[212]CHAPTER IX

[212]CHAPTER IXTheprobable day of their arrival had been telegraphed from Perth, duly noted and published by the local press. Furthermore, later intelligence from the last stopping-place had been supplied, so that, when, at mid-day, the Perth express steamed into the Pilot Mount platform, there was the largest crowd collected there since the official turning-on of the main of the Great Aqueduct by the Premier of West Australia.‘This seems a busy place,’ said Alister Lilburne, as he marked the crowded platform, the equipages great and small, mounted and foot police, ordinary miners in hundreds, besides others who walked in procession, and carried flags—not to mention a camel train, with turbaned Afghan drivers, standing patiently on the outer edge of the assemblage. ‘Is this an everyday gathering, or is there any person of distinction expected? What a number of nurses, in uniform too! Ha! a light breaks in on me. Is it—surely not to greet you on your return?’‘I am afraid that all this fuss is about your wife, and no one else, my dear Alister,’ she[213]answered, not without perturbation. ‘I expected some kind of greeting, but nothing on so large a scale. Yes! it must be so. Here comes my good friend the Mayor—with the Councillors in their robes too. I suppose we must face it. Gore Chesterfield too, Mr. Southwater, old Jack. I see my friends have “rolled up,” as we say here. I am afraid I shall break down.’‘My future rank and position are now irrevocably decided,’ said he; ‘I shall go down to posterity as Mrs. Lilburne’s husband. Very proud of the title, I assure you. Wish for nothing better—only, if onlythey—well! it can’t be helped.’‘Do you miss any one, Alister?’ she asked, looking anxiously in his face.‘Only two faces, darling! If only Carteret and Hayston were present, what a tone it would have given to the whole thing!’‘Poor Lytton, how he would have revelled in it! As for the bold sea-rover, I shall always pray for him. But perhaps he is safer (and others too) on board that dearLeonora. Now for the serious business of the day. Mind you recognise it as such!’The band struck up the National Air as the Mayor in his robes advanced with dignity, and, bowing respectfully, shook hands with Mrs. Lilburne and congratulated her warmly, greeting also her husband, who was introduced formally to them. His Worship then stood up, and begged to express briefly the pleasure which it[214]afforded him, and the members of the Pilot Mount Municipal Council, to welcome back a lady to whom, speaking in their name, and as representing the miners of the field, the citizens, and the inhabitants generally, they felt they owed so deep a debt of gratitude (here he paused for a moment, to afford opportunity for a burst of cheering—loud, hearty, and protracted), for her services—valuable—he might say, invaluable, such as they would never forget as long as there was an ounce of gold left in the field, or in West Australia! Here the cheering was long—so protracted that the Mayor held up his hand, and, motioning for silence, concluded his remarks by inviting Mr. and Mrs. Lilburne to a banquet at the Town Hall.A carriage with four greys was in attendance, into which, in company with the Mayor and Mayoress, the distinguished visitors were handed, and driven to the Town Hall. Arrived at this imposing structure, they were ushered into the Great Hall, where tables had been laid for apparently about a thousand people. On the right hand of the Mayor sat the guest of the day, with the Warden of the Goldfield—a dread and awful potentate, having power of life and death (financially)—beside her; the Lady Mayoress on the left hand of her lord and master (ancient figure of speech now chiefly obsolete). Next to her sat a lately elected Councillor, who was a representative citizen in several departments of industrial and social development, and might be trusted to find her ladyship in light and airy[215]converse. On either side, as well as at the end of the long table, sat leading mine managers, ‘golden hole men,’ and mercantile representatives, with, of course, their wives and daughters. In prominent positions were distinguished visitors and tourists, such as General Sir Walter and Lady Cameron, the Honourable Denzil Southwater, Sir John and Lady Woods, and other notables of rank and fashion. With the exception of the memorable gathering when the Great Aqueduct discharged its first bounteous, providential flow, no such gathering had ever been witnessed at Pilot Mount. Full justice having been done to the repast, and the healths of the King and Queen heartily and loyally, if briefly, responded to, the Mayor called upon all present to charge their glasses, as he was about to propose the health of the guest of the day—he might say, the heroine of the hour—Mrs. Lilburne. If he gave her the title of Nurse Lilburne, by which she had been known so favourably to the population of the city, and the goldfields generally, perhaps he would be better understood. That burst of cheering, straight from the heart, showed how miners and workers of all classes recognised their true friends, of whatever class or occupation. He had taken the liberty of describing that lady as a heroine. There had been heroines in the history of our Motherland, who had stood upon the battlefield, ministering to the wants of the wounded and the dying, unmoved by feelings of personal danger; heroines who had dared the risks of plague, pestilence, and famine, with[216]unshaken courage and faith in an all-seeing Providence; heroines who had donned armour; heroines who had dared hurricanes or shipwreck, calmly pursuing their ministrations until the ‘whelming wave’ ended the tragedy; but none of these exemplars of womanhood, whether ancient or modern, exceeded in lustre the self-devoted attendant upon the feeble, the stricken, the sick, and the dying, who patiently—at all hours, in all seasons—fought the dread epidemic which had ravaged their city in its earlier days. It had slain a large proportion of the pioneers. Young and old, gentle and simple, tenderly or rudely reared, there had been but little difference in the death-roll. Thank God! the plague had been stayed. Their city was now as free from it and other diseases as the leading metropolitan towns. But they owed it not alone to their excellent medical staff, not to improved sanitation, but, under Heaven, to the nursing staff—among whom the earliest, the most capable, the most unwearied, the most successful in wresting patients from the very jaws of death, was their distinguished—he might say, their illustrious guest, to honour whom they were met that day. He gave them the health of Mrs. Alister Lilburne, more widely known, perhaps more loved and honoured, as ‘Nurse Lilburne.’Long, loud, protracted indeed were the responses of the guests. Heterogeneous as was the assembly, but one feeling—that of deepest gratitude, of heartfelt respect—seemed to actuate the great gathering. When at length Mrs. Lilburne[217]stood up in her place, and the Mayor requested silence, it was wonderful how suddenly all sound and motion ceased.She wore her simple nurse’s uniform. ‘This,’ she told her husband, ‘is the dress in which I worked, the dress in which I earned the gratitude of these people—out of respect to them, and the sisterhood who worked with me so loyally, I prefer to wear it to the end of the ceremony.’As she stood there, outwardly calm and collected—although naturally roused to an unwonted state of exaltation by the electrical atmosphere of the assemblage—she spoke the first few words in a comparatively low tone, vibrating though they were with deep feeling and suppressed emotion; but as she became more fully pervaded by the unusual nature of the situation, and the exceptional circumstances under which the acquaintance—the friendship even, with so many now present had arisen, the colour came to her cheek, the dark eyes glowed with a fire none had recollected to have seen before, and with head erect, and fearless mien, she appeared to the excited crowd not only a beautiful woman—as she had always been considered—but as an inspired prophetess, dealing with questions not only of the life here, but of that beyond the grave. Adverting to the formation of the Pilot Mount hospital, and its humble inception by the committee of energetic, liberal-minded men—nearly all of whom she was glad to see here to-day—she congratulated the ladies and gentlemen present on the generous response made to the first appeal for subscriptions.[218]Money flowed in, not only from the city, but from distant camps and ‘rushes.’ Rude though the first building was, and humble the couches and pallets, the essentials of careful nursing and skilled medical aid were there. Crowds of patients taxed all their energy, but they were helped and encouraged by the medical staff, then and now self-denying, and generous, she might say munificent, in personal outlay—in giving freely of their time and skill. Every one helped, from his Worship, the Mayor, to the humblest tradesman. Progress was made—a large proportion of cures was effected. Gradually, medicines, scientific appliances and inventions were provided. And now what did they see? A noble building with an efficient staff, a decreasing death-rate—an institution comparing favourably with those of the metropolis, of her connection with which she would be proud to the last day of her life. With a parting word she would say farewell to Pilot Mount and the friends she had made there—friends of all classes—some of whom she had been privileged to help in the hour of need. Not only for this magnificent recognition of her humble work, but for the unaffected respect and sympathy which had been accorded to her since her first arrival as a stranger in the field, was she deeply, sincerely grateful. It would be among her most cherished memories, and would remain with her to the last day of her life. She could not conclude without a reference to not the least important feature of hospital duties and experiences, in which she had been enabled by reason of her opportunities to say[219]a word in season of a wholly unsectarian nature to those to whose bodily health it was her duty to minister. In the hour of death, almost within view of the Day of Judgment, surely it was appropriate to suggest repentance, to enjoin prayer! She respected the creeds under which all had been reared. No minister of religion had disapproved of her action, and she would now adjure those who, like herself, had felt the dread presence of the Shadow of Death, to recall the resolutions, the vows they had then made, and to act up to them for the rest of their lives. She would be here for a few weeks more; after her departure they would most probably not set eyes upon her in this world again; but she would never forget her friends of Pilot Mount, and would trust that her memory would always be associated with words and deeds worthy of their mutual esteem.The Warden of Goldfields, ‘rising in his place,’ begged leave of his Worship the Mayor to speak briefly to the toast they had lately honoured. From his necessarily extensive official knowledge of the miners on this field, he could assert that many of them believed that their lives had been saved by Mrs. Lilburne’s skill and devotion to duty. The Chief Commissioner of Police was convinced that her advice and personal influence had prevented one serious riot, and had exercised more weight on the side of law and order than half the force under his command..       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .‘Now, my dear Alister,’ said Elinor Lilburne, when, the function being concluded, they had been[220]deposited safely at their hotel, after a spirited progress through an excited crowd, which might well have confused a less experienced driver, ‘how about the “necessarily rough, uncivilised inhabitants of a mining camp”?’‘I apologise humbly for my presumption in offering an opinion founded upon ignorance the most dense, combined with prejudice the most childish. I shall submit all future statements to my “guide, philosopher, and friend.” For the attainment of sound, practical common-sense—combined with perfect manners—I shall always recommend (as I once did hear an English squire of my own county do seriously to a friend’s son and daughter) a year’s travel in Australia.’‘Now, you aretoopenitent; I don’t want that; but you will acknowledge that you have learned a lesson!’‘Lesson! I have gained an experience which I trust to profit by to my life’s end. And now, when are we to have this drive to the real Pilot Mount, which I heard you arranging with that good-looking young fellow? May I venture to risk the assertion thatheis English?’‘You are right there, or nearly so—he is a Scot—the Honourable Denzil Southwater—youngest son of the Earl of Southwater—and a very fine fellow he is. He is thinking of leading an exploring expedition across the desert—where he may find gold, or the other thing.’‘What other thing?’ asked Lilburne.‘A death in the Waste,’ replied his wife sadly. ‘It is a gamble with the King of Terrors.He[221]won in a late encounter. Two brothers—sons of the soil—trained bushmen too, left their bones on the same track last year.’‘Killed by the blacks, I suppose?’‘No! They went off the recognised trail, believing that they would find water, but were deceived. They left a letter written just before delirium set in—with farewells to their kin. Their bones were found by the next exploring party.’‘There are blanks, it appears, as well as prizes—though, after your banquet, it is hard to believe in anything but general prosperity. Fortune of war, of course, and so on.’.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .Five o’clock in the afternoon was the hour named, and, faithful to his engagement, Mr. Southwater drove up to the door of the Palace Hotel, with a pair of well-groomed, efficient-looking horses and a double-seated American buggy. This, it may be mentioned, is the accepted vehicle for business, or pleasure, on all goldfields, pastoral stations, and, indeed, throughout Australia generally—when fashionable metropolitan form is not imperative. If the load be heavy, the American waggonette is employed—which combines the lightness and toughness of the buggy with a weight-carrying capacity unknown to any ordinary vehicle of British origin. The practical advantages of this carriage were enhanced by the addition of a collapsible hood of white canvas, a protection equally from sun, wind, or rain; thus combining lightness,[222]and a cool appearance, with efficiency. Mr. Southwater had been asked to bring a lady with him, to make the party even, as well as to provide agreeable society for Mr. Lilburne, while his wife sat in the front seat, and conversed with him as driver.