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FLOWER OF THE RIVER
Complete Story by EDNA GROUGHLEY
RUPERT LEITH shaded his eyes
from the glare of the sun, and
gazed down the river to where
a horse stood in the water,
munching at the reeas. ue
ycnd the horse a gnarled tree leaned
out over the river and trailing from
its branches like the veil of a bride
hun<? star-white blossoms of clematis.
How brilliantly the sun shone, Leith
reflected; how peaceful the day. His
tent, with the flap open, was slung
between two sturdy saplings. Nearer
to a freshwater creek that trickled
from a spring in the hill his blacken
ed billy hung from a twisted* iron bar
'suspended across" heaped-up stones
serving as a fireplace. Around the
billy flames crackled brightly as they
licked over dead gum twigs and leaves.
His glance roved beyond the horse
to a bend in the river around which
a boat came drifting over the glimmer
ing surface. He watched it with
speculative eyes as it drew nearer. A
trailing rope told its own tale —the
boat had broken away from its moor
ings and was drifting down jbe river
to the sea. No oars were needed to
carry it there; it was going with the
tide.
He rose sudde- Iy. straining his eyes
to see more clearly. His heart
quickened its beat as he balanced on
the warm rock and peered toward
the boat. He had not been mistaken,
then f There was something unusual
about the oarless little craft—
and unless his eyes were deceiving him
a girl lay at the bottom of it. She
seemed very young; her arms and legs.
were bare—black hair lay scattered
over her face, shielding It from the
glare of the sun. She was dressed in
white.
Leith whistled. "The Lady of
Shalott!" he murmured, and quoted:—
"Lying, robed In snowy white
That loosely new to to left and right—
The leaves upon her falling light—"
Had she fainted? Was she ill, or
merely sleeping , unaware that the
boat had broken loose and was going
down to the sea? What would hap
pen if she failed to waken? Leith
frowned as he pondered; obviously
something would have to be done—
but what? The first thing to attempt
was clear, and without further loss of
time he called:
"Hello, there!"
NO answer; the inert figure in white
did not stir, and when the echo
of his voice died away a strange
silence seemed to descend over the
river. He could scarcely hear the
la.p-lap of water against the rocks
where swallows were building their
nests. The stillness was disconcerting.
"Hello!" he called a second time,
and without expecting an answer.
Leith peeled off his coat, keeping his
eyes fixed unswervingly on the girl.
He poised, then dived, frightening
the swallows, who soared from the
crevices of the rock* and went wing-
Ing their way to the trees. With
powerful overarm strokes he cleaved a
way through the water toward the
boat; one thought only dominated his
actions—he must stop the boat going
down to the sea. And so, reaching it,
he climbed over the stern, and bent
to examine the girl.
TTE was shocked to find her arms
?x- bruised as though a lash had
fallen heavily across them again and
again; and her face, when he gently
thrust aside her dark hair, was
strained and white. Dipping his hand
into the water he laid it, cool and wet,
on her forehead, but she did not stir.
Leith wondered, with a feeling akin
to terror, if she were still breathing,
tfor an instant his hand lay over her
heart, and, satisfied that it throbbed
faintly, he slid back into .the water and
caught hold of the trailing Tope. -
Towing the boat in his wake, he
swam strongly to the bank, and se
cured the rope to a weeping willow.
Then, lifting the gir^l, he carried her
to his tent and laid her down on his
stretcher. His mind worked furiously
as he arranged a rug around her. Who
was this girl, this dark-haired, lovely
child—she seemed very little more, he
thought—whose arms revealed the
marks of a whip lash? From where had
, she come, drifting down the river in
a boat without oars? He remembered
the name of the boat. Marguerite.
Was it her name? Her flower-pale face
looked lovely enough to paint; for an
instant Leith's glance rested on his
palette and brushes, but the girl
stirred and opened her eyes. Im
mediately the thought of pamtlng her
vanished from his mind.
M«fHY— why, where am I?" she
" questioned, sitting up and shak
ing her head with an air of bewildered
surprise.
"In my tent," he answered.
"But who are you, and where is
your tent?"
"I'm Ruoert Leith. an artist," he
explained. "I'm camping here while I
finish a painting of the river—the old
Hawkesbury. you know."
