A STRICKEN WOMAN
The affair at Barker's Creek caused a great sensation, and the Sydney
and Melbourne papers had long accounts of it, chiefly supplied by Adye
Dauntsey and Dr Tom Sheridan. The latter took care to let it be known
how Rodney Shaw had acted, and his report was the cause of a startling
and unexpected _dénoûment_.
A week after the fight Jim Dennis had retired for the night. He was
alone in the house with Sal, as Willie had gone to Barragong for a
change. He had been out all day, and, being thoroughly tired, slept
soundly.
During the night a woman might have been seen toiling with weary steps
across the lonesome land. She was footsore and hungry, well-nigh
starving. She had been at Swamp Creek and found there no rest or
shelter. She seemed to shrink from contact with everyone, and had it not
been for the doctor's dog she would have gone on without food or drink.
Baalim was sniffing round his master's house as usual, on the lookout
for a canine encounter, when he saw this woman. Baalim knew every man,
woman and child in Swamp Creek, and he perceived she was a stranger.
Such an important fact must be communicated to the doctor.
The dog bounded into the house barking furiously, and Dr Tom, coming out
to administer a caution to him, saw the woman standing, uncertain,
outside in the street.
'She looks deuced tired and hungry,' he thought, and without hesitation
called to her.
'My good woman, you look tired,' he said. 'Have you come far?'
'From Sydney,' she said in a weak voice.
Dr Tom was staggered and incredulous. Sydney was some hundreds of miles
away.
'A team-master gave me a lift as far as Barragong,' she explained. 'I
have walked from there.'
'Come in and rest, and I will find you something to eat,' said the
worthy doctor.
She hesitated, but he insisted, and she came inside.
'She's seen better days,' thought Dr Tom, but delicately forbore
questioning her, although he wondered what she could want at Swamp Creek
if she had no friends, which seemed probable.
She ate like a famished woman, and he was sorry. When she had finished
she thanked him and left, and he made no effort to detain her; he had no
right to do so.
He watched her walk wearily down the street and leave the town.
'Poor soul!' he said to Baalim as he patted his ugly head. 'She's seen
trouble, old dog; and, by Jove! she must have been a handsome woman
once. What a pity! Where the deuce can she be going to?'
Her meal at Dr Tom's had given her strength, and under the starlit sky
she struggled on. She followed the coach track and at intervals sat down
to rest.
Towards morning she came in sight of Wanabeen and stopped. For fully
half an hour she stood and looked at Jim Dennis's home. Her eyes filled
with tears which coursed down her sunken cheeks, and she sank down upon
her knees and tried to pray.
The words could not come, for there was a great sin upon her soul. Her
breath came in sobs and gasps, she panted like a wounded creature.
Staggering to her feet, she pushed on hurriedly, fearing her strength
would fail, and at last sank, exhausted, on the steps of Jim Dennis's
house, much as Sal had done years before.
Then she passed into a fitful slumber, and as Jim Dennis had found Sal,
so the half-caste found her.
Sal rubbed her eyes and looked.
'A white woman!' she exclaimed, and then felt afraid.
What could a white woman want here? How did she get there?
Sal looked at her long and earnestly, and something in the woman's face
seemed familiar to her.
Where had she seen a face like that?
She must call Jim Dennis and let him act as he thought best.
She roused him and he started up.
'Is it late, Sal?'
'No, early, about five'
'What has happened?' he said sharply, noticing the scared look on her
face.
'There's a woman asleep on the steps--a white woman.'
Jim Dennis clutched her arm.
'A white woman,' he repeated in a hoarse voice.
'Dress and go out to her,' said Sal.
Jim Dennis put on his clothes mechanically; he dreaded he knew not what.
'A white woman,' he muttered, 'and she has tramped it here.'
He went out in a hesitating kind of way.
'What is she like?' he asked quietly, but she noticed the tremor in his
voice.
'Go and see. She is asleep. You can look at her face.'
He had not pulled on his boots, and he went quietly outside. He looked
at the sleeping woman and staggered back as though he had been stabbed.
He put his hand to his face to shut out the sight.
What a flood of memories rushed over him.
Sal watched him. She knew now where she had seen such a face before. It
was like Willie's face when he was at the point of death.
Jim Dennis looked at the sleeping woman again, and his features became
hard and stern; his mouth was cruel and his eyes flashed ominously.
Yes, it was Maud come back. The woman who had so deeply wronged him and
blighted his name, the woman who had disowned her own son--he could have
forgiven her, perhaps, but for that.
He went inside and took up his revolver.
Sal looked at him, terrified, then she darted forward and held him by
the arm.
'No, no, not that, master, not that. I know her. It is Willie's face.
You found me there half dead and carried me in your arms and restored me
to life. You cannot kill her. She is Willie's mother!'
He still held the revolver and shook her off.
'It is murder, murder--and a woman in her sleep. Jim Dennis, you are a
coward for the first time! Deal with the man who wronged her and you.
Have a settling day with him first.'
