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Show & Isles f Love & i! ftf fromUst Sunday) rHApTER I"- (Continued) SGI AND saving faller UB- 1 p' rushed to Dinah, seiried tho iJ corner of her apron, And de-that de-that she should not gjt away fLhr bad told me abou father ?, Va all right now. wasn't he? JL, captain had (..red Him. He Lid never be ill again" Your father." said -Dinah ((letre 0 nie apron now, Miss tora i want to wipe me eyes) oar father, miss, has got the au-Lloa au-Lloa pictorials very Lad. and If fjpioin England hadn't near killed jlnK running down to the ship-(opct ship-(opct that bottle he'd have been fit . (hP grave this moment. Cap-Si Cap-Si England-God bless him for a jeartv gentleman bas left the bottle bot-tle wilh us, and be says he'll bo bick In four days from the Ha won pS with more. C aptain England, 1,P put In here for water, because hls main tank bad got salted, and jp cava he's due in Hawonga this serial moment, and can't May any . "Grandad has stopped lum just outside." put i" Luke. "1 suppose lie's asking about It." And. In irath. I saw at the moment Harry Eniland's tall figure standing halt poised, impatiently, on one foot, near the entrance, while old Ivory, vitb a face of calm dismay if such a thine ear. be; old Ivory never got felted talked to him. As for myself, inv heart was I poking cold again with the chill ,l;t feellnc ih.it I had, I u the fir I I time in my life, mel with to-day ! Tilings were not going to be right, after all "What did you say it was angel j I -angel?" ' : I 'l know.' put in Luke in an undertone un-dertone "It's 'angina pectoris. ; i They have it :n t le m. ; I was not allowed 10 rend the J oedical book, which Luke km 01 1 thlnl. he ould sonr liavi told ne so niiuli Tlie v. . irds i onvey .i little to me. Ru i tinah ft cc told n:o:r She knew it, : ml determinedly determin-edly lmke nwa: from me, 11 gin 'v tho instant noce Ity of getting I back to "her' kitchen r "What was the medicine?" I cried H I alter licr "He called it nlghtltghl of al-Bondf. al-Bondf. bul it sme I for all Ihe world I more like pi Dinah's re- " . pi v a she ; ni- in il i It was years before I learned I tucb was my .-I i ui'..n :', i m of . irerythjng connected with that day I of fate that "nitrite of aniyl" bnd teen the magic drug A Old Ivnn , t. ilk se( mi 'I 10 DC I done Hi n U'led to England and lame into the lull His face was m very Cr,n, "Luke," be said, "come to my H room, I've something to apeak to IU you abciul." lXi I was left alone. The sun, now If ' elnklntr lyt.-or. looked in at the IU couth oi tl.o c:;ve idly I watched lj j U reep like a moving sean blight y from ujv shoes to my silken dress, to my waist, to m neck. 1 was loo """jl tired to think, almost too tired to feel. 1 saw i he low light rise, I drowning me slowly in a sea of fire, . as the Firth tii. . in Scotland m-e once about the two doomed women martyrs. . one in a dream, I looked at it, at the changing li pit made among my silks, at the sparkle that broke out ns it touched the crystal round my neck climbing, climb-ing, always climbing, Then I saw that Harry England as not gone. He was still at the cave entrance, and he was looking it me looking at my neck I He made two quick steps into J the cave. - I "Where did that come from"'' he jk Ukeil me "What'.'" tj)r "That bit of crystal round your i Ef,(-'l' " Mi , - It, ll, e II.. V. I "May I?" he asked, and with defl ; "tigers unfasteuod the chain He held the crystal in his bond, touching touch-ing It with his finger tips and excising ex-cising the angh "I came from the Hall of Persepb-( Persepb-( bfe the dining ro.un It's like 1 those tourist caes in Australia Jenolan. you know." "Can you show me this hall?" he J laked, ,,. , . ,. : ,., A "Yes'" 1 s-aid. ami led the way There was no one about. Luke and t old Ivory were shut up together, trraine was with my father, Dinah J !lih?r ht'ehen We passed un-. un-. ""ced down tho dark passage and H m&, PeraePhone'.v Hall Itm ,llln " v,a .