A WALK IN THE MOONLIGHT.
The Court at Ballarook was over, and Gavan Blake turned his horses’
heads in a direction he had never taken before—along the road to
Kuryong. As he drove along, his thoughts were anything but pleasant.
Behind him always stalked the grim spectre of detection and arrest;
and, even should a lucky windfall help to pay his debts, he could not
save the money either to buy a practice in Sydney or to maintain
himself while he was building one up. He thought of the pitiful
smallness of his chances at Tarrong, and then of Ellen Harriott. What
should he do about her? Well, sufficient unto the day was the evil
thereof. He would play for his own hand throughout. With which
reflection he drove into the Kuryong yard.
When he drove up, the family had gathered round the fire in the quaint,
old-fashioned, low-ceiled sitting-room; for the evenings were still
chilly. The children were gravely and quietly sharpening
terrific-looking knives on small stones; the old lady had some
needlework; while Mary and Ellen and Poss and Binjie talked about
horses, that being practically the only subject open to the two boys.
After a time Mrs. Gordon said, “Won’t you sing something?” and Mary sat
down to the piano and sang to them. Such singing no one there had ever
heard before. Her deep contralto voice was powerful, flexible, and
obviously well-trained; besides which she had the great natural gift of
putting “feeling” into her singing. The children sat spellbound. The
station-hands and house-servants, who had been playing the concertina
and yarning on the wood-heap at the back of the kitchen, stole down to
the corner of the house to listen; in the stillness that wonderful
voice floated out into the night. So it chanced that Gavan Blake,
arriving, heard the singing, stole softly to the door, and looked in,
listening for a while, before anyone saw him.
The picture he saw was for ever photographed on his mind. He saw the
quiet comfort and luxury—for after Tarrong it was luxury to him—of the
station drawing-room; caught the scent of the flowers and the glorious
tones of that beautiful voice; and, as he watched the sweet face of the
singer, and listened to the words of the song, a sudden fierce
determination rose in his mind. He would devote all his energies to
winning Mary Grant for his wife; combative and self-confident as he was
by nature, he felt no dismay at the difficulties in his way. He had
been on a borderline long enough. Here was his chance to rise at a
bound, and he determined to succeed if success were humanly possible.
As the song came to an end, he walked into the drawing-room and shook
hands all round, Mary being particularly warm in her welcome.
“You are very late,” said the old lady. “Was there much of a Court at
Ballarook?”
“Only the usual troubles. You know what those courts are. By the way,
Miss Grant, I came over the famous crossing-place where we got turned
out, and nearly had another swim for it. Martin Donohoe and his wife
haven’t yet finished talking about how wet you looked.”
“I’m sure I haven’t finished thinking about it. I don’t suppose you had
to swim with anyone on your back this time?”
“No such luck, I’m sorry to say.”
“It was very lucky, indeed—that you were there,” put in Miss Harriott.
“You are really quite the district hero, Mr. Blake. _You_ will have to
save somebody next, Hugh.”
“My word,” said Poss, “I’ve seen Hugh swim in to fetch a sheep, let
alone a lady. You remember, Hugh, the time those old ewes got swept
down and one of ’em was caught on the head of a tree, and you went in—”
“Oh, never mind about that,” said Hugh. “Did Pat Donohoe lose anything
out of the coach?”
“Only a side of bacon and a bottle of whisky. The whisky was for old
Ned the ’possum trapper, and they say that Ned walked fourteen miles
down the river in hopes that it might have come ashore. Ned reckons he
has never done any tracking, but if he could track anything it would be
whisky.”
“What about going out after ’possums down the garden?” said Binjie.
“Now, you youngsters, where are your ’possum dogs? I think they ought
to get some in the garden.”
Everyone seemed to welcome the idea. There had been a sort of stiffness
in the talk, and Gavan Blake felt that a walk in the moonlight might
give him a chance to make himself a little more at home with Mary
Grant, while Ellen Harriott had her own reasons for wanting to get him
outside. With laughter and haste they all put on hats and coats, for it
had turned bitterly cold; then with ear-piercing whistles the children
summoned their ’possuming dogs, who were dreaming happy hours away in
all sorts of odd nooks, in chimney-corners, under the table in the
kitchen, under the bunks in the men’s hut, anywhere warm and
undisturbed. But at the whistles each dog dashed out from his nook,
tearing over everything in front of him in his haste not to be left
behind; and in three seconds half a dozen of them were whining and
jumping round the children, waiting for orders which way to go.
A majestic wave of the hand, and the order “Go and find him!” from the
eldest of the children, sent a hurricane of dogs yapping with
excitement off to the creek, and the hunters followed at a brisk run.
Gavan Blake and Mary Grant trotted along together in the bright
moonlight. Just in front were Ellen and Hugh, he laughing at the
excitement of the dogs and children, she looking over her shoulder and
hoping to hear what Blake was saying to the heiress. As a matter of
fact, he was making the most of his chances, and before long they were
getting on capitally. Mary found herself laying aside her slow English
way, and laughing and joking with the rest. There is something
intoxicating in moonlight at any time; and what with the moon and the
climate, and the breeze whistling through the gum-boughs, it was no
wonder that even the staidly-reared English girl felt a thrill of
excitement, a stirring of the primeval instincts that civilization and
cultivation had not quite been able to choke.
“When you go back to England, Miss Grant,” said Blake, “you will be
able to tell them that you have hunted ’possums, anyhow. That will
sound like the real bush, won’t it?”
“Yes. And I can say I have been upset in a river and nearly drowned,
too. I’m becoming quite an experienced person. But what makes you think
I shall go back to England?”
“I thought you would be sure to go back.”
“Oh, no. We have no friends in England at all. My mother’s people are
nearly all living in India, and father wouldn’t live in England. He
hates it.”
“And do you like Australia?”
“I’ve only seen about a week of it. Do you know, it seems to me a more
serious life than in England. Look at Mrs. Gordon, what a lot of people
she has dependent on her. The station-hands and their wives, all come
to her. In England she might visit them and give them tracts and
blankets, but here what they want is advice and help in all sorts of
things. You know what I mean?”
“Yes. She is a fine old lady, isn’t she? A real character. You will be
sure to like her.”
“Yes. I think I shall be very happy here. Father is anxious I should
like this place, as he may come up here to live, and I’m sure I shall
like it. You see, there is work to do here. Miss Harriott and Mrs.
Gordon are at work from daylight till dark; what with the children, the
house, the store and visitors, there really isn’t time to feel lonely.
Don’t you think people are much happier when they have a lot to do? Do
you live—”
“I live in two rooms and get my meals at an hotel, Miss Grant. I have
never had any home life. I never knew what it meant till now.”
“You must come out again when you are down this way. The—what’s that?”
A dog barked furiously in the distance, and the others rushed to join
him from all directions, yelping and squealing with excitement. The
whole party set off at a run, amid cheers and laughter.
“What is it, what is it?” said Mary.
“One of the dogs has found a ’possum up a tree, and the children will
try to get him down. Come on! Mind where you go. The black shadows are
very hard to judge, and sometimes a log or a bush is hidden in them.
There goes Poss over a log,” he added, in explanation of a terrific
crash and a shout of laughter from the others. “What is it, Emily?” he
asked as one of the children ran past.
“It’s Thomas Carlyle has found one,” she said, “and he never barks when
the ’possums are up big trees. He knows we can’t get them then, so he
only looks in the saplings. The other dogs find them in the big trees,
but that’s no good.”
A sharp run brought the party to the foot of a small tree, surrounded
by a circle of dogs, all sitting on their tails and staring with
whimpers of anxiety up to the topmost branches, where a small furry
animal was perched. Mary Grant, under Blake’s directions, got the
animal silhouetted against the moon, and saw clearly enough the sharp
nose, round ears, plump body, and prehensile tail of the unfortunate
creature who, as Poss said, looked as if he were wishing for a pair of
wings.
Blake turned to Mary. “Do you want to stop and see it killed?” he said.
“It’s rather a murderous business. The ’possum has no chance. One of
the boys will go up the tree and shake the branch till the ’possum
falls off, and when it falls the dogs will kill it.”
“No, I don’t think I would like to see it. I have seen so many things
killed since I came here. Let us walk back towards the house.”
“I’ll tell Gordon. Gordon,” he said, “Miss Grant doesn’t care to see
the massacre. We will walk back towards the house.”
Ellen Harriott made a sudden step forward. “I will go back too,” she
said.
“Why, Miss Harriott!” said Poss in astonishment, “You’ve seen lots of
’em killed. Native cats, too. Watch me knock him out of that with a
stick.”
“No, no, I’ll go back, too. I don’t feel like killing anything
to-night. You come back too, Hugh.”
So the four walked back together, and as Blake had monopolised Mary on
the way out, she now put herself beside Hugh, and the others walked
behind. Hugh and Mary soon began to talk, but the other pair walked in
silence for a while. Then Ellen Harriott said in a low voice, “Go a
little slower, Gavan. Let them get away.” As they passed under the
dense shadows of a huge wild-apple tree, Ellen stopped and, turning to
Blake, held up her face to be kissed.
“Gavan, Gavan!” she said. “I was wondering when I would ever get a
chance to speak to you. To think of you being here in the same house
with me! It’s too wonderful, isn’t it?”
Gavan Blake kissed her. It was almost an effort to him at first, as his
mind and heart were on fire with the thoughts of the other girl.
“My darling, my darling!” she said. “All the while you were walking
with that girl, I knew you were dying to come and kiss me!” For such is
the faith of women.
They stopped for a little while, and then moved on after the others,
pausing now and again in the shadows. The girl poured out all her
artless tale—how she had been awake night after night, waiting for the
day he should come. Then she told him how the heiress had praised his
pluck and strength. “And oh! Gavan, I was so proud, I could have hugged
her!”
Thus she rattled on, while he, because it was his nature found it no
trouble to reply in kind, with a good imitation of sincerity. On such a
night, with such a girl clinging to him, it would have been a very poor
specimen of a man who could not have trumped up a sort of enthusiasm.
But in his heart he was cursing his luck that just as chance had thrown
the heiress in his way, and put her under an obligation to him, he was
held to his old bargain—the bargain that he had made for position’s
sake, and which he would now have liked to break for the same reason.
It would be wearisome to record their talk, all the way up to the
house. The girl—impetuous, hot-blooded, excitable—poured out her
love-talk like a bird singing. Happiness complete was hers for the
time; but Gavan’s heart was not in the wooing, and he listened and was
silent.
Hugh and Mary, walking on ahead, knew nothing of the love scenes just
behind them. They talked of many things, of the moonlight and the river
and the scent of the flowers, but all the time Hugh felt diffident and
tongue-tied. He had not the glib tongue of Gavan Blake, and he felt
little at ease talking common-places. Mary Grant thought he must be
worried over something, and, with her usual directness, went to the
point.
“You are worrying over something,” she said. “What is it?”
“Oh, no; nothing.”
“It is not because I asked Mr. Blake here, is it?”
“Oh no! Goodness, no! Why, he is fifty times better than most of the
people that come here. It just happens we had never asked him before. I
think he is a very nice fellow.”
“I’m glad of that. I have asked him to come out again. He seems to know
Miss Harriott quite well, though he doesn’t know your mother.”
“Yes, he met Miss Harriott at some of the race-balls, I think. She is a
queer girl, full of fancies.”
“She seems a very quiet sort of girl to me,” said Miss Grant. But if
she could have known what was going on about two hundred yards behind
her, she might have altered her opinion.