"CHRISTABEL"

Wairarapa Times-Age, 20 July 1939, Page 12

"CHRISTABEL"

Published by Special Arrangement. Copyright.

By

PEARL BELLAIRS.

(Author of “Velvet and Steel,” “The Prisoner’s Sister,” etc.)

CHAPTER XXIX. (Continued). “Why has he come Here?' thought Christabel, uneasily, much as she might have asked herself. "Is the storm moving this way?” The Professor was leaning towards her to make himself heard. "It’s interesting rnat you should be acquainted wi-th Hewitson. Would you care to come with me to the Cale International for a cup of coflee. Miss Collett? Hewitson and I will only be discussing yesterday's conference.” “I have an appointment with my hairdresser," paid Christabel. "I’m afraid I’ll have to keep it.” She was thankful that she had an excuse at hand. She gazed over the water towards the more distant mountains with eyes that saw nothing. The thought of him so near made him seem intensely real and vivid to her; his face was before her, his voice was in the wind which came from the first winter snows. The Professor was talking again, trying to pitch his voice above the noise of the launch engine. He was saying something about "unlucky?” "1 beg your pardon?” "I was just saying that Hewitson had a piece of very bad luck six months ago.” "Oh, really?” “Yes; he was a man of independent means, as I expect you know. One of the well-known English legal families. Six months ago his investments crasned and he lost everything. But perhaps you heard?” "No, I did not hear.” "It was in that big smash which upset the English stock market last March.” She felt suddenly blank. all her previous notions reversed. Hewitson unlucky! Somehow she had never thought of him as a possible victim of misfortune. As she didn't speak the Professor went oh: “He’s got a job now, in a London mental hospital,, but I understand he’s likely to get a professorial chair at one of the universities. It isn’t the same as being free to do the work he wants and I guess he’s felt it a lot. I hadn’t seen him for 18 months, and I’ve never seen a man. change so much!” In answer to the look of startled inquiry which Hashed into her eyes, the Professor explained: “Maybe I’m exaggerating. We all get quieter as time goes on, Miss Collet. But Hewitson used to have so much zest. He still has plenty of vitality; he’s still interested in his work, still has the same clear mind. But he looks as though life has struck him a blow!"

The noise of the engine saved her from having to speak. But though she didn't look at him the tensity of her pose encouraged the Professor to go. “If he returned to his old legal work there’s no doubt he’d make a fortune at it in time. A lawyer said to me in London that if Hewitson went back to the Bar they’d be falling over each other to give him briefs. But he won’t do that, Miss Collet. He said to me himself the other day: ‘Nothing would induce me to enter a law court again!” Christabel murmured something. It was impossible to speak in a normal, intelligible voice. “It’s a point of conscience, I think,” the Professor added. “I guess now he’s taken so much interest in the criminal character as a therapeutist, he doesn't want to deal with it as a lawyer!” Christabel knew what point of conscience it was. Blinded with sudden pain, she turned away, afraid of showing what she felt. Already she fancied that the Professor must have noticed something more than usual in her interest. But as the launch veered to its mooring his solemn face showed no signs of any particular interest in her reactions. She had time to wonder how long Hewitson would be in Geneva, and to ask, as she stepped ashore, and Professor Schluster followed her. “How long does the Criminal Law Reform conference last?” He was not. apparently, so dull that he could not see the implication of the remark. "We have our last session tomorrow. It's too bad you can't come to the Cafe International. Hewitson and I are both count it a great pleasure if you would care to have dinner or maybe luncheon with us tomorrow, and I'm sure 1 can speak for Grant in that respect—though maybe you wouldn't like tc. leave Mr Cavanagh?" She shook her head immediately. "I'm afraid not. Thank you very much, but it would be quite impossible." She stopped and held oul iwr hand. He looked a trifle surprised at this prompt parting, as he took it. "Good-bye!" she said. “Good-bye! It's been a great pleasure. I hope we may meet again some time," he said. He glanced about him doubtfully. “I guess I'll be taking a taxi along to the Quai de Mont Blanc. Will you share it with me?" "No, I'm going the other way. thank you!" It was not true, bid she felt she must got away from him at all costs. It was not so much a guilty anxiety to avoid the Cafe International now. as a painful desire to be alone so that she could think'. As soon as lie was safely gone she crossed the street and went into a small cafe, where she ordered coffee absently, poured it out. and sat for some time without drinking it. motionless, staring at the steaming glass. Minutes passed at she sat there. The time for her to go to the hairdresser was already past. “Hew could I sil in the hairdresser's for an hour doing nothing," she