‘Whom would you like, Mrs. Lilburne?’‘Oh, I leave that to your taste and discretion. You know everybody in Pilot Mount, as well as in Perth, I believe.’‘If Mrs. Wharton has returned from Perth, she would be the ideal fourth. If not, one of the Harley girls, or Jean White.’‘You accept the responsibility, mind; I won’t interfere.’As it turned out, Mrs. Wharton was still in Perth, and the Harleys had gone to Adelaide. So when they drove up to a house in the suburbs, surrounded by an unusually well-kept garden, and half-covered with a purple flowering tacsonia, a tall and beautiful girl, very well dressed, walked forth, and was introduced as Miss Jean White. Mrs. Lilburne’s face became expressive.‘Oh, I see! No one else but the “Fair Maid of Perth” to be found—what a search you must have made. However, I trust you will be as successful in another quest one of these fine days. You have my best wishes, at any rate.’‘I feel sure of that, Mrs. Lilburne, or I shouldn’t be here now, should I?’‘I suppose you mean that trifling affair after the skirmish of Pilot Mount.’‘Not at all. Much more serious—the fever I[223]brought with me from Salt Lake. I don’t easily give up, yet I really thought I was gone then. But I see your husband and Miss Jean are getting on quite nicely, and old Hotspur is beginning to paw the ground preparatory to rearing. We had better start.’One touch—a mere hint from the rein, and away go the fast, impatient pair. The road is smooth, sandy, and just sufficiently firm to make the going perfect; no trees to speak of, a dead level for many a mile, with a faint blue range of hills on the farthest horizon. There had been a shower or two—the dust was minimised.The low sun brought with it the promise of a graduated coolness, operating until midnight. The conditions of travel were perfect. As the light vehicle, behind the pick of the city harness pairs, swept smoothly on, the sensation was, in its way, pleasurably exciting; the feeling of vast, almost illimitable space—the dry, warm air—the absence of sound or movement other than the slight disturbance caused by the quick hoof-beats and faint whirring of their own wheels, which seemed like a rash intrusion into a vast, hostile, formless region. For a short time conversation had ceased—simultaneously. Miss White was gazing dreamily into the ultimate west, where the cloud scheme had resolved itself into a vast sheet of crimson and gold, deepening at the edges to orange, with gradually intruding blends of lake, pale green and violet.‘A penny for your thoughts, Jean,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘And suppose we make it binding on[224]all four of us. We seem to have been suddenly stricken dumb. I wonder what the occult influence could have been? Miss White is to speak first.’‘I was thinking,’ said the girl, ‘of the strangeness of life here. Civilisation on one hand, with books, music, London fashions, art novelties, scarcely a month old—all the great world’s great events published at breakfast time from day to day. On the other hand, to quote dear Sir Walter, “a sun-scorched desert, brown and bare”—and here come the camels to fill in the picture!’ As she spoke, a long train wound round the edge of a line of hillocks—their leader, with turbaned attendants, adding the Eastern tone and flavour to the apparition from the underworld.‘Thanks very much,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘You are evidently destined to make a name in literature, when you elect to traverse that thorny path. What is to be the title?—for a book it must be within the year! Write while the “impulse” is fresh and unquestioned. Now for a title—The Yellow Slave, orWestern Whispers, by “Winifred.”’‘You are making me blush,’ said the girl. ‘Who said I ever wrote? If it were any other person I should call it unkind.’‘My dearest Jean, you are convicting yourself out of your own mouth. I did not say that youhadwritten, but that with your poetic tastes and strong turn for idealising our everyday life, you would be certain to write in the future. Not that I should care for your becoming a “writing woman.”’[225]‘Now you are disrespectful to authors. Why should I not write? I might give the English cousins a clearer insight into our lives, about which, it seems to me, they are so strangely ignorant.’‘All in good time, my dear! You were intended by Nature for something much better than to write books for idle people to read. What do you think, Mr. Southwater?’‘Quite agree with Mrs. Lilburne,’ said the young man, looking upon the lovelyingénuewith such manifest admiration that she turned to Lilburne, and playfully besought his aid against her opponents.‘Miss White is perfectly within her rights in extracting intellectual pleasure from the scant materials which lie around her. She is making the world at large her debtor by doing so. On the other hand, is the game worth the candle? Think of the careworn expression, the harassed nerves, the premature departure of youth—that divine if ephemeral gift. And all for what? For the sake of a book which half the world don’t understand, and the other half dislike.’‘But think of the pleasure of being successful—really successful! What a glorious privilege! And such a joy while one is writing! I think I should die with ecstasy over a real triumph.’‘Trust me—believe me, my dear Miss White, I have known writers, successful ones, too, of both sexes, and they were mostly disillusioned, if not disappointed. No, my dear young lady, the kind gods have blessed you with the chief treasures of this mortal life—health, youth, warm friends,[226]and, I might say, the highest endowment of all. Tempt not the jealous goddess.’‘All this is very fine, and, no doubt, elevating,’ interposed Mrs. Lilburne; ‘but suppose we revert to the practical. Here we are at Pilot Hill, a place where romance has been acted—not merely written about, as Mr. Southwater, quite among friends, might tell us if he would.’‘Nothing much to tell,’ said that young man, who, like all men of true heroic mould, hated talking about his deeds of valour. ‘Only a quick thing, soon over. Casualties few. Enemy routed with loss.’‘What a shabby account of a real affair of outposts. Here’s Jean dying to hear about it. Youwerewounded, you know, or was it Lord Newstead? We can’t let you off. Support me, Jean, love! Look at her, Mr. Southwater.’The girl, who had been gazing at Southwater with a world of interest, admiration, and pained sympathy in her beautiful eyes, dropped them at this appeal, and could only murmur pleadingly, ‘Please do.’The young fellow was but a man. Thus adjured he would have been more than mortal if he had resisted such an appeal.‘Now, Mrs. Lilburne, this is hardly fair. But I’m not a public character, and I know I can rely on you not to give me away. So here goes, while we walk the horses up the hill:—‘The night was hot and steamy. I was sitting in my tent writing home, and Newstead was talking to Minniekins—really half the credit belongs[227]to her, for she gave us warning, you know. We were enjoying the quiet loaf, when suddenly she began to growl—not a bark, but a low, suspicious, disapproving note, hinting at undesirables. It was too dark to see more than a few yards; but Minniekins rarely made a false point.‘We had finished a big clean up, and were mostly tired—perhaps a trifle sleepy. I stopped writing and watched. Minniekins kept on growling. On a sudden she burst into a fierce bark. Then I heard an oath, and a sharp yell of pain, after which she went on barking worse than ever. Then the scoundrels made their rush—it was a “put-up thing,” I mean planned beforehand—and the scrimmage began.‘A fellow jammed a revolver into my face, which I instinctively knocked up, knocking him down with a left-hander at the same time.‘His “gun,” as Americans call it, fell wide of him, and I grabbed it before he got on his legs again. I heard shots while this little bit of business was going on, and Mr. Banneret got a scratch—a close shave all the same. My man was soon made safe, and I was just in time to see Newstead laid out with a bullet through his left shoulder, not so far from the heart. A police detachment came in on the top of the shindy; but the battle was over. A tall man lay dead not far from the gold-room—poor Dick Andrews was down, and played out; but he had saved Banneret’s life by dropping “Long Jack” as the tall scoundrel—a noted criminal from another colony—was taking a second shot.[228]‘Old Jack, who was just going to the township, and, being in full fig, had of course got his six-shooter, had fired right and left with good effect, so that when the Inspector lined up with the flower of the police force, fully armed, there was nothing to do but to carry off the wounded and bury the casualties. That was our Waterloo—short, sharp, and decisive; if it hadn’t been for Minniekins, we should have been taken, wholly unprepared—like the War Office in the Boer War. I think she ought to be decorated for it.’‘And Lord Newstead—I suppose he recovered?’‘I can answer for that,’ said Mrs. Lilburne, ‘as I had him under my care for a month, and a very refractory patient he was. He went home by the next P. & O.’‘Of course he did,’ said Southwater, in an aggrieved tone, ‘and swelled about with his arm in a sling, giving himself the airs and graces of the wounded warrior, and letting the girls wait upon him all the way to Marseilles, under the impression that “his heart was weak,” and all sorts of humbug, while Chesterfield and I had to come back here and—er—take up the weary round of toil and what’s-its-name.’‘Well, it seems to agree with you, Mr. Southwater,’ said the girl, smiling in so bewitching a fashion that a man might have been nerved to even greater exertion than such as was demanded from the shareholders in a mine which had reached the dividend-paying stage, andsuchdividends too,[229]as the ‘Last Chance, Limited,’ was even now disbursing.‘“All’s well that ends well,” is a comfortable proverb. I feel pretty well, thank you, Miss White, and am gratified for the compliment. But here is old Jack coming forward to welcome this honourable party, and to do the honours in proper goldfield style.’That venerable ancient now arrived on the scene, his bronzed and gnarled countenance wrinkled into an expression of welcome, which seemed with difficulty to adapt itself to his rugged face. The intention, however, was unmistakable.‘Proud to see you, Mrs. Lilburne—and Miss Jean. Lord love her, hasn’t she growed into the beauty of the world! How you’ve shot up, to be sure! It’s many a long year since your father and I met on the other side. Well, he was always lucky—in more ways than one—that I’ll say and stand to. Glad to see you, sir! Like to see the mine? Saw the big silver mine at Los Angelos, did you? I was there many a year ago. Didn’t ought to have come away neither. But I was a “forty-niner.” Couldn’t help following the rush to ’Frisco—what a time it was! There’ll never be anything like it again while the world lasts.’‘My husband would like to see the machinery,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘What a grand view you’ve got!’‘That’s what I thought when I first seen it, ma’am. I was pretty well told out when I got here first—thought I’d turn round and get back[230]while I’d a little strength left. But I couldn’t help standin’ still to look at the view. The sun was just a-settin’, and there was a kind of gold and red look over that far plain country. So, thinks I, it looks mean to cut away back without proving one or two of these “gulches”—that’s what we called them in San Francisco. So I stayed and camped—and next day if I didn’t fall plum centre on the—the——’‘The Great Pilot Mount Reef, going twenty ounces to the ton,’ said Mr. Southwater, ‘which you’re going to show these ladies and Mr. Lilburne—not forgetting a five-ounce nugget for Miss White.’‘We’ve been breaking down the south end of the reef to-day, and got some pretty coarse gold, so the ladies has come at a good time, sir. Please to follow me, and we’ll see what we can do. It ain’t every day we see a young lady like Miss Jean. Lord bless and prosper her!’So the party was introduced to the ‘shift boss,’ with other leading officials and men in authority; afterwards to be lowered down in the ‘cage’ to where men were working two hundred yards from the surface, in narrow alleys with gleaming white or pink walls of quartz, in which were golden streaks. Narrow bands of dull red or yellow metal, almost unrecognisable as the root of all evil, and the lure for which men—ay, and women—bartered soul and body, and were content to work in hunger, dirt, rags, and wretchedness, if only they could gain a sufficiency of the dross, so called, which people profess to despise, but which[231]all men covet and hanker for to their lives’ end.The atmosphere was hot and humid; the men at work in these lower levels might have passed for Red Sea stokers, as they laboured with tense muscle and sinew.To what purpose this labour was expended—so far from the light of the sun or the fresh air of heaven—a visit to the treasure-chamber, in one side of the great gallery, was recommended. There the person in charge of the gold pointed out some of the specimens which had recently been sent in. Besides these there was the retorted gold.After the gold was extracted from the innocent-looking matrix, it was poured into shapes, one of which, looking like the half of that anchor of British loyalty and instinctive reverence to the Empire, the British plum-pudding, the guardian had more than once offered to an adventurous damsel ‘on tour’—if she couldcarry it away: a challenge sometimes accepted; but in all cases the weight proved too great for the fair arms which so lovingly enfolded the bullion. However, fragments of the pure, precious metal were extracted from the glittering heap and handed to Mrs. Lilburne and the fair Jean, with apologies, even entreaties that they would deign to accept them, and so bring good luck to the mine, and all who laboured in it.‘I must say,’ said Lilburne, after marking with experienced eye the various indications on this and other ‘drives’ (galleries), and workings generally, ‘that this country of yours appears to me more[232]wonderful every hour I spend in it. Think of a solitary traveller, “remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,” dropping upon a property like this, and, what is more noteworthy, being able to keep possession of it.’

