GOODCHILD'S.
The North-Western express pulled up for a few moments at the Lewisham
siding, and Hal alighted with a "Thank you, sir; that's the house, over
there," from the guard; and the train proceeded on its way.
The house referred to was a mansion in size. It was surrounded by
beautiful trees, and stood in well-kept grounds, in the midst of which a
lake could be discerned glistening in the sun. The country round was the
pick of the land, for Goodchild's father had taken it up in the early
days, when every pound in cash that a man could show entitled him to an
acre of land. No check being put on this rough-and-ready mode of
procedure, the sovereign was frequently passed on to a friend to show,
who would secure another portion and hand over the title to his
principal, receiving something for his trouble. Most of the rich
estates in Tasmania were originally obtained in this manner. Hal walked
along the path leading to the house, lost in admiration of its
beautiful, natural surroundings. His arrival was apparently noted, for
an elderly man came out to meet him.
"Mr. Goodchild, I believe?"
"Yes, that's my name," and he gave his visitor a close scrutiny,
wondering what his errand could be.
"My name is Winter, sir, and I have called for the purpose of having
some conversation with you."
"What is your business, sir?"
"If we could go inside we could talk it over."
"Are you a book-traveller, or anything of that kind?" asked he,
snappishly, "for if you are I cannot see you."
"No, sir, I am not. I have called on business too important to be
discussed out here."
"Then you had better come inside and tell it," he answered, leading the
way into the house.
"I called to see you about that fellow Wyckliffe," said Hal, as he sat
down in the library.
"What about him? Are you a friend of his?" snarled the old man.
"No, I am not; and that is my reason for calling on you."
"Curse him, I say. Curse him," added the old man, emphatically.
"You're not the first who has had cause to do that," said Hal, solemnly,
wishing to gain his host's confidence.
"Do you know him then?"
"By reputation, yes; otherwise, no."
"Then why do you call on me?"
"Mr. Goodchild, my errand may seem a strange one, but I have had a
detailed account given me of his blackguardly behaviour to you and your
daughter."
"But what has that to do with you?" he asked, excitedly.
"Stay, Mr. Goodchild. I will tell you all. My friend Morris and I are on
his tracks to revenge a cruel wrong he did." And Hal thereupon told him
the whole story from the beginning. "Now, sir, I come to offer you my
assistance to shew him to your daughter in his true light."
"But she's gone," he burst out.
"Where?" cried Hal, "not with him?"
"God knows, I don't," and the poor old fellow hid his face in his hands,
and sobbed.
"You must tell me all, sir. Tell me all: there is no time to be lost,"
said Hal, excitedly.
"There's not much to tell, sir. He will be able to add another notch to
his stick, for he has literally broken my heart. I never have discussed
my private affairs with anyone, sir, but I will tell you my story, for I
feel you are to be trusted.
"She is my only child. I loved her mother dearly for sixteen years, and
all that time it was our great sorrow that we were childless, and I
fervently thanked God on the day she told me our hopes were to be
realized. Had I known the trouble that child was to cost me, I would
have been less fervent. A little girl was born to us, and a week later
she was motherless."
"Go on," said Hal, encouragingly, as Goody stopped and hesitated.
"Well, it took me a long time to console myself with a little bundle of
flesh like that. But as she grew up I found all my love returning, and
then I had only one thing to live for--my daughter May. I loved her with
a jealous love, and I guarded and watched over her as one might a
precious jewel. She has had the best teachers. She can ride, drive, play
on half-a-dozen instruments. Our one great joy and happiness was to be
together, and I dreaded the day when her hand would be asked in
marriage. We had never been separated, and when we started on our return
journey from Melbourne, where we had been on a visit, I little thought
what was before me." Here the heart-broken old man again broke down.
"Come, come, bear up, sir. Don't give way," said Hal, comforting him.
"My dear lad. I am a rich man, and would willingly lay down twenty
thousand pounds to have my girl back in her old place beside me."
"And so you shall, sir," said Hal, reassuringly.
"How?" asked he.
