FERN VALE

OR THE

QUEENSLAND SQUATTER.

A NOVEL.
BY COLIN MUNRO.

IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL III.
LONDON:
T. C. NEWBY,
30 WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
MDCCCLXII.

EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY THE CALEDONIAN PRESS,
"The National Institution for Promoting the Employment of Women in the Art of Printing."
SOUTH SAINT DAVID STREET.

Table of Contents

[CHAPTER I.]
[CHAPTER II.]
[CHAPTER III]
[CHAPTER IV.]
[CHAPTER V.]
[CHAPTER VI.]
[CHAPTER VII.]
[CHAPTER VIII.]
[CHAPTER IX.]
[CHAPTER X.]
[CHAPTER XI.]
[CHAPTER XII.]
[CHAPTER XIII.]
[CHAPTER XIV.]
[CONCLUSION.]

FERN VALE.

CHAPTER I.

"What sport shall we devise, here in this garden,
To drive away the heavy thought of care?"
Richard II., Act 3, Sc. 4.

Three days after that to which we brought down our narrative in the last chapter the morning broke calmly and serenely over the wooded wastes of the bush; and while the pleasant zephyr of the morning tempered the rays of the sun, as he sped his course to the zenith, a happy party of equestrians might have been seen cantering by the bridle path between Strawberry Hill and Brompton. That party consisted of our friends, Mrs., Miss, and Tom Rainsfield, and the Fergusons, accompanied by their black boy Joey. The van was led by the first named lady, accompanied by William Ferguson, while the others followed riding two abreast, having paired off in a manner most congenial to themselves. The rear was brought up by Joey and William's dogs, who coursed through the bush in seeming delight at the prospect of wearing off a little of the rust that had grown on them from their late inertness.

They had ridden for nearly four hours when they slackened their speed a little as the noon-day sun became more powerful; while, at that moment, they came to a beautiful little spot where a grassy slope terminated in a lagoon, whose waters appeared to the travellers clear and refreshingly cool. Here Mrs. Rainsfield drew up her horse, and proposed a halt for tiffin; which being generally assented to, the party dismounted. The bridles of their horses being each fastened round a tree, some refreshments were produced by Tom from his valise; and the friends sat down in a shady spot on the green sward, and partook with that hearty zest that can only be appreciated by those who have been similarly situated.

When perfectly refreshed they proceeded on their way, and arrived at Brompton before the close of the evening. There they were hospitably received by Mr. and Mrs. Smithers, and very graciously by Bob, who was all urbanity for the occasion. They found several of the guests had also arrived, those, who like themselves had arrived from a long distance; and the house then was as much a scene of gaiety as if it had been the grand reunion itself. The evening passed pleasantly enough; but, our object being more particularly to picture to the reader the fêtes of the following day, we will draw a veil over the company for the night, and introduce them again on the morning.

The morning in due time came; and was simply a repetition of those common to a Queensland summer. A cloudless sky spanned the horizon, in which the sun had a tropical brilliancy, without the scorching power incidental to most sunny climes. The air was genial and salubrious, and the balmy breeze bore on its placid wings the aroma of the surrounding acacia and mimosa. It was such a day as poets love to picture, but which, to the incredulous matter of fact denizens of "foggy England," a description only generates a confirmed and unqualified pyrrhonism. With all the exercise, however, of the scepticism of our friends in the "old country," it, nevertheless, does not diminish the lustre of such glorious sunshine as, we again repeat, is to be found nowhere in such tolerant perfection as in Queensland, and which marked the morning to which we allude. Perhaps the weather was a little warmer than usual, and the atmosphere drier; rather more so, in fact, than the settlers desired, for their rivers and creeks were getting low, and many were desiring rain to refresh their grass, and refill their water-holes and courses. However, such desideratum had no consideration with the party assembled at Brompton, whose sport at the time they seemed determined nothing should mar.

The great fête of the day was to be the races; and it was then that the agrarian beauties of Brompton showed to advantage. It may be remembered in an early chapter of our story we gave a cursory sketch of the station, but in the event of its topography having escaped the memory of the reader, we will again partially repeat the description. For some considerable distance down the bank of the Gibson river the land was almost perfectly level, and unusually free from timber. It was fenced off into paddocks of considerable size. Towards the centre of one of these was a swamp, from which the surrounding ground had just sufficient rise to constitute it the reservoir for the drainage of the land; while towards the river, and immediately on the bank, the land rose in a little knoll. Here then was a naturally formed race course; and, by the erection of a few posts, a course was marked out that for amenity, level, turf, and convenience of sight, it would be difficult to surpass.

Towards eleven o'clock nearly all the expected guests having arrived, and the ground became a lively scene as the gay and well-mounted equestrians cantered in laughing and merry groups backwards and forwards; some few, more exhilarated or pedantic than the rest, trying the course and the mettle of their steeds. The guests of the Smitherses were not the only ones who had congregated to witness the sport. Other visitors of a more plebeian character, and self-invited, were there; all those within a circuit of some thirty miles, who by any possibility could obtain release from their work, had camped themselves in the neighbourhood to be spectators. The company had ridden over the ground, and had dispersed in all directions; when the horses "entered to run," decorated with their party-coloured rosettes, and led by their respective riders carrying their saddles, were descried coming on to the course; and speedily the scattered parties converged to the knoll we have mentioned, and which now served for a grand stand.

The horses approached the post; and the necessary preliminaries having been gone through, they assumed their places; when the few of the spectative portion of the company, who still remained in the way, speedily retired, responsive to the call of "clear the course;" and, after the usual amount of "false starts," the signal was given that was unanimously acted upon, and away went the horses.

Horse-racing is the same all the world over, at least in all parts of the globe where the Anglo-Saxon race holds sway. Therefore we need not tire our readers by giving a prolix account of this one in particular. We will merely say that the usual excitement prevailed at the start, when the horses and their riders received respectively their due amount of praise from their various admirers, whose bets were interchanged on the result of the struggle. That the exciting anxiousness in watching the progress round the course was there equally apparent That the various hopes and fears of the betters as they witnessed the pulling up or the falling away of their respective favourites; the intensity of excitement; the uttered remarks; and the increasing watchfulness, as some slight rise on the plain or piece of heavy ground tried the mettle of the high-blooded animals, were all to be seen and heard there; and that the other excitements of such a scene were equally noticeable. That breathless interest as the horses approach the straight run to the winning-post; the last exciting struggle of man and beast, when the impatience of the former is administered to the latter in whip and spur; the shouts of the jockeys mingled with the snorting of the steed, when both are blended in the thunder of the latter's hoofs, which shakes the very turf; while the straining animals pass the post with the seeming velocity of steam.

As the panting and foam-covered horses, and exhausted-looking riders, returned to the scales, the tongues of the assemblage were loosened; the groups reunited; and, in the interval between that and the next race, cantered about; while some of the younger equestrians emulated among themselves the previous competitors. A small tent had been erected on the bank of the river for the dispensation of refreshments, and for a shady retreat for the ladies; and thither many resorted.

At this period of the amusements our friends had formed themselves into a group with Mr. and Mrs. Smithers; but without Bob, who had been a rider, and was the winner of the late race. They had leisurely ridden round the course, and had returned to the stand, when Eleanor expressed to John Ferguson (in whose company she had been riding) a desire to dismount, and take a seat in the tent. He was instantly out of his saddle assisting her to the ground, and (after giving their horses in charge of a black boy) handed her to a seat in the shade. Bob Smithers, who had divested himself of his riding costume for his ordinary habiliments, then entered; and rudely brushing past John, advanced to the girl and took her hand, while he exclaimed:

"Come along with me, Eleanor, I want you."

The abrupt manner of his entrance, his forcible abduction of the lady, and his uncouth behaviour to himself, rather annoyed John. But the look of patient endurance, mingled with entreaty, which Eleanor cast upon her rough protector, struck our hero as containing more melancholy and suffering than was to be expected in a young affianced bride, whose nuptials were speedily approaching. It more than convinced him that his friend Tom was right when he said that Eleanor Rainsfield could never be happy with Bob Smithers. With a mind strangely agitated between fears and hopes John emerged from the tent to see the being he loved leaning on the arm of his rival, and going through the ceremony of several introductions.

She freely entered into conversation with her new-made friends; but the party being augmented by some others, to whom we presume Bob Smithers did not condescend to introduce her, he led her away; and they walked arm in arm to another part of the ground, apparently in earnest discourse. She was laying her hand upon his arm, while she looked in his face, and seemed anxious to impress something upon him; while he appeared to listen attentively to her remarks, though he ever and anon burst out into a loud laugh and ejaculated a few monosyllables, which on each occasion created a faint smile on the features of his lovely companion.

John Ferguson witnessed all this, and his heart sank within him. Never, thought he, would woman hang on and talk thus with man, if she did not love him. "Ah!" he mentally exclaimed, "she loves him devotedly; fool that I was not to believe this before. Strange infatuation that led me on to hope, when she herself told me as plainly as she could there was no hope. I am doomed to disappointment I see; she never can be mine, for she loves Bob Smithers." And with that melancholy solace John left the spot of his soliloquy.

What was the nature of the conversation that so disturbed his peace of mind we do not deem it necessary to reveal, but we are disposed to think that our love-sick friend came to a too hasty conclusion upon the nature of the communicant's symptoms. John Ferguson was not sufficiently versed in women's little natures to be able to construe aright their motives in their actions, or the impulses that actuate them in their deportment. His dejection was, consequently, the more acute from the construction he had put upon Eleanor's conduct. It was true she was engaged to the man with whom he saw her converse, but he never dreamt to ask himself the question, if that circumstance was not, in a great measure, owing to his own dilatoriness; not to classify his supineness under a more sheepish head.

He was sauntering away in his usual despondent mood when Tom Rainsfield approached him from behind, administering, as he did so, a smart slap on the shoulder, with the exclamation: "Why, John, what is the matter with you? have you been visited by a myth? for you are as white as a sheet. Come along with me, and I will give you some fun; William and I have been looking for you all over the ground;" and, without waiting for an answer or an objection, he led him off to where a party of gentlemen had assembled to witness the next race. Amongst them were Dr. Graham, Mr. Brown, and some others, which it is needless for us in our history to trouble the reader by bringing forward.

When the race was finished they speedily made their arrangements for the proposed sport Tom had alluded to, which was none other than a Kangaroo hunt. Mounting their horses, accompanied by some powerful kangaroo dogs (of which William's figured not the least conspicuously), and, with as many guns as could be mustered on the station, they started into the bush in a direction where they anticipated finding game.

These dogs, of which we have made mention, we may be forgiven for a short digression to describe. They are a breed of the gaze-hound species, though in many respects they are peculiar to themselves. The stock was originally obtained from a cross of the Scotch staghound and the English greyhound, and has made a race which combine in their character the strength and courage of the former with the fleetness of the latter, of whom, in colour and form, they have the greatest resemblance. At the same time they are possessed of a muscular developement which is essential to enable them to endure the severe conflicts to which they are frequently subjected.

The party had not ridden far before they descried a herd of kangaroos, though not within range of shot; the guns, therefore, were instantly slung, and the dogs and riders gave chase.

The kangaroo as, doubtless, our readers are perfectly aware, is anything but a graceful animal in its movements. Its fore legs are very short, and, one would think, of little use, either for ambulation or defence; but the paws are armed with strong and sharp claws, and in the diminutive limb to which they are attached, are possessed of considerable strength, and can be used defensively with immense effect. In their propulsion, however, these crural appendages are perfectly unavailable; for the animals propel their unwieldy looking bodies by long bounding leaps on their hind legs (which are long and powerful), springing not from their feet, but by an impulsion from the whole leg, from the hock joint to the toe, the whole of which length meets the ground at every leap. In this motion, unsightly as it appears, they are very fleet, frequently distancing the hardest rider, and only being brought to bay by the dogs after a tedious chase.

The kangaroos were no sooner sighted by our party than they were away, the dogs with the lead, down hills across gullies, and up slopes; through thick underwood, where the exercise of the greatest care was necessary for the rider to preserve his seat; over fallen logs, and under pendent branches; dangers frequently occuring simultaneously, overhead and under foot, and requiring the firmest seat, and the quickest eye, to avert. All these, which would make the heart of many a bold steeplechaser quail, but which are incidental to a kangaroo hunt, were successively gone through by each member of the present party; and after an hour's hard riding, the foremost horseman, who had with difficulty kept the dogs within sight, halted when they came to a stand; and the whole of the sportsmen collected to witness the fight.

An "old man" kangaroo sat on his haunches in a swamp, with his back to a tree, dealing blows right and left with his epitomized limbs to those of his assailants who ventured within his reach. The kangaroo had got into water of sufficient depth to enable him to sit up in it, and guard himself in the manner we have mentioned, while the dogs were raised off their feet, and had to attack him at considerable disadvantage. They, however, were in point of number superior to the game, and the entire pack (six in number) boldly rushed to the charge. Though they were successfully beaten off on each attack, and nearly all receiving wounds that would, probably, produce scars of no mean magnitude, they as frequently rallied, and returned to the fight.

After looking on for some time, and perceiving that the "old man" was too knowing for the dogs, one of the party despatched him with a shot, when he was dragged from his entrenchments, his body deprived of its tail (which was carried off as a trophy), and left for the dogs to do the work of further demolition. The hunting party then returned to the station, but, not being so hasty in their homeward progress as they were in their outward, it was late in the afternoon before they reached the scene of festivities. The company at the time was breaking up from the race-course to return to the house to dine, which important business of the day having been got over, the guests amused themselves in various ways until the hour of the coup de main, the grand finale—the ball.

We have already explained that a short distance from the house stood the wool-shed of the station; and at the time of which we write was comparatively empty, so much so that the bales of wool waiting for transmission down the country occupied only a small space in the building, to which we will, with the kind permission of our readers, in imagination, transport them. The external appearance of "the shed" was not such as to give the beholder any very exalted idea of internal splendour; consequently, upon an entrance the eye was instantly struck with the taste and skill displayed in the ornate arrangements. The bareness of the slab walls was relieved, if not entirely concealed, by the tasteful manipulations of the foliate decorator. At the head of the room, in the midst of a collection of variously tinted green foliage of numerous forms and leaf, were displayed in letters, some with the yellow blossoms of the acacia, the magic word "love," under which was entwined, with the wild vine and the flower of the sarsaparilla, that emblem of mutual affection, a true lover's knot. Above it was a star of palm leaves and fern, radiating from a centre, which was concealed by an immense stag's horn fungus. The side walls were similarly, though not so elaborately, decorated, and on them shone forth "mirth," and "concord," accompanied by various other devices; while at the head of the room, at the feet of love, stood a piano, which had been removed from the house, to provide the "spirit of the ball."

