"OUR JACK'S COME HOME TO-DAY"
"The old skipper was walking in the garden, glass in hand. I knew I
should find him up, though it was soon after sunrise. No fear of _his_
being in bed and the sun up. 'Hallo! Carryall,' he said, 'I was just
thinking about you; thought I could make out the _Florentia_ yesterday.
What sort of a voyage have you had, and what luck among the right
whales?'
"'Pretty fair. Rather longer out than I expected, but didn't do badly
after all; had some trading among the islands; cocoa-nut oil has gone
up, and the copra I got will pay handsomely.'
"'That's good news,' he said; 'and look here, Carryall, my boy, I've
been thinking lately that a very paying business might be put together
by going in regularly for island trading. They're ready and willing to
take our goods, and their raw material--oil, copra, fruit, ever so many
things that they are only too glad to sell--would pay a handsome
percentage on the outlay. What is wanted is a partner here with capital,
a few ships to go regularly round the islands, and a manager who knows
the language and understands the natives. If I were a little younger, by
Jove! I'd go into it myself. You'll stay and breakfast with us of
course. We're not late people. By the by you haven't heard of my boy in
your travels, have you?'
"'Well I _have_ heard of him, and--'
"'Heard of him!' he said, not giving me time to get further; 'where?
what was he doing?'
"'Well, he was supercargo on board the _Leonora_--Hayston's brig. They
had been at Ocean Island just before me.'
"'Hayston, Bully Hayston?' the old man said, looking stern. 'I'm sorry
he was mixed up with that fellow. A fine seaman, but a d--d scoundrel,
from all I've heard of him; what were they doing there? However, I know
young fellows must buy their experience. Perhaps he's left him by this
time.'
"'The _Leonora_ was wrecked in Chabral harbour,' I said, 'and her bones
lie on the coral reef there. She'll never float again.'
"'Ha! and did Hilary get off safe? I suppose it was a heavy gale. Heard
anything of him since?'
"'He stayed at Mout for some time,' I said, 'and then was lucky
enough to get a passage to Sydney in the _Rosario_, but he left her at
Norfolk Island.'
"'Left her--left her--why the devil didn't he come on in her, and see
his old father, and mother, and sisters? Hang the fellow, has he no
natural feeling? Here have we been wearing our hearts out with anxiety
all these years, and his poor mother having a presentiment (as she calls
it) that he's drowned or sold into slavery, or something, and d--mn me,
sir! the young rascal goes and stays to have a picnic at Norfolk Island!
The next thing we'll hear, I suppose, is that he's married one of these
Pitcairn Island girls. Not but what he might do worse, for I never saw
such a lot of fine-looking lasses in my life, as I did the last time I
was there; and as good as they are handsome, by George! But to stay
there, so near home too! If I didn't know that he was a good boy, and as
honest as the day, from his cradle upwards, I'd say he was an unnatural
young-- But I won't miscall the lad. To stay there--'
"'But he didn't stay there, captain.'
"'What!' he roared, 'didn't stay there--went back to the islands, I
suppose, to have a little more beach-combing and loafing? Why couldn't
he have come home when he was so near? He _might_ have thought of his
poor mother, if he didn't give _me_ credit for caring to see his face
again.'
"And here the old skipper frowned, and put on a terribly stern
expression. 'Why, he might have come home and married a wife, and
settled down and been the comfort of our old age.'
"'So he has!' I said; 'that is, he is married, and he has come to
Sydney.'
"'Married? Come to Sydney? How can that be? Why isn't he here? Carryall,
my boy, you wouldn't play a joke on an old man? No, sir! you wouldn't
_dare_ to do it. How _could_ he come to Sydney and be married?'
"'He came with me in the _Florentia_,' I said, 'and brought his wife with
him.' And here, Miranda, my dear, I told him what a very unpleasant
young woman you were, and took about a quarter of an hour to do it; at
the end of which narration the breakfast bell rang.
"'Come into the house, Carryall,' he said, 'and tell it all to his
mother. I'll break it to her by saying that you bring news of Hilary,
and that he's quite well, and so on, and likely to come home soon.'
"So we went in. I shall never forget the look that came into your
mother's eyes when the skipper said, 'Here's Captain Carryall straight
from the islands; he's brought you girls some shells and curios as
usual, and better than that, news of Hilary.'
"'News of my boy, my darling Hilary! Good news, I hope. Oh, Captain
Carryall! say it's good. Oh! _where_ is he, and what was he doing?'
"'It is good news, my dear lady,' said I, 'or I should not have come
over to tell you. I saw him quite lately as near Sydney as Norfolk
Island.'
"'Of course he was coming here--coming here; he would not have the heart
to stay away from his poor father and mother any longer, when he was so
near as that. And was he quite well? Oh! my boy--my precious Hilary!
What would I not give if he were to come here and settle down for good?'
"'He is thinking of doing so,' I said. 'His fixed intention was to marry
and live in Sydney for the rest of his days.'
"'Thank God! thank God in His mercy!' she said, clasping her hands. 'And
do you think he will be here soon--how many weeks?'
"'It will not be a matter of weeks, but days; I know that he took his
passage in a certain ship, and that you may expect him every hour.'
"Then she looked keenly at me. Your mother is a clever woman. She began
to think I had been leading her on.
"'You are not treating me as a child, Charles Carryall, are you? My son
is here, and you have been afraid to tell me so. Is it not so?'
"'Only a harmless deception, my dear Mrs. Telfer. Your son and his wife
came here in my vessel. They stayed at Paul Frankston's last night, and
will be here at mid-day.'
"The dear lady looked as if she could not realise it for a moment, then
sat back in her chair, and raised her eyes as if in prayer.
"One of the girls moved as if to support her, but she waved her off.
'No, my dear, you need not be afraid. I shall not faint; I have borne
many things, and can bear this. I am returning thanks to our Almighty
Father, who has restored my son to me. "My son, who was lost, and is
found." My son, who was dead to me, and is now restored to life. Oh,
God! most heartily and humbly do I thank Thee--most merciful--most
loving!'
"After this we were a very happy party. The girls, of course, wanted to
know all about Miranda here"--here my darling smiled, and took his hand;
"I dashed off a sketch, and some day you can ask Mariana and
Elinor--both great friends of mine they are--if it is a good likeness."
"I am afraid it was too good," sighed Miranda, "and they will be
dreadfully disappointed."
* * * * *
The end of it was that we left the _Florentia_ at eight bells, in great
state and majesty, in a whaleboat--upon which Miranda insisted,
despising the captain's gig as a trumpery skiff--and a picked crew, with
the skipper himself as the steer-oar.
"That's really something like," she said, as she stepped lightly on to
the thwart. "If there was a little swell on, I should feel quite myself
again, and think of the dear days when I was a happy little island girl,
bare-footed and bare-headed, and thought going off to a strange vessel
through the great, solemn, sweeping rollers the wildest enjoyment. But I
am a happy girl now," she added, with a look in her deep eyes which
expressed a world of love and rich content; "only the thought of
learning to be a lady sometimes troubles me."
"You will never need to do _that_," I said.
