CHAPTER XII

It was well-nigh mid-day before we reached our hotel; but as soon as we did so Mr. Leversidge placed the small box containing the pearl in a safe place. Having had such difficulty in finding it, he had no desire to run the risk of losing it again. This done, we devoted half an hour to business, and after that I went down to the agent's office to make inquiries about the mail-boat for Japan, which was due to arrive from San Francisco the following day. The remainder of the afternoon was occupied with calls upon old friends, and it was not until well after nightfall that I returned to our hotel. On arriving there, to my surprise, I found Mr. Leversidge in my bedroom in a state of wildest excitement. He was standing in the middle of the room holding the small wooden box containing the pearl in his hand. I inquired what was the matter.

"Thank Heaven you have returned," he cried. "Collon, I have made a terrible discovery. You will scarcely believe, but we've been swindled again, and in the most barefaced manner possible, by that seemingly repentant hound on board the steamer."

"What on earth do you mean?" I inquired, scarcely able to credit what he said. "How have we been swindled?"

In answer to my question he lifted the lid of the box and tipped its contents into the palm of his hand, which he held towards me in a theatrical fashion.

"We've been horribly taken in," he said. "This is not the pearl my firm purchased. It is a dummy--a fake, a make-believe. That clever rascal must have manufactured it himself for this express purpose, and all his protestations were as false as the pearl itself."

"What?" I cried. "I can't believe it. Let me look at the thing."

Taking it from him I examined it carefully. What he said was true. It was not genuine. At the same time, however, I am prepared to assert that it was the finest forgery of its kind I have ever come across in a fairly extensive experience. Until that moment, in my own heart, I had been despising the spurious Colway-Brown for a mere chicken-hearted cur, who, as soon as he was collared, wept and whined, and declared himself over-tempted and deeply repentant. Now, however, I was beginning to have a greater respect for him than I had yet felt, and for the simple and sufficient reason that in a trial of skill he had proved one too many for us.

"What can we do?" asked Mr. Leversidge. "By this time he may have changed to another boat, and have left the Island. In that case we shall have to commence our chase over again."

I was about to reply, when one of the native servants of the hotel entered the room and handed Mr. Leversidge a note, which he opened. Having read it he passed it on to me.

"Good heavens! I can scarcely believe it," I heard him say softly to himself. "Read that, Mr. Collon."

The note was from the captain of the schooner _Friendship_, and ran as follows:--

"To J. Leversidge, Esq.,

"Pacific Hotel, Honolulu.

"Dear Sir,--

"I regret exceedingly having to inform you that the man whom you visited on board my vessel this morning was, half an hour ago, shot by a person who had evidently been awaiting his arrival in this port. The murderer is in safe custody. As I understand from him that you were, or had been until lately, his employer, I thought it my duty to at once communicate with you.

"I am, Sir,

"Yours very obediently,

"J. BOLSOVER."

"This is retribution with a vengeance," I said. "But who can the murderer be?"

"One of the gang who was after the pearl in Australia, I'll be bound," returned Mr. Leversidge. Then the expression on his face suddenly changed, and he seized me by the arm. "For hundreds of reasons he would be certain to carry the pearl about his person. Can the murderer have stolen it, think you?"

"We will very soon ascertain," I answered, springing from the chair into which I had just thrown myself. "Come, Mr. Leversidge, we'll be off to the boat at once. This is no time for half measures."

So saying, we seized our hats and left the hotel in search of the schooner _Friendship_. When we got on board we found an unusual stillness reigning. The skipper greeted us at the entrance of the companion ladder and shook us by the hand. "This is a bad business, gentlemen," he said, "and I regret that it should have happened aboard my boat."

"A very bad business, as you say," Mr. Leversidge replied. "How long ago did it happen?"

"About an hour and a half," replied the other. "It was getting dark, when a man came aboard and asked to see your friend. He was standing just where we are now, and after they had said a few words they walked aft together. They must have started quarrelling at once, for as I went down the ladder to the cuddy I heard some high words pass between them, then a shot was fired, and your friend fell upon the deck. I rushed on deck and got there just in time to seize the murderer as he was going over the side. We clapped him in irons straight away, and as soon as we had done so, set ashore for the police."

"And the murdered man?"

"We carried him below, but he expired before we got him there. He lies now in his cabin. The police are coming to take him off in an hour's time. Perhaps you would like to see him?"

"Thank you," said Mr. Leversidge, and the captain led the way to the berth below, where he left us alone with the dead man.

"It's now, or never," I said. "If we want the pearl, we've got to find it before the police come off to take possession of the body, otherwise how are you going to establish your rights to it."

"But where do you intend looking for it?" Mr. Leversidge inquired.

"I'm going to begin by searching the body," I answered, "and then if we are permitted sufficient time, I shall take a look at his luggage. You had better guard the door."

As I spoke I took from my pocket a small, but exceedingly sharp pair of folding scissors, which I make a point of always carrying about with me. Then drawing back the blanket with which the body was covered, I ran my practised fingers over it. It is wonderful what a number of hiding-places the human frame contains. But it is the business of my life to know them all, and on this particular occasion it was not long before I discovered that high up under his right arm his coat had been carefully padded. To cut the lining was the work of a few seconds, and the results justified my expectations. "Here is your pearl, Mr. Leversidge," I said, holding it up, and a moment later I handed him the jewel in question. "Now let us get on deck as soon as possible. You had better leave your address, however, with the captain, in order that the police may know where to find you should your presence be required at the inquest."

He followed my advice, and then we descended to our boat alongside. Next morning, to obviate any chance of future inconvenience, we made it our business to attend at the police office, where we stated what we knew of the murdered man. Three hours later I bade Mr. Leversidge farewell on the hurricane deck of the American mail-boat.

"Good-bye, Mr. Collon," he said. "It seems strange to be parting like this after all we have gone through together. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your co-operation. There is only one question I wish to ask you before you go."

"And what is that?"

"Was I right, or was I wrong, when I told you in Ceylon that I thought this case would prove to be one of the most extraordinary even in your varied repertoire?"

"You were quite right," I answered. "I have never known another like it. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, and may you always be equally successful."

* * * * *

Three months later, when I was just bringing to a conclusion a delicate bit of business in Cochin China, the incoming mail-boat brought me a small packet, which, when I had opened it, I discovered contained a valuable diamond ring, with a card bearing this inscription:--"To Christopher Collon, in recognition of a signal service rendered to Wilson, Burke & Leversidge, of Hatton Garden."

The great black pearl which was the cause of all that has been told in this story is now amongst the most valued jewels of an Empress. How little, when it lies black as night upon her snow-white bosom, does she think what it cost in human life, or of the part it played in the drama to which I now invariably refer as "A CRIME OF THE UNDER-SEAS."

The Phantom Stockman

"A remarkably charming situation, and as pretty a homestead as any I have seen in the Bush," I said. "You have certainly worked wonders during the short time you have been in possession."

It was a moonlight night, and Jim Spicer and I were sitting in the verandah of Warradoona Station in Western New South Wales. Ten o'clock had struck nearly half an hour before, and, at a quarter past, Mrs. Spicer had bidden us "Good-night" and had gone off to bed. On hearing that I did not feel tired, her husband had invited me to bring my pipe and grog into the verandah, where we could chat about old times without disturbing anybody. I had only arrived that afternoon from Melbourne, and, as we had not met for more than three years, it may be easily imagined that we had much to say to each other. Years before we had been on a station together in Queensland, had done two overlanding trips in the same party, and had more than once tried our luck upon the gold-fields in partnership. Then he had taken a billet as manager of a big station in the Far West, and I had gone south to Melbourne to give up the Bush and settle down to the humdrum business I had inherited from my father. My surprise may therefore be understood when one morning I received a letter from my old comrade, informing me that he was married and had taken a property on Warradoona Creek. He brought his letter to a conclusion by telling me that if I stood in need of a holiday, and would care to undertake the long journey out to his place, he would not only give me a hearty welcome, but would be very thankful for my assistance in unravelling a mystery which up to the time of writing had baffled him completely. What the mystery was he did not say.

Now, as all the Bush world knows, Warradoona, despite the fact that it is on the direct overlanding route to Western Queensland, is one of the most unget-at-able places on the face of our great Island Continent. To begin with, you have a four hundred mile railway journey, then a coach ride of upwards of two hundred more, which will bring you to the township of Yarrapanya, a settlement of four houses at the junction of Warradoona Creek with the Salt Bush River. In the township horses can be obtained, and with their assistance the remainder of the journey, upwards of a hundred miles, may be accomplished. At the best of times it is a tedious undertaking, but when the floods are out, or, on the other hand, in the summer season when there is no water at all, it becomes a peculiarly dangerous one. To compensate for these drawbacks, however, when you _do_ reach the station you will receive as hearty a welcome as any to be obtained in the Bush. The property itself is a large one, and certainly the best in that district. The homestead is a neat Bush building constructed of wood, roofed with shingles, and boasting on every side a broad verandah. It is built on the side of a hill and overlooks the plain that separates the higher land from the river. Away to the north where the Ranges trend in towards the Creek, there is a narrow pass through which come all the overlanding parties bringing cattle from Queensland to the south. To the southward a dense Mulga Scrub commences, and clothes the whole face of the hills as far as the eye can reach. Across the river and lying some thirty miles due west is Yarka Station, where, at the time of which I write, resided Jim's nearest neighbour, the Honourable Marmaduke Chudfield, a young Englishman, who, after he had given his family repeated opportunities of studying the more frivolous side of his character, had been shipped to Australia, where it was confidently hoped hard work and a limited supply of money would turn him into a staid and respectable colonist.

"Yes," said Spicer, as he walked to the rail of the verandah, and looked down upon the moonlit plain, "it is, as you say, by no means a bad sort of place. As I shall show you to-morrow, the station buildings are above the average in point of completeness, the run is well sheltered and grassed, the supply of water is abundant, and, as you are aware, we are on the direct cattle route to the south. Moreover, I have got the place for a considerable period on exceptional terms."

"I congratulate you most heartily. Now tell me the disadvantages; for I suppose there _are_ some."

"So far as I have seen there is only one. At the same time, however, I must confess that that one is quite big enough to outweigh all the advantages put together. In point of fact, it was that very disadvantage that made me write to you last week and endeavour to induce you to pay us a visit."

"Now I come to think of it, I remember in your letter you _did_ speak of some mystery that you wanted cleared up. What is it? In these prosaic days mysteries, save in mining matters, are few and far between. I am all impatience to hear what shape yours assumes."

While I had been speaking Spicer had been leaning on the verandah rail looking down the hillside towards the river. Now he turned, and, placing his back against one of the posts that supported the roof, regarded me steadily for some seconds.

"First and foremost, old man," he said, "try to bear it in mind that I don't want to be laughed at. I've got so much at stake that I'm as touchy on the subject as an old man with the gout. The trouble I have to contend with is that this place is supposed to be haunted. I know it's a silly sort of thing for a matter-of-fact fellow like myself to say; but still the fact remains, and a remarkably unpleasant fact it is."

"The deuce it is," I replied. "And pray what is the place supposed to be haunted by?"

"By a man on a white horse who rides about on a plain down yonder."

"Is this only hearsay, or have you seen the apparition yourself?"

"I have seen him on three occasions," replied Spicer solemnly. "The first time was the week after I arrived on the place, the second was three months ago, and the last was the very Saturday upon which I wrote to you. But as if that were not enough, we have been worried ever since our arrival by the most dismal noises in the house itself."

"What sort of noises do you mean?"

"By all sorts, confound them! Sometimes by a shriek about midnight that fetches you up in bed with the perspiration rolling off your face; sometimes by moans and groans; and sometimes, but not so often, by a peculiar noise that is for all the world like a human voice, muffled by a blanket, trying to say, 'Save me, save me,' and not succeeding very well. As you know, I am a fairly plucky man, and for that reason I think I might manage to stand it myself; but then I've got some one else to consider. I have to think of my wife. Under ordinary circumstances she is as plucky a little woman as ever made her home in the Bush, but no woman's nerves would stand the continual strain that is put upon them here. You see, my work often takes me out on the run for days at a time, and I have to leave her alone. Female servants we have none, not so much even as a solitary black gin. When we came up we brought a woman with us from Melbourne, but she only stayed a week and then went off with the first bullock team that passed this way. However, we managed, by offering big wages, to get another. She stayed a month, and then said she would prefer to go off to the township alone rather than stay another night upon the place. We have been here five months and a week, and during that time I have had four men cooks, three chief stockmen, eight inferior ditto, and ten horse boys. As for a strange black, I've not seen one near the place since I first set foot upon it. The last time I was staying the night at Chudfield's place across the river, I tried to persuade one he wanted to get rid of to come over and keep my own two boys company. His answer was significant. 'Baal (no) come up this fella,' he said. 'Too much debbil debbil alonga Warradoona.' The long and the short of the matter is, old friend, unless I can manage to put a stop to this phantom business I shall be a ruined man. All my savings are locked up in this place, and if I don't make it pay, well, I must sell up and go back to Queensland and be a servant again instead of a master."

"It's a nasty position," I said. "I don't wonder you want to get it settled. By the way, how long has the place possessed this sinister reputation?"

"Only for the last three years," he answered.

"Is there any sort of story to account for it?"

Spicer was silent for a moment.

"Well, there you have me on a tender spot," he replied. "Though I don't like to own it, I must confess there _is_ a story."

"Can you tell it to me?"

"If you think it will help you to a solution of the problem I shall be glad to do so. You must understand that about three years ago a mob of cattle camped, according to custom, upon the plain down yonder. They were on their way from Queensland to Adelaide, in charge of an old drover named Burke, a worthy old fellow who'd been on the road all his life. During the evening a quarrel arose between him and his second in command. From high words they came to blows, and in the encounter the subordinate got the worst of it. He professed to be satisfied and turned into his blankets apparently sorry for what he had done. An hour later the third white man of the party mounted his horse and went out to watch the cattle, leaving the other two, as he thought, asleep. When he returned two hours later he found Burke stabbed to the heart and the other man missing. Do you remember, when you crossed the river to-day, noticing a grave enclosed by a white railing?"

"Perfectly. I wondered at the time whose it could be."

"Well, that's where Burke is buried."

"The phantom, then, is supposed to be the ghost of the murdered man? What form does it take?"

"It is that of an old man with a long grey beard; he is dressed all in white and is mounted upon a white horse, who carries his head rather high. He holds a stock-whip in his hand and wears a white felt hat pulled far down over his eyes."

"Has anybody else seen him?"

"Dozens of people. It drove away Jamison, the first owner of the place, and the original builder of this house. Williams, from Mindana, came next; he built the men's hut away to the left there, and cleared out bag and baggage exactly three months to a day after he had paid his purchase money. He said he would rather lose five thousand pounds than stop another night on the place. Macpherson, a long-headed Scotchman, as hard as a tenpenny nail, and about as emotional as a brickbat, came next. He paid his money and was not going to lose it just because he heard funny noises and saw queer sights. But at the end of six months he had changed his tune. Money was no object to him, he said; he was content to lose every penny he possessed in the world provided he saw no more of Warradoona. Benson followed Macpherson. He got the place dirt cheap, cattle thrown in, and, from what the folk in the township told me, seemed to think he'd done a mighty smart stroke of business."

"What became of Benson?"

"He returned to the south without even unpacking his bullock wagons. He has bought a place in New Zealand now, I believe. It was from him that I purchased the property."

"And the price you paid for it?"

"Would be less than a quarter of its value but for the Phantom Stockman. As it is, I am upset on an average three nights a week; my wife is frightened nearly out of her wits every time she goes to bed; and with the exception of my head stockman, Ruford, and two black boys, I can keep no servants upon the place, and in consequence have to work my stock short-handed, which is an impossibility. To put it plainly, either the Phantom Stockman or I must go. I thought all this out last week and the upshot of my cogitations was my letter to you. I know from experience that you've got a cool head, and I have had repeated evidence of your pluck. Young Chudfield, my next-door neighbour, the man who, for the sake of my company, has done his level best to persuade me to give the place a further trial, has promised to come over and give us a hand, and if we three can't settle the mystery between us, well, I think we ought to be ashamed of ourselves, that's all."

"We'll certainly have a good try," I answered. "I'm not a believer in ghosts myself, and it will go hard with us if we can't manage to discover of what sort of material our troublesome friend is composed. One further question. Does he put in an appearance at regular intervals, or is he indiscriminate in his favours?"

"As far as _he_ is personally concerned he is fairly regular. It is about the full of the moon that he appears to be most active, but the noises in the house go on at all hours, sometimes two or three nights in succession. Then perhaps there will be a week's silence, after which we will be worried night after night, till we are nearly driven distracted."

"It seems a most mysterious affair," I said. "And I can quite understand that you are worried by it."

"You would say so if you had to live here," he answered. "It gets on your nerves till you feel inclined to jump away from your own shadow. Now I expect you're tired, and would like to be off to roost. Help yourself to a night-cap, and then we'll have a look at your room together."

I had leant forward to the table and taken up the demijohn containing the spirit--in point of fact, I was in the act of pouring some of its contents into my glass--when from the dark house behind us there came a long, low moan, followed by a shriek that cut the still night air like the sharp tearing of a sheet of calico. After that there was complete silence, which to my thinking was worse even than the scream. I sprang to my feet.

"My God," I cried, "what's that?"

But Spicer only laughed in a curious way.

"You are being introduced to our supernatural friend," he replied. "Now you know the sort of thing we are being continually called upon to put up with."

"But it sounded so intensely human," I said. "And yet, now I come to think of it, there was a peculiar muffled note about it that rather upsets my theory. One thing, however, is quite certain: it came from the house, and I should say from the centre passage."

"You are quite right. That's where we always hear it. But if you think there is anybody hiding there you're mistaken. Come and look for yourself."

So saying he led the way into the house. I followed him. As he had said, there was nobody to be seen. The passage in question was about twenty feet long by four wide. There was a door at each end, and two on either side. It was well lighted by an oil lamp supported on an iron bracket screwed into the woodwork. The walls were composed of weather boards, while the floor was covered by a strip of oilcloth, which stretched from end to end. Spicer lifted the lamp from its socket, and, opening one of the doors on the left, led me into the sitting-room. We explored it carefully, but there was nothing there that could in any way account for the noise we had heard. Having satisfied ourselves on this point, we crossed to the room on the opposite side of the passage. This was my bedroom, and in it, as in the other apartment, our search was unrewarded. The room next to it was Spicer's office, and, save a safe, a desk, a small cupboard, a chair, and a row of account books, contained nothing to excite our suspicion. We passed into the passage again.

"This room," he said, pointing to the door opposite the office, "is our bedroom."

He tapped on the door.

"Minnie," he cried, "are you awake?"

"Yes," was the answer, "and very frightened. How long will you be before you come to bed?"

"I am coming now," he replied. Then, turning to me, he held out his hand. "Good-night," he said, "and pleasant dreams to you. It seems a shame to have brought you up here only to worry you with our troubles."

"I am very glad, indeed, that I came," I replied. "And if I can help you to some solution of your difficulty I shall be still more glad."

A quarter of an hour later I was in bed and asleep. If there was any further noise that night I did not hear it. I was tired after my long journey, and slept on until long after the sun had risen next morning.

When I did turn out I went into the verandah, where I discovered my hostess.

"Good-morning," she said, as she offered me her hand. "Jim has just gone across to the stockyard, but he will be back to breakfast in a moment."

Many people might have been discovered in Australia who would have thanked their stars that they were not the proprietors of Warradoona Station, but there would have been few who would not have envied Spicer his partner in life. She was a pretty brunette, with wonderful brown eyes, and a sympathetic, motherly way about her that made every one feel at home in her company, even if they had never seen her until five minutes before.

"I cannot tell you how very kind I think you are," she said, "to come to our assistance. You can imagine what a depressing effect this place has had upon Jim and myself. We have tried everything we can think of to solve the mystery, but without success. Now it remains to be seen whether you will fare any better than we have done."

"I am going to do my best," I answered, and as I said so, Jim came up the steps.

"Good-morning," he said as he reached the verandah. "I hope you slept well and that you were not disturbed by any more noises."

"If there were any to hear they didn't wake me," I answered. "I suppose you have not discovered anything that throws any sort of light upon that scream we heard last night?"

"Nothing at all," he replied, shaking his head. "But, to add to the discomfort we are already enduring, our cook has just informed me that he saw the White Horseman on the plain last night, and in consequence has given me notice that it is his intention to leave at mid-day. He says he would rather forfeit all his wages than remain another night."

