Much to Estelle's surprise, the journey, strange and unfamiliar as were
all things to the English maiden of a country family, was far from
unpleasant. The rapid rate of travelling, the speed and stoutness of the
horses, the astonishing dexterity of the American stage-driver, were
alike novel and interesting; and these were matters as to which she was
qualified to judge. Like many English girls brought up in a great
country-house, she rode well and fearlessly--had, indeed, for more than
one season, ere the shadow fell upon Wychwood, followed the hounds with
decided credit. Beginning with a pony carriage, she had in later years
amused herself with driving her uncle in a pair-horse phaeton, with a
groom in the back seat of course. She was therefore intelligently
interested in the ease and accuracy with which the laconic Mr. Levi
piloted his team alike adown crooked stump-guarded sidelings, through
dense primeval forests, and over unbridged creeks, for under such
perilous conditions the road to Ballarat in the early 'fifties' pursued
its devious course. The driver, in whose charge she had been placed,
with strong recommendations and a liberal _douceur_, by Mr. Vernon,
though saturnine and sparing of speech, as was customary with that
'spoiled child of fortune,' the stage-driver of the period, was, in his
way, courteous and respectful. He indicated from time to time points of
interest in the landscape. He even answered her questions civilly and
with a show of attention. Concerning the coach and harness, the leather
springs and the formidable brake, so diverse from all English
experience, he was explanatory and gracious. The day was fine, the air
clear and fresh, while from the close-ranked eucalyptus exuded balsamic
odours, which, to her aroused fancy and eager appreciation of the new
nature which encircled her, savoured of strange health-giving powers.
The flitting birds, the occasional forest cries, the great flocks of
sheep, the absence of enclosures, the droves of cattle and horses with
their equally wild-looking attendants, the long trains of bullock-drays
and waggons--were not these the wonders and portents of the land of
gold? In despite of forebodings and the sense of isolation with which
Estelle Chaloner had commenced this most eventful enterprise of her
life, the natural fearlessness of her race asserted itself, and, true
to the instincts of youth, her spirits rose perceptibly. When at the
close of the day the coach rattled along the macadamised road which
prepared the passengers for the lighted streets, the clanking engines,
and yawning shafts of Ballarat, she had confessed to herself that
Australia was by no means so dreadful a place as she had expected.
The team was now pulled up nervously close to the doorstep of a large
well-lighted hotel, thus at once exhibiting the proverbial skill of Mr.
Levi, and scattering the group of loungers which surrounded the
entrance. Then a man's voice hailed the driver cheerfully, and demanded
of him whether Miss Chaloner from Melbourne was on the coach.
'Right you are, Commissioner,' was the response. 'If you'll help the
young lady down, reckon I've delivered her into the protection of Her
Majesty's Government. Her luggage is in the rack. Joe'll have it near
out by this. Good-night, Miss. The Commissioner'll take care of you.'
'Good-night, and thank you very much,' said Estelle, as, stepping
downwards cautiously from the high box-seat, she found herself almost in
the arms of a tall man, who half-assisted, half-lifted her down.
'Permit me to introduce myself, Miss Chaloner,' he said, 'as Mr. Dalton
and Her Majesty's Commissioner of this goldfield. I had a note from a
friend and brother officer in Melbourne advising me of your coming. I
have arranged with Mrs. M'Alpine, the wife of the Police Magistrate, who
will be most happy to receive you. You will find her cottage more
comfortable than an hotel. Trust yourself to my escort and we shall be
there in a few minutes.'
'This is some of Mrs. Vernon's kindness, I am sure,' said Estelle.
'Really I seem to have friends everywhere in this land of strangers.'
'May you always find it so, Miss Chaloner. Please to honour me by
enrolling me among the number. This is our vehicle, and your luggage is
safely packed.'
A nondescript trap with four high wheels and disproportionately large
lamps stood near. Into this her companion helped her, and taking the
reins dashed away into the darkness, as it seemed to Estelle, at a
reckless and extravagant pace. After threading several side streets,
however, and ascending a slight elevation without loss or damage, Mr.
Dalton drew up beside a garden gate, out of which issued a lady, who,
taking both her hands in hers, welcomed her guest with effusive warmth.
