CHAPTERXXXVIII.TWO YEARS AFTER.
A tallbearded man walked slowly up the side of a steep ravine, leading a tired horse by the bridle. His hands were plunged deep in his trousers-pockets, and his brows were knitted in deep thought. He wore the regulation Australian costume—flannel shirt and silk scarf, straw hat, rough trousers, and enormous boots.
It was Alec Lindsay. Two years of the dry bracing air of Australia had done wonders for him. His cheeks and hands were brown as a nut, his muscles strong and springy as when he used to run up the sides of theHighland hills; not a trace of weakness was left in his frame.
When the ascent was climbed, the traveller came upon a rough path running along the upper edge of the gully, which brought him to a shepherd’s hut. This had been Alec’s home for the last fifteen months. Here he had lived, contentedly enough, dreaming now and then of the big world so far away, but never hankering after it, deeming it a pleasant piece of excitement if a traveller dropped in with a fortnight-old newspaper in his pocket.
As he drew near the hut, a short, thick-set man with a black beard, which resembled a section of a sweep’s brush, appeared at the doorway, and stood waiting for his companion’s approach.
‘Well?’ he inquired, as Alec came up.
‘I saw Martin,’ said Alec; ‘and I ordered the flour, and the other things. The washfor the sheep will be sent over on Saturday.’
Bill Cutbush gave a grunt, by way of acknowledging the information.
‘I went round by the post-office.’
‘Ah!’ growled Bill. ‘That’s what’s made you so late. You didn’t get any letters for me, I fancy? No billy-doos, or such-like?’
‘There was a letter and a paper for you,’ answered Alec, producing them from his pouch.
Bill stared at them as if he were half afraid of them.
‘Blest if I ain’t forgot how to read such things,’ he said, with a short laugh, as he thrust them into his pocket, and turned away.
‘I got a letter too,’ began Alec. ‘I think,Bill——’
Then he saw that his rough-spoken comrade was paying no attention to him, but wasstriding off to discover what the news was that had travelled so many thousand miles to find him.
So Alec rubbed down Brown Jim, his horse, and fed him. After that he went to the brook and washed himself, and then he walked into the hut. Supper, the never-changing supper of tea, chops, and unleavened bread, was ready cooked; and when that subject had been adequately discussed, Alec lit his pipe and sat down on a log outside the hut to ruminate.
Much had happened during the two years of his exile. His father had died, and Margaret had let the Castle Farm, and the others which the laird had bought back before his death, and had gone to live with Miss Lindsay in Glasgow.
Old Mr. Blake, too, was dead; and Hubert Blake and Sophy had been married for some time. The letter Alec had just received wasfrom Blake; and pulling it out of his pocket he began to read it once more.
‘My dear Lindsay’ (so ran the letter),‘I see it is of no use to blow you up for not writing—so I spare you. But I have news for you. Your cousin Semple is dead. Poor fellow, I fear his wealth did him little good. You know, I dare say, that he managed to hear of an attorney while he was in Spain, and through this man he succeeded in recovering the quarter of a million to obtain which he did you so grievous a wrong. But he never dared to show his face in England, knowing that if he escaped imprisonment he would have been shunned by everybody.‘I have seen his lawyer, who seems a fairly respectable individual; and he tells me that the two hundred and fifty thousand pounds are intact; and that your cousin left no will. So you and your sister inherit this property.You must come home at once, and see about it. I believe your sister is to be put into possession of her share very shortly.‘You are a rich man now, Lindsay; and if you choose you may do something towards realizing those schemes of colonization which in your book, “England’s Hope,” you recommend to all wealthy philanthropists. At least you may as well spend the money in that way; for I feel certain you will get rid of it before long, in one way or another. As for “England’s Hope,” it has made quite a sensation. It is talked of and quoted everywhere; and really your doctrine that the unskilled labourers who are starving should be helped to emigrate to Australia in large numbers, and settled on virgin land by the two Governments, seems to me the only practical way of solving the difficulty. I quite agree with you in this, that we may expect the agricultural labourers to find less and less work on English farms,so that the distress which comes round as regularly every winter as the first of November, must grow worse every year, unless it is relieved by a remedy which will be in some degree commensurate with the evil.‘But we will talk over all this when we meet. What I want to impress upon you is that you must, as soon as this reaches you, saddle your horse, and make for the nearest seaport. Take the first steamer for England, and as soon as you land come straight to Brighton. We shall be here for four or five months at least. I want to have a long chat with you, and my wife wants to show you the baby, whose faculties (according to his mother) are well-nigh superhuman, and whose beauties and graces are infinite.‘By the way, we lighted upon an old acquaintance of yours the other day, Miss Mowbray. Poor girl, I fancy she has rather a hard life of it. She foolishly invested thegreater part of her little fortune in a company which paid high dividends long enough to enable the promoters to sell their shares, and then went to smash. So she lives with some relations as a sort of nursery-governess to a pack of preternaturally ugly children. But I fancy her hard fortune has improved her. My wife has taken a great fancy to her, chiefly, I believe, on account of her courage in giving evidence on a certain occasion, and on account of her refusing James Semple, when he wanted to marry her last year.‘Now, good-bye, and remember to come to Brighton the moment your ship comes in.‘Yours always,‘Hubert Blake.’