She closed her eyes in an effort to
think. "How—how did I get here?"
she asked at length, indicating the tent
with a wave of her band. TThe last
thing I remember "
"Yes?" he prompted.
A faint tinge of colour stained her
cheeks, and her. eyes fell before the
open admiration in his. She did not
answer Leith's question, but quietly
parried:
"Won't you please tell me how I came
here?"
"I carried you,"-he said, and ex
plained how he had brought the boat
ashore.
She remained silent a moment, then
her eyes and lips smiled at him as
she murmured: "You have been very
good; thank you so much for every
thing."
"How did your boat come to be with
out oars?" he queried with apparent
ofT-handedness.
"Well, you see —I was lying resting *•
in the boat in the shade—a favourite
pastime of mine. I began, to feel,
rather queer; my head started to spin,
and everything seemed to be going
black. I—l think I fainted, but I
don't remember any more. The Mar
guerite must have broken loose; the
oars, of course, were in the shed."
"No one cut it loose I suppose?" he
asked thoughtfully.
"(XF course not!" said the girl mv
v dignantly. '"Whatever put such a
queer notion into your head?"
"It just occurred to me," Leith
answered with light carelessness. But
his thoughts, raced. The girl had been
ill-treated, that much appeared obvious;
and she intended remaining loyal! No
mention had been made of her arms
and their condition, no complaint
against the person responsible. She
was game, this Marguerite! Every
moment increased his belief that her
name was Marguerite. And every
minute increased his admiration. He
broke the pause when the girl signed
and pushed the dark htir from her
forehead.
"Your name is Marguerite, isn't it?''
Her eyes widened. "Marguerite Ben
nett. How did you guess?"
"I saw the name on your boat, and
put two and two together."
She rose suddenly to her feet,
swayed, and nearly fell. His arm shot
out round her shoulders, but by sheer
force of will she recovered and walked
to the door of the tent.
"i must go back/ she said.
"You're not in a fit state to go
back," Leith protested. "Lie down and
rest a while."
"But it is getting late." Marguerite
glanced at the sun with troubled eyes.
"They will be wondering where I am."
"Let them worry!" Leith said With
explosive force. "Whom do you mean
by 'they'?"
*'My brother and father," she an
swered quietly. "I keep house lor
them. Our home is round the bend
father owns a wonderful, orange
orchard." -
.T ETCH'S eyes hardened. "Did your
■** -father or brother do—that?" He
nodded in the direction of her arm.
It was out at last, the question that
had beep troubling him! He felt more
satisfied, although he believed he knew
the answer.
"Father did it," said Marguerite.
"But "
"And you want to go back?" he in
terrupted.
"I must go back; it's my duty, for
one thing."
"To the devil with#duty! You hay*
admitted that your father made those
marks "
"Yes, it was a whip! But I deserved
it."
LeitlTgave an exclamation of amaze
ment, and rage seethed through him
at the thought of the girl's bruised
arms. She was like a flower, he re
flected—a flower of the river. With
the swiftness and completeness of In
spiration came the idea for which he
had been waiting. He would paint
Marguerite, paint her with the river
for a background. Lovely as a lily,
she would appear on canvas sitting)
on a rock dangling her bare legs into
the water, a far-away, dreamy ex
pression in her eyes—flower of the
river. But first he must find out how
to protect her. Of one thing he was
convinced—he would not allow her to
be ill-treated-again.
"PLEASE," Marguerite's voice shaU
•*• tered his excited thoughts, "I must
go at once. Will you row me back,
Mr. Leith? My boat is useless with
out oars, but I'm sure I can depend
on you."
Leith's eyes hardened. "Not to take
you back. I'm hanged if you can!
I'm not going to row you to people
who treat you like a dog, worse than
a dog in fact." ?
Her lips quivered into the ghost of
a smile.
"Bow very hot tempered you are,"
she miinjiured, "But there are things
you do not understand." .
"There are things I do not care to
underttajfA; those marks can't lie.
Hot teuffeiad perhaps, but I'm not a
brute like this /
"Don't say it!" she flashed. "For
the last time—will you please row me
back to my home ? *
"For the last time—no !" answered
Leith evenly.