-.linosl dusk; the ? Kr,i wind. ,v. faced east and ; Jlln WflK I10w far down to west-jH west-jH BJ5; Tuo captain stood in the 'H Of the hail, his, vivid, bavvk- .yes roaming about him. He M Powerful electric torch from $J Bjjchet and snapped It on. I'm rSU Btromr white light the crys tabs phone as I bad never seen them shine before; it was, indeed, a cave of diamonds. England looked about him stlent-lv stlent-lv for some moments and then bent to pick up a fracment that had fallen from the roof. It wan a mere chip of classy stuff, not especially attractive. He glanced at it and sloped it. casually, into hi3 pocket, snapping off the torch as he di.l o The hall was dim as we made our way out again; I could not see his face. I did not judge that he was specially Interested "Do you think It is as good as Jenolan?" I asked him, jealous of the reputation of our great wonder. "It's rather like and very pretty," pret-ty," was his answer. I acquired an impression that he bad not said quite what he thought. "It is as blue don to A England leaped from the rocks above the cave arch." . - 1 L'M 'v vV food, Tm but I'm sure"' 1 thought rebelliously. "Some day I ehall go and see that other place end ' shall think nothing of it at all " Wo came out into the central hall. Tho doors were still 6hut, the pluco still silent. The sun now had climbed to its last vantage point and hung, in flakes of gold, among the vaultings of tho roof. Limestone, Lime-stone, white as the white sea sand. was the stuff of this groat cave, but the passage to the Hall of Persephone, Perse-phone, close at hand, ran through basalt black as night. England looked at tho mingling of the two rocks. It seemed to interest in-terest him. "Pretty, that contrast of black and white." he said, Then, suddenly, bo stooped to me and lilted my hair in two great waves "YOU are pretty," he said, holding me by my hair. He, slipped his narrow, steel-like hands down to my waist, lifted me like a kitten and, swinging me in the air, kissed my mouth. . Dlzzv. I leaned against tho wall when be set mo down, I had not breath to speak. I felt as. I think, young maids of harried East Anglta must have felt in early centuries when pirate galleys drove suddenly !n from "N'orroway, o'er the faem," and some tall, gold locked heathen I Ixed a little lassie by the hair and swept her away to the ships with tho dragon beaks, never to return any more. But Captain England had not l n pi me away; he bad merolx kissed me good-by, as passing guests of my father's bad dono many a time. Where was the difference? dif-ference? I did not know. I only know that Harry England, the wild hawk of the seas, had shaken me In bis claws, and that the world was shaking shak-ing and whirling round me because of it. Wltn Tbe Instinct of a frightened lumb I rushed to the fold. I forgot my father s illness. I flung opcu tho door of his room and ran in. Lorraine Lor-raine was there; ho vas sitting in a chair reading. My father lay on his bed. pale, but to my eyes quite well. Thoro were damp cloths about the room; the smell of pear-drops pear-drops still lingered. "What Is It?" asked Lorraine, raising her emerald eyes from the book. I could not say what it was. I did not know. "Captain England is gone," I stammered. "I said good by to him " "Is he away?" asked Lorraine, rising with that inevitable sweep of her draperies. "Someone should have thanked him." "I don't know," I stammered. "I will go and see," said Lorraine, sparing me the reproof for awkwardness awk-wardness that would otherwise have been my inevitable portion. I followed her out to tho archway arch-way There was nothing to be seen (C) I'.-'l. IM.v.c .-.r. I 1 r of Harry England, but a sailor, a coffee-brown islander, with a plnrnp figure and large black swimming eyes, was wandering about, apparently appar-ently looking for someone He was very cleanly dressed In white drill trousers and blue Jumper; be woro a broad-brimmed man-of-war hat. While wo looked, trying to seo behind the clumps of the pulms if the schooner was making sail, another an-other youth appeared and joined the first. They talked together In some Island dialect; their voices were singularly sweet. I saw them staring bard at Lorraine and at me. I saw Lorraine's expression suddenly sud-denly change. "What's the matter?" I asked her. Lorraine was wonderfully clever with Island tongues; she had mastered mas-tered more than one. "Do you know what they are