THE CHINA MAIL FRIDAY
"PATTERN OF LIFE"
'father wouldn't have wished either.
of us to be unhappy."
She forced a smile.
They drove on in silence.. It was late evening when they reached Broadway, which nestles in picturesque beauty at the foot The Lin- of the Cotswold hills. ton Hotel, dating back to the 14th century, stood, majestically in the main street, like a loving parent gazing down on its children. The sun was setting and its rays fell in deep crimson shadows across the old stone walls. To Penelope there was something almost un- bearable in its charm; something that brought the swift tears to her, eyes and a sob to her throat.
1'00m '
It was only when she stepped over the threshold of the that was in - readiness for them that she experienced a feeling of almost as utter peace: it was though a caressing hand had touched her wiping out all fear. The heavy oak furniture had nothing formidable about it: the four-poster bedstead seemed to of- atmos- fer sanctuary; the very phere was charged with an indes- cribable beauty.
"Wonderful old place," said Noel quietly, as the last of the luggage had been brought up and they were alone.
it,
"There's something about about this room," said Penelope breathlessly, "that makes me feel I've been here before." She looked at Noel. "Do you know what I mean?"
he
He didn't reply. Instead went close to her and kissed her very tenderly.
he
"You're sweet, Penelope," whispered. "You seem to suit this room."
She said hastily:
"Hadn't you better read your father's letter."
He took it, with a. rather un- steady hand, from his pocket, tore · the seal, glanced at it and said:
"It is for us both. Shall I read it aloud?"
a
She inclined her head, and sat down with tired sigh in the nearest chair.
Noel begun to read: "My dear boy--- "When you read this you will have begun your honeymoon. - You will be at the Linton Hotel, room twenty-three. It will be evening and the little village will look as though it had been painted in crimson and gold as the sun sets. I know every inch of that village; I know every inch, every corner of the room in which you and Penelope are now sitting. Every- thing in it has been imprinted on my memory for fifteen years."
I know that when my will was first read to you there came the feeling that I was mad or unjust possibly both, and that I was vic- timising you. You resented my seeking to dominate your life and regarded Penelope's advent as an intrusion. Oh, I know, my boy; in the same circumstances. I should have shared those feelings. And you, Penelope, what did you feel? Somehow, I can't believe that the money affected you very greatly. I hope it didn't: I wanted the idea of marrying Noel-the adventure and romance of it to make the first appeal.”*
Here Noel paused and glanced at Penelope his gáze bought the swift colour to her cheeks, He
•
'didn't speak, and continued to read:
"By this time, Noel, you will probably have decided to make the best of the situation and per- haps contemplate obtaining your freedom later on. I may not, of course, be reading your mind cor-
It is pos rectly as I write this. sible that you may fall in love with her at first sight-as I fell in love with her mother.
"All this is a long story, Noel, and before I begin it, I beg of you to read it with a broad, unpreju- diced mind. 1.don't want to hurt per- you: I pray that, you will petuate the memory of it by your own life with Penelope.
⚫ was
It was two years after your mother died that I first met Pene- lope. She was beautiful--just as imagine her daughter must be to-day. There
something about her that changed the world for me. I can describe it only. by saying that it was like walking. out of suffocating darkness into magical light. I fell in love with her; and that love was.different from anything else that had ever come into my life. It was all absorbing complete; it left room for doubting, for question- ing; it was one of those inevitable things that seem to have been since the beginning of time. But there is always something to mar perfection... She was married; she had a little daughter of two. A year before I met her, an ac- cident had made her husband a complete invalid-an invalid for life. Your Penelope will tell of this even better than 1.
no
"For three years I was her friend. She seemed to derive strength from my presence, and during that time no word of love passed between-us. Then some- thing seemed to snap in my brain; 1. had no something over which control; I knew that I couldn't go, in that capacity and, that the only thing to do was to go away. .It I told her of my intentions
H
is enough for me to say that I found, then, that she, too, loved me-had always loved me. I agreed to stay, but even then the breaking - point had to come: we knew that it couldn't go on; that we were not strong enough to be together and yet so utterly 'apart. We realised that if we should part, we had nothing to which we might cling, no real memory to help us endure the endless years ahead.
"And so for one week we found happiness. We spent that weck at Broadway; at the very hotel where you are now staying: in the very room. For us it was the beginning and tragically, the end. Ecstasy and pain mingled in bitter sweet fulfilment. We never saw each other again after that week. Only our spirits met. Every year on June 12th I reserved our room; I couldn't bear the thought of anyone else staying in during that time. You may perhaps think me foolish, ultra sentiment- al. But if you have lived life- time of happiness in one week you see these things a little dif- ferently.
"That is the story, Noel Per haps now, you will understand why I wanted, you to marry daughter. I wanted you finish our love story to thich th pattern of 1 gun and mak
ou
"Three years ago, through Thomas Deering'who kept me ad- vised of her movements, I learned of her death. You may under- stand now why I went away suddenly: I could never quite believe it.
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"Even then, my vigil wasn't ended; there was still her daugh- ter, and my anxiety for her, in- creased when I found that her. father, too was dead he lived anly six months after Penelope.
have
"Somehow I know as I write this, that I shall soon be joining her.... that is why I have the courage to impose the terms 1 in the will I have just made. You see, 1 know that Penelope is not married and I want to feel that she is provided for: that she has some one to look after her as I should have looked after. her mother. That is all, my boy. May you both find happiness."
Noel slowly returned the letter to its envelope. He looked at Penelope.
"Did you know?" he said, hoar- sely.
"I knew only that mother had suffered: there was suffering, pain in her eyes always. She was so brave; her life was a hideous sacrifice; father couldn't help it, but- but I was the only one who really knew what it meant to Yet nurse him all those years. never once did she complain."
Noel got up and walked to the window. He whispered:
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"Penelope?"
Noel?" Her heart. seemed stand still.
"Could you love me?"
She moved beside him.
"I married you because I loved you," she said very simply. "I fell in love with you that very first day.".
"Penelope?"
"It's true," she whispered. "All my life I'd dreamed of love; I'd told myself that when it came to me it would be at first sight That's why I knew that very first day." She looked up at him plead-
"IT ing.
it you knew how has hurt me to think that you might really, imagine I would have married you just in order to get the money." She lowered hier gaze for a fraction of a second before adding: "For a little while you did think that-didn't you?"
He said, unevenly:
"I know now why the thought hurt me.
It hurt me because I loved you, too. without realis-
ing it. Oh, Penelope, I knew when we entered this room that I life could ask nothing more of than you should belong to me." -
His arms enfolded her; they stood together and gazed wonder- ingly around the silent- room, which seemed to be filled with an unearthly radiance.
And the sighing of the breeze. through the open windows was like the sighing reunited.
of lovers
The End.
"I can tell
WHITE HORSE
blindfold
a fine liqueur
SON AND COMTAR” L'