For an instant Marguerite's, eyes
blazed into his; she held her head
proudly, eyes and lips scornful as she
faced him without speaking. Then,
with a barely perceptible shrug of her
shoulders, she turned away and walk
ed toward the river.
T KITH sat down on the edge of his
XJ stretcher, uncertain how to act.
Had he been too hasty; was there
really an explanation as the girl had
claimed? Yet how was it possible?
He had seen the red, angry marks,
and Marguerite had admitted her
father was responsible. The girl re
mained ioyai to ncr xatner, pre
ferring to make light of her injury
than to complain to a stranger. How
proudly defiant she had been, stand
ing with her head well back, her
blue-grey eyes -meeting his with scorn
ful anger. What a picture it would
make; the river, the bridal veil oi
clematis, and the girl—Marguerite,
flower of -tne nver !
Meanwhile, what could be done? He
had refused to row the girl back,
but it was impossible ior ncr to re
main at his camp, and it was equally
impossible for her to attempt the
Journey overiano alone- Lieitn shoox
his head in perplexity; he considered
himseii between the devil and the
deep blue «ra, without any visible
means or escape. Rising suddenly, he
went to the flap of the tent, parted
it, and looked out. 'me gin was not ..
in sight, and Leith felt a Quick surge
or alarm at the discovery. Where had
Marguerite gone? Surely she had
not been foolish enough to attempt to
wain through the bush. He clenched
his hands as he pictured some prickly
shrub brushing against her arms.
"Miss Bennett," he called. Then—
"Marguerite—Marguerite!" "
fJO reply, and, after hesitating a
"L 1 moment, Leith lurned from the
bush and walked toward the river.
Under the weeping willow the Mar
guerite rocked gently to and fro
as the water rippled over the bank;
but his own boat, the Lady Dorothea,
was not to be seen!
"Confound it!" he ejaculated, and
added in slow admiration:—
"Phew! What a nerve!"
Returning to his tent he flung him
self on his stretcher, and, closing his
eyes went over the incident. Mar
guerite had come down the river, and
Marguerite had gone back leaving him
stranded; but she had taken part of
him with her. He sat up. sighed, and
groped for his brush; then, with a
whimsical twist to the corner of his
mouth, he began to paint
SEVEN hours later he was awakened
by a peal of thunder so threaten
ingly violent that he sprang out ot
bed, and peered into the darkness.
"The deuoe." he muttered.
The storm struck the tent with the
fury of a thousand devils let loose, it
seemed to Leith. It raged through the
trees, screaming, tearing, destroying.
A great darkness had fallen over the
land; even the faint starlight had dis
appeared from the water, and the
river flowed down to the sea black as
a mighty stretch of blue-black ink.
Rain began to fall in torrents, lashing
through the trees with implacable
force.
Leith -groaned, and hurriedly began
to, dress, not knowing which moment
would be the tent's last. Every gust
threatened to bring it down about his
ears. Opening the flap, he looked out
into the dark fury of the night. Noth
ing but rain, wind, and the black ghosts
of trees bending as though in travail!
He shivered, and made to fasten the
flap again, but it was too late. With
a shriek ol triumph the wind seized
the tent, and the canvas billowed out
in the wind, rooting the pegs from
the ground as though they were pins.
Lightning flashed across the heavens,
splitting the darkness with wicked
tongues of Quivering flame.
ITTITHIN five minuted Leith was
<▼* drenched to the skin, and in a
temper which rivalled the storm for
fury. He set out for the nearest orch
ard with thoughts of spending a com
fortable night when he reached his
destination. It was impossible to see
a yard ahead, as he groped his way
onward, with rain lashing into his
face. It seemed to grow darker, as
though a mantle had been thrown
across the sky, excluding all light.
The Journey was long and arduous
before he espied a star of golden flame
winking between the trees in the dis
tance. Evidently the -storm had kept
the occupants awake. He felt a glow
of thankfulness that a house was near
at last. Thoroughly wet and mud
. stained, his knee paining where he had
pitched over a fallen tree, his head
throbbing, Leith experienced a need
for rest and shelter as he hurried to*
ward the twinkling light.
He knocked sharply, stamping his
feet to keep warm. The door opened
almost immediately, disclosing a warm,
bright interior, and a man, powerfully
built, who stood in the small halL
"PpME in." he said heartily. "The
devil's abroad to-night."
