HONOUR.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 11, 28 May 1920, Page 2

HONOUR.

Colonel Meredith Marlowe, white-hair-ed, but clean-limbcd and upright despite his sixty-eight years, surveyed his visitor with an approving eye. Conway Forbes, a young man of 29, was a str.ikingly haiidsome specimen of English manhood, and one who might be relied upon at all timcs to carry out his obligations . fearlessly and without favour. The old soldicr was able to guess. prctty welf what the young man had eome to talk about, but he did nothing to iielp him with the subject. Indeed, it rather a.rnused him to see Forbes struggling to find an opening. "I have chosen this opportunity of com- j ing to see you because your daughter Derothy is at present staying away from hcine with some friends," began tlie young man after a while, and find ing his . words obviously with an effort. "It is about her that I wish to speak to you, sir." "Fire away then, Forbes," said the ! colonel encouragingly. "Well, sir," went on Conway, moisten- ; ing his lips, "I love Dorothy very dearly, \ and, although I have not spoken to he.r about such matters, I have been bold enough to hope that she eares for me a 1 little in ret-urn. I have come to you, sir, to seek your permission to ask yo.'r daughter to become my wife." The cld man sighed. "I will not pretend that your nequest i has come as a surprise to me, Forbes," he replied, with some sign of emotion, "and of all the men I have met I do not think there is anyone whom I would sooner have as my son-in-law. At the same time my child's happiness is my dearest care, and you will imderstand that I must be quit-e satisfied concerning yourself before ; I en trust her to your charge." "I understand that," replied the young man promptly, "and that is why 1 want to speak frankly. As regards my fmancial position, I do not think you will complain of that. I have a business of my own which brings me in a certain income of , twelve hundred a year, and I think I shall be able to promise that Dorothy need want for nothing in the way of personal com- j forts." "That is satisfactory enough," agreed the colonel readily. "I am convinced, too, that you will make still further headway in your business." "Tliank you," said the young man. "But that is not all, sir. I think it is necessary, too, that you should know all there is to know about myself apd my J anteesdents." «r~ j "Tbey are beyond reproach, 1 am sure," j reroarked Marlowe, his brow clouding faintly with suspicion. "So far as I am myself concerned," continued Forbes, "I do not think that I . have ever willingly been guilty of a dis- i honourable or dishonest action. But nine J years ago my father was sentenced to 3 years' penal servitude for embezzlement, and died in prison." At this candid confession Colonel Marlowe drew back with an expression of in- ( dignant horror. For a moment he stood 1 there, his grey eyes ablaze, and Conway Forbes read in them a death sentence ' upon all his for.dest hopes. "You need saj no more, Forbes," said the old man at last. 'In vievv of your ; confession I will never consent lo my ! daughter's marriage to vcu." Conway Forbes received the decree 1 bravely, even though it struck his heart a blow that ieft it stunned. "1 am not responsible for the sins of my father," was all he said. "You are not responsible, but you must suffer ior them," returned the stern old man. "I am sorry for you, but nothing will alter my decision. When a man is without honour the taint is in the blood." i Conway Forbes remained silent. "There is no exscuse for a man who goes ! wrong. A man who steals or who preys upon society in any way is not deserving of sympathy," declared the old man firmly. "He knows well enough the difference between and wrong, and must be punished without mercy if he takes what he thinks to be the e>asier way." "There are many men who are good by accident, said Conway qaietly, "Tliey have never been tempted, and so they have had no chance of taking a step in the wrong direction ; others are beset with temptation all their livcs, and some are not taonui to fight against. it."

