“WILD GRAPES”

Waikato Times, Volume 121, Issue 20274, 17 August 1937, Page 10

“WILD GRAPES”

By THEODORA WILSON-WILSON

SERIAL STORY.

A Charming Story with Delightful Ap peal.

CHAPTER XLIII. The Risk. “Now, my dear Mrs Tate,” said Mrs Potter reprovingly, -'you must not let ! vourself get down. Our doctor is a wise man, and ho tells me that it must be within your own power to get over this shock.' 1 “I don't see what use it is to say • hat,” said Madeline. “1 have no power, and besides, what does it matter?” “Now it's a sin and a shame to say that.” said Mrs Potter brightly, “You’ve that sweet child to think of, and its not everyone who has that.” Madeline put her hand over her eyes. * “It’s just as though I were groping out in that mist expecting to touch v.omething, any moment, and in the end—only that fall 1” “Well, you’ll have to forget all that, and the doctor is bringing along tho gentleman who carried you to this farm. You’ve kept saying you wished to thank him.” • Yes, of course,” she said nervously, “hut at this minute, I wish he hadn’t done it —that it was all over!” “Oh, mummy!” and Dolly darted Into Ihe room. “There’s my lazy man in the doctor’s ear. Don’t you want to see him? You had your eyes shut when ho carried you back in ‘his great strong arms.” But tho doctor followed close on Dollv, and shunted her off. “You go and talk to that friend of yours in the car!” And when tlie child had gone, Dr. Benson sat down by the bed and motioning Mrs Potter away, he laid a hand on his patient’s pulse. “Mrs Tate,” he said quickly, “I want to tell you a story about a case of mine. It has struck me that you may be able to help me.” “I*—help!” she exclaimed. “That's whak 1 hope. This patient is in tho prime of life', brilliant, something of a genius—an artist.” Her attention was dlxed. “He has had breakdown after breakdown, before he came to live with me, and in his Tolly he lost everything that was valuable—his art, his self-respect, his wife, his child. It needed superlative courage to resign himself into my clutches.” and tlie doctor smiled, as lie held pn to Mrs Tate’s hand. “But the result has been better than my highest hopes, lie. was able to carry a woman hack to this farm, and chase over the fell at a break-neck speed l'or a doctor.’’ Still she could not speak. •At this moment, he is sitting In my “I cursed him!” she broke out passionately. “■God does not listen to curses. Mrs Tate!” “Your husband still needs a doctor, but, more than all, he needs a wife and a home—and hope.” lie went to tho window and looked out. “Hulloy llullo 1 Come upstairs, will vou Jack?” “You cull him Jack?” But the doctor was leaving the room, and Madeline Tate lay back, clutching at the bedclothes and staring towards the door. Bruised as she was with her fall. It was difficult to move without pain; but she wrenched herself round so that stie might not see who came in. She lay quivering, and It might seem as though the Auld Doctor had made a mistake at last. “Madeline, dearest,” he said quietly. Ho was there —this man who had been the nightmare of the recent years. She made no movement, even holding her breath, and he walked round the bed. With a stupendous effort, she opened her eyes. Her tension subsided. She relaxed and looked at him steadily. This man was not the old Gordon, with the cynical aggressive expression In his eyes, and the hard tight lips. This was—but it could not be—tho Gordon stie had pushed away from her In a dreamworld she never expected to enter again. “Madeline,” he repeated, "one day you and I will talk together, so that, you may learn to forgive, but now—" She lifted an arm, and gave an involuntary cry of pain. “If 1 trouble you, dearest —«’* "It, Is not you who troubles me, it Is a bruised arm.” and she looked at him piteously. “Gordon, you remember • —I cursed you "But now you are going to forgive, and bless. Two men have tried, to lift me. and now. T have come to a woman.” And then Dolly came bursting into the room. "They tried to stop me, hut I’ve come !” she asserted. "Dolly, my precious," said her mother. “Do you remember that. T- told you tti.it you could not have a Daddy like other little girls, because he was lost? Well, we have found him!” “You mv lazy man are my Daddy!" she exclaimed, staring at him. “When did you think of being that?” CHAPTER XI.IV. A Visitor to Firlands. Tlobert was living with tils aunt. Miss Hammond, at tier. Surrey home at Firlands, and went up to i.omlon for his musical and singing course. Miss Hammond was very happy in her nephew’s companionship, and also If. must he confessed, in the “love affair” passing before tier eyes. Olive Maitland, engaged yet not engaged to Robert, was a constant visitor, and worked with Miss Hammond in tier various plays for the good, of the neighbourhood. “My dear Robertsaid Miss Hammond. one afternoon, when lie returned from London. “I feel like a hen who has seen her duckling float over the weir. Paula seems !o have vanished, 100 busy to write, ami ttie old lieu left!” "I’ve a gorgeously fat letter from Paula.” said Robert, “but 1 haven’t divulged until 1 had eompanvl’ “Meaning Olive!" "Meaning my redoubtable Aunt Claudia." “Well, f here's a very redoubtable packing ease addressed to you. filling up "Mr hack passage!” and Miss Hammond laughed. "I shall be thankful if you can relieve Hie establishment of It. I’ve plenty of hammers and screwdrivers and things, even though 1 loathe using them.” So Robert tackled the packing ease. | »i d Miss II tmmond watched d I merits as curiously ns any suspicious "Mv hat!" exclaimed Robert, as at I ’ he produced Ibe two oil n linings. The >• u ‘.Mara: Antoinette’ and

