Title: Coo-ee Tales of Australian Life by Australian Ladies
Author: Harriet Anne Patchett Martin (Editor)
* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *
eBook No.: 0607561.txt
Language: English
Date first posted: September 2006
Date most recently updated: September 2006

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Coo-ee Tales of Australian Life by Australian Ladies
Harriet Anne Martin (Editor)



TO THE READER

IT is certainly 'a far cry' from the Antipodes to England and back
again. Yet in the name of my Australian sisters who have contributed
to this little volume, I venture to express a hope that our 'Coo-ee'
may succeed in making itself heard on either shore, and that its
echoes may linger pleasantly around the Bush Station and by the
English fireside. To our kind friends and readers I would therefore
only say--'Coo-ee! Take up the cry and pass it on--Coo-ee!--and
again--Coo-ee!'

THE EDITOR.



CONTENTS

An Old-Time Episode In Tasmania by 'Tasma'
Mrs. Drummond of Quondong by Mrs. Henry Day
Victims of Circe by Mrs. Mannington Caffyn
The Bushman's Rest by Mrs. Lance Rawson
The Story of a Photograph by Margaret Thomas
The Bunyip by Mrs Campbell Praed
The Tragedy In A Studio by Mrs Patchett Martin




AN OLD-TIME EPISODE IN TASMANIA


THE gig was waiting upon the narrow gravel drive in front of the
fuchsia--wreathed porch of Cowa Cottage. Perched upon the seat,
holding the whip in two small, plump, ungloved hands, sat Trucaninny,
Mr. Paton's youngest daughter, whose straw-coloured, sun-steeped hair,
and clear, sky--reflecting eyes, seemed to protest against the name of
a black gin that some 'clay-brained cleric' had bestowed upon her
irresponsible little person at the baptismal font some eight or nine
years ago. The scene of this outrage was Old St. David's Cathedral,
Hobart,--or, as it was then called, Hobart Town,--chief city of the
Arcadian island of Tasmania; and just at this moment, eight o'clock on
a November morning, the said cathedral tower, round and ungainly,
coated with a surface of dingy white plaster, reflected back the
purest, brightest light in the world. From Trucaninny's perch--she had
taken the driver's seat--she could see, not only the cathedral, but a
considerable portion of the town, which took the form of a capital S
as it followed the windings of the coast. Beyond the wharves, against
which a few whalers and fishing-boats were lying idle, the middle
distance was represented by the broad waters of the Derwent, radiantly
blue, and glittering with silver sparkles; while the far-off
background showed a long stretch of yellow sand, and the hazy,
undulating outline of low-lying purple hills. Behind her the aspect
was different. Tiers of hills rose one above the other in grand
confusion, until they culminated in the towering height of Mount
Wellington, keeping guard in majestic silence over the lonely little
city that encircled its base. This portion of the view, however, was
hidden from Trucaninny's gaze by the weather-board cottage in front of
which the gig was standing,--though I doubt whether in any case she
would have turned her head to look at it; the faculty of enjoying a
beautiful landscape being an acquisition of later years than she had
attained since the perpetration of the afore-mentioned outrage of her
christening. Conversely, as Herbert Spencer says, the young man who
was holding the horse's head until such time as the owner of the gig
should emerge from the fuchsia--wreathed porch, fastened his eyes upon
the beautiful scene before him with more than an artist's appeciation
in their gaze. He was dressed in the rough clothes of a working
gardener, and so much of his head as could be seen beneath the old
felt wide-awake that covered it, bore ominous evidence of having been
recently shaved. I use the word ominous advisedly, for a shaven head
in connection with a working suit had nothing priestly in its
suggestion, and could bear, indeed, only one interpretation in the
wicked old times in Tasmania. The young man keeping watch over the gig
had clearly come into that fair scene for his country's good; and the
explanation of the absence of a prison suit was doubtless due to the
fact he was out on a ticket-of-leave. What the landscape had to say to
him under these circumstances was not precisely clear. Perhaps all his
soul was going out towards the white-sailed wool-ship tacking down the
Bay on the first stage of a journey of most uncertain length; or
possibly the wondrous beauty of the scene, contrasted with the
unspeakable horror of the one he had left, brought the vague
impression that it was merely some exquisite vision. That a place so
appalling as his old prison should exist in the heart of all this
peace and loveliness, seemed too strange an anomaly. Either that was a
nightmare and this was real, or this was a fantastic dream and that
was the revolting truth; but then which was which, and how had he,
Richard Cole, late No. 213, come to be mixed up with either?

As though to give a practical answer to his melancholy question, the
sharp tingle of a whip's lash made itself felt at this instant across
his cheek. In aiming the cumbersome driving-whip at the persistent
flies exploring the mare's back, Trucaninny had brought it down in a
direction she had not intended it to take. For a moment she stood
aghast. Richard's face was white with passion. He turned fiercely
round; his flaming eyes seemed literally to send out sparks of anger.
'Oh, please, I didn't mean it,' cried the child penitently. 'I wanted
to hit the flies. I did indeed. I hope I didn't hurt you?'

The amende honorable brought about an immediate reaction. The change
in the young man's face was wonderful to behold. As he smiled back
full reassurance at the offender, it might be seen that his eyes could
express the extremes of contrary feeling at the very shortest notice.
For all answer, he raised his old felt wide-awake in a half-mocking
though entirely courtly fashion, like some nineteenth century Don
César de Bazan, and made a graceful bow.

'Are you talking to the man, Truca?' cried a querulous voice at this
moment from the porch, with a stress on the you that made the little
girl lower her head, shame-faced. What do you mean by disobeying
orders, miss?'

The lady who swept out upon the verandah at the close of this tirade
was in entire accord with her voice. 'British matron' would have been
the complete description of Miss Paton, if fate had not willed that
she should be only a British spinster. The inflexibility that comes of
finality of opinion regarding what is proper and what is the
reverse,--a rule of conduct that is of universal application for the
true British matron,--expressed itself in every line of her face and
in every fold of her gown. That she was relentlessly respectable and
unyielding might be read at the first glance; that she had been
handsome, in the same hard way, a great many years before Truca was
maltreated at the baptismal font, might also have been guessed at from
present indications. But that she should be the 'own sister' of the
good-looking, military-moustached, debonair man (I use the word
debonair here in the French sense) who now followed her out of the
porch, was less easy to divine. The character of the features as well
as of the expression spoke of two widely differing temperaments.
Indeed, save for a curious dent between the eyebrows, and a something
in the nostrils that seemed to say he was not to be trifled with, Mr.
Paton might have sat for the portrait of one of those jolly good
fellows who reiterate so tunefully that they 'won't go home till
morning,' and who are as good as their word afterwards.

Yet 'jolly good fellow' as he showed himself in card-rooms and among
so-called boon companions, he could reveal himself in a very different
light to the convicts who fell under his rule. Forming part of a
system for the crushing down of the unhappy prisoners, in accordance
with the principle of 'Woe be to him through whom the offence cometh,'
he could return with a light heart to his breakfast or his dinner,
after seeing some score of his fellow--men abjectly writhing under the
lash, or pinioned in a ghastly row upon the hideous gallows. 'Use,'
says Shakespeare, 'can almost change the stamp of Nature.' In Mr.
Paton's case it had warped as well as changed it. Like the people who
live in the atmosphere of Courts, and come to regard all outsiders as
another and inferior race, he had come to look upon humanity as
divisible into two classes--namely, those who were convicts, and those
who were not. For the latter, he had still some ready drops of the
milk of human kindness at his disposal. For the former, he had no more
feeling than we have for snakes or sharks, as the typical and popular
embodiments of evil.

Miss Paton had speedily adopted her brother's views in this respect.
Summoned from England to keep house for him at the death of
Trucaninny's mother, she showed an aptitude for introducing prison
discipline into her domestic rule. From constant association with the
severe régime that she was accustomed to see exercised upon the
convicts, she had ended by regarding disobedience to orders, whether
in children or in servants, as the unpardonable sin. One of her laws,
as of the Medes and Persians, was that the young people in the Paton
household should never exchange a word with the convict servants in
their father's employ. It was hard to observe the letter of the law in
the case of the indoor servants, above all for Truca, who was by
nature a garrulous little girl. Being a truthful little girl as well,
she was often obliged to confess to having had a talk with the latest
importation from the gaol,--an avowal which signified, as she well
knew, the immediate forfeiture of all her week's pocket-money.

On the present occasion her apologies to the gardener were the latest
infringement of the rule. She looked timidly towards her aunt as the
latter advanced austerely in the direction of the gig, but, to her
relief, Miss Paton hardly seemed to notice her.

'I suppose you will bring the creature back with you, Wilfrid?' she
said, half-questioningly, half-authoritatively, as her brother mounted
into the gig and took the reins from Truca's chubby hands. 'Last time
we had a drunkard and a thief. The time before, a thief, and--and a--
really I don't know which was worse. It is frightful to be reduced to
such a choice of evils, but I would almost suggest your looking among
the--you know--the--in-fan-ti-cide cases this time.' she said, half-
questioningly, half--authoritatively, as her brother mounted into the
gig and took the reins from Truca's chubby hands. 'Last time we had a
drunkard and a thief. The time before, a thief, and--and a--really I
don't know which was worse. It is frightful to be reduced to such a
choice of evils, but I would almost suggest your looking among the--
you know--the--in-fan-ti-cide cases this time.'

She mouthed the word in separate syllables at her brother, fearful of
pronouncing it openly before Truca and the convict gardener.

Mr. Paton nodded. It was not the first time he had been sent upon the
delicate mission of choosing a maid for his sister from the female
prison, politely called the Factory, at the foot of Mount Wellington.
For some reason it would be difficult to explain, his selections were
generally rather more successful than hers. Besides which, it was a
satisfaction to have some one upon whom to throw the responsibility of
the inevitable catastrophe that terminated the career of every
successive ticket-of-leave in turn.

The morning, as we have seen, was beautiful. The gig bowled smoothly
over the macadamized length of Macquarrie Street. Truca was allowed to
drive; and so deftly did her little fingers guide the mare, that her
father lighted his cigar, and allowed himself to ruminate upon a
thousand things that it would have been better perhaps to leave alone.
In certain moods he was apt to deplore the fate that had landed--or
stranded--him in this God--forsaken corner of the world. Talk of
prisoners, indeed! What was he himself but a prisoner, since the day
when he had madly passed sentence of transportation on himself and his
family, because the pay of a Government clerk in. England did not
increase in the same ratio as the income-tax. As a matter of fact, he
did not wear a canary-coloured livery, and his prison was as near an
approach, people said, to an earthly Paradise as could well be
conceived. With its encircling chains of mountains, folded one around
the other, it was like a mighty rose, tossed from the Creator's hand
into the desolate Southern Ocean. Here to his right towered purple
Mount Wellington, with rugged cliffs gleaming forth from a purple
background. To his left the wide Derwent shone and sparkled in blue
robe and silver spangies, like the Bay of Naples, he had been told.
Well, he had never seen the Bay of Naples, but there were times when
he would have given all the beauty here, and as much more to spare,
for a strip of London pavement in front of his old club. Mr. Paton's
world, indeed, was out of joint. Perhaps twelve years of unthinking
acquiescence in the flogging and hanging of convicts had distorted his
mental focus. As for the joys of home-life, he told himself that those
which had fallen to his share brought him but cold comfort. His sister
was a Puritan, and she was making his children hypocrites, with the
exception, perhaps, of Truca. Another disagreeable subject of
reflection was the one that his groom Richard was about to leave him.
In a month's time, Richard, like his royal namesake, would be himself
again. For the past five years he had been only No. 213, expiating in
that capacity a righteous blow aimed at a cowardly ruffian who had
sworn to marry his sister--by fair means or by foul. The blow had been
only too well aimed. Richard was convicted of manslaughter, and
sentenced to seven years' transportation beyond the seas. His sister,
who had sought to screen him, was tried and condemned for perjury. Of
the latter, nothing was known. Of the former, Mr. Paton only knew that
he would be extremely loth to part with so good a servant. Silent as
the Slave of the Lamp, exact as any machine, performing the least of
his duties with the same intelligent scrupulousness, his very presence
in the household was a safeguard and a reassurance. It was like his
luck, Mr. Paton reflected in his present pessimistic mood, to have
chanced upon such a fellow, just as by his d--d good conduct he had
managed to obtain a curtailment of his sentence. If Richard had been
justly dealt with, he would have had two good years left to devote to
the service of his employer. As to keeping him after he was a free
man, that was not to be hoped for. Besides which, Mr. Paton was not
sure that he should feel at all at his case in dealing with a free
man. The slave-making instinct, which is always inherent in the human
race, whatever civilisation may have done to repress it, had become
his sole rule of conduct in his relations with those who served him.

There was one means perhaps of keeping the young man in bondage, but
it was a means that even Mr. Paton himself hesitated to employ. By an
almost superhuman adherence to impossible rules, Richard had escaped
hitherto the humiliation of the lash; but if a flogging could be laid
to his charge, his time of probation would be of necessity prolonged,
and he might continue to groom the mare and tend the garden for an
indefinite space of time, with the ever intelligent thoroughness that
distinguished him. A slip of paper in a scaled envelope, which the
victim would carry himself to the nearest justice of the peace, would
effect the desired object. The etiquette of the proceeding did not
require that any explanation should be given.