Theprobable day of their arrival had been telegraphed from Perth, duly noted and published by the local press. Furthermore, later intelligence from the last stopping-place had been supplied, so that, when, at mid-day, the Perth express steamed into the Pilot Mount platform, there was the largest crowd collected there since the official turning-on of the main of the Great Aqueduct by the Premier of West Australia.

‘This seems a busy place,’ said Alister Lilburne, as he marked the crowded platform, the equipages great and small, mounted and foot police, ordinary miners in hundreds, besides others who walked in procession, and carried flags—not to mention a camel train, with turbaned Afghan drivers, standing patiently on the outer edge of the assemblage. ‘Is this an everyday gathering, or is there any person of distinction expected? What a number of nurses, in uniform too! Ha! a light breaks in on me. Is it—surely not to greet you on your return?’

‘I am afraid that all this fuss is about your wife, and no one else, my dear Alister,’ she[213]answered, not without perturbation. ‘I expected some kind of greeting, but nothing on so large a scale. Yes! it must be so. Here comes my good friend the Mayor—with the Councillors in their robes too. I suppose we must face it. Gore Chesterfield too, Mr. Southwater, old Jack. I see my friends have “rolled up,” as we say here. I am afraid I shall break down.’

‘My future rank and position are now irrevocably decided,’ said he; ‘I shall go down to posterity as Mrs. Lilburne’s husband. Very proud of the title, I assure you. Wish for nothing better—only, if onlythey—well! it can’t be helped.’

‘Do you miss any one, Alister?’ she asked, looking anxiously in his face.

‘Only two faces, darling! If only Carteret and Hayston were present, what a tone it would have given to the whole thing!’

‘Poor Lytton, how he would have revelled in it! As for the bold sea-rover, I shall always pray for him. But perhaps he is safer (and others too) on board that dearLeonora. Now for the serious business of the day. Mind you recognise it as such!’

The band struck up the National Air as the Mayor in his robes advanced with dignity, and, bowing respectfully, shook hands with Mrs. Lilburne and congratulated her warmly, greeting also her husband, who was introduced formally to them. His Worship then stood up, and begged to express briefly the pleasure which it[214]afforded him, and the members of the Pilot Mount Municipal Council, to welcome back a lady to whom, speaking in their name, and as representing the miners of the field, the citizens, and the inhabitants generally, they felt they owed so deep a debt of gratitude (here he paused for a moment, to afford opportunity for a burst of cheering—loud, hearty, and protracted), for her services—valuable—he might say, invaluable, such as they would never forget as long as there was an ounce of gold left in the field, or in West Australia! Here the cheering was long—so protracted that the Mayor held up his hand, and, motioning for silence, concluded his remarks by inviting Mr. and Mrs. Lilburne to a banquet at the Town Hall.

A carriage with four greys was in attendance, into which, in company with the Mayor and Mayoress, the distinguished visitors were handed, and driven to the Town Hall. Arrived at this imposing structure, they were ushered into the Great Hall, where tables had been laid for apparently about a thousand people. On the right hand of the Mayor sat the guest of the day, with the Warden of the Goldfield—a dread and awful potentate, having power of life and death (financially)—beside her; the Lady Mayoress on the left hand of her lord and master (ancient figure of speech now chiefly obsolete). Next to her sat a lately elected Councillor, who was a representative citizen in several departments of industrial and social development, and might be trusted to find her ladyship in light and airy[215]converse. On either side, as well as at the end of the long table, sat leading mine managers, ‘golden hole men,’ and mercantile representatives, with, of course, their wives and daughters. In prominent positions were distinguished visitors and tourists, such as General Sir Walter and Lady Cameron, the Honourable Denzil Southwater, Sir John and Lady Woods, and other notables of rank and fashion. With the exception of the memorable gathering when the Great Aqueduct discharged its first bounteous, providential flow, no such gathering had ever been witnessed at Pilot Mount. Full justice having been done to the repast, and the healths of the King and Queen heartily and loyally, if briefly, responded to, the Mayor called upon all present to charge their glasses, as he was about to propose the health of the guest of the day—he might say, the heroine of the hour—Mrs. Lilburne. If he gave her the title of Nurse Lilburne, by which she had been known so favourably to the population of the city, and the goldfields generally, perhaps he would be better understood. That burst of cheering, straight from the heart, showed how miners and workers of all classes recognised their true friends, of whatever class or occupation. He had taken the liberty of describing that lady as a heroine. There had been heroines in the history of our Motherland, who had stood upon the battlefield, ministering to the wants of the wounded and the dying, unmoved by feelings of personal danger; heroines who had dared the risks of plague, pestilence, and famine, with[216]unshaken courage and faith in an all-seeing Providence; heroines who had donned armour; heroines who had dared hurricanes or shipwreck, calmly pursuing their ministrations until the ‘whelming wave’ ended the tragedy; but none of these exemplars of womanhood, whether ancient or modern, exceeded in lustre the self-devoted attendant upon the feeble, the stricken, the sick, and the dying, who patiently—at all hours, in all seasons—fought the dread epidemic which had ravaged their city in its earlier days. It had slain a large proportion of the pioneers. Young and old, gentle and simple, tenderly or rudely reared, there had been but little difference in the death-roll. Thank God! the plague had been stayed. Their city was now as free from it and other diseases as the leading metropolitan towns. But they owed it not alone to their excellent medical staff, not to improved sanitation, but, under Heaven, to the nursing staff—among whom the earliest, the most capable, the most unwearied, the most successful in wresting patients from the very jaws of death, was their distinguished—he might say, their illustrious guest, to honour whom they were met that day. He gave them the health of Mrs. Alister Lilburne, more widely known, perhaps more loved and honoured, as ‘Nurse Lilburne.’

Long, loud, protracted indeed were the responses of the guests. Heterogeneous as was the assembly, but one feeling—that of deepest gratitude, of heartfelt respect—seemed to actuate the great gathering. When at length Mrs. Lilburne[217]stood up in her place, and the Mayor requested silence, it was wonderful how suddenly all sound and motion ceased.

She wore her simple nurse’s uniform. ‘This,’ she told her husband, ‘is the dress in which I worked, the dress in which I earned the gratitude of these people—out of respect to them, and the sisterhood who worked with me so loyally, I prefer to wear it to the end of the ceremony.’

As she stood there, outwardly calm and collected—although naturally roused to an unwonted state of exaltation by the electrical atmosphere of the assemblage—she spoke the first few words in a comparatively low tone, vibrating though they were with deep feeling and suppressed emotion; but as she became more fully pervaded by the unusual nature of the situation, and the exceptional circumstances under which the acquaintance—the friendship even, with so many now present had arisen, the colour came to her cheek, the dark eyes glowed with a fire none had recollected to have seen before, and with head erect, and fearless mien, she appeared to the excited crowd not only a beautiful woman—as she had always been considered—but as an inspired prophetess, dealing with questions not only of the life here, but of that beyond the grave. Adverting to the formation of the Pilot Mount hospital, and its humble inception by the committee of energetic, liberal-minded men—nearly all of whom she was glad to see here to-day—she congratulated the ladies and gentlemen present on the generous response made to the first appeal for subscriptions.[218]Money flowed in, not only from the city, but from distant camps and ‘rushes.’ Rude though the first building was, and humble the couches and pallets, the essentials of careful nursing and skilled medical aid were there. Crowds of patients taxed all their energy, but they were helped and encouraged by the medical staff, then and now self-denying, and generous, she might say munificent, in personal outlay—in giving freely of their time and skill. Every one helped, from his Worship, the Mayor, to the humblest tradesman. Progress was made—a large proportion of cures was effected. Gradually, medicines, scientific appliances and inventions were provided. And now what did they see? A noble building with an efficient staff, a decreasing death-rate—an institution comparing favourably with those of the metropolis, of her connection with which she would be proud to the last day of her life. With a parting word she would say farewell to Pilot Mount and the friends she had made there—friends of all classes—some of whom she had been privileged to help in the hour of need. Not only for this magnificent recognition of her humble work, but for the unaffected respect and sympathy which had been accorded to her since her first arrival as a stranger in the field, was she deeply, sincerely grateful. It would be among her most cherished memories, and would remain with her to the last day of her life. She could not conclude without a reference to not the least important feature of hospital duties and experiences, in which she had been enabled by reason of her opportunities to say[219]a word in season of a wholly unsectarian nature to those to whose bodily health it was her duty to minister. In the hour of death, almost within view of the Day of Judgment, surely it was appropriate to suggest repentance, to enjoin prayer! She respected the creeds under which all had been reared. No minister of religion had disapproved of her action, and she would now adjure those who, like herself, had felt the dread presence of the Shadow of Death, to recall the resolutions, the vows they had then made, and to act up to them for the rest of their lives. She would be here for a few weeks more; after her departure they would most probably not set eyes upon her in this world again; but she would never forget her friends of Pilot Mount, and would trust that her memory would always be associated with words and deeds worthy of their mutual esteem.

The Warden of Goldfields, ‘rising in his place,’ begged leave of his Worship the Mayor to speak briefly to the toast they had lately honoured. From his necessarily extensive official knowledge of the miners on this field, he could assert that many of them believed that their lives had been saved by Mrs. Lilburne’s skill and devotion to duty. The Chief Commissioner of Police was convinced that her advice and personal influence had prevented one serious riot, and had exercised more weight on the side of law and order than half the force under his command.

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

‘Now, my dear Alister,’ said Elinor Lilburne, when, the function being concluded, they had been[220]deposited safely at their hotel, after a spirited progress through an excited crowd, which might well have confused a less experienced driver, ‘how about the “necessarily rough, uncivilised inhabitants of a mining camp”?’

‘I apologise humbly for my presumption in offering an opinion founded upon ignorance the most dense, combined with prejudice the most childish. I shall submit all future statements to my “guide, philosopher, and friend.” For the attainment of sound, practical common-sense—combined with perfect manners—I shall always recommend (as I once did hear an English squire of my own county do seriously to a friend’s son and daughter) a year’s travel in Australia.’

‘Now, you aretoopenitent; I don’t want that; but you will acknowledge that you have learned a lesson!’

‘Lesson! I have gained an experience which I trust to profit by to my life’s end. And now, when are we to have this drive to the real Pilot Mount, which I heard you arranging with that good-looking young fellow? May I venture to risk the assertion thatheis English?’

‘You are right there, or nearly so—he is a Scot—the Honourable Denzil Southwater—youngest son of the Earl of Southwater—and a very fine fellow he is. He is thinking of leading an exploring expedition across the desert—where he may find gold, or the other thing.’

‘What other thing?’ asked Lilburne.

‘A death in the Waste,’ replied his wife sadly. ‘It is a gamble with the King of Terrors.He[221]won in a late encounter. Two brothers—sons of the soil—trained bushmen too, left their bones on the same track last year.’

‘Killed by the blacks, I suppose?’

‘No! They went off the recognised trail, believing that they would find water, but were deceived. They left a letter written just before delirium set in—with farewells to their kin. Their bones were found by the next exploring party.’

‘There are blanks, it appears, as well as prizes—though, after your banquet, it is hard to believe in anything but general prosperity. Fortune of war, of course, and so on.’

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

Five o’clock in the afternoon was the hour named, and, faithful to his engagement, Mr. Southwater drove up to the door of the Palace Hotel, with a pair of well-groomed, efficient-looking horses and a double-seated American buggy. This, it may be mentioned, is the accepted vehicle for business, or pleasure, on all goldfields, pastoral stations, and, indeed, throughout Australia generally—when fashionable metropolitan form is not imperative. If the load be heavy, the American waggonette is employed—which combines the lightness and toughness of the buggy with a weight-carrying capacity unknown to any ordinary vehicle of British origin. The practical advantages of this carriage were enhanced by the addition of a collapsible hood of white canvas, a protection equally from sun, wind, or rain; thus combining lightness,[222]and a cool appearance, with efficiency. Mr. Southwater had been asked to bring a lady with him, to make the party even, as well as to provide agreeable society for Mr. Lilburne, while his wife sat in the front seat, and conversed with him as driver.

‘Whom would you like, Mrs. Lilburne?’

‘Oh, I leave that to your taste and discretion. You know everybody in Pilot Mount, as well as in Perth, I believe.’

‘If Mrs. Wharton has returned from Perth, she would be the ideal fourth. If not, one of the Harley girls, or Jean White.’

‘You accept the responsibility, mind; I won’t interfere.’

As it turned out, Mrs. Wharton was still in Perth, and the Harleys had gone to Adelaide. So when they drove up to a house in the suburbs, surrounded by an unusually well-kept garden, and half-covered with a purple flowering tacsonia, a tall and beautiful girl, very well dressed, walked forth, and was introduced as Miss Jean White. Mrs. Lilburne’s face became expressive.

‘Oh, I see! No one else but the “Fair Maid of Perth” to be found—what a search you must have made. However, I trust you will be as successful in another quest one of these fine days. You have my best wishes, at any rate.’

‘I feel sure of that, Mrs. Lilburne, or I shouldn’t be here now, should I?’