The colonel drew himself up haughtily. | "A man of honour will conquer any temptation," he avowed. "Do you suppose I have never been tempted in my life? Yet I come of a family whose honour is unsullied. and I would sooner die than cast the faintest shadow of shame upon the name which I bear. A Marlowe has never disgraced his name, and a Marlowe never will." The evening had been drawing in while they spoke, and the room in which they stood was lighted only by the pale light of the rising moon. "My daughter and I are all that remain of our stock," repeated the old man, "a,nd I can never allpw her to be linked to a man whose name is less clean than our own." "Very well, sir," answered Forbes, in a steady tone, "I bow to your decisions, and I give you my word t'hat never without your consent will I attempt to speak to Dorothy again. I love her too well to bring the slightest shadow of shame or sorrow into her life." "I accept your promise," said Colonel Marlowe. "I am very sorry, because under other circumstances, I would have welcomed a man like you to take the plaee of my own boy." As he spoke he looked up at a picture which hung upon the wall.

"That is my son," he went on, "and he was a true Marlowe if ever there was one. He died in France, and sinc.e my boy could not be spared I should ask for nothing better than that he should have died as he did. His end is another addition to the records of our glorious family." The old man choked back a sob then crcssed the room and opened the French windows. The cool evening air coming across the open moor s.eemed to restore some of his old equanimity, and he quickIv overcome the emotion which the mention of his son had eaused him. And while he stood there his keen eyes caught sight of something moving in the bushes a few yards away. He said nothing, but turning into the room opened the drawer of his desk and took out a revolver. With the hand that held the weapon thrust into the pocket of his dinner-jacket, he walked calmly out through the" window again and casually made his way in the direction sf the bush in which he had seen the moving object. Conway Forbes, who had seen nothing, watched the old man wonderingly. "Now stand up and show yourself," called out the colonel suddenly, as he held the revolver loosely in his hand. Instantly a figure rose from the bush. The man was dressed in the hideous clothes of a convict. "Now walk in front of me and get into that room!" ordered the colonel. Don't try any tricks, for I. know how to deal with your sort." The convict led The way sheepishly into Ihe room. Arriving there, he turned about, and tlie moonlight fell upon his begrinned face. The hand that held the revolver opened, and the weapon fell with a thud to the carpet. Then, with a great sob which shook his frame, the cld mair fell back and buried 1ns face in his hands to shut out the speciacle of the pale, dusty features. Oreat Heaven ! ' * he cried piteously; "Ronald— my son!" II. Conway Forbes, standing back in the shadow, took in the scene, and his heart. overfiowed with pity for the crushed pride of the oid man. With a great effort Colonel Marlowe uncovered his face and looked steadily ^at the convict son who stood before him in all his shame. "I thought you were dead. Ronald," he said at last. "Dead beat, thal's about all," returned the other hoarsely. "The false report of my death was very convenient, because it saved me from being kicked out of my regiment for cliecitiijjg at cards.'* "Oh Heaven!" gasped the colonel. Would I had been struck down before I lived to see this day!" The convict' s lip twitched slightly, but 1)141 lfc> anj tljen forced a dry laugh

frorn his throat. "Come, don't waste timo! I want some money to help me and a pa! to gct away. Every minute is precious. YTou don't j understand the position I am in. I've got to get clean away from b&re before ihe warders get on my track." His callous tone had a strange effcct upon the old man, who seemcd to hajrden strangely. "You are right," lie said. "You must make good your escape if only to give you a chance of hiding your shame in another j part of ihe world. My son is dead to me, ! and 1 could not live knowing him to be a convict. \ ou shall have money. He went to his dcSk, and his hand did not shake as he unlocked the centre drawer of his desk and took out twenty-five pounds. He held the money out to the young man, who took it from him. "Now go!" cried the immbled father in a voice that did uot flinch. "And never let me see your face again! If you want money, write to me, but do not attempt to return here, or 1 i|iy forget what you once were to me. Begone. Again there was the faint twitchi'ng of the convict's lips, and again he forced himself to laugh. Then, turning, he strode out of the room on to the lawn of the garden. A second later he was lost to view behind the- bushes. Paying no heed to Conway Forbes, the colonel crosscd the room to where his revolver lay, and slipped it into his pocket. At the window be stopped and looked out. The garden was bordered by a, hedge, and from the window the opening leading oat on to the moor was visible. Standing there, with the moonlight bathing his set face, old Marlowe saw the outline oi a broad-arrow-clad figure emerge from the shelter of some bushes and approach tlie opening. The fugitive, who was now clasping a heavy spade in his hand peered cautiously round to see that the way was clear. Like a startled hare he jumped back, for standing on the moor, just through the opening, was a warder.