‘My dear Lindsay’ (so ran the letter),
‘I see it is of no use to blow you up for not writing—so I spare you. But I have news for you. Your cousin Semple is dead. Poor fellow, I fear his wealth did him little good. You know, I dare say, that he managed to hear of an attorney while he was in Spain, and through this man he succeeded in recovering the quarter of a million to obtain which he did you so grievous a wrong. But he never dared to show his face in England, knowing that if he escaped imprisonment he would have been shunned by everybody.
‘I have seen his lawyer, who seems a fairly respectable individual; and he tells me that the two hundred and fifty thousand pounds are intact; and that your cousin left no will. So you and your sister inherit this property.You must come home at once, and see about it. I believe your sister is to be put into possession of her share very shortly.
‘You are a rich man now, Lindsay; and if you choose you may do something towards realizing those schemes of colonization which in your book, “England’s Hope,” you recommend to all wealthy philanthropists. At least you may as well spend the money in that way; for I feel certain you will get rid of it before long, in one way or another. As for “England’s Hope,” it has made quite a sensation. It is talked of and quoted everywhere; and really your doctrine that the unskilled labourers who are starving should be helped to emigrate to Australia in large numbers, and settled on virgin land by the two Governments, seems to me the only practical way of solving the difficulty. I quite agree with you in this, that we may expect the agricultural labourers to find less and less work on English farms,so that the distress which comes round as regularly every winter as the first of November, must grow worse every year, unless it is relieved by a remedy which will be in some degree commensurate with the evil.
‘But we will talk over all this when we meet. What I want to impress upon you is that you must, as soon as this reaches you, saddle your horse, and make for the nearest seaport. Take the first steamer for England, and as soon as you land come straight to Brighton. We shall be here for four or five months at least. I want to have a long chat with you, and my wife wants to show you the baby, whose faculties (according to his mother) are well-nigh superhuman, and whose beauties and graces are infinite.
‘By the way, we lighted upon an old acquaintance of yours the other day, Miss Mowbray. Poor girl, I fancy she has rather a hard life of it. She foolishly invested thegreater part of her little fortune in a company which paid high dividends long enough to enable the promoters to sell their shares, and then went to smash. So she lives with some relations as a sort of nursery-governess to a pack of preternaturally ugly children. But I fancy her hard fortune has improved her. My wife has taken a great fancy to her, chiefly, I believe, on account of her courage in giving evidence on a certain occasion, and on account of her refusing James Semple, when he wanted to marry her last year.
‘Now, good-bye, and remember to come to Brighton the moment your ship comes in.
‘Yours always,
‘Hubert Blake.’
By the time Alec’s pipe was finished, Bill Cutbush had returned to the hut. He was very quiet and subdued in his manner. Evidently the contents of his letter hadtouched him deeply; but he said not a word about it.
‘Bill,’ said Alec, before they separated for the night, ‘I have had an important letter from England: and I am going home. I spoke to Martin; and he will send someone to take my place to-morrow.’
‘When d’you start?’ asked Bill, after a pause.
‘At daybreak.’
‘What are you going to do with Brown Jim?’
‘I shall ride him to Clifford’s, and catch the stage there.’
‘You think of selling him?’
‘I shall leave him to you, Bill.’
‘For my own?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank’ee.’
