I had been some little time in my sister's company, before telling her
of my intentions regarding her. I had allowed her to indulge in such
conjectures about my designs, as the circumstances might suggest.
"I am very glad, Rowland," said she, "that you have made up your mind to
stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. Oh! we would be
so happy! You have come to stay here, have you not? Say yes, brother;
and make me happy! Say you will not leave me any more?"
"I do not wish to leave you, dear sister," said I; "and I hope that you
have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to accept the offer
I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to take you with me to
Melbourne."
"What reason can you have, for wishing me to go to Melbourne? It cannot
be a better place than Sydney?"
"Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney?" I asked, with a painful
presentiment, that I was once more to be baulked in my design of making
my poor sister happy.
"Brother," she replied, "I am not willing to go to Melbourne. I don't
wish to leave Sydney--at least, not yet."
"Would you not like to see your brother William?" I asked.
"What! William! dear little Willie! Have you heard of him, Rowland?
Do you know where he is?"
"Yes. He is in Melbourne; and very anxious to see you. I have come to
take you to him. Will you go?"
"I must see William--my long-lost brother William! I must see him. How
came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all about it. Why did he not
come here along with you?"
"We met by mere chance--on the diggings of Victoria; and, hearing me
called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then recognised one another.
Little Willie--as you call him--is now a tall, fine-looking young man.
Next week he is going to be married to a beautiful girl. I have come to
take you to the wedding. Will you go, Martha?"
"I don't know. I must see brother William. What shall I do? What
shall I do? I cannot leave Sydney."
"Martha," said I, "I am your brother; and am willing to assist you in
any manner possible. I am older than you; and we have no parents. I
have the right to some authority over you; and now demand the reason,
why you are not willing to go with me to Melbourne?"
My sister remained silent.
"Give me a straightforward answer," I cried in a tone that partook of
command. "Tell me why you will not go?"
"Oh, brother!--because--because I am waiting here for some one--one who
has promised--to return to me."
"A man, of course?"
"Yes, yes--a man--a true man, Rowland."
"Where has he gone; and how long is it, since you have seen him?" I
asked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow.
"He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two years ago.
Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come back; and then he
would marry me."
"Martha! is it possible that this is your only reason for not going with
me?"
"It is--my only one--I cannot go. _I must wait for him_!"
"Then you are as foolish, as our poor mother was in waiting for Mr
Leary. The man who promised to return and marry you, has probably
forgotten both his promise and you, long before this. Very likely he
has married some other. I thought you had more sense, than to believe
every idle word spoken by idle tongues. The man for whom you are making
yourself miserable, would laugh at your simplicity, if he only knew of
it. He has probably forgotten your name. Cease to think of him, dear
sister; and make both yourself, and your brothers, happy!"
"Do not call me a fool, Rowland--do not think me one! I know I should
be, if I was waiting for any common man; but the one I love is not a
common man. He promised to return; and unless he dies, I am sure he
will keep his word. I know it would be folly to have trusted most men
as I've done him; but he's not like others. I shall yet be happy. To
wait for him is but my duty; do not urge me to neglect it."
"Oh, Martha! our poor mother thought about Mr Leary, just as you do
about this man. She thought him true to her--the best husband in the
world! You may be as much mistaken as she was. I advise you to think
no more of him, but go with me. Look around you! See the wretched
state in which you are living! Leave it for a happy home, with those
who will truly love you."
"Do not talk to me so, Rowland, or you will drive me mad. I wish to go
with you, and wish to see William; but I cannot, and must not leave
Sydney!"
It was evident to me, that my sister was afflicted with the same
delusion, that had enslaved our mother even unto death; and, with much
regret, I became conscious of the folly of trying to induce her to act
in a rational manner. I saw that common sense, reason, persuasion, or
threats, would all be alike unavailing to obtain compliance with my
wishes. The little I had seen of her sex, had impressed me with the
belief that no woman ever exhibited such blind faith and full confidence
in a man worthy of the least regard; and I was willing to stake my
existence, that my sister's lover was a fellow of no principle--some low
blackguard of a similar stamp to the late Mr Leary. I could not
suppose him to be quite so bad as Leary: for that to me would have
appeared impossible.
I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards Martha
should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Perhaps it was
unmanly in me to be so. My sister was unfortunate. No doubt she had
been deluded; and could not help her misfortune. She was more an object
for pity than anger; but I was angry, and could not restrain myself from
showing it. Conscious of my upright and disinterested regard for her, I
could not help thinking it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs
for her welfare.
"Martha," said I, "I ask you once more to go with me. By doing so, you
will fulfil a sister's duty as well as seek your own welfare. Reject my
offer now, and it will never be made again: for we shall part for ever,
I will leave you to the misery, you seem not only to desire, but
deserve."
"Rowland! Rowland!" exclaimed she, throwing her arms around my neck, "I
cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You must not--you must
not!"
"Will you go with me?" I asked, too much excited to listen patiently to
her entreaties.
"Rowland, do not ask me! May heaven help me; I cannot go!"
"Then, farewell!" I cried, "farewell for ever!" and as I uttered the
parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried half frantic
out of the room.
Volume Three, Chapter XXI.