"There is the house?" I cried; "there's Isola Bella!" as we rounded a
point, and a picturesque stone house came full into view. It had been
built in the early days of the colony by an Imperial officer, long
resident in Italy, and showed the period in its massive stone walls,
Florentine façade, and wide, paved verandah. The site was elevated
above the lake-like waters of the bay, towards which a winding walk led,
terminating in a massive stone pier, into which iron rings and
stanchions had been let. The beach was white and smooth, though the tide
ran high, and the wavelets rippled close to the pale sandstone rocks,
which lent a tone of delicacy and purity to the foreshore.
The weather-stained walls of the house were half covered with climbers,
a wilderness of tropical shrubs, and richly-blooming flower-thickets.
There were glades interspersed, carpeted with the thick-swarded couch or
"dhoub" grass, originally imported from India, and which, nourished by
the coast showers, and delighting in a humid atmosphere, preserves its
general freshness of colour the long Australian summer through.
I had been so preoccupied with speculations as to Miranda's reception by
my family, that my own emotions, on returning to my childhood's home,
lay in abeyance. Now, however, at the near view of the house--the pier,
the walled-in sea-bath--the scenes and adventures of my earliest youth
came back with overwhelming force and clearness. There was the
boat-house, into which I had paddled so many a time after nightfall,
returning from fishing or sailing excursions. There was the flagstaff on
which was displayed the Union Jack and other flags on great occasions.
The old flag floated in the breeze to-day. I knew for what reason and
celebration. I could see my mother, as of old, walking down to the pier
to welcome and embrace, or to remonstrate and fondly chide when I had
remained absent in stormy weather. How many fears and anxieties had I
not caused to agitate that loving heart! And my stern and mostly silent
parent--did I not once surprise him in scarce dignified sorrow at my
night-long absence and probable untimely decease. Yet all his words
were, "God forgive you, my boy, for the misery you have caused us this
night."
And now the years had passed--had flown rather, crowded as they were
with incident--that had changed the heedless boy into the man,--matured,
perhaps, by too early worldly knowledge, and the grim comradeship of
danger and death. I had returned safely, bringing my sheaves with me in
the guise of one dearer to me than life. I had, during the intervals of
reflection I had lately enjoyed, repented fully of the unconsciously
selfish sins of my youth, and was fixed in firm resolve to atone, so far
as in me lay, by care and consideration in the future.
As we dashed alongside of the pier, the years rolled back, and as of old
I saw my mother pacing the well-known path to the boat. She was followed
by my father at a short distance. I fancied that the dear form told of
the lapse of time, in less firm step and the bent figure which age
compels. My father was erect as ever, and his eye swept the far horizon
of outer seas as of old; but surely his hair and beard were whiter.
Miranda's step was first upon the pier--she needed no help in leaving or
entering a boat. Side by side we walked to meet my mother, who, with a
sob of joy, folded me in her arms. "My boy! my boy!" was all she could
articulate for some moments; then, gently disengaging herself, "and this
is my new daughter?" she said. "May God bless and keep you both, my
children, and preserve for us the great happiness which His providence
has ordained this day."
"Well, neighbour!" in the well-remembered greeting which he affected,
rang out here my father's clear tones, "and so you have finished your
cruise for a while! What a man you have grown!" he exclaimed, as he
looked upwards half-admiringly at my head and shoulders, markedly above
his own. "Filled out, bronzed, you look a sailor, man, all over."
"And so you wouldn't give the Sydney girls a chance, and have brought a
wife back with you for fear there mightn't be a 'currency lass' to
spare. I must say I admire your taste, my boy. No one can fault that.
Welcome, my dear Miranda, to your own and your husband's home. Give your
old father a kiss and the ceremony is complete." Here the governor
gravely embraced his new daughter, and then, holding her at arm's
length, regarded her admiringly, till she playfully ran back to the
girls. "Charley here guarantees she is as good as she is handsome. He
said better, indeed; but that's impossible. No woman with her looks
could be better inside than out. So, Hilary, my boy, I congratulate you
on your choice. You've fallen on your feet in love and friendship both,
according to what Carryall tells me of Paul Frankston's partnership
arrangement. And now we'll come up to the house and drink the bride's
health. I feel as if I needed a refresher after all this excitement. I
little thought when I saw Charley come over so early what was in store
for us, eh, mother?"
Before we reached the house the two girls, Mariana and Elinor, had taken
possession of Miranda and carried her upstairs to the rooms which were
to be allotted to us while we dwelt at Isola Bella. "Now that the other
boys are up the country," said Mariana, who was the elder, "we have more
houseroom than we need. So, directly we heard that you were in Sydney,
Elinor and I set to work and arranged these two rooms, so that you and
Miranda should be quite independent. There's such a pretty view of the
harbour. You can use this one as a sitting-room, and there's a smaller
dressing-room which he can make a den of. Men always like a place to be
untidy in."
"Oh, how nice it will be," said Elinor, the younger one, whom I remember
a curly-headed romp of ten when I left home, "to have a mate for rowing
and boat-sailing. Mariana here doesn't care for boats, and dislikes
rough weather. I suppose no weather would frighten you. Oh, what lovely
trips we shall have, and mother can't be nervous when you are with me."
"I suppose you think Miranda is a sort of mermaid," said I, now arrived
and joining in the conversation, "and impossible to be drowned. But what
would become of me if anything happened to her? Do you think I can trust
her with you? What a grand room! I remember it well in old days when it
used to be the guest chamber. I was only allowed into it now and then,
and always under inspection. I feel the promotion."
"Now, we'll run away and leave you," said Mariana. "Lunch is nearly
ready; you will hear the bell."
We sat down on a couch and gazed into each other's eyes with clasped
hands. The harbour, with its variously composed fleet, lay wide and
diversified before us. Every conceivable vessel--barge, steamer,
collier, skiff, yacht, and row-boat--made progress adown and across its
waters. How fair a scene it was on this, one of the loveliest days which
sun and sky and wavelets deep ever combined to fashion! After all my
adventures by seas and lands--after all the sharp contrasts of my
chequered life--now lotus-eating amid the groves or by the founts of an
earthly paradise--now ignorant, from one day to another, of the hour
when the death-knell would sound--now free and joyous, handsomely
dressed, in foreign seaports with ruffling swagger and chinking
dollars--anon ragged, shoeless, shipwrecked, and forlorn--nay, starving,
but for the charity of the soft-hearted heathens whom we in our pride
are prone to despise.
And now I was at home again. Home! sweet home! in fullest sense of the
word--welcomed, beloved, fêted! What had I done to deserve this love and
trust now so profusely showered upon me? My better angel, too, my
darling Miranda, by my side, sharing in all this wealth of affection.
How could I have foretold that such good fortune would be mine, all
unworthy that I felt myself, when, bruised and bleeding, I was hurled
ashore in the midnight storm from the wrecked _Leonora_?--when I felt
in thought the deadly shudder which ever follows the scratch of the
poisoned arrow--when I sank to eternal rest (as I then supposed) beneath
the surf-tormented shore of the island? How had I jostled death,
disease, danger in every form and shape,--and now, almost without
thought or volition of my own, I was placed in possession of all those
things for which through a long life so many men toil and struggle
vainly and unsuccessfully.