‘Good-night, Bill.’
Half an hour afterwards Alec suddenly awoke.
‘Who’s there?’ he shouted.
‘It’s only me,’ said the voice of Bill Cutbush. ‘I say, y’know, it was sort of partickler good in you to give me Brown Jim. He’s the best hoss for a long way round. I’ll take good care on him. Thought you’d like to know.’
And before Alec had time to reply, Bill had vanished.
Before two months had passed, Alec was once more in London. And without waiting to see the solicitor who had charge of his late cousin’s property, he went down to Brighton the same day.
To his disappointment, however, he found that Blake and his wife were not at home, and would not probably be back till the evening. Alec spent the rest of the day in wandering about the pier and the streets,feeling more lonely than he had been in the Australian bush.
It was late in the afternoon, and he was strolling aimlessly along the seashore, when happening to look towards the cliffs he caught sight of Laura Mowbray.
Yes, it was she; a glad surprise shining in her eyes. Alec rushed up to her, holding out both his hands.
‘Oh, how are you? I am so glad to see you!’ he cried.
Laura gave him her right hand without speaking, but Alec seized her left as well, and held it, while his eyes devoured her face.
‘Won’t you give me a word of welcome?’ he asked.
‘Welcome back to England!’ she said, gently disengaging her hands.
Then they walked on side by side.
‘When did you return?’ asked Laura.
‘I only reached London this morning.’
‘Had you a pleasant voyage?’
‘Yes; but I want to hear about you. I want to know so much.’
‘No, no; you shall tell me all about Australia, and what you have been doing all this time.’
There were plenty of topics for conversation, and an hour went by before they noticed that the sun was near his setting.
‘I must take the children home,’ said Laura. ‘They are under my charge, you know.’
‘The children? Where are they?’
‘Playing over there. Oh! I have been keeping an eye on them all the time. I have not been so careless as you think.’
‘You cannot imagine,’ said Alec, as they walked over to the children’s encampment, ‘how strange it seems to me that I am here, walking by your side. I can hardly believe it to be true.’
Laura smiled, but she said nothing by way of reply; and just then two pert-looking little girls came running up and claimed her attention. Alec drew back a little, and watched the group. He could not help seeing that in some subtle way Laura was greatly changed. Her manner was gentle and self-forgetful. The very tones of her voice had altered.
Presently the children scampered off again, and Alec rejoined his companion.
‘Do you know what I was thinking of just now?’ he said.
Something in his voice startled her. He did not wait for an answer, but went on:
‘I was thinking of an afternoon in the garden at Glendhu, half a dozen years ago.’
‘Some things are best forgotten,’ she murmured, hardly knowing what she said.
‘I was only a foolish boy then,’ went onAlec, ‘but I think my heart has never changed.’
‘Please stop, Mr. Lindsay. Indeed I cannot listen to you.’
‘Laura—you are not—engaged?’
‘No; oh no!’
‘Then why won’t you listen? You did not doubt me then. Why should you doubt me now?’
‘I don’t doubt you. But it can never, never be.’
‘You think I am hasty. It may seem so, but I have been longing to tell you this for weeks and months. And you know my heart was always yours.’
‘Oh, Mr. Lindsay, I entreat you not to say any more! I should not have allowed you to go on.’
‘Why? If I can win your love,Laura——’
‘No, no; you do not really know me. You do not understand.’
‘I only understand one thing—I love you. Laura, you won’t refuse me?’
‘But I have been so heartless, so unprincipled, so selfish, so——’ the rest was lost in tears.
‘Hush, hush! I won’t have you say such things.’
‘But they are true.’
‘Laura, just one word,’ whispered Alec, gently taking her hand in his. ‘Can you care for me? Look at me, dearest.’
‘It is better not,’ she said, trying to withdraw her hand. ‘See, there are Mr. and Mrs. Blake coming down the cliff.’
‘They don’t see us yet. There is time for you to hear me and make me happy.’
‘Would it make you happy? Are you sure?’ asked Laura; and the sunlight seemed to play for a moment on her face.
‘Can you doubt it? Come; let us forget the last three years, and imagine that we areboy and girl again at Glendhu. Will you? And let me whisper, “Can you love me, Laura?”’
‘Oh, Alec, in my heart I loved you even then!’
THE END.
BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.