JOAN OF THE HEART

Waikato Times, Volume 107, Issue 17977, 24 March 1930, Page 4

JOAN OF THE HEART

Mrs Baydell burst into hysterical tears, gasped out an accusation on her brother’s harshness and evidently j went back alone towards the gate. I .loan bad listened.-. She could not help it. She was dazed to think what those words meant. Erica Baydell was actually accusing her of theft. It was preposterous. She rose, holding against the slender trunk of the beech . tree. She . was standing there when Lesterees came through Ihe gate. He realised she had heard the conversation. Had he not come Joan would have followed to ask what it meant. She was trembling so much that he came up to her at once and took her hand. “I am sorry,” she said limply. Her lips quivered. “ I ought not to have listened, but I could not help it,” she whispered, and then tears came to her. relief. Lesterless let her have her cry out, Then very quietly took her hand. “ Joan,” he said, “ I love you. You know it, of course. I know you have guessed it and done your best to warn me that that love is not returned. In everything you have been loyal and true. I would not have pained you today with 'this confession had it not been for this happening. 'Now, you must hear me. I see you, brave little girl though you are, standing alone. The day must come 'before long when you are protnclorless. Even now your father is only an invalid. He insists on returning home'. 1 know why. It is for the. same reason you want to go Anri —-I stand' aside. It must be just as you wish, Joan of the Great Heart as 1 must call you too. But if there is a possibility of happiness for me I do not mind wailing.” She kenw what he meant toy that. Unlike Michael the importunate he wanted her to understand he was ready to stand aside so long as her father made ids claim on her. He was ready to wait —and to help in every way to ■make her burden lighter. But he claimed his reward at last. And she was Loo generous to take when she knew that never, never j would she toe able lo repay. She must j he true woman in this and not take the easier way. “ I do not love you,” she said, “and so I could never marry you. I don’t think I shill ever marry. That’s how I feel at present. Dad Is everything to me, and lie is my very all. The doc lor said he might live for years—with rare. 1 would never leave him. lie can have the best of my years { without grudging. You would not j wonder if you knew the sort of dad •he's been to me. Oh, 1 hate being so honest and so plain, but you’ve been .too goof'l to me, Mr. Letterless, for me to dare put it any other way. Because you’ve been a l'riencl I won’t lei you down. I can neverr be more to you than I am to-day—a girl who is ashamed of being unable to prove her gratitude.” Lesterlcss walked to the end of the shrubbery. When he returned his face was like a mask. “You are still Joan of the Great Heart,” he said softly, “I honour and respect you. You must tell me just what you warn me to do. "Let us go out of your life,” she begged, “let us go home. You have given too much. Dad kno-ws I cannot

give you your .. . wish, and ho j feels, as I do, that we cannot stay, here.” “Very- well,” said Lesterlees in j perfectly controlled tones, ‘‘you shall go home. But will you promise when you .need me to send?” ‘‘Yes,” said Joan, “I 'promise I will send if there is any need.” But in her heart she felt convinced there could never, never be a need which would justify her sending for Anthony Lesterlees. CHAPTER VIII. “There’s no place'like home," said Joan gaily—and she really believed she meant it. There was such comfort in running from room to room and exclaiming in admiration at Nannie’s supreme efforts- That nosegay of summer flowers was sweeter than all the orchids of Rawton Court. That homely fowl more tender than all the entrees prepared by an excellent cook. Joan was a child again to-night. Dad’s own little girl; and what a wonderful evening they spent together in that dear old studio! With a firm hand Joan had put aside every bill —unopened, and refused to hear one lament from Nannie about pipes bursting and linen needing renewal. “Begone Black Care!” mocked Joan, “we are ■still on holiday.” But the holiday came to an untimely, end when those bills were studied. ( Hardale was absolutely convinced lie had paid those “accounts rendered.” But study of receipt hook did not hear out his statement. Bills little, hills Mg, bills of aIL shapes and sizes, had lo be studied and ear-marked. One or two could be paid, liut already the money at the bank was dwindling with nothing to show for it but a few more receipted bills. Hardale yielded at limes to fits ot depression. . “I’ll have to go out as a sandwich man,” he joked , “or as a signpainter. The spell of good luck came !to an end too soon. He did not mean that as a reproach to his daughter, but she felt it as such. if she could only have given I Lesterlees her love they need nc\cr j have left. Rawton Court, so the I autumn days dragged by and late in ! October Joan had a letter from Gref- | ton- She received it one morning j of fog and gloom, and re-read the adI dress a dozen times before opening . ! it. Her heart heat in glad expectation, i once more rosy Hope shone around, hie would explain his long silence, he I would still ho the lover. Not till she I sal curled up on her own bed did she ! screw up courage to read, j it would be . . . • her first love j letter. i The opening lines came as a shock, j “Dear Joan.” 1 it was such a formal greeting—j “Dear J oan.” He had forgotten all I her nick-names then. j It was not a long letter. What there ' was of it was description only- He I enthused about beauty spots and had ; enclosed some snap-shots. _ i “[ wish you could see t it all, * he j wrote, hut not “I wish you were with j One snap-shot showed Michael him- ! self on a hill slope pulling a branch : of flowering almond within the grasp l of a laughing girl. Joan studied that 'strip-shot more closely Gian all :the rest Had he not sent it to her I 01/ purpose .... to show her that :he could look into other eyes than hers . . . and find all the gay laughter of life which he loved . . • , with other comrades. 1 Joan showed both letter anil snap 'shots to her father. These were not treasures to he hidden away. But all that day she experienced a sense ol I QSS p'hc could dream no dreams ot |a man who was lonely wandering ’ amongst beauties with a endei : memorv for company. Michael \\-ts living his own life and she had In ln< I I pi's' Thai was the point where Joan s went UP »nrl 11.0 (WHIP* . " , in hpr pvp* Phe must learn Sreo^etclx Lo stand alone; and [

By MAY WYNNE

yet more than once during the weeks i that followed she thought wistfully of j a mail who had called himself friend, | and who stood by waiting for the sum- | mons she dared not make. And meantime, with the coming of i winter. Ilardale’s strength seemed to \ ebb. The change came -so subtly that j Joan could hardly realise when it was j ho had ceased to paint, or when he j had grown too tired to come with her i . for those long rambles in which they I ■ had delighted. But she did notice the | blueness of his lips, the quick gasps j for breath vi-hen a -pain stabbed him j in the side. ! “Dr Heath says you must be away from London this winter, dear,” she i tolcl him when November’s raw chill ! was keping him huddled together i over the fire. He looked up with a j sudden despair in his eyes. “My own little girl," he said, “it is impossible. I’m the grasshopper all the time, 'and every ant in creation j could never have cured me of allow- j ing money to burn its hole -in my j pocket. I well, it’s best to j face the music, for debts are still j mounting up. Old forgotten biljs j come with their gentle reminder, j People have been very long suffering, but times are hard all round, and j they want their money. It is hand | to mouth —and very few coppers over / for t-hc gas.” i He tried t.o make a joke of it even | then, but broke down when he saw j Joan’ practising some secret economy j for herself. { “What a rotter I have been,” he j complained, and would not listen to j her protests that he was the best, Dad j that had ever lived. “*I shall go out. leaving my child penniless in a hard world,” he repeated. “That’s my torment day and night."