"Oh, Jim, I am sorry to hear that," said his wife. "We shall have great difficulty in getting another. We _do_ indeed seem doomed to misfortune."

Jim said nothing, but I saw his mouth harden as we went in to breakfast. His patience was well-nigh exhausted, and I suspected that if the mystery were not solved before many days were over he would follow the example of his predecessors, forfeit all the money he had put into it, and sever his connection with Warradoona.

During the morning I gave him a hand with some branding in the stockyard, and in the afternoon we went for a ride across the river, hoping to meet the mob of cattle his men were out collecting. We were unsuccessful, however, and it was dusk when we reached home again. By the time we had turned our horses loose, and placed our saddles on the racks, the full moon was rising above the Ranges behind the house. On reaching the verandah we heard voices in the sitting-room.

"That's Marmaduke Chudfield, I'll wager a sovereign," said Jim. "I'm glad he's come over, for though he's rather a namby-pamby sort of individual, he's not bad company."

A moment later we had entered the room, and I was being introduced to a tall, slim youth of perhaps eight-and-twenty years of age. His height could not have been much under six feet two, his face was devoid of beard or moustache, and boasted a somewhat vacuous expression, which a single eye-glass he wore continually only served to intensify. He spoke with a lisp and a drawl, and if one could judge by his own confessions, seemed to have no knowledge of any one thing in the whole system of the universe. In less than five minutes' conversation I had struck the bed rock of his intelligence, to use a mining phrase, and, while I had small doubt of his good nature, was not at all impressed by his sagacity. His station, Yarka, was, so Jim informed me later, a grand property, and carried a large number of cattle. This success, however, was in no sense due to Chudfield's exertions. To quote his own words, he "left everything to his overseer, a German, named Mulhauser, don't-cher-know, and didn't muddle things up by shoving his spoke in when it was no sort of jolly assistance, don't-cher-know. Cattle farming was not exactly his line, and if he had to pay a chap to work, well, he'd make him work, while he himself sat tight and had a jolly good time with continual trips to town and friends up to stay, and all that sort of thing, don't-cher-know."

After dinner we sat in the verandah and smoked our pipes until close upon ten o'clock, when Mrs. Spicer bade us "Good-night" and retired to her own room, as on the previous evening. After she had left us, there was a lull in the conversation. The night was perfectly still, as only nights in the Bush can be; the moon was well above the roof, and in consequence the plain below us was well-nigh as bright as day. The only sound to be heard was the ticking of the clock in the sitting-room behind us, and the faint sighing of the night-breeze through the scrub timber on the hills behind the house. And here I must make a digression. I don't think I have so far explained that in front of the house there was an unkempt garden about fifty yards long by thirty wide, enclosed by a rough Bush fence. In an idle sort of way I sat smoking and watching the rails at the bottom. The beauty of the night seemed to exercise a soothing influence upon the three of us. Jim, however, was just about to speak when Chudfield sprang from his chair, and, pointing towards the fence, at which only a moment before I had been looking, cried, "What's that?"

We followed the direction of his hand with our eyes, and as we did so leapt to our feet. Being but a sorry scene-painter I don't know exactly what words I should employ to make you see what we saw then. Scarcely fifty yards from us, seated upon a white horse, was a tall man, with a long grey beard, dressed altogether in white, even to his hat and boots. In his hand he carried a white stock-whip, which he balanced upon his hip. How he had managed to come so close without making a sound to warn us of his approach was more than I could understand; but this much was certain, come he did. The time, from our first seeing him to the moment of his wheeling his horse and riding silently away again, could not have been more than a minute, but all the same we were able to take perfect stock of him.

"Follow me," shouted Jim, as he rushed down the steps and ran towards the gate at the bottom of the garden. We followed close at his heels, but by the time we reached the fence the Phantom Stockman had entirely disappeared. We stared across the moonlit plain until our eyes ached, but not a sign of the apparition we had seen rewarded us.

"That is the third time he has been up here since I have had the place," said our host, "and each time he has vanished before I could get close enough to have a good look at him."

"What beats me was the fact that his horse made no sound," remarked the Honourable Marmaduke, "and yet the ground is hard enough hereabouts."

"Wait here till I get a lantern," cried Spicer. "Don't go outside the fence, and then you won't obliterate any tracks he may have made."

So saying he hastened back to the house, to return in about five minutes carrying in his hand a large lantern. With its assistance we carefully explored the ground on the other side of the fence, but to no purpose. There was not a sign of a horse's hoof to be seen.

"Well, this beats cock fighting," said the Honourable, as Jim blew out the light and we turned to walk back to the house. "This is Hamlet's father's ghost with a vengeance, don't-cher-know. I shall be glad whenever he takes it into his head to pay me a visit at Yarka. I'm afraid in that case my respected parent would see me in England sooner than would be quite convenient to him."

To this speech Jim replied never a word, nor did I think his remark worth an answer. Once in the verandah we separated, bidding each other good-night, Jim to go to his own room, the Honourable to take possession of the sofa in the sitting-room, upon which a bed had been made up for him, and I to my own dormitory. I saw Jim turn down the lamp in the passage and heard him blow it out as I shut my door. Then I undressed and jumped into bed.

How long I had been asleep I do not know, but I have the most vivid remembrance of suddenly finding myself sitting up in bed with the sweat pouring off my face, and the echo of surely the most awful shriek mortal man ever heard ringing in my ears. Before I could recover my self-possession it rang out again, followed this time by a strange moaning sound that must have continued while I could have counted twenty. Thinking this had gone about far enough I jumped out of bed, opened the door, and ran into the passage, only to be seized by a pair of arms. Lifting my right hand I took my assailant by the throat, and just as I did so, Jim's door opened and he came out, holding a candle in his hand. Then it was that I made the discovery that it was not the ghost's throat I was clutching between my finger and thumb, but that of the Honourable.

"Confound you two," said Jim angrily. "What on earth are you up to?"

"Up to?" gasped Chudfield. "Why, I heard the most villainous scream just now that I ever heard in my life, and came running out of my room to see what was the matter, only to be collared by the throat by this chap." Then turning to me he continued, in his usual drawling way, "I believe you've half broken my neck, don't-cher-know."

"Bother your neck," I cried shortly, for my dander was up and somebody had got to suffer for the fright I had received. "Jim, did you hear that scream?"

"Worse luck," answered poor Jim. "I wish I could say I hadn't. What the deuce does it mean?"

"It means," I replied sternly, "that if there's a ghost in this place I've got to see him before I'll be satisfied. And if it's a trick, well, I've got to find the chap that's playing it or know the reason why. When I do, I'll do what Chudfield here accuses me of half doing. I'll break his neck."

With that I walked first to the door at one end of the passage and examined it, then to the other; after that I tried the door leading into the office. All three were securely locked on our side.

"As far as I can remember, the sound seemed to come from about here," I said, pointing to the centre of the floor. "What is underneath these boards, Jim?"

"Only solid Mother Earth," he replied. "I had some of the planks up when I came into the place and put new ones down."

"Well, I'm going to sit up and await further developments," I said. "Do either of you feel inclined to share my vigil?"

"I will do so with pleasure," said Jim.

"And I too, if it's necessary," said the Honourable, with peculiar eagerness. "I'm not going to risk being wakened out of my sleep by another shriek like that."

Jim went into his bedroom and said something to his wife. After that we dressed and made ourselves as comfortable as possible in the sitting-room. But though we remained there till daylight we heard nothing further. As day dawned we returned to our beds to sleep soundly until we were roused by Mrs. Spicer at eight o'clock.

That afternoon, in spite of our jeers, the Honourable left us to return to his own abode. He had had enough and to spare of Warradoona, he said, and as he had not proved himself a very good plucked one, we did not exert ourselves very much to make him change his mind.

"I never thought he'd prove to be such a coward," said Jim, as we watched the youth disappear behind the river timber. "Still, he's a man extra about the place, and if those wretched cattle are coming in to-night we shall want all the hands we can raise to look after them on the plain."

"Do you think they will be here to-night?"

"It's more than likely. They ought to have been in this morning, and as they can't halt in the scrub they'll be driven by force of circumstances into camping on the plain. In that case it will be a pound to a sixpence that our friend the Stockman will give us some trouble. He generally puts in an appearance when there's a mob passing through."

"If he does we must tackle him, and decide once and for all the question of his--well, of his spirituality, shall I say? You can find a couple of revolvers, I suppose?"

"Half a dozen if need be, and what's more, cartridges to fit them."

We then walked back to the house together. It was tea time, and as soon as we had made ourselves tidy we sat down to it. Half way through the meal there was a heavy step in the verandah, and a moment later Ruford, Jim's one remaining stockman, entered the room.

"So you've turned up at last," said Jim, as he became aware of the other's identity. "Where are the cattle?"

"Camped on the plain," was the reply. "Bad luck to 'em. It was as much as I could do to get the two black boys to remain with them. Are you coming down?"

"We'll be down in half an hour," said Jim. "This gentleman and myself will camp with you to-night and give you a hand. Now be off and get your tea."

He disappeared without another word.

"But if you two are going to help with the cattle, what is to become of me?" asked Mrs. Spicer. "I cannot be left here alone."

"That's perfectly true," said Jim. "I never thought of it. Confound that miserable coward Chudfield. I'll tell you what I'll do, Minnie. I'll send Ruford up to take care of you. He won't be sorry for an evening's comfort, and it is most imperative that we should go down, you see, in case the Stockman should turn up to-night. If he does we hope to bring matters to a crisis."

Faithful to our promise, as soon as the meal was over, we saddled our horses and rode down towards the camp fire that we could see burning brightly on the plain below.

By the time we reached it the appearance of the night had changed, clouds had covered the sky, and a soft drizzle was falling. Ruford had taken the cattle down to the river, and when they had drunk their fill had tailed them slowly on to camp, where the two black boys were watching them. It was not a cheerful night, for the wind had risen, and was moaning among the she-oak trees like a million lost spirits. A more lonesome spot I never was in than that plain.

As we approached the fire Ruford said snappishly,--

"I suppose you think it's funny to hang round a camp, whispering and moaning, in order to frighten a man out of his wits."

"Who has been hanging about the camp whispering and moaning?" asked Spicer. "Why, you duffer, we've only just come down from the Homestead. You must be either drunk or dreaming."

"Dreaming be hanged!" he said. "I tell you that there's been some one moaning like old ---- round this 'ere camp ever since dusk!"

"Moaning like your grandmother," said Spicer, descending from his saddle and tying his horse up to a tree near by. "I want you to go up to the house and camp there. Mrs. Spicer is all alone, and I think she may be frightened. We'll look after the cattle."

When he had gone we stretched ourselves beside the fire on the blankets we found there and fell to yarning.

I can see the whole scene now. Owing to the heavy clouds mentioned above, it was as dark as the inside of your hat, with not a gleam of light in the whole length and breadth of the sky. Ruford had stirred up the fire before he left us, and the flames were roaring upwards, when suddenly there came a long, peculiar moan from the scrub behind us that brought us up into a sitting posture like one man. We looked in the direction whence it seemed to come, and saw there, standing in the full light of the fire, a tall, thin man, of about fifty years of age. He had white hair and a long grey beard. He was dressed, even to his riding boots, in some white material, and he carried a stock-whip in his hand. His face was as pale as death and infinitely sad, and he seemed to be looking from one to the other of us as if he did not know which to address.

We were both struck dumb with astonishment, until Spicer, raising himself on his elbow, shouted,--

"Hullo, my man! Where do _you_ hail from?"

Then the figure faded away into the darkness as quietly as it had come, and you can just imagine how we stared.

"Well, this beats all the other manifestations into a cocked hat," cried Spicer, and seizing a burning stick and bidding me follow with another, he dashed into the scrub in the direction we supposed the stranger to have taken.

For upwards of twenty minutes we searched high and low, in every possible hiding-place within fifty yards of the camp, but without success. Not a single trace of our mysterious visitor could we discover. Then we returned to the fire and lay down again.

Spicer's watch was from nine to eleven, and as it was almost eight then, he resolved to try and snatch an hour's sleep before it would be necessary for him to get into the saddle once more. He soon gave up the attempt, however.

Though we did not see any more of the stranger just then, I can assure you we were far from being easy in our minds. The cattle had suddenly become very restless, and from their lowing and snorting we could tell that they were uneasy. While we listened, the same peculiar moaning noise came from the scrub away to our left. It sounded for all the world like the crying of a woman in dreadful trouble, but though we peered repeatedly into the night, and twice crept away from the fire in that direction, we could discover nothing to account for it.

At nine o'clock Spicer went on watch, and the black boys came into camp reporting the cattle as very restless.

For some time after he had gone I lay on my blankets looking up at the sky. Clouds still covered the heavens, and it looked as if a wet night were pending. Sometime about ten o'clock Spicer called to me to join him, as something was radically wrong with the mob; so saddling my horse I rode out.

As I went the clouds parted, and for a moment the moon shone brilliantly forth. It was a curious sight that I then beheld. The cattle--there were about five hundred of them--were all up, moving to and fro and bellowing continuously. What made us the more uneasy was the fact that, now and again, the old bull in command would separate himself from the mob and sniff the wind, after which he would let out a bellow that fairly shook the earth. Whenever he sees the leader do that, a cattleman knows that it behoves him to stand by and keep his eyes open for trouble.

Coming up with Spicer, I asked him what he thought was the matter, but for some moments he did not answer.

Then he said very mysteriously,--

"Did you meet him as you came out?"

"Meet whom?" I asked.

"Why, our friend, the Phantom Stockman?"

"The devil! And has he turned up again?"

After looking cautiously round, Jim edged his horse up alongside mine and said quietly,--

"He's been hovering round these cattle for the past half-hour. They can see him, and that's what's making them so confoundedly restless. You take my word for it, we shall have serious trouble directly!"

"Confound it all," I said. "That will mean double watches all night, and in this drizzle too."

"It can't be helped. But you had better tell the boys to be ready in case they are wanted. Look! Look! Here he comes again!"

I looked in the direction he indicated, and, true enough, out of the thick mist which now hid the trees along the river bank, and into the half moonlight where we stood, rode the phantom whom we had seen two hours before by our camp fire. But there was a difference now; this time he was mounted on his white horse, and seemed to be like us on watch. At first I fancied my brain was creating a phantom for me out of the whirling mist; but the snorting and terror of the cattle, as they became aware of his presence, soon convinced me of his reality.

Little by little the fellow edged round the scrub, and then disappeared into the fog again, to reappear a minute or two later on our left. Then he began to come slowly towards us. I can tell you the situation was uncanny enough to creep the flesh of a mummy. He was sitting loosely in his saddle, with his stock-whip balanced on his hip; indeed, to show how details impress themselves on one's mind, I can remember that he had one of his sleeves rolled up and that he carried his reins slung over his left arm.

When he was within eight or ten paces of where we stood, my horse, which had been watching him as if turned to stone, suddenly gave a snort, and wheeling sharp round bolted across the plain as if the devil were behind him. Before I had gone fifty yards I heard Spicer come thundering after me, and we must have had a good two miles gallop before we could pull the terrified beasts up. Then we heard the cattle rushing a mile or so on our right.

"I knew they'd go," wailed Spicer; "they're well-nigh mad with fright. Now, what the deuce is to be done?"

"Try and head them, I suppose."

"Come on, then, for all you're worth. It's neck or nothing with us now!"

We set off down the angle of the plain as fast as our horses could lay their legs to the ground. It was a near thing, for, hard as we went, we were only just in time to prevent the leaders from plunging into the river. If you know anything of overlanding, you'll understand the work we had. As it was, I don't believe we could have managed it at all if it had not been for the extraneous--or, as I might perhaps say, _spiritual_--aid we received.

While Spicer took the river side, I worked inland, along the bottom of the cliff, and as the two black boys had bolted for the Homestead long before the cattle broke, we had no one between us to bring up the tail. Suddenly, Heaven alone knows how, the Phantom Stockman came to our assistance; and a more perfect drover could scarcely have been found. He wheeled his cattle and brought up his stragglers, boxed 'em, and headed 'em off, like the oldest hand. But however clever a bushman he may have been, it was plainly his own personality that effected the greatest good; for directly the mob saw him, they turned tail and stampeded back on to the plain like beasts possessed.

At last, however, we got them rounded up together, and then Spicer rode over to where I stood and said,--

"Give an eye to 'em, will you, while I slip back to the camp? I want to get something."

I had not time to protest, for next minute he was gone, and I was left alone with that awful stranger whom I could still see dodging about in the mist. When he got back, Jim reined up alongside me and said,--

"This is getting a little too monotonous to my thinking."

"What are you going to do?" I gasped, my teeth chattering in my head like a pair of castanets.

"Try the effect of this on him," he answered, and as he spoke he pulled a revolver from his pocket. "I don't care if it sends every beast across the river."

At that moment, on his constant round, the phantom came into view again. On either side of him the cattle were sniffing and snorting at him, plainly showing that they were still wild with terror. This behaviour puzzled us completely, for we both knew that a mob would never treat an ordinary flesh-and-blood stockman in that way. When he got within twenty paces of us Spicer cried,--

"Bail up, matey--or, by jingo, I'll put daylight into you!"

Obedient to the order the figure instantly pulled up.

The moon was bright enough now for us to see his face. And, though, as I've said before, I'm not a coward as a general rule, I can tell you that it made me feel fairly sick, so white and creepy-looking was it. Then he held up his hand as if in protest and started towards us.

This didn't suit Spicer, however, for he yelled,--

"Stand off! or by the living God I swear I'll fire. Stand off!"

But the figure continued to come towards us. Then _Crack! Crack! Crack!_ went the revolver, and next moment there was a frightful scream and the sound of galloping hoofs. I saw no more, for, as Jim fired, my horse reared and fell back, crushing me beneath him.

I suppose I must have been stunned by the fall, for when I recovered my senses Spicer was leaning over me.

"Is he gone?" I asked as soon as I could speak.

"Yes! Gone like mad across the plain and the cattle with him. I must either have missed him, or the bullet must have passed clean through him."

As there was now no further reason why we should remain where we were, we returned to the Homestead and told our tale. Then when it was light enough, we had our breakfast and mounted our horses and went out into the scrub to look for the cattle we had lost. By the time dusk fell we had collected three hundred and fifty out of the five hundred head Ruford had brought on to the plain. The poor beasts were quite knocked up; and as it was useless thinking of pushing them on in that condition, we were consequently compelled to camp them for one more night on that awful plain. But to our delight we saw no more of the Phantom Stockman.

Next morning while we were at breakfast, Billy, the black boy, who had been out after the horses, came dashing up to the Homestead, almost beside himself with excitement.

"Me been find him," he cried. "Me been find him, all same fellow what been make debbil-debbil longa here."

"What do you mean?" asked Spicer, putting down his cup of tea. "Where have you found the man?"

"Me been find him longa billabong. My word he most like dead, mine think it."

Spicer made a sign to me, and without another word we jumped up and ran in the direction of the stockyard. Mounting our horses we followed our guide through the scrub for a distance of perhaps a mile and a half until we came to a small billabong or backwater of the main river.

Away at the further end we could see a curious white heap, and towards it we galloped, making our horses put their best feet foremost, you may be sure.

On reaching it, we found a man lying huddled up upon the ground beneath a low-growing tree. He was dressed in a complete suit of white flannel, his boots were painted the same colour, and even his hat was fixed up to match, white. Still looped over his ears was a long grey beard and moustache of false hair.

Spicer dismounted and knelt beside him. After feeling his heart he plucked the beard away and almost shouted his astonishment aloud.

"Good heavens!" he cried; "do you recognise this man?"

I stooped and looked. _I don't know whether you will believe it, but the Phantom Stockman, the person who had performed such prodigies two nights before, was none other than our friend Chudfield, the young English owner of Yarka Station, across the river, the man who had appeared to be so frightened by the ghost, and who had made it his boast that he knew nothing at all about Bush-work._ For some moments we stood and stared at him in stupefied amazement. I was the first to speak.

"Is he dead, do you think?" I asked.

"Quite," said Spicer. "Look at this mark under his chin. Galloping through the scrub in the dark the other night to get away from us, he must have been caught by that bough up there and have been dashed from his saddle. Death must have been almost instantaneous."

Round his waist was a long thin cord which ran away some twenty yards or so into the bush. We followed it up and discovered a large piece of raw hide tied to the end of it.

Spicer examined the latter carefully.

"The beast that owned this skin was only killed two days ago," he said. "Now I know why our cattle were so restless. They smelt the blood, and, as you are aware, that invariably terrifies them. Cunning beggar! he pretended to know nothing, and yet he knew enough for this."