'So glad to see you, my dear Miss Chaloner. Mrs. Vernon was afraid you
would get lost in our dreadful goldfield. We trust you will find us not
_quite_ such barbarians as the Melbourne people think us. Mr. Dalton,
you'll stay and have tea? No? Don't say you've got business; I know what
_that_ means--loo or poker at that wicked camp. Perhaps you'll look in
to-morrow evening? You may? That's very good of you. We'll manage a
whist party and a chat, at any rate. Good-night. Now, my dear, we'll
have a "small and early" all to ourselves. It's just as well Dalton
didn't come in. He suspected you were tired, I dare say.'
After a few more disjointed, but all hospitable and sympathetic
utterances, Mrs. M'Alpine inducted Estelle into an extremely neat and
comfortable bedroom, and bidding her not to trouble herself to make any
change in her attire, for tea was quite ready, left her to consider the
situation.
No sooner had this kindly acquaintance left the room than the
strangeness of the situation appeared to force itself upon Estelle. She
looked out through the open window--a hinged casement overhung with a
trailing creeper, the glossy leaves of which partly obscured, partly
diverted into glittering fragments of rays, the gleaming moonlight. It
was a still evening. The half-audible murmur of a large population,
confused and inarticulate, came faintly on her ear. There was a softness
in the air which soothed her somewhat excited brain. Thinking over the
strangely-varied experience of the past week, she could not help owning
to herself that so far everything had been rendered easy through the
kindness of these newly-found friends in a far land.
'Who knows,' she asked herself, 'whether I may not find similar aid and
guidance throughout my quest? May Heaven grant it! My errand is one of
sacred necessity, pledged as I am to this by my vow to the memory of the
dead. As God shall help me, I will remain faithful to the end. I begin
to feel that though far from dear England's shores I am still surrounded
by English hearts and English homes--changed in form, and in form alone,
as the latter may be. "Onward" must be my motto.'
Thus concluding her meditations, Estelle bathed her eyes, somewhat
sensitised after the day's exposure, and then making some slight but
befitting change in her attire, joined her hostess in the pleasant
sitting-room, now devoted to the exigencies of the evening meal. Over
the tea-table, and within the influence of a cheerful wood fire, the
younger woman became insensibly more unreserved and confiding as to her
place and purpose. Mr. M'Alpine had not returned to his home, presumably
detained by business of importance. It may be surmised that neither of
the ladies was deeply grieved at his absence, under the circumstances.
Being in full possession of facts, as far as Estelle had resolved to
furnish them to Australian friends, Mrs. M'Alpine strongly recommended
her guest to remain with her for the present, and await the coming of
Mr. Stirling, who would be certain to arrive on the morrow or the day
after, on being notified of her presence in Ballarat. 'Our town looks
uncivilised, my dear, but Growlers' Gully (fancy such a name) is, of
course, only a rude caricature of it. I don't think you could possibly
exist there, though there is an hotel of some sort.'
Very gently and quietly, but firmly, Estelle made it apparent to her
hostess that she was not to be shaken in her purpose. She had formed her
plans carefully before leaving Melbourne, indeed during the voyage, and
she had determined to see with her own eyes the very claim, as they
called it, where he, the loved, the lost Lance Trevanion had worked. She
must see John Polwarth, with whose name she was familiar, and his
honest-hearted wife. She would never be able to rest without full and
complete explanation from Mr. Stirling of all things connected with
Lance's mysterious disappearance. Of course she could imagine that in
Australia people often moved away to new diggings at great distances,
and, she supposed, left off writing to their friends, though she could
hardly account for it in her cousin's case. 'Poor thing! poor thing!'
said Mrs. M'Alpine to herself, 'she will have to hear the wretched truth
some time or other. _I_ can't venture upon it, but I don't know a man
who is more likely to break it to her gently than Charlie Stirling, and
so, as she is bent upon it, the sooner she gets safely out to
"Growlers'" the better.'
So it came to pass that, as Mr. M'Alpine was still absent on outpost
duty, a trusty messenger was despatched next day for the Commissioner,
who regretfully saw Estelle safely into the coach which, leaving daily
for Growlers' at the convenient hour of 10 A.M., was the recognised mode
of communication with that rising goldfield and township.