saying?" I asked. "Yes," she said curtly. "What is It?" Even as I asked I knew she would not tell me. at least, not any more than she chose to tell. reatar Strrlct. loo. Urtit It "They are laying," she answered mo, choosing her words, "that they ought not to have come up here, but that the captain will be angry If anyone lets him miss the tide" "What else, Lorraine?" She did not answer me. But tho answer came otherwise. A gust of wind blew suddenly up the track from the sea it was the breeze that comes with the going down of the sun and seized tho wide hat of one of the sailors. He caught at it, and the string that held It under his chin gave way, tho bat blew off and down over the blue Jumper, down to the knees of the white-drill sailor trousers fell a long, snaky coil of hair. The other sailor shrieked, laughed and fled down the track with the unmistakable swaying run of a girl. In the same moment Harry England Eng-land leaped from tho rocks above the cave arch what be could have been doing there was beyond me to imagine and lauded on the track. He did not see Lorraine and myself; my-self; the light was low now and wo rltilo lUfihU U scried. were in the shadow of the cave Afore, be did not know bow could ho? that the short rocky defile leading to the archway was a veritable verit-able whispering gallery and carried every sound. Ho took two steps to the blue and white figure with the tumbling hair and spoke to it. not loud, but furiously, we heard him I put my bands over my ears. I b cked into the cave, white and shaking. Lorraine retreated with me She, too, was white. "Was that swearing'" I whispered whis-pered No one before had ever sworn at an unruly native in my presence "Yes," said Lorraine. The cap-ain's cap-ain's figure was passing out of sight; tho strange sailor had run ahead. "I have heard of him," said Lorraine, Lor-raine, shaken out of her usual self-possession self-possession so far as to speak to me almost as an equal. "I've heard of tho way he swears and of thoso women sailors They say there are uo men in the Pacific bettor hands on a ship ho tralued them himself. Of course, he has men as well. Dara, your father owes his llfo to that mau and you must not forget it, but Captain Englund" she spoke with emphasis "Captain England is tho wickedest man in the Pacific." Pa-cific." CHAPTER IV. AFTER tho great tidal wave of emotion that had submerged us all on Hiliwa Dara came tho ebb of the flood. No one did or said or even thought very much for three or four days with the exception of old Ivory, who had passed beyond the age of passionate passion-ate feelings and seemed little, If at all, affected by tho experiences that bad changed the face of the world lor us younger folk. The overseeing of the cocoanut plantation, which was Ivory's tusk, suffered not at all in the days sue-ceedlug sue-ceedlug father's terrible attack. Luke dreamed over and bungb?d his lessons and his routiue doctoring doctor-ing of the trees. You have no idea, unless you are a plantation proprietor, pro-prietor, how much sickness and bow much hospital practice there is 1 sure to be among your rubber trees or palms. v I was frankly idle. Lorraine was too much occupied in attending father to Interfere with mo, and she, too, I think, was suffering from reaction. As for Dinah, nothing on earth (or beneath It) could make her more tearful or more pessimistic pessimis-tic that she habitually waa. So four days passed. I have never had any very clear recollection recollec-tion of that time The things that came before and after stand up so high in the memories of my life that all else is dimmed in their long shadow. Have you ever ascended the Peak? The Peak, that of Tenorlffe. almost the only one of the world s great mountains that springs clear from sea level to crown without intervening in-tervening foothills? I have ascended as-cended it; I have climbed its twelve thousand feet In a day and n half, standing at evening on the teu thousand thou-sand foot slope to see the marvel that Is never forgotten by any who have looked on it Tcnerlffe's sun- Before you is spread the colossal map of the Atlantic blue, painted with huge islands; the pearly green rim of Tenorlffe itself infinitely