"Yes," I said; "but what about the other night when the phantom appeared at the garden fence, and this man was sitting in the verandah with us?"

"Why, he probably wanted to disarm suspicion, and so sent his overseer, who must be in the secret, to play the part."

"But what was his object in frightening you?"

"Can't you guess? Well, just let me find out where our friend's stockyard is situated in the Ranges up yonder, and I think I'll be able to tell you. I remember now that when I came here his cattle were all over Warradoona, and that he used the place just as if it were his own, to say nothing of having his choice of all the unbranded and other cattle that former tenants had left upon it."

Leaving the body where we had found it, to be picked up on our homeward journey, we crossed the river and plunged into the scrub beyond.

An hour later we discovered, cunningly hidden in a lonely gulley, a big stockyard _in which our lost cattle were still penned up_. There was no one in sight and nothing to prove how the animals had got there, but a clearer case of duffing could scarcely have been found. Moreover, there were branding irons in the shed adjoining, and they were those of Yarka Station.

"I think we know quite enough now," said Spicer solemnly, as we mounted our horses to return.

"Enough to lay the Ghost of the Stockman of Warradoona at any rate," I replied.

Three hours later we were at home once more, and Chudfield's body was lying in a hut, waiting for the police from Yarrapanya who would hold the inquest. A black boy had meanwhile been sent across to Yarka Station to inform the manager of the catastrophe.

Our lunch that day was a mixture of happiness and sadness. Happiness, because the mystery of the Phantom Stockman had been cleared up for good and all; and sadness, because of the pain that was inseparable from the discovery of a friend's duplicity.

When the meal was at an end we passed into the verandah. After a little conversation there, Spicer disappeared, to return in a few moments with a pick-axe and a basket of tools.

"What are you going to do?" I inquired, as he set them down in the passage and took off his coat.

"I want, if possible, to discover how those screams were worked," he replied. "It looks like being a long job; so if you will give me your assistance in ripping up these boards, I shall be very grateful."

"Of course, I'll help," I said, and thereupon we set to work.

But though we laboured for the best part of the afternoon, the result was disappointing in the extreme. Nothing but dry earth and wood-shavings confronted us.

"That being so, we'll take down the posts that support the walls on either side," said Jim, and as he spoke he attacked that upon which the lamp was fixed. "If we can't find anything there we'll continue to pull the house to pieces until we do."

But we were spared that trouble. On loosening the post in question we made an important discovery. It was hollow from end to end, and in the cavity reposed a lead pipe, about an inch in diameter. We consulted together for a moment, and then took the pick-axe into my bedroom and ripped up a plank in the floor. By this means we were able to see that the pipe crossed the room and passed under the further wall. Outside we picked it up once more and traced it past the well, the kitchen, and the stockyard, into the scrub, where it entered an enormous blasted gum tree standing fifty yards or so from the house.

"I see the whole thing as clear as daylight," cried Spicer joyfully, as he mounted the tree and prepared to lower himself into the hollow. "I believe we've solved the mystery of the shrieks at night, and now the whole thing is as simple as A B C. Go back to the house and listen."

I did as he wished, and when I had been in the passage about a minute, was rewarded by hearing a scream re-echo through the house, followed by a muffled cry, "Oh, save me! save me!"

As the sound died away, Mrs. Spicer came running into the house from the kitchen with a scared face. A moment later we were joined by her husband.

"Did you hear that scream, Jim?" she inquired anxiously. "I thought you said we should not be worried by it again?"

He put his arm round her waist and drew her towards him.

"Nor shall we, little woman," he said. "That scream was to let us know that the phantom is laid at last, and that after to-day this place is going to be as sweet and homely as any a man could wish to live in. That poor beggar in the hut there tried to keep it empty as long as he could for his own purposes, but I beat him in the end. Now I've got it for a quarter its value, and whatever else he may have done we must not forget that we owe that, at least, to our old enemy the Phantom Stockman of Warradoona."

The Treasure of Sacramento Nick

Away on the northernmost coast of Australia lies a little world all by itself and unlike anything else to be found in the whole immemorial East. Its chief centre is in Torres Straits, where the majority of the inhabitants employ themselves in pearl-fishing, gathering _beche-de-mer_ and tortoise-shell, and generally in accumulating those gigantic fortunes of which one hears so much and sees so little.

Walking the streets of Thursday Island, the smallest of the group, yet the centre of commerce and the seat of such government as the Colony of Queensland can afford it, you will be struck with the number of nationalities represented. Dwelling together, if not in unity, certainly in unison, are Caucasians and Mongolians, Ethiopians and Malayans, John Chinaman living cheek by jowl with the barbarian Englishman, Cingalee with Portuguese, Frenchman with Kanaka--all prejudices alike forgotten in the one absorbing struggle for the unchanging British sovereign. On the verandahs of the hotels sit continually men who talk with the familiarity of old friends about the uttermost parts of the earth, and whose lives are mainly spent in places to which the average man never goes nor dreams of going. If you are a good listener they will tell you many things worth knowing; and towards midnight you will feel stealing over you a hazy conviction that the nineteenth century is as yet unborn, and that you are listening to the personal narrative of Sinbad the Sailor in an unexpurgated form.

One afternoon as I was sitting in my verandah watching the China mail-boat steam to her anchorage, and wondering if I had energy enough to light a third cheroot, I felt my arm touched. Turning, I discovered a little Solomon boy, about ten years old, attired in an ancient pair of hunting breeches, and grinning from ear to ear. Having succeeded in attracting my attention, he handed me a letter. It was from my friend, McBain, the manager of a pearling station on an adjacent island, and set forth the welcome fact that he would be pleased to see me on a matter of some importance, if I could spare the time to dine with him that evening. There was nothing I could spare more easily or more willingly.

Once comfortably seated in the verandah, McBain explained his reason for sending to me. "You'll think me mad, but I've got a curiosity here that I want to examine before any one else gets hold of him."

"Black or white?" I asked, with but little interest, for we lived in a land of human curiosities.

"White."

"Nationality?"

"Cosmopolitan, I should fancy."

"Profession?"

"Adventurer, with a marvellous big A."

"And hailing from----?"

"Well, he doesn't seem to know himself. One of my luggers took him out of an open boat about two degrees west of the Ladrones."

"But he surely knows how he got into the boat? Men don't go pleasure trips across oceans without knowing whence they started. Hasn't he anything to say for himself?"

"That's just what I want you to hear. Either the man's a superhuman liar, or else he's got a secret of the biggest thing on earth. We'll have him up to-night, and you shall judge for yourself."

When dinner was over we took ourselves and our cigars into the cool verandah, and for half an hour or so sat smoking and talking of many things. Then a footstep crunched upon the path, and a tall, thin man stood before us.

McBain rose and wished him "Good-evening," as he did so pushing a chair into such a position that I could see his face. "I beg your pardon, but I don't think you told me your name last night."

"Sir, my name is Nicodemus B. Patten, of Sacramento City, State of California, U.S.A.--most times called Sacramento Nick."

"Well, Mr. Patten, let me introduce you to a friend who is anxious to hear the curious story you told me last night. Will you smoke?"

Gravely bowing to me, he selected a cheroot, lit it, and blew the smoke luxuriously through his nose. The lamp light fell full and fair upon his face, and instinctively I began to study it. It was a remarkable countenance, and, in spite of its irregularity of feature, contained a dignity of expression which rather disconcerted me. There were evident traces of bodily and mental suffering in the near past, but it was neither the one nor the other which had stamped the lines that so much puzzled me. After satisfying myself on certain other points, I begged him to begin.

He did so without hesitation or previous thought.

"Gentlemen, before I commence my story, let me tell you that when first the things I am going to tell you of came about, there were three of us: Esdras W. Dyson, of Milwaukee, Wisconsin, U.S.A.; James Dance, of London, England; and Nicodemus B. Patten, of Sacramento City, now before you. I reckon most folks would have called us adventurers, for we'd ferreted into nearly every corner of the globe. Snakes alive! but I've seen things in my time that would fairly stagger even you, and I guess my story of to-night ain't the least curious of 'em.

"Perhaps you don't remember the junk that fell foul of the _Bedford Castle_ nigh upon three years ago, when she was four days out from Singapore?"

I remembered the circumstance perfectly. It was an act of flagrant piracy which had made some noise at the time; and I had also a faint recollection of having been told that white men were suspected of being mixed up in it. On being asked if he knew anything of the matter, he said: "Well, I don't _say_ we did, mind you; but I had a suspicion we were in China waters at the time. But bless you, in those days there were few places and few things that _we_ hadn't a finger in. Understand, I am telling you this because I don't want to sail under false colours, and also because such work is all over now; the firm's smashed up, and we'll never go on the Long Trail again.

"Two years ago, for certain reasons not necessary to mention, we wanted to lay by for a while, so bringing up at Batavia fixed right on to the Nederlander. Java's a one-horse place for business purposes, but if you know the ropes--well, there's not a better place in the world to hide in.

"Now, gentlemen both, you may take it from me that there never was such a chap for browsing about among niggers, finding out what was doing, and if there was anything to be made, as Esdras W. Dyson, of Milwaukee, U.S.A.

"In the first place, he could patter any lingo from Chinese to Malay with a tongue that'd talk round the devil himself; and when he suspicioned a nigger had anything worth knowing--well, he'd just freeze to that charcoal sketch till he fairly got it out of him. Rigged out in native dress and properly coloured, he could pass in anywhere. It was he who found out the thing that ruined us, brought me here, and left Jim and himself feeding the fishes a thousand fathoms deep. Directly we arrived in Batavia he began hanging round the Native Quarter, making himself mighty agreeable for some particular information he wanted. He was away for two or three days; then one night as Dance and me were smoking on the piazza he came striding up the path in the devil's own hurry. 'Boys!' says he in a whisper, 'I'm on it, up to the hilt, the biggest and the all-firedest stroke of good fortune we've hit yet. I'm going _fantee_ to-night, so keep your weather eyes lifted, and when I say come, come right away!' With that he went to his room, and we could hear him rummaging about in his trunks.

"A bit later a native fruit-hawker came round the corner, bowing and scraping towards us. We told him to clear out, but he commenced a pitiful yarn, all the time pushing his baskets closer to us. 'Fine Duriens and the sweetest of Mangosteens, if the Presence will only buy!' But the big night-watchman had caught sight of him, and came trundling down the piazza. You can reckon our astonishment, when the hawker said: 'How is it, boys? Do you think they'll _savee_? Keep your kits packed and be prepared to _trek_ directly you get the word from me.' Here the watchman came up. 'On the word of a poor man, the Duriens are freshly plucked and the Mangosteens hung upon the trees this morning.' We refused to buy, and he went away crying his fruit towards the Native Quarter.

"For two or three days not a shadow of a sign came from him. Then one of those Chinese hawkers came into the square with two coolies carrying his goods, and as soon as we set eyes on the second nigger we recognised Milwaukee, and stood by to take his message in whatever form it might come. Pulling up at our chairs, the Chinkey told his men to set down their loads, himself coming across to us with a tray of fans, scents, and what not; but seeing Milwaukee had a packet of slippers in his hands, we only wanted slippers. The merchant sings out, and he brings 'em over, handing one pair to Dance and another to me. We stepped inside to try them on, and, as we expected, in one of the shoes was a letter neatly stowed away. I forget now how it went, but it was to the effect that he had found out all he wanted to know, and that we were to meet him at eight on the Singapore Wharf at Tanjong Priok, bringing no kit save our revolvers.

"After squaring things at the hotel, and destroying what was dangerous in our baggage, we _trekked_ for the Priok just as dusk was falling. Sharp at eight we were waiting on the wharf where the Messagerie boats lie, and wondering what the deuce was going to happen. Inside of ten minutes a native boat came pulling up the river, and as it passed us the rower sneezed twice, very sharp and sudden. It was an old signal, and Dance gave the return. The boatman hitches right on to the steps and comes ashore.

"'Good boys,' says he, very quiet and careful; 'up to time, that's right. Now to business! D'ye see that schooner lying outside the breakwater? Well, she sails at daylight. I put the skipper and mate ashore not ten minutes ago, and they're to return in an hour. There's only three chaps aboard, and it's our business to cut her out before the others come back. D'ye understand?'

"'But what d'ye reckon to do then, Milwaukee?' I asked, for it seemed a risky game, just for the sake of a mangy Dutch trader.

"'Never you mind now; when I do tell you, you'll say it's worth the candle. Come, jump in here, and I'll pull you aboard!'

"The harbour was as quiet as the sea out yonder; a Dutch man-of-war lay under the wing of the breakwater, and a Sourabaya mail-boat to the left of her. We passed between them, down towards the lighthouse, and out into the open. Outside there was a bit of a sea running, but Milwaukee was always hard to beat, and at last we managed to get alongside. Somebody, most likely the anchor-watch, caught our painter, and took a turn in it, saying in Dutch, 'You're back early, Mynheer.' By the time he twigged his mistake we were aboard, and Dance had clapped a stopper on his mouth. The others were below, and I reckon you'd have laughed if you could have seen the look on their faces when, after Milwaukee's thumping on the fo'c'stle, they turned out to find their craft in other hands. However, they soon saw what was up, and reckoned it was no use making fools of themselves. Then Milwaukee went to the wheel, singing out to get sail on her, and stand by to slip the cable. We knew our business, and in less than twenty minutes were humming down the coast a good ten knots an hour.

"As soon as the course was set and everything going smooth, Milwaukee made right aft to where Dance was steering. 'I guess it's time,' says he, 'to let you into the secret. You know me and I know you, which is enough said between pards. We've been in many good things together, but this is going to be the biggest we've sighted yet. It doesn't mean hundreds of pounds, but thousands, millions maybe; anyhow, enough to set us three up as princes all the world over!'

"'Sounds well; but how did you come to know of it?' we asked, a bit doubtful like.

"Before answering, he took a squint at the card and then aloft. 'Keep her as she goes, Jim. How did I come to hear of it? How does a man hear anything? Why, by going to the places and among the folk who talk. I got wind of it months ago, but never came across anything straight out till I went _fantee_ among the niggers. Losh, boys, if you want yarns to raise your scalp, go down town and smoke among the darkies; I've done it, and you bet I know. There was one old chap who used to drop in every night, and smoke and chew and spit and lie till you couldn't rest. From his talk he'd once done a bit in our line, and his great sweat was about an island he'd been to fifty years ago, where there's an old Portugee treasure-ship aground, chock full of gold, diamonds, rubies, and pearls, all waitin' for the man as'll go to get 'em. At first I reckoned he lied, for how he got there he didn't rightly remember; but he swore he found the ship, and was in the act of broaching her cargo, when the natives came and sent him back to sea again. What he did get, except a bloomin' old dagger, was stolen from him in Saigon. Directly I sighted that instrument, I began to guess there might be something in his yarn after all; for, wherever he got it, it was a genuine Portugees weapon of a couple of hundred years back. Well, as any lubber knows, the Portugee sailed these seas two hundred years ago; why shouldn't one of 'em have been wrecked with all her cargo and never been heard of since? Answer me that! Anyhow, you bet I froze to that nigger.

"'At first he played cunning and seemed to suspicion I was after something. So one night I got him alone and--d'ye remember Hottentot Joe in the Kimberley?--well, p'raps I played the same game on this old cove, and when he was sound off I began to pump him all I knew. The old chap had been sailing pretty near to the truth, but still he'd kept a bit up his sleeve; however, I got that bit, and here's his chart as near as I can fix it.'

"So saying, he drew out a paper and held it to the binnacle. Then putting his finger on a coloured mark, he went on: 'It's a bit hazy steering after we get here, inasmuch as, being a nigger, he couldn't keep proper reckoning. But once among these islands, I guess we can't be far off the right one, and to find it--by God, we'll search every mud-bank in the Pacific! Accordin' to his fixin' it has a big mountain climbing from its centre, with a monster white rock half-way up, shaped like a man's fist. In a bee-line with the rock there's a creek running inland, big enough to float a seventy-four; follow that creek up a mile or so and you come to a lake, and on the other side of that lake's where the old barge ought to be. Now, what do you think?'

"'What do I think? Why, I think, Milwaukee, you are a fool to have brought us on such a rotten chase, and we're bigger fools to have followed you. The island, I guess, never existed, and we'll get stretched for this boat by the first warship that sights us. But now we are here, we'd better make the best of it. What do you say, Jim?'

"'I stand with you,' said Dance, and that settled it.

"To make a long story short, we sailed that hooker right on end for nigh upon three weeks. The wind was mostly favourable, the boat had a slippery pair of heels, and the stores, considering they were laid in by Dutchmen, were none too bad. Only one thing was wrong to my thinking, and that was the supply of grog aboard. If I had my way there'd have been a gimlet through the lot; but Milwaukee was skipper, and wouldn't hear of it.

"Tuesday, the thirteenth of January, saw the tether of the old darkie's chart, so we held a bit of a palaver, and settled to go on cruising about the islands which we were picking up and dropping every day.

"You folk who live inside this rot-gut reef don't know what islands are. Out there, you see them on all sides, pushing their green heads up to watch the ships go by, with the air so warm, the sea so green, and the sky so blue that it's like living in a new world. Birds of every colour fly across your bows all day, and in the hush of night, lying out on deck, you can hear the waterfalls trickling ashore, and now and again the crash of a big tree falling in the jungle.

"One forenoon while I was at the wheel, Milwaukee and Jim Dance fell to quarrelling. It started over nothing, and would have come to nothing but for that tarnation liquor. I sung out to them to stop; but it was no use, so leaving the hooker to look after herself, I went forrard. Before I could reach him, the skipper had drawn a revolver, and I heard Jim cry, 'For Gawd's sake don't shoot!' Then there was a report, and sure enough Dance fell dead.

"Can you picture it? Overhead, the blue sky, a few white clouds, and the canvas just drawing; on the deck, poor Jim lying as if asleep, and Milwaukee leaning against the foremast staring at him. Seein' there was no use in keepin' the body aboard, I called one of the Dutchmen aft and told him to fix it up in a bit of canvas. Then together we hove it overboard; it sank with a dull plunge, and so we lost the first of our mess.

"Milwaukee being too drunk to take his trick at the wheel, I stood it for him. A bit before sundown he comes on deck looking terrible fierce and haggard. Rolling aft, he says with a voice solemn as a judge: 'Sacramento Nick, you're a good man and true. On your Bible oath, may God strike you dead if you lie, did I shoot James Dance, mariner?'

"Seeing what was passing in his mind, I said simply, 'You did.'

"'Was I drunk, being in charge of this vessel at the time?'

"'You were!'

"'That is your word and deed, so help you God?'

"'Ay, ay!'

"'Well, that being so, no more need be said. It's the sentence of the court. Shipmate, your hand.'

"We shook hands, and he turned to the taffrail. Before I knew what he was about, he had leaped upon it and plunged into the sea. He only rose once; then the white belly of a shark showed uppermost, and never again did I see Esdras W. Dyson, of Milwaukee City, Wisconsin.

"Three days later, when I was too dog-tired to keep watch, those cut-throat Dutchmen mutinied and sent me adrift in the long-boat with one week's provisions and a small beaker of water.

"Strangers, have you ever been cast adrift? I can see you haven't; well, hope that your luck don't run that way. Fortunately it was fair weather, and I was able to rig a bit of a sail; but how long I was cruising among those islands, drat me if I know. Being ignorant, so to speak, of my position, one way was as another, and when short of provisions I'd just go ashore, pick fruit, fill my beaker, and then set sail again. One warm afternoon I found myself abreast of the largest island I'd seen yet. From its centre rose a high mountain, and, strike me dead if I lie, half-way up that last was _a big white rock, shaped like a man's fist_! When I saw it I was clean staggered; I stood up and stared till I could stare no longer. It was just as if I'd stumbled by mistake on the very island we'd set out to seek. By tacking I managed to get right under its lee, and there, sure enough, between two high banks was the entrance to a fairish river. Furling the sail, I took to my oars and pulled inside. The sun was close on down by this time, and I was dog-tired; so as nothing could be gained by bursting the boilers, when, as far as I knew, all the future was afore me, I anchored where I was, and stayed in my boat till morning.

"You bet as soon as it was light I pushed on again, bringing out on a slap-up lake perhaps a mile long by half a mile across. The water was as clear as crystal and as smooth as glass. Making for a plain of dazzling white sand at the furthest end, I beached my boat and prepared to start explorations. Then, just as her nose grounded, my eyes caught sight of a big creeper-covered mass lying all alone in the centre of the plain. May I never know a shieve-hole from a harness-cask again, if it wasn't an old galleon of the identical pattern to be seen in the Columbus' picter-books. Trembling like a palsied monkey, I jumped out and ran for it.

