The Crooked Stick Or Pollies's Probation Part 10

Here Mr. Charteris stood up, squared his shoulders, and delivered an imaginary right and left into an enemy with extraordinary gusto. Then exclaiming, 'Here goes anyhow! I'll go in for it on my way to Sydney.

I'll provide a retreat in case of total rout and defeat. It will be half forgotten by the time I return.'

To resolve and to execute were with Mr. Charteris almost simultaneous acts. Working night and day until his preparations were complete, he sent on a note to say when he might be expected, and on the appointed evening drove up, serious and determined, to Corindah gate. He was received with so much cordiality that he half thought his mission was accomplished, and that the princess would accompany him to Europe without notice, which would have been one of the rapid and triumphant _coups_ in which his speculative soul delighted. The real reason was, that both ladies were moved in their feminine hearts by the idea of so old an acquaintance going a journey to a far land, and were sensitively anxious to show him all the honour and attention they could under such exceptional circ.u.mstances.

So the best of us are deceived occasionally. Who has not seen the unwonted sparkle in a woman's eyes and as often as not--if the truth be told--put a totally wrong interpretation upon the signal?

Thus Mr. Charteris fared, much encouraged, and greatly heightened in determination. He was at his best and brightest all the evening, and when he said--pressing Pollie's hand as they parted--that he wanted to say a last word to her about his voyage if she would be in the orangery before breakfast, that young woman a.s.sented in the most unsuspicious manner, believing it to be something about Maltese lace, as to which she had given him a most unmerciful commission. So, shaking his hand with renewed fervour, she went off to bed, leaving Mr. Charteris in the seventh heaven, and almost unable to sleep for the tumultuous nature of his emotions.

The sun was closely inspected by John Charteris next morning, from its earliest appearance until after about an hour's radiance had been shed upon the vast ocean of verdure, from which its heat extracted a silvery mist. How different from the outlook one little year ago! His eye roamed over the vast expanse meditatively, as if calculating the number of sheep to the acre such a gra.s.s crop would sustain, if one could only have it for five years all the season through. Suddenly he became aware of a light form flitting through the dark-green foliage and gold-globed greenery of the orangery.

In a moment he was by her side. His face lit up with innocent pleasure as she greeted him with childish joy. In her heart she thought she had never known him so pleasant in his manner, so nice and friendly, and yet reticent, before. If so improved now, what would he be when he returned from Europe? She had no more idea of any _arriere pensee_ in meeting him by appointment in the garden than if he had been the Bishop of Riverina.

When Mr. Charteris, after a few unconnected remarks about the beauty of the weather, the prospects of the season, his sorrow for leaving all his old friends, thought it time to come to the point, especially as Pollie in the goodness of her heart replied to the last statement with 'Not more sorry than they are to lose you, Mr. Charteris,' he certainly produced an effect.

'Oh, Miss Devereux, oh, my dearest Pollie, if you will let me call you so, why should we part at all? Surely you must see the affection I've cherished, the feelings I've had for you ever since we first met. Years and years I've stood by and said nothing, because--because I was doubtful of your affection, but now, now!'

Here he took her hand and began gently to draw her towards him, putting an imploring expression into his eyes, which was so utterly foreign to their usual merry and audacious expression, that Pollie, after one wild, fixed gaze of horrified anxiety, as if to see whether he had not become suddenly insane, burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

'Miss Devereux, surely,' began he, with a hurt and surprised look, 'this is not exactly fair or kind under the circ.u.mstances. What I have said may or may not be ridiculous, but it is generally looked upon as a compliment paid to a young lady and not as a matter, pardon me, for ridicule and contempt.'

The girl's face changed suddenly. She made a strong effort and prevented herself from lapsing into what might have been an hysterical outbreak of mirth.

'Mr. Charteris,' she said gravely, 'I am the last person, as you ought to know, likely to hurt your feelings consciously; but I might ask you whether you think it right or fair to entice me here, with my mind running on Maltese lace and Cingalese ornaments, which were the last things we spoke about last night, and suddenly fire off a proposal in form at me. I declare I was never more astonished in my life. Whatever could you be thinking of?'

