The evening air was hot and oppressive. Whisperings of a north wind came over the hills. The old gum-tree, which grew over the homestead, quivered, and turned the edges of its leaves to catch the silvery light of a new moon, which cut its way across the sky. The swish-swish of wild cats and the cries of opossums were heard. A weird boom, from bittern or bunyip, came from the swamp, and the curlew's solemn call echoed in the ranges.
"Just the time for love!" So thought Lanky Tim, who stood leaning against the doorpost of the kitchen. He seemed to be holding it up with the angle of his left shoulder. The light of a great, blazing fire fell upon his sharp, handsome face.
Annie Coonie, the cook, was bending over alarge basin into which honey was dripping from a sack hanging by a hook over the mantelpiece. Two of the station hands had cut down a "bee-tree" on Vinegar Hill, and had brought home the contents of the hive. The honey was coming from the sack as clear as amber and smelling of wattle-blossom.
"Now, listen to me, Annie," said Tim; "you're as sweet as honey, by a deal: that's the blasted truth, an' no mistake about it."
"Oh, go away, Tim! you'll not earn your pound a week, an' found, by holdin' up that post—chances are you'll carry it away like as Samson carried off the gates of Gaza."
"Who's he, Annie? Seems I've heard o' him. I'd more likely carry you off. I'll make a lady of you if you'll only say yes. You'll have a silk dress, a diamond ring, an' servants to wait on you. I've got 640 acres of good land, two houses in Melbourne, an' money in the bank. Just say you'll be mine, and they are yours!"
"Nonsense! Rich men don't work for twenty shillin' a week, an' live in a slab-hut."
"I only do it, Annie, to be near you, an' that's no lie."
"'Near, an' yet so far,' as the dog said to the 'possum up the gum-tree."
"If you'll only marry me, you'll never need to work another stroke, Annie. We'll go to the theayter every night, an' be as happy as the day is long."
"Samson carried the jawbone of the ass in his hand; you carry it in your head. Clear out! If Alec comes he'll give you a good hiding."
Alec was Annie's sweetheart, and she expected him any moment. She was loyal to him, never allowing her thoughts to wander to any of the many suitors for her hand. She was a selector's daughter, and thebelleof all the Broken River district.
"Alec's a poor sort of chap for a handsome girl like you to marry," said Jim.
Annie's face was aflame in a moment. Before a rough sarcasm could rattle out of her mouth, a big figure darted across the open door. An arm shot out and gave Lanky Tim a clout in the ear, which sent him sprawling on the ground. Hescrambled up in a hurry, and disappeared behind the projecting stone chimney.
Alec, for it was he, went into the kitchen laughing, and rubbing his knuckles, which had been jarred by coming in contact with Tim's ear.
"I saw Tim making love to you, Annie," said Alec.
"What did you say to him?"
"Not a word; but he'll hear my reply tingling in his ear for a long time."
"I told him you would give him a good hiding. He said he had 640 acres of land, two houses in Melbourne, an' money in the bank. He offered to give me all if I would marry him."
"The hound!" said Alec; "he hasn't 640 pence to bless himself with. He's the greatest bragger in Australia. When the boss took him on he had hardly a shirt to his back. He hadn't been a week on the station when he made out as how he was a nobleman's son in disguise, an' that his uncle had left him a stack of money, but he wouldn't take it yet, as he wanted to get Colonial experience."
"It's my opinion," said Annie, "that he leftthe shirt you speak of with his uncle, to raise the wind which blew him up here. It's all blow with him!"
"Blowed if I can make him out," said Alec. "Last week he said he had found a gold-mine. Yesterday he bragged he had discovered diamonds. The more a man brags the less in his bags. The less a man knows the more he blows."
"That basin is about full of honey, Alec. Reach down another, an' put it under the bag while I take the full one away. So, that will do."
Alec seated himself on a chair, as far from the fire as he could, and mopped his brow with a whitey-brown handkerchief. The heat of the kitchen was stifling. It was hot enough outside; here it was almost unbearable. Annie was as cool as a cucumber. She was accustomed to a roaring fire, even when the thermometer stood at a hundred degrees in the shade.
A fit of silence came over Alec. He knitted his brows, and looked thoughtful. Jealousy was creeping into his heart, although he did all he could to shut it out. There it was, however, and had taken possession.
Annie took a wicked delight in his misery. She saw what was the matter with him.
"Lanky Tim said I was as sweet as honey."
"Blast Lanky!" said Alec, scowling.
"You can't brag like Lanky Tim!" retorted Annie.
"No, I give him best at that! Dang him, if I don't give him pepper before I go to bed this night."
"Or mustard," said Annie.
"He may need a poultice."
Silence reigned for awhile, broken only by the loud tick of the clock on the mantelpiece and the drip of the honey. How long this state of things would have lasted no one knows. Just at this acute stage a loud scream was heard from the front of the homestead. A rushing of feet and banging of doors followed. Annie and Alec jumped up, made for the door, ran round the dwelling-house to the end of the verandah, and listened.
Woorong station was owned by an old Scotchman named McKeel. He was of medium height, red-haired, somewhat bald, with blue eyes, aquiline nose, large mouth, and an inquiring face, sprinkled with freckles, like patches of clay on a ploughed field; wrinkled with the chiselling of many years and the rubs of fortune.
He was standing in one of the front rooms, speaking to Mrs. McKeel, and David, his son.
"Ma dears, this wee eenstrument ye see in ma han' is desteened to save the lives o' mony o' the sons o' Adam wha may be bruised i' the heel, as the Scripture has it, by the serpent; which I tak' to mean ony beast o' the breed, either whip snake, black snake, brown snake, or tiger snake. If a man or woman, or bairn for that matter, is bitten by a snake, let them be brocht to me, as quick as may be, an' I'll inject into their foreairma drap or twa o' ammonia, which I hae got frae Melbourne this vera day, alang wi' this eenstrument, by post."
"How wonderful, papa!" said Mrs. McKeel.
"I don't believe it," said David.
"What can ye expec' frae a pig but a grunt," said his father, turning savagely round; "ye are sceptical, Daavid, in things above an' things beneath. Ye dinna follow the sayings o' ye'r namesake the sweet singer o' Israel. A greater than him said, 'Ye will not believe.'"
"Well, father, I wasn't meaning to say I did not believe you; but what I wanted to say was I did not think this hypodermic injection of ammonia, by the instrument you speak of, will cure snake-bite."
