“WILD GRAPES”

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20267, 9 August 1937, Page 6

“WILD GRAPES”

By THEODORA WILSON-WILSON.

SERIAL STORY.

A Charming Story with Delightful Appeal.

•CHAPTER XXXII.— (Continued.) But Marie was cheered, and at luncheon she allowed herself to be persuaded to take a look in at the Casino. “It is such great fun," urged a new acquaintance, “and thrilling when you actually see someone ruined —there was a man yesterday—” and the woman went on to retail some “thrilling" incidents, so very common and matter-of-fact.

Marie had always anticipated money when she saw ahead, and that evening she had grown so into the spirit of the ohase for luck, that she could not hold off the course.

There was no harm in risking a small stake —she would give herself ten minutes by the clook, and see what happened.

And the inevitable happened. Beginner’s luok met her, and beokoned her on—long after the ten minutes had passed.

Visitors watched and envied, as she raked her winnings, and staked ever higher and more recklessly. But the night was still young when the crash came, Inevitable and stupendous.

She had little left but her clothes to stake.

Half dazed, she turned away, and made for the hotel and asked for a drink.

The manager understood, and made his plank for the morning. Her ladyship must have assets somewhere. He must, however, make sure.

“I fear milady has not had the best of luok to-night," he said obsequiously. “Luck comes and goes and oomes again," she returned, irritated.

Alone in her room, she was furious with herself at her folly. What did it mean? Was she to go cap in hand to that hateful Mr Morris —to her own children? Must she telegraph to that even more pernicious Claudia? This meant that she must sleep—sleep at all costs.

She opened a case and took out a bottle of capsules, and when she was ready for bed, she shook out a couple. One was the dose, but there c\uld be no harm in taking two for this emergency.

How long she had been in bed, she could not have told, but she suddenly started up, as though she heard someone speaking to her. “My dear, tell me—hew can I help you?" “John!" she gasped.

She switched on the light and stared round her. But there was no one—only the blind flapped maddingly. “There!" she ejaculated, “I suppose I didn’t take the capsules,” and she reached out her hand for the bottle.

“I thought I did take them,” she murmured, “but I must sleep.’"

There was a late arrival at the Hotel Royal, and Robert Hammond signed his name, and enquired for his mother, Lady Hammond.

The manager was all smiles, relieved and anxious to serve.

“Pier ladyship has gone early to bed," he said, “but whether she is asleep, of course, I don’t know." “No, well—if you take me to her room,' I will knock at the door. She will recognise my knock.” “Why, yes, milord,” and he was about to call an attendant. “I am no milord," and Robert smiled. “Perhaps, I ought to say, sir," said the manager, “that you may find her ladyship somewhat nervous—distressed. She has had misfortune tonight, at the tables. But as her ladyship said: ‘The luck comes and the luck goes and the luck comes again !’ That is how \ve live at Monte Carlo, sir." “And how you die!" said Robert sharply. “'Kindly send for the attendant.” So Robert went up the great staircase, and when shown his mother's room, he save three sharp taps—the signal he had used from boyhood, ana waited. CHAPTER XXXIII. Accidental. Robert, as he stood in the hotel passage at Monte Carlo, waited at his mother’s door, but receiving no reply, | he tapped again. j Still there was no response, and the I attendant looked at him questloningly. I “ Shall I bring the chambermaid with her key?" “ One moment," and Robert tapped again, with no result. “ Lady Hammond must be asleep," he said. “ But I should like the door unlocked." But on trying the handle, the door was open, and with a nod to the attendant, Robert entered, and closed the door behind him. The moonl:/!ams were crossing the floor through a gap in the blinds, and as lie stood listening, lie thought lie heard some heavy breathing. Robert switched on the light, and then went up to the bed. His mother was lying with her cheek resting on her hand, breathing heavily, and at a glance he saw some scattered capsules on the table by her bedside. “ Mother; Mother 1 It Is Robert,” he said with an intense clearness. “ John —John!" She turned, opened her eyes, then closed them again. Robert rang the bell, and told the attendant to get a doctor at once, as her ladyship had been .taken ill. As he returned to the bedside, he saw that, liis mother was enduring a “John—John, save me. Forgive The agony was over, and she sank down again. “Thank you, John!’’ The words j were whispered, and she closed her Robert waited until the doctor arriv'd. and explained what he could at ihe door. • We’ll do what we can," said the doctor. “ They tell me downstairs that she lost heavily this evening." “ Probably," said Robert. Ho brought the doctor in, and he made a brief examination. •' How many of these lias she lakon?" and lie lifted the bottle. [ i “ she thinks I am her husband,"