The room was illuminated by a bunch of lights, hanging from a rafter in the centre. Though simply an extemporized chandelier from the hand of a bush carpenter, it had its material so tastefully hid, by the same genius that had decorated the walls, that it answered the purpose admirably for which it was intended. If it did not surpass in effect the most brilliant crystals, it was at least pretty and unique, and, with the emerald tints in its reflection, imparted a pleasing and subdued light, which favourably contrasted its sombre illumination with the trying glare of the sumptuous city ball-room. The seats were arranged round the sides of the room, and had their rough nature concealed in the bush fashion, by being overspread with scarlet blankets, which gave them the appearance of comfortable ottomans, and afforded a pleasing relief, both visual and corporeal. The opposite end of the building was partitioned off by a suspended carpet, which, by being gathered up a little in one corner, afforded a means of entrance to what appeared to be the sanctum, but which, in fact, contained the supper and refreshment tables, duly caparisoned and loaded with the good things of this life.

The guests congregated in the ball-room at an hour that would have shocked the sensibilities of English ladies of haut-ton. But ceremony was a thing not worth studying by the lady-guests at Brompton; they had no occasion to retire to their boudoir and spend hours in getting themselves up for the evening, or, when their personal adornments had been completed, to sit waiting until the arrival of a genteel hour, in an agony of mind lest they should mar the perfection of their soubrettes' art. Enjoyment was the order of the day at Brompton, and when it was proposed, shortly after coffee was handed round in the drawing-room, that the company should adjourn to the ball-room, the guests made the necessary transition; and in a few minutes the house was entirely vacated.

The ladies of the company were for the most part married; hence we may not be accused of partiality in declaring that our two friends, Eleanor and Kate, far surpassed in beauty all their compeers, and shared between them the adulation of the sterner animals. It could not be satisfactorily determined which was the belle of the evening; for the admiration of the gentlemen was about equally apportioned, and it was difficult to decide between two such blooming beauties.

We think we hear some of our readers enquire, "how were the ladies dressed?" On that point, fair mesdames, we would crave your especial indulgence. We know that is a theme on which you love to dilate; but we (though delighted to gaze upon your charming forms, graced by the alluring symmetry of your well-fitting and becoming attire) confess ourselves as ignorant as babes in the technicalities of habilimentary detail. However, thus much our observations befriended us. We can affirm that the chief characteristics of the costumes of the gentler sex were becoming neatness and chaste simplicity, without that unblushing display which we have so frequently noticed in gay circles; and which, we must confess, does not accord with our exalted idea of female modesty, innocence, and virtue. The manner of our heroines was frank, candid, and gay; without frivolity, affectedness, or coquetry; and their costumes neat and ladylike.

The hand of Eleanor Rainsfield was so much desired in the mazy dance that John sought in vain for an opportunity of soliciting a participation with her in the pleasures of the evening, or even of entering into conversation with her, until she had danced with nearly all the gentlemen in the room. Then, she having been led to a seat near where our despondent hero sat, he seized the occasion to ask her to dance, which she promised to do after obtaining a short rest. During the interval they fell into a sort of desultory conversation; but they were not destined long to enjoy even this intercourse; for Bob Smithers espying the occupation of his "lady-love," hastened to remove her from an influence he in no way relished.

"Eleanor," said he, "I want you to dance with me."

"I am engaged for the next dance, Robert," she replied.

"To whom?" he asked.

"To Mr. Ferguson," she answered.

"Oh, never mind, you'll dance with me," said her lord. "Your engagement with me always ranks in precedence of others; and I am sure Mr. Ferguson will not mind looking for another partner."

"Mr. Ferguson has been waiting until I was disengaged, Robert," said Eleanor, "on purpose to dance with me; so I must keep myself engaged to him for the next dance, but will devote the following one to you."

"Well, as you like," exclaimed Bob Smithers, in none of the most amiable moods; "if you want to dance with Mr. Ferguson you can, but I wanted to dance with you myself;" and, casting a look of intense malignity on the object of his detestation, and one of equal rancour on his affianced, he strode to another part of the room.

Neither look had been lost on the parties to whom they had been directed; in John they caused emotions of no pleasurable nature, whereas Eleanor treated the truculence of Smithers with a calm benignity. The moistened dewdrop, however, that gathered in the corner of her eye, discovered to the anxious and watchful perception of John Ferguson the hidden sorrow that rankled in her breast, and which she strove to smother, dreading its discovery to the world.

As might be imagined, under such circumstances, the dance was gone through with mere mechanical action, and with an undisturbed silence; for the thoughts of both parties were too much occupied on matters having no immediate connexion with the operation of dancing to indulge in much conversational intercourse. Besides which they both, or at least John, was conscious of the jealous eye of Smithers following them in every movement; and therefore felt the more uncomfortable. It was a relief to both when the music ceased, and John led his partner (who expressed fatigue) to a seat; but she had hardly relinquished his arm before she was pounced upon by Bob, who, as he carried her off, scowled fiercely on his unfortunate rival.

John Ferguson was of an easy temper, but no man likes being grossly insulted, and supplanted in the service of the one he loves, therefore he felt the contumely to which he was subjected; and to calm his ruffled temper, and to seek refreshment to his aching head, and an emollient to his fevered brain, he walked out into the cool of the evening atmosphere. He continued to wander, with his gaze fixed in a thoughtful abstraction on the star-lit firmament, contemplating apparently the argentuous brilliancy of the lunar orb travelling its ethereal course, when his meditations were unceremoniously interrupted by the approach of Smithers, who hastily confronted him with the following expression:

"I would like to have a few words with you, sir, and if you'll step into the bush, out of hearing of our visitors, I will speak."

John replied, if he desired to say anything to him, he might have no hesitation in saying it where he was; but that if he particularly wished him to step a little on one side, he had no objection to do so.

Upon gaining a retreat from the possibility of being overheard Bob Smithers began: "I have to request one thing of you, sir, and that is that you discontinue your attentions to the lady to whom I am engaged. On a previous occasion I made a similar request, as also did Mr. Rainsfield; but both you seem to disregard; therefore, I have to make it to you again, and to accompany it with a peremptory order that it be complied with."

"I can't see, Mr. Smithers," said John, "that because I am called upon by Mr. Rainsfield and yourself to break off my friendship with the lady, that I am of a necessity compelled to comply; so long as I am honoured by the friendship of Miss Rainsfield I shall make all your demands subservient to the dictates of my own heart. While she holds out the hand of cordiality to me I consider the privilege and pleasure accruing too great to refuse to grasp it; but if Miss Rainsfield desires our intercourse to cease, then, of course (however painful such an estrangement would be), my courtesies would be discontinued."

"Well, sir," said Smithers, "I have only to repeat that they shall be discontinued at once, or I will take steps to prevent their recurrence. The lady is engaged to be married to me, and I have a right to dictate whom she shall recognize as her friends."

"When you are married to the lady I shall not dispute your right," said John; "though even then, if your wife should so far honour me as to rank me among her list of friends, all your monitory language and manner would not induce me to behave cavalierly to her whenever we should chance to meet. But at present I heed not your request, unless it be reiterated by the lady herself."

"That, sir," said Smithers, "you shall not have the satisfaction of hearing, and you will instantly renounce all pretensions to the lady's favours or leave the station."

"The first portion of your request I have already informed you I cannot comply with; and the other, notwithstanding your gross insolence to me, I could not offer such an affront to your worthy brother and his inestimable lady, as to obey it."

"Then, by heavens! you shall fight me," exclaimed the exasperated Smithers. "I'll be on this spot with pistols in ten minutes; so you may make the most of your time, and obtain a friend."

CHAPTER II.

"Are honour, virtue, conscience, all exiled;
Is there no pity, no relenting Ruth?"
Burns.

"But I remember now
I'm in this earthly world; where to do harm
Is often laudable."
Macbeth, Act 4, Sc. 2.

The suddenness and hostile nature of Smithers' challenge so took John Ferguson by surprise that for some few minutes he could not utter a sound; and, when he had sufficiently recovered himself to speak, his adversary was out of hearing, on his mission to prepare the instruments of death. Left to a calm consideration of his position all its unpleasantnesses in a moment flashed across his mind. Here he was involved in a broil the result of which might prove fatal if persevered in, and with the brother of his kind entertainer. The successful suitor of the girl he adored, he was called upon to meet in deadly strife. John felt he could not leave the place to compromise his honour, and insult his host; at the same time he looked upon a hostile meeting with Bob Smithers with great repugnance. Much as he had been contemned by Bob, and many as were the indignities offered to him, John bore him no animosity; and he could not reconcile to his conscience the idea of steeping his hands in the blood of a fellow mortal; even in the act of self-defence, when that defence became culpable by his voluntary exposure. Yet he feared not death; no, he could stare the grim tyrant in the face, and unflinchingly meet his shafts. He even felt he could court his embrace now that he was to lose the only being he deemed life worth living for.

"Oh! Eleanor! Eleanor!" he exclaimed. "Oh! that I had not known thee! cruel fate, that I should be drawn into the vortex of thy charms only to be suffered to estimate thy worth, and then have my hopes crushed on the rocks of despair. With thee life would be an Elysium; without thee 'tis a perpetual blank; a dismal future looms in the distance like the shades of stygian darkness. Oh, cruel fates! would that thou had'st bereft me of life while yet I breathed in the delicious dream. But yet a door of hope is left me to escape this bondage. I will meet the fire of your favourite, and let him, if he so desires it, release my wearied spirit." Thus John soliloquized as he walked back to the ball-room in a state of mind bordering on insanity, and reduced to the lowest depths of love-sick despair. But a "still, small voice" faintly prompted reason, as his agitated feelings somewhat subsided, and he ceased to apostrophize his idol, as he approached the building.

He entered the room, and casually casting his eyes round the company rested them on his brother; whom, upon his obtaining an opportunity, he called out unobserved by the mass of the guests, and in a few words explained to him the incident we have just described.

"But, surely, John, you do not intend to accept the challenge?" said William.

"I have already done so," replied his brother.

"Why, you must be demented! my dear John," exclaimed the other. "Because a coarse, blustering fellow like that chooses to insult you, and then call upon you to present your body as a mark for him to shoot at, surely you are not going to forget all respect for yourself, and commit an open violation of the laws both of God and man."

"With regard to dyeing my hands in his blood you need have no fear, William," said John.

"Then why sacrifice your own life?" asked his brother.

"I could with very few regrets submit now to that dissolution which sooner or later must take place; but I am convinced Bob Smithers is too much a coward to attempt my life. The laws of his country will stare him in the face, and will prevent him pulling the trigger of a weapon with its muzzle directed to my body. His object is simply to frighten me away from the station, or induce me to act a coldness towards Eleanor; neither of which desires I intend to gratify, so will stand his fire."

"But, dear John," exclaimed his brother, "only consider, if he should be malicious enough to attempt your life, or even to wound you, what a dreadful misfortune it would be; and what would be the anguish of our dear parents. Believe me, John, it is wiser to avoid the possibility of any such catastrophe; no dishonour can be attached to you for a refusal to comply with a barbarous custom. Pray allow yourself to be dissuaded from this meeting."

"No, Will, I have no fear of the consequences. Bob Smithers will never have the courage to fire at me; and I will shame him by showing my contempt for his threats."

"Well, I am grieved at your obduracy, John, for my heart has misgivings on the result."

"Don't be agitated, William, but be convinced there is nothing to apprehend; and now come I have been absent some time, and he appointed ten minutes from the time of the challenge for the meeting."

William, perceiving it was useless to attempt dissuading his brother from his purpose, accompanied him in silence to the spot where Bob Smithers and two friends already waited. Upon the approach of the Fergusons one of the opposite party stepped forward to John, and offered to enter into the arrangement of preliminaries with his brother, whom he presumed would act as his second.

Upon John stating his brother was on the ground in that capacity William allowed himself to be led away by his co-adjutor, and followed him mechanically through his various manœuvres; acquiescing in the arrangements, the nature of which he hardly contemplated. His mind was intent upon the iniquity of the proceedings, and he was cogitating on a scheme whereby he could obviate the necessity of having his brother's life placed in jeopardy. With this thought uppermost in his imagination he addressed himself to his companion:

"It occurs to me, Mr. Brown (for it was he), that this meeting is perfectly unnecessary. My brother has consented to it without having offered any provocation to Mr. Smithers. I think the challenge was given in a moment when that gentleman was heated by his controversy, while I have no doubt he would far prefer letting the matter drop, if no stigma would be attached to him on account of retraction. If so I can answer for both my brother and myself that the affair will not travel beyond our two selves."

"I fear, my dear sir," replied Brown, "it is useless making any such proposition to my principal, for he considers himself aggrieved by the pertinacity of your brother in his aspiring to the hand of Miss Rainsfield after he has repeatedly informed him that that young lady was affianced to himself. He is so considerably offended and chagrined at your brother's contumacious conduct, and his decided refusal to accede to any of the terms my principal has proposed, that he will not be disposed now to accept any other mode of satisfaction than this. If your brother thought of any amicable settlement he should have done so before; now there is only this course open."

"Pray don't imagine that I am making any overture with the concurrence of my brother," said William. "He, I am sorry to say, is as determined upon this course as your principal can be; but it is that very obstinacy I lament, for I look upon the whole of this affair not only as extremely heathenish and barbarous, but incompatible with the character of gentlemen."

"Your language," replied Brown, "is calculated to cast opprobrium on all those gentlemen engaged in this little matter, and requires some explanation and apology; for which, I will be glad to have a few words with you after the termination of this meeting."

"Now then," shouted the unoccupied colleague of Mr. Brown, "it surely does not require all that time and talk for you two to pace out the ground. I could have settled a dozen pairs in the time you are taking there in arranging the preliminaries of one."