Richard would be fastened to the triangles, and any subsequent revolt
on his part could only involve him more deeply than before. Mr. Paton
had no wish to hurt him; but he was after all an invaluable servant,
and perhaps he would be intelligent enough to understand that the
disagreeable formality to which he was subjected was in reality only a
striking mark of his master's esteem for him.

Truca's father had arrived thus far in his meditations when the gig
pulled up before the Factory gate. It was a large bare building, with
white unshaded walls, but the landscape which framed it gave it a
magnificent setting. The little girl was allowed to accompany her
father indoors, while a man in a grey prison suit, under the immediate
surveillance of an armed warder, stood at the mare's head.

Mr. Paton's mission was a delicate one. To gently scan his brother
man, and still gentler sister woman, did not apply to his treatment of
convicts. He brought his sternest official expression to bear upon the
aspirants who defiled past him at the matron's bidding, in their
disfiguring prison livery. One or two, who thought they detected a
likely looking man behind the Government official, threw him equivocal
glances as they went by. Of these he took no notice. His choice seemed
to lie in the end between a sullen-looking elderly woman, whom the
superintendent qualified as a 'sour jade,' and a half-imbecile girl,
when his attention was suddenly attracted to a new arrival, who stood
out in such marked contrast with the rest, that she looked like a dove
in the midst of a flock of vultures.

'Who is that?' he asked the matron in a peremptory aside.

'That, sir,'--the woman's lips assumed a tight expression as she
spoke,--'she's No. 27--Amelia Clare--she came out with the last
batch.'

'Call her up, will you?' was the short rejoinder, and the matron
reluctantly obeyed.

In his early days Truca's father had been a great lover of Italian
opera. There was hardly an air of Bellini's or Donizetti's that he did
not know by heart. As No. 27 came slowly towards him, something in her
manner of walking, coupled with the half-abstracted, half-fixed
expression in her beautiful grey eyes, reminded him of Amina in the
Sonnambula. So strong, indeed, was the impression, that he would
hardly have been surprised to see No. 27 take off her unbecoming
prison cap and jacket, and disclose two round white arms to match her
face, or to hear her sing 'Ah! non giunge' in soft dreamy tones. He
could have hummed or whistled a tuneful second himself at a moment's
notice, for the matter of that. However, save in the market scene in
Martha, there is no precedent for warbling a duet with the young
person you are about to engage as a domestic servant. Mr. Paton
remembered this in time, and confined himself to what the French call
le stricte nécessaire. He inquired of Amelia whether she could do fine
sewing, and whether she could clear-starch. His sister had impressed
these questions upon him, and he was pleased with himself for
remembering them.

Amelia, or Amina (she was really very like Amina), did not reply at
once. She had to bring her mind back from the far--away sphere to
which it had wandered, or, in other words, to pull herself together
first. When the reply did come, it was uttered in just the low,
melodious tones one might have expected. She expressed her willingness
to attempt whatever was required of her, but seemed very diffident as
regarded her power of execution. 'I have forgotten so many things,'
she concluded, with a profound sigh.

'Sir, you impertinent minx,' corrected the matron.

Amelia did not seem to hear, and her new employer hastened to
interpose.

'We will give you a trial,' he said, in a curiously modified tone,
'and I hope you won't give me any occasion to regret it.'

The necessary formalities were hurried through. Mr. Paton
disregarded the deferential disclaimers of the matron, but
experienced, nevertheless, something of a shock when he saw Amelia
divested of her prison garb. She had a thorough-bred air that
discomfited him. Worse still, she was undeniably pretty. The scissors
that had clipped her fair locks had left a number of short rings that
clung like tendils round her shapely little head. She wore a black
stuff jacket of extreme simplicity and faultless cut, and a little
black bonnet that might have been worn by a Nursing Sister or a
'grande dame' with equal appropriateness. Thus attired, her appearance
was so effective, that Mr. Paton asked himself whether he was not
doing an unpardonably rash thing in driving No. 27 down Macquarrie
Street in his gig, and introducing her into his household afterwards.

It was not Truca, for she had 'driven and lived' that morning, whose
mauvais quart d'heure was now to come. It was her father's turn to
fall under its influence, as he sat, stern and rigid, on the driver's
seat, with his little girl nestling up to him as close as she was
able, and that strange, fair, mysterious presence on the other side,
towards which he had the annoyance of seeing all the heads of the
passers-by turn as he drove on towards home.

Arrived at Cowa Cottage, the young gardener ran forward to open the
gate; and here an unexpected incident occurred. As Richard's eyes
rested upon the new arrival, he uttered an exclamation that caused her
to look round. Their eyes met, a flash of instant recognition was
visible in both. Then, like the night that follows a sudden discharge
of electricity, the gloom that was habitual to both faces settled down
upon them once more. Richard shut the gate with his accustomed
machine-like precision. Amelia looked at the intangible something in
the clouds that had power to fix her gaze upon itself. Yet the emotion
she had betrayed was not lost upon her employer. Who could say? As No.
213 and No. 27, these two might have crossed each other's paths
before. That the convicts had wonderful and incomprehensible means of
communicating with each other, was well known to Mr. Paton. That young
men and young women have an equal facility for understanding each
other, was also a fact he did not ignore. But which of these two
explanations might account for the signs of mutual recognition and
sympathy he had just witnessed? Curiously enough, he felt, as he
pondered over the mystery later in the day, that he should prefer the
former solution. An offensive and defensive alliance was well known to
exist among the convicts, and he told himself that he could meet and
deal with the difficulties arising from such a cause as he had met and
dealt with them before. That was a matter which came within his
province, but the taking into account of any sentimental kind of
rubbish did not come within his province. For some unaccountable
reason, the thought of having Richard flogged presented itself anew at
this juncture to his mind. He put it away, as he had done before,
angered with himself for having harboured it. But it returned at
intervals during the succeeding week, and was never stronger than one
afternoon, when his little girl ran out to him as he sat smoking in
the verandah, with an illustrated volume of Grimm's Tales in her
hands.

'Oh, papa, look! I've found some one just like Amelia in my book of
Grimm. It's the picture of Snow-White. Only look, papa! Isn't it the
very living image of Amelia?'

'Nonsense!' said her father; but he looked at the page nevertheless.
Truca was right. The snow-maiden in the woodcut had the very eyes and
mouth of Amelia Clare--frozen through some mysterious influence into
beautiful, unyielding rigidity. Mr. Paton wished sometimes he had
never brought the girl into his house. Not that there was any kind of
fault to be found with her. Even his sister, who might have passed for
'She-who-must-be--obeyed,' if Rider Haggard's books had existed at
that time, could not complain of want of docile obedience to orders on
the part of the new maid. Nevertheless, her presence was oppressive to
the master of the house. Two lines of Byron's haunted him constantly
in connection with her--'So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start--
for life is wanting there.'

If Richard worked like an automaton, then she worked like a spirit;
and when she moved noiselessly about the room where he happened to be
sitting, he could not help following her uneasily with his eyes.

The days wore on, succeeding each other and resembling each other, as
the French proverb has it, with desperate monotony. Christmas, replete
with roses and strawberries, had come and gone. Mr. Paton was
alternately swayed by two demons, one of which whispered in his ear,
'Richard Cole is in love with No. 27. The time for him to regain his
freedom is at hand. The first use he will make of it will be to leave
you, and the next to marry Amelia Clare. You will thus be deprived of
everything at one blow. You will lose the best man-servant you have
ever known, and your sister, the best maid. And more than this, you
will lose an interest in life that gives it a stimulating flavour it
has not had for many a long year. Whatever may be the impulse that
prompts you to wonder what that ice-bound face and form hide, it is an
impulse that makes your heart beat and your blood course warmly
through your veins. When this fair, uncanny presence is removed from
your home, your life will become stagnant as it was before.' To this
demon Mr. Paton would reply energetically, 'I won't give the fellow
the chance of marrying No 27. As soon as he has his freedom, I will
give him the sack, and forbid him the premises. As for Amelia, she is
my prisoner, and I would send her back to gaol to-morrow if I thought
there were any nonsense up between her and him.'

At this point demon No. 2 would intervene: 'There is a better way of
arranging matters. You have it in your power to degrade the fellow in
his own eyes and in those of the girl he is after. There is more
covert insolence in that impenetrable exterior of his than you have
yet found out. Only give him proper provocation, and you will have
ample justification for bringing him down. A good flogging would put
everything upon its proper footing,--you would keep your servant, and
you would put a stop to the nonsense that is very probably going on.
But don't lose too much time; for if you wait until the last moment,
you will betray your hand. The fellow is useful to him, they will say
of Richard, but it is rather rough upon him to be made aware of it in
such a way as that.'

One evening in January, Mr. Paton was supposed to be at his club. In
reality he was seated upon a bench in a bushy part of the garden,
known as the shrubbery--in parley with the demons. The night had come
down upon him almost without his being aware of it--a night heavy with
heat and blackness, and noisy with the cracking and whirring of the
locusts entombed in the dry soil. All at once he heard a slight
rustling in the branches behind him. There was a light pressure of
hands on his shoulders, and a face that felt like velvet to the touch
was laid against his checks. Two firm, warm feminine lips pressed
themselves upon his, and a voice that he recognised as Amelia's said
in caressing tones, 'Dearest Dick, have I kept you waiting?'

Had it been proposed to our hero some time ago that he should change
places with No. 213, he would have declared that he would rather die
first. But at this instant the convict's identity seemed so preferable
to his own, that he hardly ventured to breathe lest he should betray
the fact that he was only his own forlorn self. His silence
disconcerted the intruder.

'Why don't you answer, Dick?' she asked impatiently.

'Answer? What am I to say?' responded her master. 'I am not in the
secret.'

Amelia did not give him time to say more. With a cry of terror she
turned and fled, disappearing as swiftly and mysteriously as she had
come. The words 'Dearest Dick' continued to ring in Mr. Paton's cars
long after she had gone; and the more persistently the refrain was
repeated, the more he felt tempted to give Richard a taste of his
quality. He had tried to provoke him to some act of overt insolence in
vain. He had worried and harried and insulted him all he could. The
convict's constancy had never once deserted him. That his employer
should have no pretext whereby he might have him degraded and
imprisoned, he had acted upon the scriptural precept of turning his
left cheek when he was smitten on the right. There were times when his
master felt something of a persecutor's impotent rage against him. But
now at least he felt he had entire justification for making an example
of him. He would teach the fellow to play Romeo and Juliet with a
fellow--convict behind his back. So thoroughly did the demon
indoctrinate Mr. Paton with these ideas, that he felt next morning as
though he were doing the most righteous action in the world, when he
called Richard to him after breakfast, and said in a tone which he
tried to render as careless as of custom, 'Here, you! just take this
note over to Mr. Merton with my compliments, and wait for the answer.'

There was nothing in this command to cause the person who received it
to grow suddenly livid. Richard had received such an order at least a
score of times before, and had carried messages to and fro between his
master and the justice of the peace with no more emotion than the
occasion was worth. But on this particular morning, as he took the
fatal note into his hands, he turned deadly pale. Instead of
retreating with it in his customary automatic fashion, he fixed his
eyes upon his employer's face, and something in their expression
actually constrained Mr. Paton to lower his own.

'May I speak a word with you, sir?' he said, in low, uncertain
tones.

It was the first time such a thing had happened, and it seemed to
Richard's master that the best way of meeting it would be to 'damn'
the man and send him about his business.

But Richard did not go. He stood for an instant with his head thrown
back, and the desperate look of an animal at bay in his eyes. At this
critical moment a woman's form suddenly interposed itself between Mr.
Paton and his victim. Amelia was there, looking like Amina after she
had awoken from her trance. She came close to her master,--she had
never addressed him before,--and raised her liquid eyes to his.

'You will not be hard on--my brother, sir, for the mistake I made
last night?'

'Who said I was going to be hard on him?' retorted Mr. Paton, too
much taken aback to find any more dignified form of rejoinder. 'And if
he is your brother, why do you wait until it is dark to indulge in
your family effusions?'

The question was accompanied by a through and through look, before
which Amelia did not quail.

'Have I your permission to speak to him in the day-time, sir?' she
said submissively.

'I will institute an inquiry,' interrupted her master. 'Here, go
about your business,' he added, turning to Richard; 'fetch out the
mare, and hand me back that note. I'll ride over with it myself.'

Three weeks later Richard Cole was a free man, and within four
months from the date upon which Mr. Paton had driven Amelia Clare down
Macquarrie Street in his gig, she came to take respectful leave of
him, dressed in the identical close-fitting jacket and demure little
bonnet he remembered. Thenceforth she was nobody's bondswoman. He had
a small heap of coin in readiness to hand over to her, with the
payment of which, and a few gratuitous words of counsel on his part,
the leave-taking would have been definitely and decorously
accomplished. To tell her that he was more loth than ever to part with
her, did not enter into the official programme. She was her own
mistress now, as much or more so than the Queen of England herself,
and it was hardly to be wondered at if the first use she made of her
freedom was to shake the dust of Cowa Cottage off her feet. Still, if
she had only known--if she had only known. It seemed too hard to let
her go with the certainty that she never did or could know. Was it not
for her sake that he had been swayed by all the conflicting impulses
that had made him a changed man of late? For her that he had so
narrowly escaped being a criminal awhile ago, and for her that he was
appearing in the novel rôle of a reformer of the convict system now?
He never doubted that she would have understood him if she had known.
But to explain was out of the question. He must avow either all or
nothing, and the all meant more than he dared to admit even to
himself.