fai down; the tortured, rocky tableland 1 of the Canadas. over which you have tolled all day; the slopes of tho Rambleta come, with the long warp of Its track shuttling from side to side, Behind you the sun is setting; there Is still sunlight at your feet but a purple point, a tin ger of shadow from behind you is creeping creeping The fluger broadens to a wave; tho wavo engulfs you you and I your comrades, and the shelter hut on the ten-are where you stand washes the terrace Itself, flows over tho edge. It has touched the Canadas Can-adas now. three thousand feet below be-low you; it Is flowing across the iplaln. And now you see its shape not formless, but definite; tall, pointed, triangular. You cannot for the moment remember what It is that the thing resembles and then, suddenly, you know. ThU marvellous shadow, the shadow of the peak behind you, is shaped like the pointer of a sundial. sun-dial. Like a sundial pointer It I moves, on and on Its colossal march shakes your heart; it passes the tablelands, vanishes down the outer slopes, and shows itself again, sweeping relentlessly onward, on-ward, like the gnomon of time Itself It-self passing over eternity's dial, until at last its purple apex rests upon tho ultimate sea lino, a hun- j dred and fifty rnlles from where you stand, and the finger that crept from beneath your feet had spread across the confines of tho world, and the flood comes up and there j is Year- after my Island days, when I stood on the mighty Peak and saw that little shadow "no larger than a man's hand" grow and grow i and sweep across the world, I thought of one day in my llfo tho day of which 1 am now to write. It was a dull day. I remember; ouiot, with dropping rain, and sea like a shield of tarnished silver. Father had seemed rather weak in tho morning, but grew brighter toward noon. He had a couple of boys up from the plantation (ho would never let a woman do any I heavy work) to carry him from his bedroom into tho study, where he lay on his reading couch, tho door wide open to tho hall. He did not read; ho seemed to be thinking I deeply. Rain came on rather heavily toward one I remember, so well, the smell of It through the open archway warm wet dust and cold odors of driven leaves and gusts, I now and then, of the now-mown hay emell of pandanus trees, thrashed about by the squall. Wo had had dinner; old Ivory was looking for his cloak, preparatory to going out again no weather ever daunted the determined old man when father beckoned to him from his room. Old Ivory stopped short. It eeemed as if he knew what father wanted of him, for a sudden wave of expression crossed his usually impassive face. I could not read the mcaniug of it; yet I guessed It somehow, that it concerned a thing ho had been expecting, and perhaps desiring, too. He wont into father's room and shut the door, and there Continued on 2urt Page. I -AT " 'BmuncetSoulKSeas J H(( '(Continued from Preceding Page) followed for some lime a low mur-' mur-' -j miir of voices. Hfcg Then Ivory came out, and bis Hj glanco went straight to me. I hi thought he was coins to speak to Hjj me, hut he did not: he merely Hf pointed me into my father s room. Hf . And I. too. went in and shut the HH door. Hl I fell I cannot tell how, but I know that the certainty seemed lo Hjil run in my bood and beat with my U) heart that now, this moment. I Bj was lo know the secret that had Hj heen so long kept from me. For I that there was a secret . and that ii concerned myself ami also my JK boy comrade Luke. I had been cer- jBjj tain of ever since that evening R such a little while past, and yet so long ago. when 1 had lain with my ffi face hidden in my hair at father's feet, listening to the talk of my HH ciders round the fire. Father, lying on his couch, fl reached up and took my hand. 1 There was love and sadness in his H eyes. He hold my fingers and kept HH stroking them as he spoke. "Dara, life's very uncertain," he HH said. "No one knows how long be may have to stay: your daddy H doesn't know, hut he thinks it HH mightn't be very now, dear child. 