The colbnei, watching. saw the convict dart back at the sight of the warder; he saw him go forward again, and creep slowly towards the unsuspecting prison ofBcial ; he saw him raise the spade to strike a coward's blow frorn bebind. "My God !" gasped the colonel. "Not that ; You have sunk very low, Ronald, but you shall not sink to cowardly murder. Death a hundred times .rather!" As he spoke the old man snatched his revolver from his pocket and fired ! The convict flung up his arms, and pitching down on his face, lay still. Then, with a step that showed no sign of falterir.g, the old man went down the garden, and Conway Forbes followed him. "Is he dead?" asked the colonel calmly. "Yes, sir, returned the warder. "And li you liad not fired when you did he would undoubtedly have killed ino. ' ' The warder, who was kneeling By the I side oi the fallen man, turned the body over, and Colonel Marlowe looked down at the stained face. The dead man cvas not his son ! ! The voice of ihe warder broke in upon his confused thoughts. "You've dorie everybody a good tuni by bringing this fellow down, sir, for he W'cs one of the most desperate men from Bleakmoor. He broke away to-day with a young fellow riamcci De'nton, who seems for the time being to have given us the slip. But he s a different type of fellow altogether, and we shall get him socner or later, for. he's only a novice at the gamc !" III. Colonel Marlowe and Conway Forbes weie alone topcther m the Library. Ne.thcr had spoken since they lxad come in from the garden, and Conway was only waiting until he could decently take his departure and leave the old man alone in his grief. . Stin without speakjng, the old man crossid to where hung the picture which a short time ago he had gazed on wiu such pride. His hands trembled a little as he reached up for the phctograph, but there was no hesitafion in his rnaimer. ' Deliberately he rempved Ihe picture irom the wall, and went with it to his desk. \\ ithout a glance at the handsome face he placed it in a centre drawcr, an 1 this he locked. Then, for tlie first time since that terriblc interview, he looked into the face of Conway Forbes. "If you liad prayed for retribution to come to me for iny words to you tonight, he said qaietly, "your prayer could uot have been answered more swiftly." C onway b orbes was filled with compassion for the broken old man. . ' } 011 have suffered a terrible blow, sir, " he said earncstly. "But it is yonr

duty to bear it bravely, and you "I placed myself on a faW podJ. pride, Forbes," he said, "and He ■ dealt a rapid and terrible judgme^ 'me. You have seen me humbled dast — you who only Tialf an h(H|r tllJ heard me boasting of my family'g I told ycu that you must suffer father's crime because it is said tlnt"'01' sins of the fathers shall be vi si tod^ the children. Just as true is it p sins of the children shall be borne b n parents." ^ The old man secmed upon ihe )K,iril hreaking down, but his old spirit ca^e his aid, and he mastered himself. "I have leamed a bitter lesson, Conw and I sce the folly of my 0ld f0„!^ pride. I was wrong, and I apolig^ , you for what I said. Will you hands?" Conway Forbes gripped the hand Jy"You must forget what I said," ^ on the colonel, "because I need a son 1^ ly now. You will not fail me?" "I will try to prove worthy," replifj the young man. IY. Tlie following morning Colonel Marlow, galloping over the moor on his bay mara, ' showed no sign of the ordeal through which he had passsed over-night. g,, iine spirit had stood him in good stead i, : his time of trial. Coming in sight of the long moorland ( road which made a tortuous course ovetj the brow of the hill, the colonel reinej into a walk,. and, leaning forward. patted the mare's sleek neck in approval of her efforts. He had gone on another half a dozen paces wlxen the sound of frantic hoofbeata reached him, mingled with the cries oi children. The next moment there came in view upon the winding slope a waggonctt, drawn by two plunging horses, and filled i with children who were screaroing alourfi with fear of impending disaster.

