“wise wretch with pleasures too refined to please,
with too much spirit to be e’er at ease,
* * * * *
you purchase pain with all that joy can give.”
pope.
i
t is an hour after sundown at murdaro station. a few lights twinkle here and there about the dusky quadrangle of low-roofed buildings, ere shadow and silence bring to a close another workday.
the giant curlew screeches impatiently to his dilatory mate at intervals from the bush hard by; the dingoes wail mournful signals on the distant sandstone ridges; and at the other side of the star-reflecting water-hole, beneath the dark group of deadfinish gum-trees, the native station-hands and fat house-gins, their labours over for the day, can be heard crooning out their evening chants.
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in the drawing-room of “government house” the blinds and curtains have been drawn across the windows, and the light of a couple of silver-plated oil lamps shows that the apartment boasts of an amount of fine art decoration and luxurious furniture quite unusual, even in the salon aux dames of a “large” squatter’s household.
wealth has joined hands with taste under the direction of a graceful female mind, and beneath the shaggy, rush-thatched roof of the station building, that is really little better in external appearance than an english barn, an oasis of elegance, a “holy of holies” of refined surroundings, has arisen in the desert.
give a cultivated human mind carte blanche to furnish a room after its own ideas of beauty and fitness, and it is marvellous how a picture of itself will presently be reflected in the polished completeness of the undertaking.
character can be read in the furnishing of a room as easily, perhaps easier, than by means of handwriting. any trained upholsterer of long experience will tell you this. a tradesman in this walk of life knows almost intuitively, after conversing with you for a few minutes, what kind of “fixings” you will most affect. of course where “the coat must be cut according to the cloth” these remarks do not apply in such force, any more than a napoleonic mind would discover itself to the expert in reading-character-by-hand-writing in an epistle scratched with the stiff, unexpressive point of a needle.
g?ethe intimates that a man’s true character can be capitally tested by ascertaining what are the things232 which he considers ridiculous; and perhaps it will assist us to understand miss mundella’s if, bearing this rule in mind, we note the appearance of the station drawing-room, late “parlour,” which she has so charmingly transformed since taking over the keys of her uncle’s establishment. she was not the kind of young lady to follow the absurdities of those ephemeral fashions that, from time to time, appear as plague spots to desecrate the refined interiors of even the best houses in melbourne and sydney. no absurd “fallals” in the shape of dusty, velvet-covered soup-ladles, forks, gridirons, rolling-pins, and the like, hung upon the walls of this young lady’s audience chamber.
this latest of fashion’s most offensive follies is much in vogue, as we write, in modern australian houses, and the practice of dragging the kitchen into the drawing-room is surely to be deplored.
doubtless the practical mind of our fellow-colonists found it useful in some cases, hence its origin. these silken effigies of culinary utensils were doubtless originally found to be fitting surroundings for the central point of attraction,—the red-faced female, likewise clothed in velvet, squatting upon the sofa; which lady’s antecedents have been more associated with frying fat than burning midnight oil, and who plays her modern part of “missus” or “me lady” before company with less nervousness than she would otherwise do, were she not surrounded by the fetishes of her past career.
in miss mundella’s drawing-room everything is reposeful, chaste, and in harmony with the idea of elegance and refinement. from the soft-toned,233 tapestry-like wall-paper to the white marble statuette of marguerite that stands before the queen anne mirror upon the mantel-piece, all is unobtrusive yet beautiful. a few first-class water-colour examples of gulley and atkinson, also some well-executed plaques, hang upon the walls. a graceful palm hangs its fronds over a rare etruscan vase in one corner, and numerous little gems of dresden china and venetian glassware—the gifts of various admirers—assist towards forming a picture whose altogether is delightful, whose every detail is a work of art.
miss mundella, dressed in a directoire gown, of some soft, silken material of an amber colour, fringed with black lace, which costume admirably suits her dark complexion, is seated at a little rosewood secrétaire, and the soft, pink light from the ornamental shades of the lamps upon the centre table casts a glorifying touch of colour upon her calm and handsome features.
on the other side of the big table her uncle, mr. wilson giles, is sitting awkwardly upon a low-seated chair, twirling his thumbs, and thinking regretfully of the good old days when he was allowed to enjoy an after-dinner cigar in this very room,—a ruthless edict against which proceeding has gone forth since his niece has taken the reins of power into her able fingers.
“well, lileth, what is it?” asks the nominal master of the house, “what is it you have got to say? whatever it is, let’s have it over quick, so as i can have a smoke on the verandah.”