There were two horses instead of four. The coach was smaller, and by no
means so well appointed. The driver was less distinguished in air and
manner, but capable and civil, particularly after receiving the
Commissioner's strict injunction to take great care of his lady
passenger. The road was more than novel, indeed exciting, to Estelle's
untravelled mind, winding amid fallen trees, bounded on either side by
yawning dark-mouthed shafts of unknown depth--some desolate and
deserted, with unused windlass and dangling rope; others in work, with
full-laden buckets which, as they came to the surface, Estelle believed
to be partly filled with gold--now crossing a rushing water-race upon a
rustic bridge of most temporary nature, and finally plunging through a
creek which flowed level with the feet of the inside passengers. On the
farther bank of this much celebrated watercourse stood a scattered
collection of huts, tents, and cottages, threading which by no
particular roadway the coach dashed ostentatiously into a more closely
occupied thoroughfare, in which some dozen edifices of superior
pretensions denoted the business centre of the township.
Here the minor peculiarities of a goldfield, somewhat shaded off in the
civilisation of Ballarat, commenced to present themselves. The 'Reefers'
Arms' was an enlarged cottage, the front of which boasted the more
expensive and, in goldfields architecture, more correct material of
'sawn stuff,' disposed weatherboard fashion, while the side walls, the
roof, and rear of the building were composed of large sheets of stringy
bark. It was wholly unlike any building which Estelle had ever
imagined--certainly with a view to lodging therein. However, this was
not the time to falter or hesitate; she had chosen her course and must
follow it out.
Carrying her smaller property in each hand, and following the driver,
who walked through a group of loiterers or still unsated revellers who
encumbered the entrance, Estelle found herself in a painfully clean
sitting-room, in which her guide deposited her portmanteau, merely
saying, 'I'll call Mrs. Delf to see you, Miss,' and departed.
He had probably explained that the young lady was a friend of the Police
Magistrate and the Commissioner. Nothing further was necessary to
ensure her the utmost respect and attention which Growlers' could
afford. Both functionaries were men in authority, and as such to be held
in awe. Though it is probable that even without these valuable
introductions any girl, though wholly unprotected, who was
conventionally correct of conduct would have met with similar attention.
As to the peculiarity of a young lady, apparently of position, electing
to abide temporarily in such a queer locality as Growlers', the hostess
was not likely to disquiet herself. So many strange things and strange
people were constantly in the habit of passing across the orbit of any
given goldfield that surprise was of all the emotions the most rare and
difficult to arouse.
Mrs. Delf shortly presented herself: a neat, alert personage, shrewd of
aspect and decisive of speech. She anticipated any inquiry of Estelle by
remarking, 'Ned tells me, Miss Chaloner, as you want to stop here for a
while. Well, you know Growlers' always was a rough shop, and I can't say
as it's altogether A1 now, but I'll do what I can for you while you're
here, Miss.'
'Thank you very much,' said Estelle. 'I may stay a few days, or even
longer. Would you kindly tell me if you remember a Mr. Trevanion who was
mining here more than a year ago?'
'Trevanion--Lance Trevanion? Of course I do. Belonged to Number Six. He
and Jack Polwarth were mates--and a stunning claim it is this very day.
Know him? Why, he stayed here the very last night he was on the
field--poor fellow!'
'Then he has gone away--left this part of the country?' asked Estelle,
with such anxiety depicted on her countenance that the quick-witted
matron at once divined that the real truth was as yet unknown to her.
'And why do you say "poor fellow"? Has anything happened to him?'
'Oh no! Not at all, Miss--that is, not that I've heard of' ('and that's
a banger, if ever there was one,' ejaculated the good woman inwardly);
'it's a manner of speaking, that's all--we were all fond of him, and
sorry to lose him, you see. Is there any one else here you know, Miss?
Oh! Mr. Stirling of the Bank opposite will be here to dinner at one
o'clock; has his meals here regular, though of course he sleeps at the
Bank. He'll tell you all about Mr. Trevanion. Bless you, they was like
brothers. As for Mr. Stirling, he's that quiet--why, whatever's up at
the Bank? Not a fight, surely?'
This exclamatory query was apparently caused by a simultaneous rush of
all the unoccupied portion of the population, with the exception of
three men who stood up in a cart, across to the comparatively
pretentious building with corrugated iron roof, legended on the front as
the Joint-Stock Bank of Australia. Mrs. Delf's experienced eye had noted
the formation of a ring, simultaneously with the sudden precipitation on
his head of an able-bodied miner through the Bank's portal.
'It's that "Geordie" Billy, sure as I live; he's been cheekin' Mr.
Stirling about his gold and got chucked out. He's a rough chap when he's
had a drop. There's bound to be a row now.'