‘I suppose you mean that trifling affair after the skirmish of Pilot Mount.’

‘Not at all. Much more serious—the fever I[223]brought with me from Salt Lake. I don’t easily give up, yet I really thought I was gone then. But I see your husband and Miss Jean are getting on quite nicely, and old Hotspur is beginning to paw the ground preparatory to rearing. We had better start.’

One touch—a mere hint from the rein, and away go the fast, impatient pair. The road is smooth, sandy, and just sufficiently firm to make the going perfect; no trees to speak of, a dead level for many a mile, with a faint blue range of hills on the farthest horizon. There had been a shower or two—the dust was minimised.

The low sun brought with it the promise of a graduated coolness, operating until midnight. The conditions of travel were perfect. As the light vehicle, behind the pick of the city harness pairs, swept smoothly on, the sensation was, in its way, pleasurably exciting; the feeling of vast, almost illimitable space—the dry, warm air—the absence of sound or movement other than the slight disturbance caused by the quick hoof-beats and faint whirring of their own wheels, which seemed like a rash intrusion into a vast, hostile, formless region. For a short time conversation had ceased—simultaneously. Miss White was gazing dreamily into the ultimate west, where the cloud scheme had resolved itself into a vast sheet of crimson and gold, deepening at the edges to orange, with gradually intruding blends of lake, pale green and violet.

‘A penny for your thoughts, Jean,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘And suppose we make it binding on[224]all four of us. We seem to have been suddenly stricken dumb. I wonder what the occult influence could have been? Miss White is to speak first.’

‘I was thinking,’ said the girl, ‘of the strangeness of life here. Civilisation on one hand, with books, music, London fashions, art novelties, scarcely a month old—all the great world’s great events published at breakfast time from day to day. On the other hand, to quote dear Sir Walter, “a sun-scorched desert, brown and bare”—and here come the camels to fill in the picture!’ As she spoke, a long train wound round the edge of a line of hillocks—their leader, with turbaned attendants, adding the Eastern tone and flavour to the apparition from the underworld.

‘Thanks very much,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘You are evidently destined to make a name in literature, when you elect to traverse that thorny path. What is to be the title?—for a book it must be within the year! Write while the “impulse” is fresh and unquestioned. Now for a title—The Yellow Slave, orWestern Whispers, by “Winifred.”’

‘You are making me blush,’ said the girl. ‘Who said I ever wrote? If it were any other person I should call it unkind.’

‘My dearest Jean, you are convicting yourself out of your own mouth. I did not say that youhadwritten, but that with your poetic tastes and strong turn for idealising our everyday life, you would be certain to write in the future. Not that I should care for your becoming a “writing woman.”’

[225]‘Now you are disrespectful to authors. Why should I not write? I might give the English cousins a clearer insight into our lives, about which, it seems to me, they are so strangely ignorant.’

‘All in good time, my dear! You were intended by Nature for something much better than to write books for idle people to read. What do you think, Mr. Southwater?’

‘Quite agree with Mrs. Lilburne,’ said the young man, looking upon the lovelyingénuewith such manifest admiration that she turned to Lilburne, and playfully besought his aid against her opponents.

‘Miss White is perfectly within her rights in extracting intellectual pleasure from the scant materials which lie around her. She is making the world at large her debtor by doing so. On the other hand, is the game worth the candle? Think of the careworn expression, the harassed nerves, the premature departure of youth—that divine if ephemeral gift. And all for what? For the sake of a book which half the world don’t understand, and the other half dislike.’

‘But think of the pleasure of being successful—really successful! What a glorious privilege! And such a joy while one is writing! I think I should die with ecstasy over a real triumph.’

‘Trust me—believe me, my dear Miss White, I have known writers, successful ones, too, of both sexes, and they were mostly disillusioned, if not disappointed. No, my dear young lady, the kind gods have blessed you with the chief treasures of this mortal life—health, youth, warm friends,[226]and, I might say, the highest endowment of all. Tempt not the jealous goddess.’

‘All this is very fine, and, no doubt, elevating,’ interposed Mrs. Lilburne; ‘but suppose we revert to the practical. Here we are at Pilot Hill, a place where romance has been acted—not merely written about, as Mr. Southwater, quite among friends, might tell us if he would.’

‘Nothing much to tell,’ said that young man, who, like all men of true heroic mould, hated talking about his deeds of valour. ‘Only a quick thing, soon over. Casualties few. Enemy routed with loss.’

‘What a shabby account of a real affair of outposts. Here’s Jean dying to hear about it. Youwerewounded, you know, or was it Lord Newstead? We can’t let you off. Support me, Jean, love! Look at her, Mr. Southwater.’

The girl, who had been gazing at Southwater with a world of interest, admiration, and pained sympathy in her beautiful eyes, dropped them at this appeal, and could only murmur pleadingly, ‘Please do.’

The young fellow was but a man. Thus adjured he would have been more than mortal if he had resisted such an appeal.

‘Now, Mrs. Lilburne, this is hardly fair. But I’m not a public character, and I know I can rely on you not to give me away. So here goes, while we walk the horses up the hill:—

‘The night was hot and steamy. I was sitting in my tent writing home, and Newstead was talking to Minniekins—really half the credit belongs[227]to her, for she gave us warning, you know. We were enjoying the quiet loaf, when suddenly she began to growl—not a bark, but a low, suspicious, disapproving note, hinting at undesirables. It was too dark to see more than a few yards; but Minniekins rarely made a false point.

‘We had finished a big clean up, and were mostly tired—perhaps a trifle sleepy. I stopped writing and watched. Minniekins kept on growling. On a sudden she burst into a fierce bark. Then I heard an oath, and a sharp yell of pain, after which she went on barking worse than ever. Then the scoundrels made their rush—it was a “put-up thing,” I mean planned beforehand—and the scrimmage began.

‘A fellow jammed a revolver into my face, which I instinctively knocked up, knocking him down with a left-hander at the same time.

‘His “gun,” as Americans call it, fell wide of him, and I grabbed it before he got on his legs again. I heard shots while this little bit of business was going on, and Mr. Banneret got a scratch—a close shave all the same. My man was soon made safe, and I was just in time to see Newstead laid out with a bullet through his left shoulder, not so far from the heart. A police detachment came in on the top of the shindy; but the battle was over. A tall man lay dead not far from the gold-room—poor Dick Andrews was down, and played out; but he had saved Banneret’s life by dropping “Long Jack” as the tall scoundrel—a noted criminal from another colony—was taking a second shot.

[228]‘Old Jack, who was just going to the township, and, being in full fig, had of course got his six-shooter, had fired right and left with good effect, so that when the Inspector lined up with the flower of the police force, fully armed, there was nothing to do but to carry off the wounded and bury the casualties. That was our Waterloo—short, sharp, and decisive; if it hadn’t been for Minniekins, we should have been taken, wholly unprepared—like the War Office in the Boer War. I think she ought to be decorated for it.’

‘And Lord Newstead—I suppose he recovered?’

‘I can answer for that,’ said Mrs. Lilburne, ‘as I had him under my care for a month, and a very refractory patient he was. He went home by the next P. & O.’

‘Of course he did,’ said Southwater, in an aggrieved tone, ‘and swelled about with his arm in a sling, giving himself the airs and graces of the wounded warrior, and letting the girls wait upon him all the way to Marseilles, under the impression that “his heart was weak,” and all sorts of humbug, while Chesterfield and I had to come back here and—er—take up the weary round of toil and what’s-its-name.’

‘Well, it seems to agree with you, Mr. Southwater,’ said the girl, smiling in so bewitching a fashion that a man might have been nerved to even greater exertion than such as was demanded from the shareholders in a mine which had reached the dividend-paying stage, andsuchdividends too,[229]as the ‘Last Chance, Limited,’ was even now disbursing.

‘“All’s well that ends well,” is a comfortable proverb. I feel pretty well, thank you, Miss White, and am gratified for the compliment. But here is old Jack coming forward to welcome this honourable party, and to do the honours in proper goldfield style.’

That venerable ancient now arrived on the scene, his bronzed and gnarled countenance wrinkled into an expression of welcome, which seemed with difficulty to adapt itself to his rugged face. The intention, however, was unmistakable.

‘Proud to see you, Mrs. Lilburne—and Miss Jean. Lord love her, hasn’t she growed into the beauty of the world! How you’ve shot up, to be sure! It’s many a long year since your father and I met on the other side. Well, he was always lucky—in more ways than one—that I’ll say and stand to. Glad to see you, sir! Like to see the mine? Saw the big silver mine at Los Angelos, did you? I was there many a year ago. Didn’t ought to have come away neither. But I was a “forty-niner.” Couldn’t help following the rush to ’Frisco—what a time it was! There’ll never be anything like it again while the world lasts.’

‘My husband would like to see the machinery,’ said Mrs. Lilburne. ‘What a grand view you’ve got!’

‘That’s what I thought when I first seen it, ma’am. I was pretty well told out when I got here first—thought I’d turn round and get back[230]while I’d a little strength left. But I couldn’t help standin’ still to look at the view. The sun was just a-settin’, and there was a kind of gold and red look over that far plain country. So, thinks I, it looks mean to cut away back without proving one or two of these “gulches”—that’s what we called them in San Francisco. So I stayed and camped—and next day if I didn’t fall plum centre on the—the——’

‘The Great Pilot Mount Reef, going twenty ounces to the ton,’ said Mr. Southwater, ‘which you’re going to show these ladies and Mr. Lilburne—not forgetting a five-ounce nugget for Miss White.’

‘We’ve been breaking down the south end of the reef to-day, and got some pretty coarse gold, so the ladies has come at a good time, sir. Please to follow me, and we’ll see what we can do. It ain’t every day we see a young lady like Miss Jean. Lord bless and prosper her!’

So the party was introduced to the ‘shift boss,’ with other leading officials and men in authority; afterwards to be lowered down in the ‘cage’ to where men were working two hundred yards from the surface, in narrow alleys with gleaming white or pink walls of quartz, in which were golden streaks. Narrow bands of dull red or yellow metal, almost unrecognisable as the root of all evil, and the lure for which men—ay, and women—bartered soul and body, and were content to work in hunger, dirt, rags, and wretchedness, if only they could gain a sufficiency of the dross, so called, which people profess to despise, but which[231]all men covet and hanker for to their lives’ end.

The atmosphere was hot and humid; the men at work in these lower levels might have passed for Red Sea stokers, as they laboured with tense muscle and sinew.

To what purpose this labour was expended—so far from the light of the sun or the fresh air of heaven—a visit to the treasure-chamber, in one side of the great gallery, was recommended. There the person in charge of the gold pointed out some of the specimens which had recently been sent in. Besides these there was the retorted gold.

After the gold was extracted from the innocent-looking matrix, it was poured into shapes, one of which, looking like the half of that anchor of British loyalty and instinctive reverence to the Empire, the British plum-pudding, the guardian had more than once offered to an adventurous damsel ‘on tour’—if she couldcarry it away: a challenge sometimes accepted; but in all cases the weight proved too great for the fair arms which so lovingly enfolded the bullion. However, fragments of the pure, precious metal were extracted from the glittering heap and handed to Mrs. Lilburne and the fair Jean, with apologies, even entreaties that they would deign to accept them, and so bring good luck to the mine, and all who laboured in it.

‘I must say,’ said Lilburne, after marking with experienced eye the various indications on this and other ‘drives’ (galleries), and workings generally, ‘that this country of yours appears to me more[232]wonderful every hour I spend in it. Think of a solitary traveller, “remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow,” dropping upon a property like this, and, what is more noteworthy, being able to keep possession of it.’