"Weel, weel, seein's beleevin'! The proof o' the pudden is the preein' o't. When ye'r opeenion is asked ye may speak; no till then!"
"I am sorry, father."
"Sorry here, sorry there, will never cure a man who is bitten by a snake, or by the Auld Serpent himsel', wha is the Deevil. Pit that in ye'r pipe an' smoke it!"
This was a knock-down blow from which David could not come up smiling. He raked the ashes of the fire smouldering within him, and smothered it. He had to let off the smoke by breathing hard.
His father looked at him and said, "Ye'r namesake says, 'he puffeth at them.' My advice is keep ye'r breath to cool ye'r porridge."
David was about to reply, but a warning touch, under the table, from his mother's foot, made him pause.
A piercing scream was heard outside, and a rushing of feet. The old man looked over his spectacles towards the door in momentary fright. David stood up waiting. Mrs. McKeel said, in a low voice, "Papa! what's that?"
They had not long to wait. A man bounded over the low fence which enclosed the verandah, then ran to the door and opened it with a loud bang. It was Lanky Tim. His eyes were starting from their sockets. He had no hat. His hair hung in a dishevelled mass over his forehead, like an inverted last year's nest. He had the look of a madman. He sank on the sofa and moaned.
"What is the maiter wi' ye, Lanky?" said old McKeel, now thoroughly alarmed.
"I have been bitten by a snake," groaned Lanky, through his set teeth.
"Ma sang!" said McKeel, "ye've come to the richt shop. Whaur's the bite?"
"Here," said Lanky, pointing to the calf of his left leg. Then he curved his body like a bent bow, and made the most hideous grimaces, lapsing into an idiotic stare.
"Jist the seemptoms," said McKeel, as he quietly filled the little instrument, which he still held in his hand, with a drop of liquid ammonia.
"Noo, Daavid," he said, "rax me the brandy bottle, an' pit it doon beside me; then hold Lanky's leg while I mak' the injection."
David did as he was told. His father pinched the leg, just above the marks of the snake-bite; then he inserted the point of the instrument into the flesh.
Lanky jumped as if he had been shot, and capered about the room. The injector fell from the old man's hand. An oath nearly slipped offhis tongue, but he caught it back just in time, and said:
"Dog-on it, man! you're deed as a sheep in a butcher's shop if ye'll no be still till I get the ammonia inside o' ye!"
"Brandy," said Lanky faintly, sinking again on the sofa.
Mrs. McKeel poured out a tumblerful, and handed it to David, who put it to Lanky's lips. The liquor went down his throat with a gurgle like storm-water into a culvert.
"I feel better," he said faintly; "that did me good!"
"Don't you lippen to brandy," said McKeel, "it never cured a true case o' snake-bite. You jist let me inject a drop o' ammonia into ye, there's a good fallow! It's the new pan-a-kee."
"Panacea! father," said David.
"Pan-a-fiddlestick," said the old man.
"If that's it, fire away!" said Lanky.
Old Mr. McKeel filled the injector again, and inserted it in the puncture he had already made, then squirted its full contents in the flesh, with a force that sent the needle-point nearly to the bone.
The effect was magical. Lanky roared like a bull, and threw up his legs, knocking old McKeel head-over-heels. In the fall he struck the ammonia bottle, which was standing on a chair, and tipped it over, spilling the contents.
"That was the effec' o' the mediceen! It was instantaneous! He got the strength o' three men in a meenit. He's a'richt; he's cured!" said McKeel.
Lanky fell back on the sofa, writhing and wriggling like one possessed.
Alec and Annie Coonie, who had heard and seen everything through the window, which had no curtain, now opened the door and came in.
"Can we do anything?" they said.
"Yes, Alec," said old McKeel; "you tak' a horse an' ride across the range to the mine for Max Hicsh. He's a sort o' doctor body, who was a student at Gott-again."
"Göttingen, father," said David.
"I have na time to argal-bargle wi' ye," said his father, "but I say it's Gott-again. Weel! he has a decree, I believe."
"Degree, father," said David.
"Losh! I'm no sayin' there is na degrees among doctors; some wise an' some foolish, jist the same as sons. Ye mind me o' a preacher, servin' what he calls the gospel frae an empty spoon oot o' a hogshead fou o' naething. Howsoever, it's life an' death noo! Sa, bring Max as quick as ye can, Alec."
Alec ran to do the old man's bidding, with Annie at his heels.
"Tell my mother to come," she said; "she knows as much about snake-bite as any doctor."
When she had given him this message she went back to the room where Lanky was lying.
A great change had now taken place in the patient's condition. Convulsive movements of a violent kind had set in. Old McKeel was alarmed. David was cynical, and doubted the symptoms.
"Brandy," said Lanky, in a whisper.
He gulped a tumblerful down, smacked his lips, and stared around.
"Where am I?" he said; "oh! I see."
"That's a guid sign!" said old McKeel. "The ammonia's workin'."
"Mr. McKeel," said Lanky very feebly, "I'm goin' to die, an' I want to make my will."
"Vera weel; I'm a magistrate, an' I'll attest it. Ma wife an' son will be witnesses."
Mrs. McKeel, with tears in her eyes, placed pens, ink, and paper on the table. The old man seatedhimself, and adjusted his spectacles. He looked over them and said, "What d'ye want me to say?"
"I leave everything I have to Annie Coonie."
"My!" said Annie, in a whisper.
McKeel scribbled away as fast as he could, shedding ink all around him. After writing for a few minutes he turned to his son and said, "Give him mair brandy, and don't let him sleep."
"Can ye gi' me some parteeclars o' what ye want to leave Annie Coonie?" McKeel said to Lanky.
"Yes; £500 in the Savings Bank, £750 in the Union Bank, and £1000 in the Bank of Australasia."
"Gosh!" ejaculated McKeel.
"O my!" said Annie, as she threw her apron over her head.
"Ony other parteeclars?"
"Yes, six hundred and forty acres of land."
"The man's cracked!" muttered McKeel to himself. "It's the ammonia makin' his heed licht. They a' get crazy on land."
"Ony other parteeclars?"
"Yes, two houses in Melbourne."
"Ony other?" said McKeel, looking dubiously at Lanky.
"Yes, £15,000 left me by my Uncle Tom."
McKeel looked up in astonishment. Seeing Annie at the door he could not help saying, "I congratulate you, Annie."
"Is Annie here?" whispered the patient.
"Step forrit, Annie," said McKeel.
Lanky took her hand. She was crying.