"She may have been close on a hundred tons burden, but it was impossible to calculate her size exactly for the heap of stuff that covered her. How she ever got on to that plain, and why she hadn't rotted clean away during the two hundred years or more she must have lain there, are things I can't explain. Anyhow, I didn't stay to puzzle 'em out then, but set to work hunting for a way to get inside her. From the main-deck seemed to be the best course, and to reach that I started hacking at the blooming creepers. It was harder work than you'd think, for they'd spliced and twisted 'emselves into cables, and a jack-knife was about as much use on 'em as a tooth-pick. When night came I'd done a big day's work, and had only just got a footing on her deck.

"Next morning I went at it again, and by mid-day had the satisfaction of standing before the cuddy entrance. Again I felt the same dod-dratted funk creeping over me; but when I remembered the treasure, I said good-bye to that, and placed my shoulder against the door. It crumbled away and fell in a heap upon the deck, and when the dust had passed I found myself at the entrance of a small alleyway leading into the saloon. I entered it, stepping gingerly; but had only gone a few steps before the deck suddenly gave way, and I found myself disappearing with a crash into the lower regions. The fall was a darned sight bigger than I liked; but it served a purpose, for my weight on landing started a plank and brought a glimmer of light into the darkness.

"Finding I was not hurt, I fell to groping for a way out again; then I noticed the rottenness of the timbers, and determined to enlarge the light I had just made. The two kicks and a shove brought a flood of sunshine pouring in, and a horrible sight met my eyes. I was standing beside an old-fashioned bed-place on which lay (you may believe me or not) the mummified body of a man stretched full out and hanging on to the stanchions like grim death. He was not alone, for in the centre of the cabin, clutching at a heavy table, was another chap, also perfectly preserved, half standing, with his feet braced against the thick cross-bars and his shrivelled parchment face, with its staring eyes turned towards me, grinning like a poisoned cat. My scalp seemed to lift and my innards to turn to water. Letting out one yell, I clambered for the open air.

"Outside all was sunshine, blue sky, and bright colour, and, as if to set off what I had just left, a big butterfly came hovering towards me. In a few minutes my presence of mind returned, and I began to laugh at the idea of Sacramento Nick being afeared of dead men; so back I went in search of further mysteries. Again I entered the cuddy, and lowered myself into the under-cabin; but this time I was prepared for anything. The treasure-guard stared, but said nothing.

"While I was wondering how I'd best set about my search, a smart breeze came whistling in, caught the figure at the table, disengaged his hold, and brought his old carcase with a dry rattle to the floor. With his fall a small piece of metal rolled to my feet, and picking it up I found it to be a key of real curious shape and workmanship. Fired with my discoveries, I slipped across to try it on the first of the chests I saw ranged round the cabin, when to my astonishment I found it open. Somebody had been there before me; perhaps I was too late! All of a sweat I looked in, but 'twas too dark; I tried to pull the whole chest towards the light, but it was a main sight too heavy. Then I plunged my hand in and--great Jehoshaphat, how I yelled! Clutching what I could hold, I dashed across the cabin, up into the light, and throwing myself upon the ground, spread what I had brought before me. It took less than a second to see that they were diamonds, and, by all the stars and stripes, diamonds of the first water! There they lay winking and blinking at me and the sun, and for the first time I began to _savee_ my amazing wealth. For the minute I was clean stark staring mad. I closed my eyes, and wondered if when I opened them again I should find it all a dream; but no, the beauties were there, looking brighter and even larger than before.

"Gentlemen, it's strange how the habits and precautions of civilization linger with a man even in the queerest places. For while not twenty yards from where I stood was greater wealth than I or fifty men could ever spend, I found myself fearful of losing one, picking each gem up with scrupulous care, and securing it inside my jumper. The next box was locked, so I tried the key. In spite of age and rust the wards shot back and the cover lifted. Again I felt the touch of stones, and again seizing a handful, I went back into the light. This time they were rubies; Burmese rubies, my experience told me, and not a tarnation flaw in one of 'em. For a second time I carefully picked them up and was hiding 'em as before, when I happened to look round. Dash my buttons, if I was alone! On all sides were niggers regarding me with considerable attention. I sprang to my feet and felt for my revolver. Fool that I was, I had left it in the boat! Seeing that I was aware of their presence, they closed in on me, and as they did so I took stock of 'em. They were unlike other South Sea natives, being of better build and but little darker than myself. True, they were rigged out in a short loin-cloth not unlike _tappa_, but they carried neither spear nor shield. When I saw this I was for showing fight, but soon gave that idea up; they were too many for me.

"After a few minutes' inspection they began to march me through the forest in a westerly direction, all the time talking a lingo that seemed curiously familiar. Just upon sunset we entered a large clearing on which stood a fair-sized native village, and I thought as I looked at it that, if ever I got out of this mess and turned to blackbirding, I'd know where to come for niggers. It contained perhaps fifty huts, all built of wood and with conical-shaped grass roofs. A trim garden ran down the centre, at the furthest end of which stood the largest and the most slap-up building of the lot. As soon as we hove in sight, a crowd came out to meet us, and in the middle of hundreds of yelling darkies I was marched up to the big house. The old chief, who had been bossing affairs with the swagger of a New York policeman, told me to wait while he carried his carcass up some steps and disappeared. After a little while he returned, and signified that I should follow him.

"When I got inside I had plenty of time to look about me, for it must have been full half an hour before any one came. Then some grass curtains were drawn aside, and what looked like a man entered. I say _looked like_, because I ain't really clear in my mind as to _what_ he was; anyway, I shouldn't be far from the mark in sayin' he was quite a hundred years old, and just about as deformed as he well could be. He was as white as myself, and from the antics of the chief who had fetched me to his presence I could see that he had a great hold over the niggers. Throwing himself upon the ground, that old fool of a chief feebly wagged his toes till told to rise. Then he started explaining where he had found me and what I was doing.

"During his yarn, old grandfer', whose name I afterwards found was Don Silvio, riddled me into augurholes with his evil little eyes; then, having ordered the chief out, he started to examine me himself. He spoke the same lingo as the niggers, a sort of bastard Portugee, and still looking me through and through, asked, 'Stranger, how came you to this island?'

"I reckoned it best to keep the real truth from him, so said, 'I am a shipwrecked mariner, Senor, and fetched here in an open boat.'

"His eyes blazed, and his long, lean fingers twitched round his jewelled stick. 'And had you no thought of what treasure you might find?'

"'Senor,' said I, looking him square in the face, 'let me put it to you. Is it likely that a shipwrecked mariner would think of treasure?'

"A storm was brewing in his eyes, and I guessed it would break on me. Suddenly he yelled: 'You lie--you dog, you thief--you lie! You came for what you could steal, but nothing shall you take away, nothing--not one stone. The Fates that consumed those who came aforetime shall consume you also. Shipwreck or no shipwreck, you shall die!'

"He fell to beating a gong with his stick, and a dozen or so natives came tumbling in. They seemed to know their business, and before I had time to get in a word I was being dragged away down the street, to a small and securely guarded hut, where I was pushed in and the door closed. Disliking the look of things, as soon as I recovered my breath I started hunting about for a way of escape, but that was no good. Added to my other troubles, I was just famishing, and was beginning to fix it that my end was to be starvation, when footsteps approached, the door opened, and a native girl appeared, bearing on her head two wooden dishes which she set down before me. Being a favourite with the sex, I tried to draw her into conversation, but either she didn't understand my talk or fear had taken away her tongue; anyway, not a word would she utter. After she had left me I set to work on the food, and never before or since have I enjoyed a meal so much. Then stretching myself on some dry reeds in a corner I soon fell asleep.

"I was awakened in the chill grey of dawn by the entrance of the same beauty, who put down my breakfast, saying as she did so, 'White man, eat well, for at sunrise you die!' For a moment the shock cleared me out of speech; I could only sit and stare at her. She seemed to see what was going on in my mind, and as if in comfort added, 'Stranger, why do you fear death? It can only come once!'

"Her reasoning, though logical enough, wasn't of the kind calculated to meet my trouble, and when she had left me I started wondering if anybody in Sacramento City would ever hear of my fate, and bitterly cursing the day I set out in search of this villainous island. As I sat with my head upon my hands, the jewels I had stuck in my jumper fell to the floor and lay there taunting me with their sparkling splendour. Howsomever, it was no use crying over spilled milk; I had brought the situation on myself, and, whatever happened, must go through with it. Suddenly my ear caught the pat of naked feet outside the cell. Then the door was unbarred and the chief entered. 'Come, white man,' he said, 'all is made ready, and the axe waits for the bare flesh!' How would you have felt in such a situation? As for myself, I put a good face on it, and resolved, since I could no longer live a free and independent American citizen, to die as such. Pity, I thought, there wasn't a band. I was led up the village to the open plot before Don Silvio's house. It might have been the fourth of July for the crowd that was assembled. In the centre, for my special benefit, was an object which held an awful fascination for me; a curiously carved block of wood, dull brown in colour, and on two sides much stained and worn. It didn't take me a year to understand what it meant; and you may think it strange, seeing the nature of my position, but, true as gospel, I fell to wondering how my long neck would figure stretched across it.

"When I was halted, I took it for granted that the work of dispatching me would commence at once, but I was mistaken. The execution could not take place until the arrival of Don Silvio, and the sun was a good hour up before there was a stir in the crowd, and the withered monkey-faced little devil came stumping towards me. If he had appeared a hundred years old in the half-dark of his house, he now looked double that age, but the fire in his eyes was as bright as ever. Hobbling to within a dozen paces of where I stood, he took thorough stock of me. Then, tapping the block with his stick, he said: 'Senor, you are about to hunt treasure in a golden country, where I trust your efforts may meet with better success. I wish you farewell.' After relieving himself of this, he went to his seat; two natives raised a great grass umbrella above his head, and, all being comfortable, he gave orders for the performance to begin. A nigger stepped from the crowd and approached me, carrying in his hand an axe. Reaching the block he signed me to kneel. I took a last look round--first at the thick jungle, then at the great mountain pushing itself up into the blue sky. After that my eyes returned to the block, and, gentlemen both, a wonderful circumstance happened. Understand me clearly! Standing on either side of it were two thin columns of palest blue smoke, maybe six feet in height. As I stared at 'em they gradually took the shapes of men, till I could make out the features of old Milwaukee and poor Jim Dance, of London Town. They seemed to be gently beckoning me and telling me not to fear. P'raps I kind of understood, for I stretched my long neck across the block without a sign of funk. I heard the cackling laugh of Don Silvio, I saw the headsman draw a step closer, his arms go up, and then I shut my eyes, and remember no more.

* * * * *

"When I came to my senses I was lying on the bed of rushes in my old quarters, and the native girl before mentioned was seated beside me. On putting my hand to my head to sort of fix matters, she laughed merrily, and said: 'Stranger, it is still there, but to-morrow it will certainly be gone!' Why they hadn't killed me I couldn't understand, unless it was to put me to the torture of waiting another day; anyhow, the following morning I was prepared for the guard when they came to lead me out.

"Once more the crowd was there, once more that villainous old Don kept me waiting, and once more the axe went up but failed to strike. I was respited for another day. Well, this sort of thing happened every blessed morning, till I nearly went mad with the strain of it. On the eighth day, instead of being kept in the square, I was marched straight to the Don's house. The old pirate was waiting for me, and as soon as I arrived fell to questioning me about the outer world, seeming to take an all-fired interest in such parts of my own life as I thought fit to tell him. When he had found out all he wanted, he said: 'Go now, for the present you are free; but remember, if you but approach that ship by so much as half a mile, that same moment you die!' I stumbled out of his presence and down the street like a man dazed. That he had some reason for sparing my life was certain; but what it was, for the life of me I couldn't then determine. Arriving at my hut, I threw myself upon the rushes and tried to think it out.

"That evening, a little after sundown, while walking outside the village and racking my brain for a chance of escape, an event happened which changed all my thoughts and plans. I was passing through a bit of jungle, where the fireflies were beginning to play to and fro, when I came face to face with the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, and--well, I'm a free-born American citizen, and as such the equal of any man living; but I reckon that young woman took the conceit out of me. She couldn't have been more than eighteen years of age: her skin was as white as milk, her hair and eyes of the deepest black; and when she walked it was like the sound of falling rose-leaves. Seeing me, she started with surprise, and was half-inclined to run; but something seemed to tell her I wasn't particular harmful, so overcoming her fear she said, 'Senor, I am glad my grandfather has given you your freedom!' Her grandfather! Not being able to make it out, I said, 'Surely, miss, Don Silvio ain't your grandfather?' 'No, Senor, he was my father's grandfather, but I call him so because the other is so tedious.' Perhaps my manner, as I say, didn't appear very dangerous; anyway, after this her bashfulness seemed to vanish, and we walked back to the village as comfortable as you please. She told me that it was she who had induced the old rascal to spare my life, and I reckon the look I gave her for that had something to do with the flush as spread across her face. She also let me into the risk I had run by breaking into the old galleon, which, accordin' to her tellin', was a sacred thing upon the island. She did not know how long it had lain there, but suspicioned her great-grandfather had commanded it as a young man, and that all the rest who came with him were dead,--a fact which, you bet, I could quite believe.

"The moon was full up before we sighted the village, and when she left me I went back to my hut in a flumux of enchantment, as much in love as the veriest schoolboy. Somehow after this I never thought of escape, but set to work improving my quarters and laying out a garden. Every day Don Silvio came to question me, and you'd better guess I did my best to corral the old chap's confidence. How I got on you'll hear shortly.

"Well, each evening as soon as the sun was down, I visited the grove beyond the village, where, sure enough, I always met the Don's great-granddaughter. Her beauty and amazin' innocence so held me that I was nearly mad to make her my wife; and when I found that she reckoned to have the same liking for me, I could bear it no longer, so went right off to ask the old man for her hand. Not having the least hope of being successful, you can judge of my surprise when he promised her to me straight away, and, what's more, fixed it that the wedding should take place next day. He kept his word, and on the following morning, in the presence of all the village, she became my wife.

"The year that followed topped everything I ever knew of happiness. It slipped by in a rosy mist, and when our boy was born my cup was full. I proclaimed him American, according to the constitution of the United States, and the old Don announced a great feast in his honour. It was spread in the square, and all the village sat down to it. I can see the sight now: the shadowy outline of the mountain beyond the great flaring torches of sweet-smelling wood, the long rows of tables, the shouts and laughter of the niggers, and at the head, between my wife and her great-grandfather, the boy in his cradle. When the feast was right at its height, the old Don rose and handed me a silver mug filled with some sweet liquor. He told me to drink to my son's health, and suspecting no treachery, I did so. Next moment a change stole over me; I made a try to get on to my feet, but it was no use; everything seemed to be slipping away. I could just see my wife start towards me and the old Don pull her back, when my head sank on the table, and my senses left me.

"The next thing I remember is finding myself lying precious sick and weak at the bottom of my own boat, with nothing but the big green seas rolling around me. The island had vanished, and with it my wife and child. At first I reckoned I must have been asleep and dreamed the last year; but no, the food with which the boat was stocked was clear enough evidence of its truth. For an eternity I sailed those cursed seas this way and that, seeking for the land I had lost; but I must have drifted into different waters, for I saw no more islands. My food ran out, and I had given up all hope of being saved, when one of your luggers hove in sight and picked me up.

"Now, gentlemen, you've heard my story. Whether you believe it or not, of course I don't know; but I take my affidavy that all I have told you is true; and what's more, if you'll fit out a vessel to search for that island and its treasure, I'll take command of her. Should we find it, I reckon I can make you the two richest men on earth; and when I get my wife and child I shall be the happiest. In proof that the treasure's there, and as my contribution towards the expenses, I hand you this." From an inner pocket he produced a leather pouch, from which he took what at first appeared to be a small piece of crystal; on inspection it turned out to be a diamond, worth at least a hundred pounds. "That stone," said he, holding it at the angle which would best show its fire, "came from the coffers of the treasure-ship, and is the only one left out of all I saw and took. I will leave it with you for the present. Remember, there's thousands more aboard the old galleon, bigger and better nor that. Say, gentlemen, will you adventure for such merchandise?"

It was too late to go into the question that night, so we bade him come up for a further talk in the morning. Rising, he gravely bowed to us, and without another word withdrew. Next day he was not to be found, nor has he ever made his appearance since. Whether he lost himself and fell into the sea, or whether he was an impostor and feared detection, I haven't the remotest idea. I only know that I have a valuable diamond in my possession, which I am waiting to restore to its uncommonly curious owner.

Into the Outer Darkness

"I am not wrath, my own lost love, although My heart is breaking--wrath I am not, no! For all thou dost in diamonds blaze, no ray Of light into thy heart's night finds its way. I saw thee in a dream. Oh, piteous sight! I saw thy heart all empty, all in night; I saw the serpent gnawing at thy heart; I saw how wretched, oh, my love, thou art!"

--Heine.

You will, perhaps, remember how the soul of Tom Guilfoy was saved by his wife, how Godfrey Halkett was killed by his sweetheart, and how the plans of the Kangaroo Girl were shattered at one blow by a certain grandee aide-de-camp. All those things are matters of history. This is a story of a similar nature, but with a somewhat different ending.

I am not going to tell you how I acquired my information, nor shall I say in which Australian colony the events occurred. If you have ever originated a scandal yourself, you will understand why and sympathise with me. Remember, however, personally, I don't blame them. Situated as they were, they couldn't have done otherwise. But I _do_ contend that it refutes the charge globe-trotters bring against us when they say _there is nothing underneath the surface of Australian society_.

Officially, and for the purposes of trade, the man was named Cyril George Paton Haywood; his friends, however, called him Lancelot. The woman's maiden name was Alice Mary Whittaker, otherwise Guinevere; and as Lancelot and Guinevere, they are as famous through three colonies as a certain governor's mislaid particular despatch.

Lancelot was in the Civil Service, Deputy-Assistant-Registrar-General of Lands, Titles, or something brilliant of that description. Departmentally, he ranked high, was entitled to wear a uniform on occasion, and boasted the right of private _entree_ at vice-regal levees; financially, however, he was too low altogether. The greyheads lost no opportunity of affirming that he was too young, and even cadets know that it is impossible for a man to be accounted brilliant until age has removed the opportunity of showing it. That is why, according to the peculiarity of our legislation, we venerate and retain fossils to the detriment of younger and abler men.

Among other things Lancelot was consumptive, and, apart from his salary, penniless. So he naturally loved Guinevere, with a love that was dog-like in its faithfulness, and she returned his passion with equal fervour. For three seasons, to my certain knowledge, they drove together, sat out dances together, and met on every conceivable opportunity. She was desperately thorough in everything she undertook. Any man who has ever danced with her will confirm this statement.

Then King Arthur appeared on the scene, and languid society--we were in the hills for the hot months--sat down to watch results.

Arthur was not an ideal knight in any way. His past was a sealed book, therefore it was adjudged disreputable; his present was a golden age, so he had evidently turned over a new leaf. He was worth a quarter of a million, men said; but even that couldn't prevent him from being a podgy little red man with a double chin, always horribly clean, and given to the display of many diamonds. He told Mrs. Whittaker, in confidence, at the Bellakers' ball, that he was anxious to marry and settle down if he could only meet the right sort of girl; and, being a good mother, she informed her husband, in the brougham on the way home, that she could put her hand on just the very identical maid.

Whittaker said nothing, for he was fighting a financial crisis at the time; and, besides, he had every confidence in his wife.

About a month later Arthur purchased a gorgeous summer palace half-way up the mountain-road, furnished it magnificently, and set himself to entertain on his own lines. He had for neighbours a dignified judge and a popular widow. The judge lent him tone, the widow gave him female society. Indirectly, he paid through the nose for both.

Needless to say, every one was disposed to be cordial, for he gave delightful impromptu dances on cool summer evenings, and his iced champagne-cup was undeniable. He threw his tennis-courts open to society generally, and his billiard-room was the rendezvous for youths of sporting tastes for miles round. He also organized lovely moonlight riding picnics; and after a day in the sweltering heat of the plains, it was vastly refreshing to dodge through the cool gullies in congenial company.

Early in the summer Lancelot took rooms in the township down the hillside, and in the evenings he would stroll quietly along the mountain roads with Guinevere. Of course every one else was strolling too, but that only gave zest to the affair; and as most of them were also playing at love, their presence hardly mattered.

