Fotheringay's Son.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 10713, 24 December 1912, Page 2

Fotheringay's Son.

OUR SfcRIAL)

CHAPTER XII. '(Continued.) "Of course I know I shall have to leave the farm." she said, ''so that'll would be. hotter for me to detatch I myself from *t as much 'as possible?; as yet. 1 li:ivc never been, farther than | ten miles from it." "Why should you leave the farm'-P' j h'3 'v-sked;.' "I shall leave it -when my brother nnrrie-i. We not tvairt two women about the. farm, and, x& cvurse, my b/other's wife would Tide here." "You would not fare to submit to iarry woman's ruling?" '''l. should not like it/' said Adelaide. It -neve- nryurred to her that ■Jack Lavender did not lttKvtv the reasl'Oit why John went "over hill." altt'nough she knew that he had not done it j.o openly of late. "Then, when he marries, you will lie left stranded ?'" Lavender never knew "what it' was that urged him on —why he was imueled to sneak the words whieh he knew he would regret after they were; spoken. "Yes," said the girl; "fjo. you see, it is foolish of me to attach myself so strongly to the place." "But surely your father will make some sort of provision for you?" "I can earn my own living," said Adelaide. " "It has always been the custom that whenever the to other is dead the son's wife takes the management of the farm ; that; hay always been the way with the Symondsos." ' "And the daughters have always been turned out?" • "The daughters have always married," said Adelaide. "There are few women and no old maids in our family. " "You will have to marry, too," said Lavender. The short December afternoon was j drawing to a close. The mist was ris- j inbg from the river. Adelaide s.'nver■ed slightly. "I shall never marry," she said quietly. "Why not. if it is the tradition of your house?" I

"T am not like a Symonds!" said j the girl passionately. "I could not marry a clown ; the?* men with their eternal talk of sheep and oxen mid crops weary me: —they think of nothing pise. S would not mind if it were the tilings themselves that they loved hut it is not that—it is the price they will fetch in the market. Thov care nothing'for this"—and she indicated with a sweep of her arm the scene that lay around her. "I understand," he said. "I did not think that you would he one of those who would care for the price of things." " "So. you see," continued the <Jr\, "T shall never marry. There are other interests in life besides all i he;<j things. T care for courage and honor, and the things that lift men abov* their fellows. T care for high, thoughts and good living. I tike work. I would rather work for mv-. ( self than marry a man who would not see all this as I do." ' "I see." he said uneasily. He had not thought that Adelaide could have expressed herself >so clearly. Thou he remembered one thing that she had forgotten in the enumeration of the, things she cared for. "And you like refinement?"' hp said. "You hate anything coarse or vukrar?" "T ~un afraid T do." she .answered. "Shall we not go on?" '•« •■'• -rii in-a 1-ni'Ty?" ".V. Imt it will he dark soon, .and' :ho Miists come out of the vallev. I* ,\s best to hp at home at your own fireA<ie thed." • "Yes,'' A vision, of the fireside came before him —the fireside tvsido .■•me'essiy clean by Adelaide': band-; "T An n"t l>nnw- v.-hcro T liivc *.-< it a place I like so much as' your farm kitchen." ho said. ■'And yet. you can scarce'y have known anv other kitchen in your life?" "None."''he replied. This was the first time that any one at the farm had asked him a question as to his past life. "One can see that." added Adelaide, with a smile. "I always knew that yon wore- a gentleman born. How "our rough ways' must disgust ■ you sometimes!" i j "You never have rough ways," he said. "Besides, I have comedown in •the world. I have lost almost, everything I had." "But through no fault of your own," she said confidently. "I am sure of that." "It Mas my misfortune," he said. "One has only to look at you' to know that you could not do a mean thing. I have, always known that you must have been cheated through your own ignorance of dishonesty. You are the soul of honor —I feel it!" "You don't want me to praise myself?" he said,*.a little uneasily., ' "No, but if any one were to -say anything against you I would uphold you against the world!" "Has any one ever said anything against me?" he asked. She hesitated. "My brother now and again. But he is jealous of you. Father love 9 you. you know. I have never known him love any so much." "It is very good of him," said Jack Lavender. "No, no. it is not good!" she went on hastily. "One cannot help love, you know." "No, one cannot," he answered

BY ALAN ADAIR Author of "An Island Princess," "A Marriage of FelloIty " Eto.

.moodily. "One cannot love or -unlove at will." Then he v/as silent, and gazed far beyond the, hills even that lay across the river. The look in ik'ig eyes was hungry and hopeless, aofwl it touched Adelaide to the quick. As if by inj stinot 5 she came a little nearer to I him. j Bat lie seemed not to. see her, to" have everything about her, and she | knew, with a suffocating feeling of anguish, that, whatever she-might be in. his life, there would always be mo* ments with him when she would not count at all. when all she could do would bo to stand by and see him suffer. Sh--> remained silent a:.' long as she' 1 could, and then she said gently: I "I ought to go home, Mr Lavender, i They will be waiting for me." I He .started as if aroused from a painful reverie. I "F am sorry!" he said, with unfeigned regret. "I was thinking." "You were far away," she answered. "I had to br.ing you back to the present. If the loo!; on your face had been happier, I should not have dragged von back." ~ "Tt is .strange- how you do understand me," he said. "What makes you so clear-sighted about me, a efcranier, and one not of vour own class?" She colored deeply; she knew well what had made.her so farseeing. "Tf is because I care!" she said, speaking in. a hushed voice. " nicked you up o"t °f tne sea , .V ml k" ow - You are in a sort- of way my trea.suretrove, and I cannot help seeing .sometimes that you think you would rather have been left to die." , I "You know that, too?" he said, I I v.-Hh a I'wk of'.surprise. "Y'ou are quite right. I have quarreled life." ■ "I have alwavF.i known that you must have had misfortunes." she went on. "You have never said so, but I have known it always." "You take a great deal on trust," Ihe said. "What if I had been guilty of a crime, not pursued bv misfortunes?" She laughed lightly. "You?" she exclaimed, the expresj sion on her face reminding him of a i friend he had had in the old days—- ' a friend who had loved him and bad condoned all his shortcomings. "Yes, I," he said, and smiled. "Don't you believe I would do anything that is wrong?" , "No, I do not!" she said bluntly, i "I would as soon believe that the ; sun would go out as you be guilty of any wrongdoing." ' "And yet/' he cried, "there are eclipses sometimes!" "Yes," she said, "that is just it. Eclipses, if you like, but the sun i<? shining .all the same. You may have met with misfortunes, so that your brightness may be dimmed, but you are you all the same!" "So that you are not afraid to take me on trnsi?" She looked at him with eyes aflame with, enthusiasm. "To take you on trust?" she 1 said. "Why. no one can look at you and doubt you for a moment!" ''. "Do' J look .so overwhelming honj est?" he asked mockingly. He re- { membered what li ; m old friend Arthur {batman had once said of him: "You {ought not to be careless, old man. for there are some people who do not believe in carelessness, and with your face they might easily make an idol of you. so that if you came behind in any little thing they would lose their belief in you entirely-/' "You look," she, said, and breath en me quickly—"you look a« T never believed any man could look!" He made no answe. but walked on. Adelaide knew that hp was not offended. Her heart was "lad. For the first time since she had found Js>e.l- - she felt that she meant something to him. (To he Continued.)