Babes in the Bush

Not so. The hoofs of no mortal cob ever rang upon turf or roadway with the long, regular strokes of the steed of the coming horseman.

‘A thoroughbred horse!’ said Wilfred. ‘Tired, too, by his rolling stride. Whoever can it be at this time of night?’

Then he saw Christabel’s pale cheek faintly flush. How lovely was the warmer tint as it stole from cheek to brow, while her eye sparkled afresh like a lamp relumed. ‘Only one person is likely to come here to-night to say good-bye to us,’ she almost whispered. ‘I did not think he would take the trouble. Oh, it can’t be – ’

As she spoke, the clattering hoofs ceased abruptly at the garden gate. A hasty step was heard on the gravel, and Bob Clarke, pale as death and haggard with fatigue, stood before them.

‘I swore I would say good-bye,’ he said. ‘So I am here, you see. I have ridden a hundred miles to do it. Ha! Effingham! Back from Port Phillip? Christabel Rockley, answer me – am I too late?’

‘Oh, Bob!’ she cried, and as she spoke she rose and stood by his side, taking one hand in both of hers. ‘You are not too late. But you will have to forgive me, and you, too, Wilfred Effingham, for being a silly girl that did not know her own mind. It would have served you right, Master Bob, and it will be a lesson to you not to put off important business. If Desborough had gone lame – I suppose it is he, poor fellow, that you have nearly ridden to death – you would have lost Christabel Rockley for good and all, whatever she may be worth. I was not sure, and papa was angry. But I am now —I am now. Oh, Bob, my dear old Bob, I will wait for you till I am a hundred if you don’t make a fortune before!’

Bob Clarke looked doubtfully from one face to the other, scrutinising Wilfred’s with a fierce, questioning glance. But as their eyes met he saw that which quenched all jealous fears.

‘My dear fellow,’ said Wilfred, coming forward and holding out his hand, ‘you have had your usual luck and “won on the post.” I congratulate you heartily, on my honour, as a man and a gentleman. Christabel has freely told you that but for your opportune arrival her hand might have been disposed of differently. You won’t wonder that any man should do his best to win her. But from my soul I can now rejoice that it was not so; that I have been spared the discovery, when too late, that her heart was yours – yours alone. Look upon me now as your lifelong friend. Let us keep our own counsel, and all will go well.’

‘Wilfred Effingham has spoken like himself,’ said Christabel, whose features were now illuminated with the pure light of love that knows neither doubt nor diffidence in the presence of the beloved one. ‘You see, I should have had some excuse, Bob, if I had thrown you over, you procrastinating old stupid. Why did you leave me doubting and wondering all this time? However, I shall have plenty of time to scold you. Here comes papa at last.’

At this simple announcement the three faces changed as the well-known step of Mr. Rockley was heard – firm, rapid, aggressive. But the girl’s features, at first troubled, gradually assumed a steadfast look. Bob Clarke raised his head, and drew himself up as if scanning the line of country. Wilfred Effingham’s countenance wore the abstracted look of one raised by unselfish aims above ordinary considerations.

‘I thought I should never get away from that confounded old idiot,’ Mr. Rockley commenced. ‘Why, Bob Clarke! where have you sprung from? We heard you had gone to Port Phillip, or Adelaide, or somewhere; very glad to see you, wherever you came from. Better stay to-night; we can give you a bed. Why the deuce didn’t you take your horse round to the stable instead of letting the poor devil stand tied up at the gate after the ride he seems to have had? Christabel, perhaps you’ll tell them to bring in supper. I feel both hungry and thirsty – giving directions, directions, till I’m hoarse.’

Christabel glided away, whereupon Bob Clarke faced round squarely and confronted his host.

‘Mr. Rockley, I came here to-night to tell you two things. I apologise for being so late, but I only heard you were leaving yesterday. I have ridden a hundred miles to-day.’

‘Just like you,’ said Rockley; ‘and why the deuce didn’t you make them send you in supper all this time? You look as if you hadn’t saved yourself any more than your horse.’

Truth to tell, Master Bob was rather pale, and his eyes looked unnaturally bright as he bent them upon the speaker.

