"In smoothest terms his speech he wove,
Of endless friendship, faith, and love;
She listened with a blush and sigh,
His suit was warm, his hopes were high."
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
On a beautifully mild afternoon in that loveliest of Australian seasons,
the transition between winter and summer, there reclined in an easy
chair, on the verandah of the Fern Vale cottage, a young girl whose pale
though handsome features seemed to be invested with an angelic air as
they were contrasted with the deep mourning in which she was attired. We
need hardly explain to the reader that this was Eleanor Rainsfield. At
one side of her sat our hero, attempting to relieve the weary hours of
the invalid by some light and amusing reading, and on the other side sat
his sister, who, while she was listening to her brother, was engaged in
some of that description of work which constitutes at the same time
young ladies' toil and amusement.
During Eleanor's gradual return to convalescence John Ferguson had been
assiduous in his endeavours to keep her mind diverted from the
contemplation of her grief; and, forgetful of all his past resolutions
to think of her only as a seraph exalted above his possession, their
constant contiguity, if possible, more than ever made havoc in his
heart, immersed him more than ever deeper in the sea of love, and made
him yield a willing sacrifice to the ecstatic delirium of his dream.
The attention of the trio, at the moment we have visited them, was
suddenly attracted by the sounds of an approaching horseman, and looking
up they perceived Bob Smithers riding wildly towards the house. Eleanor
instantly rose from her chair; and, leaning upon Kate, entered the
sitting-room, while she said to John: "I expect the object of Mr.
Smithers' visit is an interview with me, and if he desires it I will see
him." Then addressing her friend, she said: "Leave me, dearest Kate, for
the few minutes he is here. I don't expect he will stay long."
In another instant Smithers pulled up before the house; and, throwing
his bridle over the fence, he strode up to John, who was waiting for him
with a welcome and an extended hand.
"How do you do, Mr. Smithers?" he said. "It is some time since you
honoured us with a visit. I hope you're well."
"I wish to see Miss Rainsfield," replied Smithers, without heeding the
proffered hand or the inquiry after his health.
John felt rather chagrined at the want of civility on the part of his
guest; and, pointing to the half-opened window of the room in which
Smithers could find the lady he desired to see, he turned upon his heel
and walked out of hearing.
What was the nature of John's thoughts that this visit of Smithers gave
rise to we will not attempt to divine, though we may safely assume they
were of no pleasing nature from the cloud that came over his countenance
as he left the house. And yet a gleam of hope would at intervals attempt
to break through the gloom. As he stood leaning over the fence in front
of the house, thus ruminating over the circumstance and its
contingencies, he was startled by the precipitate approach of Smithers,
who, clenching his fist and shaking it at him in a menacing attitude,
exclaimed: "This is your work; but, by G--, you shall repent of ever
having interfered in my private affairs." After the delivery of this
minatory declaration the infuriated individual mounted his horse and
galloped from the station.
John remained for a few minutes musing upon the strange address he had
just heard until a faint appreciation of the cause flashed across his
mind, and, his heart beating with salient palpitations, he entered the
house to solve the mystery. With this intent he walked into the
sitting-room, but found it empty. Eleanor had retired, and he was about
to leave it again in search of his sister when his eye rested on an open
note lying on the floor. The superscription, he perceived, was--"To Mr.
Robert Smithers;" and in its caligraphy he at once detected the tracing
of Eleanor's hand, and saw a solution of the mystery even before he
glanced at the epistle's contents. If his heart beat quickly with
pleasing apprehensions before his curiosity prompted him to pick up and
read the note its proper functions were almost destroyed by the violent
palpitations as his eyes devoured the following lines:--
DEAR SIR,--I hardly know how to break to you the subject on
which I wish to address you. When I say it is with regard to
our engagement you will understand what I mean, more especially
when I tell you that I think, for both of our sakes, it were
wise to annul it. To recount to you all the causes that have
actuated me in the establishment of this desire would only be
to reiterate all your various acts of contumely to myself and
friends, and to relate all my daily sufferings. I will not say
that I never loved you. When I was induced to consent to become
your wife I would have endeavoured to have placed my whole
heart at your disposal; but your conduct has not only been such
as to estrange from you the most forgiving nature, but towards
me it has been absolutely cruel.
I say this not to stigmatize you for your ill-treatment of me,
but to endeavour to show you that you can entertain no regard
for me; and, in the absence of all mutual affection, such an
union as ours would only entail misery on both of us. You will
therefore perceive that it will be better for us to forget the
relationship that has existed, and remain independent of one
another.
I bear you no ill-will, and desire to maintain a friendship
for yourself and your kind relatives; but beyond the light of a
friend I never can consent to regard you. So there will be no
use of your attempting to alter my determination; it is already
fixed.--Yours truly,
ELEANOR RAINSFIELD.