"Don't cry for me," he said; "only say you love me. It will be a great consolation to me. You see howIlove you."
"Oh yes," she sobbed; "I hope you will not die. You'll soon be better."
"Never! but I die happy with your hand in mine."
At this moment Mrs. Coonie, Annie's mother, came in. She was a little woman, with a clay-coloured face, and dressed in the same hue.
She took possession of the case at once with a business-like air.
"Plenty of brandy," she said; "then march him up and down. If he is allowed to sleep, he is a dead man. Black snake, or tiger?"
"Tiger," whispered Lanky.
"Then there's no hope," she said, turning to McKeel; "he'll die when the moon goes down. That's the time they die when bitten by a tiger-snake. At the sea it's when the tide goes out."
"Then there's nae time to lose," said the old man; "I'll read the will in the hearin' o' ye a'. Attend to what I say, Lanky."
"I'm listenin'," he whispered.
McKeel pulled the lamp nearer, adjusted his spectacles, and read as follows:—
"This is the last Will and Testament of me, Timothy Wilber, at present residing at Woorong Station in the Colony of Victoria. I hereby revoke all Wills by me at any time heretofore made. I appoint——"
"Timothy Wilber, who do you appoint your executor?" said the old man.
"I appoint you, Mr. McKeel."
McKeel wrote his own name, and continued to read:—
"I appoint Dugald McKeel, of Woorong Station, in the Colony of Victoria aforesaid, to be my Executor; and direct that all my just debts andfuneral and testamentary expenses shall be paid as soon as conveniently may be after my decease. I give, devise, and bequeath unto Annie Coonie, Spinster: £500 in the Savings Bank, £750 in the Union Bank, £1000 in the Bank of Australasia, 640 acres of land——"
"What parish?" said McKeel.
"Parish of Ayre."
"Parish of Air," wrote McKeel.
"Parish of Air, two houses in Melbourne, also £15,000 left to me by my Uncle Thomas. In witness whereof, I, the said Timothy Wilber, have, to this, my last Will and Testament, set my name, this fifteenth day of November, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-six."
Then came the attestation clause. Lanky signed the Will with much effort. The two witnesses signed, and the document was complete.
When Mrs. Coonie heard in the reading of the will that her daughter was left a legacy of £500 she clucked her tongue in astonishment. The next item of £750 made her start. The £1000 one caused her face to glow like fire, and her eye to sparkle like a diamond.
"You are a rich woman, Annie," she said, nudging the girl; "but where in thunder did he get the money?"
"I don't believe a word he says," Annie replied.
"Do you think," said her mother indignantly, "that a man standing at Death's door is going to stagger in with a pack of lies on his back?"
When McKeel read about the six hundred and forty acres of land, Mrs. Coonie jumped up, and looked over his shoulder to make quite sure the words were written down. When he came to the £15,000 she rushed out, and danced a jig on the verandah to relieve her feelings. When she was sufficiently calm she went back to the room. The will was now signed.
"There is only one thing to be done," said Lanky very feebly and with great difficulty. "I want Annie to say she loves me."
"Oh no, no!" she said, bursting into a fit of crying.
"Say it to please him!" said her mother. "Don't you see he's dying?"
Before Annie knew what she was doing she said, "I am sorry for you, and love you."
"More brandy," said Lanky; "I feel the poison working."
"Poor fellow! poor fellow!" said Mrs. Coonie, rubbing her eyes.
"It does me good to hear that Annie loves me. I want her to say if I live she will marry me."
Her mother touched her, and said, "Say yes, you little fool! Don't you see he's going out with the moon?"
"Yes," said Annie, in a hysterical fit of weeping, adding under her breath, "Oh, Alec! it's for your sake."
Lanky fell back, and shut his eyes, muttering, "That's all right."
They stood round him, watching and waiting. McKeel was confident his patient would pull through, for he was sure he got a full dose of ammonia.
A big man, with a broad face and yellow beard, came in. This was Max Hicsh, the mine manager, and sometime medical student of Göttingen.
"Vell, Mr. McKeel, how vas you now?" he said, in his bustling way. Seeing Lanky, breathing hard, on the sofa, he added, "Mine Gott! vat is dis?"
McKeel told him, in a few words, what had been done, and that he had successfully injected the ammonia.
"Dat is good, mine friend! dat is good. You haf safe his life."
"I thocht," said McKeel, "that it wad be mair satisfactory to hae a medical man here to gae the poor fallow every chance."
Max drew up his coat sleeves, turned back hisshirt cuffs, gave a tug at his collar, put one hand over Lanky's heart and the other on his pulse. He wore a serious look, then a puzzled one: his lip curled, and a smile danced over his face.
"Heart goot; ferry goot! poolse goot; ferry goot!! preething goot; ferry goot!!!"
McKeel jumped up and skipped about, snapping his fingers. He was jubilant at the effect of the ammonia.
"What de ye think o' the heap-odermic injection o' ammonia noo, Daavid? I'll write to theArgusaboot this won'erfu' escape frae the grave, or the bottomless pit for that maiter. Lanky may tak' a thocht an' mend frae the error o' his ways after this meeracle."
"All right, father, all right!" said David.
"'A' richt, a' richt!' ye say. I should say it's a' richt! Here am I, fechtin' wi' the case, an' ye havena lifted a han' to help me. I'm thinkin', but for me, Death wad hae his dart or his scythe into him by noo, an' whar wad his soul be, I should like to ken?"
Max stood up, and began to laugh."Donner und blitzen!I haf not look at de pite of the snake. Vare is him?"
"On the calf o' his left leg," said McKeel.
Max peered at the place for a few minutes.
"Dat is no more like de pite of a snake dan it is like de pite of a flea!"
"I tell ye," said McKeel, "it was a tiger-snake that bit him. Your remarks are clipped o' common sense."
"Mine friend, Mr. McKeel, I do not pelieve, I say, I do not pelieve he has been pitten at all!"
"What! Do you mean to tell me that he's no been bitten by a snake, when I ken better?"
"No, mine friend! He is dronk! dronk as a man who the fiddle plays."
"Drunk as a fiddler, you mean," said David.
"Ya! dronk as two fiddlers!"
"Ma sang! I hae a verra sma' opeenion o' the University o' Got-again, if that's a' ye ken aboot snake-bite!" said McKeel.
"Mine friend, he is what you call sham."
"Do you think a man would sham," said Mrs. Coonie indignantly, "when he is dying?"