She had roused him. The taunt struck home.
'By God! I will, Sal. Settling day with him. It will be a heavy one.'
Out on to the verandah he went again, and when the woman opened her eyes
she saw the man she had so deeply wronged looking down upon her like an
embodiment of the spirit of vengeance.
So terrified was she at his look that she fainted and rolled on to the
ground.
Sal went to her assistance.
'She comes not into my house again,' said Jim.
'What of the man?' asked Sal.
'She can come in,' answered Jim.
'Carry her in.'
'No.'
'Then I will,' and Sal lifted the light form in her arms and placed it
on her own bed. 'What you did for me I do for her,' she said.
Maud Dennis, for such it was, although she bore no right to the name,
gradually recovered.
Sal was at the bedside and smoothed her hair.
'Who are you?'
There was a faint suspicion of jealousy in the tone of her voice.
'I am Sal, Jim Dennis's housekeeper.'
'Not his wife?'
Sal looked at her with contempt as she answered,--
'No, not his wife.'
'Forgive me. I loved him so much long ago.'
'Then why did you leave him? It was cruel,' said Sal.
'It was kind. I should never have made him happy,' she said.
Jim Dennis came in.
'Leave us alone,' he said to Sal.
'You'll not hurt me, Jim? You'll not kill me?' said the wretched woman.
'Oh, if you knew how I have suffered! I am dying, Jim, and I have come
to tell you all.'
'No, I will not kill you, and you deserve to suffer. I want to hear
nothing, only one thing--his name,' said Jim Dennis.
'You must hear. I was tempted, tried. I did not tell him who I was, and
he would never have known but when he deserted me in London, I meant to
follow him some day and denounce him for the villain he is. He knows
now, and let him beware of you. He ill-treated me. I lived a wretched
life, and then when he had tired of me he cast me off. I wronged you
past forgiveness, but how have I suffered for my sins? I worked and
slaved day and night until at last I had to fall still lower.'
She shuddered, and he turned his face from her. This was the mother of
his Willie! The lad should never know it, never see her. He must send to
Barragong at once and have him detained there until he could act.
'I scraped enough money together to pay a passage to Sydney in a sailing
vessel, one of the poorer class, and the miseries of that long voyage I
shall never forget. In Sydney I found my parents were dead. I had no
friends, very little money. I started to walk here. A team-master gave
me a lift to Barragong.'
Jim Dennis started. Willie was there. Then he recollected the lad would
not have known her had he seen her.
'From Barragong I walked to Swamp Creek, where a kindly man gave me food
and rest.'
'Had he a big dog?' asked Jim.
'Yes, it was the dog attracted his attention to me.'
'Dr Tom, just like him,' thought Jim. 'He little thinks who she is.'
'Then I came on here. Let me die here, Jim. I have not long to live. You
cannot thrust a dying woman out.'
He made no answer.
She moaned piteously.
'Let me die here, Jim. Let me see Willie before I go and ask him to
forgive his wretched mother.'
'You may die here,' said Jim, harshly; 'but you shall never see my boy.
You disowned him and he thinks you are dead.'
She was crying bitter tears of repentance, but they had come too late,
and she was afraid to die without forgiveness on earth.
'Jim!' she said suddenly as she caught his arm. 'Jim, I dare not die
without your forgiveness.'
There was such a look of horror in her eyes that even he was softened,
and said quietly,--
'I will forgive you, Maud, freely forgive you; but you must never let
Willie know, and he shall not see you.'
'Not even when I am dead?' she asked.
'No, not even then.'
She sobbed bitterly, and Sal, hearing her, felt the tears well up into
her eyes.
'I never knew him to be cruel before,' said Sal to herself.
'One thing more,' said Jim Dennis. 'Who was the man?'
'Your friend, Jim. Your black-hearted, treacherous friend,' she
answered.
'I had no friends,' he said.
'A man who called himself your friend. He was in Sydney. I met him. He
was going to England, and offered to take me and spend his wealth with
me, marry me when it was possible.'
Light was dawning upon Jim Dennis, and his hands clenched so that the
nails bit into the flesh.
'It was Rodney Shaw,' she said.
Jim Dennis sprang up with an oath.
'By God! can such a villain live?' he cried.
'He had not seen me at Wanabeen, you recollect; he had gone to Sydney
before I came here, and lived there some time before he went to England.
He is a cruel, heartless man, and ruined our lives. He deserves no
pity.'
'He shall have none from me,' said Jim Dennis. 'I will flog him like a
cowardly cur and then shoot him.'
'He is a dangerous man,' she said.
Jim Dennis laughed harshly. He was not afraid of such a man or a dozen
of them.
'Sal,' he called, 'there is work for me to do before it is too late.
Send Silas Dixon for Dr Tom as soon as he comes in.'
'Where are you going?' she asked.
'To kill the man that wronged me and tried to ruin you.'
'Rodney Shaw?' she exclaimed in horror.
'He is the man. Settling day has come at last.'