CONCLUSION.
The constables had started from Gangoil, on their way to Boolabong, a
little after four, and from that time till he was made to get out of
bed for his dinner Harry Heathcote was allowed to sleep. He had
richly earned his rest by his work, and he lay motionless, without a
sound, in the broad daylight, with his arm under his head, dreaming,
no doubt, of some happy squatting land, in which there were no
free-selectors, no fires, no rebellious servants, no floods, no
droughts, no wild dogs to worry the lambs, no grass seeds to get
into the fleeces, and in which the price of wool stood steady at two
shillings and sixpence a pound. His wife from time to time came into
the room, shading the light from his eyes, protecting him from the
flies, and administering in her soft way to what she thought might be
his comforts. His sleep was of the kind which no light, nor even
flies, can interrupt. Once or twice she stooped down and kissed his
brow, but he was altogether unconscious of her caress.
During this time old Mrs. Medlicot arrived; but her coming did not
awake the sleeper, though it was by no means made in silence. The old
woman sobbed and cried over her son, at the same time expressing her
thankfulness that he should have turned up in the forest so exactly
at the proper moment, evidently taking part in the conviction that
her Giles had saved Gangoil and all its sheep. And then there were
all the necessary arrangements to be made for the night, in
accordance with which almost every body had to give up his or her bed
and sleep somewhere else. But nothing disturbed Harry. For the
present he was allowed to occupy his own room, and he enjoyed the
privilege.
Kate Daly during this time was much disturbed in mind. The reader may
remember--Kate, at any rate, remembered well--that, just as the
doctor had arrived to set his broken bone, Mr. Medlicot, disabled as
he was, had attempted to take her by the arm. He had certainly chosen
an odd time for a declaration of love, just the moment in which he
ought to have been preparing himself for the manipulation of his
fractured limb; but, unless he had meant a declaration of love,
surely he would not have seized her by the arm. It was a matter to
her of great moment. Oh, of what vital importance! The English girl
living in a town, or even in what we call the country, has no need to
think of any special man till some special man thinks of her. Men are
fairly plentiful, and if one man does not come, another will. And
there have probably been men coming and going in some sort since the
girl left her school-room and became a young lady. But in the bush
the thing is very different. It may be that there is no young man
available within fifty miles--no possible lover or future husband,
unless Heaven should interfere almost with a miracle. To those to
whom lovers are as plentiful as blackberries it may seem indelicate
to surmise that the thought of such a want should ever enter a girl’s
head. I doubt whether the defined idea of any want had ever entered
poor Kate’s head. But now that the possible lover was there--not only
possible, but very probable--and so eligible in many respects, living
so close, with a house over his head and a good business; and then so
handsome, and, as Kate thought, so complete a gentleman! Of course
she turned it much in her mind. She was very happy with Harry
Heathcote. There never was a brother-in-law so good! But, after all,
what is a brother-in-law, though he be the very best? Kate had
already begun to fancy that a house of her own and a husband of her
own would be essential to her happiness. But then a man can not be
expected to make an offer with a broken collar-bone--certainly can
not do so just when the doctor has arrived to set the bone.
Late on in the day, when the doctor had gone, and Medlicot was,
according to instructions, sitting out on the veranda in an armchair,
and his mother was with him, and while Harry was sleeping as though
he never meant to be awake again, Kate managed to say a few words to
her sister. It will be understood that the ladies’ hands were by no
means empty. The Christmas dinner was in course of preparation, and
Sing Sing, that villainous Chinese cook, had absconded. Mrs. Growler,
no doubt, did her best; but Mrs. Growler was old and slow, and the
house was full of guests. It was by no means an idle time; but still
Kate found an opportunity to say a word to her sister in the kitchen.
“What do you think of him, Mary?”
To the married sister “him” would naturally mean Harry Heathcote, of
whom, as he lay asleep, the young wife thought that he was the very
perfection of patriarchal pastoral manliness; but she knew enough of
human nature to be aware that the “him” of the moment to her sister
was no longer her own husband. “I think he has got his arm broken
fighting for Harry, and that we are bound to do the best we can for
him.”
“Oh yes; that’s of course. I’m sure Harry will feel that. He used,
you know, to--to--that is, not just to like him, because he is a
free-selector.”
“They’ll drop all that now. Of course they could not be expected to
know each other at the first starting. I shouldn’t wonder if they
became regular friends.”
“That would be nice! After all, though you may be so happy at home,
it is better to have something like a neighbor. Don’t you think so?”
“It depends on who the neighbors are. I don’t care much for the
Brownbies.”
“They are quite different, Mary.”
“I like the Medlicots very much.”
“I consider he’s quite a gentleman,” said Kate.
“Of course he’s a gentleman. Look here, Kate--I shall be ready to
welcome Mr. Medlicot as a brother-in-law, if things should turn out
that way.”
“I didn’t mean that, Mary.”