This was the reason why Amelia Clare departed sphinx-like as she had
come. A fortnight after she had gone, as Mr. Paton was gloomily
smoking by his library fire in the early dark of a wintry August
evening, a letter bearing the N. S. Wales postmark was handed to him.
The handwriting, very small and fine, had something familiar in its
aspect. He broke open the seal,--letters were still habitually sealed
in those days,--and read as follows:--

'SIR,--I am prompted to make you a confession--why, I cannot say,
for I shall probably never cross your path again. I was married last
week to Richard Cole, who was not my brother, as I led you to suppose,
but my affianced husband, in whose behalf I would willingly suffer
again to be unjustly condemned and transported. I have the warrant of
Scripture for having assumed, like Sarah, the rôle of sister in
preference to that of wife; besides which, it is hard to divest myself
of an instinctive belief that the deceit was useful to Richard on one
occasion. I trust you will pardon me.--Yours respectfully.

  'AMELIA COLE.'

The kindly phase Mr. Paton had passed through with regard to his
convict victims came to an abrupt termination. The reaction was
terrible. His name is inscribed among those 'who foremost shall be
damn'd to Fame' in Tasmania.




MRS. DRUMMOND OF QUONDONG


IT is a year to-day since I first saw this place,--since I first saw
her, I may as well say, for she is pretty well the centre about which
all my thoughts have turned during this time; and yet I was not
prepared to like her--rather the reverse, for the Creeks did not, and
communicated their unfavourable view to me. Certainly I was agreeably
disappointed when we met, but I don't think, when I try really to look
back, that I was much struck by her in any way. I know I did not think
her pretty, only graceful and refined, and far more pleasant in manner
than I had anticipated. I could not help noticing that she was a
different stamp of woman to Mrs. Creek; and I know the Grettan people
were surprised, and I think a trifle displeased, that I said so little
of my visit to Quondong. The fact is, I felt rather puzzled what to
say. Knowing that the Drummonds were not liked, I could hardly praise
them; and after the kind reception given me, I would not do the other
thing. I went there again soon after Hope had been told off to bring
back the cattle about which I had gone over on my first visit, but he
asked me to take his place, as he hated going to Quondong.

I wondered as I rode along if I should find things pleasant this
time, and began to be half sorry I had undertaken a duty that was not
mine; for certainly many people said disagreeable things about the
Drummonds, and possibly my previous reception was only good by
accident,--there was nothing in me that I should get more courtesy
than others. When I rode up to the house I found Mr. Drummond on the
verandah, and I can't say his greeting was particularly cordial. He
never offered to shake hands, or to get up; nor, though on seeing him
I had jumped off my horse, did he ask me to sit down. He hardly said
'how do you do' before he began business.

'Come for the cattle? But I can't give them to you to-day. Jones is
laid up, and none of the other men seem to know where to find them.'

'Will he be able to go out to-morrow?'

'Well, I hardly know, but I suppose you can come over again?'

'Of course I can come again, but I particularly want to get the
bullocks to our place by to-morrow night. Molloy is taking down a mob
for the butcher, and we want to add them to the mob; and if I get them
early in the day, I could run them over to the station in time.'

'H'm,' he said, after a pause, 'you had better see for yourself. If
you ride to Jones' hut, you can find out; and if it is worth while
staying, he can put you up.'

I was savage as I unhitched my horse and rode away, and if I could
have done as I wished, would have ridden back there and then; but work
had to be done, and personal annoyance would hardly have been taken as
an excuse if I returned without the cattle, and I could not trust the
black boy with me to drive them by himself. The stockman had had what
he termed 'a touch of the sun,'--assisted, I suspected, by a good
share of bad rum,--but was better, and would be able, he thought, to
turn out the first thing in the morning. Neither were other matters
quite so bad as I expected. Jones was a married man, and his wife
looked after an adjoining hut that was set apart for chance
travellers, so my quarters were not so uncomfortable; and though the
being sent off in that way rather rankled, still I was not sure I had
any right to complain. So, after making an inward vow never to go
again in another's place, I tried to make the best of it, and pass the
afternoon as well as I could. Fortunately, after I had had something
to eat, and had made my final arrangements with the stockman, I found
a readable book, and the day being now pretty well advanced, I did not
feel that I had so much to grumble about.

I was so absorbed in the book, Adam Bede, that I never heard steps
approaching till a voice said, 'Mrs. Jones, I have brought you'--the
speaker, who had just entered the door, stopped. I put down my book
and jumped up, for it was Mrs. Drummond. I don't think she recognised
me at first; evidently she had not thought any visitor was there, and
was taken aback for the moment when she found the room occupied; but I
knew her at once, and this sudden apparition of a pretty woman set my
heart beating a little faster than usual. She did look awfully well in
her light grey habit, something blue round her throat, and a knot of
ribbon of the same colour under her shady hat; not as you see a riding
costume de rigueur, but very suitable for the occasion, and it seemed
to me also very becoming. I did not say anything, waiting for her to
speak; besides, her unlooked-for appearance and the recollection of
her husband's lack of courtesy rather confused me. She recognised me,
however, almost immediately, and holding out her hand as she came
forward, said,--

'What are you doing here, Mr. Verner? why did you not go at once to
the house?'

I did not care to say I had been there, so answered as easily as I
could, 'Are not these the strangers' quarters?'

'Yes; but no one we know stays here. Of course Mr. Drummond expects
you to be with us.' I did not know what to say, but I know what I
did--blushed like a girl.

You are very good,' I murmured, after a moment's uncomfortable pause;
'but as I start so early, it might be inconvenient for you.'

I fancy she guessed the real state of matters, or else blushing is
contagious, for a pretty pink tinge came into her cheeks, while a look
of annoyance passed over her face. She did not say anything more on
this subject, but began to talk of her ride, saying she had seen a
flower on the border of a scrub that had exactly the perfume of
vanilla, but it was too high up for her to get it, or even to see it
well. Nothing could be pleasanter than her manner, and though she did
not stay above five or ten minutes, she left me with all my ruffled
plumage smoothed down.

I had another visitor before long: Mr. Drummond walked in, in about
an hour. 'My wife has been scolding me for letting you come here,' he
said; 'so put on your hat and come back with me, or I shall have black
looks all the evening.'

I daresay it would have been more dignified to have refused, but I
forgot what was due to my pride, and did what I was told. I don't
think he meant to be rude in the first instance. He simply did not
care for my society,--why should he put himself out for a young nobody
learning colonial experience?--so he sent me to the strangers'
quarters; and he came for me because Mrs. Drummond made a point of
having me at the house, and it was easier to do that than to thwart
her. He is a man the sole motive of whose conduct is self. He regards
it as a matter of course that life should be ruled by that principle,
and acts up to it with a serene, unaffected simplicity that fairly
astounds one.

When I say that I had not a vestige of regret for taking Hope's
place,--felt, indeed, quite a glow of self-approval for having done a
friend a good turn,--you may be pretty sure I did not find the evening
disagreeable. Mrs. Drummond sang and played particularly well; perhaps
her voice was not really so fine as Mrs. Creek's, but it had far more
expression, and there was a tone in it that went straight to the
heart. Her singing had the same sort of charm as her appearance and
manner. It would be hard to put into words what that charm was, though
there could be no difficulty about feeling it. As I have said before,
she was not pretty, at least she did not strike you as being so at
first; the only actual beauties she owned were her teeth, small, even,
and white, and her exquisitely fair skin. Her other features were
small and regular, but nothing remarkable; her mouth, indeed, was
rather large, but the lips, fresh as a child's, were flexible and
expressive to a rare degree, and when they smiled they lighted up her
whole face. Mind, she was by no means prodigal of these smiles. The
prevailing expression of her face had something of sadness in it,
mingled with a certain air of hauteur, and it was this, and a somewhat
reserved manner, that I fancy often repelled people; but when she
chose to be pleasant, as I suppose she did this evening, nothing could
be more natural than she was, simple, kind, and cordial, and so
playful, so light-hearted, that it was hard to imagine she could be
unpopular.

But I am bound to confess she was not always like this: sometimes
her face was like a mask, with a set look on it that never varied,
while her manner was chilling to a degree; then that hard expression
would melt away, and a sudden softness come into her face. To see that
change was as if the soul had come back to those limpid hazel eyes and
that tender mouth. Her voice, too, had a hundred different
inflections: occasionally it was almost harsh, while at another time
there was a caress in its very tone. It was able to express those
finer shades of feeling that words are often powerless to convey, and
it had a natural pathos that appealed strangely to your sympathy. Of
course no one is always bright or always dull. Most are attractive
when lively, a few interesting when depressed; but in her it was not
the mere change of spirits that charmed. She had very little of what
is called vivacity, and her melancholy was less pensive than moody;
but whatever her mood might be, her power of attraction never seemed
to lessen.

She was a problem that one was always being forced to try and solve.
Sometimes her whole nature seemed to open itself to you. It was the
real living soul that spoke to you in those soft accents, that looked
at you from those pure eyes and ever-varying countenance; then the
veil fell, and it was a perfect woman of the world that met your eager
glances with calm indifference; or she might chill you with a cold
reception, and then by some subtle inflection of her voice call up a
thrill of delight that was an ample atonement. Once favourably
impressed by her, and I cannot imagine anything that could diminish
her hold upon you. Her outward appearance charmed the eye, as her
beauties seemed coyly to unfold themselves as if to you in particular;
and her inner nature was one that compelled you to study it, while it
could safely bear the closest investigation. You were puzzled, you
were repelled at times by a crust of worldliness, by an assumed
heartlessness, but never did you find an ignoble thought, a mean
motive hidden there; rather was it a lurking enthusiasm, some shy,
sweet goodness that lay concealed in those carefully guarded recesses;
and she was so pure-minded that the basest man could not have dared to
look at, or think of her, with a polluting thought.

Naturally it was not on this visit, or on many succeeding ones, that
I formed my estimate of her. I am only trying to put into words--and
what feeble, unsatisfactory ones I only can tell--the impression she
produced on me during the short time I had the privilege--and the
wretchedness--of knowing her. It would be useless for me to deny the
feelings with which she inspired me. It was some time before I
recognised them myself. I never willingly betrayed them to her, for
she was not the woman I took her to be if I could have dared so to do.
She may have guessed them, for I was too young to be so master of
myself as never to show what I felt. But whether she did, whether in
the remotest degree she shared them,--had, as it were, some tender
pity for me,--I never knew; she had so strong a will, such an almost
stern conscientiousness, that even if she had loved me,--and I did not
think her an angel, only the noblest of women,--she would have died
rather than owned her weakness.

But to return to this particular evening. It was not Mrs. Drummond
only, but her husband too, who was agreeable. He could be a pleasant
companion when he liked, and I suppose I did not find him the less so
because he talked to me about myself. I felt rather disgusted
afterwards when I recalled how I had prated away on that subject,
which, if interesting to myself, could hardly be so to others. I was
not particularly charmed either to have made a comparative stranger
acquainted with all my affairs and plans, but I never thought of this
till too late. However, I consoled myself in thinking that it would
teach me more discretion the next time, not to say anything about
better taste, and also that certainly I had not forced my concerns
upon him; and as both had so kindly pressed me to come and see them
again soon, I could not have been such an insufferable bore as I
feared.

I often took advantage of this invite when I could get an idle
afternoon, generally on a Saturday, when I would not return till the
following evening, putting up for the night at Quondong. I certainly
enjoyed these visits very much; after the noise of the children, the
somewhat rough-and--ready ways of Grettan, the lack of neatness and
order in things domestic there, the nicety that reigned at Quondong
was very pleasant. It may not be of any great consequence, but it
certainly is more agreeable to sit down to a table where everything
agrees with the snow white cloth on which they are placed, where the
dishes do not look as if they had got on haphazard, or the knives and
forks sprawl about anyhow. Mrs. Drummond, too, in her fresh morning
dress, a dark rosebud setting off the exquisite fairness of her
throat, her slender hands moving amongst the dainty china cups and
silver tea equipage, was a pretty object to regard.

After breakfast I used to go with her to feed her chickens; then, if
it was not too late, we took a turn round the garden, or I helped her
to water her plants in the back-house. We soon got on sufficiently
easy terms to be under no restraint, no necessity to make talk; if we
had anything to say we said it, if not we read, or simply remained
silent. Time never seemed to lag, to me at any rate, and I ventured to
flatter myself that Mrs. Drummond found even my society a relief to
the very dull life she led.

Dinner was always early on Sundays, to let the maid-servants have a
ride in the afternoon, so generally Mr. and Mrs. Drummond would walk
with me on my return to Grettan as far as the crossing place, I
leading my horse; and when I mounted they would wait till I rode away.
How well I can recall her as she used to stand, resting her hand on
her husband's arm, and turning her face to give me a parting smile,
as, when I reached the top of the opposite bank of the river, I looked
back before riding on.