1 if you cry bow can I talk to you?. HB Try to listen to rue as quietly as HH you can, just for a minute." H9 He was still holding and stroking Hfl my hand: the touch of his long HI while Bngers seemed to soothe me. H I ceased my sobs and looked at Hfl Jiiin. What did the future matter? Hfl The future was a thing that didn't Hfl exist Today did exist: and here Hfl was father, alive and holding my "That's right," he said. "Sit B down on the end of the lounge and HH we'll talk sensibly. You must try Hfl .bard to understand me, Dara. Too are only a little girl, but I've got to H talk to you as if you were much older, because when you are grown HS up I shan't have the chance." Hfl He broke off for a moment and PPPPJ closed his eyes. H "Are you in pain, father?" I cried. HH "Shall 1 fetch Lorraine ?" HH "1 am in pain, my dear." he said, 11 opening blB eyes again and fixing flfl on me a look that 1 could not under- H stand. "But it's not a pain that Lorraine can do any good to." I The memory of childhood mi es nothing. Years and years after, fl when life had taught me scpara- Hfl tion and sorrow. I remembered the H look there was on father's face as fl be spoke to me so calmly: I under- fl stood just what was the thought he Hfl had had of me in the days to come. walking alone on roads that he was Hl never to see. Were they to be Bl smooth or stony? Were they to lead through deserts or through orchard lands and flowers 0 He could not know. Hl It was this agony, not any pain HB of his illness, that had mado him Hn close his eyes to bide the ware of I sorrow that swept oer his brave Hffl I saw that be was troubled and i groped in my childish way after the "You are thinking that I can't Hl understand what you want to say, 1 father." I cried. "But I'm sure I can: 1 will try so bard and I know a little about it already it has I somethiug to do with Luke, hasn't 1 "It has even thing to do w ith fl him." was father's answer, and then fl he was silent for a moment, trying. I 1 think, to put what hv had to say j into the shortest and simplest form. I In the stillness I heard the sea J breathing heavily, a long way off. I I heard a broken murmur of people I talking in Ibe hall; a plantation I hoy outside kept on steadily chop- .1 ping firewood shack-shack! shack- ! shack! again. I My father spoke slowly and mak- I ing choice of words. It is only in H these days that I can realize the I difficulty of bis task. 1 "Mr. Ivory and I have seen a great H deal of unhappy marriages. When we 1 decided to run Hiliwa Dara plan- I tation together we had the thought 'j that we might save Luke and you 1 from that sorrow We thought thai fl fl if two children were kept away i from the evils of the world during H fl the youngyeurs that matter most, I brought uj pure and good and in- H fl tentionally reared for each other, H fl their characters would grow to- '.,1 gether (you remember Shakespeare 11 'so we grew together, like to a J double cherry'), and they would 3 have every chance two mortals can '3 have of happiness in marriage "Well, it seems to promise better I than we could have thought. I bar- ..H gained in my own mind only for an ' average nice lad. and I've found -"Jim Luke who is. my dear daughter, though you don't know it. and won't for many years who is something quite uncommon and fine in the way of boys, and will be a man in ton Himicnml "As for you. Dara darling, you are pretty and you arc loving, which is all a man wants or knows he wants in his wife: and Lorraine and I between us have taken care that you shall have more Brmne-SS of churactei than most loving women wo-men have. Half the tragedies of life come from the fact that loving women are very often weak, and strong women not loving or not lovable. But I'm going above your little head now." He stopped; I think hs needed to take breath and ran his hand lovingly lov-ingly through my cloak of copper hair. "No, don't speak now," he said, as I opened eager lips "You will have time to talk by and by We agreed, Ivory and I, that you and Luke were to be engaged as early as possible; we'd fixed that when you were fourteen and he was fifteen fif-teen you would be old enough to know at least what you wi ie doing, and that you should give a conditional condi-tional kind of promise to one an other then. "Lorraine and I had settled that you must be sent to school for