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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..69aee01 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53224 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53224) diff --git a/old/53224-8.txt b/old/53224-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 00b2e93..0000000 --- a/old/53224-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,16412 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil and Annette, by B. L. Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Basil and Annette - A Novel - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: October 6, 2016 [EBook #53224] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL AND ANNETTE *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (The University of California) - - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's notes: - 1. Page scan source: - https://books.google.com/books?id=xytLAAAAIAAJ - (The University of California) - - - - - - -BASIL AND ANNETTE. - -A Novel. - - - - -By B. L. FARJEON, - -AUTHOR OF "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," "TOILERS OF BABYLON," "A YOUNG GIRL'S -LIFE," "THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX," &c. - - - -_IN ONE VOLUME_. - - - -LONDON: -F. V. WHITE & CO., -31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. -1891. - - - - - - -PRINTED BY -KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS W.C., -AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - -CONTENTS. - - -CHAPTER I. -CHAPTER II. -CHAPTER III. -CHAPTER IV. -CHAPTER V. -CHAPTER VI. -CHAPTER VII. -CHAPTER VIII. -CHAPTER IX. -CHAPTER X. -CHAPTER XI. -CHAPTER XII. -CHAPTER XIII. -CHAPTER XIV. -CHAPTER XV. -CHAPTER XVI. -CHAPTER XVII. -CHAPTER XVIII. -CHAPTER XIX. -CHAPTER XX. -CHAPTER XXI. -CHAPTER XXII. -CHAPTER XXIII. -CHAPTER XXIV. -CHAPTER XXV. -CHAPTER XXVI. -CHAPTER XXVII. -CHAPTER XXVIII. -CHAPTER XXIX. -CHAPTER XXX. -CHAPTER XXXI. -CHAPTER XXXII. -CHAPTER XXXIII. -CHAPTER XXXIV. -CHAPTER XXXV. -CHAPTER XXXVI. -CHAPTER XXXVII. -CHAPTER XXXVIII. -CHAPTER XXXIX. -CHAPTER XL. -CHAPTER XLI. -CHAPTER XLII. -CHAPTER XLIII. -CHAPTER XLIV. - - - - - - -BASIL AND ANNETTE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -In the old world the reign of winter has commenced. The woods are -snow-white, the hedges are frosted over, the pools are frozen, icicles -hang from the branches of the trees. Wayfarers walk briskly, stamp -their feet, and beat their hands to keep the circulation going; while -other humans, whom business does not call from their houses, snuggle -round the fireside, with doors and windows closed to keep out the -nipping air. Winged immigrants that came in the sweet spring days have -long since taken their departure to warmer climes, bearing with them -memories of a bright youth, to be renewed when another spring smiles -upon the land. - -In the new world, at the same moment, it is nature's holiday time. The -air is scented with the fragrance of white lilies and jessamine; -fringed violets carpet the woods; the wild passion fruit, with its -gleaming scarlet flowers, illuminates the bushes; the palm-tree rears -its graceful head above festoons of feathery leaves, in which clumps -of red berries shine like clusters of stars; tall quandong-trees and -wild plums shoot up straight as arrows, for the most part clear of -vines and creepers, but not always successful in escaping the embrace -of the stag's horn fern, one of the handsomest of all Australia's -parasites; and the white-wooded umbrella-tree proudly asserts its -claim to preeminence, with its darkly lustrous laurel-shaped leaves -surmounted by long radiating spikes of crimson flowers, the brilliancy -of which rivals the glowing sunset of the South. Through the grand -forests, in which for unnumbered ages the dusky savage has roamed in -freedom, never dreaming of the invasion of a higher civilisation, flit -flocks of resplendent parrots, chief among them being the blue -mountain, the rosella, and the crimson wing; black cockatoos, with -their dazzling tails spread out, are lurking in the branches of the -bloodwood trees, where they find both food and shelter; flycatchers, -all green and gold, are cunningly watching the waterholes for prey; -laughing jackasses, with their blue feathers and cold grey eyes, which -are now twinkling with fun, are making merry over the absurd antics of -native companions, whose conceited hoppings and twirlings are comic -enough to inspire mirth in the dullest denizens of the woods; while -the soft musical notes of the bellbirds, all green and purple, blue -and golden, make harmonious the west wind which travels from the -beeches, and fill the air with melody strange and sweet. - -Within hail of these summer evidences of loveliness and grandeur stand -two men, one young, the other not yet middle-aged. The younger man, -whose name is Basil Whittingham, is the embodiment of careless, -indolent grace, but just now he is evincing an unusual earnestness of -manner, both in speaking and listening. His age is barely -twenty-three, and he bears about him the unmistakable stamp of -gentleman. This is not always the case with men who have honest claims -to the title, but with some few it is a gift. It is so with Basil -Whittingham. He has blue eyes, fair hair, a supple, graceful form, a -laughing mouth, with teeth like pearl, delicate hands, and a long, -light-brown moustache, which he evidently regards as a magnificent -possession, and cherishes and nurses as a thing of beauty. Otherwise -he has not much to be proud of in the shape of possessions, for his -clothes would be anything but presentable in Mayfair, though here in -the Australian woods they may serve well enough. His trousers, tucked -into old knee boots, have conspicuously seen their best days; his -shirt, of some light material, has rents in it, showing the fair skin -of his arms embrowned by the sun where the sun could get at them; the -sash round his waist is frayed and faded; his wide-awake hat, sound in -front, is tattered at the back, where it flaps loosely over his -flowing hair; and, moreover, he is smoking a short black cutty. Yet -despite these drawbacks, if drawbacks they can be called in this land -of freedom, freer indeed than any republic under the sun, even the -most ordinary observer would be ready to acknowledge that the man was -a gentleman. One, for instance, who would not do a dirty trick, who -would not tell a lie to serve his own interests, who would not betray -a friend, and who would be more likely to wrong himself than others. -Tender, simple, brave; fearless, but not foolhardy; openhearted, -confiding, and unsuspicious of sinister, motives in those with whom he -has once shaken hands; with a sense of humour which lightens -adversity; regretting not the past, though he has wilfully steered his -boat into the Bay of Poverty, and dreading not the future; such is -Basil Whittingham, a typical type of an honest, frank, manly English -gentleman. - -His companion, by name Anthony Bidaud, was born and bred in -Switzerland, but is of French extraction. He speaks, English fluently, -so well indeed that those who serve him will not believe he is a -foreigner. He has not yet reached middle age, but he looks sixty at -least, and on his worn, anxious face dwells the expression of a man -who is waiting for a mortal stroke. He is well dressed, after the free -bush fashion, and is no less a gentleman than Basil Whittingham. It is -the mutual recognition of social equality that keeps Basil penniless -and poorly clad, for he is a guest, not a dependent, on the plantation -of which Anthony Bidaud is master. This state of things suits the -careless nature of the younger gentleman, who, welcomed and received -by Anthony Bidaud as an equal, takes a pride in holding himself free -from the touch of servitude. Perhaps Annette, of whom you shall -presently hear, serves as a factor in the attitude he has chosen. - -Being the hero of our story, it is needful that something should be -related of his career in the home country. - -His parents were Devonshire people, and he their only child. It was -supposed that his father was a man of fortune; he lived as one, kept -hounds and horses, and maintained a costly establishment. Needless to -say that Basil was the idol of his parents; he was also the idol of a -wealthy uncle, to whom he paid a visit once in every year, and who, -being childless, had announced his intention of making Basil his heir. -Thus, all seemed smooth and pleasant-sailing before the young fellow. -But misfortunes came; at the age of fourteen he lost his mother. The -memory of the solemn moments he spent by her bedside before she closed -her eyes upon the world, abided ever with Basil, whose passionate -adoration for the dear mother was a good testimony of his affectionate -disposition. But there was something deeper than affection in the -feelings he entertained for her. She had been to him more than a -loving mother; she had been his truest counsellor and friend. Upon her -had devolved the father's duty of inculcating in their child those -strict principles of honour and right-doing which set the seal of true -manhood upon him who follows them out in his course through life. -Basil's father was of an easy, genial nature, and it was from him that -Basil inherited a cheerfulness of temper and a sense of humour which -lessened evils instead of magnifying them. The higher qualities of his -character came from his mother. Lying on her death-bed she impressed -upon him the beauty of honesty and uprightness, and the lad's heart -responded to her teaching. - -"Never look to consequences, my dear child," she said. "Do always what -is right; and when you are a man counsel and guide your dear father." - -He promised to obey her, but it was not until many years had passed -that he knew what she meant when she told him to counsel and guide his -father. It was she who had steered her husband's boat when it had got -into troubled waters, and steered it always into a safe harbour. No -one knew it, no one suspected it; not even her husband, who believed -that it was due to himself alone that he escaped dangers which -threatened him from time to time; but this ignorance was due to her -wisdom, and partly, also, to her love; rather than wound his feelings, -she preferred to suffer herself. It is not to be inferred from this -remark that she had not led a happy life; she had, and her home was -happy in the truest sense; but she sighed to think of her husband, -left alone to grapple with difficulties which his easy nature -prevented him from seeing. - -She had a private fortune of her own, and with her husband's consent -she made a will devising it all to her son, with the exception of some -small legacies to humble friends. The money was to be invested, and to -accumulate till Basil was twenty-one years of age, when he was to come -into possession of it; so that, even without his uncle, he was -comfortably provided for. A short time after his mother's death, his -father announced his intention of giving up his establishment in the -country and settling in London. The home in which he had passed so -many happy years with his wife was desolate and sad now that she was -gone from it; he wandered through the rooms with a weight on his heart -which memory made heavier instead of lighter. - -"Yes Basil," he said to his son, "it is the best thing I can do. If I -remain here I shall lose my reason; I must find some distraction from -grief." - -Basil was too young to question this decision; what his father -resolved upon must be right. The old home was sold up, and father and -son removed to London. Then came the question of Basil's education. -His uncle considered removal to London a step in the wrong direction, -and he wrote to that effect; he also expressed his opinion that London -was an unsuitable place in which to conduct a young gentleman's -education. "Give the lad a tutor," he said, "and let him travel." This -was done, and before he was fifteen years of age Basil was living on -the Continent, picking up knowledge and picking up pleasure in not -quite equal quantities, the latter predominating. It was an agreeable -life, and Basil did not harm by it. Every year he came to England, and -spent a month with his father in London and a week with his uncle in -the country. On one occasion he and his uncle spent this week together -in the great city, living at Morley's Hotel, Charing Cross, and seeing -the sights, and this visit was destined to be pregnant with strange -results in years to come. Except upon all other occasions the uncle -received Basil in the country. The old gentleman was full of quips and -cranks and imaginary ills. He fancied himself an invalid, and coddled -himself up absurdly; and Basil, when he visited him, seldom left the -house. The forced seclusion did not trouble the young fellow; he could -make himself happy anywhere. Certainly there were few dull moments in -his uncle's house when Basil was in it, and the old gentleman, while -not objecting to a display of animal spirits, improved the opportunity -by endeavouring to drive into his nephew's head a special kind of -worldly wisdom. As, for instance: All men are rogues (ourselves -excepted). Never open your heart to a friend (except to an uncle who -is going to leave you all his money). Keep your secrets. Spend your -money on your own pleasures and your own ambitions. Never make -yourself responsible for another man's debts. Et cetera, et cetera, et -cetera. This kind of counsel was showered upon Basil, and produced no -effect upon him whatever; he was spared the trouble of arguing upon -these matters, even if he were in the humour for it--which he was not; -he had a knack of avoiding disagreeable topics by his uncle's -everlasting assertion that the counsel he gave was absolutely -indisputable, and was to be received as such. - -"All right, uncle," said Basil; "now let us talk of something else." - -And he would fly off into accounts of such of his Continental -adventures as he knew would please the old fellow. He had a capital -gift of description, and the old man would sit huddled up in his -arm-chair, cracking his sides at his nephew's wit. Basil never bade -his uncle good-bye without a cheque for a substantial sum in his -pocket. He was liberally provided for by his father, but he did not -despise his uncle's gifts. Seeing that his stories of his travels -amused his uncle, he said that he would one day write a book. - -"And when you write it," his uncle Said, "burn it. Write a book -indeed! Put your time out at better interest, Basil. Make money, -money, money. Then people will bow down to you. _I'm_ not a nice -object to look at, am I? But I've got money, and people bow down to -_me!_ How much more will they be likely to do so to a handsome fellow -like you? Make money, my boy, make money, and stick to it." - -Which worldly advice went as usual in at one ear and out at the other. -After all, the old gentleman's remarks had only a general application; -had there been any special interest at stake Basil would have argued -it stoutly enough, and thereby got himself into hot water. - -So things went on till Basil was twenty-one years of age, when he was -to come into possession of his mother's fortune. On his birthday he -wrote to his father, saying he would be home in a fortnight, and full -of kind messages--messages which did not reach the sense of the man -for whom they were intended: on the day the letter was delivered at -the London address his father was lying in delirium on a bed from -which he was never to rise. A week before he intended to start for -home Basil received a letter informing him of the sad news. "Come back -immediately," the writer said, "if you wish to see your father alive." -Basil did not lose a moment. Travelling as quickly as possible he -arrived at his father's house--too late. It was a terrible blow to -him, more terrible than the loss of his mother, for which he had been -in a measure prepared. Death came more slowly in her case, and she had -instilled into her son a spirit of resignation which softened the -bereavement. Even before she drew her last breath Basil had thought of -her as an angel in heaven. But with his father it was so sudden; there -had been no preparation for the parting, no indication of it. It was -true that his father had been ailing for months, but he had been -careful not to alarm his son. He may have believed, as most men do, -that the worst would not happen; we are chary in applying to ourselves -the rules we are so ready to apply to others. Only in his last hour of -consciousness, before he fell into the delirium from which it was -fated he should not recover, had he asked for his desk, and taking -from it a sheet of paper wrote a few words to his son, which he -desired should be delivered in the event of anything serious happening -to him. He did not believe it even then; had he been a religious man -he would have weighed the matter more deeply, but he was one who, -living as fairly good and moral a life as the average church-goer, -seldom went to the Divine fount for comfort and counsel. It might have -been better for Basil if he had, for a warning might have come to him -to check the mad desire which had taken possession of him. - -Between him and Basil there had never been a harsh word. Each bore for -the other the truest affection. Never a cross, never an ill-tempered -look; unvarying sweetness had marked their intercourse. So sudden a -separation could have been nothing less than terrible to the living. -It was long before Basil recovered from it. With the exception of his -crotchety old uncle he was absolutely without kith or kin. Letters had -passed between them with reference to the sad event. "I cannot come to -London to attend the funeral," his uncle wrote; "I am too infirm and -feeble. When you have settled your father's affairs I shall be glad to -see you to talk things over. It is time you made a serious start in -life. You have your mother's fortune, and your father's, which I -should say is a handsome one; you will have mine, though I intend to -keep you out of it as long as I can. You are a lucky dog; you ought to -die a millionaire." A mortal ending the absolute desirability of which -may well be doubted. Basil replied, hoping his uncle would live to a -good old age, and promising to visit him as soon as affairs were -settled. In his father's desk he found the scrawl which the dying man -had written. It was very short. - -"My dear Basil,--The honour of my name is in your hands. Your loving -father." - -He had not strength to attach his name. - -It was not until the day after the funeral that the significance of -these words impressed itself on Basil. "The honour of my name is in -your hands." They were his father's last words to him. What meaning -did they bear? He had heard from his father's lawyers, informing him -that they had the will in their possession, and that they were at his -service. He wrote to them, to the effect that he would call upon them -early the following morning. - -The head of the firm received him gravely and courteously, and gave -orders that they were not to be disturbed. - -The will had been drawn out years since, and no alteration had been -made in it. Everything was left to Basil, unreservedly to him. There -were affectionate allusions in it which drew tears from Basil's eyes. -When this emotion had subsided he observed that the lawyer was -regarding him with an air of curiosity. - -"May I ask," said the lawyer, "if full confidence existed between you -and your father?" - -"The fullest," replied Basil. "He had no secrets from me, nor I any -from him." - -The lawyer seemed sensibly relieved. "You know of his speculations?" - -"His speculations!" exclaimed Basil, in surprise. "I was not aware -that he speculated." - -"Then full confidence did not exist between you. I warned him; I could -do no more than that. In my experience, my dear sir, I have seen so -many go the same way. There is but one end to it, and this has ended -as the others have done." - -"I will listen to nothing against my father," said Basil warmly. - -"I have nothing to say against him," responded the lawyer, "except -that he was unwise. He had an intense craving to leave you a very -large fortune, and this craving became a kind of disease in him, and -led him on. I regret to tell you that all his speculations have ended -disastrously." - -"That is to say, have resulted in a loss?" - -"In great losses." - -"To what extent?" - -"Claims are pouring in. If they are satisfied, the will in your hands -is not worth more than waste paper. But some of the claims may be -contested, and in my belief successfully. But that will be a matter -for counsel's opinion." - -"It has nothing to do with counsel," said Basil; "it has to do with -me. I am my dear father's representative, and it is for me to -determine what is to be done." - -"Undoubtedly. Instructions must come from you." - -"Claims are pouring in, you say. Can you tell me to what amount?" - -"As far as we have received them; there are more to be presented you -understand." - -"Yes." - -"Plainly, then," said the lawyer, "the property your father has left -will not be sufficient to meet his debts." - -"They must be paid, however." The lawyer inclined his head. - -"Yes," said Basil, rising and pacing the room in his excitement, "they -must be paid. No stigma must rest upon my father's memory. Some of the -claims may be contested, you say? In justice?" - -"Legally," replied the lawyer. - -"I ask you again," said Basil. "In justice?" - -The lawyer, declining to commit himself, made no reply. - -"At least," said Basil, "you can answer me this question. My father -owes the money?" - -"Yes, my dear sir, he owes the money." - -"Then it must be paid. Do you not see that it _must_ be paid? No man -shall have the power of uttering one word against him." - -"But," said the lawyer, eyeing the young man as he would have eyed a -psychological puzzle, "if the estate left by your father is not -sufficient to satisfy all these claims, what is to be done?" - -"I have money of my own--my mother's fortune--of which you have the -particulars." - -"Yes, we can give you all the information you require, and it requires -but your signature to a few documents, already prepared, my dear sir, -to place you in possession of this very handsome inheritance." - -"You can probably tell me the amount of it." - -"Almost to a farthing. It is invested in the safest securities, -realisable at an hour's notice, and it amounts to,"--the lawyer took -some papers from a japanned box and ran his eye over them--"it amounts -to not less than twenty-three thousand pounds." - -"Will that," asked Basil, "with my father's estate, satisfy in full -the claims which are pouring in?" - -"But my dear sir," expostulated the lawyer, with a look of -astonishment. - -Basil would not allow him to conclude. "I have to repeat some of my -questions, it seems," he said. "Will this fortune, which is realisable -in an hour, satisfy in full the claims of my father's creditors?" - -The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, and replied briefly, "More than -satisfy them." - -"Then the matter is settled," said Basil. "I empower you to collect -the whole of these claims to the uttermost farthing; to convert the -securities which are mine into money; to prepare a complete balance -sheet, and to pay my father's creditors in full, with as little delay -as possible." - -"I am to accept these instructions as definite and decisive?" - -"As definite and decisive!" - -"They shall be followed and carried out with as little delay as -possible. I must trouble you to call here at three o'clock this -afternoon to sign the necessary papers." - -"I will be punctual. Good morning; and I am greatly obliged to you." - -"Good morning, my dear sir," said the lawyer, adding under his breath, -"and I am greatly astonished at you." - -At three o'clock that afternoon Basil called again at the lawyer's -office, and signed "the necessary papers," and went away with a light -heart and a smiling face. Within a month the affair was concluded, his -father's estate was realised, and his father's creditor's paid in -full. There remained to him then, out of his mother's fortune, the sum -of three thousand pounds. - -He was perfectly happy and contented. Long before the business was -finally settled he had realised what his father meant by his last few -written words: "My dear Basil,--The honour of my name is in your -hands. Your loving father." To good hands indeed had the honour of a -dead man's name been entrusted. Basil had preserved it unsullied, -unblemished. - -He took no credit for it; he had fulfilled a sacred trust. It was -simply a duty performed. - -"Now," he said to himself; "I will go and see my uncle." - -But while he was preparing to start he received a letter from that -gentleman, which will explain why the visit was never paid. - - -"Nephew Basil" (the letter ran), "I have received news of your mad -proceedings since your return home. No person in his sober senses -would have acted as you have done. The greater portion of the claims -made against your father's estate could have been legally and -successfully contested, and even in what remained a sharp lawyer could -have obtained a substantial abatement. This view, as I understand, was -presented to you by an able firm of solicitors, but you rejected it, -and chose to play the fool. Now, I do not care to have dealings with a -fool. - -"I might have pardoned you for sacrificing your father's estate to -satisfy these claims, but I will not pardon you for sacrificing the -fortune your mother left you. It proves to me that it is not safe to -entrust money to you, and I have decided to put mine to better use -than to leave it to you. Accept this intimation as my ultimatum. It is -the last letter you will ever receive from me, and you will never see -me again. Therefore you need not go to the trouble of coming my way. -My house is not open to you. All the good counsel I have given you has -been thrown away. You might have told me at the time and I should have -saved my breath and my patience. Good-bye, foolish nephew. - - "Bartholomew Whittingham." - - -He was angry enough to add a postscript: - - -"As you are so fond of paying debts for which you are not responsible, -what do you say to considering the money I have given you from time to -time as one, and handing it back? You can do as you please about it. I -can make no legal demand for it, but I gave it to you under the -impression that you were not exactly an idiot. It amounts to quite -fourteen hundred pounds. If I had it I would put it out at good -interest." - - -To state that Basil was not hurt by this letter would be to state what -is not true. He had an affection for the old fellow, and he was -greatly pained to think that all was over between them; but he was not -in the least disturbed by the old man's arguments. He had done what -was right; of this he was sure. But the letter stung Basil as well as -hurt him. There was a bitter twang in his uncle's remark that he could -make no legal demand for the money he had given his nephew. "He shall -have it back," said Basil, "every farthing of it." Then he was seized -with an expensive fit of humour. His uncle had spoken of interest. He -would prove that he was not a whit less independent than the old -fellow himself. He made some lame and ridiculous calculations of -interest at five per cent, per annum, and arrived at the sum of two -thousand pounds and a few pence. He got a draft for the amount, and -inclosed it in the following note:-- - -"All right, my dear uncle. Here is your money back again, with -interest added. If it is not enough interest, let me know, and I will -send you more. Good-bye, and good luck to you. - - "Your affectionate nephew, - - "Basil." - - -This last debt paid, Basil had barely a thousand pounds left. He did -not hear from his uncle again. - -Now, what was he to do? He was without profession or trade, and did -not feel equal for any kind of service he saw around, even if it was -offered to him. "I think," he said, "I will travel a little more." He -did so, and was prudent enough to travel in an economic spirit but his -money went fast enough for all that. At the end of a year and a half -he had in his purse exactly one hundred pounds. Was he dashed? Not a -bit. But he knew that something must be done. "I will go to -Australia," he said. The project exalted him. He glowed, he rubbed his -hands, he was in a whirl of pleasant excitement. He would be in a new -land, in a land of adventure, in a land of romance. There he would be -all right, of course. Not a doubt of it. As for his empty purse--and -it _was_ pretty well empty by the time he had paid for his passage and -a few necessary odds and ends--he scarcely gave it a thought. Was he -not going to Australia, the poor man's El Dorado? So he set forth in a -sailing vessel, and enjoyed the passage immensely, and landed in -Sydney as happy as a king. The fairy harbour, the most beautiful in -all the wide world, enchanted him; the ravishing scenery enchanted -him; the quaint old city, so home-like in its appearance, enchanted -him. Certainly he had come to the right place. - -He was rather more melancholy a few weeks afterwards, but he never -lost heart. Suitable employment did not present itself so readily as -he had thought it would, and gold was not to be picked up in the -streets. "I am making a mistake," he said. "I must not remain in the -city; I must go into the bush." He soon made a start, and began -tramping Queensland way, and after some weeks of wondering reached the -tract of country which Anthony Bidaud had taken up. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -On the plantation which he had brought almost to perfection by twenty -years of wise labour Anthony Bidaud lived with his only child, -Annette, fourteen years of age. He had no other of his kindred near -him. The wife he brought from Switzerland lay in a flower-covered -grave within a mile of the spot upon which he stood. They came to the -colony childless, but after a lapse of years Annette was born to them. -Until the child was nine years of age the fond mother was spared to -rear her, and then one morning Annette awoke to find the dear -protector lost to her. It was an irreparable loss in that far-away -land, and there was no one of her own sex to take the mother's place. -But Annette had her father left, and he, not unsuccessfully, strove to -fill the void in his child's life. He was unremitting in his -tenderness and watchfulness, and he bestowed upon his little one a -full-hearted love. The two had lived together till now, when Anthony -Bidaud's heart was gloomed by the fear of approaching death. He had -never been strong, and the climate of the new world in which he had -made his home was destined to be fatal to him. He made pilgrimages to -Sydney and Melbourne to consult the best physicians, but they gave him -little hope. Death was approaching surely and swiftly. A gnawing pain, -an inexpressible grief, stirred his heart as he thought of his child, -whom he idolised. The reflection that she would be left alone in this -wild spot, in this remote part of the world, without a relative, with -scarcely a friend, appalled him. Yet what could he do? - -He had neither sought nor made friends, he and his wife and child had -been sufficient for each other, and when his wife died he and Annette -sighed for no other companionship. But had he sought friendships he -would not have succeeded in making them in any but fitful fashion. His -nearest neighbour was twenty miles away, and everybody in the colony -was so intent upon "getting on" and making his fortune, that there was -no time for social intercourse. In colonial cities there was at that -time but little "society;" in the bush, none. - -About a hundred feet above the blue clear stream of the Pioneer stood -the house in which Anthony Bidaud lived. The slabs with which it was -built had been split from the gum and bloodwood trees growing in the -forest which lay in the rear of the huts and buildings inhabited by -the labourers, chiefly South Sea Islanders, who worked on the -plantation. The roof was composed of shingles split from the same -description of trees. The interior of the house was lined with rich, -dark red cedar, which grew in the thick scrub on the opposite banks of -the river. An avenue of bananas led from the house along the cliff to -an arbour, in which oranges, custard apples, guavas, and other -delicious fruits, ripened in unsurpassed perfection. The posts of the -verandahs which surrounded three sides of the house were covered by -gigantic passion fruit, except at one end, which was completely -enclosed by grape vines and the yellow jessamine. Hammocks were slung -in the verandahs, and the occupants could swing idly to and fro, -shaded from the hot sun, and within reach of the fruit which grew in -such wonderful abundance and luxuriance all around. A lovely home for -husband, wife, and children; a dream which a poet soul only could -properly appreciate, but for one simple human being, in whose days the -flower of human affection was not blossoming--little better than a -wilderness. - -It was of this sad prospect, which his state of health warned him lay -before Annette, that Anthony Bidaud was speaking to Basil at the time -of their introduction to the reader. They had been acquainted but a -short time, but each bore for the other a genuine esteem. Some kindred -qualities of independence, high-mindedness, and honesty of purpose had -drawn them together from the hour they first met, and would have drawn -them even closer in the future; but the shadows gathering over one -life marred this fulfilment of a brighter promise. Barely two months -had elapsed since Basil Whittingham, presenting himself to Anthony -Bidaud, had asked for a shelter of his roof for a night. Annette was -present when Basil appeared; by her side a faithful Scotch terrier, -who guarded his young mistress with watchful care, and when needed, -with ferocity. Basil stooped and patted the head of the dog, who did -not snarl and show his teeth, as was his wont with strangers, but -submitted to the familiarity with unusual amiability. The sensible -creature went even farther than this; he rose, and rubbed his head -against Basil's leg, courting by the action a continuance of the -caressing. - -"Father," said Annette, "no stranger has ever done that with Bruno -before." - -"Bruno and I are old friends," said Basil, with a pleasant smile. -Annette thought that she had never seen such beautiful teeth. - -"Oh, Bruno," she cried reproachfully, "and you never told me! Come -here directly, sir!" Bruno approached her, wagging his tail. "Really -old friends?" she asked turning to Basil. - -"No, not really," he replied. "What I mean is, I love dogs, and dogs -love me." - -"A good testimonial," remarked Anthony Bidaud, gazing with interest -upon this poorly attired gentleman. - -"I have found it so," responded Basil, "for dog and man." - -He held out his hand to Annette, who not only took it, but retained -it. This went far to complete the conquest of Anthony Bidaud. With the -ordinary tramp he was very familiar, but here was a man of another -breed. No hang-dog looks, no slouching, no lowering of the brows, no -prison-mark about him. An upright gentleman, who looked the man he was -asking a favour from square in the face. - -"Have you travelled far?" asked Anthony Bidaud. - -"About twenty miles I should say. Rather too hot a day for so long a -walk." - -"You must be tired," said Anthony Bidaud. "You are heartily welcome -here." - -"I thank you," said Basil. - -That this young man had so swiftly won favour with his child and her -four-footed protector was a sufficient recommendation to Bidaud, but, -independent of that, he was rejoiced to meet with a gentleman from -whom manners and polish of good society had not been rubbed off by -familiarity with the rougher aspects of life in the new world. Basil -was a man whom no experience could harden; the inner grain of his -nature was refined and sweet. The hardships he had already met with in -the colony had not embittered him in the least. He grumbled at -nothing, took all things easily, and showed a smiling face to the -world. When he presented himself to Anthony Bidaud he was really at -his wits' end, but though he had not tasted food that day he was not -discouraged or disheartened. A clean conscience is a wonderful -sustainer. "I am like a cat," thought Basil, as he trudged blithely -through the bush, "I am bound to fall on my feet". And fall on his -feet he did that summer afternoon, which was to be the prelude of many -happier days; for before the night was over he told his host -sufficient of his antecedents to satisfy Bidaud that his hospitality -was not likely to be misplaced. Upon his persuasion his guest remained -for a week, then for another week, and so on till the present time. -Bidaud was diffident in asking Basil to enter his service, and Basil, -though he had come to the plantation with a vague idea of seeking -employment, did not entertain it after his first introduction to -Bidaud and his daughter. The terms upon which they had met and upon -which he was received forbade his asking for employment. It was -gentleman and gentleman, not master and servant. But at length -Bidaud--who had learned sufficient to be aware that Basil's purse was -empty, and that he had no friends in the colony--delicately pressed -his guest upon the subject, and, as timidly as though he was asking a -favour instead of being anxious to bestow one, hinted at some business -connection between them. Basil, from scruples with which we are -familiar but which he did not explain to his host, would not entertain -the idea, but firmly and courteously set it aside. - -"You have your future to look to," said Bidaud. - -"There is time enough to think of that," said Basil, cheerfully. "I am -not so very old." - -Many a time did Bidaud look with eyes of affection at Basil, and wish -he had a son like him to whom he could entrust his darling Annette. -Basil was a man peculiarly adapted to inspire affection in honest, -simple hearts, and such a bond grew between him and Annette. Happy is -the man whose manners cause children to regard him as one of -themselves; he possesses an inheritance of pleasant hours which money -cannot purchase. Basil and Annette, then, spent a great deal of time -together, accompanied by the faithful Bruno, and it gladdened the -father's heart to see his child so happy in the society of their new -friend. - -"Father says your name is Whittingham," said Annette. - -"Yes, it is," said the young man. - -"Mr. Whittingham." - -"Yes. Do you like it?" - -"No. You must have another name." - -"Of course I have. Basil." - -"Basil. That is much nicer, ever so much nicer. I shall call you -Basil." - -"I shall feel honoured, Annette." - -This compact being made, Annette took him in hand; the little maid had -already discovered that she knew a great deal which he did not, and -she set up a school, with Basil as her only pupil. Whether what she -taught was likely to be of use to him in the battle of life he was -bound to fight is an open question. Had some foreknowledge come upon -him as to the nature of that battle, and the roads into which it would -lead him, he would have laughingly rejected it as the wildest of -fancies. He was quite content with the present; he had found an -enchanting companion, and time was passing delightfully. During -Annette's five years of motherless life she had acquired a wonderful -knowledge of the fauna and the flora of the colony, and to these -mysteries she introduced Basil. It is not incorrect to call them -mysteries, for they are really so to ninety-nine out of every hundred -colonials, who spend their lives in ignorance of the wonders by which -they are surrounded. But it is so in all lands. - -Annette, then, opened Basil's mind, and let in knowledge. She showed -him how to snare game, which abounded in vast quantities, snipe, -quail, and numerous varieties of duck, of which the whistling duck is -the most curious, and the black duck the best eating; she taught him -the names of the strange and beautiful birds which found their home in -the scrub and forests round about; she described to him the different -trees which grew in the neighbourhood of the beautiful Pioneer River, -and would not rest contented till he was familiar with them, and could -give them their right names. - -"What is this, Basil?" - -"What is this, Annette? Why, a tree." - -"But what kind of tree?" - -"Oh, I beg your pardon. Ha--hum--oh, yes, it is the tea-tree." - -"It is not, Basil. It is the bottle-tree." - -"Well, the bottle-tree. Of course it is the bottle-tree. How could I -be so stupid?" - -"You are not stupid; you are inattentive. Do you see this hole cut in -the tree?" - -"Of course I do." - -"I will not have that answer. 'Of course I do' sounds as if I had no -right to ask the question. Say 'I do.'" - -"I do." - -"And mean it, if you please." - -"I mean it," said Basil, with his hand on his heart, and a merry -twinkle in his eyes. - -"Very good. You see the hole. Who cut it?" - -"On my word of honour, Annette, I haven't the slightest idea." - -"It was cut by the blacks. Now, what did they cut it for?" - -"How on earth should I know?" - -"You ought to know. You have been brought up in a very bad school. -I'll show you what for. Out with your knife, Basil. Dig it in here, a -long way under the hole. That is right. Now you can have a good drink -of cold sweet water. Is it not wonderful?" - -"Indeed it is. Like Oliver Twist, I ask for more." - -The conversation instantly took another turn. There were but few books -on the home station, and among them no work of fiction. It fell to -Basil's lot to open a new fairyland in the young girl's life. "What -was Oliver Twist?" "He was not a 'what'; he was a 'who.'" "Then who was -Oliver Twist?" Basil told the story as well as he could, and -afterwards told another; and after the second tale, still another, -this time a more simple one, from the magic cupboard of Hans Christian -Andersen. It was long before they resumed their woodland lessons. -Annette pointed out where the best figs and almonds grew, instructed -him how to make bracelets and necklaces out of the stones of the -quandong fruit, and where the sugar bags of the native bees were to be -found. They caught a native bear, not a very ferocious creature and -tamed it in a few days so thoroughly that it followed them about like -a dog, to the disgust of Bruno, who did not approve of the proceeding; -they gathered wild ginger and wild nutmegs in the scrub, and in a -famous creek they caught quantities of golden perch, with red eyes and -double chins; and once they saw two emus in the distance, and heard -the faint sound of their peculiar whistle. In such-like idling the -days flew by, and the hours were all too short, but suddenly it dawned -upon Basil that this lotus life could not last for ever. It was from a -sense of duty, and with a sinking heart (for the thought of parting -from these good friends, especially from Annette, sorely oppressed -him) that he intimated to Anthony Bidaud that he had lingered too -long, and must go farther afield. - -"I must not outstay my welcome," he said. - -"You cannot do that," said Bidaud. "Are you not happy here?" - -"Too happy." - -"No, one cannot be too happy," said Bidaud, in a tone of great -sadness. There was that weighing on his heart which he yearned to -impart to some person in whom he could confide. He had thought of it -for days past, and had resolved to unbosom his sorrow to the young -gentleman who had brought a new light of tenderness into the -prosperous home. - -His story was told. Basil learned that the father feared he had not -long to live, and that he was filled with apprehension at the -contemplation of Annette being left without a friend. - -"You were born in Switzerland," said Basil, thoughtfully. "Is there no -one connected with you in your own country into whose charge you could -give Annette?" - -"It is twenty years since I left my native land," said Bidaud, "and -great changes must have taken place during that time." - -"You left relatives there?" - -"Yes, a sister--and a brother." His mention of his brother was made -with evident reluctance. - -"Why not write to your brother," asked Basil, "to come and receive the -trust?" - -"Heaven forbid!" cried Bidaud. "Give my darling child into Gilbert's -care! I would as soon give her into the care of a wolf! No, no, it is -not to be thought of. Six months ago I wrote to my sister, in whom I -have some confidence--she is a woman, and would surely not ill-treat -my child--informing her of my circumstances, and of the certain fate -which awaited me, and imploring her to come out to me. I promised to -provide for her, and for her family, if she had any. I thought that -the knowledge that I was rich would tempt her. To that letter I have -received no reply. Basil"--like his daughter, he called his guest by -his Christian name--"it is the sad and sober truth that you are the -only friend upon whom I can rely to render me a service. Will you do -so?" - -"If it is in my power," said Basil, gravely. - -"You have given me the impression that you are alone in the world." - -"Practically alone," replied Basil. - -"With no kindred who have claims upon you." - -"My parents are dead; I was their only child. There is but one man -alive in England who is of my blood--an uncle whose heir I was to be, -but who has cast me off." - -"May I inquire for what reason?" - -"For a very serious reason. I did not know the value of money, he -said. My father, when he died, was heavily involved, and I ruined -myself in paying his debts. My uncle was angry at this, saying there -was no obligation upon me to satisfy my father's creditors. I held, -and hold, a different opinion; but the consequence was that my uncle -abandoned his intention of making me his heir." - -"My task is all the easier for your explanation. The service I am -about to ask of you is no light one, and may be agreeable to you -because it will open out a future which few men would turn their back -upon. I do not say this to tempt you, for I know that you will be -guided entirely by your own feelings, by your own sense of right and -wrong, and that worldly advantage will weigh for nothing in the scale. -You are fond of Annette." - -"I love the child; I never met with a sweeter and more sympathetic -nature than hers. She has strength of character, too." - -"Do you think so?" asked Bidaud, anxiously. - -"I am sure of it. Even now she rules me." - -Bidaud shook his head with a sad smile. "That is not a proof. You are -content to be ruled, and what passes between you springs from -affection. The strength of character required to battle with the world -is of a different kind from that which Annette exhibits towards you. -The service I ask you to render me concerns Annette." - -"Why, then," said Basil, gaily, "it is rendered before you ask for -it." - -"You must know its nature before you consent. It is nothing more nor -less, Basil, than that you should stand to my child in the light of -guardian." - -Basil started. The tone in which this was spoken was that of a man who -was convinced that the world was slipping from him. - -"Surely you are alarming yourself unnecessarily," said the young man. - -"I am not. There are warnings which it would be criminal to neglect, -especially where there is such a vital interest at stake as the -happiness of an only and beloved child. I have received these warnings -and must be prepared. Say that the spiritual whisper which tells me -that my end is approaching is false, is no faith to be placed in the -doctor's decree that my hours are numbered? A man may have morbid -fancies, but the teachings of experience and science are not to be -lightly set aside and disregarded. If my fears prove groundless, so -much the better for Annette; if they are confirmed--which they will -be, Basil, nothing can alter it--so much the worse for her unless -needful preparation is made for the crisis in her young life. Will you -now consent?" - -"Let me hear more fully what you have to say," replied Basil, gravely, -"before I fully pledge myself. You speak of a brother and sister in -your own country, and you have written to one who may appear at any -moment. The claim she has upon Annette, and the authority with which -the laws of nature have invested her, are stronger than those of any -stranger. I am a young man, and the idea of becoming guardian to so -tender and sweet a flower as Annette startles me. I ask myself, am I -equal to a responsibility so serious, and the question reveals to me -my own deficiencies, of which I am generally somewhat painfully aware. -It is really as though the most serious page in my life was about to -be opened." - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -"I have no fears," said Anthony Bidaud, with a gentle smile, "on the -score of your deficiencies. I have been no inattentive observer since -the fortunate day upon which I first formed acquaintance with you. -That you have had a disappointment in life counts for very little, and -such small difficulties as befall a newcomer in this new land are -scarcely to be accounted among the real difficulties of life. You do -not yet know your own strength, but already, in a position of serious -responsibility, you have acted in a manner which few men would have -had the courage to do. Your past is honourable, and contents me. You -have a kind heart, and that adds to my content. Should the worst -happen, my Annette will have by her side a true and honest counsellor. -Reflect a moment. Say that I were to die to-morrow--nay, do not argue -with me; death is the only certain thing in life, and it may come at -any unexpected moment to the strongest--say that I die to-morrow, what -would be the position of my dear child? I have an estate worth -thousands of pounds; she is a mere child, and could not manage it. She -would become the prey of schemers, who would undoubtedly not deal -fairly by her. I have a hundred servants on this plantation, and not a -friend among them. By accident you enter into our lives. I use the -term accident, but I believe it to be a providence. We are drawn to -each other. I have observed you closely, and am satisfied to deliver -into your hands a sacred charge, the charge of a young girl's future. -At such moments as these there comes to some men a subtle, -unfathomable insight. It comes to me. I firmly believe that there is a -link between you and my child which, if you do not recognise it now, -you will be bound to recognise in the future. It may be broken in the -present, but the threads will be joined as surely as we stand here -side by side. Apart from this mysticism, to which I do not expect you -to subscribe, there is a worldly, practical side which it is right and -necessary you should understand. You ask for fuller information of my -brother and sister. I will give it to you. That my brother and I did -not part friends, and that his attitude towards me influenced my -sister, was not my fault. I loved a young girl in my own station in -life, and she loved me and afterwards became my wife. That my brother -Gilbert loved her also was to be deplored; we were not to be blamed -for it, though Gilbert was furious--with me for loving her, with her -for returning my love. I endeavoured to remonstrate with him: he would -not listen to me. 'You have stepped in the way of my happiness,' he -said; 'you shall rue it.' It is hard to speak harshly of one's flesh -and blood, but it is the truth that the girl I loved was fortunate in -not placing her affections upon him. He would have broken her heart. -He was a spendthrift and a libertine, and would stop at little for the -gratification of his selfish pleasures. He was furious against me, not -so much because he loved Annette's mother, but because he could not -have his own way. He was clever in crooked things, and in cunning -shrewdness there were few to beat him. Educated as a doctor, he could -have earned a good name if he had chosen to be industrious; but he -preferred to lead an idle, dissolute life. These evil courses caused -him to be deeply in debt at the time of my father's death. A portion -of my father's fortune, which was not very large, was left to me, and -Gilbert endeavoured to rob me of it, saying he was the elder, as he -was by a year. With wedded life in view I resisted the attempt, and -this angered him the more. He swore that he would never forgive me, -and that he would be revenged upon me. It was strange that my sister -leaned more towards him than towards me, but that does sometimes -happen with the scapegrace of the family. I am not endeavouring to -blacken Gilbert's character for my own glorification. In drawing his -picture I have dealt more than justly by him; were he not my brother I -should speak of actions of his which made me wonder how he and I could -have been born of the same mother. It is that I wish you to understand -why I did not write to him to come here and take charge of my dear -child, and to understand why I said that I would as soon give her into -the care of a wolf. I succeeded in obtaining my share of my father's -fortune, and soon afterwards married. Even then Gilbert did not cease -from persecuting me. He would come and take up his quarters in our -house, and insult my wife, and revile me, unto our life became -intolerable. It was then that we resolved to emigrate, chiefly to -escape his persecutions. Then he showed us plainly that his love had -changed to hate. He said to me before I left Switzerland, 'One day I -will be even with you. Remember my words--dead or alive, I will be -even with you!' Since that day I have never seen him, never heard from -him, and I do not know whether he is still living. Upon our arrival in -this colony fortune smiled upon us almost from the first. We were -happy, very happy, and as you see I have been prosperous. But I have -not been wise. I should have provided my child with a suitable -companion at the death of my wife, though heaven knows where I should -have found one; but I should have tried. To marry again was -impossible; I loved my wife too well, and I could not be false to her -memory. I have been worse than unwise: I have neglected a serious -duty. Up to this day I have shrunk from making a will, so that my -affairs would get into confusion should anything happen to me. I have -resolved to make instant amends for this neglect of duty. To-night I -shall write to a lawyer to come to me without an hour's delay, and he -shall draw out my will before he departs. In this will it is my desire -to appoint you manager of my estate and guardian of my child till she -arrives at the age of twenty-one. It is not a bad prospect I hold out -to you. At the end of seven years you will still be a young man, and -if you elect to leave Annette you can do so. She will by that time -have learned from you all that is necessary to continue the management -of the estate herself; but she will also then be free to act as she -pleases: either to remain upon it, or to sell it and go elsewhere. I -do not think there is anything more I can tell you to enable you to -arrive at a decision. I do not urge you to comply with my desire -because of any personal advantage that may accrue to yourself, but I -beg of you as a friend to render me as great a service as it is in the -power of one man to render to another. If you wish for time to -consider this proposal take it, but decide before the arrival of the -lawyer. One way or another, my will must be made before a week has -passed." - -But Basil did not ask for time; he was deeply touched by the -confidence reposed in him by Anthony Bidaud, and while the father -spoke he had made up his mind. He had been very happy on the -plantation; he knew that it was a desirable home, and that within its -domains could be found much that would make a man's life agreeable and -useful He had come to the colony, as had thousands of other colonists, -with the intention of making his fortune and returning to England. He -could not hope to make a fortune in a day, though wild ideas of -gold-seeking--successful gold-seeking, of course--had floated through -his mind. Suddenly, when his fortunes were at the lowest ebb, there -was presented an opportunity which, unworldly as he was, he could not -disguise from himself it would be folly to throw away. But it was due -to Anthony Bidaud that the matter should not be concluded without -something more being said. - -"I need no time to consider," he said. "Your proposition is flattering -and advantageous to myself. But you speak of not being wise. Are you -wise in placing a trust so delicate and important in the hands of a -stranger?" - -"I am content to do so," said Bidaud, "and I beg you to believe that -the obligation will be on my side." - -"After all," suggested Basil, with a little touch of shrewdness "it -may be with you a choice of evils." - -"It is a choice of good," observed Bidaud. "I have told you," -continued Basil, "that I have not been educated into an understanding -of business matters, and that my mission in life"--here he smiled -deprecatingly--"was to go through life in a gentlemanly way, without -working for my living." - -"But you came to the colony to work?" - -"Yes. I am only endeavouring to prove to you how utterly unfit I am -for the position you would assign to me." - -"I am entirely convinced," said Bidaud, with a look of affection at -the young man, "of your fitness for it." - -"Think of my inexperience." - -"Experience will come to you as it came to me. You will learn as I -did." - -"Then there is another view," said Basil, and now he spoke with a -certain hesitation. "You and Annette are here as father and daughter. -It is not to be supposed that I could supply your place. I am a young -man; in a very few years Annette will be a young woman. Will not our -relative positions then be likely to wound her susceptibilities----" - -"Do not finish," said Bidaud, pressing Basil's hand warmly. "Leave all -to time. Nothing but good can spring from what I propose. If Annette -were now a young woman----" - -And here he himself purposely broke off in the middle of a sentence. -Certainly his manner could not be mistaken. A flush came into Basil's -face, and he did not speak again for a few moments. - -"Has the letter," he then said, "you wrote to your sister been -returned to you?" - -"No." - -"Then it must have been delivered." - -"Not necessarily. I am not sure whether undelivered letters addressed -to Switzerland are returned to the colonial post-offices. If you have -stated your principal objections I see nothing in them to cause you to -hesitate. You will consent?" - -"Yes," said Basil, "I accept the trust." - -"With all my heart I thank you," said Anthony Bidaud; then he placed -his hands on Basil's shoulders, and said in a solemn tone, "Guard my -child." - -"Whatever lies in my power to do," said Basil, "shall be done." - -Bidaud nodded and turned away; his heart was too full to say more. -Basil turned in another direction, with the intention of seeking -Annette, in fulfilment of a promise he had made to join her in the -woods. He knew where to find her. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -Traversing a narrow, winding bridle track, he soon reached the river. -A broad belt of white sand stretched on either side for some little -distance, the water glistening like polished mirrors in its smooth, -deep reaches. Here and there it broke into a thousand tiny -silver-crested waves, created by the inequalities in the ground. -Farther on the main stream twisted into great clusters of dark green -river oaks, and was lost to view. The white sands narrowed, and were -replaced by rocks, covered with moss and lichen, and here a bark canoe -was moored. Stepping on a large boulder, Basil jumped into the canoe, -and loosening the rope, paddled down stream. The water ran like a mill -race, and presently divided into two streams, beautified by waterfalls -and fairy islands adorned with luxuriant vegetation. This dividing of -the waters extended only some three or four hundred yards, at the -termination of which they were united in one dark lagoon. A strange -stillness reigned upon the surface of the water, but this sign of -peace was insincere, the current in reality running hard and strong. -Round about the canoe floated masses of white and mauve water lilies; -in parts the huge leaves formed a perfect carpet, which easily -supported the light weight of the lotus birds as they skipped from -shore to shore. At the lower end of the lagoon the stream became so -narrow that a man could jump across it, and here Basil left his canoe, -and plunged into the woods to find Annette. - -She was sitting on a great patch of velvet moss, idling with some -flowers of the wax plant and the yellow hibiscus. Her back was towards -Basil, who stepped softly, intending to surprise her, but the -crackling of the leaves betrayed him. She turned quickly, and jumping -up, ran to meet him. - -"I have been waiting for you ever so long," she said, and she slipped -her hand into his. - -Basil made no excuse for being late; an age seemed to have passed -since he had last seen her, though scarcely three hours separated -"then" from "now." But short as was really the interval it had -effected an important alteration in their relations towards each -other, and the contemplation of this change made him silent. Neither -was Annette as talkative as usual, and they strolled idly along for -some distance without exchanging a word. Basil had hitherto accepted -Annette's beauty in a general sense; she was pretty, she was bright, -she was full of vivacity--that was all. Had she been a woman he would -have subjected her to a closer and more analytical observation, for he -had an artist's eye for beauty, and loved to look at it in animate and -inanimate nature; but Annette was only a child, and he had paid her -just that amount of attention which one pays to small wild-flowers -that grow by the wayside. But now, looking down upon her as she walked -by his side, he observed that her eyes were hazel, and he said to -himself that hazel eyes, in girl and woman, were the most beautiful -eyes in the world. The hazel colour in the eyes he was gazing upon was -brilliant, and Basil said to himself that it was the brilliant hazel -eyes that are the most beautiful in the world. Annette's features were -not exactly regular, but formed as fair a picture of human loveliness -as a man would wish to see, her lips sweetly curved, her teeth white -and shapely, her ears like little shells, her golden brown hair -gathered carelessly about the gracefully shaped head. Yes, Annette was -beautiful even now as a child; how much more beautiful was she likely -to be when her springtime was fully set in! - -Raising her head suddenly she saw that Basil was gazing at her more -earnestly and closely than he was in the habit of doing. "I was -looking at your eyes, Annette," he said, rather guiltily. "I never -noticed their colour till to-day." - -"They are hazel. Do you like hazel eyes?" - -"Very much." - -"I am glad of that. My eyes are like my mother's. Will you come with -me?" - -"Where?" - -"To her grave." - -He had visited it before with Annette, and they now walked towards the -canoe, gathering wild flowers as they walked. Once Annette slipped, -and he caught her and held her up; there was an unusual tenderness in -the action, and Annette nestled closer to him, and smiled happily. In -the canoe her skilful fingers were busily at work, weaving the flowers -they had gathered into garlands to lay upon her mother's grave. She -had a special gift in such-like graceful tasks, but then her heart was -in her fingers. The loving homage was reverently rendered when they -reached the spot, and Basil assisted her in clearing the dead leaves -and in planting some fresh roots she had brought with her from the -woods. - -Her task accomplished, Annette sat beside the grave, with a wistful -expression on her face which made Basil wonder what was stirring in -her mind. He waited for her to break the silence, and presently she -spoke. - -"What makes you so quiet, Basil?" - -"I do not know. Perhaps it is because you have said so little, -Annette." - -"I have been thinking." - -"Yes." - -"I wanted all day to speak to you about it. I thought I would when we -were in the wood alone; then you spoke of my eyes and I thought of my -dear mother. You would have loved her, Basil, and she would have loved -you. She hears me now--yes, she hears and sees me, Basil, and I think -she is glad you came to us." - -"I am glad too, Annette." - -"Really glad, Basil?" - -"Really glad, Annette." - -"Then you will not go away from us?" - -"What makes you ask that?" Her question, tremulously uttered, formed a -pregnant link in the promise he had given her father. - -"It is my dream," said Annette. "I dreamt it last night, and it made -me sad. You came to say good-bye, and I was unhappy at the thought -that I should never see you again. Basil, if that was to happen I -should be sorry you ever came at all." - -"Then you wish me to stay?" - -"Dearly, Basil, dearly! I thought I would speak to father about it; -then I thought I would speak to you first." - -"Did you not speak to your father?" - -"Not about my dream; but about your going away, yes. I asked him to -persuade you to stop with us." - -"Because, Annette----" he said, and paused. "Because I love you, -Basil. I told father so, and he said he loved you, too, and that he -wished he had a son like you. Then you would be my brother, and I -should be very happy. But father said he was afraid you intended to -leave us soon, and that made me dream, I suppose." - -"Annette, listen to me." - -"I am listening, Basil." - -"Your father has spoken to me, and that is why I was so late in coming -to you. He asked me to remain here, and I promised him I would." - -"You did? Oh, Basil!" Her voice expressed the most perfect joy. She -had risen in her excitement, and was now leaning towards him, her lips -parted, her eyes glowing. - -"Yes, Annette, I promised him, and I promise you. For some years at -least we will live together." - -She threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him. - -"That will be for ever, Basil. You have made me do happy, so happy!" - -"So that is all settled," he said. "But I shall be a tyrant, Annette." - -"I don't mind, Basil; I will be very good and obedient. Do you hear, -Bruno, do you hear?" She knelt and kissed the faithful dog, and -pressed his head to her bosom. "Basil is not going away. He will -remain here forever--for ever!" - -Basil was very grateful for the little maid's affection, grateful that -his lines had fallen in such pleasant places. What more could man -desire? But there was a shadow gathering and swiftly approaching which -neither of them could see. - -They stopped out later than usual that evening, and when they returned -to the house Annette was radiant. - -"Basil has promised to remain with us, father," she said, in a voice -of great joy. - -"He has told you, then, dear child?" - -"Yes, father, yes. He will stop with us for ever. I don't wish for -anything now." - -The three happy beings sat together in the verandah during the few -brief minutes that divided day and night. In those latitudes there is -but little twilight, and the long peaceful rest of an English sunset -is unknown. For a few moments the brilliancy was dazzling. Great -clouds of amethyst and ruby spread over the western skies, melting -soon into sombre shades of purple and crimson. Then the sun dipped -down and disappeared, and the skies were overspread with a veil of -faded gold, behind which the white stars glittered. - -Their souls were in harmony with the spiritual influence of the lovely -scene, and there was an ineffable peace in their hearts. Annette -kissed Basil before she retired to rest, and whispered: "Brother -Basil, I shall have happier dreams to-night." - -He kissed her tenderly, and bade her good-night. Unclouded happiness -shone in her eyes as she stole to her room, where she knelt by her -bedside, and uttered the name of Basil in her prayers. - -Anthony Bidaud gazed at his daughter till she entered the house, and -even then kept his eyes fixed upon the door through which she had -disappeared. - -"It is years," he said to Basil, "since I have felt so thoroughly -content as I do to-night. Come to my room early in the morning; I -shall not write to my lawyer till then, and I wish you to see the -letter." - -Shortly after all the inmates of the house were asleep. - - -* * * * * * - - -And while they slept, there walked across the distant plains towards -the plantation, a man and a woman who had had that goal in view for -three months past. It was summer when they left their home across the -seas. It was summer when they reached the land to which the woman had -been summoned. But, judging from their faces, no summer errand was -theirs. - -"Walk quicker," said the man, surlily. "We must get there before -sunrise. My heart is bent upon it." - -"I am fit to drop," said the woman. "How much farther have we to go?" - -"According to information, fifteen miles. Walk quicker, quicker! Have -you travelled so far to faint at the last moment? Remember we have not -a penny left to purchase food, and have already fasted too many hours. -I see visions of ease and comfort, of wine and food, ay, and of riches -too. I am eager to get at them." - -"Do you remember," said the woman, "that you were not bidden to come?" - -"What of that?" retorted the man. "I have my tale ready. Leave me to -play my part. Our days of poverty are over. This is the last of them. -Walk quicker, quicker!" - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -A little after sunrise Basil was awake and out, hastening to the river -for his morning bath. He had slept well and soundly, but he had had -vivid dreams. The events of the day had sunk deep in his mind; it -would have been strange otherwise, for they had altered the currents -of his whole future life. They had furnished him with a secure and -happy home; they had placed him in a position of responsibility which -he hailed with satisfaction and a sense of justifiable pride; -moreover, they had assured him that he had won the affection of a kind -and generous gentleman and of a sweet-tempered and gentle little maid. -He was no longer an outcast; he was no longer alone in the world. - -Until this void was supplied he had not felt it. Young, buoyant, and -with a fund of animal spirits which was the secret of his cheerful -nature, sufficient for the day had been the good thereof; but now -quite suddenly an unexpected and sweetly serious duty had been offered -to him, and he had accepted it. He would perform it faithfully and -conscientiously. - -Every word Anthony Bidaud had spoken to him had impressed itself upon -his mind. He could have repeated their conversation almost word for -word. It was this which had inspired his dreams, which formed, as it -were, a panorama of the present and the future. - -Annette as she was at this moment, a child, appeared to him and he -lived over again their delightful rambles; for although it was but -yesterday that they were enjoyed, the duty he had taken upon himself -seemed to send them far back into the past; but still Annette was a -child, and her sunny ways belonged to childhood. The story of "Paul -and Virginia" had been a favourite with him when he was a youngster, -and his dreams at first were touched by the colour of that simple -tale. The life he had lived these last few weeks on Anthony Bidaud's -plantation favoured the resemblance: the South Sea Islanders who -worked on the land, the waterfalls, the woods, the solitudes, the -protecting bond which linked him to Annette--all formed in his -sleeping fancies a companion idyll to the charming creation of -Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. He carried Annette over the river, he -wandered with her through the shadows of the mountains, they were -lost and found, they sat together under the shade of the velvet -sunflower-tree; and in this part of his dreams he himself was a youth -and not a man. - -So much for the present, and it was due to his light heart and the -happiness he had found that his dreams did not take the colour of the -subsequent tragedy which brought the lives of these woodland children -to their sad and pathetic end. His future and Annette's was brighter -than that of Paul and Virginia. He beheld her as a woman, and he was -still her protector. She represented the beauty of the entire world of -thought and action. Her figure was faultless, her face most lovely, -her movements gracefully perfect. There are countenances upon which an -eternal cloud appears to rest, and which even when they smile are not -illumined. Upon Annette's countenance rested an eternal sunshine, and -this quality of light irradiated not only all surrounding visible -objects, but all hopes and feelings of the heart. When Basil awoke -these felicitous fancies were not obliterated or weakened, as most -such fancies are in waking moments, and as he walked towards the river -they lightened his footsteps and made him glad. Wending his way along -a cattle track dotted with gum-trees, he saw beneath the branches of -one a woman whose face was strange to him. She was not English born, -and as she reclined in an attitude of fatigue against the tree's trunk -there was about her an air of exhaustion which stirred Basil to -compassion for her apparently forlorn condition. He remembered his own -days and nights of weary tramping through the bush, and, pausing, he -looked down upon her, and she peered up at him through her half-closed -lids. - -"Good morning," said Basil. - -"Is it?" she asked, with a heavy sigh. - -"Is it what?" - -"Good morning. To me it is a bad morning." - -Basil looked round. The heavens were luminous with vivid colour, the -birds were flying busily to and from their nests, nature's myriad -pulses throbbed with gladness. To him it was the best, the brightest -of days. But this sad woman before him was pale and worn; there were -traces not only of exhaustion but of hunger in her face. - -"You are hungry," said Basil. - -"Don't mock me," said the woman, in no gracious tone; "let me rest." - -"If you follow this track," persisted Basil, "the way I have come, you -will see the Home Station. They will give you breakfast there." - -For a moment the woman appeared inclined to accept his kindness she -made a movement upwards, but almost immediately she relinquished her -intention. - -"No," she said, "I will wait." - -He was loth to leave her in her distressful plight, but her churlish -manner was discouraging. - -"Will you not let me help you?" - -"You can help me," said the woman, "by leaving me." - -He had no alternative. "If you think better of it," he said, "you can -obtain shelter and food at the Home Station." Then he passed on to the -river. - -A stranger was there, already stripping for the purpose of bathing. -Scarcely looking at him, Basil was about to remove to a more retired -spot when he observed something in the water which caused him to run -to the man, who was removing his last garment, and seize his arm. - -"What for?" demanded the stranger. - -He spoke fairly good English, as did the woman who had declined his -assistance, but with a foreign accent. He was brown, and thin, and -wrinkled, and Basil saw at once that he was not an Englishman. - -"I presume you have not breakfasted yet," was Basil's apparently -inconsequential answer to the question. - -"Not yet," said the stranger impatiently, shaking himself free from -Basil's grasp. "Why do you stop me? Is not the river free?" - -"Quite free," said Basil; "but instead of eating you may be eaten." - -He pointed downwards, and leaning forward the stranger beheld a huge -alligator lurking beneath a thin thicket of reeds. The brute was -perfectly motionless, but all its voracious senses were on the alert. - -"Ugh!" cried the stranger, beginning to dress hurriedly. "That would -be a bad commencement of my business." - -He did not say "thank you," nor make the slightest acknowledgment of -the service Basil had rendered him. This jarred upon the young man, -who stood watching him get into his clothes. They were ragged and -travel-stained, and the stranger's physical condition was evidently -none of the best; but his eyes were keen, and all his intellectual -forces were awake. In this respect Basil found an odd resemblance in -him to the alligator waiting for prey in the waving reeds beneath, and -also a less odd resemblance to the woman he had left lying in the -shadow of the gum-trees. - -"You have business here, then?" asked the young man. - -"I have--important business. Understand that I answer simply to prove -that I am not an intruder." - -"I understand. Is the woman I met on my way a relative of yours?" - -"What woman?" cried the stranger, in sharp accents. "Like you in face, -and bearing about her signs of hard travel." - -"Did she speak to you? Why do you question me about her? By what -right?" - -"There is no particular right in question that I can see?" said Basil. -"I spoke to her as I am speaking to you, and asked if I could serve -her." - -"And she!" - -"Was as uncivil as yourself, and declined my offer of assistance." - -"She acted well. We are not beggars. For my incivility, that is how -you take it. You misconstrue me." - -"I am glad to hear it. You seem tired." - -"I have been walking all day and all night, and all day and all night -again, for more days and nights than I care to count I have done -nothing but walk, walk, walk, since my arrival at this world's end." - -"Have you but just arrived?" - -"Yes, but just arrived, wearied and worn out with nothing but walking, -walking, walking. Is that what this world's end was made for?" - -If the stranger had not Stated that he had important business to -transact, and had there not been something superior in his speech and -deportment to the ordinary tramp with whom every man in the Australian -colonies is familiar, Basil would have set him down as a member of -that delectable fraternity. Notwithstanding this favourable opinion, -however, Basil took an instinctive dislike to the man. He had seen in -him an odd likeness to the alligator, and brief as had been their -interview up to this point, he had gone the length of mentally -comparing him now to a fox, now to a jackal--to any member of the -brute species indeed whose nature was distinguished by the elements of -rapacity and cunning. - -"Have you far to go?" he asked. - -"No farther," replied the stranger, with an upward glance at Anthony -Bidaud's house, one end of which was visible from the spot upon which -they were conversing. - -"Is that your destination?" inquired Basil, observing the upward -glance. - -"That," said the stranger, with a light laugh, "is my destination, if -I have not been misinformed." - -The laugh intensified Basil's dislike; there was a mocking sinister -ring in it, but he nevertheless continued the conversation. - -"Misinformed in what respect?" - -"That is M. Bidaud's house?" - -"It is M. Bidaud's house." - -"M. Anthony Bidaud?" - -"Yes." - -"Originally from Switzerland." - -Basil's hazard of the stranger's precise nationality now took definite -form. - -"As you are," he said. - -"As I am," said the stranger, "and as Anthony Bidaud is." - -"You are right in your surmise. He is from Switzerland." - -"My surmise? Ah? He has a fine estate here." - -"He has." - -"But his wife--she is dead." - -"That is so, unhappily." - -"What is one man's meat is another man's poison--a proverb that may be -reversed." His small eyes glittered, and his thin pointed features -seemed all to converge to one point. ("Fox, decidedly," thought -Basil.) The stranger continued. "His health, is it good?" - -In the light of Anthony Bidaud's revelation on the previous evening -this was a startling question, and Basil answered: - -"It is an inquiry you had best make of himself if you are likely to -see him." - -"It is more than likely that I shall see him," said the stranger, "and -he will tell me. He has but one child." - -"You are well informed. He has but one." - -"Whose name is Annette." - -"Whose name," said Basil, wondering from what source the stranger had -obtained his information, "is Annette." - -"Charming, charming, charming," said the stranger. "Everything is -charming, except"--with a loathing gesture at the alligator, which lay -still as a log, waiting for prey--"that monster; except also that I am -dead with fatigue. I came here for a bath to refresh myself after much -travelling. Is there any part of this treacherous river in which a man -may bathe in safety?" - -"I will show you a place." - -"No tricks, young sir, said the stranger, suspicion in his voice. - -"Why should I play you tricks? If you do not care to trust me, seek a -secure spot yourself." - -"No, I will accompany you, who must know the river well. You do, eh?" - -"I am thoroughly acquainted with it." - -"You guessed my nation; shall I guess yours? Australian." - -"I am an Englishman." - -"A great nation; a great people. Is this the spot?" - -They had arrived at a smooth piece of water, semi-circularly protected -by rocks from the invasion of alligators. - -"This is the spot," said Basil, "you will be perfectly safe here." - -The water was so clear that they could see to the bottom. Black and -silver bream, perch, mullet, and barramundi were swimming in its -translucent depths. The stranger peered carefully among the rocks to -make sure that they were free from foes, and then, without thanking -Basil, began to strip off his clothes. - -"And you--where will you bathe?" - -"A little farther up stream. Good morning." - -"Ah, good morning; but I may see you again if you are living near." - -"I live," said Basil, "in the house yonder." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -A sudden excitement was observable in the stranger. He paused in his -undressing, and laid his hand on Basil's arm, clutching with nervous -fingers. - -"You are very intimate with M. Anthony Bidaud?" he said. - -"We are friends." - -"Friends? Ah! You are not related? No, you cannot be, for you are -English. Yet there are other ties. His wife is dead, you say, and as I -know. Yes, dead. But he may be looking for another, may be already -married again." He spoke in feverish haste. ("A touch of the jackal -here," thought Basil.) "Tell me, you friend of M. Anthony Bidaud." - -"He is not married again," said Basil, "and to my knowledge is not -seeking another wife." - -The stranger drew a long breath of relief, followed immediately by the -exhibition of a new suspicion. "His daughter, Annette--if he spoke -truth a child. But men lie sometimes, very often, you, I, all men. He -married long, long ago, and this Annette may well be a young woman of -twenty." He scowled as he looked at Basil's handsome face. "Is she -married, or going to be? - -"Absurd," said Basil, but a little touch of colour came into his face -which the sharp eyes of the stranger noted, "she is scarcely fourteen -years of age." - -"Good, good. Time, let us hope, to prevent mischief. But, pardon me, -if you live in the house of M. Bidaud, there must be a reason. You do -not look like a common labourer; you are something better, a -gentleman--eh?" And again all his thin pointed features seemed, -foxlike, to converge to one point. - -"I am a gentleman," said Basil, "and I am staying with M. Bidaud as a -guest." He referred to the present, not feeling warranted in speaking -of the future. The arrangement he had entered into with Anthony Bidaud -had yet to be carried into effect. - -"Ah, ah, as a guest, only as a guest, but with an eye to the future, -perhaps. M. Anthony Bidaud is rich, and in two years his daughter, his -only child, will be sixteen and nearly ripe. There is a saying, is -there not, among you English that welcomes the coming and speeds the -parting guest? I have been in your country, and know something of its -literature, and in my own land my education was not neglected. That -saying about the coming and parting guest is a good omen, for I have -but just arrived, and you----" - -But Basil did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence. Annoyed -at the turn the conversation had taken he turned on his heel, and left -the stranger to enjoy his bath. He walked slowly to his own, rather -ruffled by the interview. - -"Who can he be?" he thought, as he prepared for his swim. "He seems to -be acquainted with M. Bidaud and with his personal history. What on -earth made me answer his interminable questions? His pertinacity, I -suppose, and a kind of magnetism in him which it was hard to resist. -But I might have been courteous without being communicative. I said -nothing, however, of my own prompting, and his questions followed each -other naturally. What he learnt from me he could have learnt from a -dozen others, and after all there is no harm done. He certainly has -the knack of rubbing the wrong way; an extraordinarily annoying -fellow, but neither loutish nor ignorant. That is why I was -constrained to follow his lead. This is his destination; his business -then, must be with M. Bidaud. Important business, he said--and with -Annette's father. I did not like his references to Annette. Will it be -right or wrong for me to convey my impressions of this stranger to M. -Bidaud? Wrong. I will merely mention that I met with such a man, who -was coming to the house upon business. He spoke of having walked a -long way. He must be poor, or he would have chosen another mode of -conveyance, especially as he seems to be in somewhat feverish haste. -Being poor is nothing against him; I am poor myself. Psha! What a -worry I am making of nothing!" - -He could not dismiss the subject, however, and the currents of his -thoughts ran on even as he swam. - -"The woman I met on my way to the river; how skilfully he evaded my -inquiries as to the relationship between them! His tone when he spoke -of her showed that he had power over her. I have not the least doubt -he is the kind of man who can make himself intensely disagreeable. -Poor woman! There is a resemblance in their features; I have heard -that husband and wife frequently grow like each other in face. She was -hungry, but she declined the offer of a good meal. Acting, I should -say, under her husband's instructions, and too frightened of him to -disobey him. Faithful creatures, women. Patient as camels some of them -and as docile. A hard tramp she seems to have had of it, and he has -not spared her. Well, she can rest here a few days. Would I like them -to remain on the plantation? No. He would keep me in a continual state -of irritation. His allusions to Annette were in the worst of taste. I -dare say before the day is out I shall know the nature of his -business. M. Bidaud will tell me. Confound the fellow! I'll not think -of him any more." - -As a contribution towards this end he plunged half a dozen times into -the deepest parts of the river, and finally emerged, glowing. The -disturbing impressions produced by the stranger were dissipated, and -Basil thought it would look churlish if on his road back to the house -he did not go to see whether he could be of any service to him. He saw -nothing, however, of the man or the woman, and greatly refreshed, he -proceeded to the house. The sun was now high in the heavens, and the -labourers were at work on the plantation. He exchanged greetings with -a few of the better sort, and inquired whether they had seen anything -of the strangers. They replied in the negative; they had seen nothing -of them. - -"Have you, Rocke?" he asked of one who was regarding him with a scowl. - -"No," said Rocke. "What business is it of mine?" - -It was Rocke's misfortune to always wear a scowl on his face, but in -this scowl there were degrees. To produce an amiable smile was with -Rocke an impossibility; nature had been cruel, and his parents, one or -both of them, had transmitted to him a sour temper as an inheritance; -but the state of his feelings could be correctly judged by the kind of -scowl he wore; a nice observer could scarcely make a mistake as to -whether he tolerated, disliked, or hated the man he was gazing on. -There could be no mistake made now; he hated Basil. - -There was a reason. Every man has his good points, even the worst of -men, and Rocke's good point was that he conscientiously performed the -duties for which he was engaged. However hard the work before him, -done it was with a will--and a scowl. Now, this was a distinct virtue, -and Anthony Bidaud gave him credit for it, and appreciated the -conscientious worker, as any other master would do of a man who gave -him full value for his wage. So far, so good; master and man were -satisfied. But before Basil's arrival on the plantation Rocke had got -it into his head--which was not an intellectual head--that Anthony -Bidaud entertained the notion of creating a general supervisor and -manager of the estate, and that he, Rocke, was the man to be -appointed; and since Basil's arrival his ambitious dream was disturbed -by the conviction that Basil would step into the shoes he wished to -wear. - -"I don't know that it is any business of yours," said Basil to Rocke, -"only I thought you might have seen these persons." - -"Well, I haven't," said Rocke. - -Basil nodded cheerfully, and proceeded towards the house. He was not a -man of paroxysms; except upon very special occasions his temperament -was equable. As to whether Rocke had spoken the truth or no he did not -speculate; it was not in Rocke he was interested, but in the man and -woman with whom he had spoken on his way to the river. - -Anthony Bidaud was an early riser, and Basil went to the room in which -the master of the plantation was in the habit of transacting his -private business. He knocked twice or thrice at the door without -receiving an answer, and then, turning the handle, he entered the -room. - -Anthony Bidaud was reclining in the chair in which he usually sat when -engaged in correspondence. His back was towards Basil, and before him -on the table writing materials were spread. He sat quite still, and -for a moment or two the young man was uncertain what to do. Then he -called Bidaud by name. No answer came, and Basil, surprised at the -stillness, advanced to Bidaud, and stood immediately behind him. Still -no notice was taken of Basil. Then he laid his hand upon Bidaud's -shoulder. The occupant of the chair did not move, and Basil leaned -anxiously forward to look into his face. At first Basil believed him -to be asleep, but a closer examination sent the blood rushing to the -young man's heart in terror. Bidaud's arm hung listlessly by his side, -and upon his face dwelt an expression of acute suffering. Again Basil -called him by name, and shook him roughly, but no responsive word or -movement greeted him from the quiet figure in the chair. Basil thrust -his hand into Bidaud's shirt over the region of his heart, and -trembled to meet with no pulsation there. He raised Bidaud's arm and -released it. It dropped lifeless down. - -"Merciful heavens!" cried Basil, looking helplessly around. "Can this -be death?" - -The question he asked of himself was heard by another man. The -stranger he had met on the banks of the river had noiselessly opened -the door, and now advanced to the chair. - -"Who speaks of death?" asked the stranger. "Ah, it is you, who are a -guest in this house. And I find you and him "--he stretched a long -bony finger at the recumbent figure of Anthony Bidaud--"here together, -alone. You with a face of fear, terror, and excitement; he quite -still, quite still!" - -He was perfectly composed, and there was a malicious smile on his lips -as he confronted Basil. Dazed by the situation, Basil could find no -words to reply. - -"You are confounded," continued the stranger. "It needs explanation. -Who is this man sitting so quietly in his chair?" - -"M. Anthony Bidaud," said Basil, with white lips, "the master of this -house." - -"Ah, M. Anthony Bidaud, the master of this house," said the stranger, -echoing Basil's words, but whereas Basil's voice was agitated, his had -not a tremor in it. "I will see if you are speaking the truth." He -lowered his face, and his eyes rested upon the face of the motionless -figure. "Yes, it is he, Anthony Bidaud, worn, alas! and wasted. Sad, -sad, sad!" Grief was expressed in the words but not in the tone of the -speaker. "What was it you asked a moment ago? Can this be death? I am -a doctor. I will tell you." - -Lifting the lifeless form in his arms he laid it upon a couch, and -tearing open the shirt and waistcoat, placed his ear to Anthony -Bidaud's heart; then took his pulse between finger and thumb. He -proceeded with his examination by taking from his pocket a little -leather case containing a small comb and a narrow slip of -looking-glass. Rubbing the surface of the glass dry with a -handkerchief that had dropped to the ground, he passed it over the -mouth of Anthony Bidaud; then held it up to the light. - -"Yes," he said, looking Basil full in the face, "it is death. It is -lucky I travelled hither in the night, and did not allow myself to be -delayed by fatigue. Fortune, I thank you. You have treated me scurvily -hitherto; at length you relent, and smile upon me. Being a lady, I -kiss my hand to you." - -There was something so inexpressibly heartless in the action that -Basil cried indignantly, "Who are you, and by what right have you -intruded yourself into this room?" - -The stranger did not immediately reply. He felt in his pocket for a -snuff-box, and producing it regaled himself with a pinch. He offered -the box to Basil, who pushed it aside. He smiled and placed the box