The road to the ford was through a scrub which on one side was
untouched, and ran in an unbroken wall of verdure, the other had been
cut down, but had partly grown up again; while the climbers, taking
advantage of the unusual light and air, had flourished mightily, and
covered the young growth with their long vines, almost hiding their
supports, and hanging in festoons from shrub to shrub, or creeping
along the ground and concealing the fallen logs with their mantle of
green leaves; farther on was the open flat where the station buildings
were, that, luckily for the picturesque, one could only partially see;
beyond them was a sloping hillside, treeless, but covered with long
broad-bladed grass, which the rays of the setting sun tinged with the
richest shades of golden brown and red. The dwelling--house, which was
about a quarter of a mile away, was not visible from this point, which
was perhaps as well, for it was hardly a pretty object, and only
partially redeemed by the many fine shrubs that grew around it.

Perhaps it was as well that I could not make these pleasant visits as
often as I could have wished, or I might have worn out my welcome; but
not only had I rarely the leisure, but I fancied the Creeks rather
resented my being a favourite with the Drummonds, and regarded my
visits to them in some sort a going over to the enemy; so I had on
several accounts to put a wholesome restraint on my inclinations. I
have no doubt it only made me prize my visits more; certainly I was
not sorry when business sent me one day unexpectedly to Quondong. I
made a little plan in my own mind as I rode along, that I would stay
the night, and ride back in the very early hours, for I knew there
would be a bright moonlight. Mrs. Drummond would sing me my favourite
songs, and I could talk over with her some news I had received by the
last English mail, and show her the photos it had also brought me; but
'the best laid schemes of mice and men aft gang agley.'

I must tell you that two young lady visitors had just arrived at
Grettan,--an unusual event,--and their expected arrival had been
discussed the last time I met the Drummonds. I cannot say their advent
had disturbed me much, and I had almost forgotten all about it when I
entered the drawing--room at Quondong, where for a marvel on a week-
day I found Mr. Drummond. Business did not take long to settle, and
then some allusion was made to the new arrivals. Had they come when I
left? Yes, I had caught a glimpse of female forms as I passed the
verandah on my way to the stables, and Mrs. Creek had called me in and
introduced me.

What were they like? Were they quite young and pretty? Did they seem
nice girls? Surely I could tell them something about them?

Mrs. Drummond was unusually eager in her questions, for she was the
most incurious of women as a rule. As to Mr. Drummond, he always put
one through a course of inquiries, so his remarks did not surprise me.

'I only stayed half a minute. I know one is nothing to look at; the
other, I think, is pretty,' I said.

'That must be Miss Brown. I saw her last year, and thought her
extremely handsome. Don't you remember, Robert, we met her at the
Finches?' said Mrs. Drummond.

'Yes,' he answered; 'didn't she talk about kiows? But I would not
mind that, if I were you, Verner; as her father says, "she carries ten
thousand bullocks on her back," and she's worth looking after.'

'Thanks,' I answered; 'but I don't think I shall trouble Brown pater
to round up his daughter's fortune.'

'At any rate these visitors will make bush life less insufferable,'
put in Mrs. Drummond, and then held her peace; and as she turned her
head away she could not see the reproachful glance that I
involuntarily gave her when she spoke of finding life--her own, no
doubt--insufferable.

Not a word was said, as usual, about my remaining. I presume that Mr.
Drummond took it for granted that as these people were at Grettan I
should wish to go back; at any rate he said,--

'I suppose it is no use asking you to stay?'

I did not answer for a moment. I wanted her to ask me, for it was a
fresh pleasure when she repeated the invitation with that kindly smile
in her eyes, but she said never a word; so, after a pause, I replied
stupidly enough, 'I suppose not.'

She was at the piano when I came in, and she remained there all the
short time I stopped. When I made that last speech, she began a
brilliant run, but blundering, broke off abruptly, and turning to me,
said, looking full at me, 'Is it not provoking when one's fingers will
go wrong over a passage; but I forget, not playing, you will not
understand.'

I had no particular reason to make any answer, so held my tongue.

I never knew it so difficult to get on at Quondong as that day. Mr.
Drummond was as usual, that is, he never put himself out to
entertain,--indeed, he went away and had a smoke on the verandah, as
he frequently did. But she was unlike herself, seemed preoccupied, and
to have no welcome for me. It was plain both thought I had only come
over on business, and would be eager to get back to those wretched
girls, and with a sinking heart I felt that all my anticipations of a
pleasant afternoon were as the 'baseless fabric of a dream,'--my much
considered plans quite uncalled for.

I took my leave in a little while, and went back with very different
feelings to those I had indulged in as I rode over. The horse, too,
seemed determined to add to my annoyance: he always had a trick of
boring to one side, and this afternoon he did it till I was downright
savage with the brute. I know I made him gallop nearly the whole way
home, as he insisted on going like a crab whenever I slacked my pace
to a walk; the consequence of which little bit of temper on my part
was, that I had to spend about an hour rubbing him down and getting
him cool before I could turn him out.

I did find these visitors pleasant after all, though I regarded
their arrival at first as something more than a bore, that is, when I
returned from my curtailed visit from Quondong.

Miss Brown was really very pretty, and by no means the sort of girl
Mr. Drummond's remark had led me to expect. Perhaps she did laugh a
little more than was necessary, but she had such beautiful teeth that
it did not matter, and one forgave the little twang for the sake of
her bright eyes. The other, Miss Blount, had at any rate a fine
figure, and was a jolly girl, good--natured, and quite willing to be
pleased,--almost did more than her fair share, indeed, in the process.
She sang, too, not so badly, though in rather a spasmodic style, only
letting out her voice now and then in a way that was a trifle
startling till you got used to it. Hope said he did not like it--too
much of the minute-gun for his taste; but then Hope was always hard to
please. I used to wonder if he ever enjoyed himself, he seemed to look
at life only on the seamy side.

One evening it was arranged there should be a picnic on the
following Wednesday,--this was Monday,--and that messages should be
sent to our neighbours at Ashwood and Quondong, asking them to join
us. As we were to be off duty on the chosen day, we had to do double
tides on Tuesday, and I never got home till just before dinner. When
we were sitting on the verandah afterwards, the black boy came round
and gave Mrs. Creek a note. 'That's all right,' she said as she read
it; 'the Grimes are coming, and will bring a Mr. Hall, as well as
Scott and Hamley.'

'Have you any answer from the Drummonds?' asked Mr. Creek.

'By the bye, no. You got him paper along Quondong?' she said,
turning to the boy.

'By Gar, I believe I forgot him altogether;' and Master Jacky, with
a grin that showed his white teeth from ear to ear, produced the note
of invitation--well wrapped up, I ought to say--from the bosom of his
shirt, which served as pocket, and handed it over.

'Well, that is provoking,' remarked Mrs. Creek; 'but it is no use
lamenting, we could not let them know now in time, could we?' turning
to her husband.

'No,' he replied, 'it's out of the question; they must take the will
for the deed.'

'I think I could let them know, if you care about it, Mrs. Creek,' I
said.

'Thank you! Of course I should like them to come, but it's not worth
the trouble.'

'It's not the least trouble; I could easily ride over on a bright
night like this.'

'I don't see any necessity,' broke in Creek; 'I'm sure Drummond
wouldn't thank you, and it's ten to one if Mrs. Drummond would care to
come.'

'I'll chance that,' I said, and got up to go. Fortunately the horses
were in a small paddock, to be at hand for the next day; so, taking a
halter and a tin of corn, I soon caught old Billy, and, saddling up,
started at once.

I could not but notice as I rode along what a lovely night it was--
nothing broke the stillness but the curious 'gluck, gluck' of the
frogs in the swamps; the sharp chirping cry of their brethren in the
trees resembling far more the note of a bird than that of a reptile;
the tinkle of a bullock bell; the sound of an axe, every blow of which
rang out clearly.

The sky was absolutely cloudless, and though dimmed by the flood of
silvery moonlight, myriads of stars could be seen faintly shining;
Sirius still flashed and glittered, changing each moment as I looked
from one vivid hue to another; the Southern Cross--that matchless
constellation--gleamed brightly from the pale blue of the heavens. The
shadows were sharply defined, but the melting light fell too softly
for strong contrasts; the huge fallen logs, whole skeletons of long
dead trees, though brought into perfect relief by the light resting on
their barked surfaces, had nothing startling in their distinctness,
but bore the same shadowy air as all around them.

But the strangeness of everything was what particularly struck me.
Nothing bore the likeness that it did by daylight,--one seemed to look
up long vistas where the trees overhead formed Gothic arches; on
sloping lawns carpeted with turf smooth as velvet; on lakes into which
the drooping branches dipped; on dark ravines walled in by steep
rocks; grand avenues wound through wooded paths,--all was so changed,
so unreal and yet so real, that it quite startled one.

The house, as I have said, was some little distance from the station
buildings, and, as I rode up to it, the utter stillness, the hushed
repose about the place, where the very roses that shone so white in
the moonlight looked as if they were sleeping, made me think, almost
for the first time, how late it was. I looked at my watch--nearly
twelve. Well, I thought, it's no use stopping now, though I would have
left the note at the station if I had thought of it before.

I tied up my horse, and going to the stables, tried to rouse the man
who I knew slept there. Not a bit of use; I couldn't get the fellow to
hear. I could not call out loudly, and I might have battered in the
door with a paving--stone, supposing such a thing had been handy,
without waking him from his slumbers. It would never do to go to the
female quarters, for the most probable result of that step would be a
series of squeals, and my being possibly potted by Mr. Drummond as a
kind of colonial Tarquin.

I began to think I was doing an impertinent thing, and was a fool for
my pains; but I could not go back now. Perhaps the best plan would be
to go round to the sitting-room,--the French lights were pretty sure
to be open in this weather,--and I could leave the note on the table,
and disappear without disturbing the sleeping house. I did so as
quietly as I could, though I fancied my step, generally light, made as
much noise as a buffalo's. I opened the venetian shutters, the hinges
as I did so giving a squeak that made me turn cold all over, put the
note down on a table, and stole out.

Just as I was coming out of the window, I found myself face to face
with a figure, whose approach had been so noiseless and so unexpected
that for the moment it regularly dumbfounded me. In an instant I
recovered myself, and saw it was Mrs. Drummond. She did not recognise
me, for I was in the shadow.

'Who is it?' she almost whispered, for she was evidently frightened,
as the tremble in her voice betrayed, in spite of her struggle to
command it. Then, as I stepped on to the verandah, she exclaimed, in
the utmost surprise,--

'Mr. Verner! But what is it? Is anything wrong at Grettan?'

'I really must beg your pardon. I am not robbing the house, only
bringing you a note from Mrs. Creek. We have a picnic to-morrow, and
want you to join us.'

'And you have come all this way at night simply to ask me? You are
good!'

'Not at all; only I hope you will come.'

'I could hardly refuse after this, even if I had wished. Where do we
meet?'

'At the Downfall, about noon. Now, I had better say good-night. I'm
awfully ashamed of myself for disturbing you at this hour.'

'I--I can't ask you to stay,' she said in a hesitating way. 'Mr.
Drummond is not at home.'

'Many thanks,' I answered, feeling confused, I didn't know why; 'I
couldn't. I have to see to the things in the morning.'

'Thank you,' was all she said; but I would have ridden twice the
distance to be addressed by her in such a tone. I could see she was
not regularly dressed. She had on a long trailing robe (dressing-gown,
I suppose), and over her head a light fleecy white shawl (what is
called a cloud) was thrown. You can't imagine how childlike and pure
her face looked under it. She was like the white roses that lay
sleeping in the moonlight. When she put out her hand, as she did, and
then withdrew it, to say good-bye, the movement stirred her skirts,
and I saw the small foot was only covered by a slipper. It was not a
very alarming object, that dainty little bare foot, but it sent a
shiver through me, and I could not have met her eyes at that moment to
save my life.

I had not much time for beauty-sleep after I got back; and I rather
think I didn't bless Hope when he came stumping into my den, calling
out, 'Hullo, Verner! do you know what the time is? There's the missis
wanting you to help her pack; she won't take me at any price. Says I'm
no more use than a fifth wheel to a coach.' But after I had walked
down to the creek and had a good bathe, I was all right, and fit as
paint.

We were lucky in the day, fine almost as a matter of course, but the
cool breeze was by no means a blessing too often bestowed upon us. The
place we had chosen was on the banks of the river, a grassy nook,
sheltered on three sides by thick scrub that quite shaded us from the
sun, while it was open to get the breeze from the river. Don't run
away with the idea that a fine stream of water rolled below us. There
was none at all visible from this place, only the broad empty bed
covered with grass in high thick tufts, with half-dead reeds and
clumps of bushes, and any amount of débris, great logs, broken
branches, sticks and withered leaves lying piled up in tangled masses
and curved ridges, as the last flood had left them. Through this ran a
narrow channel, 'promiscuous like,' swerving now to this side, now to
the other. It was hard to picture the whole of this wide space filled
bank high with a rushing, swirling torrent; but the rubbish lodged
among the branches of trees growing in it told a tale.