a year, and fourteen would be as good a time as any. At fifteen you could have come back to the island; Luke was to return the next year, when you were seventeen and he eighteen, eigh-teen, and we had planned Ivory and I to have the wedding then, or a year later." "Does Luke know?" I burst in, exceedingly interested I could keep silence no longer. "Ivory told him to day and asked If he had any objection to the plan. It was only just to you to do so before be-fore speaking to you." "Why?" I interrupted again. "Because, in the event of his having hav-ing any feeling whatever against it, nothing would have been said to you, and you would not have had the humiliation of knowing." "What did he say?" I demanded in the wildest excitement. This seemed to me the funniest, most entertaining, en-tertaining, altogether most piquant -'i : :.u-.f - $ W it X rr i; ? 7 I t V'.: r Incident that had yet marked my short life. "He said lhat it was not altogether alto-gether news to him, from thiugs he could not, help hearing and noticing the boy is growing up very fast and he said that nothing in the world would please him more I haven't finished yet, Dara. There's a great deal to come, but it can be put in a very few words for all that." "Well. I don't know what more there could possibly be!" I exclaimed, ex-claimed, sitting up very straight on the end of the couch and throwing back my hair. "It's a perfect Niagara of things happening, as it is." "There is more." said my father slowly. "It is difficult to explain to you. Dara, you must let me say. without any more tears, my darling, that 1 know my time is short. Things have been altogether changed by this illness of mine." "I will lpt you say an thins: you like, because I don't believe it." I burst in. "I know you are going to live for years and years till you are quite, quite old, as old as forty!" My father laughed a little. His forty-fifth birthday, as I know now, was just a day behind him "So I won't cry, because there is nothing to cry about " I finished. "And now, father, what more is there? Am I going to school?" "Soon, Dara. very soon; but not just now. A little longer yet," He seemed to be half dreaming for a moment, and I heard him softly soft-ly repeating to himself the words of a forgotten poet, Adelaide Anne Proctor, whom he loved: C m, Intfrnnranet F "A little longer yet. a little longer The tenderness of twilight shall be thine " "Then is Luke going?" I interrupted inter-rupted Yes Luke is going to-morrow afternoon " "Oh, oh, father! Lorraine will never be able to get his shirts all ready!" "If she doesn't more can be bought. It is not a matter of shirts, girlie. Captain England is coming back in the morning; the boys saw his sail just over the horizon from the top of the island a little while ago, and you know it always takes a sailing ship overnight to get in here at this time of the year if she isn't sighted till afternoon England Eng-land is always in a hurry; he is coining to leave the medicine he offered to get me from the Hawon-j-'h and c rnu.-t be prepared not to dlay him." I digested this information in silence si-lence for a moment or two. I thought I was glad was I? that the romantic, wicked schooner and her dark sea hawk of a captain - were to return; I was sorry that my good comrade Luke was goiug so soon. The two emotions seemed to toss and beat against one another In a very tideway of feeling. I could not find words to express either. "Luke is goiug to-monow afternoon," after-noon," father went on. "And tomorrow to-morrow morning, Dara, it is the great wish of Mr. Ivory and myself, and T may say of Luke also though he hardly counted at his age that you and he should be married." Now I sprang to my feet and Jture S;rtlc. Inc. QtJMl P 7 stared, as if my father had said ''hanged." "But father." I stammered, "only grown-up ladies are married. How could I be?" "That is what I have to explain, and you must listen carefully. Just as if you were at lessons," said my father. "Hiliwa Dara Island belongs be-longs to I he Hawougas, though it is so far out. Now, the ITawongas are uuder British, not Australian, or any othei colonial law. And England sets the minimum age for mairiage, with the consent of