“have your smoke first, uncle, if you like; but please change your coat before you come in here afterwards. you know i don’t object to tobacco; but you234 know those english girls, who are coming over from simon’s to-morrow night, and i want to have one room in the house, at any rate, that doesn’t smell like a taproom.”
mr. giles is not an adept at repartee; but it occurs to him to remark, in retaliation, that, unless his niece smokes herself upon the sly, there must be several rooms in the house free from the odour of the fragrant weed. he also means to ask that lady how she knows what are the true characteristics of a taproom, but his cutting sarcasms do not arrange themselves with sufficient facility for him to give them vocal form ere miss mundella again speaks.
“you asked me, uncle, to consider two or three schemes you mentioned to me for getting rid of the monetary responsibility that rests upon your shoulders with regard to the p.ns. you gave to dyesart.”
“well, what d’you think of ’em?”
“well, uncle, i really don’t see why you need trouble yourself further in the matter, now that you have placed the—er—arranging of affairs with me. but i will tell you, just to show you how little you understand this kind of business, why your ideas would not work out satisfactorily; like that remarkably risky one you tried in sydney, and of which, perhaps, you have not yet heard the end.”
lileth adds this last sentence as a sort of cold douche, to extinguish any rising indignation her previous words might have aroused.
giles reddens, forces his eyes out from his head a bit, and, gasping, presently returns to his normal state of weak submission.
“if the notes,” miss mundella continues, “are to 235 be found where the doctor’s body lies, wherever that may be, and are payable to bearer, mr. puttis, or any one we might send, might—i do not say would-be able to cash them for themselves, or at any rate raise money upon them. possibly whilst trying to do this they might be asked to say how they became possessed of them, and what lawyers call mala fides might be suspected. then you would probably get into trouble as well as they.”
“well, then, what d’you propose?”
“i find, also,” continues the young lady, without noticing the interrupting question, “i find also that the destruction of the notes would not clear you from your liability. for by this act of parliament, 17 and 18 of victoria,”—turning over the leaves of a new edition of “byles on bills,”—“by section eighty-seven, ‘it is provided that, in the case of any action——’”
“oh, cut it short, lileth!” exclaims the sufferer on the low-seated chair. “will it do to destroy the notes instead of the nephew? that’s what i want ter know.”
the squatter’s niece continues, as if no interruption had occurred, “‘in the case of any action founded on a bill of exchange, promissory note, or other negotiable instrument, the court or judge——’”
“oh lord, what are yer driving at?” groans mr. giles.
“‘court or judge has power to order that the loss of such instrument,’—now, listen to this, uncle,—‘the loss of such instrument shall not be set up, provided an indemnity is given, to the satisfaction of the court, or judge, or a master, against the claims of any other persons upon such negotiable instrument.’”
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although the fair young lawyer’s powers of facial command are nearly perfect, she has much ado to refrain from smiling at the muddled look of the red-faced man opposite to her.
“don’t you remember how these notes were drawn? on demand, or at sight, or bearer?” she asks.
“i’m jiggered if i do,” returns mr. giles. “there was some talk about—of my making the notes come due at a certain time; then dyesart, he up and says ‘that might prove awkward to you, make them on demand after a certain date.’ and then—but i forget how we fixed it up at last. don’t exactly ‘recco-member.’”
“at any rate, uncle,” says miss mundella, rising and moving towards her relative, with the dignified grace an empress might have envied, “at any rate, we can be sure of this, that if this nephew finds the notes, or even has a knowledge that you ever obtained money from his uncle under a written contract to return the same, you will pretty certainly have to pay up. i feel sure this was the meaning of dyesart getting young angland to come all this way up here. i can’t see what else it can be. by-the-bye, i have young angland’s photograph here. would you like to see it?”
“how the dev——” begins giles, but correcting himself continues, “how the goodness did you come by that? you’re a wonder! swelp me if you’re not.”