‘Plenty of time afterwards, sir,’ he said; ‘the business was important. First of all, Mr. Hampden has given me a partnership, and I am going to take up country in Port Phillip under the firm of Hampden and Clarke. The cattle are drafted and started – five hundred head of picked Herefords – Joe Curle is with them, and young Warner. I’m going by sea to be ready for them when they come over.’

‘I’m sincerely glad to hear it, my dear Bob,’ said Rockley in his most cordial manner – one peculiar to him when he had become aware of something to another man’s advantage. ‘Why, you had better come down with us this week in the Mary Anne. I’ve chartered her, and she is crammed full, but, of course, I can give any one a passage. I can’t tell you how glad I am. Mrs. Rockley!’ he cried out as that well-beloved matron appeared and held out her hand with a smile of good omen to the not fully reassured Bob, ‘are we never to have anything to eat to-night? Here’s Bob Clarke has ridden a hundred and fifty miles, and dying of hunger before your eyes; but, of course, of course’ – here he changed into a tragic tone of injury – ‘if I’m not to be master in my own house – ’

Mrs. Rockley, with her placid countenance, only relieved by a glance at Wilfred, swiftly withdrew, and Rockley, to whom it had suddenly occurred as he looked at Wilfred that complications might arise from his subjecting his daughter to the perilous companionship of a sea-voyage with so noted a detrimental as Bob Clarke, looked like a hound that had outrun the scent, desirous of trying back, but not quite certain of his line.

‘Well, Bob, I am sure you will do well in Port Phillip; you have had lots of experience, and no man can work harder when he likes, I will say that for you; but it’s a fast place, a very fast place, I tell you, sir; and if you give yourself up to that confounded racing and steeplechasing, I know what will come of it.’

‘Mr. Rockley,’ said Bob again, with the air of a man who steadies his horse at a rasper, ‘I came to ask you for your daughter. I know I’ve not done much so far, but she likes me, and I feel I shall be successful in life or go to the devil – according to your answer this night.’

Mr. Rockley looked first at one and then at the other of his young friends in much astonishment. This surprise was so great that for once he was unable to give vent to his ideas.

Before he could gather self-possession, Wilfred Effingham spoke. ‘My dear Rockley, from circumstances which have come to my knowledge, but which I am in honour bound not to reveal, I can assure you that your daughter’s happiness is deeply concerned in my friend Clarke’s proposal. As a friend of the family – who takes the deepest interest in her future welfare – let me beg of you to give the matter your most favourable consideration.’

Mr. Rockley’s face passed through the phases of wild astonishment and strong disapproval before he replied. It had then relaxed into one of humorous enlightenment.

‘I see how it is. That monkey, Christabel, has enlisted you on her side. Well, I tell you both that I should have preferred Wilfred Effingham as my son-in-law. I am not going to hide my opinion on that or any other subject. But as she has made her choice, I will not – I say I will not – make her life miserable. Not that I have any objection to you, Bob, my boy, except on the score of that confounded horse-racing. It’s very well in its way. No man enjoys a race more than I do; but it’s not the thing for a young fellow who has his way to make in the world.’

‘I’ll never own another race-horse,’ quoth Bob, with desperate self-renunciation, ‘as long as I live, if – ’

‘Oh yes, you will,’ said Mr. Rockley, with superior forecast; ‘but what I want you to do is to promise not to go head and shoulders into it for the next few years, when you’ll have all your work cut out for you, if you want to be a man and make a home for your wife and family. Well, it’s done now, and here’s my hand, my boy; you’ve got a good little girl, if she is a pretty one. But take my advice, don’t give her too much of her own way at the beginning. Show that you intend to be master from the start, put her down if she shows temper; when she gives in, you can be as kind to her as you like afterwards. Better that than for her to have the whip-hand. Women don’t understand moderation. That was always my way, wasn’t it, Bessie?’ he inquired, appealing to Mrs. Rockley, who having entered the room had come in for this piece of practical advice, delivered in a loud tone of voice. ‘I’ve been giving your future son-in-law – there he is; I know he is a favourite of yours; you needn’t say he isn’t – a useful piece of advice, which I hope he’ll have the sense to act up to. Supper ready in the next room? I fancy we’re all in want of a little refreshment; what do you think, Bob?’

That gentleman had private ideas upon the subject, but did not disclose them further than by looking over at Mrs. Rockley, and giving practical effect to the suggestion.

