OCR Text |
Show O Mhesc hree ovcs (J JL) by Louis Arthur Cunningham "Make me another Gillian v can do that." iou "But can I, darling. I Can another material world for v could build you a city. And y 1 yes " his voice was eager ''6S haps with my love I can make v" another Gillian. I don't know bothers you, but I think t guess, at least In part." aa I can never get away frora tho memory of it, Gillian thought , was wrong, to think that I coulrt She said, "Yes, yes, that is wh"j I want." nat He held her closely, 8tron , He was afraid for her and h soothed her with a ' thou' promises. u (To Be Continued) it can do you harm. -There's a bench over there, rillian " he said. "Let's sit. I do, fya. -d it hard to talk now that the hour has come. They vont over to the wrought-iron bench and sat down. He was silent for a while, as if looking for words with which to begin. She felt no stirring in her heart, no nervous; ness, no treacherous wilder-ment. wilder-ment. That was as it should be. I love you, Gillian," Jon said, his voice husky. "I love you my dear You are so lovely, Gillian. I don't ask you if you love me. What I ask is the right to love vou to watch over you, to keep from you that dark shadow I've sometimes seen upon your face. As if wings were passing overhead" over-head" shutting off the-light from you. I never want to see that again." CHAPTEK IV Synopsis ljuvc-ly, red-lieided Oil .Meade live with her uncle, Col. Ansolm Mendu, at Kydul Hou.se, In Eastern ('uiuuJii. KeuliyJnK that the family fortuned are dlNUiMuirln(;, Gillian makes up her mind to accept wi-althy Jonathan Hiilyer, and save the old house, as well as pro-vid pro-vid for her seventeen-year-old sister, DeljoruJi. She meets Simon Klllltcrew, lxst friend of Jaffry Clay, to whom Gillian was once cnKaned. Simon blames her for Jaffry'M death. Driving with Jon to a week-end party at his house, I Jon lolls Gillian that Simon is looking for flnanrlal aid to publish pub-lish Jaffry's poetry, and asks her advice. She urges him to advance the money. . o Gillian colored. "You spoil me, Jon." "If so, my darling, I shall continue con-tinue the process as long as I live, since It makes you blush so prettily." pret-tily." "T didn't know I could blush any more. You're making me find a lot of the things I thought I'd lost for good." "I want to make you love me, Glllian." His lips toucher her hair, spoke softly into her ear. "Now, now, Jon. Please not now. Tonight you will tell me tonight. We had better go down now." "But there is a chance for me?" "Yes oh, yes there is a chance." She saw him when she and Jon Hillyer were . halfway down the stairs. He was standing y the great stone fireplace and he was gazing at the flames that leaped and seethed, chasing each other up the blackened chimney with a rush and roar. She saw him in profile, clean-cut, rugged, high-browed, high-browed, with a dreamer's look about him, an intense look as if his thoughts were swift and vital. And as she watched him he turned turn-ed from gazing at the flames and looked directly up at her. Their eyes met with a sudden, d-evastat-i ing Impact. She felt something' like panic. I'll face him, she thought angrily. I'll not give ground to him, not an inch. She tore her eyes from "his. She said something to Jon. Then she was among the guests, going from group to group with Jon. Four more couples had arrived. There were some she did not know. The Introductions took time. When, at last, it came Simon Killlgrew's turn, she could give him look for look. She was all right now. "You've met Gillian Meade." Jon made a statement of It. "You were trespassing on her preserves, she tells- me." "Believe me, I didn't know." He looked at Jon, not at her. "Well, no matter, Killigrew. She has forgiven you. I asked her about your proposition left it up to her, in fact. And I'm in the publishing business. You come to s-ee me next Wednesday in Montreal Mon-treal and we can work out the "You will always se-e it." He stared at her, startled. "What do you mean? Tell me, Gillian. Gil-lian. You must tell me." She shook her head. "I dare not. You are strong and I can use. your strength. You are kind and I can do with kindness. I'll go to you, Jon, if you want me. And I'll try to be all that you want me to be" "I want you to be just Gillian just as you are now." He took her hand and carried it to his lips. He kissed it and pressed it against his cheek. For a moment she clung to him, trembling. She felt no joy, no triumph, in this moment. "Make a new life, a new world for me, Jon," she whispered. details." Slowly, Simon looked from Jon to her. She saw the color ebb from beneath his tan, saw his lips move. He said. "Thank you, Mr. Hillyer. Hill-yer. i I'd like to see Jaff's work published under any terms. Miss Meade has been more than kind." She did not again look at Simon Killigrew and presently she and Jon walked away. There were cocktails then and tlvere was dancing danc-ing and then dinner. Simon had pointedly avoided her. At dinner he sat far down the table on the same side and she could not see those angry eyes of his. She laughed laugh-ed and talked with a forced gaiety. Try as she would she could not forget his presence. Jane Craddock, who sat next to Simon, and some of the others, were talking about books. Simon spoke of those he had "published and those he hoped to publish. Someone, unthinking, spoke of poetry and Jane Craddock said, "People don't read poetry these days." The other listened then. "It depends," said Simon. "If the poetry Is good and yet can strike a