parents par-ents and guardians, at twelve and fourteen. You and Luke are old enough to marry, with the consent of Ivory and myself. And Mr Ivory Is an ordained minister, licensed to perform marriages in the diocese of Hawonga. You remember his marrying mar-rying I-ala and the overseer." For there had been a native marriage on the plantation not many months before. "Do you understand?' aaked my father. "Yes," I said. "Yes, father. think so. But why does nobody get married at twelve, if that is so? Wouldn't it be fun if they did" I went on laughing. ' Imagine the brides in long stockings running up the aisle and the bridegrooms sucking suck-ing toffee lu the carriage! And wouldn't they enjoy their wedding cake, with nobody to say, 'You have had quite enough.' Father, shall we have a cake? Oh, do say we shall!" The thought of a wedding cake , all my own. such ns I had seen pictured pic-tured in our many magazines, and such as I had tasted in little wedges sent boxed through the mail, seized on my mind and quite drove out the remembrance of the first question 1 had asked. But father answered It, nevertheless. ' 'It's not quite unknown. The poet Edgar Allan Poe married a girl of thirteen, and so did the novelist Mayne Reld But it is not thought wise tor many reasons )ou rltala Kl:btl nrttrTcd. are too young to understand that very young people should marry. Such a case as yours hardly ever arises." He did not lell me what my cae was; I thought I understood, hut I did not know that father, on his death-bed, and Ivory, beginning now to stagger under the weight of nearly ninety year:-, knew they had all but lost in the race with Time, and were, for that reason, resolved lo have their will carried out before the tireless runner with the Scythe wont past them on the post On that point I was easily satisfied. satis-fied. "But what about the cake?" I demanded This was really important. impor-tant. Only once in your life could you hope to own a whole large cake, of the richest kind, all to yourself, ) "You shall have one.' answered father with a smile "The bp,st that Dinah v ' can make." Bap H$ "He lifted me like a kitten and swaying me in the air, kissed my mouth." "With plums and citron and lots of white icing on top?" "Certainly.'' "May I go and tell her?" "Yes, And after you have attended at-tended to that matter you had better bet-ter speak to Luke." I did not catch the tone of sarcasm; sar-casm; no doubt It was not intended that I should. Yet memory reproduces repro-duces it after all these years. Very, very young. eren for twelve, I must have appeared to father. I wonder now that I did not hesitate But the hand of Death was on him. and he must have felt, I think, that any and every means were justifiable by which my future might be secured. How well I can follow his thoughts of me in the light of all that came after! Pretty. Impulsive, over warm-hearted for safety, a girl sure to love and to sorrow, a girl With her mother's sad heredity be-' hind ber 1 can understand that the thought of my future, orphaned, pressed like a stone on bis heart. And Luke and I were such good comrades and we had been. a I now was told, consciously reared to suit, to love, to mate with one another, an-other, And a lower, yet an important impor-tant phase of the Question Hiliwa Dara plantations if divided were no great fortune for two, but if kept together and managed by the lad who had been reared on the island and trained to plantation work they would furnish. our lives, a decent, de-cent, comfortable, steadily rising Income Yes. I can see my father's point of view. And yet, for all lhat. I think that he and Ivory played rashly with my fate. Ho who lays violent hands on the future of another. an-other. een In love, too certainly sows sorrow. Luke, rising fifteen, and, like all the Ivory s, manly while yet a boy. must. I think, have received something some-thing of a shock when I rushed out of my father's room, burning with my Important news, and, seeing hitn In the hall, called out this only'l "Come and tell Dinah about our J I cako!" MW I remember still the look that he 1 gave mc-balf laughing, half pJu. J ful as he came across the hall to 1 meet me; and. taking my little Ml T m ,11 in i,i C),.,(t I brown pa v, -went with mo down If I the dark, wind;, corridor that led W to Dinah's domain. It was a fine room, this kitchen. 