering himself to his lowest impulses. Even now Molly could hardly credit tint George Knapp l —of all men—should thus descend to so ignoble n level. “Come along!” he cried threateningly. “Get off this wreck, bcfms J throw vou off!”

Molly felt impelled to defy him, but she realised that discretion was the wiser part, at the moment. “Don’t wait for me,” he flung at her. “I shall go back on the raft. You can return the same way as you came. ’

“But, aren't you coming?” she asked uneasily. She was afraid. It suddenly occurred to her that he might bo intent upon killing himself. Apparently he sensed something of this, and laugh, d harshly.

“That would be a happy release for you, my dear, I’ve no doubt,” he said. “But, I’m not doing away with myself. No’ such luck for you! I'm going to live! And, what's more, you are going to live, too, and with me!”

Molly waited to hear no more, but hurried on deck, dived in and swam to the shore.

As she hurried into her clothes she glanced out of the window. Already the raft was on its way back. She must hurry, she told herself. She was half tempted, the moment she was dressed to creep round behind the shack and up to the deep cleft which she knew of. She was afraid of George, dreaded meeting him.

At last she was dressed, and she opened the door and looked cautiously out. The raft was nearly at the land by now. But she hardly noticed it, for. her eyes were attracted by a mass of flame, beyond, and a bank of black smoke. Looking more intently she realised that it was the wreck on fire.

“He never set the yacht on fire!” she gasped.

But there could be no doubt about it. Obviously, from that intensely black smoke, he had poured petrol over that dry-as-tinder woodwork, and set a match to the lot.

“He's mad!” moaned Molly. “Oh God —help me!” Under this sudden new anxiety she forgot all about her intention to hide in the coral cleft. This waA a vandal's act, criminal, devilish! In setting fire to the wreck, ho had deliberately destroyed, not only all that machinery, instruments, engines, dynamos, accumulators, but also numerous simply invaluable, if more common place, fittings, precious tools, utensils, not to speak of the timbers, out of which they might have built a boat, or at any rate have improved the shack. The thought horrified her. Surely George had gone mad Yes, that was it, his wound had sent him mad. That thought softened her somewhat, though it also roused lici fears. One thing was evident; she must protect henself from him. And so she slipped into his tent, took the gun, and a packet of cartridges and put them under her own bunk. If it were true that he had gone out of his mind, well, it was just as well that that gun should bo beyond his reach. Greatly to her relief, he did not seek her out, did not qddress her. That surprised her. Was it that he was beginning to feel ashamed of having so wantonly destroyed almost all that was left to them of civilisation ? Or, was he simply biding his time? And, now with curious detachment she turned to the duties of the shack. As she lighted the fire she was reminded that George must have destroyed several eases of those invaluable things, matches, in that sudden mad act of setting fire to the yacht. She was boiling some potatoes together with a few roots of a plant that looked very like dandelion, which they had decided to sample, since it grew all over the island. Their rule was to try any promising-looking herb or root in small quantities, which if no harm resulted, they added to their dietry, on the principle that even should it have no food value, it made for variety, and, at least, helped to fill them, up. George did not turn up for lunch, and, for three days he carefully avoided Molly. Naturally that was a great relief to her, though it was no remedy, of course. Indeed, it was a nerve-racking experience altogether. She would eat her own meal then get his ready, and clear off into her room, and so leave the way clear for him. He would wander away the moment his meal was finished. This new situation was a great anxietv to her.

What was George’s idea? Was he ashamed of himself? Or what was it? What was it that l»rd made him suddenly drop his attitude of the primitive man who was to possess her by right of might, make her the captive of his bow and spear! Even then, supposing he had changed his mind, had come to his senses in fact, surely there was no reason why he should avoid her. Rather ought he to say frankly that he was sorry, and then let them take up their normal life again where they had dropped it. After all, in his present sane attitude —or what she believed to t.e his present attitude—surely he was at least as anxious to get back to civilisation as she was? And, the sooner they got to work upon the problem the better. At last, since it looked as though he would never willingly speak to her again, she made a deliberate and unashamed advance, and eventually succeeded in forcing speech from him. “We can't go on like this, George,” ahe had said. She had repeated it again and again, patiently, obstinately, and following him up, no matter where he went to, or what shift lie made to avoid her.

“You leave me alone!” he said sour'y at last.

.. “It's no use, George, we can’t go on like this,” she insisted. “We must pull together, or I shall go mad. Life's hard enough, in any case, without you going on like this.” She said it firmly and he flinched under her words. Then he let out what his idea had been in keeping aloof. “When you want my companionship,” he said with deliberation, “you can have it for the asking. But, it's on the understanding that I am to be your husband, er nothing. Till then, you can let me alone. That’s all I’ve got t > to say.” And with that he stalked off

down the garden and busied himself pinching out the surplus shoots from ais seeding tomato-plants. Molly felt weighed down with the

problem. Indeed, so hopeless' and discouraged was she that it seemed .that it would almost have done her good to hava indulged in a thorough good cry.

Sha was bo weary of it all. Still, she controlled herself. Indeed, ' she was afraid to show any sign of feeling before George, especially any sign of weakening. One thing she was resolved upon, she must never yield. In fact she could not. George was behaving in an impossible manner 1 Oh, if only some vessel would come along and take them from the island I All would be well then. As it was, anything might happen —anything terrible, that was. And now she had a sudden inspiration. Standing outside the shack was a pile of mineral-water boxes, full of screwstoppered bottles. Suddenly, the familiar sight of those empty bottles suggested release, freedom. And she went to her room and locked the door and busied herself with pencil 'and paper, making copy after copy of that S.O.S. message which she remembered so well.

That night, as soon as she was satisfied that George had retired, she carried a box of the bottles back to her room, and, slipped one of the messages into each, twelve in all.' And now she carried the bottles down to the raft, paddled out for half a mile or more, and entrusted those precious messengers to the sea. Certain'y she had heard stories of such messages succeeding. What was more, she would send another batch each night until no bottles were left. Surely something must come of them if she persevered! (To be continued.)