‘Oliver Cromwell!’ Something must have happened.” “It feels to me—rather solemn,” said his aunt. "i suppose the poor family skeleton has had them returned, but there's no address of the sender.” They left tlie pictures, and returned Into the drawing-room, and Robert saw that his aunt had placed “Lady Teazle” in a position of honour. ”1 can't deny, Robert, that your poor mother rubbed me the wrong way, and I don't suppose I made allowances for her as 1 might have done—l could have helped your father more, but though 1 don't Hatter myself that 1 am an export, I can’t help thinking that that portrait is great—more than great.” And then the maid came in and announced a caller, Mr 'Gordon Tate. The aunt and nephew glanced at one another, but Miss Hammond was skilled for emergency. “Mr Tate!” she exclaimed. "How very nice to see you. We were Just arguing about that picture.” Gordon Tate shook hands, but his eyes were on the portrait, and he moved across the room and stood before it. "Poor Mhrie,” lie muttered. Then tie turned, and they both appreciated that this man was somehow different. “You got those pictures, Robert?” "Yes.” “Say anything you like.” “Now do sit down, Mr Tate,” said Miss Hammond. “Do tell us where you are living just now.” He sat down, and they waited. “The fact is, Miss Hammond, I’m taking a cure—a cure. I am still working it out —I have been under a doctor at Gowthwaite, but now I* have taken my wife and little girl to ttie seaside. Your sister may have told you, Robert—” "Well,” and Robert tried to laugh, “I have a letter from her, but I’ve not read It.” "I see,” he paused, and began opening his ease. "Have you ever read ‘The Hound of Heaven’?” “Looked at it, hut never really tackled it.” “No." said Gordon Tate, “it Isn’t n poem that you will ever, 1 hope, understand. It is becoming my salvation —1 am illustrating il for a publisher.” He passed over some of tho sketches, and Miss Hammond and Robert looked at. them silently. “You are a great artist, Mr Tate,” said Miss Hammond at last. "I have wasted twenty years,” he answered gravely. “Would you object if we were to send in that picture of my mother to the Academy, Uncle Gordon?” asked Robert. The simple use of the word “Uncle” sent a quiver to the man’s lips. But his voice was firm, as he anwered: “No. I cannot object. It Is not mine, and 1 think my sister would have been pleased.” “You will stay the night. Mr Tntc?” asked Miss Hammond. “We shall bo delighted.” “Xu.” he answered. “I am travelling hack through tho night.'to my wife. You will have heard of the accident—” But not having read Paula’s letter, they had not. heard, and Miss Hammond. with tact and sympathy, drew the visitor on to talk and to tell what lie would once have thought it impossible to allow to pass his lips. “And your little girl?” said Miss Hammond. "Here she Is.” and he drew out, a sketch. “One day. T hope she will not he ashamed of her father.” 'CHAPTER XLV. The August Festival. The Gowthwaite August Festival was a great local occasion. The dale stirred to very active life, for there were sports, hound trails, guide races, wrestlings, and in the evening there was the great Choir event, which took place in the big hall nt. High Town, some seven miles down the dale. Paula had been roped In to help with Ihe music, and she threw herself into the excitement, with keenness. Perhaps subconsciously, she was aware of a strange happiness stealing into her life, which must, in the end, make ail things new. Outwardly, she was glad to hear from Miss Graham, that Doris Smith and her brother Stephen had found rooms, and were taking a holiday in Gowthwaite for a couple of weeks. A good deal could happen in a couple of weeks. Gowthwaite had been thrilled by the romantic happening at the Red Farm, and it, was perhaps as well that Gordon Tale, his wife and child had loft, the district. “Poor things t” said some “And tlie best of luck to them!" said olliers. "The doc lor will be perked up at get,ling anolher win." said Miss Graham. t o all and sundry lie fore w hom her longue wagged. When Doris and Stephen arrived, Paula was hound to otTer hospitality, as she felt that she had laid tables and talked as happy as any schoolgirl. Naturally Stephen, as a horn dalesman. threw himself into the excitement. and the people were delighted to welcome their old Vicar’s son amongst them. It, became evident, to the skilful onlookers. 111 a I Mr Stephen was courting Miss Hammond, and this all added to tho thrill. The couple were watched as though they were royalty. Robert was expected to sing at Ihe great Gonerrl. h\ special permission of Jiis domineering singing-master, and Miss Hammond had made up her mind in secret, that sin* was not going to be out of it. and would entice Olive Maitland to drive her north, and give her nephew and niece the shock of their lives. "Dadd'." said Olive, ns she kissed him .goodbye, “don’t do anything rasp while I am gone!” “My dear child.” and he smiled nt tier, “don’t you do anything rash while “It. s sill> for us not to he properly engaged!” she replied. ‘T expect you will fell him so one of these days." he answered. “Oh. he knows, Daddy!” and she laughed. (To be continued.)