in -his pocket, and was also about to replace the leather case, when an -amusing thought occurred to him. He dressed his hair with the comb, -and gazed at himself in the glass with an affectation of vanity. His -smile broadened as he noticed the look of horror in Basil's face. - -"You wish to know," he said slowly, "who I am, and by what right I -intrude myself into this room. You have presumption, you, M. Anthony -Bidaud's guest, to use the word 'intrude' to me! I am this dead -gentleman's brother. My name is Gilbert Bidaud. Eh? Did you speak?" - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -So many conflicting emotions had been pressed into the last few -minutes that Basil was utterly bewildered. The cold, sardonic face -before him, wreathed into mocking smiles even in the presence of -death, added to his bewilderment. He passed his hand across his eyes, -wondering whether he was dreaming, but removing his hand from his -forehead he saw the dead form of Anthony Bidaud on the sofa, and heard -the light laugh of the man who called himself Anthony's brother. This -laugh recalled him to himself; he was in full possession of his -senses, and understood what had occurred, and to some extent what it -portended. - -Gilbert Bidaud! And the woman with him was not his wife, but his -sister, to whom Annette's father had written six months ago, imploring -her to come to him, and promising to provide for her and her family. -That being so, she was here by authority. She was but an instrument in -the hands of Gilbert Bidaud, whose lightest word she was constrained -to obey. - -Gilbert Bidaud! - -"It is hard to speak harshly of one's flesh and blood, but it is the -truth that the girl I loved was fortunate in not placing her -affections upon him. He would have broken her heart. He was a -spendthrift and a libertine, and would stop at little for the -gratification of his selfish pleasures." - -It was but last evening that these words were spoken by lips that -would never speak again, and now this spendthrift and libertine was -within touch of him, was standing with a smiling face by the dead body -of the brother he would have wronged. There came to Basil's mind the -image of Annette, the sweet confiding girl, who was to have been given -into his care to guard and protect. All that was over now. Inexorable -death had stopped the fulfilment of the fond father's wish. And -Annette herself, how would it fare with her? She was ignorant as yet -of the crushing, terrible blow which had so suddenly fallen upon her. -Who would impart the cruel news to her? Who would comfort her in her -bereavement? Even as these reflections crossed his mind he heard the -young girl's voice singing outside as she tripped downstairs from her -bedroom. He glided to the door, and softly turned the key. Just in -time. Annette lingered at the door, tried the handle gently with the -intention of kissing her father good-morning, and, finding the door -fast, passed on gaily and continued her song. - -"That is Annette?" questioned Gilbert Bidaud. Basil nodded. "A sweet -voice, the voice of a child, whose nature is not yet moulded. We will -mould it, my sister and I. We will instil into her virgin soul, -principles. She will be grateful that we have come, being of her -blood. I have a number of your English sayings at my fingers' ends. -Blood is thicker than water. I represent the one, you the other. She -is not a woman--yet. The mind of a child is like a slate! fancies, -likings, are easily rubbed off. It is more serious when we grow older. -The child forgets, the woman remembers. Do you catch my meaning?" - -"I should be sorry to say I did," replied Basil. - -"Ah, you would pay me a compliment, gilding me with virtues to which I -do not aspire, to which I have never aspired. I am a plain man, I; -honest to the backbone; with my heart on my sieve, transparent. It has -not paid up to this time, but my hour has come. Why did you lock the -door?" - -"Does not that answer you?" pointing to the dead body of Annette's -father. - -"Ah, she does not know. You are considerate, you." A strange smile -came to his lips as he added, "No one knows but you and I." - -Basil stepped to the table. Perhaps the letter which Anthony Bidaud -intended to write to his lawyer was there; it might contain something -by which he could be guided at this dread crisis. But the sheet of -paper which Anthony Bidaud had taken from the open desk displayed only -the mark of a scrawl at the top. The pen, with the ink scarcely dried -in it, lay upon the table. Evidently at the very moment that Anthony -Bidaud had put pen to paper he was visited by the death-stroke. The -pen had dropped from his fingers, and he had fallen back lifeless in -his chair. There was, however, an addressed envelope, and Basil noted -the name and the direction, which were those of the lawyer whom -Anthony Bidaud intended to summon to the plantation. - -Gilbert Bidaud had followed his movements attentively, and now, when -Basil looked up from the table, he repeated the last words he had -uttered. - -"No one knows but you and I." - -"What do you mean by that?" demanded Basil. - -"What I mean," said Bidaud, touching his forehead with a finger, "I -keep here for the present. It is sometimes dangerous to explain -meanings too soon. Take heed. When I came to this colony--but a short -time since--I was inwardly warned that I might meet with men from whom -it would be necessary to protect myself. Therefore I purchased -this"--producing a revolver--"and this"--producing a knife--"only to -be used in self-defence, against you, against any man." - -There was nothing menacing in his tone. He spoke, indeed, rather -playfully than otherwise, and handled the revolver and knife as though -they were toys instead of dangerous weapons. A wild thought crossed -Basil's mind, and he acted upon it instantly. - -"You say you are Gilbert Bidaud, brother of this unfortunate -gentleman, but I have only your word for it." - -"Ah, ah," said Gilbert Bidaud, with an air of great amusement, "you -have only my word for it. But what kind of authority do you hold here -that you should demand answers to questions upon this or any other -subject?" - -Basil could not answer this direct challenge; he inwardly recognised -the weakness of his position; Anthony Bidaud dead, he was but a cipher -on his estate. - -"You are as a feather to a rock," said Gilbert Bidaud, with a gesture -of contempt, "and I am but amusing myself with you. I stand quietly -here for a reason I may presently explain. This house has lost a -master." He glanced at his dead brother. "This house has gained a -master." He touched his breast triumphantly. "It is but a change, a -law of nature. My brother and I have not met for twenty years. He had -a good motive for avoiding me; he fled from Switzerland with money of -mine, and now, through death, he is compelled to make restitution." - -"It is false," cried Basil, chivalrously defending the friend he had -lost. "If you are Gilbert Bidaud it was you who attempted to rob him -of his inheritance." - -"Ah, ah. Did my estimable brother open his heart entirely to you?" - -"Sufficiently to reveal your true character--even to the last words -you spoke to him before he left Switzerland." - -"Favour me with them. It may be excused if I do not faithfully recall -them at this distance of time." - -"'One day,' you said to him 'I will be even with you. Remember my -words--dead or alive, I will be even with you." - -"I remember. My words were prophetic. Fate was on my side, justice was -on my side. They whispered to me, 'Wait.' I waited. And now--look -there! So, so, my ingenious young friend; you know the whole story." - -"It was related to me by your brother." - -"By this lump of clay! It would be the act of a fool to deal tenderly -by you; and I, as you may have already learned, am no fool. How came -my brother by his death?" - -"How came he by his death?" stammered Basil, puzzled by the question, -and not seeing the drift of it. - -"Ay, how came he by his death? I am not so ignorant as you suppose. I -have made inquiries about you; there are men on this estate who bear -you no good will. You are here, not as a guest, but an interloper. You -and my brother were strangers a few short weeks ago, and you forced -yourself upon him and lived here, a beggar, eating his food, drinking -his wine, and paying for them neither in service nor money. That is a -creditable part to be played by one who calls himself an English -gentleman. Summoned here by M. Anthony Bidaud--I have in my pocket the -letter he wrote to our sister--I hasten on the wings of love, tarrying -not on the road, but wearing myself near to death in order that I may -satisfy his longing desire to embrace me. I meet you by accident on -the river's bank, and I perceive that you regard yourself as master -here. The river is yours, the land is yours, my brother is yours, his -daughter Annette is yours--ah, you wince at that. All this you -proclaim in your lordly way, and patronise me--me, whose rightful -place you would have usurped. Before meeting you pass my sister, -resting in her labour of love, and you offer her charity--you, a -beggar, pass this insult upon a lady who, under my direction, will -educate my dear brother's little daughter, and teach her--principles. -You leave me by the river; I, guileless, unsuspicious, a child in -innocence, calmly take my bath, and reflect with delight upon the joy -of my brother when he takes me to his arms. Walking to this house, I -meet a labourer, whose name is Rocke. He tells me something of you; he -directs me to my brother's private room. I open the door; I see you -standing by my brother's side. You are in a state of fear and -agitation; your face is white, your limbs tremble. I hear you ask the -question, 'Can this be death?' To whom or to what do you address this -enquiry? To your conscience, for you believe yourself to be alone; you -are unconscious that I am present 'Can this be death?' I convince -myself, and you. It _is_ death. I am deprived of the opportunity of -saying to my brother that I forgive him for the wrong he did me in the -past. It is most cruel, and you have robbed me of the opportunity; -but, before I forget it, I will chance the efficacy of my forgiveness, -though he be dead." With a mock humility shocking to witness, he -extended his hands, and, looking upwards, said, "Brother, I forgive -you. I return to my argument. What passed between you and my brother -before I entered this room? Again I ask, how came he by his death! If -it is not a natural end, who is the murderer?" - -In hot indignation Basil started forward, but by a great effort of -will restrained himself. He had been appalled by the careless mocking -tone in which Gilbert Bidaud had spoken, by his false assumption of a -grief he did not feel, by the evident enjoyment he derived from the -glaring insincerity of his professions. For no two things could be -more distinctly at variance than Gilbert Bidaud's words and the tone -in which he uttered them. It exhibited a refinement of malice, and, -what rendered it more revolting, of malice in which the intellectual -quality was conspicuous. - -"It is well," continued Gilbert Bidaud, "that you exercise -self-control. I might call aloud for help; I might, in less time than -it takes me to speak it, create in this room the evidences of a -struggle, in the course of which I might fire my revolver, produced -for self-defence; I might inform those who would break the door -down--it is locked by you, remember--that you attempted to murder me, -even as you-- Ah, I perceive you understand. Yes, all this I might do, -and you would be in the toils. Do not move until I have done with you, -or you will be in deadly danger. In such parts of the world as this, -exasperated men often proceed hastily to summary justice, and it might -be executed upon you. I am teaching you lessons, as I shall teach my -dear niece Annette, principles. You are young; I, alas, am old. I have -nothing to learn; you have much. Tell me, you hanger-on in this house, -you beggar of my brother's hospitality, what passed between you and -him before I entered this room?" - -"Nothing," replied Basil, confounded by the possibilities of a -ruthless malice with which Gilbert Bidaud had threatened him. "I have -already informed you that when I entered the room he was dead." - -"What brought you here?" - -"I came by appointment," said Basil. He no longer doubted that the man -before him was Anthony Bidaud's brother; and he was surprised that he -had not detected the resemblance upon his first meeting with Gilbert. - -"What was the nature of the appointment?" - -"He wished me to read a letter he intended to write to his lawyer." - -"Ah, ah! He intended to write to his lawyer. May I ask this lawyer's -name?" - -"It is there upon an envelope." - -"His place of residence?" - -"Sydney, I believe." - -"A long way off. The letter was to have been written this morning?" - -"Yes. He at first intended to write it last night, but he put it off -till to-day. The postponement was most unfortunate." - -"To you?" - -"To me." - -"I should have urged him to carry out his intention last night, as he -designed." - -"Ah! _Aprés dommage chacun est sage_--except the dead. Why should you -have urged him?" - -"It would have been to my interests--and his, I fear." - -"Leave his out of the question; he has done with the world. Yours is -another matter. How could a simple letter to a lawyer have been in -your interests? A letter is not a legal document." His preternatural -sharpness as he made this remark was a revelation to an honest nature -like Basil's. There seemed to be no limit to Gilbert Bidaud's cunning. - -"At least it would have explained matters, and cleared me from your -suspicions." - -"Words are easily spoken, and weigh no more than air. To what effect -was to have been this letter?" - -"He desired to make his will." - -Gilbert Bidaud drew a deep breath of satisfaction; he had elicited -something tangible, something which had wonderfully strengthened his -position. "Then there is no will, and the letter, which would have -been valueless, was not written. Your expression of regret leads me to -infer that the will was to have been in your favour." - -"To a certain extent." - -"False. He intended to repair the injustice from which I have so long -suffered; his property would have been divided between me and the -little Annette. It is too late for him to do that now; but I stand as -natural guardian to my niece. I am truly the master here; the law will -declare me so. Console yourself. You shall depart from this house a -free man. You are not in danger. Bear witness to my magnanimity; my -brother died a natural death. I will testify it, to save you." - -"That will not do," said Basil. "From what cause he died shall be -proved by proper evidence." - -"It shall. I, a doctor, will supply it." - -"I reject your proof; you are an interested party. It shall be -independent evidence that shall establish the cause of death." - -"So be it, young Daniel," said Gilbert Bidaud, briskly. "Meanwhile, I -release you from suspicion; I, the gentleman you have insulted, -believe you to be innocent. I go to seek my niece, to introduce myself -to her, and to break to her the sad, the melancholy news. But before I -go I give you notice of your discharge. For one week from this day you -shall enjoy my hospitality, but for no longer, for not an hour longer. -Accept it, beggar, or leave at once." - -He paused at the door, opened it, removed the key to the outside, and -with a contemptuous motion, ordered Basil to quit the room. The young -man had no choice but to obey. Whatever might be Gilbert Bidaud's -character, he stood in the house as legal representative of the dead. -Annette was but a child, and her uncle was her lawful guardian. -Grieved, sorrow-stricken, and humiliated, Basil left the room, and -heard Gilbert Bidaud turn the key. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -What should he do now, how should he act? To accept Gilbert Bidaud's -hospitality was impossible. The old man was his bitter enemy, and -would show him no consideration. Indeed, what consideration could he -expect? There was no denying that he had no right to remain on the -estate, but he felt he could not leave it for ever without seeing -Annette once more, without speaking to her perhaps for the last time. -Nor could be well take his final departure without making an attempt -to clear himself from the foul suspicions which, in his absence, he -felt convinced Gilbert Bidaud would set in circulation against him. He -had led a spotless life, and the thought that a stain should now be -cast upon it was unbearable. But what means could he take to clear -himself from the breath of slander? He could think of no way at -present, and he walked into the open with a heavy weight of melancholy -at his heart. - -He wandered into the woods and gathered some fruit; he had a vigorous -appetite, and it would be a folly to starve himself. But the food of -which he partook had never tasted less sweet than on this sad morning. -His hunger appeased, he returned to the vicinity of the house. - -He heard a cry of distress in the distance, and saw men and women -hurrying to the spot from which the cry proceeded. The voice was -Annette's. - -Presently he saw the men and women coming towards the house. They were -headed by Gilbert Bidaud and his sister, and one of the men--before -the group came close to him he saw that it was Rocke--was carrying in -his arms the insensible form of Annette. Impelled by love and infinite -compassion for the child, he started forward, but was haughtily waved -off by Gilbert Bidaud. - -"That man," said Gilbert to those in his rear, "has my permission to -remain on this estate for one week. When that time has expired he will -be a trespasser." - -As he finished speaking Annette opened her eyes--they fell upon Basil. - -"Basil, Basil!" she cried, extending her arms to him. - -"Annette!" - -Once more he attempted to go to her; once more Gilbert Bidaud waved -him off, and stepped before him. - -"If he touches her, if he follows her, arrest him. I give you -authority." - -Basil fell back. Annette's mournful eyes were fixed upon his face in -dumb despair. - -"Hurry in--hurry in," said Gilbert Bidaud in a harsh tone. - -They passed into the house, and Basil was left alone. It was a -favourite trick of his to put his thoughts into unspoken words; he had -encouraged the habit, finding it led to clearness and generally, when -he was in doubt, to some definite issue. In his disturbed mood he -found this a suitable time for this mental indulgence. Something -should be done, clearly; but what? - -"Poor Annette!" he thought. "Poor child! What will now become of her? -What will be her future? That brute--he is no less--who boasts so -sardonically that he intends to teach her principles, will poison her -mind against me. If I do not see her again she will grow to hate me. -It is dreadful to think of. She has none but kind thoughts of me now; -and though in a short time we may be parted for ever, and all chance -of ever seeing her again will be lost, I should dearly like to feel -that if she thinks of me in the future it will be with gentleness and -affection. I have done nothing to forfeit her affection, except that I -am unfortunate. - -"My bright dreams are suddenly snapped. A few short hours have changed -happiness to woe. Still--still I have committed no wrong. Of that I am -sure, and it is a comfort--but poor Annette! If I could assure her -that I am not to blame, I could bear it. She would believe me, and I -could go on my way with a less sorrowful heart. - -"That brute will try his hardest to prevent my seeing her. The blow -that has fallen upon her may prostrate her. She may die--it is -horrible, horrible! If that should happen, Gilbert Bidaud will come -into possession of everything. Is that the end to which he will work? -He is capable of it, capable of any villainy. Can I do nothing to save -her? - -"I am powerless. I have no claim upon her; I have no right to be here. -But I will not go away without seeing, without speaking to her. If he -takes her from this place, which is likely enough, I will follow them. -She must not, she must not be left to the tender mercies of that -jackal. - -"All very fine to talk, Basil. You will follow them? Why, man, you -must live. It is a necessity. And to live you must work. How much -money have you in your pocket to commence the fight of existence -with?--to say nothing of the grand things you are going to do for -sweet Annette. - -"She has got hold of my heart-strings. I shall never, never forget -her. Certain words spoken by my dear friend, Anthony Bidaud, last -night, come to my mind. Let me recall them, exactly as he spoke them. - -"'We are drawn to each other,' he said. And before that: 'By accident -you enter into our lives. I use the term accident, but I believe it to -be a providence.' How if it should be so? The shadow of death was -hanging over him, and at such times some men have been gifted with -prophetic insight. If it were so with Anthony Bidaud, this is not the -end. The thought I have expressed, the very word 'insight' I have -used, were his. 'I have observed you closely,' he said, 'and am -satisfied to deliver into your hands a sacred charge, the charge of a -young girl's future. At such moments as these there comes to some men -a subtle, unfathomable insight. It comes to me. I firmly believe that -there is a link between you and my child, which, if you do not -recognise it now, you will be bound to recognise in the future. It may -be broken in the present, but the threads will be joined as surely as -we stand here side by side.'" - -"With all my heart I hope so, but it is the wildest, the most -unreasonable of hopes. - -"Can nothing, nothing be done? - -"He said he had made no will; but he may have left papers expressing -his wishes. How to get a sight of them? If I had sufficient means to -take me to Sydney I would hasten there, to Anthony Bidaud's lawyer, -and lay the case before him. But my purse is empty. I have, however, -something about me of value. My gold watch and chain, given to me by -my dear father. That is worth a certain sum, but it would not carry me -to Sydney. It would carry me, however, to Gum Flat, where perhaps I -can find a lawyer who will advise her. In the saddle I could reach -there to-night, and be back to-morrow. Where can I obtain a horse? I -dare not take one from the plantation. Gilbert Bidaud would accuse me -of theft, and he would be within his right. Ah! Old Corrie!" - -Here he stopped. His unspoken thoughts had led him to a definite -issue. - -Gum Flat was the name of the nearest township, if township it could be -called. In the Australian colonies they delight in singular names for -places. Old Corrie was a man who, by permission of Anthony Bidaud, -occupied a hut which he had built with his own hands on the -plantation, some two miles from the spot upon which Basil at that -moment stood. He was not employed on the estate, but did odd jobs in -wood splitting and the felling of trees for the master of the -plantation. The man had "taken" to Basil, as the saying is, and in his -odd way had shown a liking for the young man, who always had a -pleasant word for any agreeable person he chanced to fall across. - -Old Corrie was not an old man, his age being about forty, but he was -dubbed Old Corrie because he was angular, because he was crooked, -because he had a mouth all awry, because he chose to keep himself from -his fellows. He owned a horse, and it occurred to Basil that he might -lend it to him for the journey to Gum Flat, which was distant some -forty-five miles. To Old Corrie's hut, therefore, Basil betook -himself, stepping out with a will. - -In less than half-an-hour he reached the old fellow's dwelling. Old -Corrie was not at home, but Basil heard the sound of his axe in the -woods. It was not very near, but men's ears get trained to fine sounds -in the bush. Guided by the thud of the axe Basil in a short time found -himself face to face with the woodman. - -Old Corrie went on with his work, merely glancing up and giving Basil -a friendly nod. From another living creature Basil received a more -boisterous greeting, a laughing jackass which Old Corrie had tamed -bursting into an outrageous fit of laughter without the least apparent -cause. This bird, which is sometimes called the bushman's clock, was -an uncouth-looking object, as big as a crow, of a rich chestnut-brown -colour with light-blue wings; its beak was long and pointed, and its -mouth inordinately large. These characteristics, in alliance with a -formidable crest, invested it with a ferocious air; but this -particular specimen was exceedingly gentle despite the extravagant -sounds it emitted, which might have been excruciatingly prolonged had -not its sharp eye caught sight of a carpet snake wriggling through the -underwood. Down darted the laughing jackass, and commenced a battle -with the snake which terminated in the bird throwing the dead body of -the reptile into the air, with a series of triumphant chuckles; after -which it sat silent on a branch, contemplating the dead snake with an -air partly comical, partly profound, and waiting in grim patience for -a movement on the part of its victim which would furnish an excuse for -a renewal of hostilities. - -Basil had time to note all this, for Old Corrie did not speak, and the -young man was debating how to commence. - -"Well, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, presently, throwing down his -axe and taking out his pipe, a common short clay which he would not -have exchanged for thrice its weight in gold, "what brings you this -way? Any message from Mr. Bidaud?" - -"No, Corrie," replied Basil sadly, "you will receive no more messages -from him." - -"I was thinking myself," said Corrie, glancing at Basil; and not -immediately recognising the gravity of the reply, "that there mightn't -be any more." - -"What made you think that?" asked Basil, in doubt whether the man knew -of Anthony Bidaud's death. - -"I'm down with the fever, Master Basil." - -"I am sorry to hear that, Corrie," said Basil in surprise, for Old -Corrie was the picture of health and strength. "Can I do anything for -you?" - -"No, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, with a smile and a kindly look at -Basil. "The fever I'm down with ain't the kind of fever that's in your -mind. It's the gold fever I'm down with." - -"Oh," said Basil, "I understand." - -"The wonder is that I've never been down with it before. If I don't -strike a rich claim or find a big nugget or two, I can always come -back to this." - -"Have you heard any news, then?" - -"Well, two men camped out here last night, and we had a talk. I gave -'em some tea, and their tongues got loosened a bit. There's a new -goldfield discovered somewhere in the north, and they're after it. A -regular Tom Tiddler's ground, Mr. Basil, only it's all gold and no -silver. Twenty ounces to the tub." - -"And you're off?" - -"When I've finished this job for Mr. Bidaud." - -"How long will that take you?" - -"About three weeks." - -"Is it a contract job?" - -"Yes." - -"Signed on paper?" - -"No, we never had need of that. Mr. Bidaud's word is as good as his -bond; so's mine." - -"I would not go on with it, Corrie, if I were you, till I made sure." - -"Why?" - -"Because the gentleman who made the contract with you by word of mouth -is dead." - -"Dead!" - -"Died this morning, suddenly, I grieve to say." - -Old Corrie took his pipe from his mouth, and sent a look of reproach -in the direction of the laughing jackass, from whose throat proceeded -a faint gurgle of laughter. At this look the quaint bird--as odd a -specimen of the feathered tribes as Old Corrie was of the human -race--checked--its mirth, and cocking its head knowingly on one side, -inquired with its speaking eye what was the matter. - -"That's bad news, Master Basil." - -"The worst of news, Corrie." - -"Died suddenly?" - -"Quite suddenly. It is a great shock." - -"What's to become of the little lady?" asked Old Corrie, in a -sympathising tone. The inquiry was addressed as much to himself as to -Basil. - -"That is one of the things that are troubling me, Corrie. You are a -favourite of hers." - -"I've seen her grow up, and remember her mother well. I've cause. Once -when I was down with the colonial fever--almost as bad as the gold -fever, Master Basil--Mrs. Bidaud as good as nursed me through it, -coming or sending every day for two months and more, till I got -strong. When I was well I went up to the house to thank her. The -little lady was just toddling about, and made friends with me. I shall -never forget Mrs. Bidaud; I went to her funeral. You stopped at my hut -before you came here, I expect." - -"Yes; I thought you might be there." - -"Did you hear anything?" - -"Only the sound of your axe in the woods." - -"I mean inside the hut. There's a magpie there that's got the sense of -a human being and a voice like a flute. I only got it a fortnight ago, -and I've tamed it already, surprising. Back as white as snow, Master -Basil, and breast and wings shining like black satin. A handsome bird, -and quite young. It says 'Little lady; Little lady!' and 'Miss -Annette!' in a way that'll astonish you. I'm doing it for the little -lady herself, and I'm glad I began it because I'm going away." - -"It will please her greatly, Corrie, if she is allowed to accept it." - -"What's to prevent her? Poor little lady! First her mother, then her -father. I thought there was trouble in your face when I saw it. Would -you mind explaining, Master Basil, about this wood-splitting contract -of mine? Why shouldn't I finish it till I made sure." - -Then Basil told of the arrival of the dead man's brother and sister, -and was not delicate in expressing his opinion of Gilbert Bidaud. - -"You're not the sort of man," said Old Corrie thoughtfully, "to speak, -ill behind another's back without good reason. Little lady's uncle -must be a bad lot. A man and a woman, you say, foreign looking. They -must be the pair that passed my hut early this morning when I was -getting up. They didn't stop; she wanted to, I think, but he wouldn't -let her. 