In the autumn, when people were beginning to think of returning to the city, Whittaker died, leaving his family almost unprovided for.

King Arthur was among the first to tender his sympathies, and, I'm told, after five minutes' preamble, asked point-blank for Guinevere's hand in marriage.

In spite of her grief, Mrs. Whittaker was able to grasp the majesty of his offer, and took care that night to show her daughter how necessary it was, for all their sakes, that she should marry well. Guinevere, however, could not see it in the same light. If it had been Lancelot, she would have been only too happy, she said; but even for her family's sake she was not going to marry anybody else. The mother postponed the matter for a week, then she argued, pleaded, threatened, and finally wept; but her daughter remained obstinate.

Knowing all this, you can imagine our surprise when, two months later, the engagement of King Arthur to beautiful Guinevere was publicly announced. But what amazed us still more was the fact that Lancelot did not seem to be affected thereby in the very smallest degree. His heart complaint was rapidly developing itself, and perhaps his valve demanded his complete attention.

If, however, we had seen a certain little letter, smeared with tear-stains and innumerable blotches, we might have understood matters; but as we did not, we had, like a certain lady of scriptural fame, to argue on what might be called insufficient premises.

Towards the end of June, Arthur and Guinevere were married in the Anglican Cathedral, the Lord Bishop officiating.

It was in all respects a brilliant wedding, and the bridegroom's present to the bride was a thing to see and marvel over. Guinevere walked through the ceremony as if she had been doing nothing else from childhood. (As I have said, she was desperately thorough in all she undertook.) Lancelot was not present; his health would not permit of it, he said.

The happy couple left the same day in the steamer _Chang-Sha_, to spend their honeymoon in Japan.

* * * * *

One morning, on arrival at the office, Lancelot found a letter on his table. It was from an eminent firm of English solicitors, and informed him of the death of an unknown relative, who, in consideration perhaps of their never having met, had left him the sum of thirty thousand pounds snugly invested.

He was barely interested, and asked what earthly manner of use it was to him now? Any one could see that he was growing daily worse, and I believe it was that very week that his doctor first insisted that he should resign his appointments and settle down in some quiet place, where he could not be excited in any shape or form. He was only thirty-three, but a very old man.

Early in December the happy couple returned to the south. The hot weather had commenced, again everybody was resident in the hills. Arthur and his wife went straight to the palace on the mountain-road, and on her first "afternoon," Guinevere's large drawing-room was filled with callers. Two things were painfully evident to the least observant: she was only a walking skeleton, while her husband was cleaner and more distressfully polite than ever. At first, we didn't know how to account for it; but men who saw his brandy-pegs understood what they meant, and told their women-folk, who, as usual, spread the report abroad.

Lancelot called on the Monday following their return, and Arthur welcomed him, if anything, a little too effusively. Guinevere crossed the room to shake hands, and the afternoon light enabled them to take stock of each other properly. They were a pair of ghosts, and each was shocked almost beyond the bounds of decency at the change in the other. He followed her to the Japanese afternoon tea-table, and took a cup of tea from her hands. The tremor of the cup and saucer told their own tale. Arthur watched them from the fireplace with the blandest of smiles upon his face. It pleased him to see the tears gather in his wife's eyes, as she recognised the change in her old lover. From that day forward, Lancelot was made free of the house, and Arthur insisted that he should be asked to every function, however great or small.

Whatever his own thoughts might have been, Lancelot could not fail to see the pleasure his society gave Guinevere, so he settled it in his own mind that the invitations emanated from her. His health was too feeble to admit of his riding or playing tennis; but driving along the mountain-roads, strolling in the gardens, or idling in the music-room, he was her constant companion. Naturally, folk talked, though Arthur assured them that he was only too glad to see his wife happy with her old friends. But it was not true, the long brandy pawnee glasses in his study said so most emphatically.

This sort of thing went on all through the summer months, until the roses began to bloom again in Guinevere's cheeks. Her husband noticed the change, but did not comment on it; he was going to have his day of reckoning by-and-by.

One day Lancelot called upon a certain famous specialist (I'll tell you a pretty piece of scandal about his wife some day), and after a brief wait was shown into the consulting-room. He sniffed the professional smell of the place for five minutes, and while listening to the ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece, made up his mind on a certain subject.

After the specialist had completed a searching examination, Lancelot said,--"As you see, I am growing thinner every day; it nearly kills me to walk fifty yards, and my appetite has forsaken me completely. It's not the first time you've told men their fate: tell me mine. What is the length of my tether?"

"My dear sir, my very dear sir!" that worthy man replied, as he put his paraphernalia back into their respective cases, "we must not despair! While there is life there is hope; with proper care you may yet----"

"But I shall take no care. How long have I to live?"

"As I have said, with scrupulous attention to detail and proper advice, say twelve months, possibly more."

"And without that care?"

"I cannot tell you--perhaps five minutes, perhaps five months; it depends upon yourself."

"I am glad to hear that. Good-day!"

As he stepped into his buggy a letter crinkled in his breast-pocket. He laid himself back on the seat, murmuring Heine's

"Lay your dear little hand on my heart, my fair! Ah! you hear how it knocks on its chamber there? In there dwells a carpenter grim and vile, And he's shaping a coffin for me the while.

"There is knocking and hammering night and day; Long since they have frightened my sleep away. Oh, carpenter, show that you know your trade, That so to sleep I may soon be laid!"

Half-way up the mountain-road, Arthur overtook the buggy and cantered alongside.

"You're looking pretty cheap, old man," he said; "better come to dinner to-night, and see if we can't cheer you up--7.30 as usual!"

"Thanks! I think I will," answered Lancelot. "I don't feel particularly bright!"

* * * * *

Immediately after dessert Guinevere retired, leaving her husband and their guest together.

As Lancelot drew his handkerchief from his pocket, a letter came with it and fell unnoticed to the floor.

On rising Arthur saw it and picked it up. He read it without apology, and as he did so his face set. Then he politely handed it to his guest, saying,--

"I must beg your pardon, this is evidently your property!"

Lancelot did not speak, but sank back in his chair while the other continued,--"This is really a most unfortunate affair; and so my wife is about to dishonour my name, in order to devote herself more exclusively to the care of your health?"

"The fault is mine," stammered Lancelot, "only mine!"

"My dear fellow, not at all. Judging from that letter, she is in love with you--possibly she is right. We won't argue that matter. She seems fond of playing the _role_ of St. Mary Magdala."

"What do you mean to do?"

"Turn her out of my house to-night, or settle the matter with you!"

"Settle with me; but for God's sake spare her!"

"Very well! Let us discuss the question quietly. As you know, I do not believe in what is called sentiment, and fortunately I am able to say, with a clear conscience, that I am not in love with my wife. Probably if I were, I should act otherwise. Now, what I propose is, that chance shall decide for us whether my wife leaves Australia, as she suggests, with you, or whether you go alone concealing your destination and promising never to communicate in any way with her again. Both are unpleasant alternatives, but my gain is, that in either case I shall be rid of you!"

"Good God, man, what an unholy arrangement! Supposing I refuse?"

"For her sake you cannot. I assure you I should turn her out of my house to-night!"

"But will you treat her kindly if I agree?"

"Isn't that rather a curious question from you to me? You must see that it depends entirely on her. Do you agree to my proposal?"

"God help me, I have no alternative!"

There was a long pause, during which Guinevere's music came faintly from the drawing-room.

"Very well; in that case, we had better decide at once. What is my wife playing?"

"An Andante and Scherzo of Beethoven's."

"Do you know it?"

"Thoroughly."

"Then you have that much in your favour. See, here, it is just three and a half minutes to nine by that clock. If she stops before the first stroke of the hour, I win, and she stays with me, and _vice versa_. Do you agree?"

"I cannot do otherwise. God help her; it is all my fault!"

"Not at all, I assure you. Let us make ourselves comfortable. Will you try that port? No? You are foolish; it is an excellent vintage. Ah! one minute gone! What a lovely melody it is; and she plays it charmingly. The laughter of the Scherzo is delicious! May I trouble you for that decanter? Thank you! Two minutes gone. It appears as if my luck is going to fail me at last. Well, it can't be helped. I don't know which of us will be the gainer by the change. By the way, let me recommend you to go to Europe, and you might winter in Algiers; the climate you will find most ben----Ah! she has stopped. Well, I am afraid, Mr. Haywood, Fate has decided _against_ you. Shall I order your carriage?"

Lancelot did not answer save by a little convulsive gasp. Then a little trickle of blood ran from his lips down his chin. The excitement had been too much for him; the frail cord that bound him to life had snapped, and he was dead.

The Story of Tommy Dodd and "The Rooster"

"Keep back, in the yellow! Come up, on Othello! Hold hard, on the chestnut! Turn round, on The Drag: Keep back there, on Spartan! Back, you, sir, in tartan! So! steady there! easy! and down went the flag."

--Adam Lindsay Gordon.

Men in all ranks of society, from cabinet ministers to hotel clerks, are apt to underestimate the true importance of Little Things. Women never do, because it is their business in life to overestimate everything. Though these statements may seem paradoxical, when you've studied the sad history of Tommy Dodd and "The Rooster," my meaning will be as clear as noonday.

Jack Medway's Love Affair was a case in point; for if he had paid proper attention to small matters, he would not have cuffed "The Rooster" in Bourke Street, nor emphasized the insult by calling him a "dirty brat"; then most assuredly he would have married the girl of his heart, instead of a certain vivacious widow who now bullies his life away. Of course people bursting with common sense will deem it impossible that a rebuke given to a street-arab in Melbourne could affect the destinies of four people three years afterwards in North Queensland; nevertheless, without a shadow of doubt, such was the case. Just let me explain a little before you watch the course of events for yourself.

In the first place, Tommy Dodd was a racehorse, and one who had earned fame for himself on every course in Victoria from Mosquito Creek to Cape Howe. That he was not originally intended for the turf was evident from the fact that he made his first appearance in Government employ; and it was not until he had nearly killed four telegraph messengers and two important citizens that he was deemed unfit for the public service. Then he was put up to auction, and Lazarus Levi secured him for a quarter of his real value. He was a most accommodating quadruped, and with not more than nine-stone-six on his back was able, when his owner so desired, to make even crack performers look ridiculous. He had one fault, however, and that was----But I'll tell you about that directly.

"The Rooster" was another curiosity. His body was the body of a child, his face was the face of a lad; but his knowledge of the world, and the racing world in particular, could only have been gained in generations of experience. A great love for Tommy Dodd, and an intense hatred for the before-mentioned Mr. John Medway, of Barcoola Station, were among other of his peculiarities.

Now it so happened that after Jack Medway was appointed manager of Barcoola, he fell in love. I don't push this forward as anything extraordinary; but, as the statement of the fact is necessary to the proper narration of this story, I am bound to repeat, Jack Medway was in love, and Gerty Morris was the object of his affection. He also _respected_ a dashing widow, named Leversidge.

The trouble dates from the issue of the first advertisements in connection with the Barcoola Races. At this yearly festival every owner, manager, jackeroo and rouseabout, within a hundred miles of the course, makes it a point of honour to be present. Then, for the space of a week, life is one whirl of shows, picnics, dances, and meetings. But above all the races reigned supreme.

One Sunday afternoon in Dr. Morris's verandah The Ladies' Bracelet was discussed, and Gerty Morris half hinted that Medway should enter a horse for it in her name. Naturally he jumped at the chance, and after summing up the strength of the most likely entries, cast about him for a nag.

(At this point the curtain should fall upon Act I., with rosy limelight effects, suggestive of Dawning Love and High Ideas.)

* * * * *

When an owner runs a horse to suit his book he should not grumble if his method is discovered; for stewards do _sometimes_ see crooked running, and when they do they are apt to make things troublesome for that owner. Perhaps the proprietor of Tommy Dodd had met with some misfortune of this sort, for that sagacious animal suddenly disappeared from the southern racing world, and was seen therein no more.

A month later a mob of horses came up to Queensland, and at the sale a long, lolloping chestnut gelding, name unknown, was knocked down to Medway for twenty pounds. Though he was not aware of the fact, he was now the owner of the famous Tommy Dodd.

After the sale, driving home from the township, Beverley, of Kimona, nearly annihilated a drunken atom lying on the track. He picked him up and drove on. Next day, ascertaining that he possessed racing experience, he put him on to exercise The Gift. The Gift was his entry for The Bracelet, under the nomination of an _unknown_ Alice Brown, in whom everybody, of course, recognised the before-mentioned Miss Gertrude Morris. That atom was "The Rooster," who had followed Tommy Dodd from the south. And here again Fate played up against Jack Medway.

(Curtain on Act II.: subdued lights and music suggestive of much Mystery.)

* * * * *

A week later the entries of the Barcoola Jockey Club's Autumn Meeting were announced, and Mr. J. Medway's Young Romeo, and Mr. R. Beverley's The Gift, were in the list of competitors.

The training of both animals was proceeding satisfactorily, and the owner of Young Romeo, _alias_ Tommy Dodd, informed Miss Morris that the bracelet she so much coveted must certainly become her property. Beverley had written to her that morning to the same effect.

"The Rooster" ferreted about until he discovered his equine friend's abode, and at the same time learnt all he cared to know about the owner.

Then, remembering the insult of three years before, he saw a chance of revenge. He was quick-witted enough to notice the rivalry between Beverley and Medway, and he quite understood that both men had staked their life's happiness upon the issue of the race. He knew more about Tommy Dodd than any man living, so he took Beverley into his confidence, and revealed the animal's one peculiarity. That gentleman gave him a sovereign to hold his tongue, and as Young Romeo was the only horse he feared, he now saw his way clear to victory.

(Here Act III. terminates, with much red fire and music suggestive of conspiracy.)

* * * * *

It is all nonsense to say that a good day's sport cannot be enjoyed without grand-stands, electric scratching-boards, and telegraphs. The Barcoola Jockey Club possessed none of these advantages, and yet their races were always wonderfully successful. The fact is, in North Queensland the horse is _the_ consideration; but the farther you go south, the nearer you get to directors' meetings and bank overdrafts--consequently, the more iniquitous and black-guardly the sport becomes.

Jack Medway drove his party on to the course in great style, and pretty Gerty Morris sat beside him, looking the picture of health and happiness. Beverley watched the waggonette draw up in a good position, and smiled sardonically. (The Gift was as fit as hands could make him: Young Romeo was his only enemy; and armed with "The Rooster's" knowledge, he knew he held _him_ safe.)

Now, the secret was very simple after all. Years before, when Tommy Dodd was in Government employ, he had been put to a good deal of torture by one small telegraph boy, whose peculiar pleasure it was to flay him daily with a green hide whip. When this amiable young gentleman had succeeded in rawing the horse's sides to his own satisfaction, he still further goaded the poor brute by raising the hide as if to strike, yet never letting it descend. The result of this was that, even in his racing days, Tommy Dodd could never be persuaded to pass a lifted whip. This was "The Rooster's" secret, and the sequel you shall know directly.

The races opened splendidly. A Bush Handicap of 30 sovs., half a mile, was won after a determined struggle by Mr. Exton's Headstrong, 7 st. 2 lb., totalisator dividend, L3 10s. The District Plate went to Mr. Goodwyn's Endymion, 6 st. 10 lb., totalisator dividend, L5 6s. After that, hampers were opened, and every one went to luncheon. Dick Beverley lunched with the Barcoola party, and made himself vastly agreeable to all concerned--his rival included. The Bracelet Stakes was the first event after luncheon, and the two men went away to dress.

Young Romeo had been excellently prepared, and for old association's sake took to the process very kindly. "The Rooster" kept The Gift out of the way till he was wanted, on the plea that he was "a mighty nervous 'oss to 'andle."

After weighing in, Jack Medway offered Beverley a level fifty against his mount. "I'll take you," said Beverley, and strolled away to saddle.

Every one was pleased with the appearance of Young Romeo. He carried himself prettily, and swept over the ground with that easy gliding motion characteristic of a thoroughbred. His rider looked and behaved well in the saddle, so the ladies were unanimous in their praise. The Gift was not a handsome horse, but he had a wear-and-tear appearance that was better than mere beauty, and more than one who could judge of horse-flesh slipped away to put "just a saver" on him. The remainder of the field were a very so-so lot indeed.

As the rivals passed the Barcoola party in their preliminary canter, Gerty Morris scanned both men carefully, but could not make up her mind which she preferred. However, Medway had openly promised her the bracelet, so he had that in his favour. His colours were white jacket, red sleeves and cap; and she had worked a tiny sprig of ivy on the collar, of which he was inordinately proud.

After a little delay at the post, the flag dropped to a good start. Warrigal was the first away, with Endymion and The Gift in close attendance; Young Romeo was unfortunate, and brought up the rear with The Jackeroo and Blush Rose. As they passed the windmill, Endymion changed places with Warrigal, and Young Romeo came up to fourth place. Then The Gift forged to the front and led by a length. On entering the dip, Medway pushed Young Romeo to second place, and remained there watching events until they came into the straight. The crowd, thinking all was over, commenced shouting, "The Gift wins," "The Gift in a canter," "The Gift," etc., etc., etc., until Jack Medway thought it time to make play, so he set sail in pursuit. Young Romeo was full of running and overhauled his rival foot by foot; when fifty yards from the post they were locked neck and neck. Both were doing all they knew. Then "The Rooster's" secret flashed through Beverley's mind, and instantly he raised his whip, _but did not strike_. Next moment he was past the post with a couple of lengths to spare. To every one's surprise, Young Romeo, on his right, had shut up like a concertina just as he had it all his own way. _The bracelet was the property of Miss Brown._

Next day we were informed that Gerty Morris had accepted Beverley, of Kimona, with her parents' full consent, and, strange to say, at the dinner given to celebrate that wonderful event she wore the bracelet of the famous race. Medway was among those invited, but he declined the invitation on the plea that business demanded his presence elsewhere.

* * * * *

"I often think that if he knew everything he would be the first to regret having hurt 'The Rooster's' feelings that night in Bourke Street. They say he is not having a very happy time of it with his wife--once the Widow Leversidge."

Now don't you think I'm right about the importance of Little Things?

Quod Erat Demonstrandum

"That this is doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old Earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you; Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above!"

--R. Browning.

Any afternoon, between three and five, you will probably find in the Club Library, somewhere near the S T E and T R A Bookcase, a thin, restless-eyed man of perhaps five-and-fifty years of age. He will answer to the name of Pennethorne--Cornelius Pennethorne--and he can _sometimes_ be trusted to converse in a fairly rational manner. Generally, however, he is chock-full of nonsensical ideas, founded on what he calls "Inferences from Established Principles," and these make it almost impossible for him to do anything, from tying his bootlace to reducing his Overdraft, except on theories of his own determining.

He sold out of the Army because he had proved to the War Office that the science of modern warfare was founded on an entirely wrong basis, and the greyheads refused his aid to set it right. So, washing his hands of the whole affair, he came to Australia. This was in '69, or perhaps '70.

Knowing nothing about station work, he gave sixty thousand pounds for a property on the Diamantina, in order to demonstrate his own theories on cattle-breeding. And when they proved unworkable, he spent a small fortune inventing a gold-crushing plant--another failure. In similar manner all his pet projects faded away, one after another, like cats'-paws on a big lagoon.

But he learnt nothing from these rebuffs, and there was no _kudos_ to be gained by showing him what an utter ass he really was. You _can_ reason with some men, but not with Pennethorne: he came from obstinate Cornish stock; and as soon as he saw the theory of the moment a failure, he threw it away and dived deeper still into something else.

When he had exhausted cattle-breeding, horse-breaking, irrigation and gold-mining, he hunted about for some other channel in which to sink his money; but for the moment nothing came to hand.

Then some one sent him a pamphlet entitled "The Folklore of our Aboriginal Predecessors," or something of an equally idiotic nature; and in this he saw a fresh opening. His district was infested with blacks, so he plunged holus-bolus into their private affairs. He argued that the theory of their treatment was altogether wrong, and for three months he choked the Colonial Press with lengthy screeds denouncing every one concerned in their government. Beginning with the Protector of Aboriginals and his staff, he took in the Commissioner of Police, and clergy of all denominations. Then, working through the Legislative and Executive Councils, he finished with a great blare at the Governor himself. It never, for an instant, struck him that he was making an egregious ass of himself. That, probably, would be some one else's theory.

Now of all this absurd man's absurd ideas, his fondest, and consequently his most absurd, was that, fundamentally, the nature of both blacks and whites is the same. He contended that education and opportunity are alone responsible for the difference. He said he would prove it.