thought, “knowing that he's here m Geneva just round the corner.’ “I forgive him," she said, half-alouc. "I forgive him utterly. But could he forgive me?” She walked towards ’the Qua! de Mont Blanc. The Cafe International was two hundred yards along it. Possibly they were still sitting there Hewitson and Professor Schluster. Oi at any moment, perhaps, she might pass him in the crowd. Her eye sought every approaching face. Or. of course, she might walk into the Cafe International —walk up to their table. Hewitson's face, when he saw her! But how could she dare? She would never dare do it. But she summoned her courage, drew a breath. Why not? At the swing door of the Cafe International she drew herself together, white faced.and went in. She had that sense of tremendous adventure which comes of provoking destiny. She looked round nervously conscious of faces turned to look at her, searching among the little tables dotted about the typically continental brown-pa in ted room. Her eyes fell almost at once on tne Professor, lacing her, at a table in the far corner. The dark head, the wide, grey covered shoulders, a spiral of uprising cigarette smoke —that was Hewitson, sitting with his back turned to her. She crossed the room deliberately, controlling herself to the calm of manner she meant to maintain . Professor Schluster was talking. He looked up and saw her when she was within a few feet of the table, within a few feet of Hewitson’s oblivious back. The Professor’s chair grated on the floor, as he rose immediately, surprise and gratification in his face. “W'hy, Miss Collet !” “I changed my mind,” said Christabel, her voice as cool and clear as a bell. "I decided to abandon the hairdresser after all. So I thought if I might still join you perhaps you could tell me . something more about the criminal law reform association you were talking about to Mr Cavanagh.” She did not look at Hewitson immediately. She was only acutely conscious of his gaze as he rose slowly to his feet. Professor Schluster pulled out a chair for her. "Why, that's just fine! You know 'Mr Hewitson, don't you?” Her glance slid over him —telling her that the disastrous changes in him mentioned by the Professor were not very noticeable—encountered,his eyes, and fell away. “Yes, we have met before. How do you do?” She sat down. "Would you care for some wine? Or a cocktail? What will you have?" asked Professor Schluster. seating himself eagerly, while Hewitson sank more slowly into his chair. Christabel rested her elbows on the table and set the tips of her fingers together—really to control their trembling. but with an appearance of perfect ease. “Nothing, thank you'—and corrected herself: “Yes, coffee please!” . Meanwhile Schluster was ordering coffee for her. “This is a real pleasure.” he said, as the waiter departed. “I guess I never thought you’d change your mind. But that's a lady’s privilege, isn’t it?" Christabel smiled at this gallant cliche, and fought to recover the poise that was suddenly deserting her. She looked round the cafe—anywhere but at Hewitson sitting opposite, with his thoughtful face, its well known peak of dark hair on the forehead, smoke rising from the cigarette held between his fingers. She broke what threatened to become an awkward silence:

“I was very interested in the things you were saying to Mr Cavanagh at lunch. Professor Schluster. Particularly in what you were saying about this scheme to educate people on the subject of penal reform. I want to hear some more about it!” The Professor was only too pleased. "We aim. by propaganda and education. to put the modern view of' crime, crime as a form of disease. Miss Collet, before the general public in all countries. The majority of people, Miss Collet, are a good deal more humane than the laws they live under . . .” "The moral justification for punishment is too easily disputed,” the Professor went on. "Moral guilt is too obscure for any law court, to assess! And then again, our way of dealing with social offences doesn't benefit society in the way it’s meant to. In too many cases the prisoner comes out less able to cope with his environment than he was when he went in!” He paused for breath. "Yes." said Christabel, concealing her sense of her own scandalous temerity beneath a careful calm. "That's perfectly true! 1 served a prison sentence once. Professor Schluster: quite a long one—and my intentions were rather worse when I came out than when I went in!" Siie raised her face to smile full across the table al Hewitson. Startled, moved, incredulous that she should so shamelessly confess, Hewitson gazed at her, while her eyes, more equisite in their new-found radiance than they had over been, dwelt softly, kindly, almost caressingly on his face. "Well!" said the staggered Professor, feebly. "It that so?” But his struggles to right his overturned poise wont unnoticed. The moment was theirs. Hewitson and Christabel gazed at one another, and their gaze was alive between them, a tangible bond. There was added to the rest of Christabel’s exaltation a passionately grateful realisation of her power ever him. Her face triumphant, said: