JENNY IS TREATED LIKE A LADY
That night the Rogersons went to church in a body, as usual, for they
were a churchy family. Mrs. Rogerson was that power in the congregation
which only a self-asserting, middle-aged, highly-respectable female of
pronounced religious views can be, and fully recognised her
responsibilities as such; knew that she was expected to set an example,
and believed that the parochial machine would certainly get out of gear
if she did not keep a constant eye upon it. Alice and Clementine were
both in the choir, and particularly indispensable to it of an evening,
when anthems were performed. Mr. Rogerson carried round the plate and
counted the money in the vestry--most important function and functionary
of them all. When the early tea was disposed of, and the table prepared
for the substantial supper which was the concluding ceremony of the
day, whereat the minister and several leading church members assisted,
the family put on their best bonnets, and brushed their hats, and went
forth to their devotions, leaving a godless young clerk, with a cigar
and a novel, to keep guard over the bank's treasure in their absence.
Leaving also Jenny--not with the young bank-clerk, who was invisible,
but on a sofa in the hot drawing-room upstairs, complaining of a
headache, which she had legitimately come by through exciting her little
soul over Mrs. Oxenham's letter and the perplexing questions that it
raised. They had urged her to go to church, that she might hear the
anthem and see how well they did things, but her intense craving to be
alone to think gave her strength to resist their importunities. She was
provided with Drummond's _Natural Law_ and a smelling-bottle, and left
in peace.
Just as the church bells were silenced by the striking of the town
clock, Mr. Churchill reached the principal hotel; and he quickly
unpacked the small valise he had carried on his saddle, washed and
brushed, and fortified himself with whisky and a biscuit, in lieu of his
lost dinner, which he had not time to think of now. And at about the
moment when Clementine began her solo in the anthem he rang the bell at
the bank door. Somebody, he knew, would be upon the premises, and he was
prepared to explain the object of his visit to any whom it might
concern.
The young clerk thought of burglars, and was at first reluctant, but, on
recognising the untimely caller, admitted the great man, and did what in
him lay to be obliging. Jenny heard the ring and the little stir in the
hall, but took no notice. She was entirely absorbed in wondering why
Mrs. Oxenham wanted to throw her at Mr. Churchill's head to-day, after
taking such extreme measures to remove her from him yesterday; and why
Mr. Churchill, supposed to be engaged to Lady Louisa, should be in "a
great way" because he had not found at Wandooyamba the girl of whom he
had taken no notice while they were both in town and he was at liberty
to interview her at any time. She was lying all along on a sofa, with
her arms thrown up and her hands under her head. Her little figure was
clad in a white gown--a costume insisted on by Mrs. Oxenham in this
midsummer weather. The light from the window beside her touched her
chestnut hair and her pure skin and her bright eyes, that were fixed in
deep abstraction upon the wall. If she had posed to look her prettiest,
she could not have succeeded better.
A heavy step came up the stairs, and she did not stir, for _she_ had no
thought of burglars. Not until it slackened and paused at the open door
of the drawing-room, threatening an intrusion upon her precious hour of
peace, did she turn her head apprehensively. When she saw who it was
that stood there, looking at her, she bounded to her feet as if she had
been shot.
"Oh--h--h!" she breathed almost inaudibly.
"Miss Liddon, I am so glad to find you at home."
He was as sober as one could desire that a gentleman should be, but
probably it was whisky on an empty stomach which made him bold at a time
when most men are liable to be daunted; for, seeing her standing there,
trembling, cowering, but visibly glowing from head to foot, he made up
his mind that then and there would he settle the great question between
them. No, not _there_. As he took his resolution, he remembered how
short the evening service is, though it may not seem so to the persons
taking part in it, and how horrible it would be to be disturbed in the
middle of his proposal by the Rogersons and the parson and half a dozen
gossips of the township coming in. So he said to Jenny, holding her hand
very firmly, "As you wouldn't come to Wandooyamba, I have been obliged
to come to you. I have something of great importance to say to you; and
I want to know if you will come out for a little walk on the hills with
me? It is not very hot now."
Jenny's colour deepened, and her tremblings increased. She withdrew her
hand. "There is no one here," she said.
"But there will be soon. And I have a great deal to tell you--I want to
be free to talk. Come out for a walk. Your aunt won't object when she
knows it is I who am with you. Go and put your hat on--quick."
She hesitated still. "It is not--not anything the matter? Not anybody
ill? Nothing wrong at home?"
"No, no! Make haste and get ready, or they will be back before we can
get away."
She ran off to her room, and there stood still for a minute, clenching
her hands and drawing long breaths that shook her little frame. Thoughts
raced too fast to be followed, but if she could not think she could
feel. If she could not understand him she was sure she could trust him;
his sister's endorsement of his proceedings was a guarantee of that. She
put on her hat, snatched up a pair of gloves, and returned to him
speechless.
"You don't want gloves," he said, and took them from her, and laid them
on a table on the landing. They went downstairs, and the young clerk let
them out of the iron-lined door.
"You can tell Mrs. Rogerson that I will bring Miss Liddon home safely,"
said Anthony, with the air of a lawful guardian. It was nearly eight
o'clock, and daylight was fading fast. He had an idea that there would
be a moon, which would make a walk on the hills delicious, forgetting
that the moon was not due for another hour and a half. Jenny had no
ideas upon the subject; she left all to him.