“oh, i made my arrangements,” answers lileth in her rich, contralto voice. and this is all the young lady deigns to reply.
holding the photograph in her firm, white hand all the time her uncle is looking at it, miss mundella237 continues: “and now, once for all, uncle, you will please leave the whole matter to me. you will spoil my plans, possibly, if you interfere. you can assist our mutual objects, however, in this way: you can refrain from drinking too much whilst young angland is here. you are horribly indiscreet when you have had too much. and another thing, be ready to take any hints of mine, and don’t cross me in anything i propose.”
just as the low, steady voice closes its melodious utterings, the door of the drawing-room is flung open, and a white, fluttering female figure appears upon its threshold.
it is that of an exceedingly pretty young girl, petite and (strange to say in this part of the world) rosy. a wondrous mane of golden-yellow hair falls about her dimpled cheeks and symmetrical neck and shoulders in such profusion that she has the appearance, as the lamps in the room shine upon her, of being surrounded with an aureole of silken rays of light. in fact, as she stands in the framework of the doorway, before the dark background of the passage, hesitating whether to disturb the two people in the room, her figure for all the world might be that of a miraculous picture of an angel of light, about to come to life and interrupt the machinations of those evil-minded plotters before her, who glance up anxiously at this interruption to their interview.
“oh, papa, i’m afraid you’re busy. i didn’t mean, truly, to interrupt you. shall i run away?”
“no, my dear, not at all,” responds mr. giles, rising, and evidently glad to thus close the tête-à-tête with his dark-browed niece. “come on to the238 verandah, glory, and talk to me whilst i have a cigar. there’s nothing more to say, i suppose, lileth? i leave all to you.”
“no, uncle, nothing more,” replies miss mundella, adding, “don’t keep dear glory out too long in the cold. she’s not fever proof, and the cool evenings here are dangerous to people from the south. you’ll come in, dear, presently, and give us a little mendelssohn before supper, won’t you?”
“oh yes, cousin lileth. but can’t you come on to the verandah with us? oh my!” miss glory giles adds excitedly, as her bright glance falls upon the photograph of claude that lileth has allowed to remain upon the table. “wherever did you get that? so good, too. he’s not here, is he? oh! he’s a perfect darling, and saved poor fluffy and me from—oh! such a terrible lot of larrikins. and what’s his name?”
there is no knowing how long glory would have continued her avalanche of excited encomiums and questions relative to young angland, had she not been interrupted by her father. for the young lady before us is the damsel whose blue eyes created such havoc in our hero’s breast during his short stay in brisbane, and she is now pleasurably regarding the sun-picture of her “own hero,” as she always calls claude when relating the story of his prowess to her school-girl friends, not knowing his real name. and what better name would young angland have desired, had he only known the honour thus done to his memory?
at the rather anxiously expressed request of mr. giles, his daughter, who has just left school for good, relates, without reserve, the whole story of her239 adventure near the brisbane public gardens. holding claude’s photograph all the while, she winds up her breathless recital by repeating her former questions.
miss mundella, knowing that her uncle will expect her to take the initiative and smooth down this awkward discovery of glory’s, that bids fair to prove a complication of the conspirators’ scheme against claude, has quickly determined what course to pursue, and immediately marches her wits forward against the new danger.
“i may as well tell glory all about it,” lileth observes, turning her dark eyes up to giles, and signalling to him to keep silence with the nearest approach to a wink that she has ever condescended to employ.
“this young man, glory dear,” she goes on, smiling upon her fair cousin, and placing her hand upon miss giles’s shoulder, “is the nephew of dr. dyesart, the explorer, of whose death we were speaking during dinner. he will, possibly, be here before long, on his way to attempt the discovery of his uncle’s grave. mr. angland, for that is the nephew’s name, was staying at the same hotel in sydney with my brother abaddon,—cousin jack you used to call him. my brother, finding that mr. angland was coming up here, sent me a photograph of him. i don’t know how he got it. i suppose it was given to him. now, you’re not a silly school-girl any longer, and i think i can trust you with something i am about to say. can i, dear?”
“oh yes, cousin lileth. but,” hesitatingly, “but it’s not anything bad you’ve heard about mr. angland, is it? if it is, pray don’t tell me, please.240 i always want to be able to think of him as a hero.”
“well, dear,” answers miss mundella, laughing softly, as she recognizes in this confession of hero-worship the characteristics of a simple mind that her own powerful will may some day find it profitable to employ. “well, dear, you can still continue to do so, as far as i know to the contrary. it’s nothing against mr. angland, but just this. you know my brother abaddon is just a little wild. he has been so long up here, you know; and when he went for his holiday to sydney, he got—well—rather ‘rampageous’ i think is a good word to express what i mean.”
mr. giles, standing a little distance from the two ladies, wonders what on earth his niece is about to evolve from her inner consciousness.
“now, glory, i’d rather,” continues lileth, “i’d rather you did not inform mr. angland, if he comes here, that we are any connection of abaddon’s, for i believe my brother got into serious disgrace with your hero in sydney.”
“but his name, lileth? mundella’s such an uncommon name.”