[233]CHAPTER X‘Allthis is very nice,’ said the fair damsel, who had refused to accept another pennyweight of gold, ‘but the sun is going down, and Imustsee the exact spot where the battle was fought, where Mr. Newstead lay, and where the tall robber fell dead; also where old Jack stood when he “opened business on his own account”—I should like to have been there, I confess.’‘Next time, Miss Jean, we will let you know,’ replied Southwater; ‘but come with me, and I will show you all the points of the attack, and where our camp stood.’Scrambling up the narrow path, the young people reached the conical flat-topped boulder near the summit, where the ‘frontal attack’ of the gold-robbers had been made. Exclaiming that ‘she was out of breath,’ the girl seated herself upon the historic stone—to be famous henceforth in the legends which are so apt to grow and develop with age.‘What a curious sensation it must be to be shot at!’ she said, gazing dreamily over the trackless Waste, where the red sunset spread a wondrous[234]blazonry, weirdly gorgeous in the pageant of the fading eve. ‘How did you feel, Mr. Southwater?’‘There’s no time to feel anything unless you’re hit. Newstead said it was like a crack with a stone—hardly realised till you drop; then, of course, you are all the time wanting to get at the other fellow. At least that’s my experience. It was all so sudden: I had only just written home to my friends, saying it was absurd to think of a goldfield as rude and lawless—that, in fact, it wasmuchsafer than London at midnight. A minute or two afterwards, we were fighting for our lives and hard-earned gold; more surprising still—but—perhaps——’‘Oh! go on, pray,’ pleaded Miss Jean, whose interest was now fully aroused, as was evidenced by her sparkling eyes and changing colour—‘whatcouldbe more surprising?’‘I only meant that it was queer, though folks at home wouldn’t realise it, that our best and boldest defender, poor Dick Andrews, who really won the fight for us, turns out to have been a notorious criminal, known in connection with the death of an Inspector of police in another colony.’‘Poor fellow! perhaps he had suffered injustice—one never knows. What became of him?’‘He was mortally wounded in the engagement, and made an edifying end next day, happy in the thought that his wife and children were provided for.’The girl was silent for a little space, and then said in a changed voice, ‘Can you tell me, Mr. Southwater, can any one explain, why what are[235]called bad men are so much more interesting than ordinary well-behaved people? They should not be, but that they are there’s no denying.’‘Hard to say—must be a natural sympathy for what Marcus Clarke calls “the thoroughbred upstanding criminal.” Sort of glamour—particularly affecting women, strange to say. Men understand the breed better. And yet any one more unlike the received notion of the hardened outlaw than poor Dick couldn’t be.’‘Now, what was he like?’‘The regular Sydney-side native. Tall, spare, muscular, or, rather, sinewy of frame, with regular features, chiefly unrelaxed, but wearing a pleasant expression at times. Low-voiced, and unpretending in demeanour, though wonderfully good at all manner of bush work. Reserved, for reason good, as may be imagined, yet respected “on the field,” and held to be liberal in all that concerned his fellow-workers. A perfect horseman, as a matter of course.’‘I shall begin to cry if we go on much longer,’ said the fair Jean, ‘and Mrs. Lilburne will be mildly reproachful, dear soul! if we are late for dinner.’So these young people lost no time in joining their friends, and the buggy pulled up at the Palace Hotel in something like ‘record time’ between ‘the Mount’ and the city, which, indeed, had been carefully noted, and was publicly known to all who had pretensions to sporting accuracy.The next morning saw the departure of Alister Lilburne and his wife from the Gold City, which[236]had been to her a refuge, nay, a home—a retreat from the pressure of care, the uncertainty of position, for all these days; departure from the people whom she had learned to love, and who had loved her with the deep, abiding conviction based upon gratitude and respect, which outlives ephemeral popularity—becoming welded into a cult or, as in Eastern lands, into a Faith. Whatever might have been the feelings with which the ordinary population of Pilot Mount regarded their late Hospital Superintendent, a handsome and indeed munificent endowment, to be devoted to the building and fitting up of a new wing, testified to Elinor Lilburne’s enduring interest in the welfare of the institution to which she had devoted some of the best years of her life..       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .Arnold Banneret’s financial status had now developed by such ‘leaps and bounds,’ to use the handy parliamentary phrase, that he found himself placed in an entirely novel position—one, indeed, of which he had never had previous experience; nor had he, in any mood of day-dreaming, been confronted with such. Yet, now, a decision must be made—a momentous question settled definitely. His income, large even for a golden claimholder, was annually increasing. Money was no object, to speak familiarly, yet it was the question before the House—the Legislative Council represented by himself, personally; and indeed he had been an M.L.C. for some years, in right of which, and a talisman worn on his watch chain, he was entitled to free railway passage throughout the length and[237]breadth of New South Wales. It was a pity that it did not apply to all British dominions, some of his fellow-legislators thought; but that privilege could not be arranged just yet. Still, in that day, when the United States of Australasia, with a population of a hundred millions, dominating the South Pacific, from New Guinea to Victoria Land within the Antarctic Circle, in alliance, too, with the United States and the Dominion of Canada, form a Pan-Anglican Power, prompt and efficient to regulate the world’s war and peace, who shall say them nay?The voyage home! Of this momentous ‘trip,’ as it was called in light, almost sportive reference, the now successful, honoured, and wealthy Australian proprietor had often thought. But neither the means nor the opportunity for such a decisive movement had as yet been forthcoming. The children had been too young, the financial outlook too restricted, in his earlier married life. Not that he or his wife had any ardent desire to make the change. They were attached to their native land; the climate agreed with them—they were not sure that the rigorous seasons of the ancestral isle would suit the immature brood, in which were centred the hopes and fears, the joys and sorrows, of their daily life. It had been relegated by consent to the region of by and by, where so many of the fairy legends of childhood were to come true; and now, slowly, imperceptibly, yet not less surely, the years had flown. Those years which divide early manhood and womanhood from middle age had departed never to return.[238]The future—the ‘by and by’—which had loomed so far and mist-coloured in their early life, had been overtaken. It had become the present, to be felt and reckoned with. The children had grown up. Of the boys, one was at Cambridge, the other working hard to pass exams., and panting for the happy day when he should see his name gazetted for a commission in an Imperial cavalry regiment. Of the girls, younger by several years, Hermione, almost ready to ‘come out,’ as the Society phrase is; the others, school-girls, receiving daily tuition from governesses, music masters, teachers of drawing, singing, languages,—all the varied education which goes to equip the modern maiden for her place in the ranks of womanhood.Now these young people had a natural ambition to ‘see the world.’ They had read widely, if not deeply, and were impatient to have tangible evidence of the historic glories of older lands. Of paintings and statuary their knowledge had been necessarily limited, although far from ordinary collections had been accessible in the galleries and museums of the metropolis in which they resided, and others which they had visited. Their artistic tastes, though not wholly unformed, were capable of higher development. They yearned for closer acquaintance with the capitals of the world—the ancient world. They ardently desired to behold Rome, Venice, Greece, Paris, Cairo. Reading was delightful. They could never be sufficiently grateful to their parents who had indulged their legitimate enthusiasm to the fullest[239]amount possible to their opportunities. But, of course, it was not, could never be the same. They longed to stand upon the Bridge of Sighs, ‘a palace and a prison on each hand’; to watch ‘Old Tiber through a marble wilderness rise with her yellow waves’; to visit the Coliseum by moonlight; to stand on Mars Hill, and ‘yon tower-capped Acropolis, which seems the very clouds to kiss,’—in short, to view all sorts of instructive, entrancing places. After such experiences they did not care what happened. They would have seen everything worth seeing. They could no longer be classed as ‘mere colonials’—they would be citizens of the world—akin to the most enviable sections of English society. Mrs. Banneret, though with less enthusiasm, agreed in the main with her daughters. Time and circumstance were propitious. Who could tell whether so favourable a combination would remain unaltered?Besides, she was anxious to see her sons once more. It was nearly three years since they had left their native land. Her husband secretly sympathised, though for a different class of reasons. He had not, could not have, the instinctive, passionate yearning with which the tender maternal heart agonises, so to speak, for the embrace of the sons whom she has brought into the world; for the sight of their dear faces; to feel once more the touch of cheek, of lips, of handclasp; to hear the joyous exultation of greeting after long absence; to mark anew the likeness to either parent, which the advancing[240]years may have imprinted yet more distinctly on face or form.In a measure, of course, Arnold Banneret shared these sacred sensations. He was proud of his boys, of their good looks and athletic development; fond of them also, although with less intensity than the mother that bore them—holiest and most ancient tie. He had watched over their education up to the University stage, and now, having, as he told himself, done his duty by them, awaited with some anxiety, though with reasonable confidence, the choice of a profession which it behoved them to make. For himself, he looked forward, of course, with pleasurable anticipation to revisiting the scenes, so fondly remembered, of the halcyon time of early manhood, when, fresh from college, he had roamed over the Continent with a comrade of congenial culture. Together they had followed the course of the majestic, solemn Rhine—mused over the ruined towers of Sternfels and Liebenstein—gazed at Rolandseck, at once the pride and beauty of the noble river. Rome, Athens, Florence, Paris—how the rapture of travel, the joy of companionship, the careless wanderings over hill and dale, city and plain, came freshly back! Could but one’s youth return!Alas! how few of the comrades of that joyous time are left, even in middle age. Hope is fled; the anticipation of a perhaps romantic future no longer cheers the sober monotony of life. We know the best thatcanhappen. We fear lest the worst should come suddenly into our life, like some[241]monster of the wood, unseen, unsuspected before. Such are, such may be, the brooding imaginings of the later life.The Honourable Arnold Banneret, as for years he had been styled, was able to combat them by reflecting that, at any rate, he had played a man’s part in life, at first with moderate, then with exceptional success. He had sons wherewith to meet his enemies in the gate. There was little doubt—he thanked God—of their courage and intelligence. Why then this dark hour, these depressing doubts?As a corrective, he proceeded at once to the office of the P. & O. Company, and took his passage for London. After securing the requisite number of comfortable cabins in theLhassa—the latest addition to the fleet of noble liners which, since their introduction by the great Association of ship-owners, has enabled Australian colonists to travel with speed and economy, with comfort, even luxury—he returned to lunch at Redgrove, with spirits considerably improved, and in a frame of mind more nearly akin to that in which he was accustomed to prepare for a long overland journey in the days of ‘long ago.’ ‘How strange it is,’ he told himself, ‘that on the eve of an important voyage, or undertaking, a feeling of doubt and depression should so often manifest itself. One involuntarily recalls the presentiments which came true—of shipwreck, of hurricane, fire, or mutiny, following the gloom and almost despairing prevision of disaster. Of the numberless successful undertakings and fortunate voyages no record is[242]kept. “Fears of the brave and follies of the wise” are not far to seek in the connection.’Sir Walter Scott, in success most modest, in adversity truly undaunted, even he owns to an unreasonable cloud of doubt and irresolution, including a ghostly murmur, ‘Do not go, Walter,’ which he solemnly affirms to, and that nearly led him to give up an expedition which afterwards turned out to be most beneficial, fortunate, and even marked by distinguished adventures..       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .The eventful day, fortunately fine, came at last. It was in the opening week of March—the first month of the southern autumn, mild with clear skies, cool bracing nights and mornings. The winds in that halcyon time were still: the north wind no longer swept across the plains of the inmost desert, bringing burning heat, dust-storms, and wrathful cyclones in its track to the cities of the coast.All nature, before the advent of winter, appeared to be entering upon a dreamless slumber. The winter, dread season of the austere North, was but relatively severe—cool, rather than cold, with the exception of the mountain heights, where snow fell in early autumn and lay until spring was fairly advanced.Packing and preparing for the momentous family event was therefore divested of its less agreeable features, while the inevitable process of leave-taking, with farewells to friends and relatives, was transacted under the most favourable circumstances—a bright sun and fair wind, not too[243]pronounced. At the appointed hour the bell rang, the shoreward division was politely requested to hasten their departure, and the huge liner moved gracefully from the wharf, and with calm, resistless force was soon breasting the wavelets between those frowning rock-portals, the Sydney Heads.On that auspicious, long-remembered day, everything went well. The young people, for the first time in their lives on ‘blue water,’ walked the decks until the time for preparing for dinner arrived.At this important function they were placed in the seat of honour at the captain’s table, and near that august, autocratic ruler—Mrs. Banneret, indeed, on the commander’s right hand, and other members of the family in close proximity. The whole service was admirable in their eyes; the menu varied, and excellently cooked. Military and naval officers, with Indian passengers getting off at Colombo, gave a pleasant, half-foreign tone to the company. By the time coffee was introduced, and the adjournment to the row of deck-chairs and lounges made, Hermione and Vanda were convinced that a ‘voyage home’ was a fairy-tale experience, merely the overture to a dramatic performance of dazzling variety and enjoyment.