A tall brown-bearded man, decidedly in undress uniform, but effectively
attired for service, had by this time appeared at the door. He wore a
coloured crimean shirt, to which, however, was attached a white linen
collar. His coat was off, and his sleeves had been rolled up. He watched
with a smile the burly miner recover himself, and standing upright glare
around him with the silent fury of the bull-dog in his small black eye.
'Are ye game to come out of your box there and stand up to a _man_?' he
growled out. 'I'll show ye what it is to put your hands on me!'
The banker's answer to the challenge was to walk calmly forward, while
the spectators, with cheerful expectancy, closed around, in confident
trust that one of the principal excitements of their monotonous
existence would not fail them.
'I'd rather see you go home, Billy, and sleep off your sulk. It's the
grog that always makes a fool of you; but if you must have a licking,
come on.'
'Oh dear me!' cried Estelle, who, with the most liberal allowance for
the free and lawless life which colonists are believed to lead, had
scarcely expected this. 'Are they really going to fight? How dreadful!
That gentleman may be killed.'
'Not he, Miss. Mr. Stirling's a hard man to mark; not but what the
"Geordie's" as strong as a bull, and can fight too. Come to this window,
Miss; we can see it first-rate from here. They'll only have two or three
rounds, and his mates'll take away Billy.'
'And is _that_ Mr. Stirling?' asked Estelle, with deepest amazement. 'I
thought you said he was so quiet?'
'So he is, Miss, till he's put upon. I expect Geordie said he was
weighing the gold wrong, and Mr. Stirling won't likely stand that from a
digger, and put him out. That's about the size of it. Oh, do look, Miss;
they're going at it.'
Estelle was much minded to turn her head away. In her own country she
would doubtless have thought shame to have looked on at any such
spectacle. But somehow the anxiety to see how the aristocrat fared in
conflict with the man of the people overpowered her scruples, so she
gazed eagerly at the conflict, as might her ancestress at a tournament
where her badge was worn by a knightly aspirant.
'Geordie' Billy, belonging to a section of miners who hailed from 'canny
Newcassel,' was a low-set, broad-chested, unusually powerful man. Long
in the reach, and in the pink of condition from severe daily labour, his
enormous strength and dogged courage, independently of science, made him
a dangerous antagonist. Mr. Stirling was held to be the most finished
performer with the gloves on the field. It was therefore a contest of
champions, and as such awaited by the crowd with keen and pleasurable
expectation; and a very ugly customer indeed did Mr. Billy Corve appear,
as he came forward with an activity which the various 'nips' he had
indulged in that morning had but slightly impaired. Had one of those
sledgehammer blows which he delivered with fierce rapidity taken effect,
Mr. Stirling would have had some difficulty in 'coming to time.' But
stepping back from one, eluding another by what appeared to be the
slightest side movement of his head, and stopping a third neatly, he
caught his advancing foe such a left-handed facer as staggered him,
leaving him a prey to the body blow that followed, and which, getting
'home' to some purpose, sent him very decidedly to grass.
'Oh dear, how dreadful!' said Estelle, pale with apprehension. 'Surely
they won't let them kill one another? That poor man must be badly hurt.'
'Not a bit of it, Miss. You couldn't kill Billy with an axe. He'll be
all the steadier for it next round. Oh! look out, Mr. Stirling.'
This friendly admonition, which in the ardour of her partisanship Mrs.
Delf screamed out at the top of her voice, was justified by the apparent
success of the very ugly rush which Mr. Corve made, with the evident
intention of getting to close quarters. He broke through Stirling's
guard, and nearly succeeded in getting his head 'into chancery,' as that
peculiar feat of the combat is designated. Once enfolded with that
mighty arm, and the enormous fist left free to pound away at discretion,
the classical outline of Charlie Stirling's features would have been
sadly marred, perhaps permanently altered. But _dis aliter visum_.
Countering with lightning quickness through the 'half-arm rally,'
Stirling managed, by the exercise of desperate agility, to keep clear of
the octopus-like hug, in which science would have been vain. Finally,
springing backward, he evaded a final lunge, and darting in from the
side administered a rattling hit on the 'point,' which for the moment
completely discomfited his antagonist.
A ringing cheer went up from the discriminating crowd, while a friendly
bystander, moved to apprehensive sympathy, earnestly exclaimed, 'Keep
your head, Mr. Stirling; for God's sake, sir, keep your head.'