"Mine goot friend, Mrs. Coonie, he has notgrappled mit de King of Terrors yet. It's King Alcohol dat's got hold of him."
"Don't you tell me! I've lived in the bush, maid and wife, twenty years, and know snakebite. Besides, hasn't he settled his affairs—made his will, in fact, most sensibly, and left all he has to my Annie."
"She vill not haf a heavy boondle to carry; dat is what I say."
"Indeed! You know nothing about it. It turns out, as I always said, that he is a rich man in disguise, and fell in love with my daughter and wanted to marry her. Now he has left her all he has."
"How much?" said Max.
"Six hundred and forty acres of land, two houses in Melbourne, £15,000, besides other sums in the bank."
Max laughed loud and long, bursting out again and again. David joined in the fun, to the disgust of his father and the indignation of Mrs. Coonie. Annie wept bitterly, with compensations for her grief floating before her of untold wealth.
"Dis is goot fun," said Max; "goot fun! plainasblitzen. Lanky wanted to marry Annie. He pricks himself mit a pin, shams he has got a snake-pite up his legs, flams he is going to kick de pucket, makes his will, leaves £15,000, two houses, and six hundred and forty acres of land to her mit his great love. He vill recover. Oh yes! Annie vill marry him to-morrow. Do you all tvig?"
"For shame, man!" said Mrs. Coonie.
Annie shed floods of tears, and wrung her hands. McKeel glowered over his spectacles, darting fiery glances at Max from his ferret-like eyes.
"I tell ye, Max, ye are jist jealous o' the new cure for snake-bite. The honour an' glory of savin' his life is mine; for the poison was workin' in him like yeast when I tackled him. It was gallopin' through his veins, like a wild horse fleein' up the hills."
"Mine friend! if he had any poison in his insides, he must haf svallowed some of his own venom; or maybe it vas de brandy?"
"Hoot, toot! what's a spoonful' o' brandy here or there! Nae mair than a grain o' common sensein a hogshead o' wishy-washy Got-again University stuff!"
Lanky stretched himself, opened his eyes, yawned, and looked round in a dazed sort of way. All eyes were turned to him.
"Where am I?" said he; "I thought I was dead. Oh! I remember; I was bitten by a snake. I feel better. I think I'll get over it."
"Give God the thanks, Lanky!" said McKeel solemnly, "an' me, as the humble eenstrument."
"I'll never forget your kindness, Mr. McKeel, never!"
"I'll tak' a little brandy, jist to steady ma nerves after this excitin' nicht," said McKeel. He reached over for the bottle. "Losh! it's empty. It's as toom as a whistle!"
"Has he dronk de whole bottle?" Max asked.
"Every drap!" McKeel replied; "so, if he's drunk, nae wonder, but that does not dimeenish the vertues o' the ammonia."
Lanky staggered to his feet, and tottered to Annie. When he reached her his legs became entangled and gave way. He sank into a chairbeside her. His mind and tongue were sober, but his legs were intoxicated.
"You are mine now, Annie! You said you loved me, and you promised to marry me."
"Yes, Tim," said Annie, with a simper.
"Then we'll get out o' this. When I'm in the open air, an' souse my head in a bucket of water, I'll be all right. That ammonia did the trick, Mr. McKeel!"
"I declare!" said Mr. McKeel, "the feelin's o' the patient is mair tae be relied on than a' the opeenions o' the doctors."
Lanky rose to his feet, supported by Mrs. Coonie and Annie. They went away, by the back door, to the kitchen, saying as they were going, "Thank you, Mr. McKeel."
"Weel, it's pleasant," said he, "to meet wi' thankfu' folks, no like some I could name, wha are no far aff but winna."
"Good-bye, Mr. McKeel," said Max; "I must be what you call toddling. You haf your opinion, I haf mine. You'll see all I haf said vill come true."
"Good-bye, Max," Mr. McKeel said. "But Isay it was a genuine case of snake-bite, for I saw the patient frae the first, an' you didna; but thank ye a' the same for comin', though we'll differ aboot some things tae the end o' the chapter."
Max shook hands with Mrs. McKeel and David, and then went home.
In about an hour after this McKeel went to the kitchen to see how Lanky was getting on. He found him as sober as a judge. In the meantime he had soused his head in a bucket, and had drunk a pint of water.
"Ma sang!" said the old man, as he went to his bedroom, "that fallow had a near shave! But for me he wad be a corp!"
Lanky went to the men's hut, and Mrs. Coonie shared Annie's bed for the night.
Mother and daughter lay for hours talking about the wonderful change that had come over their lives, like shadows changing into gold on the mountains. It was a fairy tale, full of romance. A prince had come, in a golden coach, to carry Cinderella away.
"What a blessing, Annie, that I came and ordered brandy. That's what saved him! As for ammonia, it's the first time I ever heard of it for snake-bite. When I was a girl it was used as smelling-salts. If old McKeel had put it to Mr. Wilber's nose, it might have done him good."
"He drank an awful lot of brandy, mother."
"Yes; in cases of snake-bite they can take bucketsful and not be drunk."
"But he was drunk, mother!"
"No, only his legs, and no wonder, after being bitten by a tiger-snake. However, it's a good thing for you he got over it."
"I don't see that, mother. If he hadn't got over it, I would have got the money, land, and houses all the same."
"And marry a low fellow like Alec! Fancy him riding in a carriage beside you!"
"I would rather marry Alec, an' sit beside him in a kitchen, than marry Lanky, an' drive in a carriage."
"Well, I am astonished at you! Where is your thankfulness to your Maker for pitchforking you into a silk gown and carriage?"
Annie began to cry. Misery was creeping in. Happiness was melting away like sugar in a teacup.
She fell asleep, and forgot her troubles. Mrs. Coonie kept awake all night, turning over in her mind Annie's fortune on one side, and her love to Alec on the other. Her thoughts were bright, or dark, at intervals, like the revolving lantern on a lighthouse.
The sun rose like a red-hot cannon-ball, hittingthe bull's-eye in the window pane, and splintering fragments of light over Mrs. Coonie's face.
"This is no time to lie in bed," she said to herself; "I'll get up, for I've much to say and do. I must go home and tell him" (meaning her husband). "I'll be bound he's snoring in bed, and knowing no more about all this than a sucking baby."
Suiting action to words, she jumped out of bed and dressed herself.
Annie awoke from a troubled dream. Tears stuck in her eyelashes like dewdrops in the grass. She wiped them away, and looked up with a woebegone face.