'What every one who sees you is thinking of,' answered Jack, humbly and regretfully--'love and admiration for your sweet self. Oh! Miss Devereux, I worship the very ground you stand upon.'

'I will never be decently civil to any one again,' declared Pollie. 'I suppose you saw mother and I were glad to see you, and so thought--Heaven forgive you!--that I had fallen in love with you. Don't you know that girls never show their feelings that way? It will be a lesson to you another time. Don't say another word. We shall always be good friends, I hope. When you come out with a wife--you'll find lots of nicer girls than me in England, so everybody says--we shall laugh over this. Mother and I will hold our tongues; n.o.body need know. I shall not show at breakfast. You had better tell her, and she will comfort you.

Good-bye.'

She looked him frankly in the face and held out her hand, which poor Jack took ruefully, and raising it to his lips, turned away. When he looked round, she had disappeared. The glory of the morning had pa.s.sed away with her. He made a melancholy attempt to whistle, and slowly betook himself to the stables, where he arranged that his luggage should be stowed in his phaeton and all things made ready for a start at a moment's notice after breakfast.

This done, he sauntered into the house, and, intercepting Mrs. Devereux before she reached the breakfast-room, told her of the melancholy occurrence with a countenance to match, and begged her pardon and her daughter's for making so great a mistake.

Mrs. Devereux was a tender-hearted woman, and, as are most of her age, inclined to condone all offences of this nature, though, like her daughter, as Mr. Charteris resentfully felt, she expressed extreme astonishment at the idea of his having come with malice prepense to make so serious a proposition. She was sure that Pollie had not given him reason to think that she had any other feeling for him but that of sincere, unalloyed friendship, which they had always felt, and, she trusted, always would.

But Mr. Charteris' humility broke down and changed at this point into something very like a strong sense of unfair treatment. 'Confound it!'

he broke out. 'That is, I beg a thousand pardons; but it appears to me the first time in my life that you are not quite just, Mrs. Devereux.

How in the world is a man to find out if a girl likes him, if he doesn't ask her? Is he to wait years and years until they both grow old, or until he worries her into making some sign that she cares for him more than other fellows? I call that rather a mean way. I must say I thought Miss Devereux liked me, and that's enough in my mind for a man to begin on. I've had my shot, and missed. But for the life of me, I can't see where I've acted either unlike a man or a gentleman.'

As Jack stood straight up and delivered himself of this explanation of his views and principles, with a heightened colour and a kindling eye, Mrs. Devereux could not help thinking that he would have advanced his views very much with her daughter if he had spoken to her in the same decided tone and manner. 'He really is a fine young man,' she thought to herself, 'and very good-looking too. But there's no persuading a wilful girl. I hope she may never do worse.'

Then she took Jack's hand herself in her's, and said, 'My dear John, neither I nor Polly would hurt your feelings for the world. It _did_ take us by surprise; but perhaps I ought to have noticed that your admiration for her was genuine. I quite agree with you that it is more manly and straightforward for a man to declare himself positively. I am sure we shall always look upon you as one of our best and dearest friends.'

'I hope Miss Pollie may do better,' said Jack gloomily, as he pressed the hand of the kind matron. 'She may or she may not. A girl doesn't always judge men rightly until it is too late--too late--but whether or no, G.o.d bless her and you in that and everything else! Don't forget poor Jack Charteris.'

And he was gone.

Mr. Charteris, with habitual forethought, had left nothing till the last moment. As he came into the yard, he had but to take the reins and gain the box-seat. His horses plunged at their collars, and swept out of the yard across the plain at a rate which showed that they were instinctively aware that a rapid start was intended. Half-way across the first plain he encountered Harold Atherstone on horseback, looking like a man who had already had a long ride.

'Hallo! Jack, whither away? You look as if you were driving against time. What's up?'

'Well, I'm off by next week's mail-steamer, as I told you before. I've been at Corindah since yesterday, where I've been fool enough to run my head against a post. I needn't explain.' Harold nodded sympathetically.