John's astonishment when he read this was only equalled by his raptures;
and it was not until he had twice re-read the note that he could
withdraw his eyes from feasting on the blissful lines. "She has then
discarded Smithers," he said to himself, "and there is hope for me." If
there needed but one rivet to clench the fetters that bound the captive
heart of our hero it was now fastened. He gave himself up like a
voluptuary to the indulgence of his greatest earthly pleasure, the
dissipation of love's charm, and the realization of his fondest hopes
and wildest dreams; and, in the delirium of delight, his spirit ascended
in imagination into the seventh heaven. He was, however, speedily
brought to a recollection of his existence in this terraqueous globe by
his sister shaking his arm while she exclaimed:
"Why, what is making you so absent, John? I have spoken to you four
times, and you have taken no notice of me."
"Have you, Kate?" replied John. "Well, I did not hear you, for I was
thinking when you addressed me."
"That was evident," replied the girl. "But tell me, John, what could
have brought that man Smithers here? He has terribly upset poor Eleanor,
and she has been obliged to go and lie down. I quite hate that horrid
fellow, and wish he would never show his face here again."
"I don't think it is very probable he ever will again, Kate," replied
her brother.
"Well, I hope not. But what letter is that you have got in your hand?"
said the girl as she glanced over the epistle that hung listlessly in
the hand of her musing brother, who had attempted to conceal it, but
not before Kate had spied the address. "Oh, show me the letter, John,
dear John!" she continued. "I see it is addressed to that man, and from
Eleanor I am sure; so it will explain all about it. Do show it to me."
Her brother put it into her hands, and she read it with unqualified
delight. Then looking up into his face, she exclaimed: "I am so
delighted, John;" and, throwing her arms around her brother's neck, she
kissed him in the exuberance of her joy, after which she bounded from
the room, retaining possession of the cherished note.
For the remainder of that day Eleanor confined herself to her room, but
on the following forenoon she came out, with her pale, marble features,
looking in John's eyes more lovely than ever. They were presently seated
together, as was their wont, in the shade of the verandah; but somehow,
on this occasion, the reading was not prosecuted with such spirit as
usual, nor listened to with the accustomed interest, while the
conversation was equally vapid. Eleanor and John thus sat for some time
alone, Kate being absent on her household duties, and William out on the
station, without hardly uttering a word, until John, mustering
sufficient courage to enter upon the subject that wholly engrossed his
mind, without any preface, said:
"I picked up a letter of yours in the room yesterday, Eleanor, after Mr.
Smithers' departure."
A deep crimson mantled the cheek of his pale companion as she replied:
"I know it John; Kate has told me all."
John gazed upon the features of the dear girl at his side, and met her
eyes as they were raised from her lap to rest upon his face. He
rapturously exclaimed: "Dear Eleanor if I could but tell you how dearly
I love you I--" But he proceeded no further; a glance from the lustrous
orbs of his companion had penetrated his heart, and he was silenced. Was
it in fear? No! he had understood the glance, and comprehended its
hidden secret. He was silenced, but it was to impress a virgin kiss
upon the lips of his fair enslaver; and there for a little let us leave
them in the full enjoyment of inamoratos' bliss.
We have said that John interpreted by a look the secret of Eleanor's
heart; and let not loves' sceptics think such is only a figure of our
imagination. Such glances have been read from the earliest eras of the
world, and will continue to be so to the latest. Lovers' eyes are to
each other like telegraph-dials, and reflect in their own mysterious
characters the messages from the heart as the electric needle indicates
the wishes of some unforeseen communicant. Their flashes are
instantaneous, and they impress upon the hearts' tablets of their
correspondents, with unmistakeable accuracy, the sentiments of the
inosculated spirits. Theirs is a language secret and unknown but to the
souls communicating, and unmeaning and unnoticeable to mortals, until
made neophytes to the creed of Cupid.
John and Eleanor for some time enjoyed uninterruptedly the commune of
their plighted hearts, each discovering in the other a reciprocity which
heightened the ardour and enhanced the raptures of their own loves.
Their tongues were no longer tied. John was all volubility and
animation; while the colour that the excitement of her affection called
forth irradiated the cheeks of Eleanor, and imparted to her features a
loveliness that John gazed upon with ecstacy. Their privacy, however,
was at length broken in upon by William, who bounded into their presence
in a state of high glee, while he exclaimed:
"I've got some news to astonish you. Our friend Captain Jones has
bolted, and has swindled his much-respected father-in-law to the tune of
about five hundred pounds."
"Bolted, has he!" exclaimed John; "what is that for?"
"Simply because it has pleased the gentleman on two previous occasions
to enter the matrimonial state, and that both better halves, and sundry
little pledges, are all living to attest to his identity. One of his
former helpmates," continued William, "traced him to his late retreat,
and claimed him as her lawful spouse; and he, thinking, I suppose, a
_denoument_ would be rather unpleasant, has deemed it expedient to
abscond."
"And will the poor girl he last married have no redress?" asked Eleanor.
"Very little, I fear," replied John.
"I expect from what I have heard," continued William, "that old Sawyer
intends to keep it as dark as possible. From Jones' bigamy the quondam
Mrs. Jones becomes again Miss Mary Ann Sawyer, and he purposes looking
out for another match for her."