“Did you not? Well, you can mean it if you please, as far as I am
concerned. Has he said any thing to you, dear?”
“No.”
“Not a word?”
“I don’t know what you call a word; not a word of that kind.”
“I thought, perhaps--”
“I think he meant it once--this morning.”
“I dare say he meant it. And if he meant it this morning, he won’t
have forgotten his meaning to-morrow.”
“There’s no reason why he should mean it, you know.”
“None in the least, Kate; is there?”
“Now you’re laughing at me, Mary. I never used to laugh at you when
Harry was coming. I was so glad, and I did every thing I could.”
“Yes, you went away and left us in the Botanical Gardens. I remember.
But, you see, there are no Botanical Gardens here; and the poor man
couldn’t walk about if there were.”
“I wonder what Harry would say if it were to be so.”
“Of course he’d be glad--for your sake.”
“But he does so despise free-selectors! And then he used to think
that Mr. Medlicot was quite as bad as the Brownbies. I wouldn’t marry
any one to be despised by you and Harry.”
“That’s all gone by, my dear,” said the wife, feeling that she had to
apologize for her husband’s prejudices. “Of course one has to find
out what people are before one takes them to one’s bosom. Mr.
Medlicot has acted in the most friendly way about these fires, and
I’m sure Harry will never despise him any more.”
“He couldn’t have done more for a real brother than have his arm
broken.”
“But you must remember one thing, Kate, Mr. Medlicot is very nice,
and like a gentleman, and all that. Bat you never can be quite
certain about any man till he speaks out plainly. Don’t set your
heart upon him till you are quite sure that he has set his upon you.”
“Oh no,” said Kate, giving her maidenly assurance when it was so much
too late! Just at this moment Mrs. Growler came into the kitchen, and
Kate’s promises and her sister’s cautions were for the moment
silenced.
“How we’re to manage to get the dinner on the table, I for one don’t
know at all,” said Mrs. Growler. “There’s Mr. Bates’ll be here; that
will be six of ’em; and that Mr. Medlicot will want somebody to do
every thing for him, because he’s been and got hisself smashed. And
there’s the old lady has just come out from home, and is as
particular as any thing. And Mr. Harry himself never thinks of things
at all. One pair of hands, and them very old, can’t do every thing
for every body.” All of which was very well understood to mean
nothing at all.
Household deficiencies--and, indeed, all deficiencies--are
considerable or insignificant in accordance with the aspirations
of those concerned. When a man has a regiment of servants in his
dining-room, with beautifully cut glass, a forest of flowers, and an
iceberg in the middle of his table if the weather be hot, his guests
will think themselves ill used and badly fed if aught in the banquet
be astray. There must not be a rose leaf ruffled; a failure in the
attendance, a falling off in a dish, or a fault in the wine is a
crime. But the same guests shall be merry as the evening is long with
a leg of mutton and whisky toddy, and will change their own plates,
and clear their own table, and think nothing wrong, if from the
beginning such has been the intention of the giver of the feast. In
spite of Mrs. Growler’s prognostications, though the cook had
absconded, and the chief guest of the occasion could not cut up his
own meat, that Christmas dinner at Gangoil was eaten with great
satisfaction.
Harry had been so far triumphant. He had stopped the fire that was
intended to ruin him, he had beaten off his enemies on their own
ground, and he was no longer oppressed by that sense of desolation
which had almost overpowered him.
“We’ll give one toast, Mrs. Medlicot,” he said, when Mrs. Growler and
Kate between them had taken away the relics of the plum-pudding. “Our
friends at home!”
The poor lady drank the toast with a sob. “That’s vera weel for you,
Mr. Heathcote. You’re young, and will win your way hame, and see auld
friends again, nae doubt; but I’ll never see ane of them mair, except
those I have here.” Nevertheless, the old lady ate her dinner and
drank her toddy, and made much of the occasion, going in and out to
her son upon the veranda.
Soon after dinner Heathcote, as was his wont, strayed out with his
prime minister Bates to consult on the dangers which might be
supposed still to threaten his kingdom, and Mrs. Heathcote, with her
youngest boy in her lap, sat talking to Mrs. Medlicot in the parlor.
Such was not her custom in weather such as this. Kate had been sent
out on to the veranda, with special commands to attend to the wants
of the sufferer, and Mrs. Heathcote would have followed her had she
not remembered her sister’s appeal, “I did every thing I could for
you.”
In those happy days Kate had been very good, and certainly deserved
requital for her services. And therefore, when the men had gone out,
Mrs. Heathcote, with her guest, remained in the warm room, and went
so far as to suggest that at that period of the day the room was
preferable to the veranda. Poor Mrs. Medlicot was new to the ways of
the bush, and fell into the trap; thus Kate Daly was left alone with
her wounded hero.
