FUNERAL DIRECTONS. JOAN OF THE GREAT HEART

Waikato Times, Volume 107, Issue 17978, 25 March 1930, Page 4

FUNERAL DIRECTONS.

JOAN OF THE GREAT HEART

CHAPTER 3.—(Continued.) Old Nannie bcrsclf had a goo'd inkling of how things stood, and spoke out one day as she stood, arms akimbo, watching Joan at her accounts. “It’s no uso bonnie,” said the old woman. “You can starve and deny yourself as you’re doing and none to say you nay, but, its killing your father. So I’ve took up the matter in my own hands. There, you can flash up and be as angry as you like. It won't be the first temper I’ve seen you in, but the telegram has gone and the answer to it on its way.” “A telegram?" faltered Joan. “Who to? Not Mi ” “ I’ve sent it to Mr Lesterlees,” said Nannie truculently. “ I just wrote ‘ Father very ill. Joan Hardale,’, and left it at that. He was a kind getleman and treated you handsome —I don’t believe for a moment he knows of the trouble you’re in. So 'I 'let him know.” Joan wrung her hands. “Oh, Nannie! If you only knew what harm you have done,” she ■whispered. And old Nannie, awed by the expression of suffering on her nursling’s face, burst into tears and stumped off. Joan did no more accounts. She just sat there wondering what was going to happen next. If Nannie had sent for Michael and he had come she knew she would- have forgiven all in gladness of her welcome. But it was Anthony Lesterlees —the man who could buy all he wanted, who would reply to the message she had promised l to send if lie were needed. He was needed. Poverty and anxiety had brought her nearly to despair, but she had been resolute not to pay the price. Now the matter was out of her hands. She heard the bell ring and told herself it would be tile telegram with Anthony's reply. Then —footsteps on the stairs, not Nannie's steps. She rose, her colour changing, her hands clasped. The door had opened and Anthony Lesterlees stood on the threshold. CHAPTER 9. “You sent for me,” said Lesterlees. He spoke very quietly, without emotion, but Joan knew he had seen the dismay on her face as she saw him standing there. And what could she say? Lesterlees saw her hesitation and frowned. “I received your telegram,” he said sternly. “Yes,” whispered Joan,” “but I did not send it. It was Nannie.” She felt herself faltering, stood undecided, miserable, when the clatter of bools was heard, and in -came Nannie herself. Nannie, with her cooking apron stained with grease, her hair untidy, a wooden spoon white with paste gripped her hand. “Yes,” said Nannie, one arm akimbo, whilst she used the spoon as a conductor at a concert might have done. “I sent the telegram. You can’t blame anyone but me. 1 sent it, and I’m, glad 1 did. I’m glad to see you, sir, for if there isn’t something clone this side of .Christmas it’s two funerals instead of one I’ll be attending.” “Nannie!” gasped Joan, but the old servant, being “wound up.” as she called it, meant to go on with the tale. A vivid one it was too, told by a watcher whose own tears had flowed to sec the gay, brave spirit in which father and daughter had tried to deceive each other, crying that all was well. . . when all was so ill; hiding {hose bills, denying themselves _in secret, creeping out to that most pitiful of all shops—with its three golden kails —go true an emblem of the juggling carried on with human lives and hearts. Joan marvelled as she listened, wondering how Nannie’s eyes had read all these stories. . And, when the old woman broke down, sobbing out an apology for having acted on her own, but always for the best, it was Joan who put her arms about her, kissing her lovingly and telling her she had been an unfailing friend. But when Nannie had gone she had j to lace a judge who regarded her with | stern accusation. j “You broke your promise,” said ] Lesterlees coldly. I Joan had not expected that and j slood twisting and untwirling her prettv lingers, not knowing how the other’s heart ached to see how thin thev had become, how pale and sunken her cheeks had grown, how beaten her whole attitude showed her. “1 promised to send if there were need,” she replied, “but . . . there i was no ; need —nothing you could do. i Dad had agreed that wc could not i take— charity .... and I had noth- j ing to give.” ) ' “llow you must hate me,” said Lesterlees, “that suffering and even death could be preferable to my help and friendship. I did not ask you to pay me with what you could not give. I should not have valued your trust." A sob broke in the girl’s throat. This morning her father had been too ill to care to touch his breakfast—and she had been , glad because. . . . the egg she bad boiled was not as new laid as the shopkeeper averred. “I wanted to do what, was right,’ she pleaded. “You have been so good, -so generous, I could not bear the idea of cheating you.” “You could never cheat," he replied, “I could trust you with all my life and know you would not fail, my brave little Joan of the Great Heart. And —have yon not fought against Fate long enough, Joan? Won’t you yield and give me the right to protect you?- I will not ask for your love 1 can wait foi that. But I want you. I want to shelter you from the storm and stress. I want to help to bring peace to your father’s heaTt. You know, I know, how he dreads leaving you alone. He spoke to me about it at Rawton. It would make all the difference to these last months of a life you see ebbing away if you could tell your father you had promised to be my wife. And, on my part, I make my promise. Till you are ready to fulfil the compact I will not claim you.” She beard .... and understood. She had even thought of this consideration when Dad had hinted of bis fears for her future. And Michael had gone out of her life. This was a great temptation, with its many aspects. Michael gone, taking with him the glamour of first love. Michael had failed. And Dad was suffering, here in this cold, damp house where fires were meanly fuelled and food was unattractive and unappetising. She visioned him back amidst the luxuries of Rawton Court, with, motherly Mrs Alton to sec to his every comfort; she could sec Glow his dear eyes would brighten as lie listened to her news, and felt the heavy burden of care raised from his shoulders. And then for herself too, what a rest it would be to have no more planning and economising. no •more worry and dread of grim bills; no more hesitation in sending for a doctor, since all would bo

By MAY WYNNE,

paid—all guaranteed. Still more nebulous was the vision erf herself as mistress of the Court. She would he a queen, surrounded by all that youth craves. Joan was very human, and she was looking from so many viewpoints as she stood with bowed shoulders and felt Lesterlees’ hand resting on her arm. lie loved her .... and would be so strong a protector. Perhaps, one day she might learn to love him. If not, she would still live the sheltered life of one out of reach of poverty. And. during these last weeks, Joan had learned to see poverty in its grimmest form; had seen one she loved suffer through .lack of money to give him wlvat he needed. All at once she yielded. The fight was over. She had tried to hold back from defrauding this man of , { ,his rights. Now' she could do so no longer. “I will do just what you wish,” she whispered, "I will he engaged. One day I promise . . . one day I . . . will be your w'ife.” He had won, but he took his viotory with characteristic calm. “I am glad,” he replied. "I am glad. Shall w r e go in and tell your father? My car is here. If he wishes we can go straight back to Rawton. These fogs are death to him.” Sise did not reply, but went with him across to her father’s bedroom. He had been asleep, but lay now' with his eyes open. When he saw the two standing at the fool of his bed lie smiled in such utter content that -Joan could have sobbed aloud. She went round to kiss him. “Are you glad, best of Daddies?” she asked. “Glad that one day I am going to marry ” she paused, “Anthony?" .she concluded. llardalo drew her down close to him. “My little Brave Heart,” said he in a whisper, “you have brought mb the host news in the world. I shall get well now.” If only she had known haw' he had been longing for her to yield But it was no use looking back. Joan was learning the lesson of living in the present, and what an amazing present it w r as. (To be continued.)