"Thank God! thank God!" I exclaimed aloud involuntarily, for truly our
hearts were filled in that hour of realised peace and happiness with
grateful wonder.
"Let us give Him thanks," whispered Miranda, "who only has done this
wondrous thing for us."
* * * * *
Captain Carryall, my father, and Mr. Frankston were men of action--all
through their lives the deed had followed quick on the resolve. Thus,
within a week after our arrival, premises were purchased on the shore of
the bay; stores and warehouses were planned, while upon an office in the
chief business centre of Sydney, at no great distance from Macquarie
Square, a legend of the period presented the firm of "Carryall, Telfer,
and Company, South Sea merchants and purchasers of island produce." This
was the commencement, as it turned out, of a prosperous mercantile
enterprise, ramifying in divers directions. It was arranged not only to
purchase or to ship on commission the raw material so easily procurable,
but to advance on whaling and trading ventures; the projectors, better
equipped with experience than capital, being always willing to pay high
interest, for which indeed the margin of profit amply provided. Here I
was in my element, whether directing labourers, interviewing seamen,
shouting in the vernacular to the native crews, or calculating the value
of cargoes. My father came over every other day to watch me at my work,
and of my style of management he was pleased to express approval. "You
have not altogether wasted your time, my boy," he said one day. "The
great thing in all these matters is energy. With that and reasonable
experience a man is sure to be successful in a new country--indeed in
any country. Pluck and perseverance mean everything in life. Never
despair. You know our family motto--_Fortuna favet fortibus_. And you
would smile if I told you how often in the history of my life a bold bid
for fame or fortune has been my only resource."
Whether I had exhibited the proverbial fortitude, or whether, indeed,
the capricious goddess was mollified in my case, cannot with certainty
be decided. The fact, however, was there, that our luck, from whatever
cause, was in the ascendant, inasmuch as business of a profitable nature
began to pour in upon us. The average gains beyond expenses were so
apparent that it was evident that before long we should be in a position
to set up housekeeping on our own account.
In the mean time nothing could be more harmonious and satisfactory than
our composite home life at Isola Bella, difficult as it is sometimes to
arrange the housing of two families, however closely related, under one
roof. The natural amiability of Miranda's nature fortunately prevented
the slightest friction. Constitutionally anxious to please, it was the
chief article of her simple faith to seek the happiness of others rather
than her own. Prompt in compliance, eager to learn all minor matters
with which she had been necessarily unacquainted, ready to join in the
harmless mirth of the hour, or to tell of the wonders of her island
home, she was, as all agreed, a constant source of interest and
entertainment.
More than all, her pervading, fervent, religious faith endeared her to
the pious heart of my dearest mother, in whose visits to the poor and
in charitable ministrations she was by choice her constant companion;
while her unfeigned pity for the half-fed, half-clothed children of the
neglected classes with which every city abounds excited my mother's
wonder and admiration.
"Your wife is a pearl of womanhood, my dear Hilary," she would say to
me. "You are a good boy; I hope you are worthy of her. I can hardly
think that any man could be. When you see the women so many men are
fated to pass their lives with, you have indeed reason to be thankful."
"So I am, my dear old mother," I would say. "Every day I feel minded to
sing a song of joy and gratitude. I feel as life was a new discovery and
creation. I am in a Paradise where no serpent that ever crawled has
power to harm my Eve. I feel sometimes as if there was an unreal
perfection about it all, too bright to last."
So indeed it appeared to me at that time. Fully employed as I was by day
and in the exercise of all the faculties that my island life had served
to train, it was impossible to overtask the health of mind and body in
which I revelled. I was sensible, too, that the joint enterprise upon
which I had embarked was growing and improving daily, while much of its
success was attributed by Mr. Frankston and Captain Carryall to my
management. At night, when I returned there was one who never failed to
catch sight of my skiff when half across the bay. Then our family
evenings, cheered with song and harmless mirth, were truly restful after
the labours of the day.
Our neighbours, too, with all the old friends of the family, seemed
desirous to welcome the son of the house who had been so long absent,
and had wandered so far. Whether from curiosity, or a higher feeling,
they were equally anxious to call upon "the son's wife." The positions,
and dispositions, manners, and habitudes of the different types were
well explained to Miranda by my socially-experienced sisters, so that
she was saved from any misapprehension which might so easily have
arisen.
Our friends the Neuchamps, too, were often with us, and made the greater
part of our quiet recreations. On alternate Sundays nothing would
content Mr. Frankston short of our all dining with him, to be sent back
in his sailing boat if the weather was favourable, or to remain for the
night in the ample guest-chambers of Marahmee if otherwise.
Our Saturday afternoons, indeed, were almost entirely devoted to picnics
and cruises in his yacht, at which time he insisted upon Miranda
steering, or, as he said, taking command, at which times he was always
loud in admiration of her nautical skill--declaring, indeed, that she
was fit to take charge of any vessel in Her Majesty's navy.
We had also seen a good deal of our fellow passengers, Mr. and Miss
Vavasour, who, after a first introduction, were always included in Mr.
Frankston's Saturday picnic invitations. That lively damsel professed a
great admiration for Mr. Frankston, who responded so promptly that
Antonia reproached him for turning faithless to Miranda.
"It's his nature, he can't help it," she said.
"But Miss Vavasour will have some day to suffer whatever pangs are
supposed to fall to the lot of the deserted fair; then she will repent
of her fascinations."
"Not at all--sufficient for the day, you know. I begin to think that
one's admirers ought to be past their first youth. They're more
thoroughly appreciative. 'On his frank features middle age Had scarcely
set its signet sage,' and so on. I'm sure that quite describes Mr.
Frankston. How should you like me for a mamma-in-law, Mrs. Neuchamp?
Marahmee is such a dear house, and these yachting parties are all that
are wanted to make life perfect."
"I give my consent," said Antonia, "but beware of delay. 'Men were
deceivers ever,' and if you wait more than a fortnight your charms will
be on the wane, so I warn you."
"I like decision," responded Miss Vavasour, "but perhaps 'two weeks,' as
our American friend used to say, is _rather hurried_ legislation. The
trousseau business and the milliner's objections would be fatal. Even
Miranda must have stood out for a longer respite. How long did you take,
Miranda, dear? You're the pattern woman, you know, the first girl I ever
saw that men and women equally delighted to honour."
Miranda blushed charmingly, then looking up with her clear, frank eyes,
that always appeared to me to be fountains of truth, as she replied--
"Hilary and I were married just a month after he asked me to be his
wife, you know very well."
So, jesting lightly, and with a breeze that sufficed just to fill the
great sails of the yacht, we glided along until we had explored the
recesses of Middle harbour,--a spacious inlet winding amid the thick
growing semi-tropical forest which clothed the slopes of the bays and
promontories to the water's edge.
Here and there were small clearings in which might be discovered a tent
or cabin, just sufficient for the needs of a couple of bachelors or a
hermit, who here desired to live during his holiday amid this "boundless
contiguity of shade"--"The world forgetting, and the world forgot."