1 Father and Ivory had spent a good lull . letrrl all over, roof wall, and floor M and lightnd-,iu,p hp rpvern 1 too far in for wlndows-bv a couple ! of In- lamp. There was an excel- HP lent stove, imported from Svdney S .'.nd Dinah's battery of f.ookln' II (J Dtenrib, polished up like ?0 much Jowelry. made a brave show upon Ifll I I Me walls. 1 'I I "Dinah'" I shrieked, frog-jumping 1 llf into the room. "Have you heard M the news?" "I have." she answered, turning li Stl r0UTui "Wi -nucopan in one hand and a spoou in (ho other, "but I i doubt if you have. Miss Dara, by the! way you're behaving; or if you I bae I doubt you havent undr. jfiSl -i i' Voung ladles that's going ' f 01 to be married didn't ought to iW. hop. .1 1 " ' ""'y thing as serious ( 11 as a marriage, and that H a fun. , , CU and you never seen no one frog. J 1 hopping in the presence of a corpse '-'"I'l you se0 a,;(? as good as standing hofo,,. ,,,e iltai On n, . .. t n Poor h-l,Jlul, ,,,,, side of a first-quality castlron raj 1 ing to-day, I walked up the chun h a as s' "" ' : 1 ' I walked op j. aftep j m; bis . ,,ffin. lour year r()fi ,,,,, W,.;J c after." a w Strange to say. it was this speech 1 r of Dinah's entirely typical of hejl H topsy-turvy mow of life that first , made in,, understand, bv ever ,i lt- !klBM ' ' '" ' 1 ' whi.-h I a careless child, was ca- ' 'er.ng L,ikc had never troubled ' ttter ":' ':' to interfere when ! gll '"' anyone else reproved ray 1 H ' luidish faults. But now I saw b.hJ K deep blue eyes suddenly take fire, ,ia,n and he laid his hand protectively ' ?JJ on my arm. ;;a;, "Dara -hall v. ,,;: ,,mp In any S4 'hat she likes so long as I don't object." he said, and there were afH least a dozen capitals in re "I" ''Wr.R Dinah dropped i;,e poiut at j,,,, T' "I suppose you want something, h b.n ' ,ir'. . om w.njblii : he f -!tt bore." she observed, stirring a her JSl eaucepan. LM "We want," put in Lake before I us the best kind of a cake you ,a fcmu" for to-morrow. WiMi l in- and t'; 'U e-.eiyihlng good You kmv.v l m f"4,1" Ridng away by the pr-hoonc .-Mid 1 It'!! be your lal wanca in; a lung, W long lime.'' Is Dinah laid down the saucepan de- feflfj llberately. handed me tho spoon, Wrfllj and said in a muffled voice. "StiflH it, miss, again it doesn't, burn." and Safete" flowed into tears one e0uld never fl say she "burst" the process was Mfjli too calm. I :;; ; "There is nothing but deaths and 'WJthc separations in this world." she W. sighed "When I left home aud mjf come out to Australia by the Sew- R age Canal it was all saying good- 4 u !: and ihen my husband died, M,8lP and then I come up here with your J1 lather and Miss Hamilton, and it Wf.tn t was u'ood-'ays io everyone i hen; and- c now. Master Luke, it's you, and will 9t ,t lie Miss Dara soon, and I shall miss j you. though you do go gallopinsm j 1 through my stores like young 1 or- Wx ? , l es on the stairs of Rus.her'' wd. She wept more loudly. "You shall have the cake," she molt) sobbed from behind h-r apron. mr "It's the la t flung I can do for J either of you Our los-t i- your !iP gain. Ma5-,ter Luke and I hope it'll mHani be well with you." Jtrr1 I iiuline lo think nowadays th3t ,P Dinah's love for and fre.pjent at- 5'CflH- tendance at funerals had resulted ths" iu permanently affecting her choice of languaL'- f'ertainly. any stress J3 of emotion always brought out tho tfetoi conventional mourner phrase. sir, Weeping, she motioned awpy the Miiony saucepan which I presented lo her, St being by this time tired of stirring, j "Set it away." she raid in a tone WfHun( of one who renounces v.orldly things "This is no time for white I1-,-. sauces If I'm to be ready beforaB (he end I must be beating my eggs J'my, now Perhaps you'd not mind, m-though m-though it is your last day. Master Luke, sending one of tho boys to 8 Hie hen house as quick as you can ft J'i find him " -Mr. L "Come on. Dara." said Luke. I ntJJ1 1hink be found the atmosphere a 2Lor trifle too emotional; boy ilk-, be tb hated scenes. I To Be Continued Next Sunday. j jj' Beatrice Orlab I , v. mix |