Two days had passed, and Gerrard was still at Kaburie, though Kate and
her father had left the previous day; they were, however, to return,
bringing with them three or four stockmen to assist Knowles and Gerrard
to muster the cattle, for he had decided to buy the station and leave
Knowles there as his manager. Although there were but four thousand head
of cattle on the run, they were widely separated in small mobs of a
few hundreds each--some high up in the ranges, and some haunting the
low-lying littoral, and frequenting the flat marshy land about the
mouths of the numerous creeks debouching into the sea, where they
eagerly ate the lush, saline grasses and creepers that lined the coast
above high-water mark--and to “round up” all these scattered mobs on
their various camps, and count every beast, meant very hard work. Then
too, Gerrard intended to have a general branding at the same time, and
he felt a thrill of pleasure in his veins, when Kate had said to her
father: “Father, why cannot we help, too? You can safely leave the
battery and claim to Sam Young for a few days. And as you and I know the
country so well, I am sure we should be of some use to Mr Gerrard.”
Douglas Fraser had never said “No” in his life to any request of Kate's
since she was fifteen, and he smiled assent. And then in addition to
that he had taken such a strong liking to Gerrard that it gave him
pleasure to afford him all the assistance in his power.
“All right, Gerrard!” (men in the Australian bush do not “Mister” each
other after a few hour's acquaintance) “we shall be here. And I'll send
over to Boorala for three or four good men to help in the mustering.”
So Kate and her father had ridden away and left Gerrard and Knowles to
themselves for a few days; and Gerrard and the dapper little overseer
planned all sorts of improvements that were to be effected in the way of
making Kaburie a crack breeding station.
As father and daughter rode side by side along the track back to their
home, through the darkening shadows of the coming night, they talked
about Forde and Aulain, Fraser resting his big brown hand on her knee,
and looking wistfully into her face.
“And you see, my child, that I well know that there will come a time
when you and I must part Some man----”
“Never, father, never! I liked Mr Forde very much, but not well enough
to marry him, and part from you. And I kissed him, dad, when we said
good-bye. Do you mind much? I couldn't help it. I felt that I _must_
kiss him.” (Then tears.) “I thought I had better tell you, for I feel so
horribly ashamed of myself.”
“There is nothing for you to be ashamed of, child,” said her father
tenderly; “Forde is a _man_, and, as I told you, he would take your
refusal like a white man and a gentleman.”
“He did. And I could not help crying over it.”
For some minutes they rode on in silence, then Fraser said:
“When is Aulain coming?”
“As soon as he is able to sit a horse, he said,” and then her face
flushed. “I wish he would not come, father, and yet I do not like the
idea of writing to him and telling him so--especially when he is ill.”
Fraser nodded. “I understand. Still I think it would be the better
course to take. I had imagined, however, Kate, that you thought more of
Aulain than you cared to admit, even to me.”
“So I did; and so I do now, but I would never marry him, father, no
matter how much I cared for him.”
Her father looked at her inquiringly.
“I think I am afraid of him, dad, sometimes. He is so dreadfully
jealous, and he has no right whatever to be jealous of me, for we were
never engaged. And then there is another thing that is an absolute bar
to my marrying him, though I fear I am too much of a coward to tell him
so; he is a Roman Catholic. And whenever I think of that I remember the
awful tragedy of the Wallington family.”
“I think you are quite right, Kate,” said the mine-owner gravely.
“Frankly, whilst I think Aulain is a fine fellow, and would make you a
good husband, I must confess that the thought of your marrying a Roman
Catholic has often filled me with uneasiness.”
“Don't be afraid, dad,” she said decisively. “In the first place, I am
not going to marry anyone, and shall grow into a pretty old maid; in the
second, if I was dying of love, nothing in the world would induce me to
marry a Roman Catholic. Whenever I think of poor Mr Wallington as we
saw him lying on the grass with the bullet hole through his forehead, I
shudder. I loathe the very name of Mrs Wallington, and consider her and
Father Corregio the actual murderers of that good old man.”
She spoke of an incident that had occurred when she was sixteen.
Wallington, a wealthy Brisbane solicitor, had gone to England on a
six months' visit When he returned, he found that his wife and only
daughter, a girl of five and twenty, had fallen under the influence of a
Father Corregio, and had entered the Roman Catholic Church, and his long
and happy married life was at an end. A week later he shot himself in
his garden.
“I am afraid that poor Aulain will cut up pretty roughly over this,
Kate,” said her father presently.
“I can't help it, father. And I think, after all, I had better write to
him to-morrow. I really do not want him to come to the Gully.”