But Charlie Stirling had already seen the necessity for caution, for
though his gray eyes glowed and his chest heaved as he regained his
corner, he seemed to fall mechanically into the attitude of calm
watchfulness with which he had commenced the encounter.
'Wasn't that grand, Miss?' exclaimed Mrs. Delf. 'Mr. Stirling's as quick
on his pins as a wallaroo. I was most afeard the "Geordie" had him then.
This round will settle it. Don't go in, Miss. Maybe you'll never have a
chance to see a right-out good mill so comfortable again. Two to one on
Mr. Stirling.'
For her life Estelle could not have moved away then, though she had
turned her head a minute before, deeming that for shame's sake she could
no longer look on at such a sight. But the ancient fire which glowed in
the breasts of the patrician dames of Rome's proudest day, though
stifled and repressed for centuries, has never quite died out of the
female heart. After all, no one would be killed, or perhaps mortally
wounded. Mr. Stirling was Lance's friend, thus necessarily hers. She
could not bear to leave the arena ignorant of the fate of their
champion.
She had not long to wait. And now that her blood was slightly warmed by
the excitement of a real battle, a combat not quite _à l'outrance_, but
as near to it as is permitted in these degenerate days, she confessed to
herself that there was something not wholly inglorious in this ordeal by
combat.
The tall athletic form of Charlie Stirling showed to great advantage as
he advanced, with head erect and elastic step, towards his truculent
antagonist, whose countenance, with a splash of blood from brow to bare
neck, wore a savagely stern expression. Furious at his late failure, he
made a rush, with every intention of ending the fight then and there.
Forcing the fighting, and compelling Stirling to use his utmost skill in
warding off or evading his terrific blows, each one of which was
sufficient to disable an ordinary man, he appeared at one time to have
mastered his adversary. But Charlie Stirling, the hero of a hundred
glove-fights, was too clever, in the language of the _lanista_. Feinting
suddenly, he drew the blow, of which he had thoroughly mastered an
infallible guard, at the same time getting home with his right in a
terrific body blow, the effect of which brought his man forward, to be
shot backward by a lightning left-hander on the temple, which stretched
the brawny gladiator senseless, putting the possibility of 'coming to
time' entirely out of the question.
'Great work, Mr. Stirling! You gave him "London" that time,' shouted a
man who hailed from Bow Bells; and amid congratulatory cheers, in which
Estelle felt a sudden impulse to join, the discomfited champion, after
recovering his valuable intellects, was led off--resisting manfully, to
do him justice. But his crowd was decidedly against him, and by force of
numbers, in despite of oaths and protestations, he was borne off to a
rival hostelry, there to drown his mortification in beer, and finish the
day in a manner worthy of its auspicious commencement.
As for Mr. Stirling, he 'retired into his kingdom' (like the king in
Hans Andersen), 'and shut the door after him'--presumably for ablution,
for he emerged in half an hour, at the sound of Mrs. Delf's dinner-bell,
arrayed in conventional garments, and, save a slightly flushed
countenance and a forehead bruise, unscathed from his recent encounter.
Meanwhile Estelle proceeded to Mrs. Delf's dining-room--not without
natural misgivings as to the composition of the _table d'hôte_. These,
however, were set at rest by observing that only six guests were
provided for. They proved to be Mr. Stirling and the manager of another
bank, a commercial traveller, a gold-buyer, and a stranger unclassified,
all of whom were scrupulously correct and deferential of manner. Later
on she became aware that, according to the highly commendable custom of
Australian hotels, even on the most recent goldfields and out-of-the-way
country towns, there are two tables, corresponding to first and second
class in railways. At the first those who may be considered gentle-folk
are entertained, while to the second the rougher and less manageable
guests are relegated.
'Miss Chaloner,' said Mr. Stirling, bowing deferentially upon entering,
'perhaps you will permit me to introduce myself, while expressing my
deep regret that you should have been an involuntary spectator of such a
disgraceful occurrence. We are not generally so badly behaved, though
you are the only lady that has so far honoured Growlers' with a visit.
We have no police to keep order, so we are obliged to protect
ourselves.'
Estelle faintly smiled as she replied, 'You seem to be able to do so
pretty well, if I may judge from appearances. I hope no one is severely
hurt. Ought I to congratulate you on your victory?'