"All right, Graham," said Brown, "we have settled it now;" and turning to William he continued: "We will draw for positions and you can place your man, while I do mine. Dr. Graham attends professionally in the event of either party falling; now then, sir, draw if you please. Oh! blank; your man takes the right:" saying which he hastened to put Smithers in position, while he left William standing seemingly rooted to the ground.

John, seeing his brother's indecision, came up to him, and led him away, saying, "I suppose as Smithers has taken up that position, I am to take this. They are particularly obliging; his second has arranged me so that I shall have the moon directly in my face. Very kind of him, though he does it with a mistaken object. It will enable his principal to see to miss me; for that is what he will most desire."

"Pray, John, do not let yourself be deceived," exclaimed his brother; "they mean death I am convinced, and it is not too late to come to an amicable settlement."

"Nonsense, William, exhibit some degree of fortitude," said John. "I tell you again Smithers is too much a poltroon to meditate my death; though I believe if he could effect it without making himself amenable to the laws he is not wanting in the disposition."

"Then, even if he does not," said William, "think how the matter will be talked about. The reports of the pistols are sure to be heard, and the occurrence will be known almost instantly; think also how it will wound Eleanor's feelings."

"Tell her, William! that I was irrevocably drawn into it by Smithers contrary to my own wishes, and that I met his fire without returning it."

"That is poor satisfaction for either you or her," said William "(her especially), if you come off scatheless as you anticipate, and as I hope and trust you may, having her name bandied about all over the country on the evil tongue of scandal."

"There, Will! there's a good fellow! leave me now," said John, "you see they are impatient; his second is waiting for you to bring me my weapon. I had almost forgotten that, and they did not seem disposed to refresh my memory."

William slowly walked across the ground, and took a pistol from the hands of Mr. Brown; and placing it within those of his brother retired to his position to await the issue of the firing.

Upon the enquiry being asked if both were ready, and an affirmative being returned, the signal was given, and a report of a double discharge reverberated in the stillness of the bush. William instantly rushed to his brother, and found him standing with his right arm still extended in the air, in the position in which he had fired, while his left hand covered his eyes and features which were suffused in the purple dye.

"Merciful heaven!" cried William, "my dear brother, where are you hit?"

His question to John was answered in a burst of boisterous merriment from the opponents, and he hastily turned upon them to enquire the cause of their unseemly hilarity; while Smithers advanced towards his late antagonist, and replied: "See to him, he must be severely hit, for he bleeds apparently profusely."

"There is a trick in this, William," said his brother. "'Tis true I am hit, but not with lead; I am blinded with what appears to me to be red currant jam."

Another roar of laughter from Smithers and his friends succeeded this confession, and the perpetrators of the practical joke indulged their risibilities to the full; evidently congratulating themselves upon the success of their plans. Their self-complacency, however (at least of one of them), was brought to an abrupt termination; for as the truth of the plot flashed across the mind of William, as the instigator of the proceedings approached to witness the effects of his scurrile trick, the high-spirited youth sprang towards him, and avenged his brother's ignominy by felling the coward to the ground.

Graham and Brown instantly rushed to the spot, and interposed; the former seizing William, while the latter confronted him, and stated that if there was any cause of quarrel, it could be settled in a manner befitting gentlemen; "and unless," said he, "I am mistaken in Mr. Smithers he will instantly require satisfaction for your outrageous assault."

"Unhand me, sir," said William, as he shook himself from the iron grasp of the pugnacious doctor, and turning to Brown he exclaimed: "You speak, forsooth, of requiring the satisfaction of a gentleman; you and your compeers, who debase yourselves by not only countenancing an insult from your friend and patron to my brother, but by making yourselves parties to a trick which no gentleman would be guilty of. As for your prototype he has not only proved himself a blackguard by having recourse to the subterfuge of a plea of wounded honour to perform a despicable action; but a coward in taking a mean advantage of a gentleman under the hospitable roof of his brother. See, the viper actually slinks away! The derogation he intended for another reflects opprobrium on his own infamous character; and the consciousness of his venality deprives him even of the power of defence." Excited as William was, and inflammatory as was his language, they failed to stir the blood of Smithers, whose baseness was exemplified in his cowardice; for he actually left the spot (as William's remarks would infer) in the midst of the young man's vituperations.

John Ferguson took his brother's arm, and led him also away from the scene, saying as he did so: "Calm yourself, William, and never mind me, I am not hurt, though still almost blind by that stuff in my eyes. The disgrace of this proceeding will reflect more to his dishonour than to mine. The report of our pistols has given alarm for I see people coming this way, so I will get my horse saddled and take my departure."

"Do not depart yet, John," said his brother. Remain till morning at any rate, and take leave of Mr. and Mrs. Smithers; they will think very strangely of your sudden departure.

"They are sure to hear of the affair," replied John, "and my departure will save the unpleasantness of a meeting. I will leave it to you to make what explanation you like to them; as also to account to Eleanor for it in what way you think best. She will no doubt have a version of the matter from Bob Smithers; but I have a better opinion of her than to imagine she will credit the exaggerated pseudology of malicious gossips."

For John to wash himself, change his attire, segregate Joey from the dependent's festivities, get his horse in and saddle him, was the work only of about half an hour; and the whole of it was performed without notice from any one belonging to the establishment. John Ferguson and Joey then started, and as the retreating sound of their horses feet were lost in the stillness of the night, William retraced his steps to the scene of gaiety; not to join again in the mirth, but to take an opportunity of detailing the particulars of the late proceedings to Tom Rainsfield; judging that he would be the best channel through whom they could reach the ears of Eleanor. With that intention he sought out his friend, and was astonished to find that Bob Smithers had already communicated the fun, as he called it, to some of his choice companions; though he had studiously avoided any mention of his rencontre with himself.

It was at an hour close on the heels of morn that the guests broke up the ball; and consequently it was far advanced in the forenoon before the assemblage in the breakfast-parlour was by any means numerous. It is true some of the bachelors had taken their departure; but those in the bondage of matrimony, and swains who were to act as convoys to the ladies, of course had to wait the time and pleasure of the fair ones; and, we must confess it, many were not loath to be detained by their tender charges.

Our friends were about the first to leave, as having a longer journey to perform than most of the guests, and neither of them desiring to prolong a stay where the occurrences had been so painful to one of their party, they bade a kind adieu to their entertainers; and took the road at a sharp trot, which they kept up for some hours, notwithstanding their fatigues of the previous day and night.

We think we informed the reader, in an early chapter of our history, that Eleanor was (unlike most native girls) not a good horse-woman; and that it was therefore an exercise she did not frequently indulge in. It will not be wondered at then that the long ride to Brompton, and the constant exercise there, had fatigued her. Her horse showing symptoms of restlessness at starting it was proposed by William that he should affix a leading rein to the bit ring of her horse's bridle, and ride by her side with it in his hand. The idea was commended by the party, and was adopted. They started, William and Eleanor leading the way, Mrs. Rainsfield following, and Tom and Kate bringing up the rear, and continued, as we have said, at a brisk pace for some hours.

They had accomplished about half the distance to Strawberry Hill when they approached rather an abrupt turn in the bush; which, in its acuteness, prevented them from seeing, until they came immediately upon it, a large tree which stood right in the centre of the road; or rather a path had been beaten on either side of it. The main track led by the right side of the trunk, and William guided his own horse and that of his companion to take it; but Eleanor's animal became suddenly refractory, and made a sudden deviation to pass the tree on the other side. This movement was so unexpected that neither equestrian was prepared for it; and the two horses, each taking opposite sides of the tree, were brought to a check in their rapid course by the leading rein we have mentioned. At the time William had got it firmly fixed round his left wrist, and could not (when he saw the accident that would inevitably occur) disengage it; for so instantaneously did it happen that he had hardly time for meditation before the shock took place, and both riders were hurled from their saddles with considerable force. William, though prostrate, still kept his hold of his own bridle and the rein of Eleanor's horse; and rose with considerable pain, though (with the exception of numerous bruises) uninjured, to lead the horses free of the tree.

With Eleanor, however, the accident had resulted far differently. When the check was felt by her horse the leading rein made him wheel his head suddenly against the trunk; and, his fore feet tripping him as he did so, he fell forward to the ground. Eleanor was thrown from her saddle; and, but for one of those inauspicious events which so frequently occur to mar our well-being, would have come off more lightly than her companion. As it was, in her precipitation, her habit in some way became entangled in her horse's caparisons; and, instead of being thrown clear of danger, she was hurled with some force to the ground at the animal's feet The horse also fell; and with the whole weight of his body across her legs.

It was the work of a moment for the rest of the party to pull up their steeds, and for Kate to leap from her saddle to the side of her friend; and another for Tom and William to extricate her from her dangerous position.

"Oh, dearest Eleanor," passionately exclaimed Kate, "tell me that you are not seriously hurt. Oh, that horrid, horrid horse!"

"I fear I am, Kate dear," replied the poor girl, "I am very much bruised, and my leg now I try to move it gives me great pain: I am afraid it is broken."

"Oh, gracious goodness! what shall we do?" cried Kate; "lean on me, Eleanor love, and see if you can rise."

The poor girl did so; but the pain was more than even her wonted heroism could endure. With a faint cry of agony she sank fainting into the arms of Tom, who was standing at her side ready to support her in case of need, and there unfortunately proved to be need; for Eleanor, as she herself had anticipated, had broken her leg.

The unconscious form of the suffering creature was carried into the adjoining shade, and gently placed on the turf in a reclining position; while the ladies speedily had recourse to those gentle restoratives, with which they are happily at all times so ready, in cases where the sympathies of their kindly natures are brought into play.

We masculine mortals plume ourselves on our knowledge of the female character; which we profess to read as the astrologers of old did "the gems that deck eve's lustrous mantle;" and to divine their secret wishes, fancies, and inclinations, as the professors of clairvoyance do their susceptible pupils. But we are inclined to think woman's heart is the true arcana of life; at least of this fact we are certain, woman's troubles can only be appreciated by woman; and woman in sorrow can only be soothed, or woman in pain can only be alleviated by those whose anodynes are the effects of intuitive impulsions, arising from the reciprocal communings of kindred spirits. Oh, woman! bless'd woman! Favoured daughters of Eve! thou never shinest in such perfection as when thy ministering hand assuages the pain of a sick couch. Happy is the man, with all his flaunted superiority, who, in the time of indisposition, when his spirit wavers indecisively between this life and the other, is blessed with the possession of thy tender solicitude, to smooth the passage to the mysterious bourne, or nourish the reviving spirit with thy calm, patient, and may be, vigil-dimm'd orbs, ever watching for returning convalescence. But we are digressing; our feelings of gratitude to the sex are carrying us away from the subject of our narrative, and we must apologize to our fair readers for our abstractedness.

Through the tender care of her friends Eleanor speedily recovered her consciousness, though only to be made aware, by contemplation, of the dreadfulness of her situation. She was suffering the most excruciating agony, and was more than twenty miles from any assistance. The thought would have subdued the stout heart of many a man, but with her evoked not a murmur. She bore her sufferings, both bodily and mental, with her characteristic heroism,—a heroism that admitted of no complaint,—a perfect subjugation of the feelings, passively enduring pain with an annihilation of all querulousness,—one that in a man would have distinguished the bold spirit; but in a woman denoted the sublimity of that nature, which, in its gentle texture, shines out in bold relief and claims the laurels for an endurance which extinguishes, in its sublimated lustre, the baser material of the stern "lords of the creation."

A hasty council was now formed in debate as to the best means that could be adopted to procure assistance for their wounded friend. It was proposed first that she should attempt to get back to Brompton; then that one of the gentleman should ride back at once, and procure some conveyance; then that the ladies should return to Brompton, and obtain the requisite assistance, while the gentlemen constructed a litter and carried the invalid as far on the road as they could, or until they were met by assistance. To all of these propositions Eleanor, however, gave her emphatic veto, and declared that she would not consent to return; but affirmed her willingness and ability to proceed to Strawberry Hill.

This desire again was energetically combatted by her friends, who argued that such a course would endanger, not only her limb, but possibly her life; and that it would be far better for her to waive her scruples, and consent to return to the Smithers'. But to all entreaties on that head she turned a deaf ear. "I will mount my horse," she said, "with your assistance, and by going quietly I will be perfectly able to reach home. So do not, my dear friends, make yourselves uneasy on my account."

At this juncture when all was indecision, Kate started up and exclaimed: "Now I'll tell you what to do. Dear Eleanor says she will not return to Brompton, and that she would prefer going home; a thought has just come into my head and I will act upon it. There was a doctor at the party yesterday, and I heard Mr. Robert Smithers ask him to stop until this afternoon; so I will ride back, and catch him before he leaves, and bring him on here; but, in the meantime, you must assist Eleanor into her saddle, and while William leads the horse, Mr. Rainsfield ought to walk at her side and protect her from falling; and, if Mrs. Rainsfield would only ride on before and send out the spring cart to meet you, the arrangements would be complete."

The boldness of the scheme so astonished her friends that Kate was on her legs and ready to mount before they could think of objecting to it. Eleanor was the first and most earnest in dissuading her from so rash a step; but all opposition was cut short by the spirited girl herself, who said she would not be dissuaded; and addressing her brother said: "Come, Will, assist me into the saddle and don't detain me; for I will go, and there is no use of either of you accompanying me; your assistance will be required by dear Eleanor. Do as I propose, and you will find I will be at Strawberry Hill with the doctor very shortly after you."

CHAPTER III

"Gallop apace, you fiery footed steeds,
Towards Phœbus' mansion."
Romeo and Juliet, Act 3.

Great was the astonishment at Brompton when Kate Ferguson made her appearance, galloping up to the station, and drew up before the house. At the same time she gathered up the folds of her habit; and, leaving her panting steed to the care of some of the assembled attendants, disdaining any assistance, she leaped to the ground and ran into the house.

At the door of the parlour she was met by Mrs. Smithers who exclaimed, with apprehension depicted in her countenance: "For mercy's sake! tell me, dear Kate, what has happened to cause your return alone?"

"Eleanor has met with an accident," she hurriedly replied, "and I want the doctor; is he here?"

"Unfortunately he went only about a quarter of an hour since," said Mrs. Smithers. "I will send after him though; but tell me what was the nature of poor Eleanor's accident."