The Ashwood people came up about the same time as we did, Mrs. Grimes
looking wonderfully young (she was well up in the thirties) behind her
black lace veil, under which her dark velvety eyes and white teeth
flashed most becomingly. Old Grimes was in a suit of nankeen that had
been so often washed that its colour was almost gone, while it had so
shrunk that his legs and arms appeared to have grown since he began to
wear it. The stranger did not take my fancy much; but apparently my
sentiments were not shared by Mrs. Grimes, for his attentions--and he
was pretty lavish of them--were received graciously enough. Hope went
off, and I caught sight of him and Hamley planted behind a fig tree,
and smoking like two steam-engines. Scott and Hall did the amiable to
the ladies, and I helped Mrs. Creek. Miss Blount was good enough to
come and assist after a little, and took me in charge, telling me
where the things were to be placed, making me trot about under her
orders, so I was kept tolerably busy; but I did not forget to keep a
bright look-out on the road that led towards Quondong.

No sign yet of the Drummonds. When we were all assembled and the
luncheon arranged, there was some faint opposition on the hostess's
part to our beginning before the arrival of the missing guests; but
her husband pooh-poohed the notion of waiting.

'Nonsense, my dear; they could be in time if they chose; and if they
do come, they won't starve.'

I was not quite so sure of that, for I didn't think much of Mrs.
Creek as a caterer, and I certainly did not like the idea of the
Drummonds finding lunch half over when they came--when they came?
Suppose they did not come at all! Perhaps the sky clouded over just
then,--I know the place looked as dull as ditch-water for a few
minutes,--and the view over the dry bed of the river, where the air
quivered in the heat, and the flat beyond, sparsely scattered with gum
trees, whose scanty greyish--green foliage hardly showed, had the
dreariest air imaginable.

'Mr. Verner, you may sit down here,' called out Miss Blount. But
before I could take advantage of her invitation, or rather permission,
I heard the sound of a horse's hoof, and caught a glimpse of Folly's
shining chestnut coat through the trees, and it was not long before I
was helping her rider to dismount. 'Not pretty' had been the verdict
passed on her the previous evening, when Mrs. Drummond was under
discussion. 'Not proven,' I said then to myself, though I spoke out
never a word; now I gave utterance, mentally, to a decided 'Not
guilty.'

She wore her light grey habit, but in place of the shady straw hat
she generally wore, she had put on a saucy little velvet hat that
suited her fair hair and skin to perfection. She had a colour, too,
with fast riding, and her soft hazel eyes and fresh lips were both
smiling. Then her manner, simple, gay to playfulness, yet never
overstepping the invisible bounds of good breeding, or losing its
quiet dignity, was so different to that of the others; while her
voice, with its modulated tones, fell so pleasantly on the ear, after
the somewhat uncultivated accents of Mrs. Creek and her friends.

After I had found Mrs. Drummond a seat, I remembered Miss Blount's
gracious offer, and the place being still vacant, took up my position
by her side. She was not a silent individual, and had, besides, a very
fair appetite. So between keeping her supplied with eatables and
drinkables, and replying to her provocative speeches, I was not idle
in mind or body. I managed, however, to see that my guest--for I felt
as if I had a claim to her--was not neglected. I had no chance of
saying much, but I glanced once or twice towards her, when my
companion said anything particularly startling,--and she was rather
given to uncommon remarks,--and we exchanged a momentary smile, more
of the eyes than the lips.

We were certainly not a dumb party, and were so busily engaged eating
and drinking, chattering and laughing about nothing, that none of us
remarked the clouding over of the sky. We were not to remain long in
ignorance, for soon there came a muttered growl of thunder, followed
after one or two repetitions by a low rushing sound that betokened
either wind or rain, perhaps both. Shelter there was none. Some kind
of wraps were made for the ladies with what had been used to cover the
things in the cart that carried the provisions, and I got Mrs.
Drummond her cloud that she had brought with her, and had left
fastened to her saddle,--I wondered as I carried it, was it the one I
had seen her wear the previous evening,--to protect her hat, for the
safety of which she was frankly solicitous. I wanted her to take my
coat, but she would not hear of it. However, Mrs. Creek seeing it
hanging over my arm, called out, 'If you don't mean to use that
garment, you might as well lend it to me.' So I handed it over to her,
catching as I did so a look of amusement in Mrs. Drummond's face that
made me laugh at the discomfiture that my own must have betrayed.

Having made our preparations, such as they were, we awaited the
coming storm. It did not keep us long in suspense. First came a gust
of wind that bent all the branches in one direction, and then sent
them tossing and whirling in the air, blew the twigs and dried leaves
and bits of grass till they scampered about like living things, and
filled the air with the noise of rustling foliage, and cracking,
jarring branches. The blast blew over. There was a sudden stillness,
almost startling after the late turmoil. Some great drops of rain
splashed down, and then with a swish the shower was upon us. How it
did rain! None of your pattering drops, but regular streams of water
poured down upon our devoted heads. Another minute and it was gone,
and we only heard its loud rushing sound, as we saw it, like a great
grey curtain, sweeping away over the tree-tops.

We were not much the worse. Even Mrs. Drummond's little hat
reappeared from 'under the cloud' safe from the threatened bath. Mrs.
Creek gave me back my coat, which I am happy to say had been of no use
to her. Mrs. Grimes took her handkerchief away from her face, 'her
skin was so tender,' was the information she volunteered. I suppose it
was, and that the rain hurt it, for I saw a pink stain on the white
cambric. On the whole, the 'fair sect,' as Mrs. Brown has it, came off
pretty well; and though we of the lower order of creation were wet
through,--our shirts clinging like loose skins, our unmentionables
defining our nether limbs more plainly than was altogether
satisfactory to the vanity of some of us, our hats dripping,--there
was nothing worth lamenting, and our plight only served to give fresh
cause for mirth.

But the luncheon! The cloth was soaking and splashed with sand, the
dishes half full of water, the remains of the viands plentifully
besprinkled with leaves and twigs and gravel, the bread a sop; and I
declare that a piece of bread on my plate was washed white.
Fortunately the inner man had been satisfied with the substantials,
and the rain had not got into the bottles at any rate.

Very soon the sun was shining out of a sky of the most intense blue,
made still lovelier in colour by the contrast with masses of snow-
white clouds. The quivering leaves were sparkling as if powdered with
diamonds, as a cool breeze shook showers of raindrops off them at each
moment. Birds sang and gurgled most musically; for, though Australian
birds have no continuous song, some of their notes are exceedingly
rich and sweet. Not all, though, as we had good proof, for suddenly
one solemn old feathered biped, sitting near us on a dead branch,
lifted up his voice with a preliminary giggle, and then burst into a
roar of chuckling laughter, so inharmonious and so utterly absurd in
sound, that we all followed suit and roared in chorus. After this we
got up the horses; and while some stowed away the things in the cart,
the others saddled them, and soon we were nearly all mounted.

Just as we were about starting a song was suggested. The idea took.
But first we were to have a stirrup-cup, and as a suitable chant to
follow that operation, 'Drink to me only with thine eyes' was
selected. What a group we made! We were now standing, having left the
scrub, among some huge green trees whose smooth trunks were still
darkened by the wet; the cart was ready, and formed a prominent
object; all the ladies were on horseback, but some of the men still on
foot.

I was by Mrs. Drummond's mare, resting my hand on her neck, lest the
noise might frighten her, and stealing a look up now and then into her
rider's fair smiling face. Old Mr. Grimes, with his hat off, his
scanty red hair glistening with wet, his damp spare garments bringing
his meagre limbs out in strong relief, his little eyes twinkling with
pleasure, was singing away, glass in hand, with all his might. The
carter, inspired by the music, and probably the bottle of beer, was
joining in with a very shamefaced expression, but an uncommonly sweet
voice.

All the others were doing their best. Mrs. Drummond contributed a
sweet, if not over strong second, to which I added my mite. Miss
Blount, one small, gloveless hand holding the whip with which she
marked the time, took a capital first, though she did overpower rather
Mrs. Creek's pure silver-toned soprano. Hope, whose forte was not
music, was very busy doing something to Miss Brown's stirrup, and that
young lady was apparently too deeply engaged with the subject of its
being lengthened or shortened to attend to her vocal duties.

We had all, in separate directions, some little way to go; but when
some one struck up 'The days when we went gipsying,' it was
irresistible, and off we all went into a singing chorus. 'Isn't it
jolly?' I heard Miss Blount say to Mrs. Grimes; and the reply was,
'Yes, awfully; but it wasn't quite so jolly when you did go gipsying,
a long time ago.'

After this we really made a start; and not too soon, for the long
shadows showed that sunset was not far off. When Mrs. Drummond turned
off, I, of course, prepared to accompany her.

'What are you thinking about?' called out Mrs. Creek; 'you are not
going home, when Mr. Drummond does not return, you say, till to-
morrow; you are to return with us.'

'I really must not. Robert might come back tonight; besides'--and she
gave a meaning look at the already large party from our place.

'That's of no consequence,' replied Mrs. Creek, interpreting the
glance. 'I can put the girls in one room.'

Mrs. Drummond still hesitating, Mrs. Creek said, 'Very well, if you
won't come with us, we will go with you; so take your choice.'

'Then really in pure kindness to you I must accept your invitation,
for I don't believe my larder contains anything but the remains of the
chicken I had for dinner yesterday.'

So she came back with us. I had never seen her in such spirits, she
was the gayest of us all. She made Folly prance and curvet, and jump
over the fallen timber, and finished with a race with Miss Blount on
some straight--running that led to the house. Most of us joined in
this, so it was a regular hurry-skurry. In the confusion and gathering
darkness we came (almost without seeing them) on the milking cows,
which were lying down placidly chewing the cud. Helter-skelter we
dashed in amongst them.

Miss Blount's horse gave a great shy, cannoning against Mr. Hall's
(who had returned with us); in trying to escape be jumped over a
reclining cow, or rather he tried to, for the cow, alarmed, tried to
get up just at the moment, and in an instant nothing was to be seen
but any number of legs apparently, sticking up in the air, for the
cow, the horse, and the rider all seemed to be on the broad of their
backs, and all flourishing their limbs about at the same time.

As to thinking of any danger to Mr. Hall, not one of us troubled our
heads in the matter. We regarded the affair as got up for our especial
amusement, and appreciated it with complete unanimity; and when the
poor man, dusty and dirty, got into a sitting position and gazed
around him with a most woebegone expression, it sent us off again into
a fresh burst of laughter.

The fact is, the fellow was an utter cad, and we felt it would be a
mere waste of sympathy to have any pity for an animal who left out all
his h's. But no, I wrong him; he used the right number, but, like the
confession in the Prayer-book, that which he ought to have done, he
did not do; while he did do that which he ought not to have done. In
reference to this failing, he tried us all fearfully at breakfast the
next morning. In one of those pauses of silence that occur in a large
party, his voice was heard saying,--

'I think it so dangerous to sleep on the bare ground, that I always
take a h'air mattress with me into camp.'

'A hair mattress!' replied Mrs. Drummond, to whom he was talking,
with a puzzled look. 'Surely that is very cumbersome?'

'Oh dear, no,' was the calm response; 'I only h-inflate it when it's
wanted.'

I caught a glimpse of a look of horror on Mrs. Drummond's face.
After that I dared not lift my eyes from my plate. There was a dead
silence; the faintest suspicion of a giggle came from Miss Brown's
direction. In another moment we should have broken down, when by good
luck one of the youngsters dropped 'a plate, and we all broke out into
a laugh that must have seemed perfectly idiotic to the real cause of
our merriment.

I don't think I felt more amiable towards the fellow, as, a few
hours after, I saw him going off with the rest of the visitors and
Mrs. Creek towards Quondong. There he was, well mounted, and garbed in
dazzling white, riding by Mrs. Drummond's side, and bending over
towards her in earnest conversation; while I, scorched and grimy, and
smothered in dust, was counting sheep in the yards.

I must say I was very glad they did not stop as they passed; and
yet, as I caught a last glimpse of a lithe figure in a grey habit, I
felt as if there was something almost unkind in riding by without a
word of farewell.

The riding party did not return till late, for not only had they
seen Mrs. Drummond home, but they had gone round by Ashwood, where
they had left Miss Brown and Mr. Hall.

I expect the unwonted dissipation had something to do with it, but
for some cause or other we were not festively inclined this evening.
Music was tried; Mrs. Creek would sing 'Some day,' and plainly
expected me to join with the others in saying how much better she sang
it than Mrs. Drummond; but I didn't think, and would not be made to
say so. It was very absurd, I know, that this trifle irritated me. I
could not but acknowledge that Mrs. Creek had a finer voice, but its
clear silvery tones had not a particle of expression, and beautiful as
they were, never touched your heart; and I felt not only that there
was an injustice in giving her the palm in the rendering of a song the
very raison d'être of which was feeling, but that there was a certain
spice of ill-nature towards the rival singer in giving the award.

Then Mrs. Creek went off to her babies, and Miss Blount took her
place; but that would not do at all. She was tired, I suspect, and
screamed like a peacock. The worst of it was, the others, taking
advantage of my being installed as leaf-turner, cleared out, and I had
to do the civil till I wished the girl at--well certainly anywhere but
where she was. Then cards were proposed; but a round game for love,
when there is no one whose love you care about, not being enticing to
people arrived at years of discretion, the idea fell through, and very
soon we all retired to try the effects of 'Nature's sweet restorer' in
putting us into a pleasanter mood.