'We're in the same boat, I expect. I wouldn't care if you were the fortunate man, old fellow; though every one has a right to try his own luck. But I expect we shall both be euchred by that infernal, smooth-faced, mild-voiced, new-chum cousin. I can't see what there is to attract the women about him; but they are all in the same line. I heard Bella Pemberton praising him up hill and down dale. I suppose there is a fate in these things. Where is he now?'

'I am not prepared to agree with all you say,' answered Harold calmly.

'The end will show. I don't trust him too much myself, though I should be puzzled upon what to ground my "Doctor Fell" feeling. He is away on some back country that Mrs. Devereux has rented, and won't be back for a month.'

'I hope his horse will put its foot in a crab-hole and break its neck,'

said Jack viciously. 'I wouldn't mind the girl being carried away from us by a _man_. She has a right to follow her fancy. But a pale-faced, half-baked, sea-sick looking beggar like that--it's more than a fellow can bear.'

'Come, Jack, you're unjust, and not over respectful to Miss Devereux herself. But I make allowances. Good-bye, old man. _Bon voyage!_ Bring out a rosy-cheeked English girl. Hearts are reparable commodities, you know. Yours has been broken before.'

'Never like this, Harold; give you my word. I could sell the whole place, and cut the colony for ever, I feel so miserable and downhearted.

But I'm not one of the lie-down-and-die sort, so I suppose I shall risk another entry. Good-bye, old man. G.o.d bless you!'

A silent hand-grasp, and the friends parted. Mr. Charteris' equipage gradually faded away in the mirage of the far distance, while Harold rode quietly onward towards his own station--much musing and with a heart less calm than his words had indicated.

When he arrived at the spot where the tracks diverged, he was conscious of a strong instinctive inclination--first of his steed, and then of himself--to take the track which led to Corindah. After combating this not wholly logical tendency, and telling himself that it was his first duty to go and see that all things were well in order at home before making his usual call at Corindah, he descried another horseman coming rather fast across the plain, and evidently making for the Corindah track.

Pulling up so as to give the stranger an opportunity for ranging alongside, he presently said to himself involuntarily, 'Why, it's the parson; and furthermore, I shall have to go to Corindah now, as the old lady says she finds it hard work entertaining Courtenay all by himself.

He's not a bad hand at talking, but he's so terrifically serious and matter-of-fact that he's rather much for a couple of women. When Bertram's there it's better, for I notice he generally contrives to get up an argument with him, and bowl him over on some point of church history. That fellow Bertram knows everything, to do him justice.'

As these thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind the individual referred to cantered up on an active-looking hackney, rather high in bone, and greeted him with pleased recognition.

'I was debating in my own mind, Mr. Atherstone,' he said, 'whether I should hold divine service at your station to-day or at that of Mrs.

Devereux.'

'You are equally welcome at both houses, as you know,' said the layman; 'but I think it may be perhaps a more convenient arrangement in all respects to manage it in this way. If you will ride home with me now to Maroobil, I will see that all the men are mustered and the wool-shed got ready to-night. I can send a messenger to Corindah with a note telling Mrs. Devereux that you and I will be there to-morrow night, which will be Sat.u.r.day. She will then have everything prepared for a regular morning service on Sunday.'

The clergyman bowed a.s.sentingly. 'I think that will suit better than the plan I had proposed to myself of going there to-night. There are a good many people within a few hours' ride of Corindah, and Mrs. Devereux always kindly sends word to them of my arrival. The Sabbath will be the more appropriate day for divine service at Corindah, where there will probably be a larger gathering.'

'Then we may as well ride,' said the other, looking at his watch, 'and we shall be in time for a late lunch at Maroobil.'

The Rev. Cyril Courtenay was a spare, rather angular young man, about seven-and-twenty, who had a parish about as large as Scotland to supply, as he best might, with religious nourishment and spiritual consolation.