"Oh, how lovely!" said Mrs. Percival, as we swept round a point and came
suddenly upon a fairy-like nook, a tiny bay with milk-white strand and
fantastic sandstone rocks. There was a fenced enclosure around a cabin.
There was a boat, with rude stone pier and boat-house. The owner, in
cool garb and broad-leafed sombrero, was seated on a rock reading, and
occasionally dabbling his bare feet in the rippling tide. As the yacht
glided past in the deep water which came so close to his possessions,
he raised his hat to the ladies, and resumed his studies.
"What a picture of peace and restful enjoyment!" said Mrs. Craven. "How
I envy men who can seclude themselves like this within an hour's sail
from a city! Now, people are so fond of generalising about colonists,
and how wrong they are! They always describe them as wildly energetic
and restless people, perpetually rushing about in search of gain or
gold."
"That's Thorndale," said one of the younger guests. "He works hard
enough at his business when he is about it, but his notion of enjoyment
is to come here on a Saturday with only a boat-keeper, to fish, and
read, and smoke till Monday morning, when he goes back to his law and
his office."
"Sensible fellow!" said the colonel. "There's nothing like tent life to
recruit a man's health after a spell of official work. We used to manage
that in India, when we couldn't go all the way to the hills, by forming
small encampments of a dozen or twenty fellows, having a mess-house in
common, and living in tents or huts separately when we were not hunting
or shooting. Splendid life while it lasted! Sent us back twice the men
we were, when we left the lines!"
We anchored for lunch in one of the fairy nooks of which that enchanted
region is so lavish. There was tea for the ladies and something
presumably stronger for the seniors. We had mirth and pleasantries,
spoken and acted--all went merrily in that charmed sunshine and beneath
the shadowy sea-woods. We had songs--"A mellow voice Fitz Eustace
had"--that is, one of the young fellows, native and to the manner born,
lifted up his tuneful pipe and made us all laugh, the air he sang being
certainly not "wild and sad,"--the reverse, indeed.
"Now, is not this an ideal picnic,--a day rescued from that terrible
fiend Ennui, that haunts us all?" cried Miss Vavasour. "I might
truthfully, perhaps, except myself, who am frivolous, and therefore
easily amused--but of course it sounds well to complain and be
mysterious. But, really, this is life indeed! The climate makes up for
any little deficiency. I shall positively go home and arrange my
affairs, make sure of my allowance being paid quarterly, then take a
cottage near Miranda, on that sweet North Shore,--isn't that what you
call it?--and live happy ever afterwards like a 'maid of Llangollen.'"
"Nothing can be nicer," said Mrs. Neuchamp. "We'll all three live here
in the summer, within reach of the sea-breeze. In June you must come up
and stay with me at Rainbar; then you will know what the glory of winter
in our Riverina is like."
The breeze freshened as we glided swiftly on our homeward course. We had
expended most of the daylight before we left our fairy bower. Sunset
banners flared o'er the western horizon. "White and golden-crimson,
blue," fading imperceptibly into the paler tones, and swift-appearing
shades which veil the couch of the day god. The stars tremulously
gleamed at first timidly, then brightly scintillating in pure and
clustered radiance. Our merry converse had gradually lessened, then
ceased and died away. All seemed impressed by the solemnity of the
hour--the hush of sea and land--the shimmering phosphorescent sparkle of
the silver-seeming plain over which we swept all swift and silently.
Then the lights of the city, brilliant, profuse, widely scattered as in
a lower firmament!
Miss Vavasour sat with Miranda's hand in hers. "How lovely to live in an
hour like this, and yet it is like this with such surroundings that I
should like to die."
"Hush!" said Miranda, "we must all die when God wills it. It is not good
to talk so, my dear."
* * * * *
During the next week our good friends and fellow-passengers of the
_Florentia_ were to leave us on their return voyage. We arranged to meet
as often as we could manage the leisure, and, as it happened, there was
to be a ball at Government House--one of the great functions of the
season, which, it was decided, would be an appropriate conclusion to our
comradeship. Mr. and Mrs. Neuchamp were going back to their station,
Captain Carryall was under sailing orders, and our friends the Colonel
and Mrs. Percival were leaving for India and "going foreign" generally.
Miranda was not eager to attend the extremely grand, and, as far as she
was concerned, strange entertainment. But the whole party were most
anxious for her to make her appearance in public--at least on that
occasion. Partly from natural curiosity, partly on account of my wishes,
and my sisters' and Mrs. Neuchamp's strong persuasion, she
consented--pleading, however, to be relieved from all anxiety on the
score of her dress.
"Oh! we'll take that responsibility," said Elinor. "Antonia Neuchamp is
generally admitted to dress in perfect taste. We'll compose a becoming
ball-dress amongst us or die--something simple and yet not wholly out of
the fashion, and becoming to Miranda's style of beauty."
"I'm afraid you'll make me vain," she answered, smiling. "What will you
do if I spend all Hilary's money on dress? However, it must be a lovely
sight. I have read of balls and grand entertainments, of course, and
when I was a girl longed to be able to take part in them. Now that I am
married," and here she gazed at me with those tender, truthful eyes, "I
seem not to care for mere pleasure. It leads to nothing, you know."
"You are going to be a pattern wife, Miranda, I see," said Mariana, my
elder sister. "You must not spoil Hilary, you know. He will think he is
the only man in the world."
"And is he not for me?" she asked, eagerly. Then blushing at the quick
betrayal of her inmost heart, she added, "Should it not be so? Are
civilised people in a great city anxious to attract admiration even
after they are married?"
"There are people who do this and more in all societies, my dear," said
my mother, with a seriousness which rebuked our inclination to smile at
Miranda's ignorance of the world. "But do you, my dear child, cling fast
to the faith in which you have been reared. You will neither be of them
nor among them that follow the multitude to do evil."
"I don't think there is as much evil in Miranda as would fill a
teaspoon," said Elinor. "This isle of hers must have been a veritable
Eden, or she must have come down from the moon, dear creature. You must
be very good to deserve her, I can tell you, Master Hilary."
* * * * *
The day arrived, the night of which was to realise all manner of
rose-coloured visions, in which the youth and maidens of Sydney had for
weeks indulged. It was to be the ball of the season. The grand
entertainment at which a royal personage, who had arrived in a
man-of-war but recently, had consented to be present! The officers of
the squadron were, of course, invited. They were gratified that the ball
was fixed for a week previous to their sailing on an extended cruise
among the islands. As it happened, too, the great pastoral section--the
proprietors of the vast estates of the interior--were still at their
clubs and hotels, not yet departed for their annual sojourn amid the
limitless wastes of "The Bush." The _jeunesse dorée_ of the city, the
_flaneurs_, and civil servants who, like the poor, are "always with us,"
were specially available. Lastly, the Governor's wife had openly stated
that she wished to show her friends, the Percivals, what we could do in
Sydney. And she was not a woman to fail in any of her undertakings.
It was arranged that we should comply with Paul Frankston's imperious
mandate, and meet at Marahmee early in the day for the greater
convenience of driving thence to Government House, instead of taking
steamboat from the North Shore. All our plans prospered exceedingly. The
day was calm and fair; the night illumined by the soft radiance of the
moon. We dined in great peace and contentment, the ladies having
devoted--as it appeared to me--the greater portion of the afternoon to
the befitting adornments of their persons. We were all in good spirits.