Immediately behind the township the rocky ranges began to rise and to
break like waves into little valleys and gorges that were as lonely as
a desert island, though so near the haunts of men. He knew all their ins
and outs, and in his own mind had marked the group of boulders where he
and Jenny would sit while he asked her to marry him. He had found it
years before, when out on a picnic; it had wattle-feathered rock on
three sides of it, and in front the ground fell into a ravine that
opened the whole way to the sunset. Two quiet streets, a lane, and a
rather weary mountain path led to this airy solitude, and one could
reach it with steady walking in a little over half-an-hour. One might
have thought it would certainly be occupied or invaded on a Sunday
night, with so many wanderers abroad, but as a fact the townspeople
cared nothing for the beautiful scenery at their doors, and did not go
into the ranges from year's end to year's end. Anthony knew that, and
chanced finding his eyrie untenanted.
Through the streets where 'Arry and 'Arriet were strolling on the
footpaths and flirting over their garden gates, he led his spell-bound
companion, chatting commonplaces by the way.
"You know that I have been absent from town?" he said.
She replied that she had not known it till the other day.
"Yes, for several weeks. And I had no idea you were here all this time.
Of course I got no letters at sea."
"The sea must have been delicious in the hot weather," remarked Jenny,
thinking of her sufferings during the Cup season in the stifling air of
Little Collins Street.
"No, it wasn't. At least, I did not enjoy it. I daresay the sea was
right enough; I might have enjoyed it in other company."
"But I thought your company--Mrs. Oxenham told me----"
"What did Mrs. Oxenham tell you?" But he divined what it was. "That
there was a lady on board whom I was specially interested in?"
"She thought you were engaged to her."
"Oh, did she? People have no business to _think_ about those matters;
they ought to _know_, before they talk. That lady was just about the
last woman in the world to suit me. And they bored me to death--the
whole lot of them."
Jenny's heart leaped in her breast, but still she did not dare to ask
herself what his words and his visit portended. They had begun to climb
the mountain pathway, a devious and stony track through wattle bushes
and gum saplings, and it had grown almost too dark to see his face.
"Have we not gone far enough?" she asked him, pausing.
"It is the scrub that shuts the light out," he said quickly. "And there
will be a moon directly. Just a little further, and we shall get the
breeze from the top. Does it tire you? Let me help you up."
He offered his arm, but she declined it. She was not tired, but nervous
about being out so late and so far from home.
"Not with me," he said; and added, "There's nothing clandestine about
it. Mrs. Rogerson knows--at any rate, she will when I take you home--and
so does Mary."
"Does Mrs. Oxenham know that I am walking here with you?" she was
impelled to inquire, breathlessly.
"Most certainly she does."
Jenny climbed on blindly, with her head spinning round. Presently they
reached the top, and the cool air blew in their faces. The town, the
inhabited world, was behind them, cut off by a granite wall and the
obliteration of the track in the gloom of night; in front the ravine
stretched away to the pale saffron of the west, and, looking in that
direction, it did not seem that day was over yet.
"Now I must find you a place to sit and rest yourself," said Anthony.
"Take my hand over these rough stones."
Her hand shook, and so did his; his voice had begun to sound a little
breathless, like hers. His exultation was mounting to his head, and
something like terror was making her heart quake. "Ought I to have
allowed him? Ought I to have done it?" she was asking herself. But it
was too late for such questions now, and all doubts were settled within
the next five minutes.
"Here," he said. "This is the place. A flat stone to sit on, and the
sloping rock to lean against. Generally the rocks slope the wrong way,
but this slants back at the right angle exactly. Sit down here; you must
be tired after that climb. I will fan you with a wattle branch." He
began to break off boughs, while she sat down, because her knees
trembled so that it was difficult to stand. "Isn't this a charming
view? At sunset it is magnificent, when the tops of the ranges turn pink
and then indigo, like velvet. Can you hear the trickle of the creek down
there? It seems miles below us, in that depth of shadow, doesn't it? And
that humming sound--listen! It is a waterfall. What is the noise like?
Oh, I know--like a railway train in the distance. And the wind in the
gum leaves--can't you shut your eyes and imagine that is the sea? Do you
remember that night on the St Kilda pier, when you were so frightened?
You are not afraid of me now, Jenny?"
He flung himself on the ground beside her, and tossed his hat away.
"Yes, I am," she said, springing to her feet, and turning eastward
towards the town. "And I _must_ go home, Mr. Churchill; it is not right
for me to be out here at this hour. You should not have brought me. It
is not treating me like--like a lady," she burst out, in a tone of
reproach and distress which reminded him that he had not yet given her
proper notice of his intentions.
He sprang upright in an instant, and caught her arm, and, before she
knew it, had both his arms around her.
"Don't you understand?" he exclaimed, in a deep voice. "I thought you
did--I thought Sarah would have told you. And my coming in this way--my
dragging you up here, to get you to myself--and Mary's letter--oh, my
poor little woman, you _didn't_ think I was making an amusement of it,
_did_ you? That's not treating me like a gentleman, Jenny."
"But you can't----"
"I can--I do. I want you to marry me, Jenny--there it is; and you can't
misunderstand now. And, what's more, all my family know it, too, and my
father says he's glad, and told me to tell you that he says so. And Mary
is awfully sorry that she sent you away yesterday. And you--_you_ won't
say 'No'? It may be cheek and impudence to mention it, but I've seen it
in your dear little eyes a score of times."
"Oh, _what_ have you seen?" she asked, gasping, laughing, crying,
thrilling, all dazed and overwhelmed in this sea of joy.
"This," he answered, stooping his head and putting a hand under her
chin. "Take off your hat, Jenny, so that I can kiss you comfortably."