"But she surely," said Eleanor, "would not lend herself to so base a
deception and gross impropriety."
"I am not so sure of that," said William.
"I suppose," remarked John, "if they can't punish the _soi disant_
Captain Jones they think the wisest thing they can do is to make the
best of it by keeping it as quiet as possible; and I have no doubt they
will find many a swain who will not scruple to offer the lady a name."
"Well that is dreadful!" exclaimed Eleanor.
"So it is," replied John, "but it is partly their own fault. They were
so blinded by the notion of getting a gentleman to marry their daughter
that they took no trouble to investigate the man's character, or even to
ascertain anything about him; consequently they fell into the trap of a
base scoundrel."
CONCLUSION.
"I have done: pray be not angry
That shall I wish you well: may heaven divert,
All harms that threaten you; full blessings crown
Your marriage."
SHIRLEY.
We must again hurry our readers over another period of some three
months, and request them to accompany us for a few minutes up the bank
of the creek flowing through Fern Vale. At a pretty little secluded spot
overhung by the bright acacia two grassy mounds, encompassed by a neat
white fence and adorned with two white slabs of wood, pointed themselves
out as the graves of the sufferers in the Strawberry Hill massacre.
Leaning over the railing of one of these enclosures was a young man, who
might have been recognised as Tom Rainsfield, and at his side, encircled
by his arm, our friend Kate Ferguson. After some few moments of silence
Tom pressed to his heart the willing form of the lovely girl that graced
his side, and said:
"Dearest Kate, why not let us be married at the same time as John and
Eleanor? Strawberry Hill is all ready for a mistress, and I am sure the
very trees about the place are impatient to have domesticated amongst
them the sweet successor of that good and amiable creature who lies
beneath that sod. We could not have a better opportunity than John's
marriage, for we could all go to New England together, and the double
ceremony could be performed at the same time."
"But that is so soon, Tom," replied Kate.
"It cannot be too soon, my dear," exclaimed the advocate for despatch;
"why postpone our happiness?"
"Poor Will will be so lonely with John and Eleanor going away," said
Kate, "if I leave him too. We ought to delay it until they return."
"What for twelve months, Kate!" cried Tom. "It would drive me wild. I
could not wait more than one at the very outside, and if you say another
word of opposition I will run away with you. So now, dearest, let it be
settled; we must be married next month altogether."
No further objection was urged by the fair polemic, and a mutual
inosculation sealed the compact.
About a month from this date a traveller approaching Acacia creek might,
from the joyous appearance of every face he saw, have been sensible of
the existence of some happy occasion; and, if he had but stepped into
the house and seen those who sat around the breakfast table, he would
have been aware that the festivities were occasioned by a matrimonial
ceremony; and, upon the slightest scrutiny, he would have discovered
that two young couples had been bound by the Gordian knot.
The first move that was made after the despatch of the formal meal was
the departure of John Ferguson and his now blooming bride. He led her to
the arms of his mother; and, as the good lady embraced her sweet
daughter-in-law, tears of joy coursed down her benign and matronly
cheeks, and, imprinting another kiss on the lips of her son's choice,
she bestowed her parting blessing. The rest of the leave-taking was soon
effected and the young couple mounted their horses and rode away.
We may remark for the information of our readers that it was John's
intention to proceed to Brisbane and Sydney, there to spend the
honeymoon, and afterwards to take a trip "home;" by which term he knew
old England though he had never seen it, nor had any ties of
consanguinity to bind him to it. They were to return to the colony in
about twelve months; after which Tom Rainsfield had promised a similar
journey to Kate. In the meantime, however, Tom and his wife intended to
take up their abode at Strawberry Hill, and thither they started almost
immediately after John and Eleanor. As they left the paternal roof of
the Fergusons a similar commingling of tears was effected between Kate
and her mother as was witnessed upon the previous departure. Mr.
Ferguson warmly grasped the hand of his son-in-law, while Mr. Wigton
informed Tom that he had made up his mind to spend a short time with his
friend William, to relieve his solitude and endeavour to persuade him to
follow the example of his brother, and afford him, Mr. Wigton, the
pleasure of tying another knot in the family. He would also, he said,
while he was in the neighbourhood, avail himself of the opportunity of
visiting his friends at Strawberry Hill.
William promised to confer the happiness on Mr. Wigton of being fettered
by his medium whenever it was his determination to be so foolish as to
enter the married state: but affirmed for the present he had no
intention of following in the steps of his brother and friend, and had
not the most remote idea of assuming a marital character.
Tom laughed at William's little sally, and gave him one of those jocose
applications of the extended thumb to his ribs which in concomitant
natures are thought so amiably vivacious and funny; and then turning to
Mr. Wigton, expressed the delight he would feel at his making Strawberry
Hill his home. Amidst the congratulations of his friends, Tom now led
his bride to the door, and safely depositing her in her saddle, waved
the last adieu as they cantered off.
THE END.
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