'You don't know how relieved I feel at your forgiveness, Miss Chaloner,'
he replied. 'As for Geordie (who really is a deserving individual when
sober, and a capitalist besides), he is wholly unhurt, and to-morrow you
will probably see him on the most friendly terms with me and all
mankind.'
Before returning to business, Stirling found means to intimate to
Estelle that he was aware from Mrs. M'Alpine's letter that she wished to
have some private conversation with him; that he would do himself the
honour of calling upon her later in the afternoon, when he would be most
happy to afford her whatever information he was possessed of about her
cousin.
'Thank you very much,' she said. 'Oh, Mr. Stirling, if you knew how I
have longed to find some one who could give me authentic news of his
movements. And you knew him so well?'
'Yes; _very_ well. I must go now, but you shall hear all that I can tell
you.'
Easier said than done, thought he, as once more in the small inner room
of his unostentatious edifice he lit his pipe and abandoned himself to
fullest contemplation. 'And what in the world shall I tell her? What a
glorious girl she is. What an air of refinement, and yet with what
courage and high resolve she has faced the difficulties of her position.
Proud, cultured, aristocratic to the finger-tips, she has volunteered to
expose herself to rough journeyings, rude associates--even ruder in her
imagining than the reality. And for what? For the sake of a heedless,
self-indulgent scamp like Lance Trevanion, who never was good enough to
black her boots. God knows, I pity him from the very bottom of my heart;
but I cannot help believing that it was his own selfish obstinacy in a
great measure that brought about his ruin. And now I have to tell this
sweet and noble creature that her lover was till lately a convicted
felon--actually at present an escaped prisoner, at the mercy of the
first police trooper that falls across him. The bare idea is frightful.'
And then Mr. Charles Stirling filled his pipe again to the brim and
smoked on for some considerable time, apparently in a most anxious, not
to say despondent, frame of mind. The irruption of a party of diggers
with a parcel of gold to be weighed and deposited here temporarily
diverted his thoughts, but soon after four o'clock, having finished his
day's work and impressed upon his junior to keep close to the bank
premises in his absence, he betook himself to Mrs. Delf's hostelry. He
found Estelle awaiting him in walking attire. He proposed that they
should visit Number Six claim, where Jack Polwarth still lived and
worked. It was barely a mile distant. On the way he would be able to
give her all the information she desired.
'Nothing would please her more. She was fond of walking, and should like
above all things to see a real claim at work.' So forth they fared
through the crooked, straggling street, crowded on either side with the
heterogeneous buildings of a goldfield town. Turning to the south, they
trod a winding track through a labyrinth of shafts of all sizes and
depths of sinking. Mounds of earth thrown up in every direction gave the
scene a ghastly resemblance to the cemetery of a plague-stricken city.
As if unwilling to enter upon the subject so unavoidably painful,
Stirling directed her attention to the various novel features of the
scene. When, suddenly turning towards him, she said in a low but
distinct tone of voice: 'And now, Mr. Stirling, please to tell me all
you know of my unfortunate cousin. No one has said so in so many words,
but I _feel_ it'--here she laid her hand upon her heart--'something
dreadful has happened to him. Is it not so?'
'I wish I could deny it,' he answered, in a tone of the deepest
feeling; 'but I cannot. Your heart has warned you truly. He is a most
unfortunate man.'
'He has left the locality altogether then, and permanently?' she asked.
'Yes.'
'Tell me all,'--here she clasped her hands and looked so imploringly in
his face that Charlie Stirling, seeing but the misery in her pleading
face, felt minded to kneel down and kiss the hem of her garment. 'Oh
that those eyes could so soften and glow for me,' he thought. 'And all
this heavenly love and tenderness wasted. Alas!'
But he said only, 'My dear Miss Chaloner, my heart bleeds for you; you
must prepare to hear the worst.'
'_Is he dead?_' said she hoarsely, in a changed voice.
'No, not _dead_. Better perhaps that he had been. Were he my brother, I
should say the same.'
'Thank God for that,' she said. 'If he is alive I may look upon his face
again. Tell me--tell me at once----' and here, oh marvellous and divine
power of woman's love! her face lit up with a glow of gratitude and
hope, which to her admiring companion's mind changed it into the
presentment of a saint.