'Curse you!' I heard him say, 'What are you lagging for? Put -life into your miserable limbs; we haven't got far to go.' It seemed -to me as if he laid hands on her to drag her along. I came out of the -hut, and saw them ahead, the woman walking as if she was dead beat, -and the man lugging her on. They never turned to look behind, and I -watched till they were out of sight. I'm sorry for the little lady. -I'll go up to the house to-day, and judge for myself." - -"You may hear something against me, Corrie. Don't believe it." - -"I won't, without reason. I make up my mind slow, Master Basil. -Perhaps you've got something more to tell me. It won't be thrown -away." - -Wishing to stand well with Old Corrie, Basil became more -communicative, and put the woodman in possession, of the particulars -of what had passed between himself and Anthony Bidaud on the previous -evening, and also of his interviews with Anthony's brother. - -"It looks black," said Old Corrie. "It's a pity you didn't leave him -to the alligator. And now, Master Basil, you've something else in your -mind. Out with it." - -"I came to ask you to do me a great service." - -"Give it mouth." - -"It may be that poor Annette's father has left some papers with -respect to her future which the law might declare valid. If that is -so, and her uncle finds them, he will destroy them; it may be to his -interest to do so, and in that case he will allow no considerations of -right and wrong to stand in his way. The presence of a lawyer may -prevent this. Then there is the slanderous talk he is sure to set -going against me; I want to clear myself of it. The precise cause of -Anthony Bidaud's death should be ascertained and declared by a -competent and disinterested person, and I thought of going to Gum Flat -and enlisting the services of a lawyer and a doctor, whom I would -bring back with me." - -"It would be a proper thing to do," said Corrie. - -"But I am in a difficulty. I could walk the distance, but I could not -get there till to-morrow. Coming and going, four days at least would -be wasted, and in that time Annette's uncle could work his own ends -without interruption. Now, if I had a horse I could get there this -evening, and back to-morrow." - -"You want me to lend you my mare?" - -"That is what I came to ask you." - -"You can have her; she's a willing creature, and 'll go till she -drops." - -"It is kind of you, Corrie." - -"Not at all. I do it a little bit for your sake, but a good deal more -for the sake of the little lady." - -"You run a risk, Corrie. My story may not be true; I may never come -back." - -"I'll take security, then." - -"I have no money. The only thing I possess of value is this watch and -chain." - -"I won't take that; you may need it to pay the lawyer and the doctor -with. Besides that isn't the security I mean. I'll take your word." - -"You're a real good fellow, Corrie. Some day I may be able to repay -you." - -"If I had any idea of looking out for that day I shouldn't do what I'm -doing. Look here, Master Basil. I know a gentleman when I see one; and -you're a gentleman. I believe every word you've told me. This fellow -that's turned up, the little lady's uncle, is a scoundrel, or he -wouldn't have spoken the words I heard to a woman nearly dead with -fatigue--his own sister, too. Come along; let's saddle the mare." - -Before that was done, however, Old Corrie insisted that Basil should -eat a hearty meal and see the magpie he was training for Annette. Then -Basil mounted the willing mare, and with a grip of the hand and a -hearty "Good luck, mate," from Old Corrie, the young man started for -Gum Flat. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -It was three months since Basil had passed through the conglomeration -of canvas tents and stores which rejoiced in a title which certainly -could not be called euphonious, and then, although those were its most -prosperous days, it struck him as being a wretched hole. Rumours of -rich finds of gold had originally attracted a population to Gum Flat -township, but the glowing anticipations of the gold diggers who -flocked to the false El Dorado were doomed to disappointment. It was -not a gold-diggers' but a storekeepers' rush, and the result was a -foregone conclusion; after a time the miners who had flocked thither -began to desert the place. Not, however, before they gave it a fair -trial. They marked out claims, they prospected the hills and gullies, -they turned the waters of a large creek, they sank shafts in many a -likely-looking spot, they followed spurs of stones on the ranges in -the hope that they would lead them to a rich quartz reef, but their -labours were unrewarded. A couple of specks to the dish and the -faintest traces of gold in the quartz were not sufficient to pay for -powder and tobacco, and the men gradually began to leave the -uninviting locality. A few remained, but not to dig for gold; these -were chiefly loafers, and lived on each other, playing billiards -during the day on the one billiard table that had been left behind, -and cards during the nights, for fabulous and visionary sums of money -which, really lost and won, would have transformed beggars into -millionaires and millionaires into beggars. The poorer they grew the -larger the stakes they played for, and their delusions created for -their delectation the most delicious paroxysms of infinite joy and -overwhelming despair. These they enjoyed to the full, reckoning up -their losses and gains with wild eyes and radiant countenances. One -beggarly loafer, who for the last five years had not had five pounds -to bless himself with, went to the creek one dark night after a -visionary loss of a hundred thousand pounds or so, and insisted upon -drowning himself. It required a vast amount of insistence on his part, -for the creek just then was not more than three feet deep. Anyway, he -was found dead the next morning, with a letter in his pocket to the -effect that he was financially ruined and could not survive the -disgrace; whereupon his principal creditor, who, in the matter of -finances, was no better off than the drowned man, perambulated High -Street in a state of fury, fiercely denouncing his debtor who had not -the courage to live and pay his debts of honour. - -Some means of subsistence, however inadequate, Gum Flat must have had; -these were found in the persons of a half-a-dozen drivers of bullock -drays, who every two weeks brought their earnings there and spent them -royally. This process lasted on each occasion exactly three days, -during which time the population, numbering in all not more than -thirty souls, were in clover. When the bullock drivers returned to -their avocations the loafers declared that the colonies were going to -the dogs, and resumed the routine of their dismal days, gambling, -drinking, quarrelling, until the six solvent men returned again to -gladden their hearts. - -Even this miserable state of affairs came to an end after a time, and -reached a more deplorable stage. The bullock drivers discovered more -agreeable quarters, and in their turn deserted the township. Driven by -sheer necessity the loafers, one by one, followed their example, and -slunk from the place, until only four remained. Such was the condition -of Gum Flat as Basil rode towards the township on a day eventful -enough in the story of his life, but scarcely less eventful than the -night which followed it was destined to be. Had he been aware of this -he would have thought twice before he made up his mind to proceed -thither in search of lawyer and doctor; but such is the irony of -circumstances that, had he not set forth on his present journey, the -entire course of his future life would have drifted into channels -which would, almost to a certainty, have separated him from Annette -for ever. Accident or fate, which you will; but the course of many -lives is thus determined. - -He rode all day through the tracks he remembered, and concerning which -he had been refreshed by Old Corrie, who was as ignorant as himself of -the deplorable change that had taken place. The road for a few miles -lay along great plains of rich black soil, dotted here and there with -masses of blue and barley grass, among which might be found the native -leek and wild cucumber; then followed a tract of country somewhat -lightly timbered but heavily grassed, where he came across a nasty bit -of "devil devil" land, fortunately of not great extent, for he had to -ride with a loose rein and leave it to his horse to pick the safest -way. On his left were large lagoons in which a wondrous variety of -wild fowl abounded; on his right was a belt of impenetrable scrub; but -the track was well defined, and after riding twenty miles he entered a -thickly wooded forest, for the shade of which he was grateful, the sun -now being high in the heavens. Emerging from this forest he halted -near a vast sheet of water, in which tall reeds grew, and where he -found the wild banana. Off this fruit and some cold meat and bread -which Old Corrie had forced upon him, he made a sufficient meal, and -then resumed his journey. In the afternoon the road lay through a more -even country, and he reckoned upon reaching Gum Flat before sundown. -But he reckoned without his host, for the distance was longer than he -calculated, and at sunset he was still, according to the information -given to him by the driver of a bullock dray, eight or ten miles from -the township. This man was the only human being he had met in his -lonely ride. Many a time in the course of the day had he fallen into -contemplation of the pregnant events of the last twenty-four hours, -thinking, "This time yesterday I was walking with Annette in the -woods, gathering wildflowers for her mother's grave. She slipped, and -I caught her in my arms." And again: "This time yesterday Anthony -Bidaud, Annette, and I, were sitting in the verandah, watching the -sunset; and a moment afterwards white stars were glittering in the -clouds of faded gold. How peaceful, how happy we were! And now?" he -shuddered as he thought of the dead form of Anthony Bidaud lying in -his room and of the sense of desolation which must have fallen upon -Annette. He strove to direct his thoughts into more cheerful grooves, -but he was not successful. - -The gorgeous colours in the heavens melted away; the sun dipped -beneath the horizon; it was night. Fortunately it was light, and he -could see the road he was riding over. The willing animal he bestrode -plodded on, more slowly now, and Basil did not attempt to quicken the -pace. It was ten o'clock when he reached the township of Gum Flat. - -He recognised it by the outlines of the tents. He had expected to see -lights in the dwellings, arguing that Gum Flat must have increased in -importance since his last visit, but all was dark on the outskirts. He -was surprised at the darkness, but grateful that his journey was over. -He rode along the High Street, and with still deeper surprise observed -that on some of the stores the canvas lay loose, and that the calico -over the frame was torn and rent. "Can I have mistaken the road?" he -thought. In the middle of the High Street he paused. The door of a -store was thrown suddenly open, and three men, whose movements had -been inspired by the sound of the horse's hoofs, emerged therefrom, -and stood looking up at Basil. Each had cards in his hand, denoting -that when they were disturbed they had been gambling. The picture at -that moment was Rembrandtesque. The street was in darkness; not a -light was visible. One of the men standing at the door held above his -head a lighted candle stuck in a whiskey bottle, and this dim light -enabled the three-gamblers and Basil not exactly to see each other but -to define outlines. Through the open door Basil saw a table upon which -was another candle, and sitting at which was another man, also with -cards in his hand. This man, leaning forward, was striving to pierce -the gloom in which his companions and Basil stood. He rose and joined -them, and going close to Basil, laid his hand upon the horse's neck. -Thus, Basil and he confronted each other. And at that moment was -commenced the weaving of a strand which was to connect the lives of -these two men, for weal or woe. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Each man of this small group represented in his own person the epitome -of a drama more or less stirring and eventful. With three of these we -have little to do, and no good purpose will be served by recounting -their antecedents. The history of the fourth--he who stood with his -hand on the neck of Old Corrie's horse, looking up at Basil--will -presently be unfolded. - -He was a full-bearded man, the light brown hair so effectually -concealing his features that only his cheekbones and forehead were -visible. To a physiologist, therefore, the index was imperfect. He was -a young man, of about the same age as Basil, and his name was Newman -Chaytor. This was his true name; it will be as well to say as much, -for there was much that was false about him. - -The man who held the candle was known as Jim the Hatter; Jim belonged -properly to him by right, the Hatter was patronymic he had earned by -working on various goldfields alone, without a mate. Why they call men -on the gold-diggings thus inclined, Hatters, is one of the mysteries, -but it is a fact. Of the other two it will be sufficient to refer to -them as Nonentity Number One and Nonentity Number Two. Jim the Hatter -was a large-boned, loose-limbed man, of great strength. Upon his first -arrival in Australia his time, to put it gently, was not his own; it -belonged to his country. He was now free, but his morals had not been -improved by the lesson his country had administered to him. - -It will thus be seen that Basil had unfortunately fallen among -thieves. - -For a few moments the man on horseback and the men on foot preserved -silence, and opportunity was afforded for a striking picture. Jim the -Hatter was the first to speak. - -"Well, mate?" he said. - -"Is this the township of Gum Flat?" inquired Basil. - -"It is. If you're looking for it, you're dead on the gutter." - -"I thought I must have mistaken my way," said Basil. "What has come -over the place?" - -Newman Chaytor answered him. "It has gone," he said, "to the dogs." - -"Like yourselves," thought Basil, gazing at the men, but deeming it -prudent not to express himself aloud upon a point so personal. He -spoke, however. "It is the place I was making for. I suppose I can put -up here for the night?" - -"There's nothing to prevent you. Gum Flat township just now is Liberty -Hall." - -"Stop a bit, stop a bit," said Nonentity Number One, considering it -necessary to his dignity that he should take part in the conference. -"Is the gentleman prepared to pay for accommodation?" - -"That's a proper question," said Nonentity Number Two, thus asserting -himself. - -"Of course he is," said Jim the Hatter, answering for Basil, who, with -an empty purse, was saved from awkwardness. - -A diversion occurred here. Newman Chaytor snatched the candle from Jim -the Hatter, in order that he might obtain a clearer view of Basil. - -"Manners, mate," said Jim the Hatter. - -"Manners be hanged!" retorted Newman Chaytor, holding the candle high. -"They're out of stock." - -This was evident. To smooth matters Basil volunteered an explanation. -"I have come hereupon business, but I am afraid I have lost my time." - -"Perhaps not," said Jim the Hatter. "We're all business men here; -ready at a moment's notice to turn a honest penny. That's true, ain't -it, mate?" - -He addressed Newman Chaytor, but that worthy did not reply. Having -obtained a clearer view of Basil's face, he seemed to be suddenly -struck dumb, and stared at it as though he were fascinated. - -"Still," continued Jim the Hatter, "it's as well to be particular in -these times. I'm very choice in the company I keep, and I don't as a -rule do business with strangers, unless," he added, with a grin which -found its reflection on the lips of Nonentities Numbers One and Two, -"they pay their footing first." - -"If you wish to know my name," said Basil, "it is Basil Whittingham." - -"What!" cried Newman Chaytor, finding his tongue; but the exclamation -of undoubted astonishment appeared to be forced from him instead of -being voluntarily uttered. - -"Basil Whittingham," repeated Basil. "Being here, I must stop for the -night. Is there a stable near?" - -"There's one at the back," said Newman Chaytor, with sudden alacrity, -"or rather there was one. I'll show you." - -"Thank you," said Basil, and followed his guide to the rear of the -shanty. - -The three men looked after them with no good will. - -"He's a swell," said Nonentity Number One. - -"He's got a watch and chain," said Nonentity Number Two. - -"And a horse," said Jim the Hatter. - -Then they re-entered the store, and settled down to their game of -cards. - -"Stop here a moment," said Newman Chaytor to Basil. "I'll get a -light." - -Returning with a candle stuck in a bottle, the fashionable form of -candlestick in Gum Flat, he waved it about, sometimes so close to -Basil that it shone upon his features. - -"You stare at me," said Basil, "as if you knew me." - -"Never saw you before to my knowledge." (A falsehood, but that is a -detail.) "You're not a colonial." - -"I am an Englishman, like yourself, I judge." - -"Yes, I am English." - -"You have the advantage of me--you know my name. May I ask yours?" - -"Certainly," said Chaytor, but he spoke, nevertheless, with a certain -hesitation, as if something of importance hung upon it. "My name is -Newman, with Chaytor tacked to it." Then, anxiously, "Have you heard -it before?" - -"Never. This is a tumble-down place. It is a courtesy to call it a -stable." - -"It will serve, in place of a better." - -"Oh, yes, it is better than nothing." - -"Everything is tumble-down in Gum Flat. I am an Englishman town-bred. -And you?" - -"My people hail from Devonshire." - -"I am not dreaming, then," said Chaytor, speaking for the second time -involuntarily. - -"Dreaming!" exclaimed Basil. - -"I was thinking of another matter," said Chaytor, with readiness. -"Speaking my thoughts aloud is one of my bad tricks." - -"One of mine, too," said Basil smiling. - -"That is not the only thing in which we're alike." - -"No." - -"We are about the same age, about the same build, and we are both -gentlemen. Your horse is blown; you have ridden a long distance." - -"From Bidaud's plantation." - -"I have heard of it. And you come upon business? I may be able to -assist you." - -"I shall be glad of assistance," said Basil, recognising in his -companion an obvious superiority to the men they had left. "When I -passed through Gum Flat a few months ago I thought it a township -likely to thrive, and now I find it pretty well deserted." - -"It has gone to the dogs, as I told you. There's nothing but grass for -your horse to nibble at. So you're from Devonshire. Do your people -live there still?" - -He mixed up the subjects of his remarks in the oddest manner, and cast -furtive glances at Basil with a certain mental preoccupation which -would have forced itself upon Basil's attention had he not been so -occupied with his own special cares. - -"There are none left," said Basil. "I am the only one remaining." - -"The only one?" - -"Well, I have an old uncle, but we are not exactly on amicable terms." - -"You are better off than I am. I have no family left." He sighed -pathetically. "I fancy I can lay my hands on a bundle of sweet hay." - -"I should feel grateful." - -"Don't leave the stable till I come back; I shan't be gone long." - -He was absent ten minutes or so and though he went straight about his -errand, he was thinking of something very different. "It is the most -wonderful thing in the world," ran his thoughts--"that I should meet -him here again, in this hole, not changed in the slightest! It can't -be accident; it was predestined, and I should be a self-confessed -idiot if I did not take advantage of it. But how is it to be worked? -His uncle is still alive. What did he say? 'We are not exactly on -amicable terms.' That is because he is proud. I am not. I should be a -better nephew to the old fellow than this upstart. He is very old, in -his second childhood most likely. This is the turning-point of my -life, and I will not throw away the chance. Just as I was at the -bottom of the ladder, too. I'll climb to the top--I will, I will!" He -raised his hand to the skies, as though registering an oath. - -"There," he said, throwing down a bundle of hay which the horse -immediately began to munch, "with a bucket of water your mare will do -very well. I'll fetch it." - -"You are very kind," said Basil, warming to Newman Chaytor. - -"Not at all. _Noblesse oblige_." This was said with a grand air. - -Basil held out his hand, and Chaytor pressed it effusively. Then, at -Chaytor's request, Basil spoke of the errand upon which he was -engaged, and being plied skilfully with questions, put his companion -in possession of a great deal he wished to know, not only in relation -to the affairs of Bidaud's plantation, but his own personal history as -well. - -"It is curious," said Chaytor, "that we two should have met at such a -time and in such a place. Who knows what may come of it? I am, strange -to say, a bit of a doctor and a bit of a lawyer, and if you will -accept my services I shall be glad to accompany you back to Bidaud's -plantation." - -"But why?" asked Basil, touched by the apparently unselfish offer. "I -have no claim upon you." - -"Except the claim that one gentleman has upon another--which should -count for something. It always has with me." - -"Upon my word I don't know how to thank you." - -"Don't try. It is myself I am rendering a service to, not you. This -deserted hole, and the association of those men"--jerking his thumb -over his shoulder in the direction of the tent--"sicken me. Does there -not come to some men a crisis in their lives which compels them to -turn over a new leaf, as the saying is, to cut themselves away -entirely from the past and commence life anew?" - -"Yes," said Basil, struck by the application of this figure of speech -to his own circumstances, "it has come to me." - -"And to me. I intended to leave Gum Flat to-morrow, and I did not know -in which direction. I felt like Robinson Crusoe on the desert island, -without a friend, without a kindred soul to talk to, to associate -with. If you will allow me to look upon you as a friend you will put -me under a deep obligation. Should the brother of the poor gentleman -who died so suddenly this morning--the father of that sweet young lady -of whom you speak so tenderly--succeed in having things all his own -way, you will be cast adrift, as I am. It is best to look things -straight in the face, is it not?--even unpleasant things." - -"It is the most sensible course," said Basil. - -"Exactly. The most sensible course--and the most manly. Why should not -you and I throw in our fortunes together? I am sure we should suit -each other." - -"I can but thank you," said Basil. "It is worth thinking over." - -"All right; there is plenty of time before us. Let us go into the -store now. A word of warning first. The men inside are not to be -trusted. I was thrown into their company against my will, and I felt -that the association was degrading to me. We can't pick and choose in -this part of the world." - -"Indeed we cannot. I will not forget your warning. To speak honestly, -I am not in the mood or condition for society. I have had a hard day, -and am dead beat." - -"You would like to turn in," said Chaytor. "I can give you a -shakedown, and for supper what remains of a tin of biscuits and a tin -of sardines. There, don't say a word. The luck's on my side. Come -along." - -The Nonentities and Jim the Hatter were in the midst of a wrangle when -they entered, and scarcely noticed them. This left Chaytor free to -attend to Basil. He placed before him the biscuits and sardines, and -produced a flask of brandy. Basil was grateful for the refreshment; he -was thoroughly exhausted, and it renewed his strength and revived his -drooping spirits. Then he filled his pipe, and conversed in low tones -with his new friend, while the gamblers continued their game. - -"If I stop up much longer," said Basil, when he had had his smoke, "I -shall drop off my seat." - -Chaytor rose and preceded him to the further end of the store. The -building, if such a designation may be allowed to an erection composed -of only wood and canvas, had been the most pretentious and imposing in -the palmy days of the township, and although now it was all tattered -and torn, like the man in the nursery rhyme, it could still boast of -half a dozen private compartments in which sleepers could find repose -and solitude. The walls of course were of calico, and for complete -privacy darkness was necessary. - -Chaytor and the three gamblers who were bending over their cards in -the dim light of the larger space without, each occupied one of these -sleeping compartments. Two remained vacant, and into one of these -Chaytor led Basil. - -There was a stretcher in the room, a piece of strong canvas nailed -upon four pieces of batten driven into the ground. The canvas was -bare; there were no bedclothes. - -"I have two blankets," said Chaytor, "I can spare you one." - -Basil was too tired to protest. Dressed as he was he threw himself -upon the stretcher, drew the blanket over him, and bidding his -hospitable friend good-night, and thanking him again, was fast asleep -almost as the words passed his lips. - -Newman Chaytor stood for a moment or two gazing upon the sleeping man. -"I can't be dreaming," he thought; "he is here before me, and I am -wide awake. I drink to the future." He held no glass, but he went -through the pantomime of drinking out of one. - -Taking the lighted candle with him he joined his mates, and left Basil -sleeping calmly in darkness. They were no longer playing cards, but -with heads close together were debating in whispers. Upon Chaytor's -entrance they shifted their positions and ceased talking. - -"Have you put your gentleman to bed?" asked Jim the Hatter, in a -sneering tone in which a sinister ring might have been detected. - -"Much obliged to you for the inquiry," replied Chaytor, prepared to -fence; "he is sound asleep." - -"Interesting child! A case of love at first sight, mates." - -Nonentities Numbers One and Two nodded, with dark looks at Chaytor, -who smiled genially at them and commenced to smoke. - -"Or," said Jim the Hatter, "perhaps an old acquaintance." - -"Take your choice," observed Chaytor, who, in finesse and coolness, -was a match for the three. - -"Doesn't it strike you, Newman, that it's taking a liberty with us to -feed and bolster him up, and stand drinks as well, without asking -whether we was agreeable?" - -"Not at all. The sardines were mine, the biscuits were mine, the grog -was mine. If you want to quarrel, say so." - -"I'm for peace and quietness," said Jim the Hatter, threateningly. "I -was only expressing my opinion." - -"And I mine. Look here, mates, I don't want to behave shabbily, so -I'll tell you what is in my mind." - -"Ah, do," said Jim the Hatter, with a secret sign to the Nonentities -which Chaytor did not see; "then we shall know where we are." - -"I'll tell you where we are, literally, mates. We're in a -heaven-forsaken township, running fast to bone, which leads to -skeleton. Now I'm not prepared for that positive eventuality just yet. -This world is good enough for me at present, and I mean to do my best -to enjoy it." - -"Can't you enjoy it in our company?" asked Jim the Hatter. - -"I think not," said Chaytor, with cool insolence. "The best of friends -must part." - -"Oh, that's your little game, is it?" - -"That is my little game. I am growing grey. If I don't look out I -shall be white before I am thirty. Really I think it must be the -effect of the company I have kept." - -"We're not good enough for you, I suppose?" - -"If you ask for my deliberate opinion I answer, most distinctly not. -No, mates, not by a long way good enough." - -"Don't be stuck up, mate. Better men than you have had to eat humble -pie." - -"Any sort of pie," said Chaytor, philosophically, "is better than no -pie at all. Take my advice. Bid good-bye to Gum Flat, gigantic fraud -that it is, and go in search of big nuggets. That is what I am going -to do." - -"With your gentleman friend?" - -"With my gentleman friend. We may as well part civilly, but if you -choose the other thing I am agreeable." The three men rose with the -intention of retiring. They did not respond to his invitation to part -friends. "Well, good-night, and good luck to you." They nodded surlily -and entered their sleeping apartments, after exchanging a few words -quietly between themselves. - -Newman Chaytor helped himself to brandy from his flask then filled his -pipe, and began to smoke. - -That he had something serious to think of was evident, and that he was -puzzled what use to make of it was quite as clear. An enterprise was -before him, and he was disposed to pledge himself to it; but he was in -the dark as to what end it would lead him. In the dark, also, how it -could be so conducted as to result in profit to himself. He was in -desperately low water, and had lost confidence in himself. His ship -was drifting anchorless on a waste of waters; suddenly an anchor had -presented itself, which, while it would afford him peace and safety -for a time, might show him a way to a golden harbour. An ugly smile -wreathed his lips, the sinister aspect of which was hidden by his -abundant hair: but it was there, and remained for many musing moments. -He took from his pocket a common memorandum book, and on a few blank -pages he wrote the names, Newman Chaytor and Basil Whittingham, -several times and in several different styles of handwriting. Then he -wrote upon one, in the form of a check, "Pay to Newman Chaytor, Esq., -the sum of forty thousand pounds. Basil Whittingham." He contemplated -this valueless draft for a long time before destroying it at the -candle's light, as he destroyed the other sheets of paper upon which -he had written the signatures. - -"All the pleasures of existence," he mused, "all the light, everything -in the world worth having, are on the other side of the water. Was I -born to grind out my days in a prison like this? No, and I will not. -Here is the chance of escape"--he turned his head to the room in which -Basil was sleeping--"with possibilities which may give me all I -desire. It would be flying in the face of Providence to neglect it. -The first law of nature is Self. I should be a born fool not to obey -the first law of nature." - -In these reflections he passed an hour, when he determined to go to -bed. - -All was still. He stepped on tip toe to each of the four compartments -occupied by Basil, Jim the Hatter, and the Nonentities, and listened -at the doors to assure himself that he was the only wakeful person in -the store. Deeming himself safe he entered his own room, and taking a -small round mirror in a zinc frame from the top of a packing case -which served as washstand and dressing-table, gazed at his face with -strange intentness. Putting the hand mirror down he cast wary looks -around. Yes, he was alone; there were no witnesses. Then he did a -curious thing. He took off his beard and whiskers. - -In the room on his right lay Basil asleep; in the room on his left was -Jim the Hatter, whom he supposed to be. But in this he reckoned -without his host, as many another sharp rogue has done in his time. -Jim the Hatter, despite his deep breathing, which had deceived Newman -Chaytor, was wide awake. The moment Chaytor entered his room Jim the -Hatter had slipped noiselessly from his stretcher, and his face was -now glued to the wall of calico through which the light of Chaytor's -candle was shining. There was a small slit in the calico, which -enabled Jim the Hatter to see what was passing in Chaytor's room. -Chaytor's back, however, was towards the wall through which he was -peeping. The watcher was puzzled; he could not exactly discover what -it was Chaytor had done. - -Upon Chaytor's face, now beardless and whiskerless, there was a -natural growth of hair in the shape of a moustache. This moustache was -the precise colour of that which Basil grew and cherished. It was not -so long, but a few week's growth would make the resemblance perfect, -if such was Chaytor's wish. In other respects the resemblance between -him and Basil was remarkable. Height, figure, complexion--even the -colour of the eyes--all tallied. - -In his anxiety to discover exactly what was going on, Jim the Hatter -made a slight movement, which was heard by Chaytor. He turned -suddenly, and the astonished watcher beheld the counterpart of Basil. - -"By Jove!" he said inly; "twins!" - -Then, warned by Chaytor's attitude that he was in danger of himself -being discovered, he slipped between his blankets as noiselessly as he -had slipped out of them. Waiting only to resume his disguise of beard -and whiskers, Chaytor, candle in hand, went quietly and swiftly into -the adjoining room and looked down upon the recumbent form of Jim the -Hatter. Undoubtedly asleep, and sleeping like a top. Chaytor passed -the candle across the man's face, who never so much as winked. Assured -that there was no cause for alarm, Chaytor stepped back to his own -recess, put out the light, and went to bed. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -Leaving this schemer to his ill-earned repose, we strip the veil from -his past and lay it bare. - -Nature plays tricks, but seldom played a stranger than that of casting -Newman Chaytor physically in the same mould as Basil. Born in -different counties, with no tie of kinship between their families, -their likeness to each other was so marvellous that any man seeing -them for the first time side by side, without some such disguise as -Chaytor wore on Gum Flat, and the second time apart, would have been -puzzled to know which was which. But not less strange than this -physical likeness was the contrast between their moral natures. One -was the soul of guilelessness and honour, the other the soul of -cunning and baseness. One walked the straight paths of life, the other -chose the crooked. - -Chaytor was born in London, and his parents occupied a respectable -position. They gave him a good education, and did all they could to -furnish him worthily for the battle of life. The affection they -displayed was ill-requited. In his mother's eyes he was perfection, -but his father's mind was often disturbed when he thought of the lad's -future. Perhaps in his own nature there was a moral twist which caused -him to doubt; perhaps his own youth was distinguished by the vices he -detected in his son. However that may be, he took no blame to himself, -preferring rather to skim the surface than to seek discomfort in -psychological depths. - -The parents discussed their son's future. - -"We will make a doctor of him," said the father. - -"He will be a great physician," said the mother. - -At this time Chaytor was eighteen years of age. At twenty it was -decided that he was in the wrong groove; at least, that was the -statement of the doctor who had undertaken his professional education. -It was not an entirely ingenuous statement; the master was eager to -get rid of his pupil, whose sharp practices distressed him. - -"What would you like to be?" asked his father. - -"A lawyer," replied Chaytor. - -"He will be Lord Chancellor," said his mother. - -Thereupon Newman Chaytor was articled to a firm of lawyers in Bedford -Row, London, W.C., an old and respectable firm, Messrs. Rivington, -Sons, and Rivington, who kept its exceedingly lucrative business in -the hands of its own family. It happened, fatefully, that this firm of -lawyers transacted the affairs of Bartholomew Whittingham, Basil's -uncle, with whom our readers have already made acquaintance. - -In the course of two or three years Chaytor's character was fully -developed. He was still the idol of his mother, whose heart was plated -with so thick a shield of unreasoning love that nothing to her son's -disparagement could make an impression upon it. Only there were doors -in this shield which she opened at the least sign from the reprobate, -sheltering him there and cooing over him as none but such hearts can. -Her husband had the sincerest affection for her, and here was another -safeguard for Chaytor. - -The surroundings of life in a great and gay city are dangerous and -tempting even to the innocent. How much more dangerous and tempting -are they to those who by teaching or inclination are ripe for vice? It -is not our intention to follow Chaytor through these devious paths; we -shall simply touch lightly upon those circumstances of his career -which are pertinent to our story. If for a brief space we are -compelled to treat of some of the darker shadows of human nature, it -must be set down to the undoubted fact that life is not made up -entirely of sweetness and light. - -Chaytor's father, looking through his bank-book, discovered that he -had a balance to his credit less by a hundred pounds than he knew was -correct. He examined his returned cheques and found one with his -signature for the exact amount, a signature written by another hand -than his. He informed his wife, pending his decision as to what steps -to take to bring the guilt home. His wife informed her son. - -"Ah," said he, "I have my suspicions." And he mentioned the name of a -clerk in his father's employ. - -The ball being set rolling, the elder Chaytor began to watch the -suspected man, setting traps for him, across which the innocent man -stepped in safety. Mr. Chaytor was puzzled; he had, by his wife's -advice, kept the affair entirely secret, who in her turn had been -prompted by her son to this course, and warned not to drag his name -into it. The father, therefore was not aware that the accusation -against the clerk proceeded from his son. - -Chaytor had a design in view: he wished to gain time to avoid possible -unpleasant consequences. - -Some three weeks afterwards, when Mr. Chaytor had resolved to take the -forged cheque to the bank with the intention of enlisting its services -in the discovery of the criminal, he went to his desk to obtain the -document. It was gone, and other papers with it. He was confounded; -without the cheque he could do nothing. - -"Have I a thief in my house," he asked of himself, "as well as a -forger at my elbow." - -The man he had suspected was in the habit of coming to his private -house once a week for clerking purposes. Without considering what he -was laying himself open to, he accused his clerk of robbing him, and -the result was that the man left his service and brought an action for -slander against him, which he was compelled to compromise by an -apology and the payment of a sum of money. - -"It is father's own fault," said Chaytor to his mother; "had he waited -and watched, he would have brought the guilt home to the fellow. But -don't say anything more to him about it; let the matter rest." - -It did rest, but Mr. Chaytor did not forget it. - -Being in pursuit of pleasure Chaytor found himself in continual need -of money, and he raised and procured it in many discreditable ways, -but still he managed to keep his secret. Then came another crime. Some -valuable jewels belonging to his mother were stolen. By whom? - -"By one of the female servants, of course," said Chaytor. - -He was not only without conscience, he was without heart. - -Mr. Chaytor proposed to call in a detective. Mrs. Chaytor, acting upon -the secret advice of her son, would not hear of it. The father had, -therefore, two forces working against him, his wife, whom he could -answer, because she was in the light, and his son, with whom he could -not cope, because he was in the dark. - -"It would be a dreadful scandal," said young Chaytor to his mother. -"If nothing is discovered--and thieves are very cunning, you know--we -shall be in worse trouble than father got into with the clerk who -forged his name to the cheque. We should be the laughing-stock of -everyone who knows us, and should hardly be able to raise our heads." - -His word was law to her; he could twist her round his little finger, -he often laughingly said to himself; and as she, in her turn, -dominated her husband, the deceits he practised were not too difficult -for him to safely compass. Every domestic in the house was discharged, -and a new set engaged. When they sent for characters no answer was -returned. Thus early in life young Chaytor was fruitful in mischief, -but he cared not what occurred to others so long as he rode in safety. - -One day an old gentleman paid a visit to Messrs. Rivington, Sons, and -Rivington. This was Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, Basil's uncle. He had -come upon the business of his will, the particulars of which he had -written down upon paper. He was not in the office longer than ten -minutes, and he left at half-past one o'clock, the time at which -Chaytor was in the habit of going to lunch. Following the old -gentleman Chaytor saw him step into a cab, in which a young gentleman -had been waiting. The young gentleman was Basil, and Chaytor was -startled at the resemblance of this man to himself. Relinquishing his -lunch, Chaytor jumped into a cab, and bade the driver follow Basil and -his uncle. They stopped at Morley's Hotel, Charing Cross, and Chaytor -had another opportunity of verifying the likeness between himself and -Basil. It interested him and excited him. He had not the least idea -what he could gain by it, but the fact took possession of his mind and -he could not dislodge it. He ascertained the names of Basil and his -uncle by looking over the hotel book, and when he returned to the -office in Bedford Row the task was allotted to him of preparing the -rough draft of the will. Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham was very rich, -and every shilling he possessed was devised to Basil, without -restrictions of any kind. - -"The old fellow must be worth forty thousand pounds," mused Chaytor, -and he rolled out the sum again and again. "For-ty thou-sand pounds! -For-ty thou-sand pounds! For-ty thousand pounds! And every shilling is -left to Mr. Basil Whittingham, my double. Yes, my Double! My own -mother would mistake him for me, and his doddering old uncle would -mistake me for him. What wouldn't I give to change places with him! -For-ty thou-sand pounds! For-ty thou-sand pounds! It's maddening to -think of. He has a moustache; I haven't. But I can grow one exactly -like. His hair is the colour of mine. I'll keep my eye on him." - -It was an egregiously wicked idea, for by the wildest stretch of his -imagination he could not see how this startling likeness could be -worked to his advantage. Nevertheless he was fascinated by it, and he -set himself the task of seeing as much of Basil as possible. During -the week that Basil was living at Morley's Hotel, Chaytor in his spare -hours shadowed him, without being detected. Basil never once set eyes -on him, and as the young gentleman never entered the office of Messrs. -Rivington, Sons, and Rivington, no one there had opportunity to note -the resemblance between the men. - -Chaytor for a week was in his element; he ascertained from the hall -porter in the hotel the places of amusement which Basil visited of an -evening, and he followed him to them; he waited outside the hotel to -catch glimpses of him; he studied every feature, every expression, -every movement attentively, until he declared to himself that he knew -him by heart. He began to let his moustache grow, and he practised -little tricks of manners which he had observed. He was like a man -possessed. - -"He is a gentleman," he said. "So am I. I am as good looking as he is -any day of the week. Why shouldn't I be, being his Double? - -"He pondered over it, he dreamt of it, he worked himself almost into a -fever concerning it. Distorted possibilities presented themselves, and -monstrous views. The phantom image of Basil entered into his life, -directed his thoughts, coloured his future. He walked along the -streets with this spectral Double by his side; he leant over the -river's bridges and saw it reflected in the water; he felt its -presence when he woke up in the dark night. One night during this -feverish week, after being in the theatre which Basil visited, after -sitting in the shadow of the pit and watching him for hours in a -private box, after following him to Morley's Hotel and lingering so -long in Trafalgar Square that he drew the attention of a policeman to -his movements, he walked slowly homeward, twisting this and that -possibility with an infatuation dangerous to his reason, until he came -quite suddenly upon a house on fire. So engrossed was he that he had -not noticed the hurrying people or their cries, and it was only when -the blazing flames were before him that he was conscious of what was -actually taking place. And there on the burning roof as he looked up -he beheld the phantom Basil on fire. With glaring eyes he saw it with -the flames devouring it, dwindling in proportions until its luminous -outlines faded into nothingness, until it was gone out of the living -world for ever. A deep sigh of satisfaction escaped him. - -"Now he is gone," he thought, "I will take his place. His uncle is an -old man; I can easily deceive him; and perhaps even _he_ will die -before morning." - -In the midst of this ecstatic delirium a phantom hand was laid upon -his shoulder, a phantom face, with a mocking smile upon it, confronted -him. He struck at it with a muttered curse. It came to rob him of -forty thousand pounds. - -Had this mental condition lasted long he must have gone mad. The -reason for this would have been that he had nothing to grapple with, -nothing to fight, nothing but a shadow, which he had magnified into a -mortal enemy who had done him a wrong which could only be atoned for -by death. It was fortunate for him, although he deserved no good -fortune, that Basil's residence at Morley's lasted but a week, and -that he and his double did not meet again in the Old World; for -although Basil passed much of his time in his father's house in London -he lived at a long distance from Chaytor's usual haunts, and the young -men's lives did not cross. Gradually Chaytor's reason reasserted -itself, and he became sane. Grimly, desperately sane, with still the -leading idea haunting him, it is true, but no longer attended by -monstrous conceptions of what might occur in a day, in an hour, in a -moment, and he on the spot ready to take advantage of it. - -Shortly after Basil's departure he asked his mother if she ever had -twins. - -"What on earth do you mean, my dear?" she asked, laughing at him. - -"It is plain enough," he answered incautiously. "I dream sometimes of -a brother the exact counterpart of myself." - -"You work too hard," said his mother, pityingly. "You must take a -holiday, my darling." - -"Who's to pay for it?" he asked gloomily. - -"I am," she said fondly. "I have saved fifty pounds for you." - -"Give it to me," he said eagerly, and with the money he went to Paris -for a fortnight and squandered it on himself and his pleasures. - -The foolish mother was continually doing this kind of thing, saving up -money, wheedling her husband out of it upon false pretexts, stinting -herself and making sacrifices for the worthless, ungrateful idol of -her loving heart. So time passed, and Chaytor was still in the office -of Rivington, Sons, and Rivington, picking up no sound knowledge of -the law, but extracting from it for future use all the sharp and -cunning subtleties of which some vile men make bad use. To the firm -came a letter from Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, with the tenor of -which Chaytor made himself familiar. He was a spy in the office, and -never scrupled at opening letters and reading them on the sly to -master their contents. In the letter which Basil's uncle wrote -occurred these words: - -"Send me in a registered packet, by first post, my will, the will I -made in favour of my nephew, Mr. Basil Whittingham. He has acted like -a fool, and I am going to destroy it and disinherit him. At some -future time I will give you instructions to draw up another, making -different dispositions of my property. I am not a young man, but I -shall live a good many years yet, and there is plenty of time before -me. Meanwhile bear witness by this letter that I have disinherited my -nephew Basil Whittingham." - -Of course they followed his instructions, and the will was forwarded -to him. - -"He has stolen forty thousand pounds from me," thought Chaytor. - -Within a week thereafter he overheard a conversation between two of -the principals. He was never above listening at doors and creeping up -back staircases. The lawyers were speaking of Bartholomew Whittingham -and the will. - -"Will he destroy it?" asked one. - -"I think not," replied the other. "It is my opinion he will keep it by -him, half intending to destroy it, half to preserve it, and that it -will be found intact and unaltered when he dies." - -"I do not agree with you. He will destroy it one day in a rage, and -make another the next." - -"In favour of whom?" - -"Of his nephew. He has in his heart an absorbing love for the young -gentleman, and he is a good fellow at bottom. Mr. Basil Whittingham -will come into the whole of the property." - -The conversation was continued on these lines, and the partners -ultimately agreed that after all Basil would be the heir. "There is a -chance yet," thought Chaytor, for although the dangerous period of -ecstasy was passed there still lingered in his mind a hope of -fortunate possibilities. - -He continued his evil courses, gambled, drank, and led a free life, -getting deeper and deeper into debt. His mother assisted him out of -many a scrape, and never for one single moment wavered in her faith in -him, in her love for him. It was a sweet trait in her character, but -love without wisdom is frequently productive of more harm than good. -Chaytor's position grew so desperate that detection and its attendant -disgraceful penalty became imminent. He had made himself a proficient -and skilful imitator of handwriting, and more than once had he forged -his father's name to cheques and bills. The father was aware of this, -but out of tenderness for his wife had done nothing more than upbraid -his son for the infamy. Many a stormy scene had passed between them, -which both carefully concealed from the knowledge of the fond woman -whose heart would have been broken had she known the truth. On every -one of these occasions Chaytor had humbled himself and promised -atonement, with tears and sighs and mock repentance which saddened but -did not convince the father. - -"For your mother's sake," invariably he said. - -"Yes, yes," murmured the hypocrite, "for my dear mother's sake--my -mother, so good, so loving, so tender-hearted!" - -"Let this be the last time," said the father sternly. - -"It shall be, it shall be!" murmured the son. - -It was a formula. The father may sometimes have deceived himself into -belief; the son, never. Even while he was humbling himself he would be -casting about for the next throw. - -This continued for some considerable time, but at length came the -crash. Chaytor and his parents were seated at breakfast at nine -o'clock. The father had the morning letters in his pocket; he had read -them and put them by. He cast but one glance at his son, and Chaytor -turned pale and winced. He saw that the storm was about to burst. As -usual, nothing was said before Mrs. Chaytor. The meal was over, she -kissed her son, and left the room to attend to her domestic affairs. - -"I must be off," said Chaytor. "Mustn't be late this morning. A lot to -attend to at the office." - -"You need not hurry," said the father. "I have something to say to -you." - -"Won't it keep till the evening?" - -"No. It must be said here and now." He stepped to the door and locked -it. "We will spare her as long as possible; she will know soon -enough." - -"Oh, all right," said Chaytor sullenly. "Fire away." - -The father took out his letters, and, selecting one, handed it to his -son who read it, shivered, and returned it. - -"What have you to say to it?" asked the father. - -"Nothing. It is only for three hundred pounds." - -"A bill, due to-day, which I did not sign." - -"It was done for all our sakes, to save the honour of the family name. -I was in a hole and there was no other way of getting out of it." - -"The bill must be taken up before twelve o'clock." - -"Will it be?" - -"It will, for your mother's sake." - -"Then there is nothing more to be said. I am very sorry, but it could -not be helped. I promise that it shall never occur again. I'll take my -oath of it if you like." - -"I take neither your word nor your oath. You are a scoundrel." - -"Here, draw it mild. I am your son." - -"Unhappily. If your mother were not living you should be shown into -the dock for the forgery." - -"But she is alive. I shall not appear in the dock, and you may as well -let me go. Look here, father, what's the use of crying over spilt -milk?" - -"Not much; and as I look upon you as hopeless, I would go on paying -for it while your mother lived. If she were taken from me I should -leave you to the punishment you deserve, and risk my name being -dragged through the mire." - -"I hope," said Chaytor, with vile sanctimoniousness, "that my dear -mother will live till she is a hundred." - -"There is, I must remind you, another side to the shield. I said 'as -long as I can afford it.'" - -"Well, you can afford it." - -"I cannot," said Mr. Chaytor, with a sour smile. "My career snaps -to-day, after paying this forged bill with money that properly belongs -to my creditors. Newman Chaytor, you have come to the end of your -tether." - -"You are saying this to frighten me," said Chaytor, affecting an -indifference he did not feel. "Why, you are rolling in money." - -"You are mistaken. Speculations into which I have entered have failed -disastrously. If you had not robbed me to the tune of thousands of -pounds--the sum total of your villainies amounts to that--I might have -weathered the storm, but as I am situated it is impossible. It is -almost a triumph to me to stand here before you a ruined man, knowing -you can no longer rob me." - -"Still I do not believe you," said Chaytor. - -"Wait and see; you will not have to wait long." - -The tone in which he uttered this carried conviction with it. - -"Do you know what you have done?" cried Chaytor furiously. "You have -ruined _me!_" - -"What!" responded Mr. Chaytor, with savage sarcasm. "Is there any more -of this kind of paper floating about?" Chaytor bit his lips, and his -fingers twitched nervously, but he did not reply. "If there is be -advised, and prepare for it. In the list of my liabilities, which is -now being prepared, there will be no place for them. How should there -be, when I am in ignorance of your prospective villainies. Do you see -now to what you have brought me?" - -"Do _you_ see to what you have brought _me?_" exclaimed Chaytor in -despair. "Why did you not tell me of it months ago?" - -"Because I hoped by other speculations to set myself straight. But -everything has gone wrong--everything. Understand, I cannot trouble -myself about your affairs; I have enough to do with my own. I have one -satisfaction; your mother will not suffer." - -"How is that?" - -"The settlement I made upon her in the days of my prosperity is hers -absolutely, and only she can deal with it. In the settlement of my -business there shall be no sentimental folly; I will see to that. Her -money shall not go to pay my debts. - -"But it shall go," thought Chaytor, with secret joy, "to get me out of -the scrape I am in. It belongs to me by right. _I_ will see that -neither you nor your creditors tamper with it." He breathed more -freely; he could still defy the world. - -"I have not told you quite all," continued Mr. Chaytor. "Here is a -letter from Messrs. Rivington, Sons, and Rivington, advising me that -it will be better for all parties that you do not make your appearance -in their office. Indeed, the place you occupied there is already -filled up." - -"Do they give any reason for it?" asked Chaytor, inwardly not greatly -astonished at his dismissal. - -"None; nor shall I ask any questions of them or you. You know how the -land lies. Good morning." - -He unlocked the door, and left the house. This was just what Chaytor -desired. His vicious mind was quick in expedients; his mother was his -shield and his anchor. Her settlement would serve for many a long day -yet. To her he went, and related his troubles in his own way. She gave -him, as usual, her fullest sympathy, and promised all he asked. - -"Between ourselves, mother," he said. - -"Yes, my darling, between ourselves." - -"Father must not know. He was always hard on me. He thinks he can -manage everybody's affairs, but he cannot manage his own." Then he -disclosed to her his father's difficulties. "If he had allowed me to -manage for him it would not have happened. Trust everything to me, -mother, and this day year I will treble your little fortune for you. -Let me have a chance for once. When I have made all our fortunes you -shall go to him and say, 'See what Newman has done for us.'" - -"It shall be exactly as you say, darling. You are the best, the -handsomest, the cleverest son a foolish mother ever had." - -Kisses and caresses sealed the bargain. Within twenty-four hours he -knew that everything his father had told him was true. The family were -ruined, and but for Mrs. Chaytor's private fortune would have been -utterly beggared. They moved into a smaller house and practised -economy. Little by little Chaytor received and squandered every -shilling his mother possessed, and before the year was out the sun -rose upon a ship beating on the rocks. - -"Are you satisfied?" asked his father, from whom Chaytor's doings -could no longer be concealed. - -"Satisfied!" cried Chaytor, trembling in every limb. "When your insane -speculations have ruined us!" - -Then he fell into a chair and began to sob. He had the best of reasons -for tribulation. With his mind's eye he saw the prison doors open to -receive him. It was not shame that made him suffer; it was fear. - -Again, and for the last time, he went to his mother for help. - -"What can I do, my boy?" quavered the poor woman. "What can I do? I -haven't a shilling in the world." - -He implored her to go to his father. "He can save me," cried the -terror-stricken wretch. "He can, he can!" - -She obeyed him and the father sent for his son. - -"Tell me all," he said. "Conceal nothing, or, as there is a heaven -above us, I leave you to your fate." - -The shameful story told, the father said, "Things were looking up with -me, but here is another knock-down blow, and from my own flesh and -blood. I accept it, and will submit once more to be ruined by you." - -"Bless you, father, bless you," whined Chaytor, taking his father's -hand and attempting to fondle it. Mr. Chaytor plucked his hand away. - -"There is, however, a condition attached to the promise." - -"What condition?" faltered Chaytor. - -"That you leave England and never return. Do you hear me? Never. You -will go to the other end of the world, where you will end your days. - -"To Australia?" - -"To Australia. When you quit this country I wish never to hear from -you; I shall regard you as dead. You shall no longer trade upon your -mother's weak love for you. I will not argue with you. Accept or -refuse." - -"I accept." - -"Very well. Go from this house and never let me look upon your face -again." - -"Can I not see my mother?" whined Chaytor, "to wish her good-bye?" - -"No. You want to hatch further troubles. You shall not do so. Quit my -house." - -With head bent low in mock humility, Chaytor left the house. He had no -sincere wish to see his mother; he had got out of her all he could, -and she was of no use to him in the future. The promise his father -made was fulfilled; the fresh forgeries he had perpetrated were bought -up, but one still remained of which he had made no mention. This was a -bill for a large amount which he had accepted in the name of -Rivington, Sons and Rivington. It had still two months to run, and -Chaytor determined to remain in England till within a week or two of -its becoming due; something might turn up which would enable him to -meet it. He loved the excitement of English life; Australia was -banishment; but perhaps after all, if he were forced to go it might be -the making of him. He had read of rough men making fortunes in a week -on the goldfields. Why should not he? - -The last blow proved too much for Mr. Chaytor; it broke him up -utterly. He was seized with a serious illness which reduced him to -imbecility. The home had to be sold, and he and his wife removed to -lodgings, one small room at the top of a house in a poor -neighbourhood. There poverty fell upon them like a wolf. Five weeks -afterwards Chaytor, slouching through the streets on a rainy night, -saw his mother begging in the roadway. The poor soul stood mute, with -a box of matches in her hand. Chaytor turned and fled. - -"I am the unluckiest dog that ever was born," he muttered. "Just as I -was going to see if I could get anything out of her!" - -It was now imperative that he should leave England, and he managed to -get a passage in a sailing vessel as assistant steward at a shilling a -month. He obtained it by means of forged letters of recommendation, -and he went out in a false name. This he would have retained had it -not been that shortly after his arrival in Australia he met a man who -had known him in London, and who addressed him by his proper name. It -was not the only inconvenience to which an alias subjected him. There -was only one address in the colonies through which he could obtain his -letters, and that was the Post Office. Obviously, if he called himself -John Smith he could not expect letters to be delivered to him in the -name of Newman Chaytor. Now, he was eager for letters from the old -country; before he left it he had written to his mother to the effect -that he was driven out of it by a hard-hearted father, and that if she -had any good news to communicate to him he would be glad to hear from -her. At the same time he imposed upon her the obligation of not -letting anyone know where he was. Therefore, when his London -acquaintance addressed him by his proper name, saying, "Hallo, -Chaytor, old boy!" he said to himself, "Oh hang it! I'll stick to -Newman Chaytor, and chance it. If mother writes to me I shall have to -proclaim myself Chaytor; an alias might get me into all sorts of -trouble." - -Why did he write to his poor mother, for whom he had not the least -affection, and what did he mean by expecting her to have any good news -to communicate to him? The last time he saw her, was she not begging -in the streets? Well, there was a clear reason; he seldom did anything -without one; and be sure that the kernel of that reason was Self. His -father, from the wreck of his fortune, had managed to preserve a -number of shares in some companies which had failed, among them two -mining companies which had come to grief. Now, it had happened before -and might happen again, that companies which were valueless one day -had leaped into favour the next, that shares which yesterday could -have been purchased for a song, to-morrow would be worth thousands of -pounds. Suppose that this happened to the companies, or to one of -them, in which his pauper father held shares. He was his father's only -child, and his mother would see that he was not disinherited. Chaytor -was a man who never threw away a chance, and he would not throw away -this, remote as it was. Hence his determination to adhere at all -hazards to his proper name. The perilous excitements of the last two -or three years had driven Basil Whittingham out of his mind, but -having more leisure and less to occupy his thoughts in the colonies, -he thought of him now and then, and wondered whether the old uncle had -relented and had taken his nephew again into his favour. "Lucky young -beggar," he thought. "I wish I stood in his shoes, and he in mine. I -would soon work the old codger into a proper mood." His colonial -career was neither profitable nor creditable, and he had degenerated -into what he was when he and Basil came face to face in Gum Flat, an -unadulterated gambler and loafer. The strange encounter awoke within -him forces which had long lain dormant. He recognised a possible -chance which might be worked to his benefit, and he fastened to it -like a limpet. When he said to Basil that he was in luck be really -meant it. - -A word as to his false beard and whiskers. In London he had had a -behind-the-scenes acquaintance, and in a private theatrical -performance in which he played a part he had worn these identical -appendages as an adjunct to the character he represented. He had -brought them out with him, thinking they might be serviceable one day. -Before he came to Gum Flat he had got into a scrape on another -township, and when he left it, had assumed the false hair as a kind of -disguise. Making his appearance on Gum Flat thus disguised, he deemed -it prudent to retain it, and when he came into association with Basil -he thanked his stars that he had done so; otherwise he might have -drawn upon himself from the man he called his double a closer -attention than he desired. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -In the middle of the night Basil awoke. He had had a tiring day, but -when he had slept off the first effects of the fatigue he had -undergone, the exciting events of the last two days became again the -dominant power. He dreamt of all that had occurred from the interview -between himself and Anthony Bidaud, in which he had accepted the -guardianship of Annette, to the moment of his arrival on Gum Flat. Of -Newman Chaytor he dreamt not at all; this new acquaintance had -produced no abiding impression upon him. - -He lay awake for some five minutes or so in that condition of -quiescent wonder which often falls upon men when they are sleeping for -the first time in a strange bed and in a place with which they are not -familiar. Where was he? What was the position of the bed? Where was -the door situated: at the foot, or the head, or the side of the bed? -Was there a window in the apartment, and if so, where was it? Then -came the mental question what had aroused him? - -It was so unusual for him to wake in the middle of the night that he -dwelt upon this question. Something must have disturbed him. What? - -Was it fancy that just at the moment of his awakening he had heard a -movement in the room, that he had felt a hand upon him, that he had -heard a man's breathing? It must have been, all was so quiet and -still. Suddenly he sat straight up on the stretcher. He remembered -that he was in the township of Gum Flat, sleeping in a strange -apartment, and that men with whom he had not been favourably impressed -must be lying near him. This did not apply to Newman Chaytor, who had -been kind and attentive, and whom he now thought of with gratitude. -There was nothing to fear from him, but the other three had gazed at -him furtively and with no friendly feelings. He had exchanged but a -few words with these men, and those had been words of suspicion. When -he entered the store, after attending to his horse, they had not -addressed a word to him. It was Chaytor, and Chaytor alone, who had -shown kindness and evinced a kindly feeling. And now he was certain -that someone had been in the room while he slept, and had laid hands -on him. For what purpose? - -He slid from the stretcher, and standing upright stretched out his -hands in the darkness. Where was the door? - -Outside the canvas building stood Chaytor's three mates, wide awake, -with their heads close together, as they had been inside on the return -of Basil and Chaytor from the stable. They were conversing in -whispers. - -"Did he hear you?" - -"No. If he had moved I would have knocked him on the head." - -"Have you got it?" - -"Yes, it is all right." - -"Pass it round." - -"No; I will keep it till it's sold; then we'll divide equally." - -"What do you think it's worth?" - -"Twenty pounds, I should say." - -"Little enough." - -"Hush!" - -The sound of Basil moving about his room, groping for the door, had -reached them. - -"If he comes out, Jim, you tackle him." - -"Leave him to me. Don't waste any more time. Get the horse from the -stable." - -Basil, unable to find the door, stumbled against the calico portion -which divided his room from that in which Chaytor slept. - -"Who's there?" cried Chaytor, jumping up. - -"Oh, it's you," said Basil, recognising the voice. "Have you got a -light?" - -"Wait a moment." - -But half dressed he represented himself to Basil, with a lighted -candle in his hand. - -"What's up?" he asked. - -"I don't know," replied Basil, "but I am not easy in my mind. Perhaps -it is only my fancy, but I have an idea that someone has been in my -room." - -"Let us see." They proceeded to the three compartments which should -have been occupied by the three men. They were empty. - -"It was not fancy," said Basil. "What mischief are they up to? Come -along; we will go and see." - -Chaytor hesitated. He was not gifted with heroic qualities, and he -knew that his three mates were desperate characters. - -"Did you have any money about you?" he asked. - -"None. Why, where's my watch?" It was gone. There was a hurried -movement without; he heard the sound of a horse's feet. "They are -stealing Corrie's horse," he cried, "after robbing me of my watch! -Stand by me, will you?" - -He rushed out, followed, but not too quickly, by Chaytor. The moment -he reached the open a pair of arms was thrown around him, and he was -grappling with an enemy. In unfamiliar ground, enveloped in darkness, -and attacked by an unseen enemy, he was at a disadvantage, and it -would have fared ill with him had he not been strong and -stout-hearted. Jim the Hatter, who had undertaken to tackle him soon -discovered that the man they were robbing was not easily disposed of. -Down they fell the pair of them, twisting and turning, each striving -to obtain the advantage, Basil silent and resolved, Jim the Hatter -giving tongue to many an execration. In the midst of the struggle the -ruffian heard his mates, the Nonentities, moving off with Basil's -horse. His experience had taught him that "honour among thieves" was a -fallacious proverb; anyway, he had never practised it himself, and he -trusted no men. With a powerful effort he threw Basil from him and ran -after his comrades. During the encounter Chaytor had kept at a safe -distance, but now that there was a lull he came close to Basil. - -"They have half throttled me," he gasped, tearing open his shirt and -blowing like a grampus. "Are you hurt?" - -"No," said Basil. "We may catch them yet." - -And he began to run, but the ruffians had got the start of him, and -knew the lay of the ground. Guided by his ear he stumbled on, across -the plains, through a gully riddled with holes, and finally up a steep -range, followed by Chaytor, panting and blowing. He had many a fall, -and so had Chaytor (who thought it well to follow suit, and cried out -from time to time, "O, O, O!"), and thus the flight and the pursuit -continued, the sounds from the flying men and Old Corrie's horse -growing fainter and fainter, until matters came to a sudden -termination. - -Half-way up the range, which was veined with quartz, a shaft had been -sunk and abandoned. The miners who had done the work had followed a -gold-bearing spur some fifty feet down, in the hope of coming upon a -golden reef. But the spur grew thinner and thinner, the traces of gold -disappeared, and they lost heart. Disappointed in their expectations, -and out of patience with their profitless labour, they shouldered -their windlass and started off to fresh pastures. Thus the mouth of -the shaft was left open and unprotected, and into it Basil dropped, -and felt himself slipping down with perilous celerity. - -It was fortunate that the shaft was not exactly perpendicular, After -following the spur down for twenty feet the miners had found that it -took an eccentric turn which necessitated the running in of an adit. -This passage was about two yards long, when the spur dipped again, and -the shaft was continued sheer into the bowels of the earth. It was -this adit which saved Basil's life. When he had slipped down the -twenty feet he felt bottom, and there he lay, bruised, but not -dangerously hurt. - -He cried out for help at the top of his voice, and his cries were -presently answered. - -"Below there!" cried Chaytor, lying flat on the ground above, with his -ear at the mouth of the shaft. - -"Is that you, Mr. Chaytor?" cried Basil. - -Chaytor (aside): "He remembers my name." (Aloud): "Yes, what's left of -me. Where are you?" (Which, to say the least of it, was an unnecessary -question.) - -Basil: "Down here." - -Chaytor (blind to logical fact): "Alive?" - -Basil (perceiving nothing strange in the question, and therefore -almost as blind): "Yes, thank God!" - -Chaytor: "Any bones broke?" - -Basil: "I think not, but I am bruised a bit." - -Chaytor: "So am I." - -Basil: "I am sorry to hear it. Have the scoundrels got away?" - -Chaytor: "Yes, they're a mile off by this time." - -Basil (groaning): "Old Corrie's mare! What will he think of me?" - -Chaytor: "It can't be helped." - -Basil: "In which direction have they gone?" - -Chaytor: "Haven't the slightest idea. I warned you against them." - -Basil: "You did. You're a good fellow, but what could I do?" - -Chaytor: "Neither of us could have prevented it." - -Basil: "I am not so sure. I ought to have stopped up all night, and -looked after what wasn't my own." - -Chaytor (attempting consolation): "Why, you couldn't keep your eyes -open." - -Basil (groaning again): "I ought to have kept my eyes open. I had no -right to sleep after your warning." - -Chaytor: "I did what I could." - -Basil: "You did; you're a true friend." (Chaytor smiled.) "How am I to -get up from here?" - -Chaytor: "That's the question. How far are you down?" - -Basil: "Heaven knows. It seems a mile or so." - -Chaytor: "There's no windlass." - -Basil: "Isn't there?" - -Chaytor: "And it's pitch dark." - -Basil: "It's as black as night down here. Can't you go for help?" - -Chaytor: "I'll tell you something. There isn't a soul on the township -but ourselves." - -Basil: "Not one?" - -Chaytor: "Not one. We must wait till daylight; then I'll see what I -can do." - -Basil: "There's no help for it; it must be as you say. You'll not -desert me?" - -Chaytor (in an injured tone): "Can you think me capable of so -dastardly an act?" - -Basil: "Forgive me; I hardly know what I'm saying. I deserve that you -should, for giving utterance to a thought so base." - -Chaytor: "It was natural, perhaps. Why should you trust me, a -stranger, whom you have known for only a few hours?" - -Basil: "I do trust you: it was an unnatural thought. You are a noble -fellow--and a gentleman." - -Chaytor: "I hope so. Can I do anything for you while you are waiting?" - -Basil: "I am devoured by thirst. Can you manage to get a drink of -water to me?" - -Chaytor: "I can do that; but you must have patience. I shall have to -go back to the township to get a bottle and some string. Shall I go?" - -Basil: "Yes, yes. Be as quick as you can." - -Chaytor: "I won't be a moment longer than I can help." - -Then there was silence. Chaytor departed on his errand, and Basil was -left to himself. His right arm was bruised and sore, but he contrived -to feel in his pockets for matches. A box was there, but it was empty, -and he remembered that he had struck the last one at the end of his -long ride from Bidaud's plantation, just before he arrived in Gum -Flat. He knew, from feeling the opening of the adit, that it was -likely he was not at the bottom of the shaft, and he was fearful of -moving, lest he should fall into a pit. He thought of Newman Chaytor. -"What a good fellow he is! I should be dead but for him. It is truly -noble of him to stick to me as he is doing. He has nothing to gain by -it, and he is saving my life. Yes, I will accept his proposal to go -mates with him, for I have no place now on Bidaud's plantation. Poor -Annette--poor child! I hope she will be happy. I hope her uncle and -Aunt will be kind to her. I must see her again before I go for good, -and then we shall never meet again, never, never! I would give the -best twenty years of my life--if I am fated to live--to be her -brother, with authority to protect her and shield her from Gilbert -Bidaud. He is a villain, a smooth-tongued villain, a thousand times -worse than these scoundrels who have robbed me and brought me to this. -What will Old Corrie say when he hears I have lost his mare? Will he -think I am lying--will he think I have sold his horse and pocketed the -money? If so, and it gets to Annette's ears, how she will despise me! -I must see her, I must, to clear myself. Gilbert Bidaud will do all he -can to prevent it, and he may succeed; but I will try, I will try. If -I had a hundred pounds I would buy another horse for Old Corrie, a -better one than that I have lost, but I haven't a shilling. A sorry -plight. There is only one human being in the world I can call a -friend, and that is Mr. Chaytor, who has taken such a strange fancy -for me. Yesterday there was Old Corrie, there was Anthony Bidaud, -there was Annette. One is dead, the others may cast me off, It is a -cruel world. How long Mr. Chaytor is! It seems an age. Shame on you, -Basil, for reviling! There is goodness, there is sweetness, there is -faithfulness in the world. Don't whine, old man. All may yet be well, -though for the life of me I can't see how it is to be brought about." - -Then he fainted, but only for a few seconds; when he opened his eyes -again he thought hours must have elapsed. - -In truth Chaytor was absent no longer than was necessary, but he was -also mentally busy with the adventures of the last few hours. The man -whose phantom shadow had haunted him in London was now at his mercy. -Basil's life was absolutely at his disposal. To leave him where he was -in that desolate spot at the bottom of a deserted shaft would be to -ensure for him a sure and certain death, and if he wished to make -assurance doubly sure, all he had to do would be to roll a great stone -upon him. But that would be a crime, and, hardened as he was, he -shrank from committing it. Not from any impulse of mercy, but because -he had nothing at present to gain from it. There was much to learn, -much to do before he nerved himself to a desperate deed which, after -all, might by some stroke of good fortune be unnecessary. And indeed -it was only the accident which had befallen Basil that darkened his -soul with cruel suggestion. The sleeping forces which lurk in the -souls of such men as Newman Chaytor often leap into active life by -some unfortuitous circumstance in which they have no direct hand. - -He was back at the shaft, leaning over it, with a bottle of water not -too tightly corked, to the neck of which was attached a long piece of -cord. - -"Are you there?" he called out. - -"Heaven be thanked!" said Basil. "What a time you have been." - -"I have not been away an hour." - -"Is that really so?" - -"It is, but it must have seemed long to you." - -"Weeks seem to have passed." - -"I have a bottle of water which I will send down to you." - -"God bless you!" - -"When you get it, loosen the string from the neck of the bottle, and I -will send down what remains of the flask of brandy. It will do you no -harm." - -"I can never repay you for your goodness to me." - -"Yes, you can. Look out." - -The bottle of water was lowered, and afterwards the flask of brandy: -Basil took a long draught of water, half emptying the bottle, and -sipped sparingly of the brandy. - -"You have given me life, Mr. Chaytor." - -"Psha! I have done nothing worth making a fuss about. Oblige me by -dropping the Mr." - -"I will. With all my heart and soul I thank you, Chaytor." - -"You are heartily welcome, Basil. There is a light coming into the -sky." - -"Sunrise! How beautiful the world is!" - -"Listen," said Chaytor; "I will tell you what I am going to do." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -"I am listening," said Basil. - -"There is no windlass, as I have told you," said Chaytor, "so I must -devise something in its place to pull you up. The mischief is that I -am alone, and have no one to help me. However, I must do the best I -can. I am going to roll the trunk of a tree to the top of the shaft, -then tie a rope firmly round it so that you can climb into the world -again. It must be dreadful down there." - -"It is," groaned Basil. - -"I can imagine it," said Chaytor, complacently; "but you mustn't mind -biding a bit. No man could do more than I am doing." - -"Indeed he could not." - -"The tree is six or seven hundred yards off, and I daresay I shall be -an hour over the job. I can't help that, you know." - -"Of course you can't. I can't find words to express my gratitude for -all the trouble you are taking. And for a stranger, too!" - -"I don't look upon you as a stranger; I feel as if I had known you all -my life. I suppose, though, it is really but the commencement of a -friendship which will last I hope till we are both old men." - -"I hope so too." - -"A little while ago I was saying to myself, I will never trust another -man as long as I live; I will never believe in another; I will never -again confide in man or woman. I have been deceived, Basil." - -"I am truly sorry to hear it." - -"Yes, I have been deceived. Friend after friend have I trusted, have I -helped, have I ruined myself for, to find them in the end false, -selfish and unreliable. I was filled with disgust and with shame for -my species. 'I renounce you all,' I cried in the bitterness of my -soul. But now everything seems changed. Since you came my faith in -human goodness and sincerity and truth is restored. I don't know why, -but it is so. I can rely upon your friendship, Basil?" - -"You can. I will never forget your goodness; never." - -"I am going, now, to roll the tree to the shaft. Be as patient as you -can." - -He did not go far. The slim trunk that he spoke of lay not six or -seven hundred yards off, but quite close to the shaft, and he knew -that Basil in his pursuit of the robbers could not have observed it. -He was master of the situation; Basil was at his mercy, and every word -he had uttered was intended to bind the unsuspicious man more firmly -to him. "He is a soft-hearted fool," thought Chaytor, "and I shall be -able to bend him any way I please through the gratitude he feels for -me. I think I spoke rather well. What is this?" He stooped and picked -up a pocket-book which had slipped from Basil's pocket as he ran after -the thieves. - -Retreating still farther from the shaft, to make assurance doubly -sure, Chaytor, with eager fingers and a greedy expectancy in his eyes -opened the book and examined the contents. Intrinsically they were of -no value, but in their relation to the unformed design which was -prompting Chaytor's actions their value was inestimable. There were -memoranda of dates, events, names and addresses, and also some old -letters. Any possible use of the latter did not occur to Chaytor, but -his examination of the former was almost instantly suggestive. They -were in Basil's handwriting, some being dated and signed "B. W.", and -would serve admirably as copies for anyone who desired to imitate the -writing. Clear up and down strokes, without twists or eccentric -curves, straightforward as Basil himself. "This is a find," thought -Chaytor; "Providence is certainly on my side. In a week I shall be -able to write so exactly like Basil that he will be ready to swear my -writing is his. There is information, too, in the book which may prove -serviceable. I'll stick to him while there's a chance, and contrive so -that he shall stick to me. I haven't done badly up to now." - -More than an hour did Chaytor employ in cunning cogitation, smoking -the while in a state of comfortable haziness as to the future. -Imagination gilded the prospect and clothed it with alluring fancies; -and that the roads which led to it were dark and devious did not deter -him from revelling in the contemplation. Time was up. Panting and -blowing, he rolled the tree-trunk to the shaft. - -"Below there!" he called out. - -"Ah!" replied Basil; "you are back again." - -"I have had a terrible job," said the hypocrite, "and almost despaired -of accomplishing it, but stout heart and willing hands put strength -into a fellow, and the tree is here. Look out for yourself while I -roll it across the shaft. The earth may be rotten, and some bits will -roll down, perhaps, though I'll do all I can to prevent it." - -"Thank you, a thousand, thousand times. There's a little tunnel here; -I'll get into it while you're at work above." - -With loud evidences of arduous toil Chaytor placed the trunk in -position, and then made the rope secure around it. - -"Now," said Chaytor, "all is ready, Basil, and I'm going to lower the -rope. Have you got it?" - -"Yes," replied Basil, in a faint tone. - -"You will have to pull yourself up by it. I will keep the rope as -tight and steady as I can, and that is as much as I can do. Do you -think you will be able to manage it?" - -"I must try, but I feel very weak. My strength is giving way." - -"Don't let it, old fellow. Pluck up courage; it's only for a few -minutes, and then you will be safe at the top. Now then, with a will." - -It required a will on Basil's part, he was so weak, and more than once -he feared that it was all over with him; but at length the difficult -feat was accomplished, and, with daylight shining once more on him, he -reached the top, and was pulled from the mouth of the shaft by -Chaytor's strong arms. Then, his strength quite gone, he sank lifeless -to the ground. - -Chaytor, gazing upon the helpless form, reflected. He had Basil's -pocket-book packed safely away in an inner pocket of his waistcoat, -one of those pockets which men who have anything to conceal, or who -move in lawless places, have made in their garments. This book -contained much that might be useful; for instance, the correct name -and address of Basil's uncle in England, a statement of the debts -which Basil had paid to keep his dead father's name clear from -reproach, the address of the lawyers who had managed that transaction, -the amount of the fortune that Basil's mother had bequeathed to him, -and other such matters. Now, had Basil anything more upon his person -which might be turned to account in the future? If so, this was a -favourable opportunity for Chaytor to possess himself of it. There -would be no difficulty in satisfactorily explaining the loss of any -property which Basil had about him. In the confusion and excitement of -the last few hours anything might have happened. - -Having decided the point, Chaytor's unscrupulous fingers became busy, -and every article in Basil's pockets passed through his hands. With -the exception of a purse, he replaced everything he had taken out. -This purse contained a locket with a lock of hair in it: at the back -of the locket was an inscription in Basil's writing--"My dear Mother's -hair," her Christian name, the date of her death, and her age. There -was no money in the purse. Undoubtedly Basil, when he recovered his -senses, would miss his purse, but if his pocket-book slipped out of -his pocket while running, why not that? Chaytor was perfectly easy in -his mind as he deposited the purse by the side of the pocket-book -inside his waistcoat. - -Meanwhile Basil lay motionless. "I'll carry him a little way," thought -Chaytor. "Anything might drop from his clothes while he is hanging -over my shoulder. I'll have as many arrows to my bow as I can -manufacture. When he gets to his senses we will have a hunt for the -purse and the pocket-book, and of course shall not find them." With a -grim smile he raised Basil to a sitting posture, and gradually lifted -him on to his shoulder. Clasping him firmly round the body, Chaytor -staggered on. - -Basil was no light weight, and Chaytor, while he was pursuing his -dissipated life in London, had not been renowned for strength; but his -colonial career had hardened his muscles, and enabled him now to -perform a task which in years gone by would have been impossible. A -dozen times he stopped to rest and wipe his brows. The form he carried -was helpless and inert, but Basil's mind was stirred by the motion of -being carried through the fresh air, and he began to babble. He -thought he was upon old Corrie's mare, and he urged the animal on, -muttering in disjointed and unconnected words that he must reach the -township of Gum Flat that night, and be back again next day. Then he -went on to babble about Annette and her father, and to a less -intelligent man than Chaytor--give him credit for that--his wandering -talk might have been incoherent and meaningless. But Chaytor's -intellect was refined and sharpened by the possibilities of a gilded -future. He listened attentively to every word that fell from Basil's -fevered lips, and put meaning to them, sometimes false sometimes true. - -"My friend Basil is in a delirium," said he during the intervals of -Basil's muttering, "and I shall have to nurse him through a fever most -likely. What with that probability, and the weight of him, I am -earning my wage. No man can dispute that. He raves like a man in love -about this Annette. How old is she? Is she pretty? Does she love him? -Will she be rich? Is that a vein I could work to profit? I don't -intend to throw away the shadow of a chance. An age seems to have -passed since last night. But what," he cried suddenly, "if -all my labour is being thrown away--what if I am following a -will-o'-the-wisp?" - -He let Basil slip purposely from his arms, and heedless of the sick -man's groans, for the fall was violent, he looked down upon him as -though a mortal enemy was in his path. But one of the strongest -elements in greed and avarice is the hope that leads their votaries -on, and this and the superstitious feeling that the meeting had been -brought about by fate, and was but the beginning of a fruitful end, -dispelled the doubt that had arisen. "I will work for it," he -muttered; "It is my only chance. Even if nothing comes of it I shall -be no worse off. But something _shall_ come of it--I swear it." - -Reassured, he took up his burden, and in the course of an hour reached -the dwelling they had occupied the previous night. By that time Basil -was in a high fever, and Chaytor began to be disturbed by the fear -that his double would die. Then, indeed, his labour would be lost and -his hopes destroyed, for he had much to learn and much to do before -the vague design which spurred him on could be developed and ripened. - -Chaytor had a secret store of provisions which he had hoarded up -unknown to Jim the Hatter and the Nonentities; some tins of preserved -meat and soup, the remains of a sack of flour, two or three pounds of -tea, a few bottles of spirits, and a supply of tobacco. These would -have served for a longer time than Basil's sickness lasted, and -Chaytor comforted himself with the reflection that he could not have -carried them away with him had he been compelled to leave the deserted -township. It was really Basil's stout and healthy constitution that -pulled him through a fever which would have proved fatal to many men. -He did not recover his senses for sixteen days, and as he had nothing -to conceal he, during that time, revealed to Chaytor in his wild -wandering much of his early life. When at length he opened his eyes, -and they fell with dawning consciousness upon the man standing beside -his bed, Chaytor was in possession of particulars innocent enough in -themselves, but dangerous if intended to be used to a wily and -dangerous end. During those sixteen days Chaytor had not been idle, -having employed himself industriously in studying and imitating the -few peculiarities in Basil's writing. To a past-master like himself -this was not difficult, and he succeeded in producing an imitation so -perfect as to deceive anyone familiar with Basil's style. He was -careful in destroying every evidence of this vile study. - -Basil's eyes fell upon Chaytor's face, and he was silent awhile. -Chaytor also. Basil closed his eyes, opened them again, and fell to -once more pondering upon matters. Then Chaytor spoke. - -"Do you know me at last?" he asked. - -"Know you! At last!" echoed Basil. "I have seen you before--but -where?" - -"Here, in Gum Flat township." - -"I am in Gum Flat township. Yes, I remember, I was riding that way on -old Corrie's mare." He jumped up, or rather tried to do so, his weak -state frustrating his intention. - -"Where are the robbers?" - -"That's the question," said Chaytor, "and echo answers. Not very -satisfactory." - -"It is coming back to me little by little," said Basil presently. "I -arrived here late at night and found the township deserted by all but -four men, three of them scoundrels, the fourth a noble fellow whose -name was--was--what has happened to me that my memory plays me tricks? -I have it now--whose name was Newman Chaytor." - -"A true bill. He stands before you." - -"You are the man. What occurred next? He found a stable for Old -Corrie's mare, gave me food and a bed, while the three scoundrels -looked on frowning. I slept like an unfaithful steward; the mare being -Corrie's and not mine, and I doubtful of the character and intentions -of the scoundrels, I should have kept watch over property that did not -belong to me. Instead of doing that I consulted my own ease and -pleasure." - -"You could not help it; you were tired out." - -"No excuse. I made no attempt to guard Old Corrie's mare. If I had -watched and fallen asleep from weariness at my post it might have been -another matter. When I present myself to Old Corrie, that is if I am -ever able to stand upon my legs again I shall put no gloss upon my -conduct. He shall hear the plain unvarnished truth from the unfaithful -steward's own lips. I am unworthy of confidence or friendship; I warn -you, Newman Chaytor, put no trust in me." - -"I would trust you," said Chaytor, with well-simulated candour, "with -my life." - -"The more fool you. Where was I? Oh, asleep in the comfortable bed you -gave me while these scoundrels were planning robbery. In the middle of -the night I woke up--pitch dark it was----forgive me for speaking -ungratefully to you. My heart is overflowing with gratitude, but I am -at the same time filled with remorse." - -"Don't trouble about that, Basil," said Chaytor. "You can't hurt -yourself in my esteem. Go on with your reminiscence; it is a healthy -exercise; it