“oh, well, you see your cousin abaddon is so afraid of people taking him to be a jew. he’s so sensitive to the rudeness of people, although he’s brave as a lion; so he always goes by the name of smith when away from here. in fact, it is really absurd how few people, even about here, know his real name. i believe poor abaddon, from what i can make out in his letter, took too much to drink one night, and insulted mr. angland dreadfully.”
“poor cousin jack,” murmurs glory to herself, 241 as, recollecting the brisbane affair, she thinks of the sight abaddon’s face must have presented shortly after his having insulted mr. angland.
“is that all, cousin lileth?” she asks aloud. “oh, then i’ll never mention a word about the photo or about mr. abaddon smith. ha! ha! how funny it sounds, don’t it?” the young lady laughs merrily. “i only hope mr. angland,—ah! isn’t that a nice name?—i only hope he will have time to stop here and have some tennis. he and i against you and mr. cummercropper, what fun! but he’s sure to rush away again. all the nice people do,” she adds, pursing up her pretty lips at the thought. then suddenly turning to her father, she seizes his arm, and laughing and talking all at once, she drags him off to the cool verandah, where she lights his cigar for him, and chatters away about her most amusing recollections of the charming southern capital she has just left.
mr. giles and his fair daughter have not long been seated in the cane-chairs on the verandah, when the tattoo of an approaching horseman comes to interrupt their conversation.
the fox-terrier, spot, who has been sitting silently in the darkness by his master’s chair, sleepily watching the red cigar end, as it pulses alternately bright and dull, rushes out to investigate matters; and presently all ten of the canine dependents of the station folk join in a vari-toned vocal notice of the advent of the equestrian.
at this moment miss mundella joins her relatives.
“that’s jim back from the muster at bulla bulla, i expect,” remarks mr. giles.
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“no, uncle,” says lileth in a low, strange voice, “it is mr. claude angland.”
mr. giles starts in his cane-chair, as its creaking back testifies in the shadows.
“now, how can you possibly tell? you can’t know that much, at any rate.”
“i can’t tell how i know, but it is he,” answers his niece in the same tones.
glory does not say anything, but stands up ready to catch a first glimpse of the stranger, whoever it may be.
a few minutes more and miss mundella’s predictions are fulfilled; and ere a quarter of an hour has elapsed our young friend claude is sitting down to supper with the station folk, after being formally introduced to all present, including mr. cummercropper, the high-toned and love-sick station storekeeper, by miss glory giles as “my hero,”—a title which angland in vain attempts to show he does not deserve, but one that enamoured youth intensely enjoys all the same.
claude had felt his heart beat quicker as he “saw the station roofs,”—the place from which his uncle’s last letter had reached him. a thousand emotions poured through his soul. anxious thoughts were amongst them. he was about to meet people of whom, somehow, he had vague suspicions. would he be welcome? would he be even safe?
but now, as he sits next his fair-haired young goddess, a very juventus of youth and vigour, amidst the pleasant and jovial conversation of his new friends, in a brilliantly-lighted and elegantly-furnished room, a new set of thoughts comes to oust his lately sombre243 ones. he finds himself the honoured and welcome guest of an hospitable and charming circle; and although claude is not generally accustomed to wear his heart upon his sleeve, his happy revulsion of feelings is inclining him to a dangerous revelation of his private concerns, when something occurs to sober him suddenly and put him once more upon his guard.
claude’s conversation has been mainly with his host and that gentleman’s charming daughter. mr. cummercropper spoke only when the arts were mentioned, and then rather incoherently. lileth was silently watching and studying the new-comer, only putting in an odd word here and there, where courtesy demanded it. presently the subject of music is discussed, and glory, amongst other new songs, speaks of “killaloo.”
as the name of this remarkable ballad is mentioned, claude’s thoughts rush to the midnight scene upon the viaduct with a sort of graveyard chilliness,—the air whistled by the elegant desperado at his side, the blue-white electric lights upon the rink. angland becomes serious at once.
miss mundella here, at last, joins in the conversation, and at some length condemns certain of the caprices of modern musical taste, which is a favourite theme of hers. going on to speak of certain newly-published ballads that call forth her unfavourable criticisms, she mentions the crickets (gryllus), which, according to mouffet, are objects of commerce in certain african tribes, and are sold about, as canary birds are amongst europeans, to the inhabitants, who like to hear their amorous chant.