"Annie," said her mother, "I am going home to tell your father. We'll come over by ten o'clock with the buggy. Dress yourself in your best frock. We'll all go to Benalla, and if Mr. Wilber wants to marry you off-hand, he can, this very day. The sooner the better. He won't want to see you work as a servant another minute, I'm sure."
Annie looked through the window. In a moment she was out of bed, and had thrown her clothes on, anyhow; then she ran into the kitchen,opened the door, and stared out. A horse, with a saddle on, was cropping the short, yellow grass. The bridle was muddy, and trailing on the ground.
"Mother," she said, "that's Alec's horse. He must have been thrown off, perhaps killed."
A man was chopping wood about a hundred yards away. Running up to him, she said, "Where is Alec?"
"'Spose he stayed at the mine all night. Never saw him after he went away to fetch Max Hicsh."
"But there's his horse saddled an' bridled!" said Annie.
"That's nothing," said the man. "Like's not he hitched up the horse at the mine, and it broke away. Do you think Alec would walk home on a dark night? 'Not if I knows it,' says he."
"I know Alec better than that," said Annie. "He must have been thrown off. Is there a horse in?"
"Yes, Brownie and Whalebone."
Annie ran to the stable, shot the wooden bolt, and went in. She put Mrs. McKeel's saddle on Brownie, slipped a headstall and bridle on, then led him out. Jumping on his back, she gallopedaway, across the creek, and along the track she knew Alec must have taken when he went on his last night's ride. In half an hour she drew up at Max Hicsh's door.
"Coo-ee!"
"Vat is dis?" said Max, putting his head out of a window, a long pipe in his mouth, his blue eyes staring in wonder.
"Where is Alec?" said Annie, her face flushing red.
"Vare is Lanky Tim, I say! He had a fine hand of trumps last night, and von de game. Has he revoke? I mean de vill."
"Is Alec here? Answer me that!"
"No, he is not."
"Where did he go when he was here last night?"
"He said he would go home by de short cut."
She turned her horse's head without another word, and rode up the hill, taking a bee-line for the homestead. After riding for five minutes she heard some one "coo-ee." Her heart beat wildly! She knew the voice! A short search resulted in finding Alec lying in a clump of ferns.
"Oh, Annie, how I have been longing for you! I knew you would come."
"What is the matter with you, Alec? Are you hurt?"
"I was thrown last night, and my ankle's broke."
She jumped off Brownie and was down among the ferns in a moment.
"My poor Alec! Oh, how sorry I am! I'll help you on the horse, an' Max will set the bone."
She raised him up and managed to put him on Brownie; then led the horse down hill to the mine.
Max set the bone and put the leg in splints, then drove the patient to the homestead, Annie following on Brownie. Alec was lifted out by David and Max. He was placed in a spare room at the back of the house.
Mr. and Mrs. Coonie came up in their buggy, and were joined by Lanky Tim. He proposed that he should marry Annie at once. The nearest clergyman lived at Benalla.
"We give our consent," said Mrs. Coonie.
"Sure-lye!" said her husband, who usually said "ditto," and played second fiddle.
"I'll go and see if Annie is ready," said her mother.
Annie was in the kitchen. Mrs. McKeel was there also, having been obliged to prepare breakfast. She was standing over a tub washing dishes.
"Good morning, Mrs. McKeel," said Mrs. Coonie; "I hope it won't inconvenience you if Annie leaves at once. She is to be married to-day."
"To Lanky?" said Mrs. McKeel.
"Yes! She's the luckiest girl in the world."
Annie began to cry. Alec's accident had brought on qualms of conscience. She had been led into promising to marry Lanky, on the spur of the moment, for the sake of his wealth, believing he was going to die. She could not tell what to do. She was sitting on the middle of a see-saw, and did not know which end to slide to.
"Come, Annie! don't be a fool!" said her mother; "you'll have a carriage to ride in, silks and satins to wear, a fine house; and you'll hobnob with the Governor's Lady."
"Mrs. Coonie," said Mrs. McKeel, "I think you are too hasty. Annie does not know her own mind. Give her time. Max Hicsh and David believe that Lanky has not a penny to bless himself with. Don't you think the account of his wealth is only a made-up affair—a cock-and-bull story?"
"I believe every word he says. You can see he is a gentleman in disguise," said Mrs. Coonie.
"Better sure than sorry. Make inquiries first."
"No," said Mrs. Coonie; "delays are dangerous. Come, Annie, you promised before witnesses to marry him. Don't perjure yourself!"
The girl rose very reluctantly, and was pushed by her mother towards the buggy, which was standing a few yards away. She was crying bitterly.
"What's all this, I would like to know?" roared Alec, who had thrust his head out of the spare bedroom window.
No one replied. Lanky became white as a sheet, and trembled like an aspen-leaf.
Alec, by the aid of a stick, came hopping out at the back door. He held on by a water-butt, and said, "Annie, what's the matter with you? What's the meaning of all this?"
"They want to force me to marry Lanky."
"And you don't want to?"
"No," she said faintly.
Hearing the hubbub, David and his father came out, and were told what was going on. David laughed till the tears rolled down his cheeks.
"You mak' the maist solemn occasions a target for ye'r mockery, Daavid. Hold ye'r whisht!"
"I can't, father. It's as good as a play. It's a comedy of the first water. Ha, ha!"
"To hear a son o' mine talk o' play-actin'! IfI thocht ye had ever been in a playhouse, or theatre, as ye ca' it, I'd strike ye off wi' a shillin'.'
"Listen to me, father, and all you people," said David, pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocket. "I found this behind the sofa where Lanky lay last night. It must have fallen out of his pocket as he wriggled about. I did not know what it was till I read it, and, as the reading will do much good, I don't think I ought to consider it a private or privileged document. It's a letter from Lanky's mother to him. Here goes:—
"'13, Furze Street, Collingwood."'My Dear Son Tim,—"'This is to say as how my rheumatics is very bad an I done not a days washin for a month every stick of furniture is sold I have not a shillin Send me som money for the love of God at wanct."'Your pore old mother"'Bridget Wilber.'"
"'13, Furze Street, Collingwood.
"'My Dear Son Tim,—
"'This is to say as how my rheumatics is very bad an I done not a days washin for a month every stick of furniture is sold I have not a shillin Send me som money for the love of God at wanct.
"'Your pore old mother"'Bridget Wilber.'"
Tim looked as if he would gladly have sunk into the earth. He was taken aback, and said nothing.