I had reason indeed to be so, for that day I had concluded a highly
profitable trade arrangement, which augured well for my future
mercantile career.
"What a glorious night!" said Paul Frankston. "Don't be afraid of that
Moselle, Ernest, it's some of my own importing--a rare wine, as most
judges think. Do you remember the ball we went to, Antonia, given by
that fellow Schäfer? Such a swell he looked, and how well he did the
thing! He has different quarters now, if all's true that we hear."
"The poor Count!" answered Mrs. Neuchamp, "I can't help feeling sorry
for him though he was an imposter. Is it really true that they put him
in prison in Batavia? What a fate after such a brilliant career!"
"Carryall was there last year and saw him. Got an order, you know, from
the Dutch authorities. Said he was fairly cheerful; expected to be out
in three years."
"He was very near not being imprisoned in Batavia or anywhere else,"
interposed Mr. Neuchamp, with some show of asperity. "If Jack Windsor
had come up a little earlier in the fray we'd have broken the
scoundrel's neck, or otherwise saved the hangman a task."
"Now, Ernest, you mustn't bear malice," said his wife, reprovingly;
"after all it was Harriet Folleton and not me whom he wished to carry
off. It was an afterthought trying to make me accompany her. But 'all's
well that ends well.' He has paid for his misdeeds in full."
"Not half as much as he deserves," growled Neuchamp, who evidently
declined to perceive the humorous side of the affair--the attempted
abduction of an imprudent beauty and heiress, besides the
ultra-felonious taking away of Miss Frankston, as she was then--as a
pendant to a career of general swindling and imposture practised upon
the good people of Sydney. Mr. Frankston's eyes began to glitter, too,
at the reminiscence. So the conversation was changed.
"I really believe that women never wholly repudiate admiration,"
continued Mr. Neuchamp, reflectively, "however unprincipled and
abandoned the 'first robber' may be. It's a curious psychical problem."
"You know that is untrue, Ernest," quoth Mrs. Neuchamp, with calm
decision. "Don't let me hear you say such things." An hour later our
carriages had taken up position in the apparently endless line of
vehicles which stretched along Macquarie Street and the lamplit avenues
which led to it. After nearly an hour's waiting, as it seemed to me, we
drove through the lofty freestone gateway which led to the viceregal
mansion, and descended within the portico, amid a guard of honour and
attendant aides-de-camp. Passing through a vestibule, and being duly
divested of wraps in the cloak-rooms, we were finally ushered into the
Viceroy's presence, and duly announced.
Paul Frankston took the lead, with Miranda on his arm. I followed with
Mrs. Neuchamp, whose husband escorted my sisters. As we were announced
by name, I noticed that Colonel and Mrs. Percival, with a few other
people of distinction, were standing on the dais, close to the Governor
and Lady Rochester, the latter talking to a young man in naval uniform,
whom I conjectured to be the Prince. As we approached I saw Mrs.
Percival speak to Lady Rochester, who at once came forward and greeted
us warmly. "Mr. Frankston," she said, "I know the Governor wishes to
talk to you about the fortifications; will you and your party come up
here and stay with us. And so this is Mrs. Telfer, the heroine of my
friend, Mrs. Percival's romance! I am delighted to see her and
congratulate you, Mr. Telfer, on bringing us such a sea princess for
your bride. She has all the air of it, I declare."
Miranda secured a seat near Mrs. Percival, who watched with pleasure her
evident admiration, mingled with a certain awe, of the brilliant,
unaccustomed scene before her. Much to her relief Miss Vavasour came up
with the Cravens, and commenced a critical review of Miranda's and other
dresses, which soon obliterated all trace of timidity and strangeness.
"Well, my princess," began Miss Vavasour, "and how does this gay and
festive scene strike you? Isn't it a fairy tale--a dream of the _Arabian
Nights_? Don't you expect to see the fairy godmother come when the clock
strikes twelve, and your carriage turn into a pumpkin and white mice?"
"It is a scene of enchantment," said Miranda. "I hardly expected
anything so dazzlingly beautiful. How the naval uniforms seem to light
up the throng, and the soldiers too. I don't wonder at all the pretty
things we read about them in books."
"Yes, they do strike the unaccustomed eye," said Miss Vavasour. "I wish
I saw them for the first time. I'm afraid I'm growing old. Oh! my
coming-out ball! I didn't sleep for a week before in anticipation of
delicious joy, or a week after in retrospection. Ah! me, my youth is
slipping away unsatisfied, I much fear. And now, unless my eyes deceive
me, we are going to have the first quadrille. Miranda, we must show
these good people that we dance in our island. How about partners and a
_vis-a-vis_?"
We were not left long in doubt. One of the aides-de-camp, a gorgeous
apparition in gold and scarlet, came up bowing, and intimated his Royal
Highness' wish to dance with Mrs. Telfer. This, of course, was
equivalent to a command. I looked for some indecision or hesitation on
the part of Miranda. But it appeared to her evidently just as much a
part of the proceedings as if (as had happened before) she had been
asked to dance with the captain of a man-of-war at one of their island
fêtes, where waltz, quadrille, and polka had long been familiar. I had
provided myself with an enviable partner in the shape of Mrs. Neuchamp;
and her husband having promptly arranged matters with Miss Vavasour, we
betook ourselves to the next set, where we had a full view of the
viceregal party. My sisters had apparently no difficulty in deciding
between several aspirants for their respective hands, as they and their
partners helped to make up the set.
When the melodious crash broke forth, in commencement from Herr
Königsmark's musicians, recruited from an Austrian military band which
had visited Australia, a murmur of admiration made itself audible, as
the Prince and his partner stepped forth in the opening measure of the
dance. I turned my head and was lost in astonishment as I noticed the
unconscious grace with which Miranda moved--calm as when rivalling the
fairies in rhythmic measure on a milk white beach beside the moonlit
wave. How many a time had I watched her!
"Who in the world is that lovely creature dancing with the Prince?" I
heard a middle-aged dame behind me ask. "She has a foreign appearance,
and I think she is the most exquisitely beautiful woman I ever saw in my
life. What a figure, too! How she smiles, what teeth, what eyes! Is
there any news of a migration of angels? Such strange things happen
nowadays on account of electricity and all that. Who and what is she,
Mary Kingston, again I ask you?"
"My dear Arabella!" answered the other dame, evidently one of the
aristocracy of the land, "you are so enthusiastic! She came with the
Frankston party. That's her husband quite close to us, dancing with Mrs.
Neuchamp. He's the son of Captain Telfer of North Shore, and has been
away among the islands and nobody knows where for ever so long. He
married her at Norfolk Island. I believe she is one of those wonderful
Pitcairn people that we hear such good accounts of."
"H'm; he's a young man of distinctly good taste, I must say. I wish my
Cavendish had gone to the islands too, if that is the sort of girl they
grow there. Mrs. Percival seems to be a great chum of hers. How did that
come about?"