‘What a new life this is, compared to our existence in Sydney!’ exclaimed Hermione to her mother, as together they paced the deck, leaving their father to sit between Vanda and the younger girls, answering their endless questions.‘Oh, I am so delighted that you persuaded father to make the plunge, and take us home![244]I was afraid that he might suddenly get bad news from Pilot Mount, or a bank, or something, and say it was impossible to go; you never can be sure, until you are actually on board, and off—really off. Even then the Bardsleys actually came back from Colombo, for some trumpery reason—the climate did not agree with their aunt, or some one. I believe the elder girls went on by themselves. I couldn’t have done that, could I, mother? but you must own it was heartbreaking.’‘It is like many things that have to be endured in this life, my darling!’ said the fond mother, tenderly parting the bright hair of the girl, now in the first flush of youthful beauty; for they were a handsome family, the Bannerets—vigorous in mind and body; devotedly attached to each other and to their parents; clever in their way, though perhaps not of the highest order of intellectual development, but highly intelligent, and sympathetic to all the higher ideals. What was wanting in early and thorough training was compensated by energy, courage, and the fervent desire to approve themselves fitted for the front ranks in all departments of human effort..       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .The voyage came to an end, much like other voyages to the home-land, the Mecca of Australian-born colonists, the ancestral isle—the sacred soil, hallowed by a thousand traditions with which all are chiefly familiar from early childhood, but on which not all are privileged to tread. To those who, from narrow circumstances, increasing age,[245]or other reasons, the priceless privilege has been denied (and there have been cases of highly cultured, indeed eminent personages, who, with a curiously accurate knowledge of London town and suburb, have yet neverseeneither), the omission has caused a regret which only ended with life; while those who can talk of British country houses, and the green lanes of ‘merrie England,’ bear themselves ever afterward with a sense of superiority over their less fortunate friends and relatives. Unvexed by storms, the good shipLhassapursued her course to Colombo the paradisial, where first the glories of a possible Eden—with flower and fruit, primæval forest and mystic mountain summit, the whole set like a many-coloured jewel within the girdling wave and glowing tropic sky—were revealed to their enraptured gaze. They left this charmed region after a survey all too brief, registering a vow, separately and collectively, to revisit the magic isle, the splendour of which they would recall in their dreams. However, the next best thing would be the sights and sounds of the city of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, the dream-palaces of Zobeide and Amina—the one-eyed Calendars, transformed princes, and Grand Viziers. Here they were promised a fortnight’s stay, in which they could revel in the ‘havoc and glory of the East’ to their hearts’ content.This, too, came in due course. Not alone were the immortal memories of theArabian Nightsrecalled before their wondering eyes, with water-carriers, black slaves, veiled women, pacha and dragoman, camels and Arab horses, with gems[246]of Easternrie like the sands of the sea for multitude; but more modern delights, perhaps, on the whole, not less alluring to the immature feminine mind—the grandeur and magnificence of the Savoy Hotel, with the dresses and jewels of the fair visitors who made Cairo a winter resort. Whatever sins of omission the Banneret family had to charge themselves with in after years, the complete and thorough exploration of Grand Cairo and its environs was not among them. They ‘did’ the historic place conscientiously and thoroughly. The Sphinx, the Pyramids, the Museum at Boulak; the Nile, up to the first cataract; the citadel, the Mosque, the Palace of Sweet Waters,—all the regular, and some of the irregular sights. Nothing was neglected. The girls, indeed the whole party, rode well. Mrs. Banneret had been a daring horsewoman in her youth, and though motherhood had necessarily abated her enterprise, the courage which neither poverty, sickness, fatigue, nor mortal pain had power to tame, was still unshaken, and enabled her to bear her part in the expeditions in which the family revelled. Her willowy figure, but little altered from the days of girlhood, was admirably suited for equestrian exercise. She, like the rest of the family, delighted in the glowing atmosphere of the desert, and, now that circumstances had conspired to free her from the trammels of housekeeping, she surrendered herself unreservedly to the enchantment of the hour.‘What a glorious experience this is for the children—for all of us, indeed!’ she exclaimed[247]more than once. ‘I think you and I, Arnold, enjoy the whole thing nearly as much as they do—the foreign surroundings, the verification of old history and legend, the aloofness of all things from the rawness, if I may use the word, of their native land.’‘Yes,’ he replied; ‘one seems to absorb everything in a deep, unuttered spirit of thankfulness; and while contented with our lot in life, we have one feeling in common with some of our fellow-visitors at the hotel: a conviction—I speak of Lord Westerham and that South African millionaire who came to the Savoy last week—that our financial position is assured, impossible for anything to alter. We are, however, in a higher position than the millionaire. With him brain work and anxiety have told a tale. His health is impaired. They say he suffers terribly from insomnia, than which I can imagine nothing more agonising. A man whom I knew, otherwise enviably placed, finding that change of air combined with a sea voyage had no effect, hired a cab one day, went out for a short drive, and shot himself.’‘What a dreadful thing to do! He must have been insane.’‘Not necessarily. The mental torment, unrelieved by “sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,” had reached the stage when it became unendurable. People are not necessarily mad when they elect to face the problem of the Great Hereafter.’‘I cannot but think that theyare,’ said she, ‘or they would remain to confront the ills of life, rather[248]than be false to every duty and callous to the suffering of those whom they leave behind. But the idea is hateful to me. I cannot bear to discuss it.’The days of dreamy delight in the land of the Pharaohs came all too swiftly to an end. The season had advanced. If they wished to see the glorious greenery of England in the spring, they could not afford to linger among the ruins of the past, however stupendous or awe-striking. It was determined to make one halt, and one only. As there were three women of the party, what doubt could there be of the decision? They were to visit Paris! A short sojourn in Malta produced a cry of delight from the girls as they walked from Nix Mangiare stairs to the Strada Reale. A drive to St. Paul’s Bay, a fleeting vision of the drawbridges and fortifications, of narrow streets and lofty houses; mule-carts, mantillas, and water-carriers; priests with sombre robes and broad-leafed hats. There was so much to see, and but little time in which to do it. The Governor’s Palace was visited, reminiscent of Grand Masters; L’Isle Adam, and doubtless de Beaumanoir, so hard and unrelenting, in the case of the noble and unhappy Rebecca; the ramparts where, guarded by iron railings, were fosses of awful depth, besides old-world towers and batteries, which the Moors in past centuries had good cause to dread. Another day was granted in favour of a visit to the Church of St. John.‘Oh, we should be disgraced,’ said Hermione—‘have to hide our heads in shame—if we dared to say that we had spent a day in Malta and had not[249]been inside that most lovely church! Think of the Knights of Malta! Why, we are standing on their marble tombstones! De Rohan—think of the motto: “Ni prince, ni roi, Rohan je suis.” Isn’t that it? Perhaps Bois-Guilbert lies not far off—no, he can’t be; he was a Templar, Far from respectable, I daresay; but one can’t help loving him—can you now? Rebecca preferred Wilfred, probably because he was fair and she was dark. I’ve noticed that contrasts in complexion tend that way.’‘If such nonsense is the outcome of your visit to Malta, we need not have lost a day,’ said Mrs. Banneret. ‘Pray bring your thoughts more into harmony with the surroundings. Listen to that wonderful music—the organ is heavenly, and that soaring soprano might be the voice of an angel. I wonder at you, my dear!’‘Oh, mother dear, forgive me!’ pleaded the penitent; ‘I did not intend to be irreverent; but whether it is the lovely air, or the intoxication of travel, I can’t say, for one’s tongue seems to run along of itself. I won’t offend again.’ And here tears dimmed the bright eyes of the sensitive maiden, as mother and child embraced over one of the few differences which ever ruffled the calm of their deep mutual love.Mr. Banneret making his appearance with the two younger girls, explanations were deferred, and the party made their way homeward.Only a short stay, limited to the time necessary for the purchase ofarticles de Parisand the indispensable shoes and gloves, was made in Paris,[250]the all-important dress question being left to a more convenient season, when it and the leisurely Continental tour could be thoroughly enjoyed. At present the parents, although indulgent to the border-line of prudence, were actuated by motives unconnected with the enjoyment of picture galleries, gardens of Armida, or military reviews, where the striking uniforms of Zouaves and Spahis delighted the girls. Mrs. Banneret yearned with all the intensity of the maternal heart to see her boys again.The head of the family had not said much on the subject, and, save the sharer of his joys and sorrows, none had heard him open his heart upon a matter which nevertheless lay very near it—had indeed caused him more anxiety than he cared to express. ‘How are these boys of mine likely to turn out?’ was a query which arose in his mind at early dawn, when he always awoke; sometimes, although not often, in the watches of the night; occasionally during the day with insistent pertinacity. He had seen so many cases where early moral training, a good example, a liberal education, good society, and good advice had been all too powerless to stem the downward current of indolence, extravagance, and dissipation. The fatal knowledge that for them, at least, there was no necessity for industry, self-denial, or economy, overbore all old-fashioned arguments, as they considered them to be.‘The governor,’ thus referred to in latter-day speech, ‘had made “pots of money”—it had been all right forhimto work and slave in the queer[251]early times that old buffers yarned about. He was bound to do it, of course, or go under. But they werenot—that made all the difference. They were sorry to disagree with him—he wasn’t half bad, the old governor—in fact, a dashed good sort. But he wasn’t up to date! He had no idea of how a chap had to chuck the coin about, to keep in the front rank, nowadays. Hemusthave the necessaries of life. Think of what polo costs! You couldn’t get a decent pony under fifty or sixty quid; then you must have a boy—a smart one too; two ponies were little enough—safer to have four, in case of accidents. Fellah must be decently dressed if he goes out at all—and tailors, if they were any good, charged such infernal prices! He’d a fairish allowance, but last Cup Day made a hole in it’—and so on—and so on.This was the way the sons of his old friends talked; this was the way they acted—sad to relate. He heard them at the clubs—where they came down late for breakfast, looking as if they required a ‘strongish nip’ to steady their nerves. They confessed with cheerful confidence that ‘supper after the theatre had not been conducive to appetite. They really intended to take a pull some day—perhaps get married. But, really, Sydney and Melbourne had become such infernally dull holes that there was nothing to keep a fellow from goin’ to sleep except bridge and billiards—which didn’t always pay.’Would it not be worth while to try politics for a little excitement? was suggested. There[252]was the landed interest to develop legitimately—or indeed to defend. A wave of socialism had arisen, was indeed likely to become a tidal wave if no effort was made to arrest the doctrine of which among the earliest expositors was the late lamented John Cade.‘What!’ cries ‘the heir of all the ages’—‘mug up Goldwin Smith, Herbert Spencer, and those other Johnnies—to rub shoulders with a lot of fellows that drop theirh’s all over the shop? Shouldn’t get in, for one thing—and, if I did, why there’s hardly a gentleman in the whole caboodle!’‘Whose fault is that?’ queried the senior. ‘Have you ever tried?—or have any young men of your class, except Wharton and Conyers, and what are they among so many?’‘Don’t know that I have—not built that way. Some fellahs like that sort of thing—I don’t.’‘Of course it doesn’t matter. It might interfere with your amusements. Then you don’t mind that the laws are being made by the people you despise and won’t associate with—laws to bind your children—and their children after you—if you ever have any: you’ve lost the chance of modifying them—or blocking the suicidal and destructive ones. Laws made by men without capital in land or business—chiefly without culture, often without character; laws made to bind that part of the population who are handicapped by the possession of qualifications anciently held to be titles to respect—now held to place them below the swagman, the loafer, the drunkard, and the[253]pauper, as guarantee for place and power! How does that strike you?’‘Well, it does look mean—rather a crowd of “rotters” to belong to—I must think it over—I’m popular round about old Banda-widgeree—I think I’ll have a shy for the district next election if it’s not too late. I’m almost afraid it is. They’re talking of nationalising the goldfields—the land—the railways. Hang it!—they’ll want to nationalise a fellah’s bank-balance next.’‘They’ll do that by a side wind, and if they have the voting power on their side—as they have pretty well now, what with adult and female suffrage: ten thousand female voters in a metropolitan constituency againstninethousand male voters—whose fault is that?’‘I’m afraid our crowd had most to do with it by letting things drift—and I’m as bad as anybody. Good-bye—thanks—I do see things a trifle more clearly. Perhaps I’ll stand after all.’Arnold Banneret had listened to, indeed joined in, a conversation much resembling it one day. It deepened the lines on his brow, which were beginning to be more pronounced than the advance of time warranted.

