When Sybil at length travelled up-country with her husband the shearing
season had already commenced. They went by easy stages, for the heat was
great, and she was far from strong. She knew that Mercer was anxious to
reach his property, and she would have journeyed more rapidly if he
would have permitted it, but upon this point he was firm. At every turn
he considered her, and she marvelled at the intuition with which he
divined her unspoken wishes. Curt and rough though he was, his care
surrounded her in a magic circle within which she dwelt at ease. With
all his imperiousness she did not find him domineering, and this fact
was a constant marvel to her, for she knew the mastery of his will. By
some mysterious power he curbed himself, and day by day her confidence
in him grew.
They accomplished the greater part of the journey by rail, and then when
the railway ended came the long, long ride. They travelled for five
days, spending each night at an inn at some township upon the road.
Through dense stretches of forest, through great tracts of waste
country, and again through miles of parched pasture-land they rode, and
during the whole of that journey Mercer's care never relaxed. She never
found him communicative. He would ride for hours without uttering a
word, but yet she was subtly conscious of his close attention. She knew
that she was never out of his thoughts.
At the inns at which they rested he always saw himself to her comfort,
and the best room was always placed at her disposal. One thing impressed
her at every halt. The innkeepers one and all stood in awe of him. Not
one of them welcomed him, but not one of them failed to attend with
alacrity to his wants. It puzzled her, for she herself had never found
him really formidable.
On the last morning of their ride, when they set forth, she surprised a
look of deep compassion in the eyes of the innkeeper's wife as she said
good-bye, and it gave her something of a shock. Why was the woman sorry
for her? Had she heard her story by any strange chance? Or was it for
some other reason? It left an unpleasant impression upon her. She wished
she had not seen it.
They rode that day almost exclusively through Mercer's property, which
extended for many miles. He was the owner of several farms, two of which
they passed without drawing rein. He was taking her to what he called
the Home Farm, his native place, which he still made his headquarters,
and from which he overlooked the whole of his great property.
The brief twilight had turned to darkness before they reached it. During
the last half hour Mercer rode with his hand upon Sybil's bridle, and
she was glad to have it there. She was not accustomed to riding in the
dark. Moreover, she was very tired, and when at last they turned in
through an open gateway to one side of which a solitary lantern had been
fixed, she breathed a deep sigh of thankfulness.
She saw the outline of the house but vaguely, but in two windows lights
were burning, and as they clattered up a door was thrown open, and a man
stood silhouetted for a moment on the threshold.
"Hullo, Curtis! Here we are!" was Mercer's greeting. "Later than I
intended, but it's a far cry from Wallarroo, and we had to take it
easy."
"The best way," the other said.
He went forward and quietly helped Sybil to dismount. He did not speak
to her as he did so, and she wondered a little at the reserve of his
manner. But the next moment she forgot him at the sight of a hideous
young negro who had suddenly appeared at the horses' heads.
"It's only Beelzebub," said the man at her side, in a tired voice, as if
it were an effort to speak at all.
She realized that the explanation was intended to be reassuring, and
laughed rather tremulously. Finding Mercer at her side she slipped her
hand into his.