"I believe they came back in the _Florentia_ together. Captain Carryall
touched at Norfolk Island on the way from Honolulu, and it seems that
Mrs. Percival's little boy fell overboard on the voyage, and the girl
was into the sea after him like a shot, and swam with him in her arms
till the boats came. There was something about a shark too. Mrs.
Percival tells everybody she saved his life. No wonder she raves about
her."
"What a pearl of a girl! No wonder, indeed! And to think of her having a
world of courage and fire in her with all that delicacy and beauty. I
can't take my eyes off her. The Prince admires her, apparently, too; and
she smiles like a pleased child, with as little thought of vanity or
harm, I dare swear, as a baby. She ought to be a princess, no doubt of
it. So I see it's the last figure. I must go and look up my old friend,
Paul Frankston, and make him tell me all about her."
After the dance and the usual promenade, Mrs. Neuchamp and I recovered
our respective spouses, and took the opportunity to make a detour of the
ball-room, and even to go through the next apartment, where refreshments
were procurable, into the ample gardens. The night was superbly
beautiful. The full moon lit up the grove of tropical foliage and
richly-flowering plants, the glades carpeted with velvet lawn, the wide
sea-plain traversed by shimmering pathways of silver. Below, in the
sleeping bay, lay several men-of-war, half in shadow, half illuminated
with coloured lamps hanging from their rigging. Gay and mirthful, grave
or earnest, the frequent partners passed to and fro like shadows of
revellers beneath the moon, or turned to the lower paths to gaze at the
motionless vessels, the silver sea, the whispering wave. It was an
ecstatic experience, a fairy pageant, a supernal revelation of an
enchanted landscape.
Miranda pressed my arm. "Oh, Hilary! how lovely all this is! But you
must not laugh at me. Now that I have seen it, I do not think I shall be
anxious to follow it up. There is something almost intoxicating about it
all. I can imagine it unfitting people for their everyday life."
We had hardly returned to the ball-room when the glorious strains of the
"Tausend und einer nacht" waltz pealed forth from the band, and hurrying
and anxious swains in search of their partners, not always easy to
discover in such a crush, were seen in every direction. Instant request
was preferred to Miranda by a naval officer high in command, but to my
surprise, as we had not spoken on the subject, she graciously, but
firmly, declined the honour. He protested, but she quietly repeated her
negative: "I only dance round dances with my husband, Captain Harley!
and, indeed, these not very often."
He was inclined to be persistent, though most courteous. "I am sure you
used to dance them once. Indeed, I heard such an account of your
waltzing, Mrs. Telfer."
"That was before I was married, Captain Harley!" she replied, with such
evident belief that this explanation fully answered every objection that
neither the captain nor I could help smiling.
"Look at your friend, Mrs. Neuchamp!" he said, as that dainty matron
came gliding past with a military partner, looking like the very
impersonation of the waltz, "and Mrs. Craven, and Mrs. Percival."
"I am so sorry that I can't comply," she answered. "They are quite right
to dance waltzes if they please. I do not care for them now, and am only
going to have one with Hilary to-night. He is fond of it, I know. I will
dance the Lancers with you, if you like."
"Anything with _you_," murmured the captain gallantly, as he carefully
wrote her name on his card, and departed to secure a partner for the yet
unfinished portion of the dance.
"I see by this lovely programme," she said, "that there is another
waltz, a polka, and then the Lancers, which I used to know very well;
and after that I will dance the next waltz with you, Hilary, just to
feel what this wonderful floor is like. You are not angry with me for
refusing Captain Harley? I really feel as if I _could_ not do it."
"You can follow your own way, my dear!" I said, "in this and all minor
matters. It concerns you chiefly; and, considering how many husbands
think their wives are rather too fond of dancing, I shall certainly not
quarrel with mine for not caring for it enough."
I was not altogether without interest as to this set of Lancers which
she had promised to the gallant captain of the _Arethusa_, knowing as I
did that the fashion had changed considerably since the Lancers was a
decorous, somewhat dull dance, differing from the quadrille only in a
more complicated series of evolutions, and, like that very proper
performance, affording much opportunity for conversation. Not intending
to take part in it myself, and being, indeed, more than sufficiently
entertained as a spectator of the novel spectacle, I stationed myself
near the "tops," one couple of which Miranda's partner elected to be. I
saw by the composition of the set, and the looks of some of the youths
and maidens who eagerly took their places with their pre-arranged
_vis-a-vis_, that the pace would be rapid and the newest variations
introduced.
I provided, therefore, for a _contretemps_. My younger sister having
professed herself tired with the previous waltz, had declined the
invitation of a partner not wholly acceptable as it appeared to me. I
therefore persuaded her to walk up with me to a seat near Miranda, so
that we, as I explained, might see how she got on.
What I anticipated exactly came to pass. The first few non-committal
quadrille steps were got through without unusual display, but when
Miranda saw the damsel next to her leaning back as far as she could
manage, while her partner swung her round several times, as if he either
wished to lift her entirely off her feet, or drag her arms out of the
sockets, a look of amazement overspread her features. She stopped with a
startled air, commingled with distaste, and saying to her surprised
partner, "I cannot dance like this--I did not know--why did no one tell
me?"--walked like a queen to the nearest seat. Now my foresight came in.
Knowing that a girl of nineteen would be willing to dance with a naval
officer of the rank and fashion of Captain Harley, if she was ready to
drop with fatigue, I said promptly, "Allow me to introduce you to my
sister Captain Harley, who will, I am sure, be happy to take my wife's
place;" a look of joyful acquiescence lit up her countenance, and before
any serious hitch took place in the figure the vacancy was filled.
I fancied that my sister Elinor, who was at the age when girls are not
disinclined for a little daring frolic out of pure gladsomeness,
performed her part in the figures with somewhat less unreserve after
noticing the look of quiet surprise with which Miranda observed some of
the more vivacious couples.
We contented ourselves, when the next series of waltzes commenced, with
a single dance, which we enjoyed as thoroughly as the perfection of
floor, music, and surroundings warranted.
"Oh, what a floor!" said Miranda; "if I were as fond of dancing as I
used to be, I could dance all night; and such music! Quite heavenly, if
it is not wicked to say so. And there is the sea, too, with the
moonlight on it as in old days! We have been taken to an enchanted
castle!
"But there is something different. I can hardly describe my feelings.
Why, I cannot explain, but going back to dancing now for the mere
pleasure of it, when I have entered upon the serious duties of life,
appears like returning to one's childish passion for dolls and
playthings."
"And yet, how many married people of both sexes are dancing now, not
with each other either."
"I see them, and I wonder. I am not surprised at married men dancing--if
they like it. If they come at all, they may as well do so as sit down
and get weary. But I think the married women should leave the round
dances to the girls."
"Would not balls be rather slow if the married women only danced
squares?"
"I don't see why. Yet many of the girls have no partners--wall-flowers,
I think you call them. And that is hardly fair, surely."
As this dance only came before supper, which was now near at hand, we
danced it out. I hardly noticed until the music closed how many of the
other couples had stopped, or that quite a crowd had collected around
us. This was a tribute, I found, to Miranda's performance, which had an
ease and grace of movement such as I never saw any living woman possess.