He motioned her to sit down upon one of the fallen forest trees which
thickly, in places, encumbered the earth, and there told her as briefly
as might be the whole miserable tale. He made but scant mention of the
Lawless sisters, laying great stress upon the iniquitous nature of the
trap into which Lance had fallen--the persistent hostility of Dayrell
and his settled intention to secure a conviction.
'I see it all,' she said, rising from her seat and walking excitedly
onward. 'I see it all. He has been the victim of a conspiracy among
these wretches--poor poor Lance! Why did he insist upon coming to this
unhappy land? But is he alive--alive? Justice will yet be done. I will
see him if he is above ground in Australia, and together we must work,
with the aid of his friends, for an honourable release. Oh! I cannot
tell you how relieved I feel,' continued Estelle. 'I am glad; I thought
that he was dead. It has given me strength to bear the dreadful thought
of his imprisonment. And now tell me about it, tell me while I am
strong.'
Stirling saw his opportunity. It was a hard, a most painful task; but
now he would go through with it. He scarce hoped that she would have
made it so easy for him. This ground had now become more open, and on
the bank of the ravine, widening into a green and level meadow, he saw
the windlass and shaft of Number Six, above which floated a red flag,
the well-known signal, brought here by Californian miners, that the
claim was 'on gold.' They had still some distance to go; her feet, that
were so fleet and eager a while since, became slow and listless. Ere
they reached the mound on the other side of which they saw the stalwart
form and good-humoured countenance of John Polwarth, he had told and she
had heard the sad finale to the high hopes and joyous aspirations of
Lance Trevanion.
'And now that he has escaped from these terrible hulks, I suppose there
is not much chance of his being recaptured? This country is so wild and
large that surely prisoners must nearly always escape?'
'No doubt they do, but not so often as we might think. The country is
wild, but those who pursue them are keen and fearless. However, the
place that he has reached is inaccessible and distant.'
'Thank God for that,' she said softly. 'Perhaps he can travel safely
through the wilderness and find a ship for England. Oh, if he were but
once at home!--at home! Why did he ever leave? But I must not break down
now. Is that John Polwarth?'
'Yes, and yonder is Mrs. Polwarth at the door of that neat cottage, and
Tottie standing by her. I think we may as well call upon her first, and
have Jack in by and by. She is a good, kindly woman, and Lance's
misfortune was a bitter grief to her.'
'He seems to have had such _good_ friends around him,' said Estelle
sorrowfully; 'why could they not save him? But I know that he was wilful
and headstrong. Alas! alas!'
By this time they had reached Mrs. Polwarth's cottage--a mansion in the
estimation of all 'Growlers',' inasmuch as it boasted of four rooms of
medium size, a verandah, and a detached slab kitchen. Mrs. Polwarth, who
was engaged in sweeping around her door,--a space in front of all
miners' habitations being scrupulously kept clear of sticks, leaves, and
other untidinesses,--halted in her occupation and greeted Mr. Stirling
warmly.
'Why, whatever's brought you over to-day, Mr. Stirling? I suppose this
fine afternoon? Come inside and I'll get you a cup of tea after your
walk. Maybe the lady's a little tired.'
'We shall be glad of the chance, I am sure. Mrs. Polwarth, this lady is
Miss Chaloner, a cousin of Lance Trevanion, our poor friend and Jack's
partner. She has come all the way from England, from his old home, to
see about him.'
'The Lord bless and keep us!' said Mrs. Polwarth--a devout Wesleyan, as
are mostly Cornish mining folk. 'Only to think of that! It's the doing
of Providence, that's what it is. Sit ye down, Miss. To think I should
ever see you in my poor place. It's clean and neat what there is of it,
too. And to think of your being _his_ cousin--poor Mr. Lance's cousin.
Many's the tear I shed thinking o'er his sad fate. Oh dear! oh dear! I'm
that glad to see this day.'
'And I am very glad to see you, Mrs. Polwarth,' said the English girl,
softening at once at the sight of the genuine grief displayed by the
good woman, for the tears were by this time running down her cheeks. 'I
have so often heard of you in my cousin's letters that I seem to know
you quite well. And is this Tottie? Come to me, my dear, and tell me how
old you are.'
Tottie, a pretty child, rather more carefully attired than usual, was
not shy, and coming up to the pretty lady, as she ever afterwards
described her, looked up wonderingly, with great blue eyes and a wistful
smile.
'Mother, is this Lance's sister?' she said, with the curious childish
intuition which seems to suggest so many guesses at truth--some near
enough in all conscience. 'Is he coming back to Tottie?'