‘Allthis is very nice,’ said the fair damsel, who had refused to accept another pennyweight of gold, ‘but the sun is going down, and Imustsee the exact spot where the battle was fought, where Mr. Newstead lay, and where the tall robber fell dead; also where old Jack stood when he “opened business on his own account”—I should like to have been there, I confess.’

‘Next time, Miss Jean, we will let you know,’ replied Southwater; ‘but come with me, and I will show you all the points of the attack, and where our camp stood.’

Scrambling up the narrow path, the young people reached the conical flat-topped boulder near the summit, where the ‘frontal attack’ of the gold-robbers had been made. Exclaiming that ‘she was out of breath,’ the girl seated herself upon the historic stone—to be famous henceforth in the legends which are so apt to grow and develop with age.

‘What a curious sensation it must be to be shot at!’ she said, gazing dreamily over the trackless Waste, where the red sunset spread a wondrous[234]blazonry, weirdly gorgeous in the pageant of the fading eve. ‘How did you feel, Mr. Southwater?’

‘There’s no time to feel anything unless you’re hit. Newstead said it was like a crack with a stone—hardly realised till you drop; then, of course, you are all the time wanting to get at the other fellow. At least that’s my experience. It was all so sudden: I had only just written home to my friends, saying it was absurd to think of a goldfield as rude and lawless—that, in fact, it wasmuchsafer than London at midnight. A minute or two afterwards, we were fighting for our lives and hard-earned gold; more surprising still—but—perhaps——’

‘Oh! go on, pray,’ pleaded Miss Jean, whose interest was now fully aroused, as was evidenced by her sparkling eyes and changing colour—‘whatcouldbe more surprising?’

‘I only meant that it was queer, though folks at home wouldn’t realise it, that our best and boldest defender, poor Dick Andrews, who really won the fight for us, turns out to have been a notorious criminal, known in connection with the death of an Inspector of police in another colony.’

‘Poor fellow! perhaps he had suffered injustice—one never knows. What became of him?’

‘He was mortally wounded in the engagement, and made an edifying end next day, happy in the thought that his wife and children were provided for.’

The girl was silent for a little space, and then said in a changed voice, ‘Can you tell me, Mr. Southwater, can any one explain, why what are[235]called bad men are so much more interesting than ordinary well-behaved people? They should not be, but that they are there’s no denying.’

‘Hard to say—must be a natural sympathy for what Marcus Clarke calls “the thoroughbred upstanding criminal.” Sort of glamour—particularly affecting women, strange to say. Men understand the breed better. And yet any one more unlike the received notion of the hardened outlaw than poor Dick couldn’t be.’

‘Now, what was he like?’

‘The regular Sydney-side native. Tall, spare, muscular, or, rather, sinewy of frame, with regular features, chiefly unrelaxed, but wearing a pleasant expression at times. Low-voiced, and unpretending in demeanour, though wonderfully good at all manner of bush work. Reserved, for reason good, as may be imagined, yet respected “on the field,” and held to be liberal in all that concerned his fellow-workers. A perfect horseman, as a matter of course.’

‘I shall begin to cry if we go on much longer,’ said the fair Jean, ‘and Mrs. Lilburne will be mildly reproachful, dear soul! if we are late for dinner.’

So these young people lost no time in joining their friends, and the buggy pulled up at the Palace Hotel in something like ‘record time’ between ‘the Mount’ and the city, which, indeed, had been carefully noted, and was publicly known to all who had pretensions to sporting accuracy.

The next morning saw the departure of Alister Lilburne and his wife from the Gold City, which[236]had been to her a refuge, nay, a home—a retreat from the pressure of care, the uncertainty of position, for all these days; departure from the people whom she had learned to love, and who had loved her with the deep, abiding conviction based upon gratitude and respect, which outlives ephemeral popularity—becoming welded into a cult or, as in Eastern lands, into a Faith. Whatever might have been the feelings with which the ordinary population of Pilot Mount regarded their late Hospital Superintendent, a handsome and indeed munificent endowment, to be devoted to the building and fitting up of a new wing, testified to Elinor Lilburne’s enduring interest in the welfare of the institution to which she had devoted some of the best years of her life.

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

Arnold Banneret’s financial status had now developed by such ‘leaps and bounds,’ to use the handy parliamentary phrase, that he found himself placed in an entirely novel position—one, indeed, of which he had never had previous experience; nor had he, in any mood of day-dreaming, been confronted with such. Yet, now, a decision must be made—a momentous question settled definitely. His income, large even for a golden claimholder, was annually increasing. Money was no object, to speak familiarly, yet it was the question before the House—the Legislative Council represented by himself, personally; and indeed he had been an M.L.C. for some years, in right of which, and a talisman worn on his watch chain, he was entitled to free railway passage throughout the length and[237]breadth of New South Wales. It was a pity that it did not apply to all British dominions, some of his fellow-legislators thought; but that privilege could not be arranged just yet. Still, in that day, when the United States of Australasia, with a population of a hundred millions, dominating the South Pacific, from New Guinea to Victoria Land within the Antarctic Circle, in alliance, too, with the United States and the Dominion of Canada, form a Pan-Anglican Power, prompt and efficient to regulate the world’s war and peace, who shall say them nay?

The voyage home! Of this momentous ‘trip,’ as it was called in light, almost sportive reference, the now successful, honoured, and wealthy Australian proprietor had often thought. But neither the means nor the opportunity for such a decisive movement had as yet been forthcoming. The children had been too young, the financial outlook too restricted, in his earlier married life. Not that he or his wife had any ardent desire to make the change. They were attached to their native land; the climate agreed with them—they were not sure that the rigorous seasons of the ancestral isle would suit the immature brood, in which were centred the hopes and fears, the joys and sorrows, of their daily life. It had been relegated by consent to the region of by and by, where so many of the fairy legends of childhood were to come true; and now, slowly, imperceptibly, yet not less surely, the years had flown. Those years which divide early manhood and womanhood from middle age had departed never to return.

[238]The future—the ‘by and by’—which had loomed so far and mist-coloured in their early life, had been overtaken. It had become the present, to be felt and reckoned with. The children had grown up. Of the boys, one was at Cambridge, the other working hard to pass exams., and panting for the happy day when he should see his name gazetted for a commission in an Imperial cavalry regiment. Of the girls, younger by several years, Hermione, almost ready to ‘come out,’ as the Society phrase is; the others, school-girls, receiving daily tuition from governesses, music masters, teachers of drawing, singing, languages,—all the varied education which goes to equip the modern maiden for her place in the ranks of womanhood.

Now these young people had a natural ambition to ‘see the world.’ They had read widely, if not deeply, and were impatient to have tangible evidence of the historic glories of older lands. Of paintings and statuary their knowledge had been necessarily limited, although far from ordinary collections had been accessible in the galleries and museums of the metropolis in which they resided, and others which they had visited. Their artistic tastes, though not wholly unformed, were capable of higher development. They yearned for closer acquaintance with the capitals of the world—the ancient world. They ardently desired to behold Rome, Venice, Greece, Paris, Cairo. Reading was delightful. They could never be sufficiently grateful to their parents who had indulged their legitimate enthusiasm to the fullest[239]amount possible to their opportunities. But, of course, it was not, could never be the same. They longed to stand upon the Bridge of Sighs, ‘a palace and a prison on each hand’; to watch ‘Old Tiber through a marble wilderness rise with her yellow waves’; to visit the Coliseum by moonlight; to stand on Mars Hill, and ‘yon tower-capped Acropolis, which seems the very clouds to kiss,’—in short, to view all sorts of instructive, entrancing places. After such experiences they did not care what happened. They would have seen everything worth seeing. They could no longer be classed as ‘mere colonials’—they would be citizens of the world—akin to the most enviable sections of English society. Mrs. Banneret, though with less enthusiasm, agreed in the main with her daughters. Time and circumstance were propitious. Who could tell whether so favourable a combination would remain unaltered?

Besides, she was anxious to see her sons once more. It was nearly three years since they had left their native land. Her husband secretly sympathised, though for a different class of reasons. He had not, could not have, the instinctive, passionate yearning with which the tender maternal heart agonises, so to speak, for the embrace of the sons whom she has brought into the world; for the sight of their dear faces; to feel once more the touch of cheek, of lips, of handclasp; to hear the joyous exultation of greeting after long absence; to mark anew the likeness to either parent, which the advancing[240]years may have imprinted yet more distinctly on face or form.

In a measure, of course, Arnold Banneret shared these sacred sensations. He was proud of his boys, of their good looks and athletic development; fond of them also, although with less intensity than the mother that bore them—holiest and most ancient tie. He had watched over their education up to the University stage, and now, having, as he told himself, done his duty by them, awaited with some anxiety, though with reasonable confidence, the choice of a profession which it behoved them to make. For himself, he looked forward, of course, with pleasurable anticipation to revisiting the scenes, so fondly remembered, of the halcyon time of early manhood, when, fresh from college, he had roamed over the Continent with a comrade of congenial culture. Together they had followed the course of the majestic, solemn Rhine—mused over the ruined towers of Sternfels and Liebenstein—gazed at Rolandseck, at once the pride and beauty of the noble river. Rome, Athens, Florence, Paris—how the rapture of travel, the joy of companionship, the careless wanderings over hill and dale, city and plain, came freshly back! Could but one’s youth return!

Alas! how few of the comrades of that joyous time are left, even in middle age. Hope is fled; the anticipation of a perhaps romantic future no longer cheers the sober monotony of life. We know the best thatcanhappen. We fear lest the worst should come suddenly into our life, like some[241]monster of the wood, unseen, unsuspected before. Such are, such may be, the brooding imaginings of the later life.

The Honourable Arnold Banneret, as for years he had been styled, was able to combat them by reflecting that, at any rate, he had played a man’s part in life, at first with moderate, then with exceptional success. He had sons wherewith to meet his enemies in the gate. There was little doubt—he thanked God—of their courage and intelligence. Why then this dark hour, these depressing doubts?

As a corrective, he proceeded at once to the office of the P. & O. Company, and took his passage for London. After securing the requisite number of comfortable cabins in theLhassa—the latest addition to the fleet of noble liners which, since their introduction by the great Association of ship-owners, has enabled Australian colonists to travel with speed and economy, with comfort, even luxury—he returned to lunch at Redgrove, with spirits considerably improved, and in a frame of mind more nearly akin to that in which he was accustomed to prepare for a long overland journey in the days of ‘long ago.’ ‘How strange it is,’ he told himself, ‘that on the eve of an important voyage, or undertaking, a feeling of doubt and depression should so often manifest itself. One involuntarily recalls the presentiments which came true—of shipwreck, of hurricane, fire, or mutiny, following the gloom and almost despairing prevision of disaster. Of the numberless successful undertakings and fortunate voyages no record is[242]kept. “Fears of the brave and follies of the wise” are not far to seek in the connection.’

Sir Walter Scott, in success most modest, in adversity truly undaunted, even he owns to an unreasonable cloud of doubt and irresolution, including a ghostly murmur, ‘Do not go, Walter,’ which he solemnly affirms to, and that nearly led him to give up an expedition which afterwards turned out to be most beneficial, fortunate, and even marked by distinguished adventures.

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

The eventful day, fortunately fine, came at last. It was in the opening week of March—the first month of the southern autumn, mild with clear skies, cool bracing nights and mornings. The winds in that halcyon time were still: the north wind no longer swept across the plains of the inmost desert, bringing burning heat, dust-storms, and wrathful cyclones in its track to the cities of the coast.

All nature, before the advent of winter, appeared to be entering upon a dreamless slumber. The winter, dread season of the austere North, was but relatively severe—cool, rather than cold, with the exception of the mountain heights, where snow fell in early autumn and lay until spring was fairly advanced.

Packing and preparing for the momentous family event was therefore divested of its less agreeable features, while the inevitable process of leave-taking, with farewells to friends and relatives, was transacted under the most favourable circumstances—a bright sun and fair wind, not too[243]pronounced. At the appointed hour the bell rang, the shoreward division was politely requested to hasten their departure, and the huge liner moved gracefully from the wharf, and with calm, resistless force was soon breasting the wavelets between those frowning rock-portals, the Sydney Heads.

On that auspicious, long-remembered day, everything went well. The young people, for the first time in their lives on ‘blue water,’ walked the decks until the time for preparing for dinner arrived.

At this important function they were placed in the seat of honour at the captain’s table, and near that august, autocratic ruler—Mrs. Banneret, indeed, on the commander’s right hand, and other members of the family in close proximity. The whole service was admirable in their eyes; the menu varied, and excellently cooked. Military and naval officers, with Indian passengers getting off at Colombo, gave a pleasant, half-foreign tone to the company. By the time coffee was introduced, and the adjournment to the row of deck-chairs and lounges made, Hermione and Vanda were convinced that a ‘voyage home’ was a fairy-tale experience, merely the overture to a dramatic performance of dazzling variety and enjoyment.

‘What a new life this is, compared to our existence in Sydney!’ exclaimed Hermione to her mother, as together they paced the deck, leaving their father to sit between Vanda and the younger girls, answering their endless questions.