One day I had rather a queer adventure. I was riding home from an
out--station, when, a mile or two from the house, I met Miss Blount
and Kitty. Without vanity, I think I may say the former was very glad
to see me, for she was not at all fond of solitude, and the little
girl went for nothing. On my own part, I was pleased enough. It's
awfully dull riding by yourself mile after mile through the bush,
where one tree is exactly like the other, and each gully and ridge
cries ditto to that you have just crossed.

This is not a very complimentary way to speak of Miss Blount; but,
indeed, though I could hardly fancy a fellow losing his heart to her,
she was capital chaff, and good enough to take the trouble of
entertaining into her own hands.

We plunged at once into a kind of mimic warfare that raged between
us--the cause of our mock dissension this time being the comparative
merit of our steeds--till we came to a crossing place over the river,
about a mile from the house.

Here my horse, being thirsty, put down his head to drink, my
companions riding on. Sepoy was very dainty in his tastes, and the
shallow water crossed by the others being muddled, he sniffed
disdainfully at it, and insisted on going to a place where the stream
ran clear. This took some little time. The others had gone over,
mounted the bank, and were disappearing out of sight, the land falling
beyond. Sepoy, having slaked his thirst, lifted up his head, champing
his bit, and shaking the wet off his muzzle. I was about to follow the
others, when I thought I heard a voice calling me by name,--a man's
voice, too,--so there was nothing wrong with the girls. I looked
round, but could see no one, and gathered up my reins for a rush up
the bank, a favourite proceeding of Sepoy's, hastened by Kitty calling
out in impatient tones, 'Do make haste, Mr. Verner!'

But there could be no mistake this time about the strange voice--
'Verner, Verner, for God's sake don't go!' Guided better by the sound,
now my eyes caught sight of a pale face peering round a tree not far
distant.

'What's the matter?' I said, staring in amazement at the scared
countenance from which the voice had evidently proceeded. I did not go
towards it at first; for if I had any ideas at all on the subject, it
was that my interviewer was a madman, and that it would be as well to
carry out the old adage as to discretion. Sepoy, taking advantage of
my inattention, now made a move forward to follow his mates.

'Stop!' almost shrieked the owner of the head; 'I'm Hall, I have lost
my clothes;' and in his anxiety getting from behind the kindly shelter
of the tree, it was very evident that some awkward accident had
befallen his garments, for not a rag had he on save a hat.

'All right!' I called out, turning my horse and going towards him;
'only get out of sight again, my good fellow.'

But my warning came too late, for a shrill voice (Kitty's) exclaimed,
'Oh, goodness gracious!' and I caught a glimpse of the little girl's
figure--she had evidently turned back to see what delayed me--in full
retreat. Quite sure now that the coast was clear, I could listen with
a tranquil mind to the tale he told.

It seems Hall had stopped on his way from Ashfield to Grettan, at the
Downfall, at the large waterhole close to where we had had our picnic.
Here the water looked so deliciously cool as it splashed over the
little ledge of rocks forming the miniature cascade from which it had
its name, that he thought he would have a bathe. Now, a few days
before, when indulging in a similar luxury, he had been stung by some
large ants that had got into his clothes as they lay on the ground To
avoid this danger, he strapped them together, and fastened them on to
his saddle, and then hitching his horse securely to a sapling,
proceeded with an easy mind to disport himself in the crystal stream.

So far so good. But when he came out again, no sooner did he approach
his horse than the latter started back with an affrighted snort. Like
a fool instead of standing still and speaking so as to reassure the
animal, he rushed forward to grab the reins before they broke; the
natural result was that terrified still more at the antics of this
strange object the horse plunged wildly, the head-stall gave way, and
off he went, carrying the clothes along with him. He did not go very
far, though, but wheeling round, stopped in his flight, and, with
uplifted tail and expanded nostril, gazed at the cause of his alarm.

Taught discretion, Hall advanced more carefully this time, trying, by
addressing him in soothing tones, to calm his fear; but in vain. No
sooner was he almost within touching distance, than the horse would
gradually back, give a snort, and, wheeling round, trot off again.
Again he advanced, and in terms of dulcet flattery--'Whoa, good horse;
good boy; coop, coop, come along; gently, old fellow; poor old boy'--
strove to calm the truant steed.

But the result was another failure; and so it went on, the horse
letting him approach to just beyond catching distance, and then at the
moment he thought he had him, sheering off. Once he stalked him, and
creeping up behind actually got hold of one of the legs of his
trousers. The horse, startled afresh, started forward. Hall held on,
and as the animal was not only stronger, but had a base of four to
Hall's two, the man toppled over, and as he scrambled up he found
himself in the possession of about as much of his nether garments as
would encircle his ankle, and saw his horse disappearing in the
distance, carrying away the rest of his attire in triumph. There he
was, in a nice predicament. He tried at first to run after his horse,
but soon pulled himself up with a barked shin and a scratched face,
having tumbled into the head of a fallen tree. What was he to do? He
wasn't very far from Grettan, for his horse had headed that way; but
how on earth was he to make his appearance in such a plight? He
shuddered at the bare idea (no pun meant). Yet he could not stay where
or how he was.

He thought of our first parents; but thatching himself with branches
did not seem a feasible plan; and as to using single leaves, the only
kind that were at all suitable were those of the nettle tree in the
scrub, and they certainly would not do, for as much as these leaves
excel in size those of the nettle of our ditches, so do they excel
them in the virulence of their stinging properties.

At last he determined to make his way to the crossing place, and wait
in concealment there, on the chance of some one passing. He got to
where I found him at last with no little difficulty, for his feet were
cut by sticks and stones, and, indeed, I did pity him when he held
them up for my inspection, for their state proved what rough usage
they had had, although his rueful expression, and the surroundings in
general, were so ludicrous that I could hardly keep my countenance.

Here, planted behind a big tree, he had waited, shivering with cold
and stiff with fatigue, and almost wild with the attacks of
mosquitoes, who came in crowds to partake of the feast so bounteously
spread for them. The sound of our advancing horses had fallen like the
sweetest music on his ear. Judge, then, his dismay when he caught
sight of two female forms. Crouching behind the tree, he had gathered
himself into the smallest space, not daring to move lest his presence
might be betrayed, all his hopes of a rescue being lost in the fear of
being seen.

When, however, I lingered behind, it seemed like a special
interposition of Providence in his favour; and he was in such an agony
of fear lest I should not hear him, that he could scarcely control his
voice sufficiently to call out. Of course his troubles were to a
certain extent over now. I could not give him any garments there and
then, because I hadn't more than was absolutely necessary for myself,
one's toilet in the bush being distinguished more for simplicity than
abundance; but I rode back as quickly as I could, and returned with a
led horse and wherewithal to clothe him, not forgetting something to
comfort the inner man.

Nothing could induce him to face the fair females. Indeed, he was so
utterly done up, and in such pain from his bruised and swollen feet,
that bed was about the best place for him. So I gave him up my room,
as it was on the verandah, and he could crawl to it without being
seen, except, indeed, by one or two of the boys, who had evidently
learned something of the affair from their sister, and whose looks
were certainly not expressive of pity as they watched him hobbling
along.

When I made an agreement with Mr. Creek to take me as a new chum, my
services and a certain premium being accepted as an equivalent for the
opportunities given me of acquiring a knowledge of station matters, of
course it was for a fixed time. This time had now nearly expired, and
though my present work was what is more usually entrusted to more
practised hands,--naturally leading me to suppose that some little
value was attached to my services,--Mr. Creek had so far said nothing
as to my remaining, or rather, as I should say, as to my receiving any
salary. He talked of plans to be carried out, and spoke as if I were
to take a share in their execution, so I had no reason to conclude
that he wished me to leave at the end of my term; but he made no
allusion as to any change in my position.

I, on my part, had certainly no desire to go--to do anything that
might sever the pleasant relations that existed between me and the
Drummonds; yet, all the same, I had not the slightest intention of
working any longer without pay. Not only did I feel that I was worthy
of my hire,--and I don't see how any one who has his wits about him,
and really tries to do his best, can be ignorant in that respect,--but
I held it unfair to my father not to relieve him of the burden of my
keep as soon as I could; and the conviction that my inclinations led
me to remain near Quondong, above all things, served but to make me
feel the more keenly what was due to him.

So it came to pass that I was a good deal exercised in my mind on
this matter. I shrank from speaking, thinking that any proposal ought
to come from Mr. Creek, and because I dreaded taking a step that might
end in my having to leave this neighbourhood; yet I fretted and
reproached myself for remaining silent.

Things went on in this uncomfortable state for some time; day after
day went by; chances of opening the subject were lost, the present
ever seeming an inopportune moment; my period of pupilage had come to
an end, and yet nothing had been decided. Of course I suffered for
this shirking--one always does. Had I spoken at once, as I ought to
have done, not only would I have been easier in my mind, but I should
not have been placed in a position that gave others the right, as I
could not but own it did, to consider I had acted unfairly towards
them. Not that I had so acted, and therein lay the sting, for surely
never is an unjust imputation so hard to bear as when you feel that,
though guiltless, yet your conduct has seemed to give grounds for the
accusation.

The whole affair was settled, as these long-pondered affairs
generally are, unexpectedly, and in quite a different way to what I
had supposed. I was spending, as I so frequently did, the Sunday at
Quondong, when Mr. Drummond, turning to me in his abrupt way, said,--

'How much does Creek give you?'

'Nothing,' I answered.

'How's that?'

Then I told him how matters stood; and being very full of the
subject, doubtless enlarged considerably on it.

'I think you are making a great mistake in staying, he said,
interrupting me after he had listened silently for some time. 'You are
worth pay, of course, or Creek wouldn't keep you on; but it isn't fair
to your father to give your services for nothing.'

'You would advise me, then, to ask for a salary?'

'Well, I don't advise you at all in the matter, that is your own
affair; but I'll tell you what I'll do. I will take you on in
Gardiner's place. I won't promise you the same pay, because you are
not an old station hand like him, but I'll do what's fair.'

Seeing that I hesitated, for the idea of being actually at Quondong
startled me into silence, he continued,--

'It's better than staying at Grettan even with a screw, with the
sheep I have, and my management. Creek knows about as much as a black
fellow about sheep; you will learn far more here. Of course, though
you take Gardiner's place, you will be on a different footing. The
fact is, I want some one I can trust to act immediately under me, and
I think you will do.'

Then he stopped and went on smoking, not looking directly at me; but
I could see that his sharp little eyes were watching me furtively all
the same.

'It is very good of you,' I answered slowly, 'and I should like the
billet.'

'Then why don't you take it?' he said quickly. 'The screw shall be
(and he named a fair enough sum), and your quarters--at the station,
though,' adding the last few words after a momentary pause.

'I should be only too happy to get it,' I replied; 'but I can hardly
leave Creek so abruptly, and you say Gardiner goes at once.'

'I thought you told me just now that it was over a month since your
agreement terminated?'

'Yes; I suppose had he wanted me he would have spoken?'

'Not a doubt of it. I don't see any need for hesitation on that
score.'

'Perhaps not; though I should not like to offend him by accepting
another billet before I had fairly left him, or even spoken of
leaving.'

'Then don't say anything about it; the agreement is finished, and
there's an end of it.'

The upshot of the matter was, I did take the billet, subject to the
condition that I should not inconvenience Mr. Creek by leaving him
hurriedly.

Mrs. Drummond wasn't present when this conversation took place. She
had gone down to the station to see a sick woman, and her husband and
I were waiting for her, sitting on a fallen log a little way off.

Nothing was said about it when she rejoined us; and it was not till
just before I left, and she and I were alone together, that I
mentioned that I was to be one of the Quondongs.

'Did you or Robert propose it?' she said, with a sudden harsh
inflection in her voice.

'Mr. Drummond, certainly; even my impudence would not have been equal
to that.'

She did not say anything more; but her remark, and the tone it was
uttered in, took me aback not a little, for I thought she would have
been pleased, and had secretly reckoned on a look of pleasure in her
face when I told her.

I puzzled a good deal over her speech on my ride home; and between
that and thinking how I should tell the Creeks of my new plan,--I need
hardly say that I never for a moment meant to follow Mr. Drummond's
advice,--I can't say that my meditations were exactly agreeable; and I
began to regret that I had been so communicative, and so led to the
offer being made.

The lights were out in the sitting-room when I got back, so my
determination to have no more delays--for I could not but feel how
much more pleasant it would have been to have spoken to Mr. Creek
before--was useless. My troubles did not keep me awake, but they set
me dreaming, and amongst other uncomfortable things I thought Creek
would insist on taking away my clothes to prevent me going. My
objection to this stripping process awoke me, and I found the
foundation for my vision in the fact of Hope's kangaroo dog having
planted himself on the end of my blanket which had fallen down, and
whose descent he was assisting by some rapid turns preparatory to
curling himself up in its folds.

I got through the affair during the day, and found it sufficiently
disagreeable. Creek chose to consider himself an aggrieved person, and
that I ought to have spoken to him before I made any agreement.
Perhaps I ought; but I thought also that he ought to have proposed
something it he had wished me to stay on, seeing that he knew very
well when my time as a 'new chum' came to an end. He did not say much,
but his manner was nasty, to say the least of it. I was half-savage at
the time, that I could not find any words in which to resent it and
yet not betray temper; but I am glad now that my wit failed me, for a
sharp retort would probably have led to a quarrel, and I should have
much regretted such a finale to a period of, on the whole, pleasant
intercourse.

