HARRY took French leave in McMahon's stable. He saddled Click, Mac's
favourite hack, mounted him, and started down the dusty Yarraman road at
a gallop. To Harry that ride was ever afterwards a complete blank. He
started out with his mind full of one thought, an overpowering
resolution. He would seek Chris, he would take her in his arms and defy
every fear or scheme or power that might be directed against their love
and happiness to part them again. That was his determination, and, having
made it, he rode on blindly, pushing the horse to his best pace.
After passing the Bo Peep the road ran out into treeless open country,
slightly undulating. There were a few trickling rock-strewn creeks to
cross, and Harry rushed Click through them like a man riding for his
life. Half an hour's gallop brought the vehicle in sight, and ten minutes
later he came abreast of the buggy and brought his foaming horse to a
trot. 'Stop!' he cried; and Summers, much amazed, pulled up his pair.
Harry threw himself from the saddle, leaving the horse his freedom, and,
going to the buggy, seized Chris by the hand and drew her down towards
him.
'Chris, I want to speak to you. You must, you must!'
He helped her from the vehicle. His attitude was stern and masterful, and
Chris yielded with a sense of awe. Summers regarded the pair for a moment
with pursed lips and bent brows; then a grim smile dawned about his
mouth, and he touched his horses with the whip and drove slowly away down
the road.
Harry and Chris stood upon the plain facing each other, the girl's hands
clasped firmly in those of the man. Harry was dressed just as he had come
from the mine; her neat black frock was marked with the grey dust from
his clothes. He was flushed; his eyes had more of power than of love in
them. She still strove, but felt his strength greater than hers, and her
heart beat painfully. She whispered a pitiful protest when he drew her to
his breast and clasped her closely in his irresistible arms.
'I won't let you go, my dear love--I swear I won't!' he whispered
vehemently.
'You must. Oh, why do you make my task so hard?'
'I won't let you go from me, Chris.'
She looked into his glowing eyes, and struggled a little, murmuring
incoherently.
'Never, Chris, never!' he continued. 'You love me! Look into my face an'
deny it if you can. You can't!' he cried, with a flush of triumph.
'I have never denied it, Harry; but I must go. 'Tis because I love you--'
He laughed suddenly with the elation of a conqueror, and stopped her
mouth with kisses.
'You love me, an' you'd leave me. Why? Tell me why, my darling, my dear
love!'
She threw back her head and gazed into his eyes. 'I will tell you,' she
said. 'I would leave you because I am the daughter of Ephraim Shine, the
man whose memory is hated everywhere; the man whose crimes you and yours
can never forget; the man who sent your innocent brother to prison, who
whitened your mother's hair with grief, who left you to die in the waters
of the mine--who was a triple thief and a hypocrite. He was my father and
I loved him. I cannot do anything else but love him now, but you must
hate and loathe him. Think of me as your wife--me, the thief's daughter,
whispered about, pointed at. Think, as I have done, of that possible time
when you might love me less because of him and the wrong he did you, when
you might be ashamed to be seen with me. People don't forget crimes like
his, Harry; they talk of them to their children. Think of your mother and
your brother. Think, think--oh, Harry, think, for my strength is gone.'
He only clasped her closely and kissed her cheek.
'Think of your mother,' she continued. 'Harry, I would die to serve her.
I would rather die than bring shame or grief into her life.'
'I love you! I love you!' he said.
'Think, think of the people pointing at us, whispering about my
disgrace.'
'No, dear, you think. Think of me without you--cursed, ruined, without a
care for anything on earth. Chris, there's not for me one ray of
sunlight, not one smile in the world without you.'
Her forehead was bent upon his shoulder. He felt her strength leaving
her, and continued with low vehement words:
'Dear, you love me, an' you think it's your duty to leave me. I tell you
there's no man on God's earth here'd be so desolate. I'd rather be dead
than lose you. To lose you is the only sorrow I can imagine. I care more
for one smile of yours, one touch of your dear fingers, than for anything
else in all the world. If you hate me an' want to ruin my life, you'll
go. Chris, if you love me, can't you see what the loss of you would mean?
I tried to think of it last night an' couldn't, it was too terrible. I
was like a child facing a great black cavern peopled with devils.'
His words, his earnestness, brought her new light; she had not realised
the depth of his love, she had thought that the blow might be heavy at
first, but that he would soon learn to forget. She understood him better
now; his love was like her own, and she knew that to be imperishable. She
no longer struggled, but clung to him with trembling fingers.
'I did not think you loved me like that, dear,' she said softly.
'I worship you! And you, my wife, my sweet wife?'
She slid her arms about his neck and drew his face to hers.
They stood in the centre of an open plain above which the yellow sun hung
gleaming like a ball of gold; there was silence everywhere: Harry's horse
stood still with his nose to the ground, at a distance Summers' buggy
dipped slowly down into the bend of an old watercourse, and far off in
the dim simmering background there was a hazy suggestion of trees. The
solitude was complete.
'Then you won't go, Chris?' he said.