"I've been camping," Leith explain
ed, "but my tent went down" like a
nine-phi. I had the dickens of a time
getting here."
The big man nodded. "How about a
cup of tea?"
"Thanks, if it's no trouble," Leifch said
gratefully.
Left alone for a moment, he glanced
around the room into which he had
followed the man. Small but tastefully
furnished, it gave him'a carious sense
-of contentment and well being. For
an instant he imagined Marguerite and
himself seated in such a room—she
sewing some pretty silken thing; he
reading the evening news. Then his
. thoughts flashed to the man whose
hospitality had been so spontaneous. A
decent sort, he decided—a man on
whom one could rely, whose genial eyes
had revealed humour. When his host
returned he carried a change of cloth
ing.
"My son's," he explained. "My
room's just across the hall. Tea will
be ready when you've changed."
(OLAD once more In dry clothes,- '
Rupert Leith gave a brief ac-.
count of the storm and the damage
wrought to his camp. At the conclu
sion of the recital the big man
queried: '
" And how's your boat—safe ? "
Leith grimaced. "Hope so," hft
said, dryly, "it was borrowed six or
seven hours before the storm."
"Borrowed?" The question held a
note of doubt.
Leith nodded. " Yes. By a girl."
His companion pondered, a moment
before speaking, then he asked with
apparent casualness:
rt Would you recognise the girl who
er—borrowed your boat, if you met her
again ? "
"Undoubtedly," said Leith, very
quietly.
VROM behind him came a soft gurgle
A of laughter, and, wheeling, Leith
saw Marguerite standing in the door
way. She held a tray of hot scones,
and a dainty pile of bread and cheese.
"You," he said.
" I!" she answered laughingly.
"Dad was going to bring your boat
back to-morrow. I hope you were not
anxious, or annoyed, wuh me for—
borrowing—it ? " " '
"Not at all," he returned hastily.
"I had to row myself back," she
continued, a note of reproach in her
voice, " and it was very hard work."
Her father broke into a loud guffaw.
"You're a terror for teasing, Mag,"
he said. "You owe Mr. Leith an ex
planation."
"He may not want to hear it,"
Marguerite said, wickedly.
"Chance it," suggested the big man.
She set the tray down, and, after
handing the two men their, tea, passed
the plate of scones round, then settled
herself comfortably,
"rnwo days ago," she began, "I re**
x cued a dog 4rom the river—a
poor mongrel some one had tied in ft
bag "
"An evil-looking cur it was, tooV*
growled Mr. Bennett.
She flushed, exchanged a glance
with her father, and continued:
"He was so ugly and battered about
that I begged dad to keep him. He
agreed, but—"her voice faltered— "t
should have known better than to in
sist as I did. The dog proved.trouble
some from the moment I brought him
home. This afternoon while I was
working in the kitchen preparing din- >
ncr I heard frantic screams from out
side. It was little Betsy Halliday, our
neighbour's only kiddie. She had come
over with a message from her mother,
and the dog had sprung out at her
and fastened his teeth in her leg—he
seemed to have gone crazy. I flung
my arms round Betsy to protect her,
while dad brought the whip. But even
with the whip it was some minutes
before we could get the dog away. . ."
"And when it was all over," con
cluded Mr. Bennett, "I found the
whip had fallen across Marguerite**
arms again and again. It-^it sort of.
broke me up."
"I hardly felt It,"- Marguerite pro
tested. "*The dog is dead how, and
little Betsy is not suffering any ill*
effects from the bite, luckily. The
rest of the story you know. I felt sick
and went to lie down and rest in the
boat.
"T KNOW I'm a fool, and owe you
x an apology," Leith said.
"I owe you an apology, too," said
the girl. "I interrupted your painting,
and stole your boat."
"You borrowed the boat." correct*
ed Leith. "As for the painting, I have ••
commenced a better, one—if the stonfr
hasn't ruined it."
"And, if it's damaged, what win you
do then?" \ .
"Start it again.*
"May I know the name of your pic
ture?" queried the girl.
"Flower of the River,", L*ifch eai^
with his eyes on Marguerite.
With a shriek of triumph the wind seized the tent. Help
With a shriek of triumph the wind seized the tent.
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