Taking from the nearest tribe a little half-caste girl, perhaps eight years of age, he sent her south to school, and, cutting off all communication with her people, sat himself down to watch results.

After the child had been enjoying the advantages of every luxury for ten years, he went down to ascertain what progress she had made, and was astounded at the result. In place of the half-wild urchin he remembered, he found a well-mannered, accomplished girl, able to hold her own anywhere. She received him with an air of _abandon_ that staggered him, and he was pleased beyond measure. He said he would go down to the Club and show the scoffers there that one theory, at least, had proved successful.

On reaching it he discovered a strange generation, and was not a little chagrined to find himself and his theories almost forgotten. The younger men watched him meandering about the rooms, and said to each other, "Who is this old bore Pennethorne, and what forgotten part of the interior does he come from?"

So delighted was he with the success of his scheme that he sent the girl to Europe for a year, he himself returning to the Back-blocks. It must be remembered here that her colour was not pure black, but a sort of dirty brown, that she was by no means ill-looking, and that she had been perfectly educated.

Then came the situation he should have foreseen, "When her education was completed, what was to be done with her?" In the loneliness of his station he thought and thought, but could come to no conclusion. She would know enough to make a perfect governess; but then, perhaps, no one would care to give her employment. It was impossible that she should go back to the tribe, and it was equally unlikely that any suitable man would ask her hand in marriage. He began to realize what a white elephant he had raised up for himself.

One cold winter's night, when the rain was beating down and the wind whistling round the station-house, it flashed through his mind that it would be by no means unpleasant to exchange his grumpy old housekeeper for a younger woman--one who could make the evenings pleasant with music and intellectual conversation. But it would have this drawback--it would mean matrimony.

All this time his _protegee_ was writing him charming letters from Rome and Naples, commenting shrewdly on all the wonders she was seeing. Sometimes on the run he would read these letters, and think out certain schemes all by himself.

On her return he went down to Sydney for the special purpose of meeting her. He found a pretty little woman in a neat dark blue travelling dress awaiting him. Her white cuffs and collar contrasted charmingly with her dark complexion. She received him very nicely, and he noticed that she had picked up the little mannerisms of the better-class Englishwomen she had met. They drove to the Australian, and a week later were married by special licence.

Most men who remembered him said he was a very big fool; the rest said that they would give _their_ opinions when they saw how events turned out.

Directly they were married they posted straight off to the station. And herein Pennethorne acted very unwisely. He should have toured Tasmania and New Zealand, or visited Japan in the orthodox way. But he was unlike other men, and it was a moral impossibility for him to act like a rational being--his theories got in the way and tripped him up.

For the first year or so everything progressed beautifully, and he wrote glowing accounts of his new life to the few men whose friendship he had thought worth retaining. Then the correspondence ceased abruptly, and his friends marvelled.

Now, of all those who had scoffed at Pennethorne's theories, the most persistent was William Pevis Farrington, afterwards His Honour Mr. Justice Farrington. In the middle of his happiness, Pennethorne had invited the judge, if ever he should be travelling that way, etc.--you know the usual sort of thing--to put in a day or two with him, and see for himself how things stood. About a year later Farrington did happen to be somewhere in the district and called as requested.

Meeting his host near the homestead, they rode up together, and Farrington noticed that Pennethorne decidedly looked his age. When they reached the house the latter, leaving his guest in the dining-room, went in search of his wife, to return about ten minutes later saying she was unwell. They dined alone. All through the meal Pennethorne seemed disturbed and uncomfortable, and when it was over led the way into the garden, where he said abruptly, "Farrington, you think me a madman, don't you?"

The judge mumbled the only thing he could think of at the moment, and endeavoured to push the conversation off to a side track by an inquiry after Mrs. Pennethorne's health. It had precisely the contrary effect to what he intended.

His friend had twelve years' arrears to work off before he could be considered, conversationally, a decent companion. So, setting to work, he poured into the unfortunate judge's ears his granary of theories, facts, and arguments. He marshalled his arguments, backed them up with his theories, and clinched all with his facts, his voice rising from its usual placid level to a higher note of almost childish entreaty. Unconsciously he was endeavouring to convince himself, through the medium of a second person, of the wisdom contained in his marriage experiment.

Farrington listened attentively. His trained mind distinguished between what the other believed and what he was endeavouring to prove against his own convictions. However, he could see that the keynote of the whole harangue was Failure, but as every one admitted that the last experiment had proved entirely successful, in what direction did such failure lie? He was more than a little mixed, and by delicate cross-examination elicited certain facts that puzzled him still more.

One thing was plainly evident: Pennethorne was very much in love with his wife. In the first place he was given to understand that no man could desire a more amiable wife than Mrs. Pennethorne had proved herself to be. This heading included virtues too numerous to mention--but she was not well. Nor could any man desire a more _accomplished_ wife than Mrs. Pennethorne, who was fit to be the helpmate of an Oxford Don--but she was not well. His assertions always had the same refrain--"She was not well!"

Because he could not understand, Farrington became deeply interested.

* * * * *

Just before daylight the judge was wakened by his host. He saw in an instant that something terrible had happened.

_Mrs. Pennethorne had disappeared in the night, her husband knew not whither!_

Even with his teeth chattering in his head, and his palsied old hand rattling the candlestick, he was compelled to state _his theory_ of her absence.

Farrington, seeing he was not responsible for his actions, acted for him. He routed out all the station hands and scoured the country. They spent all day searching the scrub, dragging the dams and waterholes, and at nightfall had to give it up as hopeless.

Farrington and Pennethorne rode home together. Passing through a rocky gully, they noticed the smoke of a camp fire floating up into the still night air, and rode up to make inquiries. The blacks were at their evening meal. One filthy girl raised her head and looked up at them from her frowsy blankets. _It was Mrs. Pennethorne!_

After thirteen years of civilization the race instinct had proved too strong: the reek of the camp fires, the call of the Bush, and the fascination of the old savage life had come back upon her with double intensity, and so the last theory had to be written down a failure. _Q.E.D._

Cupid and Psyche

"Handsome, amiable, and clever, With a fortune and a wife; So I make my start whenever I would build the fancy life. After all the bright ideal, What a gulf there is between Things that are, alas! too real And the things that might have been!"

--Henry S. Leigh.

His name upon the ship's books was Edward Braithwaite Colchester, but between Tilbury and Sydney Harbour he was better known as Cupid. His mother was a widow with four more olive branches, absolutely dependent on her own and Teddy's exertions.

At the best of times Kindergartens for the children of respectable tradespeople are not particularly remunerative, and the semi-detached villa in Sydenham was often sorely tried for petty cash. But when Teddy was appointed fourth officer of the X.Y.Z. Company's steamship _Cambrian Prince_, endless possibilities were opened up.

If you will remember that everything in this world is ordained to a certain end, you will see that Teddy's future entirely depended on his falling in love--first love, of course, and not the matter-of-fact business-like affair that follows later.

After his second voyage he obtained a fortnight's leave and hastened home. Being fond of tennis and such-like amusements, he was naturally brought into contact with many charming girls, who, because he was a strange man and a sailor, were effusively polite. Then he fell hopelessly in love with a horribly impossible girl, and in the excitement of the latest waltz proposed, and was accepted, on the strength of a fourth officer's pay, an incipient moustache, and a dozen or so brass buttons.

During the next voyage his behaviour towards unmarried women was marked by that circumspection which should always characterize an engaged man. He never allowed himself to forget this for an instant, and his cabin had for its chief ornament a plush-framed likeness of a young lady gazing, with a wistful expression, over a palpably photographic sea.

Now, it was necessary for his ultimate happiness that Teddy Colchester should learn that, like his own brass buttons, without constant burnishing, a young lady's affection is apt to lose much of its pristine brightness, and that too much sea air is good for neither. He ticked off the days of absence, and, as his calendar lessened, his affection increased.

At Plymouth a letter met him--a jerky, inky, schoolgirl epistle, evidently written by a writer very cold and miserable; and the first reading stunned him. Had he seen a little more of the real world, he would have been able to read between the lines something to this effect: "You're Teddy, three months away, and I'm madly in love with a soldier." Then he would have noted that the writer was staying in Salisbury, after which he would have hunted up his home papers and discovered that the Royal Wiltshire Yeomanry Cavalry were encamped at Humington Down. But as he had only seen life through a telescope, he could not do this, consequently his pain was a trifle acute.

His mother wrote him four pages of sympathy. But though she wondered at any girl jilting her boy, she could not help a feeling of satisfaction at its being still in her power to transmute three-quarters of his pay into food and raiment for her brood.

Next voyage the _Cambrian Prince_ had her full complement of passengers, and the "Kangaroo Girl," whom perhaps you may remember, was of the number. At Plymouth a little reserved girl joined, and as she is considerably mixed up in this story, you must know that she rejoiced in the unpretentious name of Hinks.

For the first week or so Teddy held very much aloof from the passengers, engaging himself entirely with recollections of the girl for whose sake he was going to live "only in a memory."

Being an honest, straightforward young fellow, he of course followed the prescribed programme of all blighted love affairs. He began by pitying himself for the sorrow he was undergoing, then went on to picture the future that might have been theirs had she married him; but before they were clear of the Bay he had arrived at the invariable conclusion, and was pitying himself for pitying the girl who was foolish enough to jilt such an entirely estimable young man as Edward Braithwaite Colchester.

One moonlight night, after leaving "Gib," he was leaning over the rails of the promenade deck, feeling sympathetically inclined to the world in general, when somebody stepped up beside him. It was Miss Hinks. She prefaced her conversation with two or three questions about the sea, and he made the astounding discovery that her voice possessed just the note of sympathy he required for his complaint. He had felt sorry for her because other people snubbed her, and she for him because she had been told exaggerated stories about his love affair. Together they made rather a curious couple.

When, under the supervision of the "Kangaroo Girl," the shore parties for Naples were being organized, Miss Hinks was tacitly left out. Somehow the impression got about that she was poor, and no one cared about paying her expenses. But eventually she did go, and it was in the charge of the fourth officer. When she thanked him for his kindness, he forgot for the moment his pledge "to live henceforth only in a memory."

The "Kangaroo Girl," on discovering that Miss Hinks _had_ been on shore, under the escort of that "dear little pink officer," was vastly amused, and christened them Cupid and Psyche.

Now, the end of it all was, that Teddy began to find himself caring less and less for the thumb-stained photograph in his locker, and more and more for the privilege of pumping his sorrows into a certain sympathetic ear. Shipboard allows so many opportunities of meeting; and, strange as it may appear, a broken heart is quickest mended when subjected to a second rending. This cure is based on the homoeopathic principle of like curing like.

By the time they reached Aden he had convinced himself that his first love affair had been the result of a too generous nature, and that this second was the one and only _real_ passion of his life.

At Colombo Miss Hinks went ashore with the doctor's party--tiffined at Mount Lavinia, dined at the Grand Oriental, and started back for the ship about nine o'clock.

Teddy, begrimed with coal-dust, watched each boat load arrive, and as he did so his love increased.

On account of the coal barges it was impossible for boats to come alongside, consequently their freight had to clamber from hulk to hulk. Miss Hinks was the last of her party to venture; and just as the doctor, holding out his hand, told her to jump, the hulk swayed out and she fell with a scream into the void. Then, before any one could realize what had happened, the barge rolled back into its place. Miss Hinks had disappeared.

Teddy, from half-way up the gangway, tore off his coat, leapt into the water, and, at the risk of having his brains knocked out, dived and plunged between the boats, but without success. Then he saw something white astern, and swam towards it.

* * * * *

The half-drowned couple must have come to an understanding in the rescuing-boat, for next day their engagement was announced.

The "Kangaroo Girl" gave evidence of her wit when she said, "It was fortunate they were Cupid and Psyche, otherwise they would find love rather insufficient capital to begin housekeeping upon!"

Teddy wrote to his mother from Adelaide, and she, poor woman, was not best pleased to hear the news. But a surprise was in store for us all.

On the _Cambrian Prince's_ arrival in Sydney, Miss Hinks was met by an intensely respectable old gentleman, who, it appeared, was her solicitor. On being informed of the engagement, he examined Teddy with peculiar interest, and asked if he were aware of his good fortune. Miss Hinks smiled.

Half an hour later we learnt that the girl whom we'd all been pitying for her poverty was none other than Miss Hinks-Gratton, _the millionairess and owner of innumerable station and town properties_!

The Teddy of to-day is a director of half a dozen shipping companies, and he quite agrees with me "that everything in this world is ordained to a certain end."

Misplaced Affections

"Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.

"Then be not coy, but use your time; And while ye may, go marry: For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry."

--R. Herrick.

The point I wish to illustrate is, that it is not safe, at any time, to play with such an inflammable passion as Love, even though it be to oblige one's nearest and dearest friend. Once upon a time pretty Mrs. Belverton used to laugh at me for warning her, but she is compelled to admit the truth of my argument now.

It was Mrs. Belverton, you will remember, who originated the famous Under Fifty Riding Club, whose initials, _U.F.R.C._, over two crossed hunting-crops and a double snaffle, were construed, by irreverent folk, to mean _Unlimited Flirtation Religiously Conserved_. The Club is now defunct, but its influence will be traceable in several families for many years to come.

The following events, you must know, occurred the summer before William Belverton received the honour of knighthood, and while he was renting Acacia Lodge at the corner of the Mountain Road, the house below Tom Guilfoy's, and nearly opposite the residence of the Kangaroo Girl of blessed memory.

It was by extending her sympathies as guide, philosopher, and friend to all unhappy love affairs that Mrs. Belverton made herself famous in our Australian world; and many and extraordinary were the scrapes this little amusement dragged her into. Could her drawing-room curtains have spoken, they would have been able to throw light upon many matters of vital interest, but matters of such a delicate nature as to absolutely prohibit their publication here.

The Otway-Belton couple, for instance, owe their present happiness to her assistance at a critical juncture in their family history; while the Lovelaces, man and wife, would to-day be separated by the whole length and breadth of our earth, but for her tact during a certain desperate five minutes in the Greenaways' verandah. So on, in numberless cases, to the end of the chapter.

You must know that for three months during the particular year of which I am writing, we had with us a young globe-trotter, who rejoiced in the name of Poltwhistle. I can't tell you any more about him, save that he was a big Cornishman, rawboned, and vulgarly rich. His people should have been more considerate; they should have kept him quietly at home counting his money-bags, instead of allowing him to prowl about God's earth upsetting other people's carefully thought-out arrangements.

The trouble all commenced with his meeting pretty little dimpled Jessie Halroyd at a Government House tennis-party and convincing himself, after less than half an hour's disjointed conversation, that she was quite the nicest girl he had ever encountered. He met her again next day at the Chief Justice's dinner-party. Then by dint of thinking continually in the same strain, he fell to imagining himself in love. But as she had long since given her affections to Lawrence Collivar, of the Treasury, and had not experience enough to conduct two affairs at one and the same time, his behaviour struck us all as entirely ridiculous.

Having called on Mrs. Halroyd the Monday following, where he was fed and made much of, he set to work thenceforward to pester the daughter with his attentions. It was another example of the Lancaster trouble, of which I've told you elsewhere, only with the positions turned wrong-side uppermost.

For nearly a month this persecution was steadily and systematically carried on, until people, who had nothing at all to do with it, began to talk, and the girl herself was at her wits' end to find a loophole of escape. I must tell you at this point, that, even before the Cornishman's coming, her own selection had been barely tolerated by the Home Authorities; now, in the glare of Poltwhistle's thousands, it was discountenanced altogether. But Jessie thought she loved Collivar, and she used to grind her pretty little teeth with rage when Poltwhistle came into the room, and say she was not going to give up Lawrence, whatever happened. Then she suddenly remembered Mrs. Belverton, and with desperate courage went down, told her all, and implored her aid.

Now it so happened that Mrs. Belverton had nothing to do just then, and stood in need of excitement. Moreover, Collivar was her own special and particular _protege_. In fact, it was neither more nor less than _her_ influence that had given him his rapid advancement in the Public Service, and through this influence his love for little Jessie Halroyd. She was educating him, she said, to make an ideal husband, and she was certainly not going to allow a rawboned New Arrival to upset her plans.

At the end of the interview, taking the girl's hand in hers, she said comfortingly,--

"Go home, my dear, and try to enjoy yourself; snub Mr. Poltwhistle whenever you see him, and leave the rest to me!"

When she was alone, this excellent woman settled herself down in her cushions, and devoted half an hour to careful contemplation.

She understood that with a man whose skull went up to nothing at the back of his head, like Poltwhistle's, ordinary measures would be worse than useless, so she decided upon a scheme that embodied an honour which even kings and princes might have envied.

That same night she was booked to dine with Arthur and Guinevere, of whom I have also told you, on the Mountain Road, and Providence (which is more mixed up in these little matters than most people imagine) placed on her left hand none other than the Cornishman himself.

Having heard a great deal of the famous Mrs. Belverton and her sharp sayings, he was prepared to be more than a little afraid of her. She observed this and utilised it to the best advantages.

Neglecting every one else, even her own lawful partner, who, I may tell you, was a globe-trotter of no small importance, she made herself infinitely charming to the angular gawk beside her, and to such good purpose that, before Belverton began, according to custom, to brag about his port, he was in a whirlwind of enchantment, and had forgotten his original admiration for good and all.

Next day as he was riding down to tennis at the Halroyds', he met Mrs. Belverton outside the library. Looking at him through the lace of a pretty red parasol, and with the most innocent of faces, she asked his advice as to the sort of literature she should peruse. Of course that necessitated sending home his horse and overhauling the bookshelves--with any woman a dangerous proceeding, but with Mrs. Belverton an act of more than suicidal folly. A child might have foreseen the result. Before they had reached shelf B he had completely lost his head, and when they left the library, he disregarded his tennis appointment and begged to be allowed to carry home her books for her.

She kept him with her until all chance of tennis was over, then having filled him with pound cake, tea, and improving conversation, sent him away, vowing that he had at last met perfection in womankind.

Her scheme was succeeding admirably, for Poltwhistle from that hour forsook his former flame altogether. Mrs. Halroyd wondered; but her daughter professed delight, and seeing this, Collivar prosecuted his wooing with renewed ardour.

But Mrs. Belverton, with all her cleverness, had made one miscalculation, and the effect was more than usually disastrous. She had forgotten the fact that Jessie Halroyd was, in spite of her heart trouble, little more than a child. And the upshot of this was that when that young lady saw Poltwhistle no longer worshipped at her shrine, but was inclining towards another woman, prettier and more accomplished than herself, she allowed her school-girl's vanity to be hurt.

Within a week of her visit to Acacia Lodge, she had developed an idea that, all things considered, Poltwhistle was by no means bad looking, and certainly everybody knew that he was rich. Within a fortnight, Collivar having offended her, she was sure that she liked him quite as much as most men; and in less than three weeks (so strangely perverse is woman) she had snubbed Collivar, and was hating Mrs. Belverton with all her heart and soul for enticing the Cornishman's attentions away from herself.

Then it became Collivar's turn to seek assistance; and at this juncture, as the situation looked like getting beyond even her, Mrs. Belverton lost her temper and said some very bitter things about everybody concerned, herself included.

However, to sit down and allow herself to be beaten formed no part of that lady's nature; so carefully reviewing the case, she realized that the only possible way out of the difficulty was a reversal of her former tactics. To this end she dropped Poltwhistle and took up Collivar, hoping thereby to turn the jealous girl's thoughts back into their original channel.

The Hillites stared and said to each other:--

"Dear, dear! What a shocking flirt that Mrs. Belverton is, to be sure! First it was that nice Mr. Poltwhistle, and now it's young Collivar, of the Treasury. Her conduct is really too outrageous!"

One muggy Saturday afternoon, towards the end of the hot weather, the Under Fifty Riding Club met opposite the library to ride to The Summit for tea and strawberries. There was a good attendance of members, and Mrs. Belverton, Miss Halroyd, Poltwhistle, and Collivar were among the number.

Every one paired off in the orthodox fashion, and as Collivar annexed Mrs. Belverton, Poltwhistle was obliged to content himself with Miss Halroyd. He was not too polite in consequence.

Before they reached the summit of the mount, thick clouds had gathered in the sky, and heavy thunder was rumbling along the hills. The Club members ate their strawberries, flirted about the grounds, and started for home just as dusk was falling.

The same pairing was adopted on the return journey, and Poltwhistle, from his place in the rear, watched the other couple with jealous, hungry eyes.

It was a tempestuous evening. Heavy thunder rolled continuously, and when, nearly half-way home, the clouds burst and the rain poured down, there was a general rush for shelter. Mrs. Belverton, to her dismay, found herself, in the half darkness, sitting on her horse, beneath a big gum-tree, with both Collivar and Poltwhistle for her companions.