"First tell me all that occurred after your arrival."
"Well I took good care that that scoundrel should not see her again
after breakfast, and when we got ashore we drove in a closed carriage to
the station, and came on here."
"Well, what then?"
"She became very sulky, would not talk, and shut herself up; neglected
her pets, and all her favourite occupations; avoided me as much as she
could. I tried to coax her. I tried everything I knew, but to no avail.
She seemed to have forgotten me, and to think of no one but that fellow,
and I have since found out that he followed her here and twice met her
clandestinely."
"I can quite understand that. It's his infernal mesmeric business."
"Yes, I guessed things were not all straight, but I was completely
powerless, and yesterday she had a letter from him, from Hobart."
"Hobart! How did you know it was from him?" asked Hal, with excitement.
"She told me so, and she said she was going to meet him."
"What did you say?"
"What could I? When I offered to go with her, she told me straight out,
in a manner she had never used to me before, that she was going alone.
At that I lost my temper, and I said--go. And she left by last night's
express."
"Do you know what time the next train passes?" asked Hal.
"Yes, there will be one in half-an-hour. Why?"
"Never mind why, but get a few things together, and be ready to go by
it."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that if your daughter sees him, it will be too late."
"I understand," he said, and lost no time in doing as he was bidden.
The private signal was hoisted at the siding, and the train stopping,
they both got in. As it passed the next station Hal threw out a note,
with half-a-crown wrapped inside it, asking the station-master to
forward a telegram to Reg to meet them at Launceston station.
"This is my friend Morris, Mr. Goodchild," said Hal, introducing Reg,
whom they found waiting for them; and ten minutes later, by special
arrangement with his highness the guard, the three had a first-class
compartment in the Hobart express all to themselves. By the time Hobart
was reached, all three thoroughly understood each other.
"Really, gentlemen, I don't know how to thank you for the trouble you
are taking; certainly I am rich, and I shall be most happy to place my
purse at your disposal."
"We appreciate your offer, sir, but we have enough to go on with," said
Hal.
"And as for the rest," chimed in Reg, "we are just as anxious to get
hold of Wyck as you are, sir."
"Gentlemen, I am an old man, but should harm have come to my----"
"Come, come, sir, don't look at it like that," said Hal, making light of
it, for he could plainly see that the old gentleman was working himself
up to a highly-excitable state.
"Here we are," said Reg, taking his cue from Hal. "By Jove, what a
glorious place; what magnificent scenery; well may Tasmanians be proud
of it!"
"Where do you stay when in Hobart?" asked Hal of the old man.
"At 'Eastella.' The proprietress, Mrs. Eastwood, is an old friend of
mine."
"If you will be guided by us, sir, you will stay at the 'Orient' with
us."
"I am entirely in your hands, gentlemen."
Hobart is known as "Sleepy Hollow." The train was slow, the porters
leisurely, the cab-horses comatose, and it was only after considerable
delay that they arrived at the "Orient" and took their rooms.
"Excuse us for a moment," said Hal, leading Reg away. "I am going to
Eastella to enquire. The girl may be there, and so may he. I may book a
room for a week. In the meantime, keep an eye on Goody, and don't go out
until I return and let you know the result," he said, when Goody was out
of earshot.
Reg assented, and returned to his companion. Hal had no difficulty in
finding his way to Eastella, and, noting it was a first-class place, he
sent in his card, with the intimation that he wished to see the
proprietress. A few minutes later he was ushered into a snug little
office, and found himself face to face with a pleasant-featured, homely
lady of some fifty summers, seated at a desk heaped up with papers.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Winter?" she enquired, rising and greeting
him.
"Yes, Mrs. Eastwood, I want to stay here for a week."
"Certainly; that will cost you three guineas," she said, making out a
receipt.
Hal paid the bill, with a mental tribute of admiration of her
business-like ways.
"Have you a Miss Goodchild staying here?" he asked.
"Yes; why do you ask?"
"Have you a Mr. Wyckliffe?"
"No, he's not here at present. I expect him back in a day or two," she
answered, wonderingly.