Mr. Stirling 'thought he would go and have a word with Jack,' and, not
sorry to leave the two women to open their hearts to each other, hastily
departed.
There was no particular news about Number Six. 'She was going on
steady,' Jack said. 'Last week was as good as any washing-up they'd had
for a month, and she wasn't half worked out yet. So that was Mr. Lance's
cousin, her as had coomed with Mr. Stirling? All the way from England,
too? It was her as used to write to him and tell him about the old place
at home, and how his father, the Squire, was. And now the Squire was
dead. And Lance, poor chap, had broke jail, and was gone nobody knew
where. And this young lady was here all the way to Growlers'! It beats
all. Wait till I run out this bucket and tidy myself a bit, Mr.
Stirling, and I'll come over and see the young lady. It's a sight for
sore eyes to see any one from the old country; no offence to you, sir,
as never was there, more's the pity. But it'll do Gwenny and me to talk
about for a year to come, I'll warrant.'
Thus discoursing, they walked over to the cottage, where Stirling
partook of the proffered cup of tea, and Polwarth, betaking himself to a
back apartment, performed ablutions which caused his honest face to
shine again, and, attired in his Sunday suit, presented himself after a
while to Miss Chaloner. This young lady shook him warmly by the hand,
and telling him that she had heard about him in every letter which Lance
had written until--until--lately, expressed her sincere pleasure at
seeing him and his wife.
'You were Lance's true friend, he always said. And many a time the poor
Squire and I felt so happy that he had an honest English heart and a
stout English arm to rely upon in this far country.'
'Ah, Miss! Me and the wife had that feeling for him as we'd ha' done
anything i' the world to keep him from harm, but there was them as he
took to, against our liking, that drawed him down the wrong way. It was
a bad day as he ever seed 'em. I was always at him to cut loose and quit
their company. But it was all no use; he was that set and headstrong.'
'_We_ knew that well, his poor father and I,' replied Estelle sadly;
'that strange obstinacy of his, which runs in the family, they say,
seems to have been his ruin. But I've come out here on purpose to find
him, and if he lives in Australia I _will_ find him before I leave.'
As Estelle pronounced the last words she raised her head proudly and
gazed with a fixed and steady glance into the forest path, as if in her
self-imposed task she could pierce their solitude and discover at
whatever distance the object of her quest.
Her expressive countenance, even more than her words, carried conviction
to her hearers of a high resolve. Stirling regarded her with mingled
feelings of respect and admiration, while Jack Polwarth, in rude but
honest tones, broke out with, 'And so ye shall, Miss, and we'll help ye
to the last drop of our blood; won't we, Mr. Stirling? Ye have the old
courage and the old spirit in ye, Miss Chaloner; I could fancy I heard
Mr. Lance himself speaking, poor chap.'
'I don't wish to pose as a heroine, Mr. Stirling,' she continued,
blushing slightly at the momentary excitement into which she had been
betrayed, 'but I wish all my friends to understand that I have fully
resolved, for several reasons, not the least of which is that so I
promised his father on his deathbed, to go through with this task, and,
Heaven helping me, will never abandon it while Lance is alive.'
'I can quite appreciate your feeling in the matter, Miss Chaloner,' said
Stirling. 'Nothing would give me more pleasure than to join you in the
search for our unfortunate friend. But I am, so to speak, chained to
this spot. In all other ways you may command me, and I have good warrant
for saying Jack Polwarth here, as well as Mr. Hastings, who is our
staunch ally also, will join in the enterprise, heart and soul.'
'This is truly the land of warm and unselfish friendship,' replied
Estelle. 'I have met with nothing else, for which I shall be grateful as
long as I live. It will give me fresh confidence in my search. I never
could have believed that the way would have been made so smooth for me.
I feel more at home here than I have done since I left England. So I
shall stay at Mrs. Delf's for a week longer, getting together all the
information which I shall need.'
'I think we had better be moving, Miss Chaloner, or Mrs. Delf's gong
will be sounding an alarm for tea. She has many virtues, but punctuality
and scrubbing she may be said to carry to excess.'
'Amiable weaknesses, to my mind,' said Estelle, rising from her chair.
'I feel disposed to humour them, and Mrs. Polwarth, if you will have me
to-morrow, I will come down after breakfast, now that I know the way to
Number Six, and spend the day with you and Tottie.'