The partie carré enjoyed a cheerful but not very conversational repast. Wilfred and Bob Clarke felt more disposed to drink than to eat. Neither had much to say, so Rockley had it all his own way with Port Phillip speculations, advice to Bob Clarke of where to go for first-class cattle country, and how to manage economically for the first few years. Mrs. Rockley was tired, but found a few reassuring words for the anxious Bob, explaining that Christabel had a headache, but would be sure to be quite well in the morning. She also indicated her sympathy with Wilfred, and her approval of his generosity in backing up his rival’s claim. This, she assured him, she nor Christabel would ever forget.

Finally, Mr. Rockley looked at his watch in the midst of a suggestion to buy more cattle on Hampden’s account and take up two or three runs, inasmuch as it was all one trouble and not much more expense; when, discovering that it was past midnight, he broke up the parliament. Wilfred made his final adieus, and at daylight was fast leaving the town behind him, on his way to The Chase, accompanied by divers ‘companions of Sintram,’ in the guise of vain regret and dull despair, with also (though not unalloyed) a curious sense of relief.

Taking the most philosophical view of the subject, the after-taste of refusal by a woman is rarely exceeded in this life for corroding bitterness. The non-preference of oneself, to the average suitor, fills the individual, unless he be free from every tinge of vanity, with wrath and disgust. In vain the proverbial salve is applied by superficial comforters. The foiled fisherman will not be consoled. He will throw away his flies and burn his rod. Henceforth he and angling have parted for ever. Such in effect for a while is the lament of most men who have the evil hap to pin so much of their present and prospective happiness upon one cast – and lose it. The proud man suffers deeply, in secret. The selfish man mourns for the loss of personal gain. The true and manly lover is shaken to the centre of his being. The vain man is wroth exceedingly with childish anger; furious that any woman should disdain him —him! The susceptible, fickle suitor, who promptly bears his incense to another shrine, is to be envied, if not commended. But

To each his sufferings, all are men,Condemned alike to groan.

Who loves vainly is stricken with a poisoned arrow. The wound rankles in the flesh of every son of Adam, oft producing anguish, even unto death, long after the apparent hurt is healed.

Wilfred Effingham was not more than ordinarily vain. He had not been, in so many words, rejected. Indeed, he had been nearly accepted. But he could not disguise from himself that it amounted to much the same thing. Yet he reflected that he had cause to be thankful that the girl had not been permitted to complete the measure of her self-deception – to promise her hand where she could not truly have given her heart. Better far, a thousand times, that this should have happened beforehand, he thought, ‘than that I should have seen after marriage the look that came into her eyes when they rested on Bob Clarke.’

He did not admit that permanent injury to his health would result from this defeat. It was not a crushing disaster, from which he could never rally. Rather was it a sharp repulse, useful in teaching caution. Brave men, great men, had profited by blows like this ere now. He would retire within his entrenchments – would perhaps be the better fitted to take the field in a future campaign.

A necessity lay upon him of acquainting his family with a portion, at any rate, of such momentous events. He did not go too deeply into his feelings for Christabel Rockley, yet permitted his mother and sisters to perceive that all probability of her appearing at The Chase as Mrs. Effingham, junior, was swept away by arrangement with Bob Clarke – duly ratified by the irrevocable if reluctant consent of Mr. Rockley.

His condition of mind was, doubtless, closely gauged by his relatives. With instinctive delicacy they ministered indirectly to his hurt spirit. While not displeased that the lovely Christabel had not appropriated the beloved, their Wilfred, they never permitted him to perceive how widely their estimate differed from his own. They counselled steady occupation, and led him to take pleasure once more in intellectual pursuits.

A diversion, happily, was effected in due time. He commenced to discover that his mental appetite had returned – that he could read once more and even laugh occasionally at the conceits of authors, much indeed as if his heart had not been broken. Then letters with good news from Beatrice and her father arrived. The voyage had been safe and speedy. On their arrival they had found the Colonel – such was his present rank – better than their fears had led them to expect. Ghastly and numerous, in all truth, were his still unhealed wounds; his state of weakness pitiable to see. But the fever from which he had suffered had left him. And when the eyes of the sick soldier met those of Beatrice Effingham, beaming upon him with a world of love and tenderness, all felt that a stage on the way to recovery had been reached. Such, too, came to be the opinion of the doctor and nurse, a portion of whose duties the two ladies had assumed.