Ihe colonel was under no misapprel» i ion as to what had happened. The horses I of the waggonette had bolted, and they] were tearing down to their own destrcoi tion, and they were taking with them a-school-party of innocent children. The passing of years had not sappej the courage of Meredith Marlowe, and,: closing his legs to his mare, he urged lierj into a gallop and made for the road. He ha! little hope of reacliing it in time 1T cut off the runaways, but he was out to try hard, ccunting his life well lost if it were lost in an attempt to save ti« helpless mites in the swaying vehiele. And just as he realised that the chance was hopeless, a figure leapt up into x'ievt from a fissure in the moor and pelted to the road. Straight at the runaways the man flung himself, and, by a combination of skil) j and luck, succe,eded in catching the bridle of the near-side runaway. The beast- reared before the sudden on- j slaught, lifting the man inio the air, then j dropped to all i'ours again and tried to, coritinue its mad way, dragging the maij with it. But he clung on frenziedly, and in the end the horse could carry on no longer. Snorting, trembling, and in a smother of foam, he came to a standstill, the other beast at once following its example. Then and not till then, the man released his hold and sank in a heap to the road. At this moment the colonel reached Ihe scene, and as he sprang dowr/ from his horse ^ he saw that the iruert figure was clad fflj the tunic of a convict. He gna-sed whai I was revealed to him as he dragged ti man from under the horse at the sideo the road. . j The man who had been capable oi thi»j amazing exhibition of dauntless cou rage . was Ronald Marlowe, and the fathff! , heart swelled with pride at the d iscoveryGently he set him down upon tlie slof ing bank running up fi-om the road, an as he knelt beside the prostrate for'11 , nrerest flicker of the eyelids was the sign that remaiiled within the cr"'' ® I body. Y'et Marlowe f.elt no Pa'rl a' .a j boy's condition. He thought on!> ^ j a warming glow of the manner i" he had obtained his injuries. 1 He had offered all he lield nl0!'lj,(':ii1;iri save that party of merry-makers ■ ,0'1 ' appalling catastrophe which wou brought sorrow into a dozen horncsAnd in the estimation of Colonei lowe no man could seek a better opp ^ ity of proving his value in the " A deep moan escaped the ^ ^ lips, and, opening his eyes, he o0" into his father's face. "Dad!" he miu-mured softly- ^ ^ "My dear boy!" answered the _f with a quivering lip. 'T am jq0hbiBS you for what you have just on . that is past matters in face o ^ ^ ^ Ronald Marlowe struggled up elbow. vrroD^'' "I'm sorry, dad, that 4 T>e J ttf he said, speaking with di ucU (Continued on p aga

KQNQUfL

( Continued from ps.ge 2.) son-y because of the pain last night cost you. But for that you would never have known of the shame I have brought upon you. I was foolish, and I went the pace to an extent I could not alford, and rather than that you should learn of my folly, I stole money to pay my d^ts with." "Hush, my boy!" arswered the old man, in a tone of wondrous sympathy. "You have to-day settled all your debts in full." "It's good of you to speak like that, dad, but I am glad that you have forgiven nie Last night, when you found rr,o, I tried to pretend that I v/as an out-and-out rotter, because I thought that you would more easily forget me if you believed that I was too hopeless to be worth thinking about-. It liurt me, fatber to speak to you like I did last night, but I — I believed it would be easier for you. Good-bye, father ; I am sorry to have given you reason to be ashamed of me." He did not speak again, and when Colonel Marlowe looked up from liis face, colci and grey in death, he sa-w a warder hurrying to the scene. "Ga.d! This is a piece of'luck!" ex- i claimed the man in uniform. "We've ' been out all night looking for this fellow. We won't trouble you, sir; we can look after him." Colonel Marlowe rose to his feet. "This man is my son!" be said proudly. "I will come with you to the prison!" The End.