'Yes,' she answered, smiling into his face, 'but not for ever.'
He drew her closer at the suggestion.
'But why must you go? Why should we part?'
'Please, please, dear, for a time. I--I want to be away for a little
while, till I can bear it better--you know what I mean. Ah!' she cried
with sudden warmth, 'I thought was going to be strong and brave and bear
it all alone; but I was only a girl, not a heroine--my heart was crying
out against it by day and night.'
'We'll be very happy, Chris, in spite of those silly terrors. 'Twas Mrs.
Haddon sent me after you.'
'I'm glad. Oh, I'm glad!'
He gathered her to his heart, and kissed her again and again.
'Chris,' he said, 'you're not quite fair to the people of Waddy; not a
man or woman of them thinks a mean thought of you.'
'But I cannot bear to face them. Let me go for a time, and I will come
back.'
'An' be my wife?'
'Yes, if you still want me.'
'If! You'll write often.'
'Every day if you wish it, dear.'
'Every day then. Good-bye, my darling. I'll let you go, but not for long.
If you don't come to me soon, I will come to you.'
The parting was long and loving, and then Harry recalled Jock Summers
with a loud cooey. After Chris had been helped into the buggy the old man
glanced sharply at Harry.
'Well, Maister Highwayman?' he said.
'She has promised to be my wife, sir,' said Harry.
Summers looked into the girl's brimming eyes, and his face softened.
'I'm right glad,' he said simply.
Harry rode by the trap as far as the town; then there was another
parting, and he returned to Waddy like a man in a dream. That evening he
told his mother that Christina Shine had promised to be his wife. Her
answer surprised him.
'She is a brave, beautiful, genuine woman, and I would not have it
different.'
'She said you were the best woman in the world, mother, and I believe she
was right.'
'No, no, Henry; I will be content now to have you think me the second
best,' said his mother, smiling.
Chris, who was staying with a relation of Summers' in Melbourne, wrote to
say their parting should be for six months; but it did not last more than
half that time, and meanwhile two or three matters of interest had
happened in Waddy. There had been several crushings from the Native
Youth, and the yields justified the highest expectations; Frank Hardy and
Mrs. Haddon had been married, and Joel Ham had departed from Waddy under
interesting circumstances. One evening when reading the Mercury in the
bar at the Drovers' Arms, Ham looked up from his paper and addressed
several members of the School Committee who were present:
'Gentlemen,' he said, 'I'll have to get you to fill my position within a
fortnight.'
'What,' cried Peterson, 'throwin' up your billet?'
'I'm wanted in England,' said the master, tapping the paper.
There was a roar at this, which Joel treated with sublime indifference,
but curiosity prompted Peterson to examine the paper closely when the
teacher had set it aside, and he found the following advertisement:
'If this should meet the eye of Joel Hamlyn, second brother of Sir Just
Hamlyn, of Darnstable, he is hereby informed of the death of his brother
and of his succession to the title and estates. Any information
respecting the above Joel Hamlyn will be thankfully received.' Then
followed a description of Joel Hamlyn that was decidedly applicable to
Joel Ham, and the address of a firm of Melbourne solicitors.
The schoolmaster said nothing to satisfy the curiosity of his committee,
but was more communicative in the presence of Frank Hardy.
'I am Sir Joel Hamlyn now,' he said, grinning down at his white moleskins
and broken boots. 'Just and I hated each other like brothers. He was
eminently respectable, I was eminently otherwise. We parted with mutual
satisfaction, but he had two boys when I left England, both of whom have
since died, or there would have been no anxious and respectful inquiries
for my disreputable self.'
'Well, I congratulate you,' said Frank. 'It will be an agreeable change.'
'I do not know,' said Sir Joel; 'I have got drunk on beer here, I shall
get drunk on champagne there That's all the difference.'
Later, when parting with Frank for good, he said:
'I have a long journey before me, and I have got to make up my mind in
that time in what useful capacity I shall figure in Darnstable teetotal
circles, whether as a shining light or a shocking example--whether, in
short, it is better to live respectable or die drunk.'
The people of Waddy never heard what Sir Joel's conclusion was, but they
had an emphatic opinion about his end; which conclusion, however
reasonable it may have been in the light of past events, let us hope was
the wrong one.
Harry wrote to Chris before twelve weeks had passed: 'I can stand this
parting no longer. I am coming to you.' Chris answering him said, 'Come,'
and he went; and when he returned to Waddy Chris accompanied him. They
were married very quietly at Yarraman a few months later, and Dick Haddon
was the only absentee amongst their immediate friends who have figured in
this story. When Harry and Chris were restored to happiness, his interest
in them lost its keen edge, but he was considerate enough to send an
apology to the bridegroom.
'Dear Harry,' he wrote, 'I'm sorry I can't come and be best man at your
wedding, but there is to be a great race to-day--my grey billy, Butts,
against Jacker Mack's black billy, Boxer, for two pocket-knives and a
joey 'possum, owners up--and of course I couldn't get away.--Your mate,
Dick.'
THE END