“Then, be her husband, it Is vital that we know." “ Marie, Marie, my darling," said Robert very clearly. “ How many oapsules did you take?” “ I meant to take two, I couldn’t remember whether I did take them — so—l took two —when I waked—and you called me." The doctor was filling the bottle. “ Four at the outside," he muttered. “ My mother has always been nervous, delicate," said Robert. "John;" and the patient started up wildly. “ Don’t blame me—l—l only wanted to sleep.” “ Rest, rest, Marie. I am not blaming you,” said Robert softly. She stared at him, and Robert could not tell whether she knew him or not. “ John, you always forgave—always—" And then the doctor came to her help, as an agony wrenched at her. •CHAPTER XXXIV. By the Waterfall. Paula had received the telegram from Robert, giving the news of Lady Hammond’s death, and she waited anxiously for a letter. Robert had advised her not to come for the funeral, and had promised to see her, as soon as he could get away. Everyone had been very kind, and Paula was overwhelmed with a sense of pitiful sadness. Though she could not delude herself into thinking that her mother had, of late years, been anything but a severe trial of temper and patience, Paula was glad that she could look back on days of childish happiness, when she had believed in her beautiful mother utterly. At least, Lady Hammond had given life to her and Robert, and yet this very faot made it seem terrible that she should have wrecked her own, and ruined so much of the beauty and . contentment of her husband’s cftiys. Paula could only satisfy her pity by believing that her mother had passed to that haven* where two gay little worst is understood iq all Its completeness. When Robert’s letter arrived, Paula carried it off to a favourite spot she had discovered, where two gay little becks from the High Fell had wandered . into one another’s arms, and were to- j gether plunging downwards, over the j rocks and between the ferns onward to the great sea. who knew where. “ Pau’a dearest, —So something is over for poor little mother, and It is all very sad—sadder In some ways than father’s death. “ You will have been thinking 4 suioide,’ as many will no doubt think. But it was not that. She would never have had the nerve to take her life—nor even the imagination. But she had ruined herself at the Casino, and wanted to sleep, and the dose she took, j as the doctor could tell by the bottle, •. was not great enough to have killed a woman in strong health. But for mother, it was the end. “ At first, when I went in to her, she thought I was father, but towards the end, she recognised me. Her one longing was for someone to forgive her —father —you—myself—even Uncle Gordon. “ All that I oould be sure about was that as father would have forgiven, so God would forgive to seventy times seven. 44 Whether she took it in, I cannot say, but mercifully at the end, she passed very peacefully away. 44 The dootor has reported death from cardiac weakness, and I gather that Monte Carlo doctors have no wish to Injure the trade and prosperity of the place. It Is a devil’s haunt, all tho same I “ I have, of oourse, written to Aunt Claudia and to Mr Morris, and I am staying here until all is settled lip. “ I have chosen a site for the grave, amongst flowers and sunlight, and the sound of the sea. 44 You and I, old thing will find all this hurts terribly, and we may be worried with misgivings as to whether | we helped all we could. I can only believe that we must forget the things behind and press forward, stronger adventurers in this old life into which we have been thrust. I do hope you’re all right, and getting on with the job, and not finding it too worrying. Mother left a message for Uncle Gordon, which I must give, if ever we chance upon him again. Now I must write to Olive. Much love from the other half of us, —Boh." Paula laid down the letter, and ! gazed outwards and downwards, ! through the sparse woodland and down j Into the dale, and then again upwards to another fell and the great sky mothering all. One may go on gaily vOlth life, sure that though Death may come to others, we shall somehow escape. Always the eradfcable Impression—always the invariable axvakenlng. Paula felt as though she could not move, and that, she must wait there—on and on—under tho sky, waiting— CHAPTER XXXV. When “ The Times ” Came Out. Doris Smith had just reached her Hampstead fiat, when ihe telephone hell rang, and she answered a trunk call from Cambridge. “You, Stephen?" 44 Yes, I’m coming along at once. You’ve seen The Times?" “ No—what?" "•Lady Hammond has died. I want to talk to you." “ There’s always a bed." said Doris. ; “ Goodhye. then." Doris hung up the receiver, and j rushed for The Times. “ \f Ihe Hofei Royal. Monte Carlo. Lady Hammond, widow of the lafe Sir i John Hammond. Funeral at Monte 1 Carlo. No (lowers." “ T wonder—” began Doris. Then she thrust aside a Ihonght which had come into the minds or many as they read that announcement. Stephen arrived late, and was clearly cxciled. “T*t’s absolutely ghastly." h p paid “ Rut we don’t know!" said Doris. “T know what we think we don’t, know. But. anyhow, it’s hideous. Monte Carlo wilhin a month of her husband’s death. T want to get right off lo Cowlhwaite to-morrow." “ Stephen, but what, right have you ! to cm to 'Gowlhwaitc?” “ She is there." “T know, but you’ve no kind of position. Tt would be a monstrous Intrusion for you to go near lmr." “Don’! be so matter-of-fact." he exclaimed irritated as he very seldom was with Doris. “ Rep mother is dead, .1 Continued in next column.£ j

and I love her.” “ That makes no kind of difference, in fact all the more you must hang off. If you don’t—if you push your personality in on her just now you’ll regret it!" “ You’re intolerable." “ I’m right." And then Stephen smiled a miser- i able sort of smile. “Oh. all right. Well I'll go off to' Firlands to-morrow and get what I can out of Miss Hammond." “ There’s no harm in Ihaf." ad- ' mitted Doris. “ But now, don’t spoil my supper!" On Sunday afternoon Miss Hammond was surprised lo receive, a \isit from! Mr. Stephen Smith. She was not sorry in have a break in her llmiighls, and this hoy had evidently come wilh a purpose. “ I .should like In have been travel - ling north, this very moment, Miss Hammond." lie confessed, “but my sis ter Insisted Iha I 1 had no right io in trude on Miss Hammond, as, of course. I haven’t.” “ So vou have intruded upon mens second best!" said Miss Hammond anxious to sot him at ins ease.