"I think, father," said David, "I have run a coach and six horses through the will; I think I have scotched this snake, this colossus of wealth! Saul slew his thousands, but David has slain his ten thousands."
Mrs. Coonie went up to Lanky, with her double fists on her hips, her face the colour of a red brick, and opened fire.
"You viper! you toad! you snake! What have you got to say for yourself? To think that I should swallow your story as easy as you swallowed the brandy. I'll horsewhip you, you hound!"
She was about to seize the whip from Coonie's hand to carry her threat into execution, when old McKeel stepped forward, and said,—
"You dodrotted heepocrite, that I snatched frae the jaws o' death! To think ye should be sa near ye'r end, an' tell a pack o' lees—red-hot lees, I may say! Won'ner they didna burn ye'r tongue. You'll be ca'in on Lazarus to dip the tip o' his finger yet to cool it. You seasoned leear! I tell ye tae ye'r face that Ananias was struck deed for a hantle less than ye hae done. An' tae think that my ammonia should be slopped like a cup o' teaower my carpet, insteed o' savin' the lives o' them that's mair deservin'. Blast ye! Tak' that!"
He struck Lanky with a heavy stock-whip, which made him jump.
"It's a pack of lies!" he roared, turned round, and fled.
Max Hicsh came up at this moment, and took in the situation at once. He, David, and Alec laughed like to split their sides. Old McKeel was livid with rage. Coonie was in his buggy, as stolid as a native bear, trying to light his pipe. His wife turned to him, having no other vent for her anger.
"You old fool! is this a time to smoke like a chimney, when you ought to be down on your knees asking all our pardons for nearly leading Annie into a terrible scrape?"
"My word!" was all Coonie said, as he thrust pipe and tobacco into his pocket.
"I'll send a pound to old Mrs. Wilber by to-day's post," said David.
"Deduct a half-croon frae it to pay for my ammonia," said his father.
"I'll let her starve!" said Mrs. Coonie, as shemounted the buggy, took the whip out of her husband's hand, and drove away without saying another word. She looked upon them all as conspirators who had been plotting to marry Annie against the will of her mother.
"He never vas pitten at all!" said Max. "De marks vas made by a pin vich I found in his coat mit de plood on it."
Annie went into the kitchen, and took off her best frock, then put on her working dress, and resumed her duties as cook.
Max helped Alec to his room, telling him to lie down, and give his leg a rest.
"A word with you, Mr. Hicsh."
"Vat is it, Alec?"
"When I was thrown off my horse, I waited anxiously for daylight. The time passed heavily on my hands. I looked about me, and used my eyes. I saw a reef cropping up among the ferns, and chipped off some of the stone. It was full of gold. What do you think of that specimen?"
He had taken from his pocket a lump of quartz studded with gold. Placing it in Max's hand, he waited for his opinion.
"My gootness! dat is de richest bit of quartz ever seen on this place! Your fortune is made!"
"What I propose," said Alec, "is that you go an' peg out the ground, an' apply for a claim in your name and mine. I'll go half-shares with you."
"Mine goot friend! many tousand tanks. Do you tink I would set your ankle's bone, and take advantages of you vile you are hopping apout on one leg? No, no! mine friend. It is your reef. If you make me de manager of de mine dat is all right!"
It was so arranged. Max found the reef by tracking Annie's horse from his own door. He pegged the ground, and applied for a lease. The first ton of quartz yielded 50 ounces of gold. The first six months' work produced 2721 ounces.
Alec Smith was a rich man. He married Annie. They live in a comfortable house adjoining the mine, and are very happy.
No one on the station ever heard of Lanky Tim again.
The sun sank like a bird into its nest. A pink flush spread upwards and melted in the deep blue; the dappled clouds caught the warm glow and spread themselves out to bask in the lingering rays. Soon a rosy red, deepening every moment, shot higher and higher, then suddenly began to pale and shrink, until the sun had drawn every bit of colour after him and said "good night."
It was a quiet, peaceful spot. Hills all around—east, west, north, and south. A mountain, in a sheet of ghostly white, stood afar off. A valley filled the foreground with grey mist, creeping down. A burnt-sienna track wound about "One Tree" hill like a snake, and led to Borombyee homestead, which could be seen on the banks of a little creek.
The soft footfall of a horse was heard behind some boulders. A merry snatch of song floated on the still air. A horse and its rider came round a bend of the track. They were on their way to Borombyee. The rider was Alec Keryle of Glengo Station.
Alec was in love, as any one could see at this moment. The mask was off. When not alone the visor was down. There are times when a face can be read like a poster on a hoarding. At other times it is a blank wall. He gazed long and fondly at the homestead: a light streamed from the dining-room window. "There sits my darling Elsie!" he said, as he patted his horse's neck.
He was a laggard in love, and had never told her that he loved her. He had shown her that he cared for her when they had once or twice been alone, and he thought she cared for him—that was all the length he had got on the "primrose path"; but he had screwed his courage up to-night, and was going to tell her that he loved her and would ask her to be his.
He was a shapely young fellow, and sat hishorse to perfection. He had a long, straight nose, firm mouth, solid chin, black eyes and hair, and an olive complexion. He was about six feet in height, and carried all his inches without a stoop.
Elsie McLean was the elder daughter of Donald McLean of Borombyee Station. Her father was a dark, gloomy Scotchman, with never a ray of sunshine in his nature. She was fair, with golden hair, blue, dancing eyes, a rosebud mouth wreathed in smiles, a Grecian nose, and with a dimple in each cheek. She was born under Australian skies; he among Scotia's grey, frowning mountains.
They had been coloured by their surroundings. Her mother was dead, and she had one sister, named Maggie, aged fourteen.
Meanwhile, during this digression, Alec was guiding his horse down the gravelly track. His eyes were still on the homestead, but they ranged from point to point when the dining-room window became hidden from view. As he turned into the main road which ran up the valley, he saw a light streaming from the kitchen door and a thin column of smoke rising from the kitchen chimney.When he opened the home-paddock gate a light in Elsie's room caught his attention, and he threw a kiss in its direction. Just then her ears began to tingle and grow red, for some one was surely thinking of her. Shutting the gate, he went off at a quick canter, and did not draw rein until he clattered across the sapling bridge, which spanned a small dry water-course within fifty yards of the house. Four or five dogs rushed out, barking furious defiance, until Alec said, "Down, Rover," to the leader, who began to caper and wheel with his tail in the air in a whirl-wind of welcome; and the younger dogs followed suit when they were assured, on the best of authority, that the new-comer was a friend, and not a stranger to be barked at, and bitten if need be, or at least sworn at as a trespasser. They accompanied the horse to the stable door, and when Alec alighted Rover jumped up and put his nose under an outstretched hand which patted the rough head. Then the other dogs made themselves acquainted with Alec's trousers, so that they might know him again, anywhere and everywhere.