I found, as soon as I met Mrs. Creek, that she had heard the news,
and I felt it too, for though she treated my departure as a matter of
no consequence (nor, indeed, was it), she contrived to say more
unpleasant things during the short time I remained than was at all
agreeable to listen to; so that, both hurt and annoyed at the curt,
ungracious way Mr. Creek put aside my offer to stop as long as suited
him, I was not sorry that my stay was to be of short duration. I have
alluded before to the jealous dislike the Creeks had for the
Drummonds, and it was this feeling that was at the bottom of Mrs.
Creek's manner to me. She had always resented my being on such
friendly terms with her neighbours, and now that I was fairly leaving
Grettan for Quondong, she seemed to take it as a case of desertion to
the enemy.

I could not flatter myself that she had any regret at my leaving on
my own account, for I was not ignorant that I was not a favourite with
her. Perhaps for that reason I was not drawn towards her. She was
clever and amusing, a capital wife to Creek, who thought her
perfection, and good--natured to the young fellows (myself included)
at the place; but I don't think she was particularly sincere, or that
her standard of honour was a high one; certainly her sense of truth
was not, if I may judge from the tarradiddles she told now and then.

And whether it was that I unconsciously betrayed my estimate of her
character, or for what she was pleased to term my fastidiousness, at
any rate I was not exactly in her good graces. She gave me a Parthian
shot as I was leaving, congratulating me on the difference I should
find between their 'poor fare and rough-and-ready ways,' and the
luxury of the Drummonds' house.

'But you see, Mrs. Creek, I am going to live at the station.'

'Oh!' with a tone of malicious surprise, 'are you to be counted
amongst the men, then?'

'I suppose so.'

'I thought you were far too great a favourite with Mrs. Drummond to
be sent down to the station.'

'Most likely,' I answered, 'she knows nothing about it. Naturally
they would not care always to have a stranger with them.'

'It's fortunate our sensibilities are not so delicate,' she rejoined,
'as we have had to put up with having a stranger with us.'

I felt very much, at this retort, like the man who never opened his
mouth but to put his foot in it, and that I had better keep mine shut
and let my antagonist retire with all the honours of war. Perhaps this
small triumph mollified her; for when we next met she received me
graciously enough, and we have always been on very fair terms since.

I did not see very much of Mrs. Drummond. I never went to the house
without an express invitation; and, moreover, I had very little
leisure. My new boss not only knew what was to be done, but he had a
knack of making others do it. Finding that I was pretty good at
figures, he got me to help him with the books, as well as the outdoor
work--not the regular accounts, which he managed entirely himself,
there being no book-keeper on the station, but for some extra returns
he was making out on a plan of his own.

I could not but be amused at the way he got me to do them. He began,
as we were riding out together to a sheep station, to discuss them. I
did not think much of his method, though I thought the idea might be
carried out with advantage; and being naturally concerned in all that
related to sheep, I was much interested in the question, and ventured
to propose a few alterations, giving my reasons for these changes. Of
course I only put these forward as suggestions, not being quite such a
fool, though I was a new chum comparatively, as to be at all sure that
any notion of mine could be of any use to an experienced man like Mr.
Drummond.

After what I have said of him, you would hardly imagine he was the
sort of person to let a youngster and a subordinate discuss, and in a
mild manner even criticise a plan of his; but that is just what he
would do. When he had a scheme in petto, he liked to talk it over with
any one he met, and what's more, to listen to the remarks made on it.
Out of these different opinions he used to form his course of action;
and if he was not clever in originating, he certainly was in choosing
the best from the various views he elicited--in making the wisdom of
others work for his ends.

It sounds ill-natured, but I believe it was his thorough selfishness
that was at the bottom of this unusual disregard of his own views; the
intense hold that his interests had on him would not let him treat his
own thoughts with any especial favour, so that he was never, as most
people are, influenced unfairly by a scheme because it had been
evolved out of his own internal consciousness.

But to return. After I had talked for some time, and had shown, I
suppose, not only an interest, but some slight insight into the
matter, he said, turning towards me with quite the air of bonhomie
with which people generally confer a favour,--

'I tell you what it is, Verner, you shall make them out for me
yourself. Put them into some shape to-night, and to-morrow evening
come up, and we can look over the plan, and see if it will work.'

I think I did murmur something like an assent, but I doubt if he
heard me: he certainly never heeded. He seemed to consider that for
the present he had done with the matter,--that it was out of his
hands;--for when I made some further remark on the subject, feeling,
indeed, rather nervous at the responsibility, and desirous of more
information, he made no answer, and began, almost before the words of
my question were fairly uttered, to give me directions on another
business. That done, he lighted his pipe, and smoked on without
speaking a word till we reached the sheep station.

Here he broke out into a fine storm. The shepherd, a Chinaman, not
expecting a visit, as he had only got his rations the previous day,
had coolly brought home his flock quite early in the afternoon, and
the wretched animals were yarded, to remain for some fifteen hours
without food or water; while the ruffian was comfortably stretched out
in his bunk, and, a savoury smell proceeding from a pot on the fire,
was evidently going in for an afternoon of quiet enjoyment.

You should have seen the boss's face as these things dawned upon him.
He made one jump off his horse, throwing the reins to me, dashed into
the hut, and the next minute out came, first the pot and its steaming
contents, then John himself, followed by a shower of pannikins,
damper, sugar, tea, and, finally, a blazing fire-stick; after this
emerged Mr. Drummond, with a very red face, and blowing like a
porpoise. I fully expected he was going to follow up his attack, and
was preparing to lend a hand in demolishing the child of the Flowery
Land, who, having taken refuge behind a big gum tree, was loudly
vociferating in the nasal high-pitched twang of our yellow brethren;
but whether he was explaining matters or breathing forth vows of
vengeance, I can't say. I expect he got back, in his state of high
pressure, to his mother tongue; at any rate, the only words I could
make out were, 'You savey.' But the boss never even looked towards
him, but, taking the reins out of my hand, mounted and rode off,
turning round after he had ridden a few steps to call out to me,--

'Just wait till the other shepherd comes in, and see if the sheep are
all right. I expect that (adjective) scoundrel has lost some.'

As soon as he was out of sight the culprit ventured into the opening,
and began picking up the fragments, with a smile that was childlike
and bland.

By the time the other fellow had returned, and the sheep were
counted, it was pretty late, so that, when I had got home and had
something to eat, I didn't feel much inclined to tackle the returns.
But I knew it was now or never, that the next day I should have no
time, and I did not mean to lose a pleasant evening up at the house;
so I set to work, and once fairly at it, found my fatigue vanish, and
was quite surprised, when I had done my task, to see how late, or
rather how early it was.

When I went up in the evening I found a new arrival there, in the
person of Miss Blount, who was making a regular round of visits in
this part of the country. Mr. Drummond had been speaking lately of a
visit he would have to pay shortly to a station he was thinking of
buying, and he had brought the young lady over from Ashwood that she
might remain with his wife during his absence. I must say I was glad
to see her. She was so lively that she seemed to set us going, as it
were. Not that I had much chance of benefiting by her presence on this
occasion, for the boss took me off almost at once to his sanctum, and
kept me grinding away till it was so late that I began to think he did
not intend to let me return to the drawing-room. As it was, I could
only stay a very short time; and I cannot say that a little chaff that
I exchanged with the visitor quite compensated me for the pleasure I
had anticipated--a pleasure that certainly was in no way connected
with Miss Blount.

But I was to see more of her, as well as her hostess, than I had at
all expected. The afternoon just before Mr. Drummond left, the three
rode into the station yard as I too came in, though from an opposite
direction. So we stopped to exchange a few words. An allusion was made
to Mr. Drummond's departure, and I said something about being glad
Mrs. Drummond would have a companion, but I wished the house had not
been so far from the other buildings.

'All the more glory for you,' answered Miss Blount, 'for having sole
charge of two forlorn females.'

'I'll do my best, Miss Blount; but don't you think we had better
establish a code of signals?'

'Why? What do we want signals for?'

'How else am I to know the dangers you might be exposed to? Suppose a
particularly large spider' (her especial aversion) 'put in an
appearance, if you hoist a flag half-post high, then I'll rush--rush
to the rescue.'

'I don't understand. Where are you to be?'

'Here, I presume,' I answered, pointing to my quarters.

Miss Blount stared at me for a moment, and then turned round short on
Mr. Drummond.

'You don't mean to say,' she exclaimed, in the utmost indignation,
'that we are expected to stop up there by ourselves! Indeed, I will do
nothing of the kind. I would rather sleep on a shelf in the store. Of
course, I supposed Mr. Verner would be at the house while you are
away.'

Mr. Drummond, rather taken aback at this unexpected attack, muttered
something about his wife having often been alone there.

'More shame for you, then!' was the retort. 'But certainly I won't.'

Mr. Drummond, looking as if he felt convicted of having been
neglectful of his wife's feelings, and yet hardly caring to give in,
evidently did not know what to say. Mrs. Drummond, with an amused
smile on her face, though she never raised her eyes, played with her
reins. Miss Blount was unaffectedly in earnest in her protestations. I
wished myself anywhere but where I was, while I mentally most heartily
endorsed what the latter had just said. After a short pause, and a
look of inquiry at his wife which she would not see, Mr. Drummond said
in a hesitating way,--

'Perhaps, Verner, Miss Blount is right. You had better go up to the
house.'

So it was settled, and on the boss's departure I was installed as
watch--dog. I can't say I had much cause to complain. I found my
evenings pass very differently to what they usually did. Miss Blount
and I were soon on our old footing of friendly war; and though it was
hardly fair of Mrs. Drummond to go over to the enemy as she did, still
they were neither very remorseless foes.

Of course, now that I was to a certain extent in charge of the
station, I was fully occupied all day, often having to be out on the
run before my hostess and her guest had left their rooms; but my
evenings were always free, and I certainly did find them pleasant. I
enjoyed being with Mrs. Drummond above all things, preferring her
society to that of any one else; but Miss Blount's presence in no way
interfered with that pleasure; nay more, I think it enhanced it. It
took away all feeling of restraint, and somehow I always was to a
certain extent embarrassed when alone with her, and she used sometimes
then to put on a cold, indifferent manner that seemed to freeze my
ideas; but now we were all together, she had not a trace of it;
indeed, I think we all felt in some degree like children when the
master is away.

We got up little concerts, with ourselves as audience. We played at
whist, Mrs. Drummond and Miss Blount against dummy and me: such whist,
where revokes and leading questions made startling variations in the
game. We started a species of drawing-room tennis, till the ball was
within an ace of bringing the lamp to grief; and one evening we had a
dance. Mrs. Drummond was at the piano, when suddenly she dashed into a
gallop. She did not generally play dance music well, but she was in
the humour, I suppose, to-night, for nothing could be more spirited
than her way of rendering the music.

'Really, it is too bad,' called out Miss Blount; 'it's positively
aggravating to listen and be still.'

'Why are you still?' answered the player.

Miss Blount half rose.

'All right,' I said, jumping up, and the next minute we were
pironetting round the room; but naturally the place wasn't arranged
for that sort of thing, and we found chairs and tables somewhat hard
objects to come against. So we had to stop and clear the gangway, and
on we went again. We stopped the second time by the piano.

'Go on!' cried Mrs. Drummond. 'I am not at all tired.'

I think my partner was quite willing, but I thought it was hardly
fair to give the other all the work, we taking the pleasure for
ourselves, so I daresay I lagged a little in starting, for she said,--

'We will have one more turn, Mrs. Drummond, and then I'll play.'

It was a very short turn, I confess; and then after a pause (for Miss
Blount wanted the music-stool altered, and to take off her rings, and
to get into position generally), with a preliminary crashing chord or
two, she began her part, and settled down to a rattling gallop. But
no, Mrs. Drummond wanted a waltz, and what do you suppose her guest
chose?--'The Pilgrims of the Night.' But hymn tune or not, it makes a
delicious waltz, and we began.

I have danced pretty often, and with a fair number of good partners,
but I never had such a dance or such a partner. She had a perfect ear,
and, lithe as a willow wand, she seemed to be one with the music and
her fellow--dancer, turning to the slightest move of the guiding arm,
swaying to the melody as if she was literally floating on the strain.
My arm clasped her rounded slender waist, my breath stirred the soft
hair on the pretty head that drooped towards me. I could feel the
beating of her heart--I felt a wild desire to go on for ever.

Involuntarily I drew her closer to me, and held her hand with a
tighter clasp. I looked down at the face that was so near, but she
would not raise her eyes; I could only see the long lashes lying on a
check tinted with the tender hues of a sea-shell, and as I gazed I
utterly forgot myself, and whispered her name. Then with a sudden
clash the music ceased, and quick as thought Mrs. Drummond had glided
out of my arm and from the room.

'What has become of Mrs. Drummond?' exclaimed Miss Blount, as she
turned round and saw only one of the performers. 'You were dancing a
minute ago.'

'And we only stopped a minute ago, when you did.'

'Yes, I did that on purpose; people generally look so delightfully
silly when pulled up with a round turn. Now I feel ill-used.'

'Thank you. I am sorry, of course, for your disappointment,
especially after your admirable playing.'