“their chirping would be irritable to the ears of 244 persons trained to more melodious sounds,” lileth concludes by saying, “but the caprice of those african blacks is not one whit stranger than that of those who enjoy some of the more modern drawing-room songs.” mr. cummercropper gazes in weak-eyed rapture at his dark-eyed enchantress as she speaks, and inclines his large, pink ears unto her. he is even about to second her remarks. but he gets no further than, “yhas, bai joave,” when he accidentally drops his eyeglass into his wine, which misfortune entirely upsets all his ideas, and renders him hopelessly nervous during the remainder of the evening.
after glancing at the unhappy storekeeper, as he clumsily fishes for his “glass eye” in the ruby-coloured dalwood, miss mundella turns towards claude, and finds him regarding her curiously.
“pardon me,” he says, as he observes that lileth is for the instant somewhat disconcerted by the look she has seen in his face. “pardon me; but we have surely met before. i am nearly certain of it. will you kindly assist my ungallant memory? i confess i am puzzled to know how i could ever forget. it is hardly likely you will remember the circumstance of our meeting, when i——”
claude suddenly ceases to speak. his features become set and firm, and slightly paler than before. memory has come to his aid, and the bridge scene in sydney is enacted over again in his mind’s eye. all but angland and miss mundella are amusing themselves with glory’s little dog fluffy, which is begging for cheese rind.
lileth leans forward and softly speaks,—
“your thoughts seem unpleasant ones, mr. angland. 245 i trust that the memory of any previous meeting, if we have met, is not associated with them.”
claude again regards the grand face turned towards him observantly as he replies,—
“i thought i recognized your voice. but i made a foolish mistake. and to tell you the truth, the sound of your voice brought to my mind some very unpleasant recollections. i see i have aroused your interest. you will then pardon me if i explain under what circumstances it was that i last heard a voice so much resembling yours. i was assaulted in sydney, a month or so ago, by two men who attempted my destruction. one of them, forgive my saying so, somewhat resembled you. but it was the tones of your voice, which are exactly like his, that at first puzzled me.”
“you are certainly not very complimentary, mr. angland,” responds miss mundella, smiling, without betraying in the least the agitation which almost renders her incapable of playing her part; “but i forgive you. and you must tell me, to-morrow, all about your adventure with my badly behaved ‘doppel-ganger’ in sydney. come, glory!” she adds gaily to her cousin, as she rises to say “good-night.”
“we shall have to be up early to-morrow, if we are to meet the miss chesters at the red billabong. schlaf wohl!” and the two ladies retire, leaving the men to wind up the evening with their cigars.
midnight.
of all the persons beneath the roof-tree of murdaro head station house during the first part of that night, 246 mr. cummercropper was the only one who was successful in wooing “the gentle sleep,” and it was not till early morning that slumber slid upon the souls of the remainder of the party.
for claude, his host, and the two fair cousins, “each and severally” have their excited brains full of a reeling panorama, called into action by memory and thought, which it is far beyond the power of slumber to extinguish.
mr. wilson giles’s better feelings are fighting a losing battle with the more selfish promptings of his nature, which are supported by the heavy artillery of his niece’s arguments.
the grateful memory of dyesart’s kindness in the hour of need; the evident affection and esteem—possibly the herald of a warmer feeling—which his daughter evinces for young angland; the risky nature of the game that his niece urges him to continue; are all arguments in favour of a laissez faire policy. but on the other side there is the uncomfortable thought of losing the fruits of his life’s labour,—the run that he has purchased with hardships innumerable; with blood, murder, and selfishness. moreover, lileth knows too much about his concerns now. her thumb is turned downwards, and the victim of the scheme must be sacrificed.
giles groans as he thinks how much he hates his niece. he conceives her to be a true jew at heart,—remorseless and unswerving in her purposes. and who knows better than he, giles, what hebrews are. when his gay, wild-oat sowing youth was beginning to wane, had he not felt the white, unforgiving but smiling fangs of members of the race tearing at his247 throat? ah! how well he had retaliated upon the first of them who came within his power. giles rolls over in his bed as he chuckles a hard, dry gurgle of laughter, as he calls to mind how he had schemed and schemed, and, sacrificing his sister in his revenge, had married her to lileth’s father, with the successful intention of ruining him. but his wandering thoughts always hark back to the same conclusion,—lileth must have her way.
meanwhile, claude in his room tumbles about restlessly, as he thinks, alternately, of the strange likeness between the dark-eyed lady he had met that evening and the assassin of the arches, and of the fair-haired angel into the heaven of whose presence he had so strangely ascended.