A man came out of the shadows.
"Good evenin', sor," said the groom, or man-of-all-work, whose duty it was to attend to the stable, milk the cows, chop wood, and do such odd jobs as were required.
"Good evening, Pat; all well here?" said Alec.
"All well! Glory be to God, masther Keryle, an' Miss Elsie bloomin' an' gay, an' wishin' to see somebody I don't mane to name for the wurld."
"Now, Pat, none of your blarney!" said Alec, as he slipped half a crown into the man's hand. Pat took the reins, and led the horse into the stable, where a munching of teeth soon followed.
Alec went round to the front of the house, turned the button of the little gate at the end of the verandah, and knocked. The McLeans were at dinner. Maggie jumped from her seat, and opened the door.
"How do you do, Mr. Keryle?" she said, taking his two hands, and pulling him into the room, which opened on the verandah. Her father rose solemnly, with the expression of a mute at a funeral. He squeezed Alec's hand with a warm grip. That was his one sign of welcome. He had not a word for it in his dictionary, or he could notfind it at a moment's notice, so he left it unsaid and sat down.
Just then Aggie, the housemaid, whispered to Elsie that Mr. Bond, who was a neighbour, had just ridden up and was coming in.
Meanwhile, Maggie, who had been sitting next to Elsie, hurriedly shifted her plate, and motioned to Alec to take her place. He, nothing loth, did as he was told, and sat down.
Elsie was not pleased with Maggie, and she thought Alec was too presuming. He had no business to sit down beside her at the invitation of a mere girl. He took it for granted that he had a right to sit by her, and she resented it. Besides, what would Mr. Bond think? She would teach Alec a lesson. Her smiles vanished, as sunshine before a thundercloud. She retired within herself, and answered him in monosyllables. He did not know where the machinery had gone wrong, but he saw there was something out of gear. A knock was heard, and the housemaid opened the door. She looked over her shoulder, and said, "Mr. Bond."
McLean rose as before, dumb as usual, but hegripped Bond with two hands, and held him as in a vice. This was his warm welcome, for Bond was a great favourite, and the eldest son of an old friend.
Aggie, out of pure mischief, placed a knife and fork for him on the other side of Elsie, and he sat down. She shook hands, and entered into an animated conversation at once. Alec's spirits fell to zero as Elsie's rose. Her face flushed, and she seemed brimming over with pleasure.
"Confound Bond!" thought Alec; "what business has he to come here interfering with me? I'll give him a piece of my mind on the first opportunity."
Maggie came to the rescue, and talked to Alec. She saw that the team did not pull together, and were kicking over the traces. This was her way of putting the case. She knew a good deal about horses, and thought they had much in common with men and women. Her own pony always shied at a particular tree on the track to the woolshed, but when grazing in the paddock she would often be found rubbing herself against its rough bark. Elsie was shying off from Alec,whom she liked, and giving all her attention to Mr. Bond, whom she did not like one bit. Maggie would coax the pair into better behaviour, and see if they could not pull together.
Aggie, on her way to and from the kitchen, could be seen stuffing the corner of her apron into her mouth, and swallowing a burst of laughter which was just about to break out.
"When did you leave home, Alec?" said Maggie.
"About four o'clock."
"A.m., or p.m.?"
Alec made no reply. He was listening to what Elsie was saying to Bond. Jealousy was rioting in his heart, and he had no ears but for the woman he loved.
"Morning or afternoon?" persisted Maggie.
Alec turned a perplexed face to her, and said, "It's night, of course."
"Oh, I know that," she said, in a low voice, "and very dark and gloomy."
The sarcasm did not hit the mark. He confined his attention, apparently, to his plate; but his ears were lent to his right-hand neighbours,whose conversation never flagged. They rattled on at a good pace over the familiar tracks of station topics.
By-and-by dinner was over. The room in which they were seated was dining-room and drawing-room combined. The McLeans had primitive ways, and money was scarce, so the old house had not been added to. Everything was plain and simple. McLean would not allow anything to be changed. The whole place reminded him of his wife, and he would not alter or add to the house.
The front door was thrown open; the family and the two visitors trooped out on the verandah. Elsie sat on a short seat, and Bond placed himself beside her. There was only room for two. Alec had not bargained for this. He had thought that Elsie would relent, and, when they were out of the glare of the lamps, return to her old manner with him. He could not imagine what had offended her; but evidently something had started up between them—some misunderstanding on her part, some rumour; some busybody's poisonous tone; something he had unwittingly said or done.Just now it was plain he was not wanted. He was out of the running. He wasn't in the swim. He was out of his reckoning, and among the breakers. He thought all the billows were going over him.
McLean retired to a corner of the verandah, and spun his own troubles out of himself, and wound them about him in solitary companion-lessness.
Maggie put her arm into Alec's, and drew him to the end of the verandah, and pointed to the Pleiades, which were shining with their ghost-like light.
"Father was reading to us yesterday in the Bible where Job said, 'Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades?' and I asked Elsie to show them to me last night. Are they seven sisters, do you think? Elsie says they are. I wonder whether they are happy. We are only two sisters, and I am not happy."
"Neither am I," said Alec.
"Elsie is not happy either. She does not like Mr. Bond one little bit."
"She seems happy enough. Canst thou bindthe sweet influences of a laugh? They are sweet to one and bitter to another. I can't bear to hear her laughing like that with Charlie Bond. He and I are not very good friends. I have a good mind to saddle my horse and ride home in the starlight."
"Oh, do not do that!" said Maggie in alarm. "Elsie would be sorry. I am sure she would. I won't let you go. I'll hold you tight. You are angry, and you will require to be answered out of the whirlwind, like Job."
Alec shook his head. He was calming down under the spell of wise little Maggie. No, he would not saddle his horse and ride away just yet. That would be too much of a telltale. Elsie would understand, and gloat over his trouble. Bond would triumph, and take his scalp. He looked upon himself as wiped out, and not fit to cumber the ground any longer. He would go away somewhere, anywhere, and make no sign. He would henceforth be dead to Elsie, but not buried. He would get over it. He would not let any one dance over his grave, or jeer at his tombstone.