'Thanks; but for my own part I prefer dancing.'

'I need not tell Miss Blount that I, too, prefer her as a partner.'

'No, you need not, for I should not believe you. But you, you poor
boy, you are quite tired out. You are as white as a ghost. Mrs.
Drummond, she called out to her hostess, who had just returned to the
room, 'it's really too bad of us; we altogether forgot that Mr. Verner
has been out after cattle all day, and have nearly danced him to
death.'

Mrs. Drummond made no answer. For myself I felt horribly guilty. I
must have been mad to have ventured on such an impertinence, and I did
not dare to face her lest I should read my fate in her eyes. I busied
myself putting the music into the stand. I suppose I was making rather
wild work of it, for Miss Blount, seeing what I was about,
exclaimed,--

'Pray, don't put the music like that. One would think you were
"Buttercup" mixing the babies, the way you are jumbling everything up.
We strive so hard to keep our belongings apart.'

'Never mind,' answered Mrs. Drummond, 'we can separate them to--
morrow; let us sit on the verandah--this room is stifling.'

The tone of her voice reassured me; there was no anger in it--if
anything, it was softer than usual. She was very silent the rest of
the evening, leaning back in her chair, her hands lying clasped in her
lap, and with a dreamy, almost sad expression in her face, that looked
so white and still in the moonlight.

Miss Blount was in high spirits, and talked for all of us; and, of
course, I did my best to keep up the ball, not that I felt
particularly bright, and indeed answered her sallies almost at random,
but I was restless and excited, and anything seemed better than
dwelling on the folly I had committed. I had not dared to speak to
Mrs. Drummond; but seeing that the moonlight seemed too bright for
her, I got a little screen from the room and offered it to her. She
took it without a word, without once raising her eyes, and after that
I too grew silent. I suppose our companion found a solo rather slow,
for, stifling a yawn, she got up, saying as she did so,--

'So many angels have been passing over the house in this last half-
hour that there must be a regular procession of them. I vote to seek
the balmy.'

The next morning I was obliged to be out early, and did not return
till dinner-time; indeed, I was rather late, so that I was not a
little surprised to find myself in sole possession of the house. They
had gone out riding, the servant told me, but had said nothing as to
where they were going, or any likelihood of being detained. As time
went on I got anxious, and went out to see if I could get any
information as to their movements at the station, for no one up here
seemed to have any idea in what direction they had ridden; but as I
was going out at the gate I heard the sound of approaching hoofs, and
saw Mrs. Drummond cantering up. She was alone, and answered my look of
inquiry by saying, 'Miss Blount found a letter at Grettan to say her
mother is very ill. Fortunately, Mr. Creek was starting for town this
afternoon, so she went off with him in little more than an hour after
she got the news.'

'That was lucky. But did they let you ride back by yourself?'

'There was no one there. Even Mrs. Creek was away. Besides, Folly is
as quiet as a sheep; and even I, stupid as I am in that matter, could
not miss my way.

'At any rate, you have not; that is the main thing.'

I think Miss Blount would have been flattered had she known how much
we missed her. Dinner, instead of being the cheerful meal it had been,
was as dull as a funeral. I seemed to have hardly an idea at command,
and those I did get out were stupidity itself. Even my hands shook in
the embarrassment, for my carving, never good, was to-night a miracle
of clumsiness. I had a wild duck to perform upon. Now this wretched
little bird was a proof of how often our most coveted desires are only
a mockery when gained.

Mrs. Drummond having expressed a wish to taste this particular kind,
I had spent some hours in the early morning wading through a very
muddy swamp in pursuit of it, and had counted myself a fortunate man
when it fell a victim to my by no means unerring aim. Yet I ended by
pouring anything but blessings on its head; for, trying in my
nervousness to carve with easy rapidity, my fork slipped, and away
went the duck with a jump, as if alive, right out of the dish, sending
a shower of gravy in all directions, and leaving me with the fork in
the air, looking the biggest fool imaginable. As to the attendant
Hebe, she first gave a little squeal as a great splash of gravy struck
her full in the face, and then went off into a splutter of laughter
that she had to run out of the room to hide.

One good thing, my little accident had the effect of setting us more
at ease for the rest of the dinner, and the evening promised to pass
with somewhat less of stiffness than it had begun. I don't know why I
should have felt so stupid, for I had often to all intents and
purposes spent the evening alone with her. Mr. Drummond frequently,
when I was up at the house, went off to his den for most of the time.

I was sure now--indeed, I was sure since I gave her the screen--that
she had forgiven me my folly,--possibly she had not noticed it; but
no, I did not care to take that view,--it was not this that bothered
me. What troubled me now was, whether I ought to stop up at the house
since Miss Blount had gone. It did not seem to me quite right to
remain, yet how could I say anything? Moreover, I did not think she
should be left with only the protection of the servants.

Naturally this state of uncertainty made me uncomfortable, and I
can't help thinking she was debating the same question in her own
mind, for she was unmistakeably embarrassed, and the temporary case
that had followed my carving mishap soon gave place to fresh restraint
after we went into the drawing-room. She made hardly any effort to
second my attempts at talking; got up several times and sat down again
without doing anything save move aimlessly about the room; went to the
piano, but after trying to sing or play, and failing decidedly in
both, shut down the instrument with an impatient gesture; then took up
some needlework, and, bending over it, seemed determined to become
absorbed in her occupation.

I got a book; but if she didn't do more work than I did reading, her
embroidery was not much the better for her devotion. I wonder how long
we sat there, both silent and seemingly so occupied. I for my part,
though my eyes wandered mechanically over the page of the book before
me, hardly saw the words, certainly did not take in their meaning;
while I heard every rustle of her dress, the very sound of her needle
as it passed through the stuff she was embroidering.

I could not but think what a pretty picture she would have made as
she sat there, the light falling on her bending head, with its shining
tresses, on the milk-white throat, on the soft curves of her slender
form; a colour far more bright than the faint pink that generally
tinged her cheeks, gave her complexion an unusual brilliancy, and made
one notice more than ever the exquisite purity and fairness of her
skin. Nothing could be more easily graceful than her pose, drooping
slightly over her work, or prettier than the quick, deft movements of
her small hands, and their rounded, pliant wrists.

Gazing at Mrs. Drummond seemed a quite sufficient and pleasant
occupation. I only, it is true, ventured a glance now and then, but
these stolen glimpses filled up the time in a thoroughly satisfactory
manner. The approach of a servant (Mary had a pair of uncommonly
pretty feet, and the tramp of an elephant) made Mrs. Drummond look up,
and break the silence that had lasted so long. Her remark was about
nothing in particular, but her voice struck me; it reminded me of the
time when I rode over to ask her to the picnic, and met her as she
came out of the French light; it had a curious strained tone, as if
she could only steady it by a strong effort. But I am not sure if it
was not fancy on my part, for when she spoke again, it sounded as
usual.

My chapter of accidents had not yet come to an end. As I was giving
her a glass of water, my hand in some awkward way touched hers; either
I, confused at my blundering, let go the glass too soon, or she
relaxed her hold; at any rate the tumbler fell, both of us made a dart
to save it, and only escaped as by a miracle from knocking our heads
together. This set us off laughing; and this fallen glass not only
broke itself, but the ice that had formed between us.

Next morning things were as usual, and at dinner it seemed quite a
matter of course that we should sit tête-à-tête; that afterwards I
should pour out the tea for her, as well as carry her her cup; stand
by her side as she sang, asking for and hearing all my favourite
songs; read to her as she worked. Both book and embroidery were the
same as on the previous night, but I had no lack of interest now with
her for a listener, to exchange sometimes a few words of appreciation
or criticism, sometimes only a glance of sympathy; while I think her
embroidery was rather a sufferer.

In the course of the evening she told me she had heard from Mr.
Drummond, who was to return in at most two days. A little while after
this piece of news, that I can't say honestly rejoiced me exceedingly,
she began to talk about a flower she had once seen on the border of a
scrub, that had exactly the scent of vanilla. I remembered perfectly
her speaking of it the day her husband had so curtly sent me to the
bachelors' quarters at the station, and I proposed that the next
afternoon we should ride in search of it.

Neither of us said as much; but I am sure we both felt the search
was not to be put off if we really wanted to carry it out, for Mr.
Drummond was not much given to wasting his time in excursions with his
wife in search of flowers or scenery; and he took good care not to let
me be spoiled by idleness--for which last I by no means blame him,
quite the reverse. By good fortune I had not much work the next day;
and if I had, I am pretty certain that for this once--and I don't mean
to say that it was such a very unusual occurrence--duty would have
yielded to pleasure.

We had an early lunch, and started shortly after two, Folly, as
skittish as a colt, tossing her head, arching her neck, curveting and
prancing, pretending to shy at every fallen bough; even Sepoy, usually
the most staid as he was the most trusty of steeds, indulged in a big
jump or two, to show how much he appreciated--imitation being the
sincerest of flattery--the graceful gambols of his equine companion.

Australian scenery does not strike at first, but its beauty grows
upon one. This, I think, is partly owing to its depending so much on
the weather, as it is on the atmosphere its beauty mainly rests; for
that on a fine day is so exquisite, that it gives a singular charm
even to an ordinary landscape. So on this day, as we rode along, our
admiration was continually excited, though it would have been hard by
description to justify our praise.

The air was so clear and limpid, the play of light and shadow so
lovely and varied, that a sunny glade where groups of trees were
arranged by Nature's carelessly graceful hand, had the air of a vista
in a royal park; a narrow gully in which banks of fern were shimmering
in the sunshine; the fringe of wattle covered with their fragrant
blossoms of paley gold along a watercourse; a little valley winding
away towards the hills, the long blady grass with which it was
overgrown tinged with golden brown, and waving and swaying before the
slightest breeze, till you could almost suppose some invisible hand
was bending it down as it passed softly over it; a group of gum trees,
their giant trunks white as milk and lustrous as satin, rising
straight and branchless for more than a hundred feet, their shadowy
foliage looking ghost-like against the pale blue sky,--a score of such
objects, trifling in themselves, but made lovely by an atmosphere
luminous with soft light that surrounded them, attracted us at every
turn.

Some of the views were indeed beautiful in themselves. There was one
crossing place where, as we rode down the steep bank, we were nearly
shut out from the garish light of day by some noble chestnuts that
grew in the channel, their pale green delicate leaves only letting the
sun glint down here and there, enough to show the crystal clearness of
the water, not above our horses' fetlocks, as it ran sparkling along,
forming an ever-changing network of light and shade over the sandy
bottom. To our right the broad lagoon spread out, perfectly still,
reflecting like a mirror the scrub that clothed its banks, and formed
perfect walls of the richest and most varied verdure.

Tinkle, tinkle went the little bell-birds, like fairy chimes ringing
in the wind; then the long-drawn liquid note, ending in a sudden
chirp, that has earned for its utterer the name of coach-whip, would
he heard. And again, as we rode under a big spur that projected from
the range as it rose up above us, clothed to its summit in unbroken
forest, its crest came out against the sky as if carved, so clear was
every curve, so distinct each ragged pine; but there was no sharpness
or hardness, the wonderful transparence of the atmosphere was softened
by the golden haze that floated over all, that filled each ravine, and
lay like a veil on the wooded sides.

Involuntarily as we looked up our eyes met, and hers told me, a
thousand times better than the most eloquent words, how the beauty of
the sight touched her. But we were not voiceless as a rule. Mrs.
Drummond, generally rather silent, was to-day as gay as a child;
indeed, we were neither of us very far from girlhood and boyhood; and
any one who had seen us racing over the big plain, and heard her
ringing, musical laugh as she came in the winner by a few yards, might
have supposed we were two youngsters out for a holiday.

One incident was hardly cheerful, though. At Cedar Crossing we went
over the river again. This was a very different place to the first
ford. The western bank was high, though the edge of a small flat; and
as the bed of the stream was narrow, we seemed to be going into a dark
trough as we rode down. The water was shallow, but black from the
dense shadow of the trees after which the place was called, and with
its sluggish flow gave it a sullen look. On the opposite side flood
water seemed to have broken down the bank, and as we came out of this
miniature ravine we found ourselves on a bare ridge, only a few
stunted iron-barks being scattered over it.

There, on one side, were the remains of a hut, a couple of chained
posts still standing, slabs lying about, the traces of a fireplace
still visible. On the other side of the track was a small mound, not a
blade of grass grew on or near it; the rains had washed away the loose
earth, so that it looked more like a heap of coarse gravel than
anything else. But no, there was no mistaking it, though not a post or
a stone, not an attempt at enclosure, marked out this lonely grave.
Mrs. Drummond gave a little cry, as our horses, jumping up from the
water-worn ascent, brought us suddenly in full view of this dismal
object.

'It's not a cheerful sight, is it?' I said, as we pulled up and
looked down; 'nor is it connected with a pleasant story. A German
shepherd lived in the old hut, and he used to make his wife work like
a nigger. The poor woman was, it seems, in wretched health, but the
brute thrashed her if she did not do everything he wanted; so, though
she could scarcely crawl about, she managed for some time to get
through her tasks. But one afternoon a boundary rider going up to the
hut found the woman lying dead not far from it, an axe still in her
hand.

'Horrified, he galloped up to the hut to see