"She was thrown from her horse, and has broken her leg," exclaimed Kate; "but do let me urge you to send after the doctor at once; or if you direct me to the road he took, I will follow him myself."

"I could not hear of such a thing," replied the lady of the place, "as to permit you, my dear, to go. Sit down for a moment, or go to my room and put off your habit, while I despatch a messenger."

Mrs. Smithers left the room on her mission, and shortly returned and informed her impatient visitor, that a man had been sent after the doctor, with injunctions to lose no time in bringing him back. "Doctor Graham has ceased to practise," she said, "but under such circumstances he can have no objection to lend us his professional skill; and as Robert is with him, and will consequently urge him to speed, we may confidently expect him here in a very short time. Come now, my dear, put off your things, and tell me how the unfortunate occurrence took place."

The whole circumstances of the accident were then related, after which an animated discussion was carried on between the ladies; the married one contending that it was impossible for the younger one to return home before the following morning, while Kate stoutly declared her intention to proceed at once, when the doctor arrived.

"Such a course, my dear Kate," urged her friend, "would be unnecessarily exposing yourself to a fatigue which I am convinced you could not endure. You had far better remain with me until the morning, and then Mr. Smithers will either drive you over in his gig, or accompany you on horseback. The doctor and Robert shall be sent off immediately they arrive, but as to you travelling the road by night is a thing quite out of the question."

Still all arguments were unavailing; Kate persisted in returning at once to be in attendance on her friend; affirming that she did not fear the journey, nor anticipate any fatigue. So, Mrs. Smithers finding it useless to attempt persuading the determined girl, proposed that, so as to ease her journey as much as possible, Mr. Smithers should still drive her over, and lead her own horse behind the vehicle. Mr. Smithers was then sought for, and the melancholy intelligence was communicated to him by his spouse; who desired him to place himself and his vehicle at the disposal of Miss Ferguson.

He regretted the sad event most feelingly; at the same time he expressed himself only too happy to be of service to Kate, and would hear of no objection from her; saying, "Why! if you could stand the journey yourself, Miss Ferguson, your horse could not carry you." So that the little messenger was perforce obliged to relinquish her opposition to the proffered assistance.

It was late in the afternoon before the sound of approaching horsemen heralded the arrival of Bob Smithers and his friend, the brusque and generally not over-courteous son of Æsculapius. They were not long permitted to remain inactive, for the impatient anxiety of Kate for the safety of her friend stimulated them to use despatch; and very soon after their arrival they were tearing away again in the direction of Strawberry Hill, in concert with Mr. Alfred Smithers and his charge. The horsemen took the lead, and were followed closely by the vehicle; which, by the speed that they maintained, required a skillful hand to guide through the mazy difficulties of the bush track. The night, however, was beautiful, and the moon bright and clear distinctly illumined their path; so that the occasional diminution of the speed was not owing so much to impediments and difficulties of a vehicular nature, as to a desire on the part of the horsemen to take it easier. But these little delays, insignificant as they were, did not accord with Kate's ideas of the urgency of the case; and the flagging equestrians were constantly prompted by her to an acceleration of their pace.

Towards the latter part of the journey the bush was more dense, and the travelling of the gig consequently became more difficult. The frequent, though only momentary detentions, so harassed Kate that she exchanged her seat in the gig for the back of her own jaded horse; and she led the way at a rate that gave her less fatigued followers something to do to keep even within sight of her. All their remonstrances against the velocity of her pace had no further effect than a raillery from Kate at their complaining of a speed that she was enabled to keep up; and she told them that if they were tired out she would go on and report their approach. However much they disliked the toil of such riding they were, for their own credit, obliged to keep pace with her, as neither of them relished the idea of being outstripped by a girl; and that girl one who had ridden a far greater distance in the previous twelve hours than they.

In the meantime Mrs. Rainsfield had acted upon Kate's suggestion, and had ridden home with all speed. She prepared a couch, and had it placed in a light cart; which was then despatched to meet the invalid, with strict injunctions to the driver to go as fast as he could, until he met the party. Neither had Tom and William been idle, for they had placed poor Eleanor on her saddle, where Tom held her while William led the horse. But the pain, which the motion caused to her wounded limb, was such that she could not with all her fortitude endure it. The young men, therefore, constructed a sort of impromptu sedan, in which they carried her for some distance; in fact, until they were met by the conveyance despatched from Strawberry Hill. They then transferred their burden to the vehicle, and continued the journey more easily for the poor girl; though their rate of travelling was necessarily very slow. It was midnight ere they delivered their charge into the hands of Mrs. Rainsfield, and barely an hour afterwards Kate and her companions galloped up to the house.

The doctor was instantly shown into the invalid's room, when the broken leg was soon set, and the patient placed in as easy a position as possible; when, after giving directions to her cousin for her further treatment, he left the room to partake of some refreshment with his friends before they parted for the night. Tom and William waited for the report of Kate, who was assiduously attending on Eleanor, and would not hear of rest for herself until she had first satisfied her mind of the safety of her friend.

The following day the invalid was considered by her medical attendant to be sufficiently out of danger, and progressing so favourably as to warrant his departure. He therefore left, accompanied by his boon companion, Bob Smithers, who preferred his society to that of the residents of Strawberry Hill, and was followed by Mr. Alfred Smithers in the gig.

We have so frequently, and we think so fully, dwelt upon the character of Eleanor Rainsfield that we are convinced she is by this time perfectly understood by our readers. We need therefore only say that it was quite possible for her to suffer the deepest mental agony without the slightest semblance of its being discernible in any display in her facial muscles. We say that it was quite possible that the existence of sorrow could have been working deleteriously at the heart's core of the invalid, and not be visible by any outward signs; and it was more than probable, after the events that had lately occurred, that some such sorrow did exist. We have already said that Eleanor was habitually of a taciturn and uncomplaining nature; and, whatever were her griefs, she rarely allowed their utterance to pass her lips; so it was not to be deemed strange that her friends were unacquainted with her state of mind. What that was we dare not violate our trust by divulging, beyond the fact that there was something that preyed upon her mind which caused her to remain feverish and restless on her sick couch, and which retarded her return to convalescence. She progressed but slowly; and it was nearly two months before she was enabled to leave her room, and expose her emaciated frame to the summer breeze in a seat in a shady part of the verandah.

During all this lengthened illness, her friends at Fern Vale had been constant in their attentions, and hardly a day passed without some enquiries being made or some intelligence being conveyed. Visits of William and Kate were interchanged with Tom, who had delayed his journey to town until Eleanor was what he considered sufficiently recovered to spare him. When that time had arrived, and he saw his cousin at last enabled to move about, he took his departure; not, however, without making a special purpose of visiting Fern Vale to bid adieu to his friends there.

Why such particular consideration as this was required prior to his departure on a journey that would not occupy more than a month, or why it was necessary to take such a formal leave of friends he was in the habit of seeing so frequently, and whom he could and did inform of his intended departure upon the last occasion on which they met, we are at a loss to conjecture. We do not, however, consider ourselves justified in making any surmises, but intend simply to content ourselves by chronicling the event; deeming in so doing we perform our duty, and avoid the probability of misleading our readers, by indulging in speculations that might lead to erroneous assumptions respecting the motives of our friend. Therefore it is only known to Tom himself, or rather was best known to him, what took him to Fern Vale, and what kept him for hours in company with Kate Ferguson. But there he remained looking over her sketches, and turning over her music, as he listened rapturously; while her pliable fingers fluttered over the keys of her piano, and exorcised the very spirit of the muse in the exquisite diapason that she produced to enchant him. If it was simply to bid adieu to the young lady he might have done that, we should have thought, in a much shorter time, and taken his departure. It could not have been to visit her brother, for as yet he had not seen him, and neither made any effort nor expressed any desire to do so. He had, in fact, arrived at Fern Vale early in the forenoon, and finding Kate alone in the sitting-room, his gallantry (or rather his inclination) suggested that he should endeavour to relieve the ennui of the young lady. Thus he had occupied, for nearly the whole of the morning, her and his own time, in which occupation he seemed perfectly contented; so much so that we strongly suspect that he—But we were about doing what we repudiated our intention of, viz., speculating on Tom's motives. So, dear reader! with your kind permission, so far as we are concerned, we will leave him to enjoy uninterruptedly the pleasure of Kate's society.

We must now beg the courteous reader to follow us over a period of about a fortnight, during which time Eleanor had improved very little in her health; when Kate and William one morning left Fern Vale to ride over to see her. The weather had continued very dry for months past, and a large portion of the bush had been slightly fired, so as just to burn off the long dry withered grass, and leave on the ground a thick coating of soot. Through this our friends were riding at a pretty sharp canter (as, being like most of their birth and character, no less speed satisfying them), when Kate's horse tripped and came down, precipitating his rider over his head, and sending her sprawling amongst the ashes.

Her brother alighted to assist her to rise; but she was in no way hurt, and regained her feet with little difficulty or hesitation. But she had no sooner faced William than he lost all control over his gravity, and burst into an immoderate fit of laughter; while to his sister's enquiry as to the cause of his merriment, he replied only by laughing the louder; and she became annoyed at what she called his silly behaviour.

"Tell me," said she, "what are you laughing at; is my face dirty?"

"Oh, dear no!" replied he, "it is not dirty."

Now in this reply of William's we would endeavour to exonerate him from any duplicity or pseudology. If he meant to use the words ironically, or to imply that his sister's face was not dirty, on the principle we have sophistically heard enunciated that soot is clean dirt, not dirtying where it comes in contact, but merely soiling; then it must be admitted he spoke the truth. But we suspect rather that he meant to say her face was not only dirty, but a shade worse; for it was absolutely black. And much as we respect etiquette, and would be loath to commit such an impropriety as to laugh at a lady, we question very much our ability, had we looked on Kate's face on this occasion, to have preserved a stoical equanimity of countenance.

"No but, Will, dear," persisted Kate, "do tell me; is my face really dirty? I am sure it must be or you wouldn't laugh so. It is unkind of you to tease me;" and the little orbs in the darkened firmament, and the little mouth that had escaped disfigurement in the sudden metamorphosis, exhibited symptoms of a lachrymose tendency.

Nothing so soon softens the obdurate heart of a man as seeing a woman in tears; especially when she is a handsome young girl, and is beloved by her masculine tormentor. Therefore we may safely surmise, that William's laughing soon ceased; for he instantly changed his manner to his sister, and said:

"Yes, Kitty, darling; your face is as black as a crow; and would enable you to make a splendid personation of an Ethiopian vocalist, if that sable people ever exhibit their ladies. But forgive me, poppet, for laughing at you; I would defy the goddess of grief herself to refrain from smiling if she had perchance cast her eyes upon you as you rose from the ground."

"Oh, dear me! what shall I do?" said Kate, in a most piteous way. "What shall I do? You know, Will, I can't go on in this figure, we must go back."

"Nonsense, my dear," said William, "you can go on very well. A slight application of water at Strawberry Hill will very soon remove all traces of your cloudiness."

"But, Will," replied his sister, "all the people will be laughing at me if I go on as I am, presenting such an odd appearance."

"Not in the least, my pet," said William; "besides if you turned back home our people would laugh at you quite as much, not for the soot on your face, but for your foolishness in returning. At Strawberry Hill, however, no one will laugh at you, for they will have too much good breeding; and if you put your veil down over your face it will be invisible; while at the same time you can present yourself to Eleanor, and test her affection by seeing if she will kiss you in that plight. I'll engage she'll laugh, for she'll think it is a little stratagem of yours to take her by surprise and excite her merriment. She will therefore think herself called upon to reward you with a smile."

"I don't like to go in this figure, Will," said Kate; "do you think we shall be able to find any water-hole on the road where I could wash my face?"

"Not one, Kitty," said William, "nor a drop of water nearer than Strawberry Hill, unless you like to go to the river; and it would be quite unnecessary, for if you went there you wouldn't be able to thoroughly remove the black. The washing would only make you appear worse, inasmuch as, instead of being black, you would be dirty. But come, my little queen of Artimesia! let me put you on your horse, and we'll go ahead. I have often heard of a sable beauty, and declare you are one in perfection; if you were not my sister I would do the romantic and fall in love with you. There now! up you get, and let us be off; for the sooner you get to 'the Hill' the sooner you'll have your visage restored to its natural colour. But before you touch your face, Kitty, just have a look at yourself in the glass; though I need not have told you to do that, for I know it is the first thing you are sure to do."

"Don't be cruel, Will! and tease me so," said Kate, "or I'll go back home."

"Very well, my dear," said William, "I'll grant a truce, and spare you."

The brother and sister then turned their conversation into some other channel, and rode on until they came within sight of Strawberry Hill; when Kate pulled down her veil to conceal her darkened countenance from the gaze of the curious. As they approached the station, and got sufficiently near to distinguish the people about the place, Kate was startled to see some gentleman on the verandah, whom she knew (by his appearance) was not Mr. Rainsfield, and she remarked to her brother: "Oh, William! I can't go up to the house in this figure. See, who is that on the verandah? he is a stranger I know and I shall never be able to meet his gaze. Can't you take me somewhere, where I can get my face clean before I show myself?"

"Don't be frightened Kitty," said William, "no one will be able to distinguish the colour of your face through your veil; and, if I mistake not, the individual you see, and whose appearance seems to cause you such uneasiness, is none other than Bob Smithers, who will make himself scarce when he sees me. Put on a bold face under your blackness, and try a coup de main, though it is not likely under your present eclipse to be a coup de soleil. If Eleanor is on the verandah when you alight run into the house and carry her off at once; and if any of the family should see you in your flight I will make some explanation for you."

This seemed partially to satisfy Kate, and they rode together up to the house. As William had conjectured the party they saw was Bob Smithers; who, as soon as he had been able to distinguish who were the approaching visitors, had left the spot where he had been seen by them, while Eleanor, who had been sitting just inside one of the French lights, came out to greet her friends as they made their appearance. William assisted Kate off her saddle, when she ran up to the girl who stood with open arms to embrace her. But instead of falling into that loving lock, which was intended to unite the beatings of their young hearts, and which she was generally so ready, with her usual ardour, to reciprocate, she partially lifted her veil and discovered to her astonished friend her beaming countenance. Instead of being radiant with glowing smiles it was of course more gloomy than thunder; but her merry laugh rang as a silvery note from the shades of Hades, while her bright eyes and pearly teeth, in such deep contrast, shone with a more marked resplendence.