Then letters came from the new country, via Port Phillip: – ‘The climate was more moist than that of New South Wales, but the water never failed, and the grass was beyond all description. Immigrants from all the world were pouring in fast; the place bade fair to be another Britain. Money was being made rapidly. Stock were any price you chose to ask. A cattle trade was springing up with Tasmania. Argyll thought he would go home for a couple of years, leaving Hamilton in charge. Fred Churbett was in great form, fully convinced that he was intended for a dweller in the waste places of the earth. He felt so happy and contented that he didn’t think he would take a free passage to England, with a season box at the Royal Opera, if it were offered to him.’

As for Guy, all written symbols were inadequate to express the length, breadth, and depth of his happiness under the new and romantic conditions. The cattle were doing splendidly – no one would know them. And no wonder – the feed was unparalleled. He had got up two good slab huts, a stock-yard, and a calf-pen. They were now splitting rails for a horse paddock.

The Port Phillip news (from Guy) became presently more sensational. The Benmohr people, with Ardmillan, Churbett, and the rest, had arranged to leave their stations for a while, and come to Yass for Christmas. A better time to get away might never come. There was no chance of bush-fires. The blacks were quiet. The cattle were thoroughly broken in; you couldn’t drive them off the runs if you tried. There was nothing to do this year but brand calves. So they would turn up before Christmas Day.

He didn’t think he would have been able to get away, but Jack Donnelly had offered to look after the run in his absence, and with old Tom there, no harm could come to the cattle. A couple of months would see them back, and he really thought they deserved a holiday.

Such intelligence had power to renovate the morale of the whole household, from Mrs. Effingham – who, in good sooth, had with difficulty kept up a reasonably cheerful appearance, in default of her absent husband and daughter – down to Mrs. Evans, expectant of the errant Dick.

Jeanie and Andrew were overjoyed at the tidings, and Duncan was at once despatched to Benmohr to acquaint Mrs. Teviot and Wullie with the glorious news, in case they had not as yet received a letter. But they had; and Mrs. Teviot threatened Duncan with the broom for daring to think ‘her gentlemen wadna acquent her the vara meenute they kenned they could win hame to Benmohr.’

Comes then a letter from Sternworth. News had been received from O’Desmond, who had discovered a splendid tract of country beyond the lower Oxley marshes, hitherto considered impassable, and after remaining upon it during the winter and spring, was coming back to Badajos. He too hoped to arrive before Christmas. The long-vacant homes of the district would be again filled up, thank God!

‘Won’t it be delightful to see dear Guy again,’ said Annabel, ‘and to have the old house full once more, with friends and neighbours. I must kiss one of them. Mr. Churbett, I think. You would not object to that, mamma, would you?’

‘He would not,’ said Wilfred. ‘I don’t wonder that you and Rosamond are delighted at the chance of seeing their faces again. It seems hard that fate should have decided to separate us. Either they should have remained here, or we should have pulled up stakes, like Rockley, and migrated there.’

‘There is another friend coming that I shall be charmed to welcome – whom, like Annabel, I shall be ready to embrace, and indeed shall kiss on the spot.’

‘Is my last belief in womanhood to be uprooted?’ exclaimed Wilfred languidly. ‘Is my immaculate sister Rosamond actually going to join the “fast” division?’

‘You need not be alarmed,’ she replied. ‘It is only Vera Fane; and I did not speak of her visit before, because I was not sure she would be able to come.’

‘Vera Fane!’ said Wilfred. ‘How does she happen to come our way? I thought she was in Sydney. Didn’t some one say she was going to be married?’

‘Oh, to that handsome cousin, Reginald, that came from England, via Melbourne, the other day. You heard that, did you? So did we, and were agonised at the thought of losing her for good. But she is coming up here at mamma’s invitation, given long ago, to stay with us over January. Her father won’t be at Black Mountain till then; he can’t leave Norman, who has had a bad time with scarlet fever.’

‘Well, you will have another lady in the house to fill Beatrice’s place, and help to amuse your guests. She is quite equal to a pair of ordinary young ladies in the matter of rational conversation, perhaps more.’

‘So Mr. Argyll thinks, evidently,’ said Annabel; ‘he paid her the greatest attention once he met her over here. I know she thinks him very clever and distinguished-looking. They would suit one another famously.’