He had taken a colonial University degree, and was therefore well instructed in a general way, in addition to which he was a gentleman by birth and early training. He was gifted with a commendable amount of zeal for the cause of true religion generally, if more particularly for the Church of England, of which he was an ordained clergyman.

His duties were different from what they would have been in an English parish. The distances were indeed magnificent. His stipend was paid chiefly by the voluntary contributions of the inhabitants of the district of West Logan, and partly from a fund of which the bishop of his diocese had the management, and from which he was able to supplement the incomes of the poorer clergy. This amounted to about two hundred and fifty pounds per annum. The contributories were almost entirely squatters. The other laymen of the denomination--labourers, shepherds, station hands, boundary riders, etc.--though they attended his services cheerfully, did not consider themselves bound to pay anything; holding, apparently, that the Rev. Cyril was included in the category of 'swells'--a cla.s.s radically differing from themselves, whose subsistence was safe and a.s.sured, being provided for in some mysterious manner between the squatters and the Government, by whom all the good things of this life, in their opinion, including 'place and pay,' were distributed at will.

The horse of the Rev. Cyril had started off when Mr. Atherstone gave the signal to his own hackney, and powdered along the level road as if a hand-gallop was the only pace with which he was acquainted. It is a curious fact that the clergymen of all Protestant denominations ride hard, and are not famous for keeping their horses in good condition.

_Exceptis excipiendis_, of course. There are not many of them, either, to whom the laity are anxious to lend superior hackneys. They are accused, and not without reason, of being hard on their borrowed mounts, and of not being careful of their sustenance. The priest of the Romish communion, on the other hand, invariably has a good horse, in good condition. He treats him well and tenderly withal. Why this difference?

Why the balance of care and merciful dealing on the side of our Roman Catholic brethren? For one thing, priests are chiefly Irishmen, who are hors.e.m.e.n and horse-lovers to a man. Then the celibate Levite, having no human outlet for his affections, pets his steed, as the old maid her cat. With the married clergyman the oats of the rough-coated, though serviceable, steed come often in compet.i.tion with the butcher's and baker's bills or the children's schooling. The married parson's horse, like himself, must work hard on the smallest modic.u.m of sustenance, lodging, and support that will keep body and soul together. And very good work the pair often do.

The Rev. Cyril, however, being a bachelor, and living a good deal at free quarters, was not an impecunious individual. He should therefore have had his hackney in better order. But it was more a matter of carelessness with him than lack of purpose. He had not been a horseman in his youth. Australian born as he was, he had studied hard and permitted himself few recreations of a physical kind; so that when, after serving as a catechist, he was appointed to the district of West Logan, where he had two or three hundred miles a week to ride or drive in a general way, he found himself awkwardly deficient in this particular accomplishment.

To take a man-servant with him always would have doubled his expenses, without being of any corresponding benefit. After trying it for a few months he gave it up. He then took to riding and driving himself--at first with partial success, inasmuch as he had several falls, and the periodical overthrow of the parson's buggy became part of the monthly news of the district. Gradually, however, he attained to that measure of proficiency which enables a man to ride a quiet horse along a road or through open country, besides being able to drive a buggy without colliding with obstacles. He certainly drove with painfully loose reins, and rode his horse much after the sailor's fashion, as if they are warranted to go fifty miles without stopping. However, he got on pretty well on the whole, and Australian horses, like Cossack ponies, being accustomed to stand a good deal of violent exercise with the aid only of occasional feeding and no grooming at all, Mr. Courtenay and his steed got through their work and adventures reasonably well.

Three o'clock saw the two young men at the Maroobil home station, a large, old-fashioned, comfortable congeries of buildings, without attempt at architectural embellishment. The barns, sheds, and stables were ma.s.sive and commodious, showing signs of having been built in that earlier period of colonial history when less attention was paid to rapidity of construction. The garden was full of fruit-trees of great age and size, which even in the late droughts seemed to have been supplied with adequate moisture. Comfort and ma.s.siveness had been the leading characteristics of the establishment since its foundation.

Homesteads have a recognisable expression at first sight, even as their proprietors.