UNDER GREEN BOUGHS.
When Gray came to himself again he was lying on a bank of green herbage
under the shadow of a mighty tree. The boughs kept up a pleasant
murmuring. Bright-hued birds were flitting to and fro, now in the
shadow, now in the sunshine. Through the waving boughs Gray could see
a blue sky shining.
It was all so beautiful, so unlike the scene on which his eyes had
closed, that he could not believe it to be real. It was a fevered
dream, he said to himself; and presently he would awake and see the
vast sun-baked plains stretching round him in their awful loneliness,
and _that thing_ lying not far off beside the horse.
But the dream lasted! He slept and woke again, and still the trees
waved above him and the birds fluttered to and fro. He could even hear
now the tinkling of bells not far off, such as oxen wear upon their
heads. He lifted himself on his elbow, for he was too weak to rise,
and looked round him. As he raised himself he saw a dog lying a few
feet off, with its head between its paws, gazing at him with brown
intelligent eyes. Gray fell back on the bank. The dog might have been
Harding's dog. The sight of him brought back the past again. He
remembered all he had done, and the wish rose in him that he had died
like Lumley, that--
But the thought was never finished, for at that moment a hand was laid
upon his shoulder, a cheery voice sounded in his ears. Gray dropped
his hands and looked up with a wild glad cry. It was Harding's self
who stood at his side!--thinner, paler, with white streaks in his brown
hair that were new to Gray, but Harding's very self.
"Don't speak, don't try to speak, my lad," he said, sitting down by
Gray and taking his hand. Gray held that rough brown hand tight,
putting his other hand over it, and looking into Harding's face with
eyes that could scarce believe the reality of the joy that had come to
him. But memory came to cloud the rapture of that first moment.
"I am not fit to touch your hands, Harding," he said in a low voice.
But he did not attempt to let go his grasp, and Harding stretched out
his other hand and laid it on his shoulder.
"You mustn't talk, old fellow; you've been ill, you know. No, I won't
hear anything just now," he added, as Gray attempted to speak; "I'm
spokesman just now. Don't you want to know--" He made a sudden,
awkward stop, and then continued lamely:
"I'm all right, you see. Got picked up by some friendly black fellows.
I'd hurt my leg, you see, and couldn't walk. They carried me with them
till I could tell them who I was. I had a touch of fever, and was out
of my head for a time; but they nursed me well. I was off my head a
while, you see, and they carried me along with 'em. We were crossing a
bit of the bush when I got myself again. And I found--" Harding
stopped and cast a hasty, commiserating glance at Gray. "Well, I found
that map you'd drawn, and the letter on t'other side. It didn't take
me long to put two and two together, you know."
Gray had turned from him and hidden his face. Harding stretched out
his hand again and put it on his shoulder.
"Well, I got two of the trackers, clever fellows, and we hit upon your
trail; and found you, you see."
"Did you--did you--" Gray could not finish.
"We buried him," Harding said shortly. "And I've got the money in the
wagon. We sent over to Ford's for a wagon. You were close to water,
lad, if you'd only known it."
"I knew it," said Gray; "we had water."
Harding looked inquiringly at him.
"It's a long story," said Gray. A shudder went over him, and he
hurried on. "He got out of the track when he left me, and I found him.
The horse had thrown him, and he had hurt his foot, but he knew where
the water was and I got it. And I found the horse by the water."
Harding put his hand on his shoulder.
"Did he give you that blow, lad?"
Gray nodded, and Harding asked no more questions just then.
Gray remained silent for a moment, then he turned his face to Harding.
"I have got to tell you--"
"I won't hear, lad. You've said a lot in your fever, and I won't hear
any more just now. I can see how it's all happened."
Watch was lying at his master's feet, and here he looked up with a
short bark and a delighted wag of his tail. Harding pulled his ears.
"I don't know how Watch managed to live through it all; but he did--old
faithful fellow!" And then Harding's face turned scarlet.
He would have got up to move away, but Gray held his hand fast.
"The dog was faithful," he said in a low tone, "while I-- No; you must
let me speak, Harding."
"Not now, my lad; you are not fit for it."
"I got your letter."
Gray said the words firmly, almost roughly; then his voice faltered,
and he went brokenly on:
"God has been merciful to me, a sinner. He sought me wandering, set me
right; He showed me what I'd done when--when I thought it was too
late." He stopped a moment, then his voice strengthened itself. "I
had made up my mind to confess everything if ever I got back. I little
thought I should be able to confess it to you. Do you understand me,
Harding? I got that letter."
"My poor lad!"
It was all Harding could say.
"I did not deliberately say I would not go," went on Gray; "but it was
just the same. I put it off, and put it off; and then Watch
disappeared, and I was _glad_. You know why?"
Harding nodded sadly.
"It all seemed easy then. If I had been successful--I don't know--I
hope even then I might have found myself out; but I was sent into the
wilderness--I was brought face to face with the fruits of sin." Gray
shuddered as he spoke. "I saw myself as I was, Harding."
"My poor lad!" said Harding again.
There was silence between them for a while; then Gray spoke again.
"I mean to live a different life, Harding. You will have to help me.
The first thing is to tell Mr. Morton everything."
"Yes, lad, except one thing. I won't have that told. No, I insist on
that, old fellow. Let's forget it. Promise me never to speak of it.
I never shall. You didn't mean to do it, you know."
Gray shook his head.
"About the money," went on Harding quickly. "Well, you'd best tell Mr.
Morton; and the bank can have it all right. And we'll go back to the
run, Gray, until Polly and the lads come. Thank God, she had started
before a letter could reach her. She will have been spared this time
of suspense."
"Morton won't have me back," said Gray under his breath.
"Yes, he will. It's the best thing you can do, lad. If you go off by
yourself--"
"If you will have me--if Morton will let me, it is what I most desire,"
said Gray brokenly.
"Then, that's all right," Harding said.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Bushranger's Secret, by Mrs. Henry Clarke