The latter, whose manners were about on a par with his modesty, had left Miss Halroyd on the road to seek shelter for herself.

With a hurricane of rage in her heart, the poor girl, now, according to her lights, thoroughly in love, saw the reason of his conduct and followed him, reaching the other side of the tree unperceived. It was so dark you could hardly distinguish your hand before your face, and the rain was simply pouring down.

Sometimes, when she is in a communicative mood, Mrs. Belverton can be persuaded to tell the story of that half-hour under the gum-tree, and she catalogues it as the funniest thirty minutes she has ever experienced. But though she laughs about it now, I fancy she did not enjoy it so much at the time.

From each hinting that the other should retire, both men fell to justifying their presence there, and finished by whispering into the lady's ears, between the thunder-claps, protestations of their undying love and devotion.

Then, while the thunder was crashing, the lightning flashing, the rain soaking them through and through, and Mrs. Belverton was wondering how it was all to end, Jessie Halroyd rode round the tree.

They all stared, you may be sure, and because Mrs. Belverton had adventured the whole miserable business for her sake, she naturally hissed,--

"False friend, false friend, I hate you! Oh, Mrs. Belverton, how I hate you--I could kill you!"

A flash of lightning showed her face. It was all white and quivering, like a badly made _blanc-mange_ pudding. There was a pause till somebody said very innocently, and I am told it was the funniest part of the whole affair,--

"My dear child, you're getting wet through; do bring your horse into shelter!"

But before the sentence was finished the girl had turned her horse's head and was galloping down the streaming road at break-neck speed.

Then Mrs. Belverton gathered her wits together and set to work to undeceive her two admirers. All things considered, the operation must have been a curious one. When it was accomplished she rode home alone, meditating, I presume, on the futilities of this mundane existence.

The sad conclusion we, the Hillites, have come to, is that both Poltwhistle and Collivar hate their would-be benefactress most cordially for endeavouring to promote their happiness, and abominate each other still more for interfering and spoiling sport. While Miss Halroyd, who goes home next mail-day, hates all three with an undying hatred, and of course cannot be made to understand that her own folly alone is responsible for everything that happened. Personally, I should be more interested to know what easy-going William Belverton thinks about it all.

In Great Waters

"Short shrift! sharp fate! dark doom to dree! Hard struggle, though quickly ending! At home or abroad, by land or sea, In peace or war, sore trials must be, And worse may happen to you or to me, For none are secure and none can flee From a destiny impending."

--Adam Lindsay Gordon.

"Don't thank me; I'm sure I'm equally obliged to you. I haven't seen a strange face these three months; and though I am that despised animal, a broken-down gentleman, I've never quite been able to overcome a foolish hankering after some dealing with my old caste again. Pardon the implied compliment!

"You'd better hobble your horses and turn them loose towards the creek. I'll run them up in the morning with my own.

"Having done that, if you're hungry, you'll find tea in the billy, and damper and meat in those ration bags. It's Queensland boundary rider's fare, but the best I can offer you.

"Monotonous country? By Heavens, yes! The children in exile knew no worse. On all sides, sand, mulga, and desolation--desolation, mulga, and sand, and unceasing regret, the portion of every man who has his lot in it!

"Have you quite finished? Then light your pipe. No, no! not with a vesta like a new chum, but with a fire-stick--so! When you've been in the Bush as long as I have, you will see in a match something more than a pipe-light. But by that time you will be on the high road to a still more peculiar wisdom, which will never be of service to you.

"Now, draw your blankets to the fire and cease thinking of your horses. They're on good feed, so let them eat their fill. If what I hear of the country out back is true, they'll get no more this side of the Barcoo.

"What do I say? How do I know that you are new to the country? Simply enough! By the light in your eyes, the palms of your hands, and the freshness of your voice. Besides, when a man has been long in the West, does he stand up for want of a chair? Forgive my rudeness, but you'll learn it all soon enough.

"Talking of classes! Consider the class I represent. In this country it is a numerous one, and the Bush is both our refuge and our cemetery. As we wish to know nobody, so we desire that nobody shall ever know us; and being beyond the reach of pride or shame, we live entirely in memories of the past, through which we enjoy a keener torture than any creed or sect can promise us hereafter. If you have the understanding, you might write the book of our misery, and, believe me, you'd have an inexhaustible reservoir upon which to draw.

"Before you came out you had a different notion of Australia? Exactly! Folk who live sixteen thousand miles away, and own bank-books and fat stomachs, have one idea of it; while we, who exist like Esau, in the Red Sand itself, if you approached us properly, would give quite another. Now, I knew of a case once--but I beg your pardon!

"That old hut at the Creek Bend you passed at mid-day? Three black posts and a wreck of charred timber, yellow boulders against an umber cliff, and two dingoe pups rioting on the threshold--isn't that the picture?

"Well, if you think it dreary and lonesome to-day, try and imagine it when it was the furthest boundary west, with only the Great Unknown between the ranges at our back and the Timor Sea.

"For reasons which could not interest you, I was the first to live there. Curiously enough, my hut-keeper was also of our caste. By nationality he was a Hungarian, and in addition to other things, he was a studious disciple of Goethe, and the finest zither player I have ever heard. It's about his connection with that hut that I wish to tell you.

"As men seldom quarrel when ambition has gone out of their lives, for a year we came as near a certain sort of happiness as a remorseless Heaven would permit. Then everything suddenly changed.

"One day, after a long stretch of dry weather that looked almost like settling in for a drought, welcome storm-clouds gathered in the west, and night closed in with a vigorous downpour. The creek, which for months past had been merely a chain of half-dry waterholes, began to trickle briskly round its bends, and in the morning had risen to the size of a respectable torrent. Next day, Thursday, it was a banker, and still the rain continued. By Friday evening the flood was upon us. And such a flood as you never in your life saw or dreamed of!

"To give you some idea of its size, you must imagine this plain, from the mountains behind you to the scrub yonder, one vast sheet of foaming, roaring, rushing, eddying water.

"Opposite the old hut we are talking of it was many miles in width, and for more than a week we were hemmed in upon a tiny island (the hut stands on a slight elevation, as you perhaps have observed), with the waters drawing a line of yeast-like foam daily closer and closer to our door. There was no escape, and I doubt if either of us would have taken advantage of it if there had been.

"Morning, noon, and night, the flood went roaring and rushing by, carrying on its bosom forest trees, and hopeless beasts of all sorts, sizes, and descriptions. And each moment saw us waiting for the lip-lap upon the threshold which should signal the destruction of the hut and our immediate departure for Eternity!

"Now you must remember that in life there is no such thing as chance. Every existence has its allotted span, and to avoid the pre-ordained termination is impossible for any man. You may smile, but I am convinced that what I say is correct, and this is a case in point.

"On the ninth night of our imprisonment we were sitting in our one room, trying to keep warm, and listening to the storm outside. The wind, moaning through the logs, played with the firelight and threw a thousand fantastic shadows on the rough-hewn walls.

"When life carries no future for a man, you will readily understand that he becomes callous, even as to the means of his death; so, even with destruction hovering over him, Yadeski sought company in his music. Drawing his zither from its case, he laid it on the table and allowed his fingers to stray across the strings. The sweet, sad melody that followed lent an air of almost reverence to the bare walls and homeless aspect of the room.

"The storm outside yelled and muttered by turns; but, heedless of it, he played on, wandering from the folk-songs of the old grey Magyar villages to the paeans of victorious hunters, from mighty trampling war-chants to tender, crooning cradle-songs.

"Suddenly a shout rang out clear and distinct above the storm. It was the cry of a man who, feeling the hand of Death clutching at his weasand, knows that unless help comes quickly that grip will tighten and his life go from him. Before he could call again, we had rushed into the storm.

"The wind blew a hurricane, the waters snarled at the tiny hill and rolled in black waves, that might almost have been taken for the sea, to our feet. Battling in the direction whence the sound proceeded, Yadeski called with all the strength of his lungs. His voice, however, was lost in the general turmoil. But at the same instant, as if in answer, a white face rose through the foam not a dozen paces from our feet. Yadeski instantly plunged in, the face vanished, and for a moment I lost sight of both. Then they rose within an arm's length of where I stood, and I went in and dragged them out--the working of Fate, mind you!

"Between us we carried the stranger to our hut and laid him before the fire.

"For more than an hour, despite our exertions, he remained unconscious; then his eyes slowly opened, and in a few moments his power of speech returned to him. Two words escaped his lips, and when he heard them my hut-keeper fell back against the wall with ashen face.

"A soft sleep followed the return to consciousness, and I turned into my bunk. Yadeski, however, sat gazing into the fire with an expression on his face I could not, for the life of me, understand. All night he must have kept the same position; but when the sun rose he shook himself together and set about his preparation of the morning meal.

"By the light of day I saw that the stranger was a young man of prepossessing appearance. He explained that he was a Hungarian, and had only been in Australia a month. From what I could gather he was travelling to some new country that had lately been taken up further to the north-west. When crossing the river, which, by reason of the floods, was very much congested, the waters had separated him from his party and had washed his horse from under him. He was carried mile after mile battling for life, spent half a day in a tree, which was eventually washed from under him, was borne out into the main stream, and, but for our timely assistance, would soon have been a dead man.

"I hope I am not wearying you?

"Well, day after day the flood continued, and for more than a week our chance guest was compelled to remain with us. Then the waters fell as quickly as they had risen, and when the safety of the track was once more assured, he decided to resume his journey.

"The night before he left us we were sitting round the fire listening to Yadeski's music. As was his custom, he wandered from air to air, seemingly unconscious of our presence.

"The stranger listened with his eyes full of an insatiable hunger.

"From gentlest pianissimo the music rose to a wild, fierce note of despair. An unearthly pathos seized the instrument--an inexplicable, yet intense longing, a vague desire for something unattainable, took possession of us. Then the music ceased abruptly, the spell was broken, and the younger man, springing to his feet, cried, in a voice tremulous with excitement,--

"'Oh, where, tell me where you learned that dreadful air?'

"The musician did not answer, but sat gazing into the fire. Shaking him by the shoulder, the younger man repeated his question till, as one in a dream, Yadeski muttered,--

"'Many years ago, far from here. What does it matter?'

"'Matter! Why, man, it was that air that brought me out here; it was that cursed air that killed my----' But he stopped, and leaned against the wall.

"'Let me tell you why I asked you that question,' he said at length, when he had recovered his calmness. 'We spoke to-night of Buda. I was born within ten miles of it, the eldest of a family of eight. Our farm was as good land as any in the district, and we had held it under the Counts Romanyi for centuries. My father, I must tell you, died when I was only nine years old, and so my mother, who was famous through the district for her beauty and her zither-playing, was left alone to look after us.

"'One evening while she sat playing, as was her custom, at our cottage door, the Count passed, and, hearing her music, stopped to buy a glass of milk. He was an accomplished musician himself, and at his request she played to him. Then, after saying many pretty things, and distributing a handful of coins from his pocket among us children, he rode away.

"'Next day he came again, and the next, and so on, day by day, till we children, who had hitherto feared his name more than God's, grew so bold that we could quite look upon him as one of ourselves.

"'Ah, how well I remember the night he played that hellish air for the first time! I can see the drift-smoke lying low upon the land, and smell the smell of the pines floating down the mountain-side. I can see my mother sitting, watching, and listening like one spellbound. It must have been the music of the devil, for it ate into her heart, and the same day a week later, a neighbour came to tell us that our mother would not come back to us again.

"'Six years after, when I was almost a man, she returned. I can remember that homecoming as if it were but yesterday.

"'It was a night late in winter, and the young moon was shining faintly above the snow. A knocking came to the door, and I opened it upon a heap of rags--my mother!

"'She died with the dawn, but not before she had told me everything. I want now to meet the Count. I have sworn that the hour I come face to face with him shall be his last! Wouldn't you do the same?'

"Yadeski's head had sunk on his outstretched arms, and, but for a certain tremulous movement of his shoulders, he might well have been asleep. I lay in the shadow of my bunk, wondering what it all might mean.

"'I commenced my search in Vienna, where he had a house; but it seems he was in serious trouble with the Government, and had fled from Austria. I followed him to Italy, to England, and to America, but in vain. I have continued it all over the world; but I do not despair, for I am certain that, sooner or later, God will lead me to his side.'

"Controlling his voice with an effort, Yadeski asked,--

"'And what then?'

"'Ah! what then? But I fear I have wearied you with my story. I am sorry. Good-night!'

"He dropped on to his blankets, curled himself up, and spoke no more. Only the crackling of the burning logs disturbed the silence.

"Just before dawn I was awakened by the sound of gentlest music--the same weird melody we had heard earlier in the evening. It began, but was never finished.

"Unseen by us, a thick glaze was creeping over the player's eyes, and his supple fingers were stiffening in the grasp of Death. The music grew fainter, and still more faint, until finally it merged itself into a thick, monotonous drip--drip--drip, which caught the first red signs of day as they stole into us under the old hut door.

"Then there was a curiously heavy sob, and a half-turn of the musician's figure. After which a long, keen-bladed knife fell from the table, and the clatter roused us both to action.

"But Yadeski was beyond the reach of human vengeance. He had severed a vein in his arm, and so bled peacefully to death. _Quo cunque nomine de mortuis nil nisi bonum loqua._

"See, here comes the moon, and the wind with her. You'd better take this extra blanket. It will be cold before dawn.

"Hark! The horses have crossed the creek and are making towards the hut we've just been talking of. They will be miles away in the morning. Never mind! Good-night!"

Mr. Aristocrat

"'Shepherd, what's love? I pray thee tell.' 'It is that fountain and that well Where pleasure and repentance dwell; It is perhaps that sauncing bell That tolls us all to heaven or hell, And this is love as I heard tell.'"

--Sir Walter Raleigh.

The Australian Bush is pre-eminently a charnel-house of human lives, and therefore of the affections. Innumerable histories, neatly folded up and hidden away in the by-places of the great island continent, labelled _Not wanted till the Judgment Day_, will prove this indisputably. When Gabriel's trump shall call the sleepers from their resting-places in the shadows of the frowning mountains, in the long, grey gullies, and from the deserts and hopeless open plains, Australia's Bush contingent will be among the saddest and most miserable to face the Judgment Throne. "Mr. Aristocrat" will be there, and his case alone will be worth hearing.

At the time I'm going to tell you about we were pushing out to new country at the head of the Flinders River, in Northern Queensland, and when three camps this side of our destination, horses and men knocked up, things began to look the very reverse of cheering. Night was coming on; the cold wind murmured among the rocks, and the high cane-grass bowed its head before it, whispering, "Weep, weep, weep." Then the full moon soared over the gaunt shoulders of the hills that peaked up into the lonely sky, and as she rose, we saw in front of us the lights of Mintabera Head Station.

To come across a dwelling in such a wilderness was a stroke of good fortune we did not expect. We rode up, made ourselves and our errand known, and were hospitably received. The manager, who came out to greet us, was a middle-aged man, very tall and broad-shouldered. He was also very quiet and reserved, which may or may not have been because he had been cut off from the doubtful advantages of civilization for so many years. He took me into the house and set his best before me. After dinner we lit our pipes, and sat talking in the verandah until about nine o'clock, when I craved permission to retire. My host accompanied me to my room, and before saying "good-night," surprised me by inquiring if I was to be easily frightened. Asking "By what?" he replied, "By anything; by noises you might hear, or things you might see."

On my assuring him that I thought my nerves were equal to a considerable strain, he left me to puzzle it out alone.

I was more mystified than I cared to own, and to tell the honest truth, I crawled into bed, half wishing that, after all, we had camped in the gully, as had been at first proposed. But, as nothing out of the common occurred for fully half an hour, I rolled over, and was soon in the land of dreams.

It must have been about midnight when I was suddenly awakened and brought up to a sitting posture by a scream, so terrible, so unearthly, that I could compare it to nothing I had ever heard before. Three times it rang out shrill and distinct upon the still night-air, and at each repetition my heart thumped with a new violence against my ribs, and the perspiration rolled in streams down my face. Then came the words (it was certainly a woman's voice), "They're coming! they're coming! Will nobody save me?" Leaping out of bed, I huddled on my clothes, seized a revolver, and rushed across the verandah in the direction whence I thought the sound proceeded.

It was a glorious night, and the moon shone full and clear into the room where we had dined; but, before I could look in and satisfy my curiosity, my arm was seized from behind, and turning, I confronted the manager.

"Hush, hush!" he whispered. "Not a word, for God's sake. Watch and listen!"

He pointed into the room, and my eyes followed the direction of his hand.

In the centre, looking straight before her, rigid as a marble statue, every muscle braced for action, stood the most beautiful and majestic woman I have ever seen in my life. To the stateliness of a Greek goddess she united the beauty of a Cleopatra. Her eyes rivetted my attention; they seemed to blaze from their sockets; her expression was that of a tigress wounded and waiting for the death-stroke. But her hair was the most weird part of her appearance, for it hung in glorious profusion down to her waist, and was white as the driven snow.

When we looked she had paused for a moment, as if listening, and then came that awful blood-curdling cry again:--

"They're coming! they're coming! Will nobody save me?"

It was so horrible that my blood felt as if it were freezing into solid ice. However, before I could pull myself together, her whole demeanour had changed, and she was kneeling on the floor kissing and caressing something she believed to be beneath her. Then, gradually, her voice died away in heart-rending sobs, and at this juncture my host went in and lifted her up. She seemed to have lost all power of recognition, and allowed him to lead her in a dazed sort of way to her room.

As he passed me the manager whispered, "Wait here!"

On his return, he led me across the verandah and into the garden. When we were out of hearing of the house, and leaning on the slip-rails of the horse paddock he told me the following extraordinary story, and the glorious night and the long sighing night-breeze sweeping down from the mountains seemed a fitting accompaniment to his tale.

"Fourteen years ago," he said, "by God's ordinance and with the blessing of the Church of England, I married that woman whom you saw just now in there.

"All my family were against it from the beginning. They had no name and no story bad enough for her. One said she bore a most suspicious character; another, that she had a temper like a fiend; but the principal charge against her was that she had been a governess in a certain nobleman's household, and had been the cause of the eldest son's leaving home. However, I didn't care for anything they said; I was madly in love, and I believe I would have married her if she had been proved to have been the vilest wretch unhung.

"After we'd been married a month or so she begged me to sell my bit of a farm in Somersetshire and take her to Australia.

"Accordingly, I got rid of the place that had been in our family for centuries, and having packed up, set off, nearly breaking my old mother's heart by doing so.

"Arriving in Sydney, I took a small house down Bondi way, and made myself comfortable; but I couldn't be idle long, so after properly providing for her happiness there, I said good-bye to her for a while, and came into the Bush. Every time I could get a holiday I'd run down to Sydney, and I believe, in a way, she was glad to see me, though her manner was never anything but cold.

"By-and-by I drifted into Queensland, worked my way north, and then got the management of this place. You must remember that it was almost unknown country out here then, and what with blacks and wild dogs, want of water, and ignorance of the lay of the land, I had troubles enough to drive a man crazy. Before we had been here a year we were very hard pushed for men, and the owner sent me up a young Englishman, who, he said, was anxious to get as far out of the ken of the world as possible. I didn't ask any questions, but made him as welcome as I could. He was a decent enough young fellow, tall, graceful, and very self-contained. Somehow, the hands took to calling him 'Mr. Aristocrat,' and the name fitted him like a glove. He came up with pack-horses, and among other letters he brought me one from my wife.

"'She had grown hopelessly tired of Sydney and the south,' she said, 'and after mature consideration, was coming out to join me in the Bush.'

"I didn't know what to do. We were too rough out here then for any decent woman. But as she had evidently started and couldn't be stopped, we had to make the best of it, and accordingly up she came with the next bullock-teams.

"Poor idiot that I was, I thought it was the beginning of a new era in my life, and certainly for a week or two she seemed pleased to be with me again. But I was soon to be undeceived.

"About a month after her arrival I had reason to go out on the run for a few days, and it was necessary for me to take all the available hands with me. While rolling my swag close to the corner of the verandah, to my astonishment I heard my wife's voice in the room within raised in tones of which I had never thought it capable. She was evidently beside herself with fury, and on stepping into the verandah, I could see that the object of her anger was none other than the young Englishman, 'Mr. Aristocrat.'

"I tell you, sir, she was tongue-lashing that man as I never heard a woman do in my life before, and by the time I had stood there two minutes I had learnt enough to shatter all my hopes, to kill my happiness, and to convince me of her double-dyed treachery to myself.

