Fotheringay's Son.

Wairarapa Age, Volume XXXI, Issue 10713, 31 December 1912, Page 2

Fotheringay's Son.

'OUP SERIAL)

CHAPTER XV. 'i hj? .ijatint promised to be a success.*. 'lt. was a warm .spring day, when the whole world seemed joung and fme JFroj» en.ro. Plymouth. looked bright and gay. , .Jalui Symonds' noted with, secret ip. ,; :de how people turned their heads to look at his handsome sonin-law When it f;:nne to dinner, time Jacli would not let the farmer treat him "You must let me pay," : h,e said •'V»rv well." replied the old man land the two dined well and'drank «' • bottle of port together. As th n -v stopped out of the hote ' t:]v> bid farmer encountered a party o friends, who greeted' him heartily I John Symonds, warmed by the tin . accustomed glow of port, becami quit? iovial. Jack Lavender ' stow smart." A feeling. not of disdain, hu' of aloofness almost amounting to re I mi'.ma nop was on him. He p.ut hi>< lrr"Vo'i th" old shoulder. _ "I djall iih-nit. for a while,' br, sni'!.. "nwl if T get tired I shall go Hek bv fh.« fern- tnnin. I shall get alrnc rii'ht bv mvrdf." "All r:»:lifc. .Tuck!" said the former. that?" asked one of. Ilia or--:--! when Jack.had . d«-r/i.rM. "That is Jack Lavpr' lr ". m*• c'an"']-!-tc's husband," said Snn'onds. 1 , with pride. "What —th.'it «'vell°" ' The man tivi?d nii-1 aft"" Lavender rn-mt "Whv. lie's a ■"--nMeman. What did you say • * nam© i«—? Well, you are in '••oi-Vw' , y!" " Ar"l*no + - a bit of o.onceit in him!" fovH tlu> old in'V!i, tongue was ~£>-I,—. "T .love that man! 'I never have loved my ki^ - mr 1 "! than T love him !" "T- dare Kay," replied the other. "T c;i*i understand it. There are men. like thsit in the world."l should say he couVl mnUo mop.t* people do what he WPV.+.itl."' "H" never .wautfi mc<to do any-, thi*":," ■ said the farmer; "only tosit in the me room with him makes me glad. Ha is a hit downhearted at tiniep. thinking \rnost likely of the day.? that have gone. Then you have only + 'i sit muni; and when,it if over lie will smile at vou and hand out lii.s pouch to you. Yes, T love Jack Lavender!" From his sin nip speech: those bighearted West-Country'farmers tinder- " sto'.'d that old John Symonds would I ire laid down his life for his friend itid son-in-law. • J Lavender walked off'by himself and t down on the Hote, gazing at the | sinning water ljelow'liim. It was a rfill. warm afternoon. The Water danced /under the ara's rays. The steamers fmffed away in the. 'harbor. Lavender had no desire to go o.i them—his vitality was at too ?■ ebb. He could not begin his life all, over again—that was impossible. Lighting hi.s nine, he watched .the match bum c.nt n" the 'ground, j "Oil, to go out like that!!' he murj mured. He looked for a long time at | the charred stick. Then from a distance he hoalxl the sound of'a military hand. He sprang to his feet. That was the one thing he could not stand —-the music made Uiis mad. There was nowhere to go. He did not want to go back to the town—the eav. idle crowd sickened him. He wanted to, be far away from the haunts of men; .far away from the possibility of coming across the things he, had !cared for in the old days." , , "Why, if I met any of the men I had known, they would cut me dead" he said to him.scHf. "I mtist 'get back to Adelaide. Anyhow, there is peace there." ' , He thought of the cottage which ; he had left that morning, of its orderliness .and neatness l . If lie must-live, it was, after all, better to live tinBiit lie did not want toUve—he wanted simply to go out like a match. '

H>, stood irresolute for a moment, riot knowing what to do; then lie heard the pound of ai railway whistle, and ho made up his mind/ He set off at a great pace to- go to the station, only to find 011 his -arrival that he would have an hour and a halffco wait. He «at on a bench watching-the arrival and departure of the trains.