‘I don’t think so at all,’ said Wilfred shortly. ‘But I must get away to my work.’

CHAPTER XXVI

THE RETURN FROM PALESTINE

Matters had been pleasant enough in the early days at Lake William, and the Benmohr men considered that nothing could be more perfect than their old life there. But this new region was so much more extensive, with a half-unknown grandeur, rendering existence more picturesque and exciting in every way. There were possibilities of fortunes being made, of cities being built, of a great Dominion in the future – vast though formless visions, which dwarfed the restricted aims of the elder colony. Such aspirations tended to dissuade them from residing permanently in their former homesteads.

But they were coming back for a last visit – a long farewell. There were friends to see, adventures to relate, transactions to arrange. A pleasant change from their wild-wood life, an intoxicating novelty; but once experienced, they must depart to return no more.

The absentees did not await Christmas proper, but arrived beforehand, having tempted the main in the yacht Favourite, sailing master Commodore Kirsopp, R.N., from Melbourne. Such passengers as Ned White, Jack Fletcher, Tom Carne, and Alick Gambier offered such an irresistible combination.

Once more the homesteads around Lake William appeared to awaken and put on their former hospitable expression. Mrs. Teviot had scrubbed and burnished away at Benmohr, until when ‘her gentlemen’ arrived, welcomed with tears of joy, they declared themselves afraid to take possession of their own house, so magnificently furnished and spotlessly clean did it appear to them after their backwoods experience.

Mr. Churbett stood gazing at his books in speechless admiration (he averred) for half an hour; afterwards inspecting his stable and Grey Surrey’s loose-box with feelings of wonder and appreciation. Neil Barrington declared that he was again a schoolboy at home for the holidays, not a day older than fourteen, and thereupon indulged himself in so many pranks and privileges proper to his assumed age that Mrs. Teviot scolded him for a graceless laddie, and threatened to box his ears, particularly when he kissed her assistant, an apple-cheeked damsel lured from one of the neighbouring farms in order to help in her work at this tremendous crisis.

Guy Effingham was hardly recognisable, so his sisters declared, in the stalwart youngster who galloped up to The Chase in company with Gerald O’More, whom he had invited to spend Christmas in his father’s house. There was the old mischievous, merry expression of the eyes, the frank smile for those he loved; but all save his forehead was burned several shades darker, and a thick-coming growth of whisker and moustache had changed the boyish lineaments and placed in their stead the sterner regard of manhood.

Gerald O’More had also sustained a change. His manner was more subdued, and his spirits, though ready as of old to respond to the call of mirth, did not seem to be so irrepressible. He had altered somewhat in figure and face, having lost the fulness which marks the newly-arrived colonist, and along with the British fairness of complexion, sacrificed to the Australian sun, had put away the half-inquiring, half-critical tone of manner that characterises the immigrant Briton for his first year in Australia. He now ranked as the soldier who had shared in the toil, the bivouac, the marches of the campaign; no longer a recruit or supernumerary.

‘He has never been so jolly since poor Hubert’s death,’ whispered Guy to Rosamond in their first confidential talk. ‘He thought it was his fault that the poor chap wasn’t able to defend himself. But he’ll get over it in time. A better-hearted fellow couldn’t be. He’s a stunning bushman now, and a tiger to work.’

‘What’s “a tiger to work”?’ asked Rosamond, laughing. ‘I must make you pay a forfeit for inelegant expressions, as I used to do in old school-days.’

‘I should never have known half as much,’ said the boy, as he turned to his sister with a look of deepest love and admiring respect, ‘if it hadn’t been for you, Rosamond. How early you used to get up on those winter mornings, and how Blanche and I and Selden hated the sound of that bell! But there’s nothing like it,’ he added with a tone of manly decision. ‘I polished off a fellow about the date of the battle of Crecy in great style the other day. You would have been quite proud of me.’

‘You keep up your reading, then, dear Guy, and don’t forget your classics, though you are in the bush? When you go to England, some day, you must show our friends that we do more than gallop after cattle and chop down trees in Australia.’

‘Oh, we have great reading at night, I can tell you; only those tallow candles are such a nuisance. I’ve got a new friend, a Cambridge fellow, just out from home, on the other side of me, and he’s a regular encyclopædia. So, between him and the Benmohr people, I shan’t rust much.’