"She paused for breath, and then began again:--

"'So, you cowardly, snivelling hound,' she hissed, with all the concentrated venom of a snake, 'you thought you could sneak out of England, so that I shouldn't know it, did you? But you couldn't. You thought you could crawl out of Sydney so quietly that I shouldn't follow you--did you? But you couldn't. You thought you could run away up here to hide without my discovering and following your tracks--did you? But you couldn't. No! No!! No!!! Go where you will, my lord, even down to hell itself, and I'll track you there, to mock you, and to proclaim it so that all the world shall hear, that this is a pitiful coward who ruined a woman's life, and hadn't manhood enough in him to stand up and make it good to her.'

"The young fellow only covered his face with his hands, and said, 'O God! when will all this end?'

"'When you've done what you----' she was beginning again, but I could bear it no longer, so pushed my way into the room between them.

"When she saw me the expression on her face changed at once, and she came smiling to greet me like the Jezebel she was. But I wanted to have nothing to say to her, so I put her on one side and closed with _him_. He looked at me in a dazed sort of way for a moment. But only for that space of time. Then a sort of Baresark madness came over him, and he sprang upon me like a fiend. All the time we fought she sat watching us with the same awful smile upon her face. When I had nearly killed him I ordered him off the station, and, without a word to her, fled the house.

"That day we made a good stage on our journey, and by nightfall were camped alongside the Cliff Lagoon (you'll probably camp there to-morrow evening). I sought my blankets early, and, about an hour before daylight, being unable to sleep, went out into the scrub to find and run in the horses. On my return to the camp, I discovered one of the station black boys, alongside the fire, jabbering and gesticulating wildly to an excited audience. As I came up he was saying,--

"'So, my word, I look; him _baal budgerie_ black fellah along a' station. Bang--bang--bang! him plenty dead white fellah.'

"There was no need for him to say more. I knew what it meant. And in less time than it takes to tell we were on the road back, galloping like madmen over rough or smooth country, regardless of everything but the need for haste. In less than two hours we dashed up to the yards, those you see down yonder, just in time to drive off the black brutes as they were rushing the house.

"You will understand for yourself what a close shave it was when I tell you that when we arrived the roof of the homestead was half burnt through, while the hut and outhouse had long since been reduced to ashes. The bodies of the old cook, and a tame black boy, named Rocca, lay dead in the open--speared while running for the hut. It was a horrible sight, and enough to turn a man sick, but I hadn't time to think of _them_. I was looking for my wife; and until I heard a cry and recognised her voice I thought she must be dead. Then, as I pushed open the half-burnt door of the station-house (the brutes had thrown fire-sticks everywhere), she shrieked out as you heard her to-night.

"'They're coming! they're coming! Will nobody save me?' When I entered the room she was kneeling in the centre, surrounded by broken furniture and portions of the smouldering roof, wringing her hands, and wailing over a body on the floor.

"Though she was begrimed with dirt, smoke, and blood, she looked surpassingly beautiful; but--I don't know whether you will believe me--the terrors of that night had turned her hair snow-white, just as it is to-day. The overseer led her to a seat, and I knelt beside the body on the floor. It was 'Mr. Aristocrat.'

"He was well-nigh dead; it needed no doctor's knowledge to see that. He lay in a large pool of blood, and breathed with difficulty; but after I had given him water he revived sufficiently to tell me what had happened.

"It appeared he had left the station as I had ordered him; but, as he went, his suspicions were aroused by the number of smoke-signals going up from the surrounding hills. Knowing they meant mischief, he kept his eyes open, and when, before dark, he saw a tribe of blacks creeping up the valley, he remembered that, save the cook and a black boy, the woman was alone, and made back on his tracks as fast as he was able. But he was too late; they had already surrounded the building, and had killed the two men we found lying in the open. Then he heard the woman's shriek, and forgot everything but the fact that she must be saved.

"Racing across the open, he made a dash for the house. She saw his sacrifice and opened the door, but not before two spears were sticking in his side. Plucking them out, he set to work to defend her.

"Fortunately, I had left a rifle and plenty of ammunition behind me; so all through that sweltering, awful night he fought them inch by inch, with his wounds draining his life-blood out of him, to save the woman who had wrecked his life. By God, sir! whatever he may have been earlier, he was a brave man then, and I honour him for it! By his own telling he killed three of them. Then as day was breaking, a part of the roof fell in, and he received another spear through the broken door. This brought him to the ground; and at that moment we arrived, and drove the devils off.

"With his last strength, he drew me down to him and whispered that on his dying word he had always acted honourably towards me; and that, in spite of her tempting, he had never yielded to her. By the God before whose throne he was just about to stand, he swore this; and upon my honour, sir, I believe he spoke the truth.

"When he had finished speaking, she rose and mocked him, calling me fool and idiot for listening to his raving. Then, for the first and last time in my life, I threatened her, and she was silent.

"As the sun rose and pierced the smouldering roof, 'Mr. Aristocrat' whispered, "I want you to do me a favour. I want you to tell them at home that I forgive them. They misjudged me, you see, and it will make things a bit easier for my mother."

"Then, with that sacred name upon his lips, he passed quietly away from the scene of his sacrifice into the mysteries of the world beyond.

"When he was dead, the woman that is my wife crawled from the place where she lay, and threw herself upon the body, moaning as if her heart would break. We took her away. But from that day forward her reason was gone.

"Ever since that time, at the same hour, night after night, year after year, she has gone through that awful tragedy in the old room yonder; and with the loneliness of this life around me, I have to hear and bear it. The strangest part of it is that I haven't the heart to put her away from me.

"Now you understand the meaning of the scene you witnessed to-night, and you can see in my case the fulfilment of the Church's order, 'Whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder!'"

We walked back to the house together, and he left me at my bedroom door; but though I went back to my bed, had I been offered the gold of all the Indies I could not have slept a wink.

Next morning our horses were run up, and after breakfast we set off on our way again. When we had travelled about a mile, the manager, who was riding a short distance with us for company's sake, led me off the track to a grassy knoll beside a creek bend. Here, under a fine coolabah, I discovered a neatly fenced-in grave.

Beneath the tree, and at the head of the little mound, was a small white board, and on it were these two words,--

"_Mr. Aristocrat._"

This Man and This Woman

"What matters Life, what matters Death, What boots of vain remorse? When days are dead, wherein we lived, Our hearts should die--_of course_!"

--_Song of the Vain Regret._

First and foremost it must be understood that when men and women cross the Borderland of Discretion into that Never-never Country where wedding-rings are forgotten and family correspondence abruptly ceases, they do so, believing it to be unlikely that they will ever meet any one out of the old life again.

This fallacy may be attributed to one of two things: either to an insufficient knowledge of their world, or to an exaggerated idea of their own exclusiveness. The first is the more common, but the one is as fatal as the other.

It is quite possible, after such a lapse of time, that no one will remember the "Clitheroe, Gwynne-Harden" episode. Yet it made a great stir at the time. Clitheroe, I fancy, was in the army; while the woman was the wife of Gwynne-Harden, the banker. She came of good family, was intensely proud, and, among other things, of more or less account, had the reputation of being the acknowledged beauty of that season.

Clitheroe and The Other Man's Wife were unwise to the borders of madness. For had they been content to worship each other according to society's certificated code--surely sufficiently elastic--no trouble would have ensued. But, for some reason or other, they were not satisfied to jog along in the ordinary way; but must needs meet in all sorts of hole-and-corner places, correspond in cipher, and send letters by hand, rather than by post. Naturally, people talked, and the scandal, by its obtrusiveness, became proverbial. All through the season they were in each other's pockets, and during Goodwood week, after a period of sentimental shilly-shallying, they disappeared for ever and a day.

Gwynne-Harden, though it was said he loved his wife with an exceeding great love, was a philosopher in his own way. After the first shock he made no attempt to find her; on the other hand, he put the money the search would have cost him into Bolivian Rails, a doubtful, but still a better, investment, he said. Having done this, he placed all the belongings she had left behind her in an attic under lock and key, bought a new brand of cigars, and endeavoured to forget all about her.

Four years later he went into the House, where he managed to interest himself in Colonial affairs. Moreover, he had the sense to stick to his work, and leave female society alone. He was a shrewd, cynical man, with taste for epigram, and said to himself, "I am matrimonial Mahomet, for the reason that, because I refuse to apply for a divorce, I hover between a possible heaven and an accomplished hell." Which was a bitter, but, under the circumstances, perhaps excusable speech.

Now, here comes the part of the story I am anxious to dwell upon. Three years after the exodus just narrated, being desirous of extending his political information, Gwynne-Harden set out for Australia with a sheaf of introductions in his despatch-box. Downing Street busied herself on his behalf, and, in consequence, Her Majesty's representatives were politely instructed to yield him all the assistance in their power. It is well to be a Somebody in the land, and, as any globe-trotter will inform you, a Vice-Regal introduction is a lever by no means to be despised.

When the Governor of a certain Colony had banqueted, feted, and endeavoured to turn his guest inside out for his own purposes, he handed him over to the tender mercies of his Colonial Secretary, or whatever you call the leader of the gang then in power.

This gentleman had his own opinions on the subject of globe-trotters, and argued that the majority were shown too much in order that they might absorb too little. Therefore, he said he would take Gwynne-Harden under his protection, and enact Gamaliel in his own way.

To this end he lured his victim into a lengthy driving tour through the squatting districts, in order that he might see the backbone of the country for himself and form his own conclusions. The idea was ingenuous in the main, but because he had left all consideration of the past out of his calculations it failed entirely in its purpose. Even Colonial Secretaries are powerless against Fate.

As they proceeded from station to station on their route, they were received with that hospitality for which the Australian Bush is so justly famous. And, like the proverbial owl, Gwynne-Harden said little, but thought the more.

Between three and four o'clock one roasting afternoon, the travellers saw, on the rise before them, the charming homestead of Woodnooro Station. The Colonial Secretary looked forward to a pleasant visit, for he had stayed there before.

They resigned their buggy to the care of a black boy in the horse-paddock, and as they approached the house, the Secretary explained to Gwynne-Harden all the good things he knew of the owner and his wife. He devoted considerable space to his description of the latter, and in answer the banker smiled grimly.

* * * * *

Leaving the small flower-garden behind them, they enter a cool stone verandah, where a lady rises from a long cane chair to greet them. The Colonial Secretary dashes forward to take her hand....

_Colonial Secretary_ ... "Mr. Gwynne-Harden--Mrs. Chichester."

_Mrs. Chichester_ (as white as a ghost, vainly feeling for the wall behind her with her left hand, while she fumbles at her collar with her right): "Mr. Gwynne-Harden!" (Then slowly and with prodigious exertion): "I--I--I'm--I hope you are very well."

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_ (with a curious expression in his face, which the Colonial Secretary attributes to nervousness): "Extremely well, I thank you!"

_Colonial Secretary_: "I am looking forward to having the pleasure of introducing Mr. Gwynne-Harden to your husband, Mrs. Chichester."

_Mrs. Chichester_ (with a supreme effort): "I'm sorry to say my husband is camped on the run at present."

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_: "Then I must await his return with proper patience. _I shall be delighted to meet him, I am sure._ Mrs. Chichester, is anything the matter?"

_Mrs. Chichester_ (still fumbling at her neck): "No, no--r--r--really nothing. I feel the heat very much, that is all. Won't you come inside?" (Rises and leads the way into the dining-room, where she unlocks a sideboard, and puts whisky on the table.) "I'm sure you must need some refreshment after your long and hot drive."

_Colonial Secretary_ (enthusiastically, pointing to a creeper through the door).... "By Jove! look here, Harden; isn't this perfect? I challenge you to find its equal anywhere--the _Buginvillea Speciosa_ in all its glory. Ah! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Chichester."

_Mrs. Chichester_ (passing him): "Thank you. If you will excuse me, I think I will go and see about your rooms." [_Exits across verandah._]

The Colonial Secretary solemnly takes to himself a whisky-peg, while Gwynne-Harden, turning his back, fixes his eye-glass and critically examines two photos on the mantelpiece.

_Colonial Secretary_ (warmly, referring to their hostess): "Egad, Harden, what would many men give for a wife like that?"

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_ (dropping his eye-glass, and facing round): "What, indeed!"

They adjourn to the verandah, where enter to them a small and very dirty child, presumably a boy, who scrutinizes both men carefully before venturing near.

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_: "Ah, my little man, and pray what may your name be?"

_Child_: "Jack 'Ister."

_Colonial Secretary_: "Anglise--Jack Chichester. He is a fine boy, and typical of the country. Come here, Jack. How old are you?"

_Child_: "I'se free--Baby's one."

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_: "So there's a baby, too, eh?"

_Mrs. Chichester_ (appearing at the end of the verandah): "Jack, it's your bed-time. Say good-night, and come along at once."

Jack goes to Gwynne-Harden, and holds up his face to be kissed; but the honour is declined. The Colonial Secretary accepts it effusively. Then mother and child disappear together.

_Colonial Secretary_ (laughingly): "You don't seem fond of kissing children!"

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_: "Not other people's children, thank you!"

_Colonial Secretary_ (who has never heard the scandal, to himself): "I wonder if there's a Mrs. Gwynne-Harden?"

* * * * *

_The quarter of an hour preceding dinner._ Gwynne-Harden is standing with his hands on the chimney-piece, looking into the empty fireplace. To him enter Mrs. Chichester.

_Mrs. Chichester_ (advancing): "George! George--for myself I ask nothing; but for my children's sakes. Oh, George, be merciful!"

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_ (turning): "Mrs. Chichester, I beg your pardon ten thousand times for not seeing you enter. This light is so deceptive, perhaps you thought I was your husband!"

_Mrs. Chichester_: "George, have you forgotten me?"

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_: "My dear _Mrs. Chichester_, pray let me turn up the lamp, then you will see whom you are addressing. I am Mr. Gwynne-Harden, and if you will pardon my saying so, I don't remember ever having seen your face before. If I have, I have been rude enough to forget the circumstance. _Your husband's_ acquaintance I shall----"

_Mrs. Chichester_: "What of my husband?"

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_: "Only that I shall hope to meet him face to face very soon."

Enter the Colonial Secretary simultaneously with dinner.

* * * * *

_10 p.m., the same evening. Scene--Gwynne-Harden's bedroom._ He divests himself of his coat and waistcoat, and having done so, discovers a note addressed to himself upon the table. He reads it, and then looks long and fixedly at his own reflection in the glass.

_Mr. Gwynne-Harden_ (tearing the note into a hundred pieces): "Humph! This is certainly the Nineteenth Century--well, I'll sleep on it."

* * * * *

Next morning the Colonial Secretary and his companion, without any apparent reason, changed their plans and continued their journey. When the buggy was at the door and the latter came to bid his hostess farewell, he said,--

"I am very sorry that we are compelled to go, for I shall not have an opportunity now of meeting your husband, Mrs. Chichester. And as I leave for England in a month, _it is improbable that we shall ever meet_!"

To this speech Mrs. Chichester, so the Colonial Secretary thought, rather illogically said,--

"God bless you!"

OTHER PUBLICATIONS

WORKS BY GUY BOOTHBY

IN STRANGE COMPANY THE MARRIAGE OF ESTHER A BID FOR FORTUNE THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL DR. NIKOLA THE FASCINATION OF THE KING BUSHIGRAMS THE LUST OF HATE ACROSS THE WORLD FOR A WIFE PHAROS, THE EGYPTIAN LOVE MADE MANIFEST THE RED RAT'S DAUGHTER A MAKER OF NATIONS A PRINCE OF SWINDLERS A SAILOR'S BRIDE LONG LIVE THE KING MY INDIAN QUEEN SHEILAH McLEOD FAREWELL, NIKOLA MY STRANGEST CASE THE KIDNAPPED PRESIDENT CONNIE BURT A TWO-FOLD INHERITANCE A BID FOR FREEDOM

WORKS BY E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM.

All Illustrated.

The Master Mummer.

A romance of quality. A Princess of the Kingdom of Bartena is kept out of the way so that her position may be filled by that of her cousin. Her temporary guardian is killed, and, knowing nothing of her parentage, and while without friends, she finds one in an English gentleman, who makes a place for her in his house. Then a thousand intrigues to get her out of his hands are set on foot. It is without doubt the most romantic and entertaining novel which Mr. Oppenheim has yet written.

The Betrayal.

The Dundee Advertiser says:--"Mr. Oppenheim's skill has never been displayed to better advantage than here.... He has excelled himself, and to assert this is to declare the novel superior to nine out of ten of its contemporaries."

Anna, The Adventuress.

The Globe says:--"The story is ingeniously imagined and cleverly wrought out. Mr. Oppenheim has the gift of invention and keeps his readers on the tenter-hooks of suspense."

The Daily News says:--"Mr. Oppenheim keeps his readers on the alert from cover to cover, and the story is a fascinating medley of romance and mystery."

The Yellow Crayon.

The Daily Express says:--"Mr. Oppenheim has a vivid imagination and much sympathy, fine powers of narrative, and can suggest a life history in a sentence. As a painter of the rough life of mining camps, of any strong and striking scenes where animal passions enter, he is as good as Henry Kingsley, with whom, indeed, in many respects, he has strong points of resemblance."

A Prince of Sinners.

Vanity Fair says:--"A vivid and powerful story. Mr. Oppenheim knows the world and he can tell a tale, and the unusual nature of the setting in which his leading characters live and work out their love story gives this book distinction among the novels of the season."

The World says:--"Excellent. A book to read, enjoy, and think over."

The Traitors.

The Athenaeum says:--"Its interest begins on the first page and ends on the last. The plot is ingenious and well-managed, the movement of the story is admirably swift and smooth, and the characters are exceedingly vivacious. The reader's excitement is kept on the stretch to the very end."

A Millionaire of Yesterday.

The Daily Telegraph says:--"The story is admirably constructed, and developed simply and forcibly. It abounds in dramatic situations, and there is more than one note of pathos which at once captures our sympathies. We cannot but welcome with enthusiasm a really well-told story like 'A Millionaire of Yesterday.' At the same time there is no lack of character-study in this very satisfactory book."

The Survivor.

The Nottingham Guardian says:--"We must give a conspicuous place on its merits to this excellent story. It is only necessary to read a page or two in order to become deeply interested in the central figure of the story; while the opening scenes, on which not a word is wasted, impress by their originality and power, and give promise of something worth following up. A story marked by brilliant and terse narration, vivid touches of characterization, and a plot that is consistent and yet fruitful in surprises."

The Great Awakening.

The Yorkshire Post says:--"A weird and fascinating story, which, for real beauty and originality, ranks far above the ordinary novel."

The Daily Telegraph says:--"Possesses an absorbing interest; it has also an extraordinary fascination."

As a Man Lives.

The Sketch says:--"The interest of the book, always keen and absorbing, is due to some extent to a puzzle so admirably planned as to defy the penetration of the most experienced novel reader."

A Daughter of the Marionis.

The Scotsman says:--"Mr. Oppenheim's stories always display much melodramatic power and considerable originality and ingenuity of construction. These and other qualities of the successful writer of romance are manifest in 'A Daughter of the Marionis.' Full of passion, action, strongly contrasted scenery, motives, and situations."

Mr. Bernard Brown.

The Daily Graphic says:--"Mr. E. Phillips Oppenheim has a remarkable gift of making up an exciting story."

The Aberdeen Daily Journal says:--"The story is rich in sensational incident and dramatic situations. It is seldom, indeed, that we meet with a novel of such power and fascination."

The Man and His Kingdom.

The Freeman's Journal says:--"It is high praise to say that in this novel the author has surpassed his previous thrilling and delightful story, 'The Mysterious Mr. Sabin.' Yet that high praise is eminently deserved. The story is worthy of Merriman at his very best. It is a genuine treat for the ravenous and often disappointed novel reader."

The World's Great Snare.

The World says:--"If engrossing interest, changing episode, deep insight into human character, and bright diction are the _sine qua non_ of a successful novel, then this book cannot but bound at once into popular favour. It is so full withal of so many dramatic incidents, thoroughly exciting and realistic. There is not one dull page from beginning to end."

A Monk of Cruta.

The Bookman says:--"Intensely dramatic. The book is an achievement at which the author may well be gratified."

Mysterious Mr. Sabin.

The Literary World says:--"As a story of incident, with a deep-laid and exciting plot, this of the 'Mysterious Mr. Sabin' can hardly be surpassed."

End of Project Gutenberg's A Crime of the Under-seas, by Guy Boothby