‘Oh, I am so delighted that you persuaded father to make the plunge, and take us home![244]I was afraid that he might suddenly get bad news from Pilot Mount, or a bank, or something, and say it was impossible to go; you never can be sure, until you are actually on board, and off—really off. Even then the Bardsleys actually came back from Colombo, for some trumpery reason—the climate did not agree with their aunt, or some one. I believe the elder girls went on by themselves. I couldn’t have done that, could I, mother? but you must own it was heartbreaking.’

‘It is like many things that have to be endured in this life, my darling!’ said the fond mother, tenderly parting the bright hair of the girl, now in the first flush of youthful beauty; for they were a handsome family, the Bannerets—vigorous in mind and body; devotedly attached to each other and to their parents; clever in their way, though perhaps not of the highest order of intellectual development, but highly intelligent, and sympathetic to all the higher ideals. What was wanting in early and thorough training was compensated by energy, courage, and the fervent desire to approve themselves fitted for the front ranks in all departments of human effort.

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

The voyage came to an end, much like other voyages to the home-land, the Mecca of Australian-born colonists, the ancestral isle—the sacred soil, hallowed by a thousand traditions with which all are chiefly familiar from early childhood, but on which not all are privileged to tread. To those who, from narrow circumstances, increasing age,[245]or other reasons, the priceless privilege has been denied (and there have been cases of highly cultured, indeed eminent personages, who, with a curiously accurate knowledge of London town and suburb, have yet neverseeneither), the omission has caused a regret which only ended with life; while those who can talk of British country houses, and the green lanes of ‘merrie England,’ bear themselves ever afterward with a sense of superiority over their less fortunate friends and relatives. Unvexed by storms, the good shipLhassapursued her course to Colombo the paradisial, where first the glories of a possible Eden—with flower and fruit, primæval forest and mystic mountain summit, the whole set like a many-coloured jewel within the girdling wave and glowing tropic sky—were revealed to their enraptured gaze. They left this charmed region after a survey all too brief, registering a vow, separately and collectively, to revisit the magic isle, the splendour of which they would recall in their dreams. However, the next best thing would be the sights and sounds of the city of the Caliph Haroun-al-Raschid, the dream-palaces of Zobeide and Amina—the one-eyed Calendars, transformed princes, and Grand Viziers. Here they were promised a fortnight’s stay, in which they could revel in the ‘havoc and glory of the East’ to their hearts’ content.

This, too, came in due course. Not alone were the immortal memories of theArabian Nightsrecalled before their wondering eyes, with water-carriers, black slaves, veiled women, pacha and dragoman, camels and Arab horses, with gems[246]of Easternrie like the sands of the sea for multitude; but more modern delights, perhaps, on the whole, not less alluring to the immature feminine mind—the grandeur and magnificence of the Savoy Hotel, with the dresses and jewels of the fair visitors who made Cairo a winter resort. Whatever sins of omission the Banneret family had to charge themselves with in after years, the complete and thorough exploration of Grand Cairo and its environs was not among them. They ‘did’ the historic place conscientiously and thoroughly. The Sphinx, the Pyramids, the Museum at Boulak; the Nile, up to the first cataract; the citadel, the Mosque, the Palace of Sweet Waters,—all the regular, and some of the irregular sights. Nothing was neglected. The girls, indeed the whole party, rode well. Mrs. Banneret had been a daring horsewoman in her youth, and though motherhood had necessarily abated her enterprise, the courage which neither poverty, sickness, fatigue, nor mortal pain had power to tame, was still unshaken, and enabled her to bear her part in the expeditions in which the family revelled. Her willowy figure, but little altered from the days of girlhood, was admirably suited for equestrian exercise. She, like the rest of the family, delighted in the glowing atmosphere of the desert, and, now that circumstances had conspired to free her from the trammels of housekeeping, she surrendered herself unreservedly to the enchantment of the hour.

‘What a glorious experience this is for the children—for all of us, indeed!’ she exclaimed[247]more than once. ‘I think you and I, Arnold, enjoy the whole thing nearly as much as they do—the foreign surroundings, the verification of old history and legend, the aloofness of all things from the rawness, if I may use the word, of their native land.’

‘Yes,’ he replied; ‘one seems to absorb everything in a deep, unuttered spirit of thankfulness; and while contented with our lot in life, we have one feeling in common with some of our fellow-visitors at the hotel: a conviction—I speak of Lord Westerham and that South African millionaire who came to the Savoy last week—that our financial position is assured, impossible for anything to alter. We are, however, in a higher position than the millionaire. With him brain work and anxiety have told a tale. His health is impaired. They say he suffers terribly from insomnia, than which I can imagine nothing more agonising. A man whom I knew, otherwise enviably placed, finding that change of air combined with a sea voyage had no effect, hired a cab one day, went out for a short drive, and shot himself.’

‘What a dreadful thing to do! He must have been insane.’

‘Not necessarily. The mental torment, unrelieved by “sleep that knits up the ravelled sleave of care,” had reached the stage when it became unendurable. People are not necessarily mad when they elect to face the problem of the Great Hereafter.’

‘I cannot but think that theyare,’ said she, ‘or they would remain to confront the ills of life, rather[248]than be false to every duty and callous to the suffering of those whom they leave behind. But the idea is hateful to me. I cannot bear to discuss it.’

The days of dreamy delight in the land of the Pharaohs came all too swiftly to an end. The season had advanced. If they wished to see the glorious greenery of England in the spring, they could not afford to linger among the ruins of the past, however stupendous or awe-striking. It was determined to make one halt, and one only. As there were three women of the party, what doubt could there be of the decision? They were to visit Paris! A short sojourn in Malta produced a cry of delight from the girls as they walked from Nix Mangiare stairs to the Strada Reale. A drive to St. Paul’s Bay, a fleeting vision of the drawbridges and fortifications, of narrow streets and lofty houses; mule-carts, mantillas, and water-carriers; priests with sombre robes and broad-leafed hats. There was so much to see, and but little time in which to do it. The Governor’s Palace was visited, reminiscent of Grand Masters; L’Isle Adam, and doubtless de Beaumanoir, so hard and unrelenting, in the case of the noble and unhappy Rebecca; the ramparts where, guarded by iron railings, were fosses of awful depth, besides old-world towers and batteries, which the Moors in past centuries had good cause to dread. Another day was granted in favour of a visit to the Church of St. John.

‘Oh, we should be disgraced,’ said Hermione—‘have to hide our heads in shame—if we dared to say that we had spent a day in Malta and had not[249]been inside that most lovely church! Think of the Knights of Malta! Why, we are standing on their marble tombstones! De Rohan—think of the motto: “Ni prince, ni roi, Rohan je suis.” Isn’t that it? Perhaps Bois-Guilbert lies not far off—no, he can’t be; he was a Templar, Far from respectable, I daresay; but one can’t help loving him—can you now? Rebecca preferred Wilfred, probably because he was fair and she was dark. I’ve noticed that contrasts in complexion tend that way.’

‘If such nonsense is the outcome of your visit to Malta, we need not have lost a day,’ said Mrs. Banneret. ‘Pray bring your thoughts more into harmony with the surroundings. Listen to that wonderful music—the organ is heavenly, and that soaring soprano might be the voice of an angel. I wonder at you, my dear!’

‘Oh, mother dear, forgive me!’ pleaded the penitent; ‘I did not intend to be irreverent; but whether it is the lovely air, or the intoxication of travel, I can’t say, for one’s tongue seems to run along of itself. I won’t offend again.’ And here tears dimmed the bright eyes of the sensitive maiden, as mother and child embraced over one of the few differences which ever ruffled the calm of their deep mutual love.

Mr. Banneret making his appearance with the two younger girls, explanations were deferred, and the party made their way homeward.

Only a short stay, limited to the time necessary for the purchase ofarticles de Parisand the indispensable shoes and gloves, was made in Paris,[250]the all-important dress question being left to a more convenient season, when it and the leisurely Continental tour could be thoroughly enjoyed. At present the parents, although indulgent to the border-line of prudence, were actuated by motives unconnected with the enjoyment of picture galleries, gardens of Armida, or military reviews, where the striking uniforms of Zouaves and Spahis delighted the girls. Mrs. Banneret yearned with all the intensity of the maternal heart to see her boys again.

The head of the family had not said much on the subject, and, save the sharer of his joys and sorrows, none had heard him open his heart upon a matter which nevertheless lay very near it—had indeed caused him more anxiety than he cared to express. ‘How are these boys of mine likely to turn out?’ was a query which arose in his mind at early dawn, when he always awoke; sometimes, although not often, in the watches of the night; occasionally during the day with insistent pertinacity. He had seen so many cases where early moral training, a good example, a liberal education, good society, and good advice had been all too powerless to stem the downward current of indolence, extravagance, and dissipation. The fatal knowledge that for them, at least, there was no necessity for industry, self-denial, or economy, overbore all old-fashioned arguments, as they considered them to be.

‘The governor,’ thus referred to in latter-day speech, ‘had made “pots of money”—it had been all right forhimto work and slave in the queer[251]early times that old buffers yarned about. He was bound to do it, of course, or go under. But they werenot—that made all the difference. They were sorry to disagree with him—he wasn’t half bad, the old governor—in fact, a dashed good sort. But he wasn’t up to date! He had no idea of how a chap had to chuck the coin about, to keep in the front rank, nowadays. Hemusthave the necessaries of life. Think of what polo costs! You couldn’t get a decent pony under fifty or sixty quid; then you must have a boy—a smart one too; two ponies were little enough—safer to have four, in case of accidents. Fellah must be decently dressed if he goes out at all—and tailors, if they were any good, charged such infernal prices! He’d a fairish allowance, but last Cup Day made a hole in it’—and so on—and so on.

This was the way the sons of his old friends talked; this was the way they acted—sad to relate. He heard them at the clubs—where they came down late for breakfast, looking as if they required a ‘strongish nip’ to steady their nerves. They confessed with cheerful confidence that ‘supper after the theatre had not been conducive to appetite. They really intended to take a pull some day—perhaps get married. But, really, Sydney and Melbourne had become such infernally dull holes that there was nothing to keep a fellow from goin’ to sleep except bridge and billiards—which didn’t always pay.’

Would it not be worth while to try politics for a little excitement? was suggested. There[252]was the landed interest to develop legitimately—or indeed to defend. A wave of socialism had arisen, was indeed likely to become a tidal wave if no effort was made to arrest the doctrine of which among the earliest expositors was the late lamented John Cade.

‘What!’ cries ‘the heir of all the ages’—‘mug up Goldwin Smith, Herbert Spencer, and those other Johnnies—to rub shoulders with a lot of fellows that drop theirh’s all over the shop? Shouldn’t get in, for one thing—and, if I did, why there’s hardly a gentleman in the whole caboodle!’

‘Whose fault is that?’ queried the senior. ‘Have you ever tried?—or have any young men of your class, except Wharton and Conyers, and what are they among so many?’

‘Don’t know that I have—not built that way. Some fellahs like that sort of thing—I don’t.’

‘Of course it doesn’t matter. It might interfere with your amusements. Then you don’t mind that the laws are being made by the people you despise and won’t associate with—laws to bind your children—and their children after you—if you ever have any: you’ve lost the chance of modifying them—or blocking the suicidal and destructive ones. Laws made by men without capital in land or business—chiefly without culture, often without character; laws made to bind that part of the population who are handicapped by the possession of qualifications anciently held to be titles to respect—now held to place them below the swagman, the loafer, the drunkard, and the[253]pauper, as guarantee for place and power! How does that strike you?’

‘Well, it does look mean—rather a crowd of “rotters” to belong to—I must think it over—I’m popular round about old Banda-widgeree—I think I’ll have a shy for the district next election if it’s not too late. I’m almost afraid it is. They’re talking of nationalising the goldfields—the land—the railways. Hang it!—they’ll want to nationalise a fellah’s bank-balance next.’

‘They’ll do that by a side wind, and if they have the voting power on their side—as they have pretty well now, what with adult and female suffrage: ten thousand female voters in a metropolitan constituency againstninethousand male voters—whose fault is that?’

‘I’m afraid our crowd had most to do with it by letting things drift—and I’m as bad as anybody. Good-bye—thanks—I do see things a trifle more clearly. Perhaps I’ll stand after all.’

Arnold Banneret had listened to, indeed joined in, a conversation much resembling it one day. It deepened the lines on his brow, which were beginning to be more pronounced than the advance of time warranted.

Back to IndexNext