Eleanor for some moments gazed at Kate with silent wonder, and then asked in the faint voice of a valetudinarian: "Why, dearest Kate, what have you been doing with yourself?"

"I will answer for her," replied William. "You see our little Hebe has gone into mourning; and, considering that the mere outward habilimentary display was an empty conventionality, she chose to mark her grief in her countenance; so that she might indulge uninterruptedly to any extent of sorrow. As to her motive I am inclined to think she has done it to court notice, and notoriety; for I am convinced she never looked so handsome before."

"That is a poor compliment William pays you, Kate," said Eleanor; "but I appeal to you for a correct version of the phenomenon, for I am afraid to question your brother, as I see he is in a facetious mood. Come to my room, my dear, and we can have a talk to ourselves."

"That is the very thing I desire, Eleanor dear," said Kate, "for I am quite anxious to see what a fright I am, and wash off all the dreadful smut. I saw Mr. Smithers here as I came up, and I would not for the world that he should have seen me thus."

"He was here a few minutes ago," said Eleanor, "but has disappeared somewhere."

"Well, Will," said Kate, "why are you still standing staring at us? why don't you take the horses away?"

"Oh, I am really very sorry for keeping him," said Eleanor, "it quite escaped my memory; you go to my room, Kate dear, and I'll send some one to see to the horses."

"Not for worlds, Miss Eleanor, would I permit you to do such a thing," exclaimed William. "I can myself take the horses to the stable; but I was waiting to take a last fond look of Kate. I am, in fact, enchained to the spot; if ever she was a beauty she is one now, and a shining one that would be a fortune to a London advertising blacking manufacturer."

"Be off, you impudent fellow!" replied his sister, "and don't show your face here until you can cease to be offensive;" saying which, she turned into the house with Eleanor, while William took the horses to the stable to remain for such time as he stopped at Strawberry Hill. This business he accomplished; and, knowing that the girls would be sometime engaged together with their own little secrets, and having no desire to come into contact with Bob Smithers, he thought he would fill up half an hour by paying a visit to Mr. Billing, and enjoying the refreshment of that little individual's conversation.

CHAPTER IV.

"The wondering stranger round him gazed,
All spoke neglect and disrepair."
Sir Walter Scott.

William sought the capricious storekeeper in the proper sphere of his labour, viz. the store-room, and, as he had anticipated, found him deeply engaged in some imaginarily abstruse piece of figurative collocation, from the study of which he relieved his brain and raised his eyes at the sound of intrusive steps. William advanced with outstretched hand, which was humbly and respectfully taken by Mr. Billing; who, as he removed his spectacles from his nose, and shifted, we will not say rose from his desk, answered to his visitor's sanitary enquiry in his blandest manner: "I thank you, Mr. Ferguson; it affords me great satisfaction to say I am in the enjoyment of excellent health, and trust, my dear sir, a similar blessing is dispensed to yourself."

"Well, thank you, Mr. Billing," replied William, "I am pretty well. But don't let me disturb you if you are busy, I have just called in to see and have a chat with you; but if you are engaged I will not interrupt you; for I thoroughly agree to the principle that business must be attended to."

"I assure you, sir," said Mr. Billing, "I appreciate your kindness in thinking me worthy of your consideration. I feel favoured, sir, beyond measure; and if you will still further honour me by gracing our humble dwelling, I can say, sir, with confidence Mrs. Billing will be equally as delighted as myself."

"But I hope, Mr. Billing, I am not taking you away from your business," said William.

"By no means, my dear sir," exclaimed that urbane individual, "however engrossed I might be in my mental or corporeal occupations, the respite, sir, from those labours, when it is occasioned by the honour of a visit from a young gentleman of your talent and abilities, is of too valuable a nature, sir, not to be gratefully seized by your humble servant. Pray accept my best thanks, sir, for your attention, and permit me to invite you, sir, to our unpretending abode; for lowly it is, and not of those pretensions I could desire, sir, nor of such as it has been my lot at a former period of my life to possess, yet, sir, to it I can offer an Englishman's adjunct, a hearty welcome."

"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Billing," replied William, "and will be happy to accept of your hospitality."

"This way then, Mr. Ferguson," said Mr. Billing. "Allow me to close the door of the store. I always lock it in my absence to prevent, sir, any unpleasant affairs, such as have occurred here, you know. If you will be good enough to step this way, sir? I must apologize beforehand, for the litter which I expect you will find, sir, in our domicile by explaining that Mrs. Billing does not anticipate the pleasure of visitors."

Considering the sight that greeted the eyes of William as he entered the cottage, such an apology was certainly necessary, or rather unnecessary, to prepare him for what he was to witness. We said necessary, to excuse the lady of the house for the chaotic arrangements of her household, seeing that one couldn't enter the dwelling without being painfully aware that slovenliness and disorder reigned supreme. Therefore we corrected ourselves in the expression, and stated the absence of such necessity; as no one could be so blind as to imagine that the litter which Mr. Billing alluded to was merely the result of an occasion; for it was too palpably evident that the spirit of disorganization was the presiding genius of the Billing mansion, and, moreover, the visitor would be strengthened in the conviction the very moment he cast his eyes upon the wife of Mr. Billing's bosom. We will repeat then that Mr. Billing made numerous apologies for the disorder to which he was about to usher William Ferguson; and we may safely conjecture that William was not a little surprised when all the internal arrangements of the home burst upon his vision.

"Let me show you to my domicile, Mr. Ferguson," said the little man in rather a pompous way; "as usual, sir, the house is turned topsey-turvey, Mrs. Billing is such a woman for cleanliness. You have no doubt, Mr. Ferguson (though you have not yet become entangled in the meshes of matrimony), heard of the nuisance of a musical wife; let me equally warn you, sir, against choosing the partner of your connubial bliss, from those of too cleanly a predilection. My spouse, sir, for instance, has periodical fits for cleansing (and I regret to say, sir, they are of too frequent occurrence for my especial comfort); then nothing but dust, soap and water, and disquietude pervades the house for a full twelve or twenty-four hours. You are aware, sir, 'at home' (I mean of course in Old England) we paterfamiliases are taught, sir, to look upon washing-days as the very superlative of domestic misery; but my wife always had a propensity for having something like a washing-day very nearly six times a week, sir; and she has brought her customs and prejudices with her to this barbarous country. But come in, my dear sir, and take a seat, while I inform Mrs. Billing of your presence; and if I may be so bold, sir, as to add, I will entreat you to make yourself quite at home."

This introductory prologue of Mr. Billing's was delivered as he stood with the door slightly ajar, and holding it by the handle while he addressed William, no doubt to fully prepare him to a proper appreciation of the merits of the lady to whom he was about to be introduced. When we say introduced we do not mean that formal ceremony in which strangers are brought to a mutual acquaintance (for William had frequently before met Mrs. Billing), but the mere act of being ushered to her presence in a house into which he, as yet, had never entered. Mr. Billing had stood, door in hand, while he uttered about half of his last sentence, when William saw, or fancied he saw, a female hand suddenly draw back the cover of a muslin blind that screened the lower part of a window situated in close proximity to the door at which he stood. Instantly thereafter a female head was substituted in its place, but as instantly withdrawn; while the noise of some falling object was distinctly heard, and was as speedily followed by that of a hastily closed door; all of them unmistakeable signs of a surprisal and retreat.

At this moment Mr. Billing pushed open the door and entered the evacuated room, in which he concluded his lugubrious notice of his lesser half's peculiarities, and desired his visitor to take a seat; which his visitor, picking up a chair that lay prostrate on the floor, accordingly did; and Mr. Billing went in search of his lady. Judging from the seeming confidence with which he walked into an apartment entering from the one which William sat in, forming the only other one in the front of the cottage, the operation was one of more certitude than the verb he made use off would imply; and also judging from the subdued whispers that William could overhear through the thin wooden partition that constituted the wall of the room, the search was also attended with wonderful success. But during Mr. Billing's absence to look for his spouse, let us join our young friend in his general inspection of the furnishing and upholstery department of the establishment.

In the first place we must say, distinctly and candidly, that the room was furnished badly. Not that there was any paucity in the collection; but the articles, though numerous, taken in the abstract, with the greatest regard to symmetry, contrast, and beauty, and the best possible display of talent in their collocation, any one with the slightest pretensions to comfort, we are certain would eliminate the entire mass; and any appraiser, if such an individual existed, within the boundaries of New South Wales, if called in to take an inventory, would elevate both his nose and his shoulders.

But we will, with the reader's kind permission, give a short description, for the benefit of young couples about to furnish; and out of respect for the feelings and the patience of those of our readers, who have no desire or necessity for such detail, we will epitomize the catalogue as much as possible.

First then we must state that there was no semblance of order in the arrangements. Far from it; in fact, quite the reverse. All things seemed to have been placed with a predetermination on the part of some one to create as much confusion as possible, and to put each individual article into as awkward a position as imaginable. It is true William had rescued a chair from a lowly position, and had placed it on an unoccupied spot on the floor, and used it for the purpose for which in its construction it was intended. But it was well our young friend was not of an erratic disposition, for if he had been bent upon voyages of discovery, other than could be effected by his eyes, he would have found himself in as great a labyrinth as ever impeded the progress of the polar explorers. The fact was William was perfectly hemmed in; so that, with the exception of a small spot that was partially occupied by his chair, there was no room to stir, or at least very little; and he did not consider it wise, or politic, to risk his knees and shins in an attempt to penetrate into the thickly timbered recesses of the apartment. As he sat in the midst of this mass, which seemed to have been collected as the entire furniture of a dwelling, deposited in a room for the convenience of the van that officiates at flittings, he almost looked like an anxious emigrant keeping guard over his effects when landed in a strange country, or as "Caius Marius mourning over the ruins of Carthage."

But we have wandered from our task, our self-imposed descriptive task, which we confess ourselves at a loss to perform with satisfaction; for having no cabinet-making knowledge, and never having before been called upon to take an inventory of such chattels, we feel ourselves, to make use of a vulgar idiom, "all abroad." We fear we have assumed the title and privileges of the author without considering whether or not we are possessed of the attributes pertaining to one; and, in our insensate conceit, we are afraid we have forgotten the absence of that recondite perspicuity and facile elucidation which are imperatively essential to the character we have arrogated. But we fancy we hear some of our impatient readers exclaim, "We wish you would tell us, without 'beating about the bush,' what the room contains; it is all nonsense your making excuses now, you should have thought of your incapacity before you commenced your history, and must go on with it; all we can do is to pity and smile at your ignorance;" and we exclaim, "A thousand thanks, kind readers! That is the very lenience we wished to evoke; we now can proceed with confidence, if not in our powers of depiction, at least in your charity and forbearance."

Well then, in the centre of the room stood a table, which we venture to say had not been displaced in the general disorganization, notwithstanding that its satellites had. There was nothing extraordinary about this table, and yet there was a something which inspired awe, or at least curiosity, and that would lead to the enquiry, Whence came it? and this was precisely William's thought. Ah! that was a rare old table, and struck William with a desire to know its history; but unfortunately it had not the power to satisfy his enquiring mind; and he, having no one at the time with him from whom he could glean the information, was not likely to be the wiser. With the reader, however, we will not be so harsh or uncommunicative, but will make use of our knowledge, and impart the secret of its life; at least from the time whence it boasted of Mr. Billing as its owner. First, however, we will give a sketch of its general appearance.

When we called it a table, we should have in greater justice said two tables, for, though one, it was also two. This seeming paradox may be explained by stating that, as it stood, it was one, but in its integral parts it could be spoken of in the plural number; in fact, to descend to the common vernacular mode of expression, we will say they were two side leaf-tables that had graced the parlour windows of the little box at Brixton. The leaves were, and had been for many years (in fact, rarely otherwise), quiescent, and were each made to hide its diminished head in a close contiguity to the object's crural appendages. The two tables, thus reduced to their natural bounds, were arranged with an affectionate concomitance so as to act the part of a table of family pretensions. It was of mahogany; and we will assume the postulation, that it was of solid mahogany, to which assumption we are led from its antique appearance, presuming that in the good old days of our ancestors, that refined species of humbug and deception, yclept veneering, was not in vogue, as our forefathers, so we are told, could not tolerate anything but what was substantial. But how sadly have we degenerated in these latter days! We now no longer perpetuate their creed, or retain any of their material predilections, except those for beef, beer, "bacca," and bills.

But to return to the table. We said it was mahogany, but we must correct ourselves; we mean it was so originally, when it stood in the parlour at Brixton, but now no longer could it be said to be of that wood. If it but spoke, what "tales it could unfold" of voyages, journeys, mishaps, and accidents, that would put the whole fraternity of aristocratic loos far into the shade. Mr. Billing was wont to say he loved that old table as much as hundreds of individuals are in the habit of affirming a similar affection for a certain "old arm chair." He would also inform his friends, when in a communicative mood, that that table had belonged to his friend Lord Tom Noddy, whom he knew very well; but, unfortunately for our poor little friend's aristocratic reputation, on one occasion when he was a little "farther gone" than was usually his habit to go, the truth of in vino veritas was exemplified. On that occasion he innocently informed his friends, that, of course, the Lord Tom Noddy did not know him; that he, Mr. B., had bought the table at a sale of that nobleman's effects, when the inconvenient demands of low tradespeople rendered a sojourn in London exceedingly annoying to his lordship, and induced him to fancy his health demanded attention and his person relaxation and continental air. But still Mr. Billing could boast of what very few, if any, men in Australia could, that is, that he was possessed of a table that had belonged to a real, live lord; and many were those who were made aware of the fact.