When told to take him out his glass of wine, and when conscious that
no one followed her, she felt herself to have been guilty of some
great sin, and was almost tempted to escape. She had asked her sister
for help; and this was the help that was forth-coming--help so
palpable, so manifest, as to be almost indelicate! Would he think
that plans were being made to catch him, now that he was a captive
and impotent? The thought that it was possible that such an idea
might occur to him was terrible to her. She would rather lose him
altogether than feel the stain of such a suggestion on her own
conscience. She put the glass of wine down on the little table by his
side, and then attempted to withdraw.
“Stay a moment with me,” he said. “Where are they all?”
“Mary and your mother are inside. Harry and Mr. Bates have gone
across to look at the horses.”
“I almost feel as though I could walk, too.”
“You must not think of it yet, Mr. Medlicot. It seems almost a wonder
that you shouldn’t have to be in bed, and you with your collar-bone
broken only last night! I don’t know how you can bear it as you do.”
“I shall be so glad I broke it, if one thing will come about.”
“What thing?” asked Kate, blushing.
“Kate--may I call you Kate?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“You know I love you, do you not? You must know it. Dearest Kate, can
you love me and be my wife?” His left arm was bound up, and was in a
sling, but he put out his right hand to take hers, if she would give
it to him. Kate Daly had never had a lover before, and felt the
occasion to be trying. She had no doubt about the matter. If it were
only proper for her to declare herself, she could swear with a safe
conscience that she loved him better than all the world.
“Put your hand here, Kate,” he said.
As the request was not exactly for the gift of her hand, she placed
it in his.
“May I keep it now?”
She could only whisper something which was quite inaudible, even to
him.
“I shall keep it, and think that you are all my own. Stoop down,
Kate, and kiss me, if you love me.”
She hesitated for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. She did
love him, and was his own; still, to stoop and kiss a man who, if
such a thing were to be allowed at all, ought certainly to kiss her!
She did not think she could do that. But then she was bound to
protect him, wounded and broken as he was, from his own imprudence;
and if she did not stoop to him, he would rise to her. She was still
in doubt, still standing with her hand in his, half bending over him,
but yet half resisting as she bent, when, all suddenly, Harry
Heathcote was on the veranda, followed by the two policemen, who had
just returned from Boolabong. She was sure that Harry had seen her,
and was by no means sure that she had been quick enough in escaping
from her lover’s hand to have been unnoticed by the policemen also.
She fled away as though guilty, and could hardly recover herself
sufficiently to assist Mrs. Growler in producing the additional
dinner which was required.
The two men were quickly sent to their rest, as has been told before;
and Harry, who had in truth seen how close to his friend his
sister-in-law had been standing, would, had it been possible, have
restored the lovers to their old positions; but they were all now on
the veranda, and it was impossible. Kate hung back, half in and half
out of the sitting-room, and old Mrs. Medlicot had seated herself
close to her son. Harry was lying at full length on a rug, and his
wife was sitting over him. Then Giles Medlicot, who was not quite
contented with the present condition of affairs, made a little
speech.
“Mrs. Heathcote,” he said, “I have asked your sister to marry me.”
“Dearie me, Giles,” said Mrs. Medlicot.
Kate remained no longer half in and half out of the parlor, but
retreated altogether and hid herself. Harry turned himself over on
the rug, and looked up at his wife, claiming infinite credit in that
he had foreseen that such a thing might happen.
“And what answer has she given you?” said Mrs. Heathcote.
“She hasn’t given me any answer yet. I wonder what you and Heathcote
would say about it?”
“What Kate has to say is much more important,” replied the discreet
sister.
“I should like it of all things,” said Harry, jumping up. “It’s
always best to be open about these things. When you first came here,
I didn’t like you. You took a bit of my river frontage--not that it
does me any great harm--and then I was angry about that scoundrel
Nokes.”
“I was wrong about Nokes,” said Medlicot, “and have, therefore, had
my collar-bone broken. As to the land, you’ll forgive my having it if
Kate will come and live there?”
“By George! I should think so.--Kate, why don’t you come out? Come
along, my girl. Medlicot has spoken out openly, and you should answer
him in the same fashion.” So saying, he dragged her forth, and I fear
that, as far as she was concerned, something of the sweetness of her
courtship was lost by the publicity with which she was forced to
confess her love. “Will you go, Kate, and make sugar down at the
mill? I have often thought how bad it would be for Mary and me when
you were taken away; but we sha’n’t mind it so much if we knew that
you are to be near us.”
“Speak to him, Kate,” said Mrs. Heathcote, with her arm round her
sister’s waist.
“I think she’s minded to have him,” said Mrs. Medlicot.
“Tell me, Kate--shall it be so?” pleaded the lover.
She came up to him and leaned over him, and whispered one word which
nobody else heard. But they all knew what the word was. And before
they separated for the night she was left alone with him, and he got
the kiss for which he was asking when the policemen interrupted them.
“That’s what I call a happy Christmas,” said Harry, as the party
finally parted for the night.