She hardly seemed to use the ordinary means of progression. Hers was a
half-aerial motion, in time to every note and movement of the music,
while the rhythmic sway and yielding grace of her figure presented the
idea of a mermaiden floating through the translucent waves rather than
that of a mortal woman.
As she swayed dreamily to the wondrous music of "Tausend und einer
nacht," her head thrown slightly back, her parted lips, her wondrous
eyes, her faultless form so impressed the by-standers with the ideal of
supreme beauty, that they scarce repressed an audible murmur as the
music ceased and the dance came to an end.
When supper was announced there was the usual crush, but before the
doors were opened a few of the more favoured guests, including the
Frankstons and ourselves, were conducted by one of the aides-de-camp to
a place near the viceregal party. Miranda was taken possession of by
another of our naval friends, who seemed to think that they had special
claims upon her, as having knowledge of her island home. I was requested
to take in our good friend and fellow-voyager Mrs. Percival, who was
more warm and effusive in praise of Miranda than I ever thought possible
before her child's danger broke through the crust of her ordinary
manner. Now nothing could have been more sisterly and unreserved than
her tone and expression.
"It has been quite a luxury to all of us to look on at that wonderful
darling of a wife of yours dancing! The whole room, including Lady
Rochester, was in ecstasies, I assure you. You came in for your share of
compliments also, which I mustn't make you vain by repeating. How
exquisitely, how charmingly she does dance! I have seen some of the best
_danseuses_ in Europe and India--on and off the stage--and not one
worthy to be named with her. She is a dream of grace--the very poetry of
motion. I said so before to-night, and now every one agrees with me. It
is rather a disappointment in some quarters that she declines to dance
except with you. It would seem odd for some people, but being the woman
she is I understand it."
"She is free to follow her own course socially," I said. "She will soon
decide upon her line of action, and will not be turned from it by
outside influence. Fortunately she and my mother are much in harmony as
to leading principles, which relieves my mind considerably."
"You are fortunate in that, then, as in several other respects; may I
add that I think you worthy of your good fortune. I trust that my boy's
simple prayers for your welfare--and he prays for you both every
night--may be answered."
Just before the conclusion of the supper I saw that Miranda had been
presented to his Excellency the Governor, who was standing near the
Prince. Both of these personages were most complimentary and flattering
in their attention to her, and when we left, as we had arranged,
immediately after that most important function supper, leaving the girls
to go home with Mr. and Mrs. Neuchamp, we were gratified to think that
we could not have been more graciously received--treated even with
distinction--and that nothing had occurred to detract in the slightest
degree from the unwonted pleasure and modest triumph of the night.
* * * * *
After this, our first experience of "society," in the higher sense of
the word, unexpectedly agreeable, as it had been, Miranda's fixed
resolve, in which I fully concurred, was to detach ourselves from it and
its code of obligations, except at rare intervals--to live our own
lives, and to trouble ourselves as little as might be with the tastes
and fancies of others.
I was likely to have my time fully occupied in the development of my
business. Miranda had, partly from observation, partly from information
supplied by my mother and sisters, discovered that there was even in
prosperous, easy going, naturally favoured Sydney a section of ill-fed,
ill-clothed, ill-taught poor. "While I meet them daily, such as I never
saw on our island, I cannot occupy myself with the vanities of life." My
mother was delighted to find a daughter willing to co-operate with her
in the benevolent plans of relief which she was always organising for
the poor and the afflicted. Between them a notable increase of
efficiency took place in the management of children's hospitals,
soup-kitchens, and other institutions, commonly regarded with
indifference, if not dislike, by the well-to-do members of society.
Outside of these duties, our chief pleasure at the end of the week, when
only we could afford the time, was a cruise in our sailing boat the
_Harpooner_, which soon came to be known as one of the fastest in the
harbour, as well as one that was rarely absent from the Saturday's
regatta, when a stiff breeze was sending the spray aloft.
* * * * *
Our life henceforth was that of the happy nations "that have no
history." My business prospered, and as it largely increased and
developed from its original proportions, Captain Carryall began to tire
of his voyages and settled down on shore.
Within a year of the founding of our commercial enterprise one of the
ideal houses we had so often pictured came into our possession. In an
afternoon stroll, Miranda and I had ventured into a deserted garden,
lured by the masses of crimson blooms on a great double hibiscus. The
heavy entrance-gate was awry--the stone pillars decaying--the avenue
weed-grown and neglected--the shrubberies trodden down and disfigured by
browsing cattle. Exploring further behind a screen of thick-growing
pines, we found the house,--a noble, wide-balconied freestone building,
which I well remembered in my boyhood. Then it was inhabited, carefully
tended, and ringing with the voices of happy boys and girls in
holiday-time. What blight had fallen on the place, or on the pleasant
family that once dwelt there? On the north-eastern side the land sloped
down to a little bay, sheltered from the prevailing wind, and provided
with pier and boat-house--all marine conveniences, in short. "Oh! if we
had a house like this," said Miranda, clapping her hands, "how happy we
should be! Not that I am otherwise now; but I should enjoy having this
for our own. We could soon renovate the poor garden." I assented, but
said nothing at the time--resolved to take counsel of our good friend
and trusted adviser then and now--who else but Paul Frankston?
From him I learned the history of the house and its old-time inmates.
Some were dead and some were gone. The story was long. The gist of it
was, however, that it was now in the hands of certain trustees for the
benefit of the heirs-at-law. "I think I can find out about it," he
concluded. "And now come down and look at my little boat. I've had some
painting and gilding done lately; I want you all--father, mother,
sisters, wife, and everybody--to come for a sail next Saturday. I'm
going to have a race with Richard Jones to the Heads and back, and I
want your wife to steer. Then we'll win, I'm sure, and we'll call in at
Edenhall--that's the name of the old place you saw--been its name for
fifty years or more--and we'll have another look at it."
I said "Yes, by all means."
The next Saturday proved to be a day specially provided by the gods for
boat-sailing. The wind was in the right quarter, the weather fine. The
_Sea-gull_ swept across the harbour like a veritable sea-bird, spreading
her broad wings. The whole party had punctually assembled at our jetty
after an early lunch. The breeze freshened as the day wore on; we had
our friendly race against an old comrade of Mr. Frankston's--like him,
not all ignorant of the ways of those who go down to the deep in
ships--which we won handsomely, thanks to Miranda's steering, as Paul
loudly averred. And that young woman herself, as the _Sea-gull_ went
flying past her sister yacht in the concluding tack, lying down "gunnel
under," with every inch of canvas on that she dared carry, was as eager
and excited as if she had been paddling for her life in one of the canoe
races of her childhood.
We got back to Neutral Bay in time for afternoon tea, a little later
than the established hour. But instead of having it on board, Paul
proposed to have it at Edenhall, where he said he had permission to go
whenever he pleased. He had arranged with the caretaker too.
We landed at the long unused pier. "How many times have I been here
before, in poor old Dartmoor's time," said Mr. Frankston, "and how many
a jolly night have I spent within those old walls! Well, well! time goes
on, and our friends, where are they? Life's a sad business at best.