We fear we are not confining ourselves to a succinct account of minutiæ, but are again running too much into detail of no moment; and we will, therefore, continue more briefly the history and description of this wonderful piece of furniture. It had been considered too great a treasure to be sacrificed in the break-up of the Brixton "box;" consequently it was carried off to gladden the eyes and astonish the nerves of the natives of Australia. As we have already said, many were the misfortunes it had gone through in its various peregrinations, and vast the trouble it had been to its present owner, who, notwithstanding, through all his vicissitudes, stuck to it as long as it stuck to him. Lord Tom Noddy's table was in much the same predicament as Jack's knife, which had had five new blades and three new handles; for his lordship's table had had innumerable splicings, nailings, screwings, patchings, and new leggings, composed of a variety of fibrous material, and of numerous colours and artistic designs. Yet there it stood, with its legs of an unequal longitude, some with castors and some without (the latter being supplied with a stone or a piece of wood, to preserve as nearly as possible the equilibrium); and, with more than one bandage to conceal a fractured limb, this relic of the past, this trophy of Mr. Billing's palmy days, and proof of his intercourse with aristocracy, preserved a dignified composure, like a veteran surveying the scene of a triumph. We said that the table stood in the centre of the room, and bore no evidences of having been moved in the general disorder; of this we were morally certain, for, judging by its paralytic appearance, it threatened a speedy dissolution if touched.

The other members of this conglomerate fraternity were some dozen chairs, more or less, also in various stages of dilapidation, and of them we can say much in a few words. They were American, machine-made, cane-bottomed, painted, and patent varnished ladies' and gent's body supporters, and bore the same relation to civilized furniture as Dutch clocks used to do to the old-cased patriarchs, that in our halls marked the phases of fleeting time.

They were "machine-made," we say, that is, the legs, bars, etc., were cut and turned by machinery; they were possessed of cane bottoms, whether also arranged by machinery or not, we can't say, though they were painted and varnished by its aid. But why such ordinary articles of domestic use should be patent we are at a loss to comprehend, unless it were for the design, or in the operation of painting the decorating portion, which consisted of an application of gilt varnish on the front of each leg and prominent part of the seat, and the representation on the back, in high colours and gilt, of some flowers and fruit, which it would be difficult to match with originals, from all the varieties that have been produced, from the Eden apple downwards.

The next article was a sort of chiffonnier, a piece of furniture that made a great display; with crystal and china arranged with precision on the top, and a protecting covering of chintz, no doubt the uninitiated would imagine, to keep the polish from sustaining any injury. But must we discover the truth? Oh! deceitfulness of man, and, we may add, of woman too. This elegant and costly piece of furniture was nothing but a large deal box placed up on end, with rough shelves fixed into it to add to its utility, and with a gaudy cover put over it to hide its nakedness. There was another article of a similar construction, a luxuriant-looking ottoman, and a sofa which had originally, no doubt, been of polished cedar (of which wood, we may remark, all the best colonial furniture is made, and found to equal, if not excel, Honduras mahogany), and with horse-hair cushions, etc. But now it presented a doleful appearance of weather-beaten features and limbs, and where a horse-hair covering had existed, now only canvas was visible. A mirror of the dull and heavy school rested on the mantel-piece, along with sundry portraits, no doubt of a family importance, executed in an art of stern profile blackness, which art, we believe, is extinct, and happily so. The floor had no covering, neither had the walls, which showed the wood in its crude state, or rather in the serrated condition in which it had left the sawyer's pit. A few children's stockings and shoes scattered about; a woman's dress, mantle, and bonnet lying on the table, with some calico in the process of conversion to an article of apparel; a piano of ancient make which, we must say though, belonged to Mrs. Rainsfield, and was placed there for the use of the children while under the tuition of Mrs. Billing, completed the furniture; and, with other scraps, such as towels, dusters, and odds and ends, all heaped together, as we have said before, in interminable confusion, the reader has an idea of what William was surveying.

We have already confessed our lack of the author's talent of succinct expression; and what we might have been able, had we been possessed of such a gift, to have detailed in a few pithy words, and what was noticed by William in a few minutes, it has taken us so long to describe. We must therefore beg to assure the reader that Mr. Billing was not so rude as to leave his guest waiting alone so long as we have kept him, but shortly re-entered the sitting-room and informed William that Mrs. Billing was that moment engaged with the children, but if he would excuse her for a few minutes she would be obliged to him.

Now it happened that William had heard certain sounds that indicated arrangements of no possible connexion with children's attiring and ornature; such as the washing of an adult's hands, the operation of adjusting that corporeal appertinence, which is made to enclose the forms and symmetrize the figures of Eve's fair daughters of the present age, the rustling of silk, and other prognostics of a personal embellishment. But still conveniently deaf as a visitor should be to such sounds he begged that Mrs. Billing would not allow herself to be drawn from her attention to the children on his account, for he would be sorry to inconvenience her by his call.

Mr. Billing thanked him for his politeness and consideration, and entreated him not to mention anything about inconvenience; and at that very moment Mrs. Billing sailed into the room, or at least as much of it as she could get into; and, while shaking hands with William, said: "I am delighted beyond measure, Mr. Ferguson, at your kindness in calling upon us. It is so affable of you, and I can only express my regrets that you should have happened to have chosen a day when you see we are all topsy-turvey. You must know, Mr. Ferguson, I always like to keep my house clean and in order, although Mr. Billing will persist in grumbling at what he calls unnecessary cleanliness; but still I am glad you have honoured us with a visit." "Go away, Johnny, and Bobby! Mary, don't be rude!"

These latter expressions were addressed to various olive branches of the Billing tree, who showed their heads at the door whence had emerged the parent stem, and to which, we presume, the juveniles had come to satisfy their curiosity as to the nature of the intrusion on their domestic privacy. But they did not seem disposed to obey the injunctions of their maternal parent; who therefore rose and put them inside the room and shut the door, while they continued to amuse themselves by keeping up a perpetual kicking.

Possibly the reader may desire to know something about Mrs. Billing, her genealogy, etc. If so, we will endeavour to prevent disappointment by giving a brief sketch of her. She was a lady, "a perfect lady," as her husband used to say, and we should imagine, nearly twenty years the junior of her lord. She was not absolutely plain; she might once have been good-looking. In fact, Mr. Billing used to assure his friends, when first he married her she was a beauty, one, he affirmed, of the Grecian mould. We will not flatter her, however, by saying she was handsome; though we will state that her looks were capable of great improvement by the study of a little judicious display and effective costuming. But these virtues or follies, as our readers may consider them, obtained very little regard from Mrs. Billing; notwithstanding that on sundry occasions, such as the present, she made an effort to appear as in former years.

She had taken some little pains, we say little pains because of the insignificance of the result, to present a genteel appearance to our friend William, and had made a hasty toilet. If it had effected any improvement in her appearance it argued badly for her presentableness before the operations of ablution and ornature had taken place. Her hair, in keeping with her eyes, was black, and parted not scrupulously in the centre; a stray lock on the forehead segregated from its rightful position was brought immediately across the line of demarcation and incorporated in the opposition. However, its lamination was lost in the plastering the whole had undergone in the toilet operations; and, as Mrs. Billing was not a vain woman, such a mishap was not deemed worthy of notice, or at least the trouble of rectification. Her features, if not good, were certainly far from bad. There was a vivacity and expression in them, but there was also an unctuousness that was a necessary concomitant on her perpetual bustle, which incessantly displayed itself in her pale face. She wore a black silk dress, that made a rustling like dry leaves in winter, and was modelled in a fashion so as to confine both the wrists and the throat of the wearer; at which points it terminated without the muslin adjuncts we usually look for. As for the dress itself nothing need be said, except that it might have, and had been a good one, but was then rather seedy. It gave us, however, the idea that it was worn in much the same manner, and for much the same purpose, as the closely buttoned up frock-coat of the "shabby genteel gentleman," who is unable to make any display of spotless linen. But we will make no ambiguous allusion to a lady's under garments, though we cannot shut our eyes to noticeable facts. Neither could William, for he perceived that her boots, though they had once been of a fashionable make, were not what they had been, for their glory had long since departed. He also noticed that her hands and facial contour were of a different shade to her neck and throat. It might have been an optical illusion, the effect of a deceptive light, the contrast of complexion, or the exposure to sun; but he thought that where the tints blended the contrast was too perceptible to be natural, and therefore concluded that the phenomenon arose from the dirt not being thoroughly removed, or the omission of an ablutionary application to the dark tinted part.

William also noticed,—but we must again crave the indulgence of our fair readers, whose pardon we implore for adverting to such a subject,—when Mrs. Billing turned herself to eject and inject the juvenile representatives of the Billing family; he saw her back! yes, reader! her back! Now no lady should turn her back on a gentleman any more than a gentleman should perform so derogatory an act upon a lady, either literally or figuratively. More especially if that lady be not a good figure, or if her dress does not fit immaculately. We do not insinuate that Mrs. Billing had not a good figure, she was once graceful; but it was to be presumed, that considering the ample proofs she had given of a proclivity to gestation, the symmetry of that figure had to some extent been impaired. Be that as it may, the dress of Mrs. Billing did not meet behind by some three or four hooks; and the consequence was that a sight was revealed to the bashful gaze of our young friend which caused him to blush; while the remembrance of the cleanly characteristics, enunciated by her lord as pertaining to her, made him wonder. For there! immediately underneath the habilimentary cuticle, William saw garments of so suspicious a colour as to make it questionable whether they had attained their peculiar hues by the process of dyeing, or by their contact with this world's filth.

But there is one thing that we must explain before we leave Mrs. Billing. We have already told the reader that cleanliness was Mrs. Billing's peculiar and predominant idiosyncrasy, and we must reconcile this statement to our portraiture of unbecoming slovenliness. It is easily said in a few words. Mrs. Billing was one of those women who are always in a fuss about their domestic affairs; who are for ever fidgeting about the dirt in the house; and always attempting to remove, or remedy it, though in the attempt they only succeed in adding to the filth. Making "confusion worse confounded;" leaving things worse than they were before; adding to the discomfort of their husbands, their children, and themselves; whom they keep in a perpetual state of slovenliness and untidiness. Such was Mrs. Billing's failing; and if her husband was blessed with perspicuity sufficient to notice it, for his own peace of mind, he abstained from any dictation that might have embroiled him in family dissensions; and he was right: for on the whole she was undeniably a good wife to him notwithstanding her little peculiarities.

Mrs. Billing had managed to squeeze herself into a seat, as her husband had previously done, without necessitating any extraordinarily unpleasant contiguity to her visitor; though any extension of prerogative on the part of the upper or nether limbs of either of the party would have been detrimental to the visages, or shins, of the others. So they were all perforce compelled to adhere to a strict propriety of deportment.

The lady was particularly charmed, or at least she continued to say so, at what she designated the condescension of Mr. Ferguson in visiting her humble abode.

"I am truly delighted to see you," she said again, for at least the twentieth time; "and only regret I can offer you no inducement to prolong your visit. I suppose there would be no use in my asking you to stay and take pot-luck with us in the friendly way, Mr. Ferguson? Not that it would be any change of fare to you, for we are necessarily humble people now; and, if we even desired it, we could not have anything out of the common. It is not here like 'at home,' where you can, even with the most moderate means, procure anything nice. In this horrid country neither love nor money can buy tasty things. One has to be contented with what we can get, and we live so incessantly upon mutton that I wonder we're not all ashamed to look a sheep in the face. But, as I was saying, can we persuade you to stop and take pot-luck with us, Mr. Ferguson?"

"I really thank you, Mrs. Billing," said William; "but my friends will expect me to make my appearance at the house shortly. I have brought my sister over to see Miss Eleanor, and have just dropped in to see you as I passed."

"Yes! it is very kind of you," said Mrs. Billing; "and of course Mrs. Rainsfield will be expecting you. However, if at any time you shall be disposed to honour us with a visit, let us have the pleasure of your company sufficiently long to enable us fully to enjoy it. Devote some evening to us, and we will endeavour to amuse you. We would be most happy to see your sister too, if she would condescend to honour our roof by her presence; she is a gentle, amiable young lady. I need not ask if she is well as that I am sure of?"

"Thank you," said William, "she is quite well, and I have no doubt will be happy to join me in paying you a visit; especially when I tell her of your kind enquiries."

"Will you try a little spirits, Mr. Ferguson?" asked the master of the mansion. "I am sorry I have no wine to offer you, and neither any choice of spirits; but I shall be delighted if you will join me in a glass of rum."

"I am obliged to you; not any," replied William.

The conversation continued for some short time longer, chiefly though on the part of the Billing couple; who took upon themselves the initiatory to enlighten their visitor upon all their family affairs and departed greatness. William soon began to feel a distaste for this kind of conversation and society, and had made one or two attempts to break the spell. But as the pair kept up an alternate and incessant dialogue he could not find an opportunity of taking his leave; and neither did he effect his retreat until he had risen from his seat, stood hat in hand for nearly ten minutes, and repeated more than once that he feared his sister would be wondering what had become of him.

He at last succeeded in escaping, and cordially shaking hands with the quondum commercial man and his lady, he took his departure and walked back to the house. Mr. Billing returned to, and was speedily lost in the abstruse calculation from which his attention had been diverted by William's visit; while Mrs. Billing retired to the precincts of her sanctum, to divest herself of her outer covering for one of more humble pretensions, in which she had been habited at the time of her surprisal.

CHAPTER V.

"Your words have took such pains, as if they labour'd
To bring manslaughter into form, and set quarrelling
Upon the head of valour."
Timon of Athens, Act 3, Sc. 5.

When William made his appearance at the house he found Eleanor, Mrs. Rainsfield, and his sister together in the sitting-room; and, after receiving a severe rating for his cruelty in teasing Kate about her accident, he was asked by Mrs. Rainsfield what had detained him so long at the stables. Upon his replying that he had visited the Billings nothing would satisfy the girls but that he had an object in making such a visit, and they insisted upon having a detailed account of all his proceedings, and what he saw and heard at the storekeeper's cottage. During his narration of the circumstance we will leave him for a few minutes while we glance at another part of the station.

Over the rails of the stockyard fence leaned a man, we might have said a gentleman, smoking a short pipe, and carrying or rather holding in his hand a heavy riding-whip, which we wish the reader particularly to notice for the reason which shall shortly be seen. At his side leant another gentleman with his back to the fence, and his eyes bent on the ground. The first was Bob Smithers, and the other, Mr. Rainsfield; and, at the moment of our discovering them, they were, or had been, in close conclave. Before we proceed to listen to the conversation we will premise by stating one fact, which we have no doubt the reader has conjectured, viz., that the marriage between Bob Smithers and Eleanor had been postponed sine die, or until such time as her health should be thoroughly restored.