modern note, the public will like it. We had such a poet in Jaffry Clay, but it seems that the good die young." There was silence then. Eyes were bent to the table or cast sly looks at Gillian. She gave no sign that she had heard. Someone bridged the gap by beginning to talk about dogs, and things again flowed smoothly. Still, for Gillian, the dinner seemed to drag along interminably. There was hopelessness in her heart, hopelessness at the thought of 'ever winning Simon Killlgrew's regard. He was cruel, as only the young and strong can be cruel. There would be no forgiving, no relenting. "Why so quiet, Gillian?" Jon's hand touched hers. They were at the coffee now. She would be glad when this meal was ended. She wanted to wander out under the stars alone. She wanted to be with herself in all the world, save Anse, the only one who could look on her without too much condemnation. condem-nation. "I was dreaming. I'm sorry, Jon." "I hope they were pleasant dreams of what will be." She did not answer. Presently they left the table. She saw Simon Killigrew go off with Jon and some of the other men to the stables. Gillian wandered off alone, down a winding path among the piives and tall white spruce by the lake shore. The path led down to a little jetty where Jon kept a speedboat I and some canoes. She walked out to the end of it and sat down on a bollard. Tonight, she thought, will be a night of destiny; tonight to-night will shape my life. After tonight I'll be where Simon and all the other Simons cannot reach me. She heard a step on the dry planks of the jetty. She turned her head and saw a tall figure walking slowly towards her. He hesitated when he was close enough to see her sitting there. then came and stood on the cap of the wharf beside her. "I was looking for you," he said. "I suppose it is in order to thank you for putting in a good word with Jonathan Hillyer. So I thank you." "You don't really thank me." After a brief look at him, at his dark face in the moonlight, she gazed off over the water at the deep mystery of the forest. "My instinct was to refuse. I hated to think that you should have anthing to do with with even the poor things Jaffry left. How can you bear even the mention men-tion of his name, without thinking that you might have stretched out a hand to help him, and did not? How can you ?" ""I can't that's the answer!" She stood up, facing him, her head thrown back, her arms straight at her sides. "I can't bear his name without suffering a private hell of my own. So I won't hear it, not from you, not from anyone. He's dead now. Sometimes I think he's better off than I am. At least, he has some rest,, some peace. I know you hate me for what you think I did to him. Who are you to condemn con-demn me? I want you to know it doesn't matter to me." "It wouldn't. I didn't expect it to. You are the glamorous Gillian Meade. Men break their necks and their hearts - running after you. The great Jonathan Hillyer loves you, gazes on you with adoring ador-ing eyes. You'll be his darling. Perhaps when you're in his arms he will change to someone else perhaps to a boy who was fool enough to think he loved you." She could listen to no more. She brushed past him, ran blindly, stumblingly, up to the jetty and through the silver and shadow of the woods. She heard Jon's voice calling, "Gillian! Where are you, Gillian?" She did not answer. She would "Oh, I was a little girl lost in the woods and the cruel, wicked giant found me or maybe it was the Wolf anyway he tried to gobble gob-ble me up. So I ran and ran and when I heard you I was so out of breath that I could not answer." Jon laughed. He drew her arm through his. "Come on, Gillian, let's get closer to that moon." "Let's go all the way to the moon," she amended. "And stay there." They strolled down towards the lake by another path. The moonlight was still lovely on Lac St. Cloud. A road of shimmering shim-mering silver stretched across the water and her feet were on the very edge of that road's beginning. begin-ning. Yet she might never walk on it. The night wind had come, sighing sigh-ing in the pines; poplar leaves rustled their eternal rustling little, whispering, lonesome voices. She shivered. Jon bent to her solicitously: soli-citously: "I should have brought a wrap for you, Gillian. Shall we go back and get one?" "Please, no. I'm not cold." "But I fancied you were shivering." shiver-ing." ' She laughed. "Maybe because I was thinking of the poplar leaves; how they always shake and shiver, even when there is no breath of wind." ' "I don't believe it." Jon was ever practical. "But it's a pretty fancy all right. I often marvel at chaps who can think up such things. To me, it's only a tree shaking its leaves in the wind. The only time I feel the urge to utter beauty is when I look at you, Gillian,, and then I'm tongue-tied. tongue-tied. Even as now " "You don't need to talk, Jon. Your gentleness, your kindness these things speak with more sincere sin-cere voices than the sayers of golden gold-en things. Sometimes a girl grows tired of words, you know. Oh, they not have Jon see her like - this, panting, breathless, as if she had been pursued by fiends. She cowered cow-ered in the shadow; of a pine trunk and stayed there, quiet as the night, until Jon's voice receded. She walked slowly back to the lodge. She was all right now. Almost, Al-most, she could laugh at Simon's verbal flagellations. "Hello, Jon,," she called gayly when she saw him coming down from the verandah. "And where were you? I hunted everywhere." |