two o’clock, ante-meridian, strikes the carriage clock in glory giles’s bedroom, which adjoins that of miss mundella. and ere the deep music of its coil-bell vibrations have faded in waves of dying sweetness into silence, the charming occupant of the apartment is wide awake.
all is silent in the house, and the golden-haired maiden lies deeply thinking within the cosy sanctum of her mosquito-curtained couch. glory had heard the last part of the conversation between claude and lileth. it had, of course, considerably interested her. but it was not till the young lady had entered into the quiet of her own room, that she had thought of there being any connection between the murderous attack upon her admirer in sydney and the photograph incident of the previous evening.
glory remembers the promise of secrecy exacted from her by her cousin lileth,—whom she looks248 upon more in the light of a step-mother than a girl-companion only a few years older than herself,—and dreadful thoughts begin to shape themselves.
the merry little girlish brain is not given to much labour in the tiresome direction of induction-drawing. but where female interest is highly excited, there arises into being a more active means of interpretation than that employed by the more stolid brain of the male human when solving similar problems. this power—called by men “jumping at a conclusion”—tells claude’s inamorata hearer that “her hero” is in danger at the hands of her dark-haired relative, now slumbering in the next room.
slumbering? no! for there is a light in there; and presently the green-baize door, that opens from one bed-chamber to the other, swings noiselessly backwards, and miss mundella appears holding a lighted taper in her hands.
she wears her dark morning dress, and, after addressing glory softly, to ascertain if her cousin is awake, and receiving no answer, she moves silently out of the apartment and down the passage.
an hour afterwards one of the station “boys” rides off with a letter from the shadow of the quiet buildings.
this is the burly cape york native called carlo,—the executioner of “government house,”—and as he has been enjoined, by miss mundella herself, to hurry over his appointed task, he is not likely to tarry on the way.
the mysterious rider’s iron-grey steed—one of the famous satan’s daughters—is pawing the ground as her rider, who has dismounted, is fumbling at the249 fastenings of the home-paddock gate, which opens on to the unfenced run, when he becomes aware of a white figure approaching him.
the aboriginals are great believers in ghosts, and the black horseman is about to fly in terror, when his marvellous powers of sight—good almost in the darkness as a cat’s—tell him that it is the “little marmie-lady” (the master’s daughter) that is before him.
“carlo!” exclaims glory, in the breathless voice of one who has been running, “do you know who i am?”
“iss. mine know um, allite, missee gorrie,” replies the “boy.”
“well, then, tell me where you are going?”
“oh! mine go look longer bullockie, marmie. plenty fellow oberthrees sit down longer bulla bulla ’tation.”
the black means to inform miss giles, whom he submissively calls marmie, or mistress, that he goes to look for a number of bullocks—branded with the station mark of o b 3, which he calls “oberthree”—which have wandered on to the next run.
“you tell big fellow lie, carlo!” exclaims glory excitedly. “you take letter; you take book-a-book alonger station.”
click, click, click! the black hears the ominous, metallic rattle of the chambers of a revolver, as the fair hands thus emphasize the demand that follows:—
“miss lileth give you book-a-book for inspector puttis. give it to me!”
the unfortunate native hesitates for a moment, not 250 knowing which way to retire from out of range of the two fires between which he finds himself: the terrible retribution that will fall upon him if he proves false to “missee lillie’s” orders threaten him on one flank; on the other is the present danger of being shot if he does not surrender what he had strict injunctions to deliver into the police-officer’s own hands at bulla bulla station.
the native mind, till trained to think after the european fashion, cares little for the morrow. so carlo, wisely and quickly, decides to escape the near danger, come what may afterwards, and holds out a white envelope towards glory beneath the faint starlight.
the little white fingers take the note; and, retiring a few yards so as not to frighten the horse, a match is lit, and the “fair highwayman” examines her plunder. yes, it is the letter she wants.
“you sit down here, carlo,” glory says, “till i come back. if horse want walk about, walk up and down,” waving her hand explainingly. then, giving the black a piece of money, she disappears. ten minutes afterwards carlo has the letter returned to him by the “little marmie,” and is soon flying over the spear-grass plains in the direction of the next station. glory returns to her room, by means of the open window, as she left it, and exhausted with her bold adventure soon falls asleep.
if any sharp-eyed detective had, about this time, examined one of the dining-room windows near to which miss mundella had written her letter, he would have found a slightly greasy spot upon one of its panes; and, if worthy of his noble profession, he 251 would have been led by a process of induction to surmise that this mark had been caused by the nasal organ of some smallish person, who had been engaged not long before in what may be correctly termed as “prying into the room.”