"Yes, I say again, it is a confounded nuisance that the girl is so slow in getting well; she might have broken half a dozen legs, and got right again by this time. I want to get her away from that infernal fellow Ferguson, and all his set; and I shall never do that until I have married Eleanor. Then, by G—! if any of them cross my path, they may expect to meet a tiger." So spoke the puissant Bob Smithers, that had grossly insulted the senior brother of "the set," and submitted ignobly to a blow from the younger; from whom he slunk away like an intimidated cur who had rushed yelping at some wayfarer, and received a warm reception.

"I don't think you need make yourself at all uneasy, Bob," said his companion. "Though John Ferguson has made overtures to Eleanor, which you know were rejected, it is not very probable that his brother or sister will at all interfere; in fact, I hardly think the young girl, his sister, knows anything about her brother's feelings on that point. Eleanor is exceedingly attached to them, and well she might be, for their behaviour to her has been kind and affectionate in the extreme."

"Well, that may be," said Smithers; "but still I hate them, especially that young cub that is here now. He had the audacity to strike me on the night when we paid out his brother; and, but for the intervention of some of the people, I would have killed the young wretch on the spot."

"As to striking you," said Mr. Rainsfield, "I am not at all surprised at that. I wouldn't have thought much of the young fellow if he had stood passively by, and seen a practical joke perpetrated on his brother. But why didn't you retaliate, or wait for him till after the ball, and then have given him a good sound horse-whipping?"

"I couldn't get an opportunity of being at him then," said Smithers, "but I'm d——d if I don't carry out your suggestion now. I'll get an opportunity before he goes away."

"If you do I only hope you'll manage it so as not to implicate me," said Mr. Rainsfield. "I don't wish to interfere with your private quarrels; but I would not like the young fellow attacked in my house or in my presence. Though I have quarrelled with his brother I haven't done so with him; and I must say he has been so attentive to Eleanor during her illness that I would consider any countenanced outrage on him would be the offering of an insult to her. Nevertheless, if you have any little settlement to make with him, let it be out of my sight and hearing, and I won't interfere with you."

"All right, old fellow," Smithers replied, "you need not fear me, I'll manage it comfortably enough you'll see. I'll get him quietly away from the house, and let him feel the weight of this." Saying which he laid his whip about some imaginary object with a force that made the missile whiz in the air, and with a determination that plainly portrayed the satisfaction with which he would operate upon his victim.

"Very well," said Rainsfield, "do as you like. Only, as I said before, don't implicate me, and though I rather like the young man I shall have no objection to hear of the whole matter after it's done."

These two worthies then separated, Bob Smithers to seek the opportunity of which he spoke, and the other either to go about some business of the station, or to keep as much out of the way of the coming event as possible. The reader will no doubt wonder how a man of Mr. Rainsfield's generally reputed integrity could reconcile his conscience to such behaviour; and also that he should willingly, and, we may add, collusively aid the suit of a man, of whose mental and moral turpitude he could have had no doubt, in preference to the honourable addresses of a gentleman in every way a more eligible match for his cousin. "But thereby hangs a tale," and it is our painful task in the office in which we stand, to see that that tale be not suppressed.

At an early date after Eleanor's settled sojourn with Mr. Rainsfield he became aware of the existence of an engagement between her and Bob Smithers, from whom we may safely conjecture the knowledge was obtained. When Rainsfield, feeling for the dependent and forlorn condition of his relative, took her to the bosom of his family he did so out of pure sympathy and kindliness towards her, and had no wish or desire to interfere in the disposal of her affections. Consequently he paid very little attention to the matter. But Smithers made a proposal to him which, if it did not excite his cupidity, induced him to think more of the affair as one in which he as a relative, and a protecting relative, had an interest. It had the effect of suborning his countenance to the match, and enlisting his strenuous exertions, to induce Eleanor to accede to the wishes of the Smithers family, and plight herself anew to the man who had already received her youthful acquiescence.

The offer that Smithers had made to Rainsfield was this. That they should enter into partnership, and throw their respective properties into one concern, and work together on equal terms. Smithers was to embark all the country he was then possessed of, or the proceeds arising from the sale of any portion, and what capital he could command; and the other was to bring in the stock and station of Strawberry Hill. In making this offer Smithers conceived that he would be benefited by such an arrangement, in so far as he would be able to more effectually stock the immense tracts of country he had taken up. He considered this more advantageous than disposing of the runs; as, he argued by lightly stocking them in the first place, and allowing them to become by gradation fully stocked, through augmentation and the natural increase, he would eventually be possessed of larger property than if he with his own means only stocked an integral part of his holdings. On the other hand Rainsfield considered the offer as equally worthy of attention to himself, possibly looking at it in the same light. However, he had agreed to it; and this was the douceur that had made him a warm partizan of the Smithers' cause; and that had influenced the collusion that worked for the consummation of Bob's, or we might say Mrs. Smithers', matrimonial scheme.

With regard to Eleanor, her feelings, we fear, were little dreamt of in the matter. Rainsfield deemed Smithers a good match for her, and possibly believing that she entertained at least some respect for the man, he never imagined for a moment that she could have had any objection. While she, on the other hand, from the continual promptings of her cousin, in the absence in her mind of any other imaginative cause for her cousin's warmth, attributed it to the desire on his part to be relieved of an irksome burden; and she had given her consent.

We must admit that women are as equally (it is even affirmed they are more) susceptible than men to the warm affections of the heart; and that as they are inspired by love so are they influenced by aversion. And as a man, we mean of course with honour and conscience, would go to any extremity rather than ally himself to a woman whom he contemned, so would a woman feel as great a repugnance in accepting a man for whom she could not entertain any respect. We do not say that Eleanor actually abhorred Bob Smithers; but we can affirm that she felt no enjoyment in his society, but rather the reverse; and though she had accepted him to avoid the unpleasantness of her situation, the match was positively distasteful to her. Smithers' nature was diametrically opposed to hers. They had no one feeling in common; his tastes were not as her tastes; nor hers as his. Besides, she had an exalted, and perhaps romantic, idea of matrimony. She didn't think it proper to marry for convenience, but imagined it was a compact that was only justly and favourably formed on true love. Not that at the time of her engagement with Smithers she had experienced the sentiment; but she was aware she had entertained the proposal of a man in the absence of it, and therefore had sacrificed a moral principle. But her trial was to come.

She then met John Ferguson; and their mutual companionship, if it had had its effects on John, had surely had no less so on her. It is true she had thought no more of him, at first, than as a friend, a kind attentive friend. But then she admired him, his precepts, his manners, his conversation, and his general ingenuousness; she liked him, and found pleasure in his society. Did she think she loved him? It may be she never gave herself a thought on the subject. She was content to live in the pleasing delusion, that John Ferguson was nothing more to her than a friend; but there was her danger. She might have mistaken his manner; misconstrued his feelings; and been blind to the more than ordinary warmth of his greeting. But the pleasure in his company, the delight at his approach, the longing for his presence between the intervals of his visits; and the heart's palpitations, as she felt the welcome touch of his hand in the grasp of friendship, must and did have their own warning voices, to which Eleanor could not shut the ears of her understanding. She suspected he loved her; she read it in his eyes; but she feared to ask herself the question, Was the feeling reciprocated?

Next came the explanation. He declared the existence of that lasting affection which never dies. But could she give him hope? could she encourage him in his love? No! she felt she could not. She had voluntarily given herself to another, yet felt she had by her manner incited this one; had probably by her demeanour given him cause to hope, while she was not justified in holding out any. She might have, nay, she even feared she had, destroyed his peace of mind, and all through her own selfishness. Why had she not warned him in time? why not forsworn the pleasure to which she had no claim? These were questions she asked herself, but could give no reply, except the sigh her heart chose to offer. Her relationship to Smithers reverted to her mind. That she did not love him, nor he her, she was convinced; then why not accept the love of John Ferguson? She meditated; but in that meditation her principle got the better of her inclinations, and she sacrificed her interest, her happiness, and her comfort, for the inviolable preservation of truth.

These scruples were known to Mrs. Rainsfield and Tom, who, we have seen, considered them unnecessarily severe, and combated against them unceasingly, though without making any impression on the mind of Eleanor. They deprecated what they considered her folly, and attempted by all the arts of persuasion to move her from her purpose; but she had been inculcated with a perception of high morality, and an appreciation of strict integrity. Truth had been always represented to her mind as the fundamental basis of all virtue. Her desires and her passions had been regulated to a subserviency to the Christian character, and her nature had been moulded in a religious education. Consequently, upon the dictates of her conscience she acted, and felt she would be guilty of an unpardonable moral offence to refuse her hand where her word had been pledged.

In this light, then, the parties stood to one another. Rainsfield was anxious to get his cousin married to Smithers, who was equally uneasy to have the event consummated, as he had serious misgivings on the eventual possession of his prize. Eleanor, though she was by no means anxious to hasten the marriage, had no desire to unnecessarily postpone an occurrence which she could not prevent, but of which latterly, more than ever, she had had cause to dread. However, she knew regrets were vain, and therefore attempted to attune her thoughts and feelings to a strict sense of duty, to forget her own personal likings, and to enter calmly upon the obligations expected of her. Notwithstanding all her fortitude poor Eleanor was but mortal, and she could not sustain the gigantic contest she had undertaken. She strove long and bravely, but her love would at times overcome her, and leave her the constant prey of her feelings, and to a melancholy contemplation of the sacrifice she was making; hence her protracted illness and tardy recovery.

But we must return to our narrative. We left William and the ladies in the parlour at Strawberry Hill house, and Bob Smithers walking from the stockyard in that direction, breathing heavy threats of vengeance against the gentleman who had so grievously offended him, and who had escaped his just punishment upon the occasion when the offence was committed. It is needless for us to comment on Bob's version of his affray with William Ferguson, as the correct one is already known to the reader; but the tale he told Rainsfield was the one related by him wherever the circumstance of the blow became known.

William, as we have said, was sitting in company with the ladies, and was submitting with the greatest docility to be made use of, by lending his hands for the extension of a skein of silk while it was being wound off by Eleanor, when a little boy bearing the Billing impress on his features appeared at the open window, and said he had something to say to Mr. Ferguson.

"Say it out, my boy," said William, who imagined it might be some formal invitation from the Billing paterfamilias.

"Please, sir, father told me to tell you a gentleman was waiting down at our house to see you," said the boy.

"And who is the gentleman, my lad?" asked William.

"Please, sir, I don't know," he replied; "father only told me a gentleman wanted to speak with you directly."

"Is Mr. Rainsfield down at your father's house?" asked William.

"No, sir," was the reply.

"Very well; tell the gentleman, or your father, that I will be down there in a few minutes," said William; "and that if the gentleman is in any very particular hurry, it would have been a great saving of his time if he had come up here."

Now, the circumstance struck all present (though no one said so) as being rather remarkable, that Smithers, for they knew it could be no other than he, should desire to meet William Ferguson alone, and away from the house. William knowing or suspecting the nature of the coming interview, fearing that his friends would have a similar suspicion, and having no desire to excite their fears, tried to show his coolness and indifference by whistling an air as he left the room. But this oft-repeated stratagem had not the desired effect of allaying the fears of one, at least, who was cognizant of the quarrel at Brompton and the whole attendant circumstances. This was Eleanor, and she was convinced, from the manner of Smithers, that he meditated some action which he was ashamed to perform within sight of the house. She therefore hastily put on her hat, and prepared to follow William, and being joined by Kate, she stepped out through the window to the green sward in front.

Hardly a dozen steps were necessary, to bring them clear of the angle of some outhouses that intercepted the view of the stables and Billing's premises; and as she cleared that angle, it was to this point Eleanor directed her gaze. The sight that she then witnessed showed that she was only too correct in her surmise as to the intentions of Smithers; for there she saw him in high altercation with William, who stood perfectly at ease taking the matter as coolly as possible. His arms were folded across his breast, and a pleasant smile played on his features, while his antagonist had worked his wrath up to the culminating point, ready for a mighty explosion; and raved about the ground while he brandished his whip.

We will not trouble our readers, or shock their ears or senses, by a recapitulation of the dialogue; suffice it to say, that if warm it was short. So that when Eleanor discovered the disputants she witnessed the exacerbation of Smithers' ire, and the descent of his whip across William's shoulders. The fate of Smithers on this occasion might have been similar to what it was on a former one had not the attention of William been drawn off from his purpose by hearing a loud shriek at his rear. He turned to see whence it came, while his castigator, taking no further heed of the circumstance than to look round to see from whom it emanated, continued to belabour at his victim with redoubled energy.

It was Eleanor who had uttered the shriek when she saw the blow struck by Smithers; and instantly flying between the belligerents, throwing her arms around the neck of her intended husband, she exclaimed: "Robert! Robert! for mercy's sake, what are you—" But she was not permitted to finish the sentence for the ruffian whom she had clasped in an embrace that should have melted a heart of stone shouted in her ear, coupled with an expression not fit to be repeated: "What business have you here?" while he flung her from him with a force that hurled her insensibly to the ground, where she lay without a murmur. This was more than the honour and chivalry of William could bear. To be attacked himself he cared little as he was well able to defend himself, and also to retaliate when he thought fit; but to see a brute, without one spark of manly feeling, not only lift his hand to a lady, and that lady a gentle amiable girl who was about to bless him with more earthly happiness than was meet for him to enjoy, but to prostrate her with such force as to momentarily deprive her of vitality, was more than his spirit could placidly endure. The lion was roused in his nature; and, while Kate attended to her fallen friend, he sprung like an infuriated animal on the cowardly villain; wrenched his whip from his hand and let him feel not only the weight of it, but also of the avenger's athletic arm, in such a way as would cause him to remember it for many a day.

When William had thrashed the wretch until he had driven him to seek shelter in the stables, he returned to where still lay the form of Eleanor, who showed no signs of returning consciousness. Feeling alarmed at the lengthened duration of the swoon Kate and her brother thought they had best remove her to the house at once; with which intention William took her in his arms, and carried her in to Mrs. Rainsfield.

The good lady was quite alarmed at the appearance of poor Eleanor's features, when her still inanimate form was brought to her. An ashy paleness pervaded her face; her eyes were closed; and, with the exception of an occasional faint sigh, no signs of life were visible. We say, Mrs. Rainsfield was justly frightened at the appearance of the poor girl, and she asked in an agitated manner: "What is this? what is the matter? Eleanor swooned? Good gracious! what does it mean?"