Just as a train \v-as about to leave he caught sight of a pair of,eyes in one of the'carriages. In a moment he was on his feet. He rushecl to the carriage door and opened the ' com- ; partment, . . i .

The train wag off .before the woman in the carriage could liave raised a cry—even ifishe had so wished. • Jack, panting and breathless, threw himself into a seat opposite to her. Tt; Was the M oman who spoke first. "Tony!" she cried. , "Virginia!" was the only word, lie .could gasp. i ' His voice touched her. "Oh, Tony," she said, bending forward and holding out her hands to him, "why did you do it? Oh. why did you shame me so? For I had loved you—you know I had! I think that I always elialli!" Ho held her hands in his, and: lie looked into her beautiful face—more beautiful than it had been, because in her own, way -she had suffered, arid because, tfio, her heart had been softened by motherhood He gazed at' her, unable to utter another word. Jt wag she who spoke again. "If you knew what I suffered when I saw that disgraceful thing—what father suffered-. I don't think the world will ever be the same again to me, TonyJ"

BY ALAN ADAIR Author at "An Island PrlnoaM," "A Marriage of Felicity '* Eto.

Ho still looked at her, scarcely Iheeding her words, but lie did not «peak. "How could you do that, Tony?" she asked. "1 should have thought it would 'have killed you when they put you in prison and degraded you!" He looked at her and seized her ha.'"'". "That!" h© exclaimed. "You think that mattered to me? Virginia, there lias only been one thing in tho whole of my life that mattered to me, and that wa.s loosing yon !" "Tonv!" She tried to take her hands out of his grasp. "No, no," he went on. tightening hiy hold, "leave them there Virginia! Dear, pretty things ! To think that I should hold them in mine again !" Her Hps quivered and her eyes brimmed with tears. 'r "Tony, your hair is growing gray," oshe0 she said, with a sob. "Is it, my darling? Do you mind? -'ls it hideous'?" "Oh, Tony." she criod, "wha,fc can i matter to me? But it is not hideous—nothing about you ever could bo that!" She turned her face From him, feeling that the tears were forcing their way down her cheeks. He saw them, too, and his face i grew grave. , "Don't cry, mv dearest!" he said. "I "would not en use you to silied a tear for me. ; Why should you? You are barmy, are yon not? Your lnisband is srood to you ?" "So good," she said, "that T ought to he the haymiest woman on earth' I have everything I want—a. good man's love, riches, position, and a , bonny hov!" "A hoy?" He gave a little gasp jof pain. "A boy? 7 ' v ! "Yes, hi golden-ly.w'-ed, dark-eyed | laddio They say he is like me. Tony." "T.ik" von ?" he said. His face had ! grown Quite r<rave. For a moment neither spoke, and then he s«iid in r> hoarse .whisper: "So von arc quite happy. Virginia 0" "Y n ''-." «!'■'. said, "quite. nveept fn>the thmifrht of you. Tony! I have tried 'banish i* bi't. T co"'ld nM: always T saw you in that airful nrison " "Tint T tell you," he irsi r it»d, "that (lid '"it matter to me. Dsd T emhezx,le the money?' I dare say I did, but I never did understand money mntters ,it nil. T surapose T wante<l some, nnd it was tn hand T did' not care Avhat .t'liey «iid to me, or did —' nothing over mattered to me, Virginia. .sinot' that morning—you remember —when T drove to Green Street and you had just come in.. After that nothing has ever made any difference!" "Oh, Tony," she said, "that makes it all «o much worse—a,a if it had been all my .fault and mine only!" "Your fault? No, it was not that; you were tiyfc strong enovgt. mv dear, that is all. You could not have endured poverty with me, and you have acted wisely. You are happy, and I •do not see why you should think about me any more. You will' not, dear, now that you have .seen me?" ' "I don't know," she sobbed. "T cannot tell. I think you look miserable now, Tony—and so old and ill And I hate to think of it all!" I , "Donjt think of it,, my dearest," ! saidbravely. "I not exist any more for your world. I have gone out like, a match I saw to-day, and it doe? not make any difference to any--1)ody." , "Hut since my boy came " she began, hue he would not let,her speak. It seemed that lie could' not ben speak of the child. (To he Continued.)