The morbid thoughts that flit through the brain of the slighted lover are amazing and wonderful. The figments and pigments are all wrong. It is a mad world! and love is akin to madness.
There was a little bedroom at the end of the verandah, which the local clergyman occupied when on his visits to Borombyee. It was called the "prophet's chamber"; partly for this reason, and partly because Elsie pencilled the name on the door after hearing her father read in the Bible about the woman of Shunem, who asked her husband to make a little chamber on the wall for the prophet Elisha.
When the clergyman was not at Borombyee Alec always had the "prophet's chamber."
He could not stay on the verandah any longer, so he cudgelled his brains for an excuse to get away. He would go to bed; that was the best place for him.
"I have a dreadful toothache, Maggie," he said. "Please make my excuses to your father and Elsie. I can hardly speak. I shall come to prayers when the bell rings, if I am better; but do not expect me."
"I am so sorry," said Maggie; "and I hope you will soon get better."
"Good night, Maggie," he whispered.
"Good night, Alec."
He went into the "prophet's chamber," and shut the door.
Alec, having lit a match, found the bed, table, stool, and candlestick as Elisha did in Shunem. He sat down to think. Yes, Elsie was a flirt, and had cruelly slighted him. He had done nothing to deserve such treatment. A girl who could act as she had done was not deserving of the love of any man. There was a false note in her character somewhere, and she could not be the true and gentle girl he had fondly imagined. To be warned in time was lucky, for to be tied to such a woman was not good. Better to be free than bound by a chain; and so on his thoughts ran, shooting hither and thither with the speed of summer lightning.
How long he sat thus he could not tell. An opossum called to its mate in the gum-tree that overhung the room. The "swish, swish" of anative cat came from under the floor. A koala, or native bear, roared from the clump of timber near the creek. A dingo howled on the hills, and a hawk wheeled overhead. One of these sounds made him start to his feet. The candle was burning low.
A bell rang. It was ten o'clock, the hour for "worship." He could hear McLean clearing his throat in the dining-room, which was only separated by a thin wooden partition from the "prophet's chamber." Then he heard Elsie's light step, but thought it sounded sad and slow; then came Bond's hateful creaking boots; then Maggie's quiet tread. Aggie came from the kitchen, three men from the hut, and Pat, though a Roman Catholic, came too, "to plase Miss Elsie. An' sure," he used to say, "there's no praste widdin fifty moiles to give a curse to me sowl, pinnance to me body, an' a hole in a big cheque to pay for absolution from the sin av it."
When they had all sat down McLean opened the big family Bible, apparently at random (but with intention, as he had been studying the passage) at the twelfth chapter of the Book ofthe Revelation. He read, with a deep, sonorous voice, to the end; then gave a long sigh, and plunged into a commentary on the "great red dragon," which he said was the Roman Catholic Church. He proved this, to his own satisfaction, seeing she had shed the blood of saints and prophets, and that the popes, cardinals, priests, and all who had the "mark of the beast" upon them, were to be thrown into the bottomless pit. He drew a gruesome picture of their writhing and torments in the true Calvinistic fashion of forty years ago.
"Holy Moses!" said Pat in a loud aside. "The saints defind us!"
Elsie nudged her father's arm, but he would not stop, for he had got on his favourite topic—the one subject on which he could be loquacious.
Pat could not sit still another moment. He glared at McLean, and made a gesture as if he would like to throttle him; then, apparently thinking better of it, jumped up, threw down his chair with a clatter, flung open the front door, and stamped up and down the verandah, vowing vengeance.
Alec had heard everything. He had forgotten his troubles. He laughed and rubbed his hands, and even capered about the room. It was all so ludicrous and absurd, and he had to let off the steam by rolling on the floor for a minute or two.
Some one knocked at the door, and he called out, "Who's there?"
"It's me, sor."
"Well, Pat, what's the matter?"
"Fwat's the matter? Everythin's the matter! I'm goin' to brek every bone av' the boss's body before I say me prayers to the Vargin this blessed noight!"
"Whist! I'll come out to you, Pat."
"Do, sor."
When Alec came out, he said: "Not a word here. Come to the hut, and tell me all about it. What is the matter?" He pulled Pat away by sheer force to the hut, and pushed him into a seat.
"Now what is it?" he said.
Pat told him what had happened, in his rich oily brogue, and with such queer antics andgestures, Alec could not help going off again into a fit of laughter.
"You'll be the death of me, Pat, if you say another word. It's too funny!"
"I'll be the death of ould McLean, the bitter, black, Presbyterian divil's own favourite son. Och! he'll be roasted for this loike a herrin' on a gridiron! Och! the divil will toast him on a pitchfark. He'll be basted an' hauled over the fire till he roars blue murther! Och! the thafe! I shpit upon yees as I would upon Judas who was wan o' the same kidney!"
"Here, Pat," said Alec, "is half a sovereign for you; don't say another word about it."
Pat winked, and pocketed the money.
"Spache is silver, an' silence is goolden. Mum's the wurrd. Love ye're inimy is a goolden rule. I'll obsarve that same, as I've got the Queen's countenance for it in me pocket."
He seized a stick which was lying in a corner, whirled it round his head three times, and brought it down with a whack on the table.
"What's that for, Pat?"
"That's wan for me inimy. It's that same he'dbe afther havin' if yees hadn't intervaned wid de gospel av paice. Sure, I repinted av takin' de money, so I let de divil go out av me through de shtick. I feel betther after that, bedad!"
"Well, go to bed, Pat. I hear the men coming." So saying, Alec slipped out of the door, and crept under cover of the shadows, until he reached the back of the house; then he paused to listen. On tiptoe he reached the "prophet's chamber," went in and shut the door, then flung himself on the bed. He had been a fool he thought. He should not have allowed Elsie to see that he cared one jot whether she showed attentions to Bond or not. But why should she so markedly slight himself? He could not understand this, unless she had wished to make him jealous, or unless she was a flirt, and deliberately flung away one who loved her, for a brief amusement,pour passer le temp. In this case she was cruel and heartless. Unless he had seen her conduct he could not have believed she would have acted as she did.
What was to be done now? He could not face Elsie and Bond next morning. He could not endure to meet them at breakfast. The air wasfull of electricity. The explosives were stored, the train was laid, and a chance spark might cause a blow-up which he would ever regret. He felt like a volcano which might burst forth at any moment. Discretion is the better part of valour; he would cool down before morning perhaps.
He heard low voices in the dining-room.