And she did write, and Aulain's face was not pleasant to see as he read
her letter.
“By ______! if it is the parson fellow, I'll shoot him like a rat,” he
said, and then he cursed the fever that kept him away from Kate.
He went over to the _Clarion_ office and saw Lacey, who was quick
to perceive that something had occurred to upset the dark-faced
sub-Inspector.
“How are you, Aulain? Any 'shakes' to-day?” he asked, referring to the
recurring attacks of ague from which Aulain suffered.
“Oh! just the usual thing,” replied his visitor irritably, as he sat
down on a cane lounge, and viciously tugged at his moustache. “I thought
I would come over and worry you with my company for a while, and get you
to come across to the Queen's and share a bottle of fizz with me. They
have some ice there I hear--came up by the Sydney steamer last night.”
Lacey's eyes twinkled, “I'm with you, my boy. I've just finished writing
a particularly venomous leader upon mine adversary the _Planters'
Friend_, and a nice cool drink, such as you suggest, on a roasting day
like this, will tend to assuage the journalistic rage against my vile
and hated contemporary.”
Arriving at the Queen's Hotel the two men went upstairs and sat down
on comfortable cane lounges on the verandah, and in a few minutes the
smiling Milly appeared with a large bottle of champagne, and a big lump
of the treasured ice, carefully wrapped up in a piece of blanketing. As
Lacey attended to the ice, Aulain began to cut the cork string.
“Oh! by the way, Lacey,” he said carelessly, “I saw in the _Clarion_
yesterday that Forde, the sky pilot, is leaving the Church. Are you
ready with the glasses.”
“I am. Faith, doesn't it look lovely. Steady, me boy, these long sleever
glasses hold a pint. Here's long life to ye, Aulain. Heavens! but it is
good,” and he sighed contentedly as he set down his glass again.
“Ye were asking about Forde?” he said as he wiped his red, perspiring
face. “Yes, he is giving up parsonifying. I had a letter from him by
the mailman yesterday from Fraser's Gully. He was staying there for the
night with our friend Gerrard.”
Aulain's black brows knit, and his hand clenched under the table, as
Lacey went on,
“His mother has died, and left him some money. And very glad it is I am
to hear it, for a finer man I don't know.”
“Much?”
“He didn't say; but I know that his mother was pretty well off. He
merely wrote me asking me to mention in the _Clarion_ that he was
leaving the Church, and was going South. Ye see, he has a power of
friends all over the country, and he just asked me to write a bit of a
paragraph saying he was going away, and regretted that he could not come
to Port Denison to preach next Sunday fortnight.”
Aulain re-filled Lacey's and his own glass, “Lucky fellow! When is he
leaving Fraser's place?”
“He was leaving that morning for Boorala, and Fraser and his daughter
and Gerrard were going with him as far as the turn-off. By a bit of
good-luck, Gerrard--who also sent me a few lines--met Forde and Miss
Fraser on his way to the Gully. Here is his note,” and he took a letter
from his pocket and handed it to Aulain, who read:
“Fraser's Gully.
“Dear Lacey,--As the Boorala mailman is calling here this
morning, I send you a line. I had the good fortune to come
across Miss Fraser and Mr Forde at Cape Conway, and we all
came on to her father's place together. I like Fraser. He's
a fine old cock. The parson, too, is a good sort As for Miss
Kate Fraser, she is a modernised Hotspur's Kate--a
delightfully frank and charming girl. I envy the lucky man
who wins her. I hope the boy has not got into any mischief,
and is giving you no trouble. Give Aulain my regards, and
tell him I delivered his letter sooner than I anticipated. I
leave for Kaburie this morning, and am to have the pleasure
of being accompanied by Fraser and his daughter. Tell Jim
that if he gets into any mischief whilst I am away, I'll
make it hot for him.--Sincerely yours,
“Tom Gerrard.”
Aulain handed the letter back to Lacey. He was outwardly calm, but his
heart was surging with passion. What business had that d------d parson
fellow and Kate to be together at Cape Conway, fifteen miles away
from her home? And then his receptive brain conjured up the blackest
suspicions. Forde had come into money, and Kate had written to him
saying that she could not marry him, “because she would never marry and
leave her father.” He set his teeth.
“I think we could do another bottle, Aulain,” said Lacey presently.
“Right, old man!” replied the sub-Inspector mechanically, and then Lacey
noticed that his bronzed face had become pallid.
“'Shakes' coming on?” he asked, sympathetically.
“Just a bit; but the fizz is doing me good.”