"Then they have not met?" said Hal, in some excitement.
"No, of course not; but who are you? I hope you are not an enquiry
agent, for if you are--"
"No, no, madam! but you cannot think what a relief to me your answer
was."
"Will you kindly explain?" said she, looking at him curiously.
"You know that Miss Goodchild has left her home and father, to meet him
here?"
"No, I do not; although she's certainly not herself. But who are you?"
"My dear madam, forgive my haste; but I will explain everything to you
later. I must run off now to tell Mr. Goodchild the good news."
"Why, where's Mr. Goodchild?"
"Staying at the 'Orient,' by my advice. But now, one more question,
madam--Do you know where Wyckliffe is now?"
"He's yachting off Port Arthur. I sent a telegram on to him to-day,
which had been waiting here for him for two days." Here, the entrance of
a maid-servant for instructions, gave Hal the opportunity of leaving;
and, taking a cab, he was soon back at the "Orient."
"It's all right, Reg," he shouted. "Where's Goody?"
"He's in the drawing-room, pacing it like a wild beast in a cage."
"Good news, Mr. Goodchild. They have not met yet," said Hal, shaking him
by the hand.
"Thank God!" said the old man, fervently, and the relief was so great,
that he sank on his knees by the sofa.
Hal and Reg left the room: the old man's thankfulness was too sacred to
be overlooked.
"Have you found him?" asked Reg.
"Yes, he's at Port Arthur."
"Where's that?"
"It's the old convict settlement, about forty miles from here."
"How do you get to it--by rail?"
"No, we must go by boat. If you'll look after Goody, I'll run down to
the wharf and make arrangements."
"Hal, old boy, where should I be without you?" said Reg, turning a face
full of gratitude on his friend.
"Nonsense. We must lose no time," and he hurriedly left in the direction
of the harbour. Alongside Elizabeth Pier he found a small steam-boat
and, as smoke was coming from her, he concluded she was in use.
"Ship ahoy, there!" he sung out.
"What's up, boss?" said a young fellow, putting his head through the
hatchway.
"Is the skipper aboard?"
"Yes, he's for'ard in his cabin. He's gone to bed."
"Are you there, skipper," said Hal, knocking at the door of a small
cabin.
"Hallo, there; what's the matter?" shouted a voice from the inside, and
presently the door opened and a head was thrust out.
"Can you take us to Port Arthur, to-night?"
"What?"
"Can you take us to Port Arthur, to-night?"
"No, I'll be hanged if I can."
"That's all right then. Sorry I disturbed you," said Hal, walking away.
"Hold hard, boss. Don't be in such a blooming hurry," called out the
skipper, appearing on the deck, buttoning up his garments.
"Now then, what's it you want?"
"I want to go to Port Arthur, to-night."
"Impossible, why it's ten o'clock now."
"Well, I want to start at once."
"Won't Norfolk Bay do you? It's only eight miles away: just a nice
walk."
"Why Norfolk Bay?"
"Why, because Port Arthur lies outside, and to go there you have to face
open sea, and it looks like blowing a bit. While if you go to Norfolk
Bay, you are under shelter."
"I see; the boat is hardly big enough for the open sea."
"What! this boat! Go along with yer. I'd cross the Atlantic in her.
She'd face--"
"All right. Eight miles is not much of a walk. Can you start at twelve
sharp? And if a fiver will squeeze matters so that we can return
to-morrow--"
"That'll do, sir. Twelve sharp it is. Now then boy, fire up like--"
"What's the name of your boat?" asked Hal.
"_Tarantula._"
"And her Captain?"
"Captain John White, R.N."
Having made all arrangements, Hal returned to the hotel, where he found
Goody quieted down and in quite an amiable mood, ready to cry for joy
when Hal told him he was sure he would be able to take his daughter back
with him. He bade Reg be ready by twelve sharp.
"Twelve sharp it is, my boy," said Reg. "And I hope I shall have a
chance of handling this toy"--and he touched the morocco case which held
the die.