However, we can't make it better by crying over our losses. Ladies and
gentlemen, follow me!"
With a sudden change of tone and manner, Paul stepped briskly along the
upward winding path, long unused, which led to the house. The hall door
stood open, and passing along a noble hall and turning to the right, we
entered a dining-room of fine proportions. In this was an improvised
table on trestles whereon was spread a tempting collation. Two men
servants, whom I recognised as the Marahmee butler and footman, stood
ready to serve the company. A needful amount of sweeping and repair had
been effected. The windows had been cleaned, and a fine view of the bay
thereby afforded. Altogether the effect was as striking as it was
unexpected; a general exclamation broke from the company.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Paul, "I have prepared a surprise for you,
I know; but oblige me by making yourselves at home for the present, and
dining with me in this informal fashion--I will explain by and by."
The day was nearly spent. It would probably be near the time of
twilight, which in summer in Australia is nearer nine o'clock than
eight, before we reached our homes. So the majority of the guests hailed
the idea as one of Paul's eccentric notions with which he was wont to
amuse his intimates. The Marahmee champagne was proverbial, and after a
reasonable number of corks had been drawn a progressive degree of
cheerfulness was reached. Paul rose to his feet, and requested the usual
solemnities to be observed, as he was about to propose a toast. "Those
of my friends who have been here before, in its happier times, will
remember the former owner of this once pleasant home. Little is left now
save the evidences of decay and desertion--the memories of a long past
happy day. But there is no reason why it should not be again inhabited,
again be filled with pleasant and pleasure-giving inhabitants. It is
solid and substantial; if somewhat old-fashioned, all the better I say.
There was no jerry building in the old days. The garden is here--to be
easily renewed in beauty--the jetty, and the boat-house. The sea is
here, much as I remember when as a boy I used to get 'congewoi' for bait
off those very rocks."
"Hear, hear!" from the guests, and Mr. Richard Jones.
"And now I come to a piece of news which I am sure you will hear with
pleasure. The house and grounds have been purchased by a young friend of
mine, whose health, with that of his charming wife, I now ask you to
drink with all the honours. The health of Mr. and Mrs. Telfer, their
long life and prosperity! and may we all have many as pleasant a sail
round the harbour as we have had to-day, and come here to enjoy
ourselves at the end of it."
The applause which followed was tumultuous. Paul has sprung a surprise
upon his guests with a vengeance. I was as much astonished as anybody;
for though I knew that he had promised to make inquiries about the price
put upon the property, I had no idea that he would go further in the
matter, still less that he would purchase it on my account, as it was
evident that he had done.
I said a few words, chiefly to the effect that it seemed to me quite
unnecessary to go through the form of exerting myself for my advancement
in life, as my friends, Mr. Frankston and Captain Carryall, were bent on
making my fortune for me. I trusted to prove not wholly unworthy of such
unselfish friendship, and thanking them all in the name of my wife and
myself, trusted that a meeting like this would often conclude a happy
day such as we had just completed. As for Miranda, she went up to the
old man, and placing her hand in his, looked up into his face with an
expression of heartfelt gratitude, which hardly needed the addition of
her words: "You have made us both perfectly happy--what can I say? My
heart will not let me speak. We have nothing to wish for now in this
world."
The old man looked at her with an expression of mingled admiration and
paternal affection. "I have two daughters now," he said, "and two sons;
I was always wishing to have another pair, to gossip with when Antonia
and Ernest were away. Now I have found them I am sure. The only thing we
want now is another boat."
Miranda's eyes glistened at the allusion, and she looked as if she was
only prevented, by a half-instinctive doubt as to the fitness of the
occasion, from embracing Paul before the assembled company.
* * * * *
Years have passed since that day. Children's voices have long since
echoed in the wide verandahs and amid the shrubberies of Edenhall. The
house, thoroughly renovated, is one of the most comfortable, if not the
most aristocratic, of the many embowered mansions which look over the
Haven Beauteous.
My boys have been "water babies" from earliest childhood, and we can
turn out a crew not easy to beat, particularly when their mother can be
persuaded to steer. My girls have inherited a large proportion of their
mother's fearless spirit, though people say not one has equalled her in
beauty. Their partners in the dance, however, appear to consider them
sufficiently good-looking, if one may judge by the competition which
their appearance at balls usually produces.
Our business, always aided by the cool heads and steady courage of the
senior partners, has increased, with the growth of the city of Sydney
and the development of the island trade, beyond all hope and
expectation. I am a rich man now, and, indeed, somewhat in danger of the
occasional mood of discontent with the uneventful, unvarying tide of
success upon which life's barque appears ever to float. But one look at
Miranda's face, serenely happy in her children, in her daily life of
charity and almsgiving, in the devoted love and trust of my parents, is
all-sufficient to banish all vagrant ideas.
Sometimes, in the train of unbidden fancies which throng the portals of
the mind, the scenes and sounds of a far clime claim right of audience.
Again I see the paradisal woodland, the mysterious mountain forest, the
ceaseless moan of the billow upon the reef sounds in my ear; while
forms, now fair, now fierce, flit, shadow-like, across the scene. I hear
again the soft voices of the island girls as in frolic race they troop
to beach or stream. I see the sad, bright eyes of Lalia, or mark the
fierce regard of Hope Island Nellie as she stands with bared bosom full
in the track of the deadly arrow flight. I hear the lion roar of Hayston
as he quells a mutiny, or towers, alone and unarmed, above a crowd of
hostile islanders. I shudder in thought at the dangers which I have
escaped. Once more sounds from afar the weird voice of the tempest in
the midnight wreck of the _Leonora_. Lastly, the harbour lights
disappear as I sit in my cane lounge in the verandah of Edenhall, and in
place of the wooded heights and distant city I see the breakers upon the
reef of Ocean Island, and discern a solitary figure in the stern of a
small boat sailing out into the illimitable gloom; I fall a musing upon
the mysterious problems of Fate--of man's life and the strange
procession of circumstance--until the hour strikes and I retire. Yet my
thoughts are still dominated by the majestic figure of the Captain,
grand in his natural good qualities, grand in his fearless courage, his
generosity, his friendship--grand even in his vices. He was not without
resemblance to a yet more famous corsair, immortalised by the poet--
Who died and left a name to other times,
Link'd with one virtue and a thousand crimes.
THE END
Transcriber's Notes
The macrons in words like "L[a]lia" and "Mo[u]t" have been removed.
The following corrections to spelling or punctuation have been made:
Page 59 Added missing period "."
Page 119 "Utwè" corrected to "Utwé"
Page 128 "for'rard" corrected to "for'ard"
Page 129 "Likiak Sa" corrected to "Likiak Sâ"
Page 135 "beeches" corrected to "beaches"
Page 142 "Likiak Sa" corrected to "Likiak Sâ"
Page 171 "turtle" corrected to "turtles"
Page 174 "Tulpe" corrected to "Tulpé"
Page 196 Added missing period "."
Page 205 "courier" corrected to "courrier"
"filibustier" corrected to "flibustier"
Page 232 "itelf" corrected to "itself"
Page 309 "brough" corrected to "brought"
Instances of inconsistent hyphenation have been left intact.