"My dear Mrs. Rainsfield," said William, "if you will allow me to tender my advice I would suggest that you instantly put Miss Eleanor to bed. I sadly fear her injuries are severe, and that it is more than a mere swoon under which she is now labouring. Pray, don't delay, but remove her at once; and Kate can tell you all the circumstances. If you will lead the way I will carry her into her room."

"Poor Eleanor! and is this too the work of that viper, Smithers?" said Mrs. Rainsfield.

"It is, indeed!" replied Kate.

"Oh, the vile wretch!" exclaimed the lady. "It is as I thought, he cares not a straw for her life. A man that would treat a tender, loving girl in this way, would be guilty of any enormity; and yet she is so infatuated as to court her own misery by persisting in accepting this monster. Oh! what would I not give to see her safe out of his clutches? But he surely can't have the effrontery to look her in the face after this; nor she so silly as to receive him if he does. Certainly not, if I can dissuade her, and I think I have some good ground to work upon now."

By this time William had deposited his burden on the little snow-white bed of the motionless girl, and left the room and the patient to the guardianship of Mrs. Rainsfield and his sister; while he strolled out for a few minutes to calm his agitation, and weigh the circumstances in his mind. He had walked backwards and forwards for about a quarter of an hour when he turned again into the house just as his sister was looking for him.

"Oh, Will!" she said, "Eleanor is in a dreadful state. She is fearfully ill, and we think it is a fever. Mrs. Rainsfield says there is a doctor who has lately settled at Alma, and she was going to send one of the men over for him; but I thought it would be better, to prevent the possibility of any mistake, for you to go. Will you go, and at once, Will?"

The answer William gave to his sister's question was to dart off to the stables for his horse; and in a few minutes afterwards he might have been seen galloping through the bush to procure the services of the son of Galen located at the nearest township.

CHAPTER VI.

"Oh! wretch without a tear—without a thought,
Save joy above the ruin thou hast wrought—
The time shalt come, nor long remote, when thou
Shalt feel far more than thou inflictest now."
Byron.

When Smithers had partially recovered from the wholesome chastisement administered by William Ferguson, and had witnessed, from his concealment, the hasty departure of his foe, the nature of his journey, and the cause of his precipitance, flashed instantly across his mind; and, we would fain believe, his conscience was visited by compunctions for his unpardonable brutality. He cogitated for some time on the course he was to pursue, and thought of how he could explain away the circumstances; for even to her whom he knew would forgive much he hardly dared venturing an explanation; knowing too well that his conduct was not to any extent defensible. He, however, determined to make the attempt to see Eleanor, and endeavour to remove from her mind any impression that might be injurious to his cause; and with that idea he approached the house.

Oh, Smithers, you ignorant inflated fool! How little you know the nature of woman, and how less you can estimate their worth, and appreciate the value of such an one as her who has surrendered her heart to thy keeping! Thinkest thou that it is woman's only province to forgive? That thy perpetual contumely should be continually pardoned, and thou, without any innate goodness or recommendatory virtue, should ever claim the devotion of a spirit the personification of purity, while thy conduct is such as would make that spirit, were not its adjuncts truth and compassion, shrink with loathing from the vile contamination of your very breath, and a fear of the consequences of your truculence and inhumanity! It is true, some women blinded by the infatuation of love, would sacrifice their happiness, peace, and liberty, even life, on the unworthy object of their ardent affection; but if thou believest this, buoy not thyself up with the idea that all thy sins will be forgiven thee! Eleanor has had much to deprecate in thee! many have been the wounds thy churlishness has inflicted on her gentle nature, and though she was willing to sacrifice all her earthly happiness to maintain intact her truth and honour, yet remember she is not actuated by love, but by an exalted sense of duty. Let her once be convinced that she is exonerated from a performance of that, and thy bird has flown. Duty has a strong tractive influence on a mind attuned to a high appreciation of integrity; but love is a still more powerful incentive, and dost thou know thou art not the happy possessor of that love? Yes, thou not only knowest that no such sentiment is felt for you by that being whose purity thou contemnest, but thou fearest, nay, even art certain, that the object of that being's love is another; and that other he whom thou hast striven to make thine enemy! Yet, knowing all this, thinkest thou that woman, frail confiding woman, could trust thee as her mundane protector? Because Eleanor has forgiven much, thou thinkest thyself secure; but if this last is not the coup de grâce in thy catalogue of contumacious infamies we shall be inclined to deprecate Eleanor's leniency. But to return.

One of Bob Smithers' characteristics was a conceited self-complacency that distended his very soul with its blinding virus; and, speaking in the figurative of a popular apothegm, he estimated his commendable qualities as equivalent to no insignificant quantity of that mean maltine beverage which we thirsty members of the great Anglo-Saxon family call small-beer. He therefore thought he had but to go to his betrothed with a penitential cast of countenance, and claim as a right, and receive as a matter of course, that forgiveness which he was entitled to expect.

"I was only", (he said apologetically to himself), "in a bit of 'a scot' at the time, and when she came in my way I pushed her off when she fell. It was her own fault, and she must know I did nothing to her but what any other man similarly situated would have done."

At the conclusion of his meditations he stepped on to the verandah of the house, and seeing a servant passing out of the sitting-room, into which he had entered by the window, he called her and asked, "Where was her mistress, or Miss Eleanor?"

"Miss Eleanor is ill, and missus is with her," replied the girl who looked awkward and rather sheepish at her questioner.

"Is Miss Eleanor very bad, Mary?" asked Smithers.

"I think she is, sir," replied she.

"Mary! Mary!" called a voice that was almost instantly followed by the utterer, Kate, who ran into the room, saying: "Do run out, and try and find Mr. Rainsfield." But she had hardly got the words out of her mouth, as she stood in the doorway of the room, than, catching sight of Smithers, she uttered a faint scream, and fled hastily from his presence. She was instantly followed by the girl, who had partly heard the cause of her young mistress' illness, and was desirous to escape the questioning of one whose character she could also despise.

Smithers stood musing for some minutes, not altogether pleased with these evidences of repulsion on the part of Eleanor's friends; but his fears of their influence over her mind were only momentary. He must see her, he said to himself; have an interview with her, and the little difficulty will soon be arranged. Then he would hurry his marriage, he thought, and take Eleanor away from the hated influence. "Those Fergusons," he continued in his soliloquy, "are a pragmatic, hateful lot, and I can't understand why Rainsfield does not keep them away from his place." Smithers firmly believed they had been created for the express purpose of causing him annoyance; and their present especial object in settling in that district was to frustrate his marriage, and rob him of his bride elect. "But he would defeat them," he said to himself, "or he'd be—;" but here his mental reservations were interrupted by Mrs. Rainsfield, who exclaimed as she entered the room: "So, sir! you dare to show yourself again in my house after the vile atrocity you have been guilty of. As to your infamy I do not wonder at it, for it is only the fructification of a nature equally depraved, brutal, and worthless. But after your insulting attack upon a guest of mine, and your cruelty to a gentle and amiable girl that you should have ventured within the precincts of this house I am truly astonished. I know you to be too great a coward to do so did you think there was any possibility of your meeting with the one who so lately gave you your deserts; and I can only attribute your presence now as a further proof of your arrogance, and to an endeavour to insult the female inmates of this dwelling."

"I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Rainsfield," replied the object of that lady's invectives; "I never offered any insult to you or any other lady in this house; so your strictures on me are quite uncalled for."

"What, sir! can you stand before me with such barefaced effrontery, and tell me such an unequivocal falsehood?" cried the lady. "Have you not insulted me by cajoling from my presence a gentleman, who is my friend and visitor, to basely assault him? and then what do you say of your dastardly behaviour to that girl who was contemplating her own misery and destruction by throwing herself away on such a wretch as you?"

"I decline to answer you, madam," said Smithers, "for your language is most offensive."

"Then even you are susceptible on the point of feeling," replied Mrs. Rainsfield, "and yet you think I can't feel an insult. I tell you, sir, that if you had subjected me to the treatment that you did Eleanor I should have considered it an offence of the most unpardonable nature. But I love Eleanor even better than I do myself, and you may therefore expect no mercy at my hands. For your offence to myself I shall expect an expiation by your totally absenting yourself from this house; and if I have any influence over the mind of that ill-used girl (which I hope and trust I have), you may rest assured it will be exercised to your disadvantage. So, sir, without any further parley, I have to request that you instantly leave the house."

"I shall do nothing of the sort, madam," replied Smithers, "your husband I presume is the master of this house?"

"Well, sir, I expect him here every moment," exclaimed the lady, "and if you do not obey my injunctions you shall be forcibly expelled from the premises."

"And situated as I am," continued Smithers not heeding the last threat of his irate companion, "with regard to Eleanor, I think I am entitled to see her."

"You shall not be admitted to her presence, sir," replied the lady.

"I wish to see her," said Smithers, "to explain the circumstances under which the accident occurred."

"Accident indeed!" exclaimed Mrs. Rainsfield. "It requires no explanation, sir, it speaks for itself. I have already had your brutality recounted by an eyewitness."

"By her friend I presume and one that is therefore not mine," sneered Smithers, "the sister of that villain who first poisoned Eleanor's mind towards me."

"Cease, sir! your invectives against one with whom you are not worthy to be mentioned in the same breath," cried Mrs. Rainsfield. "It was Miss Ferguson who related to me the unmanly and ruffianly manner in which you hurled Eleanor to the ground. She now lies with her life in imminent peril, and yet you have the audacity to stand before me and call it an accident which you will be able to explain."

"Yes, madam! I am confident I shall be able to satisfy Eleanor that it was not intentional on my part. I am exceedingly grieved that she should be so extremely ill, but believe me, Mrs. Rainsfield, this once, that if you will permit me to see her only for a few minutes I will be quite contented, and will certainly relieve her mind from any impression of my having wilfully harmed her."

"No, sir! it is useless your attempting to alter my determination. I tell you emphatically, that you shall not see her. She is now in a raging fever, and the sight of you at this moment might extinguish the flickering flame of her existence. To save me from any painful necessity, I trust, sir, you will see the expediency of ceasing your importunities and at once taking your departure."

"I much regret that you will not permit me to see Eleanor," exclaimed Smithers, "because I am sure you are acting under a misapprehension of my motives and actions. If you would but permit me to explain, I—"

"It is useless, sir."

"But I am confident you must have been misinformed of the circumstances. Your informant is no friend of mine, and would have consequently given the affair a colouring detrimental to my interests."

Mrs. Rainsfield could stand no more of this colloquy, and with difficulty suppressed her rage. It had twice or thrice been just on the point of overflowing; but now it was beyond her power to restrain it. To have her young friend Kate branded as a liar by the infamous viper before her struck her dumb with indignation; and it was some moments before she regained the power of utterance, when she exclaimed:

"You mean grovelling, despicable villain! You must of necessity add to your opprobriousness by including Miss Ferguson among those whom you choose to insult, and attack her with your scurrility. Because you generate lies yourself do you think she is capable of uttering falsehoods? I will endure you no longer. Instantly leave this house, sir, do you hear me? or I'll—"

"Pray, what is the matter, my dear?" enquired Mr. Rainsfield, who entered at this moment.

"Oh, John! cause that man to leave the house, and I'll tell you," replied his wife.

"My dear Rainsfield," commenced Smithers, but was cut short by the infuriated lady, who exclaimed:

"Not a word in my presence, sir. I have already ordered you to leave the house; do you intend to obey me?" Then, turning to her husband, Mrs. Rainsfield said in a voice almost choking with passion: "John, will you not assist and support me? I have been grossly insulted by that man, who persists in defying me. Is he to continue doing so?" and she sank into a chair, and gave vent to her excited feelings in a flood of tears.

Rainsfield was not one of those unfortunates, belonging to that class of marital bipeds known as "hen-pecked husbands," though he was certainly of an uxorious disposition. It cannot therefore be supposed that he could have calmly witnessed the distress of mind his spouse evidently appeared to be in without feeling some sympathy; and she being in that state in which philosophers tell us woman soonest touches the heart of inexorable man, viz., in tears, that sympathy was heightened. Rainsfield's connubial heart was softened at the evidence of his wife's woes; he therefore turned to Smithers, and said: "Leave us together just now, Bob; I'll see you before you go."

It must be distinctly understood that though Rainsfield, as he was in duty bound, sided with his wife on this occasion, he had no desire to quarrel with Smithers, even if his wife had; far from it. It is true he had heard something of the little fracas of flogging and fainting; but that was nothing to him. If the young men chose to quarrel, he considered, let them do so! and if his cousin chose to interfere, and get hard knocks for so doing, he could not help it. If the girl had fainted it was a pity, but what influence had he over her syncope? Women always made a great deal, he thought, about those things, but generally cool down after a while and forget such little grievances. So when he communicated to Smithers his wish that he should leave the house, he did so with an expression in his look that plainly said: "Never mind, old fellow, you will lose nothing by leaving your case in my hands." The delinquent, we have no doubt, fully understood it, for he instantly obeyed the behest. Let it be said, however, to the credit of Mr. Rainsfield, that as he took this view of the case he was only aware that Eleanor had fainted and was ill; but had no idea that William Ferguson had gone off to Alma for a doctor, and that Eleanor's case was so dangerous. He therefore imagined that his wife had magnified her danger, and the heinousness of Smithers' crime; and consequently thought more lightly of the whole affair than did his partner. But he was shortly to be undeceived.

As Smithers left the room Rainsfield took a seat beside his wife and said: "Well, my dear, what is the cause of all this? you seem agitated. I have heard something of what has happened, but surely that is not sufficient cause for your angry altercation with Bob Smithers, and making yourself miserable."

"Do you not think so, John?" she replied; "first to have Eleanor nearly brought to death's door (for she is in such a raging fever that I have been compelled to get William Ferguson to go to Alma for a doctor), and then to be insulted and openly defied in my own house by the villain who is the cause of it all; do you not think that is sufficient to make me agitated?"

"Certainly, my dear," replied her husband, "the matter appears to me in a new light. I was not aware it was of so serious a nature; pray tell me all about it."