will strengthen your wandering memory." - -"Pitch dark it was. I was not sure then, but I am now, that thieves -had been in my room. Have I been lying here long, Chaytor?" - -"Two weeks and more." - -"And you have been nursing me all that time?" - -"As well as I could. You could have found no other nurse--though easy -to find a better--in Gum Flat; you and I are the only two living -humans in the township." - -"Why did you not leave me to die?" - -"Because I am not quite a brute." - -"Forgive me for provoking such a reply. But why--indeed, why have you -been so good to me?" - -"I will answer you honestly, Basil. Because I love you." - -He lowered his voice and bent his eyes to the ground as he made the -false statement; and Basil turned his head, and a little sob escaped -him at the expression of devotion. - -"I hope I may live to repay you," he said, holding out his hand, which -Chaytor seized. - -"You will. All I ask of you is not to desert me. Stick to me as a -friend, as I have stuck to you; I have been so basely deceived in -friendship that my faith in human goodness would be irrevocably -shattered if you prove false." His voice faltered; tears came into his -eyes. - -"That will I never do. My life is yours." - -"I want your heart." - -"You have it. The world contains no nobler man than my friend, Newman -Chaytor." - -"I am well repaid. Now you must rest; you have talked enough." - -"No, I will finish first. Hearing sounds outside the tent I called for -your assistance. We went out together and were immediately attacked. -Were you much hurt, Chaytor?" - -"A little," replied Chaytor, modestly. "A scratch or two not worth -mentioning." - -"It is like you to make light of your own injuries. We pursued the -scoundrels through the darkness, but they knew the ground they were -travelling, we did not. An uncovered shaft lay in my way, and down I -fell. That is all I remember. But I know that my bones would be -bleaching there at the present moment if it had not been for you." - -"Try to remember a little more," said Chaytor, anxious that not a -grain of credit should be lost to him. "I came up to the shaft sorely -bruised, and called out to you." - -"Yes, yes, it comes back to me. You brought me some brandy--you -cheered and comforted me--you rolled the trunk of a tree over the -mouth of the shaft--it was half a mile away--and after hours of -terrible agony I was brought into the sweet light of day. But for you -I should have died. Indeed and indeed, I remember nothing more. You -must tell me the rest." - -This Chaytor did with an affectation of modesty, but with absolute -exaggeration of the services he had rendered, and Basil lay and -listened, and his heart went out to the man who had proved so devoted -a friend, and had sacrificed so much for his sake. - -"My gratitude is yours to my dying day," he said. "No man ever did for -another what you have done for me. Give me my clothes." - -"You are not strong enough yet to get up, Basil." - -"I don't want to get up. I want to see what the scoundrels have left -in my pockets." He felt, and cried: "Everything gone! my purse, my -pocket-book, everything--even a lock of my mother's hair. They might -have left me that!" - -"They made a clean sweep, I suppose," said Chaytor. - -He had considered this matter while Basil lay unconscious, and had -come to the conclusion that it would be wiser to strip Basil's pockets -bare than to make a selection of one or two things, which was scarcely -what a thief in his haste would have done. Thus it was that Basil -found his pockets completely empty. - -"You have for a friend the neediest beggar that ever drew breath," -said Basil bitterly. - -"I'll put up with that," said Chaytor, with great cheerfulness. "Now, -don't worry yourself about anything whatever. You shall share with me -to the last pipe of tobacco, and when that's gone we will work for -more." - -"Ah, tobacco! Would a whiff or two do me any harm?" - -"Do you good. You'll have to smoke out of my pipe; the villains have -stolen yours." - -He filled his pipe, and, giving it to Basil, held a lighted match to -the tobacco. Basil, lying on his side, watched the curling smoke as it -floated above his head. Distressed as he was, the evidences of Newman -Chaytor's goodness were to some extent a compensating balance to his -troubles. And now he was enjoying the soothing influence of a quiet -smoke. Those persons who regard the weed as noxious and baleful have a -perfect right to their opinion, but they cannot ignore the fact that -to many thousands of thousands of estimable beings it serves as a -comforter, frequently indeed as a healer. It was so in the present -instance. As the smoke wreathed and curled above him an ineffable -consolation crept into Basil's soul. Things seemed at their blackest; -the peace and hope of a bright future had been destroyed; the man who -had grown to honour him, and who had assured him of the future, had -with awful suddenness breathed his last breath; the little child he -loved, and to whom he was to have been guardian and protector, was -thrust into the care of a malignant, remorseless man; suspicion of -foul play had been thrown upon him; Old Corrie had lent him his mare, -and he had allowed it to be stolen; he had been so near to death that -but one man, and he a short time since an utter stranger, stood -between him and eternity; and he was lying now on a bed of sickness an -utter, utter beggar. Grim enough in all conscience, but the simple -smoking of a pipe put a different and a better aspect upon it. There -was hope in the future; he was young, he would get well and strong -again; Anthony Bidaud was dead, but spiritual comfort died not with -life; he would see Annette once more, and would take his leave of her -assured of her love, so far as a child could give such an assurance, -and in the hope of meeting her again in years to come; he would -outlive the injurious suspicion of wrong-dealing which he did not -doubt Gilbert Bidaud was spreading against him; and he would be able -to vindicate himself in Old Corrie's eyes and perhaps by-and-by -recompense the old fellow for the loss of the more. Much virtue in a -pipe when it can so transform the prospect stretching before a man -brought to such a pass as Basil had been. - -"Yes," he said aloud, "all will come right in the end." - -"Of course it will," said Chaytor. "What special mental question are -you answering?" - -"Nothing special. I was thinking in a general way of my troubles, and -your pipe has put a more cheerful colour on them. Am I mistaken in -thinking you told me you were a doctor?" - -"No. That is why I have been able to pull you through so quickly." - -"How long will it be before I am able to get about?" - -"At the end of the week if you will be reasonable." - -"I promise. I feel well already. The moment I am strong enough I must -go to Bidaud's plantation." - -"I will go with you." - -"Of course. We are mates from this day forth. The end of the week? Not -earlier?" - -"Don't be impatient. My plan is to make a perfect cure. No patching. -At present I am in command." - -"I obey. But let it be as soon as possible." - -Chaytor congratulated himself. However things turned out in the -future, all had gone on swimmingly up to this moment. Every little -move he had made had been successful. Basil had not the slightest -suspicion that it was he who had stolen his pocket-book and purse, and -emptied his pockets. - -"If an angel from heaven," chuckled Chaytor that night, as he walked -to and fro outside the store, "came and told him the truth, he would -not believe it. I have him under my thumb--under my thumb. How to work -his old uncle in England? How to get hold of that forty thousand -pounds? It must not go out of the family; I will not submit to it. -Would a letter or two from Basil, written by me in Basil's hand, do -any good? I don't mind eating any amount of humble pie to accomplish -my purpose. Even were it not a vicarious humiliation I am willing to -do it, the money being guided into its proper channel, and Basil -safely out of the way." - -He paused, with a sinister look in his eyes. Had Basil seen him then -he would hardly have recognised him. Dark thoughts flitted through his -mind, and animated his features. - -"Nothing shall stop me," he cried, "nothing!" And he raised his hands -to the skies as though registering an oath. A sad cloud stole upon the -moon and obscured its light. "What is life without enjoyment?" he -muttered. "By fair means or foul I mean to enjoy. I should like to -know what we are sent into the world for if we are deprived of a fair -share of the best things?" There being no one to answer him, he -presently went inside to bed. - -The next day Basil was so much better that without asking permission -he got up and dressed himself. Chaytor did not remonstrate with him; -he knew, now that Basil was mending, that he would mend quickly. So it -proved; before the week was out the two men set forth on the tramp to -Bidaud's plantations. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -At noon on the second day they were within hail of Old Corrie's hut. -It was meal time, and the old woodman was cooking his dinner. Balanced -on the blazing log was a frying-pan filled with mutton-chops, some -half-dozen or so, which were not more than enough for a tough-limbed -fellow working from sunrise till sunset in the open air. He looked up -as Basil and Chaytor approached, and with a nod of his head proceeded -to turn the frizzling chops in the pan. This was his way; he was the -reverse of demonstrative. - -Such a greeting from another man, and that man a friend, would have -disconcerted Basil, but he was familiar with Old Corrie's -peculiarities and had it not been for his own inward disquiet -regarding the mare, he would have felt quite at his ease. - -"Back again," said Old Corrie, transferring a couple of chops on to a -tin plate. - -"Yes," said Basil. - -"Been away longer than you expected." - -"Yes." - -"On the tramp?" - -"Yes. Look here, Corrie--" - -"There's no hurry," interrupted Old Corrie. "You must be hungry. Go -inside, and you'll see half a sheep dressed. Cut off what you want and -cook it while the fire serves." - -"But I would rather say first what I have to say. When I've told you -all, my mate and I might not be welcome." - -"Don't risk it, then. Never run to court trouble, Master Basil. I'm an -older man than you; take the advice I give you." - -"It is good advice," said Chaytor, whose appetite was sharp set, and -to whom the smell of the chops was well-nigh maddening. - -Old Corrie looked at him with penetrating eyes, and Chaytor bore the -gaze well. He was not deficient in a certain quality of courage when -he was out of peril and master of the situation, as he believed -himself to be here. Old Corrie showed no sign of approval or -disapproval, but proceeded quietly with his dinner. Basil took the -woodman's advice. He went into the hut, cut a sufficient number of -chops from the half body of the sheep which was hanging up, and came -back and took possession of the frying-pan, which was now at his -disposal. Chaytor looked on; he had not been made exactly welcome, and -was in doubt of Old Corrie's opinion of him, therefore he did not feel -warranted in making himself at home. When the young men commenced -their meal, Old Corrie had finished his, and now, pipe in mouth, he -leant his back against a great tree and contemplated his guests. - -"Little lady! Little lady!" - -The sound came from within the hut. Chaytor started, Basil looked up -with a piece of mutton between his thumb and knife: forks they had -none. - -"Basil! Basil! Basil and Annette! Little lady! Little lady!" - -"It's the magpie I told you about," said Old Corrie to Basil, "the -last time I saw you." - -"Its vocabulary is extended," said Basil. - -"By request," said Old Corrie in a pleasant voice, "of the little lady -herself." - -Basil glowed. Annette had not forgotten him, even thought kindly of -him; otherwise, why should she wish that the bird Old Corrie was -training for her should become familiar with his name? Chaytor smarted -under a sense of injury. Basil and Old Corrie were speaking of -something which he did not understand--a proof that Basil had not told -him everything. This, in Chaytor's estimation, was underhanded and -injurious. Basil and everything in relation to him, his antecedents, -his whole story, belonged by right to him, Newman Chaytor, who had -saved his life, who had the strongest claim of gratitude upon him -which a man could possible have. Old Corrie noted the vindictive flash -in his eyes, but made no comment upon it. - -"And is that really a bird?" said Chaytor, in a tone of polite -inquiry. - -"Go and see for yourself," replied Old Corrie, "but don't go too -close. It hasn't the best of tempers." - -"I should like to see the bird that could frighten me," said Chaytor, -rising. - -"Should you?" said Old Corrie. "Then on second thoughts I prefer that -you stay where you are." - -Chaytor laughed and resumed his seat. The meal proceeded in silence -after this, and when the last chop was disposed of, Old Corrie said, -"Now we will have our chat, Master Basil; and as we've a few private -matters to talk of, our mate here perhaps----" - -The hint was plain, though imperfectly expressed. - -"I am in the way," said Chaytor. "I'll smoke my pipe in the woods. -Coo-ey when you want me, Basil." - -He strode off; exterior genial and placid, interior like a volcano. -"He shall pay for it," was his thought. It pleased him to garner up a -store of imaginary injuries which were to be requited in the future. -Then, when the time arrived for him to deal a blow, it would be merely -giving tit for tat. Many men besides Chaytor reason in this crooked -way, but none whose natures and motives are honourable and -straightforward. - -"Where did you pick him up?" asked Old Corrie when he and Basil were -alone. - -"I want to speak to you first about your mare," said Basil. - -"And I want to know first where you picked up your new mate," -persisted Corrie. - -"He saved my life," said Basil. "Had it not been for his great and -unselfish kindness I should not be here to-day." Then he told the -woodman all that he knew of Chaytor, and dilated in glowing terms upon -his noble conduct. - -"It sounds well," said Old Corrie, "and I have nothing to say in -contradiction; only I have a crank in me. I look into a man's face and -I like him, and I look into a man's face and I don't like him. The -first time I clapped eyes on you, Master Basil, I took a fancy to you. -I can't say the same for your mate, but let it stand. I had it in my -mind to make a proposition to you in case you came back in time, but I -doubt whether it can be carried out now. Have you entered into a -bargain to go mates with him?" - -"I have, and have no wish to break it. I should be the basest of men -if I tried to throw him over." - -"Keep to your word, lad; I'm the loser, for I thought it likely the -two of us might strike up a partnership." - -"Why not the three of us?" asked Basil, to whom the prospect of -working with Old Corrie was very agreeable. - -"Because in the first place it wouldn't suit me, and in the second it -wouldn't suit him." - -"But if he were willing?" - -Old Corrie bent his brows kindly upon Basil's ingenuous face. "Ask -him, Master Basil." - -"Will you not listen to me first? I want to speak to you about your -mare." - -"A quarter of an hour more or less won't bring her back, will it?" -said Old Corrie, with no touch of reproach in his voice. "Go and speak -to your mate, and let me know what he says." - -Basil departed and returned. It was as Old Corrie supposed: Chaytor -was not willing to admit Corrie into their partnership. - -"He says you took a dislike to him from the first," said Basil. - -"Almost my own words," said Old Corrie, with a laugh. "He's a shrewd -customer." - -"----And that he is certain you and he would not agree. I would give a -finger off each hand if it could have been, for a warmer-hearted and -nobler man does not exist than Chaytor; and as for you, Corrie, I -would wish nothing better. But I am bound to him by the strongest ties -of gratitude." - -"Say no more, Master Basil, say no more. Mayhap we shall meet -by-and-by, and we shall be no worse friends because this has fallen -through. We have a lot to say to each other. I'm off the day after -to-morrow; I should have been off before if it had not been for you -and the little lady." - -"She has been here?" cried Basil. - -"She has been here four times since you left--the last time -yesterday--not to see me, but you. She manages the thing herself, poor -little lady, and comes alone, after giving the slip to those about -her. Her first grief is over, though she will never forget the good -father she has lost--never. It isn't in her nature to forget--bear -that in mind, Master Basil. She clings to the friends that are left -her. Friends, did I say? Why, she has only one--you, Master Basil; I -don't count. Besides, if I did it would matter little to her, for -there's nothing more unlikely than that, after two days have gone by, -I shall ever look upon her sweet face again. She goes one way, I go -another. - -"She goes one way?" repeated Basil; "will she not remain on the -plantation?" - -"She will not. You see it isn't for her to choose; she must do as she -is directed. But we are mixing up things, and it will help them right -well if I tell you what I've got to tell straight on, commencing with -A, ending with Z. Let us clear the ground so that the axe may swing -without being caught in loose branches. I'll hear what you've got to -say. My mare is lost, I know." - -"How do you know?" - -"You would have brought it back with you if it hadn't been. Now then, -lad, straight out, no beating about the bush. It's not in your line. I -don't for a moment mistrust you. There's truth in your face always, -Master Basil, and I wish with all my heart the little lady had you by -her side to guide her instead of the skunk that's stepped into her -dead father's shoes. You're a square man, and my mare is lost through -no fault of yours, my lad." - -Encouraged by these generous words, Basil told his story straight, and -Old Corrie listened with a pleasant face. - -"The mare's gone," said Old Corrie when Basil had done, "and bad luck -go with her. I know the brands on her: mayhap I shall come across her -one of these fine days. Describe the rascals to me." - -Basil did as well as he could, and said Old Corrie was not treating -him as he deserved. - -"I am treating you as an honest gentleman," said Old Corrie, "as I -know you to be. Jem the Hatter the villain's called, is he? When a man -once gets a nickname on the goldfields it sticks to him through thick -and thin; if we meet he shall remember it. I give you a receipt in -full, Master Basil." And the good fellow held out his two hands, which -Basil shook heartily. "I was sure something serious kept you away." -With Basil's hand clasped firmly in his, he gazed steadily into the -young man's face. "It is on odd fancy I've got," he said, "but it's -come across me two or three times while we've been talking. Is there -any relationship between you and your new mate?" - -"None." - -"Sure of that?" - -"Sure." - -"And you met for the first time on Gum Flat?" - -"For the first time." - -"Well, it is odd, and the more I look at you now the odder it becomes. -You've let your hair grow since you went away." - -"Obliged to," said Basil, laughing. "I had no razor. There are a -couple I can claim in Mr. Bidaud's house, as well as a brush or two; -but I daresay I shall not get them now that Mr. Gilbert Bidaud is in -possession. What is your odd fancy, Corrie?" - -"Why that you and your new mate would be as like each other as two -peas, if you were dressed alike and trimmed your hair alike. Haven't -you noticed it yourself?" - -"I've noticed that we resemble each other somewhat," said Basil, "but -not to the extent you mention. I remember now he spoke of it himself; -and that is one reason perhaps why he took a liking to me, and nursed -me as he did. But I am terribly anxious to hear about the plantation -and Annette. What is going to happen there that she is to leave it?" - -"In my own way, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, brushing his hand -across his eyes to chase the fancy away, "and to commence at the -beginning. When you left me in the wood I was splitting slabs, a job I -was doing for poor Mr. Anthony Bidaud. You doubted whether his brother -would hold to it, as there was no written bond to show for it, and you -were right. I went up to the house, as I said I would, and saw Mr. -Gilbert. You described him well, Master Basil; he's a man I would be -sorry to trust. I told him of the contract between me and his brother. -'Where is it?' he asked. 'There was none written,' I answered; 'it was -an order given as a dozen others have been, and of course you'll abide -by it.' 'Of course I will not,' said he. 'Who are you that I should -take your word? And you would fix your own price for the slabs? -Clever, Mr. Corrie. Clever, Mr. Corrie!' I had told him my name. 'But -I am a cleverer and a sharper.' A sharper he is in the right meaning -of it, but he is not English, and didn't exactly know what he was -calling himself. 'No, no,' he said, 'the moment a man's dead the -vultures come. You are one. But I am equal to you. Burn your slabs.' -'You're a pretty specimen,' I said. 'Your brother was a gentleman; it -doesn't run in the family.' He's a strange man, Master Basil, and if -he ever loses his temper he takes care not to show it. More than what -I've told you passed between us, and once he said quite coolly that if -I could summon his brother as a witness, he was willing to abide by -his testimony. The testimony of a dead man! And to speak so lightly of -one's flesh and blood! I wouldn't trust such a man out of my sight." - -"Did you see his sister?" asked Basil. - -"I did, but she said very little, and never spoke without looking at -Mr. Gilbert for a cue. He gave it her always in a silent way that -passed my comprehension, but they understand each other by signs." - -"And Annette--did you see her?" - -"Yes, but at a distance. They kept her from me, I think, but I saw her -looking at me quite mournfully, and I felt like going boldly up to -her, but second thoughts were best, and I kept away, only giving her -to understand as well as I could without speaking that I was her -friend, ready at any time to do her a service. 'Well,' said I to Mr. -Gilbert, 'my compliments to you. Your throwing over the contract your -brother made won't hurt me a bit; I could buy up a dozen like -you'--which was brag, Master Basil, and he knew it was--'but I should -be sorry to dishonour the dead as you are doing.' He took out a -snuff-box, helped himself to a pinch, smiled, and said, 'Sentiment, -Mr. Corrie, sentiment. I treat the dead as I treat the living. Rid me -of you.' It was his foreign way of bidding me pack, but I told him I -should take my time, that I had plenty of friends among his brother's -workmen, and that I should go away very slowly. 'And let me give you a -piece of advice,' I said. 'If you or any agent of yours comes spying -near my hut I'll mark him so that he shall remember it.' 'Ah, ah,' he -said, still smiling in my face, 'threats eh?' 'Yes, threats,' said I, -'and as many more of 'em as I choose to give tongue to.' 'Foolish Mr. -Corrie, foolish Mr. Corrie,' he said, taking more snuff, 'to lose your -temper. Let _me_ give _you_ a piece of advice. Think first, speak -afterwards. It is a lesson--take it to heart. You are too impulsive, -Mr. Corrie, like another person who also trespasses here, one who -calls himself Basil.' 'Mr. Basil is a friend of mine,' I said, 'say -one word against him, and I'll knock you down.' He was frightened, -though he didn't show it, and he beckoned to a man, who came and stood -by him. You know him, I daresay, Master Basil; his name is Rocke." - -"He is my enemy, I am afraid," said Basil. - -"I found that out afterwards; he has been spreading reports about you -either out of his own spite, or employed by cold-blooded Mr. Gilbert -Bidaud. So Rocke came and stood by his side, but not too willingly. -We've met before Rocke and me, and he knows the strength of my muscle. -I smiled at him, and he grinned at me, and I said, 'We were speaking -of Master Basil, and I was saying that if anyone said a word against -him I was ready to knock him down. Perhaps you'd like to say -something.' 'Not at all,' said Rocke, and his grin changed to a scowl, -'I know when it will pay me best to hold my tongue.' Mr. Gilbert -Bidaud shook with laughter. 'Good Rocke,' he said, 'wise Rocke. We'll -make a judge of you. Anything more to say?' This was to me and I -answered, almost as cool now as he was himself, 'Only this. You spit -upon a dead man's bond, and you are a scoundrel. Don't come near my -hut, you or anyone that sides with you.' Rocke understood this. 'But,' -said I, 'any friend of Master Basil's is heartily welcome, and I'll -give them the best I have. So good day to you, Mr. Gilbert Bidaud.' -Then I went among the workmen and chatted with them, and picked up -scraps of information, and turned the current wherever I saw it was -setting against you." - -"My hearty thanks for the service, Corrie," said Basil. - -"You're as heartily welcome. If one friend don't stick up for another -behind his back we might as well be tigers. You see, Master Basil, -you're a stranger here compared with me; I've been chumming with the -men this many a year, and never had a word with one except Rocke, and -even he has some sort of respect for me. Then you're a gentleman; I'm -not. My lad, there are signs that can't be hidden; you've got the -hallmark on you. Well, when I'd done as much as I could in a friendly -way, I turned my back on the plantation, and came back here, and went -on with my splitting, as if the contract still held good." - -"Was not that a waste of time, Corrie?" - -"I took my own view of it. There was the dead man soon to be in his -grave; here was I with the blood running free through my veins. If -he'd been alive he'd have kept his word; I was alive, and I'd keep -mine. So I finished the contract out of respect for Mr. Anthony -Bidaud, and there the slabs are, stacked and ready. While I was at -work my thoughts were on you; four days passed, and you hadn't -returned. I concluded that something had happened to you, but that -you'd appear some time or another, and all I could do was to hope that -you'd come back before I left the place. I had a great wish to see the -little lady, but I didn't know how to compass it. Compassed it was, -however, without my moving in it. Just a week it was after you'd gone -that I was at work in the wood; it was afternoon, a good many hours -from sundown, when my laughing jackass began to laugh outrageous. When -we're alone together he behaves soberly and decently, contented with -quietly laughing and chuckling to himself, and it's only when -something out of the way occurs that he gives himself airs. He's the -vainest of the vain, Master Basil, and he does it to show off. His -tantrums made me look round, and there, standing looking at me and the -laughing jackass, without a morsel of fear of me or the bird, was the -little lady." - -"Annette?" cried Basil. - -"The little lady herself," said Old Corrie. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -"Was she alone?" asked Basil. - -"Yes, quite alone. I dropped my axe, told the jackass to shut -up--which it didn't, Master Basil--and took the hand she held out to -me. Such a little hand, Master Basil! I give you my word that as I -held it in mine my thoughts went back, more years than I care to -count, to the time when I was a little 'un myself, snuggling close up -to my mother's apron. I can't remember when I'd thought of those days -last. They were stowed away in a coffin, and dropped into a grave -which stood between me as a boy and me as a man. It's like having -lived two lives, one of which was dead and buried. Now, all at once, -the dead past came to life, and said, in a manner of speaking, 'I -belong to you,' and it didn't seem unnatural. The touch of the little -lady's hand was like a magic wand, and if she had said to me, 'Let's -have a game of hopscotch,' I believe I should have done it and thought -it the proper thing to do. But she said nothing of the sort, only -looked at me with melancholy sweetness, and hoped I was not sorry to -see her. Sorry! I was heartily and thankfully glad, and I told her so, -and the tears came into her pretty eyes, and I said, without thinking -at the moment that she'd lost a dear father, 'Don't cry, don't cry! -there's nothing to cry for;' but I set myself right directly by -saying, 'I mean, I hope it isn't me that makes you cry.' 'No,' she -answered, 'it's only that you speak so kind.' My blood boiled up, for -those words of hers showed me that since her father's death she had -not been treated with kindness, and if she hadn't been a little lady, -rich in her own right, I should have offered to run off with her there -and then. But under any circumstances that would have been a dangerous -thing to do, for her and me; it would have brought her uncle down upon -me, and he'd have had the law on his side. So, instead of offering to -do a thing so foolish, I said, 'Did you come on purpose to see me?' -'Yes,' she answered, on purpose. 'I gave them the slip, and they don't -know where I am.' 'Don't you be afraid then, my little maid,' I said, -'they won't find you here, because they won't venture within half a -mile of me. You've done no harm in coming to see a friend, as you may -be sure I am. Can I do anything for you?' 'Yes,' she said; 'you like -Basil, don't you?' Upon that I said I was as true a friend of yours as -I was of hers. 'Will you tell me, please,' she said then, 'why he has -gone quite away without trying to see me? I know it wouldn't be easy, -because my uncle and aunt are against him; but I thought he would have -tried. I have been to every one of his favourite places, in the hope -of meeting him, and my uncle has said such hard things of him that my -heart is fit to break.' Poor little lady! She could hardly speak for -her tears. Well, now, that laughing jackass was making such a chatter, -and behaving so outrageous, pretending to sob, which made her sob the -more, that I proposed to take her to my hut here, where we could talk -quietly. She put her little hand in mine and walked along with me to -my hut, and the minute we came in the magpie cried out, 'Little lady, -little lady.' She looked up at this, and I told her it was a magpie I -was training for her. It gave her greater pleasure than such a little -thing as that ought to have done, and though she did not say it in so -many words I saw in her face the grateful thought that she still had -friends in the world that had grown so sad and lonely. Then I told her -all about your last meeting with me--how tenderly you had spoken of -her, what love you had for her, and how I had lent you my mare to take -you to a place where you hoped to find a doctor and a lawyer who might -be able to serve her in some way. The news comforted her, but she was -greatly distressed by the fear that you had met with an accident which -prevented your return. I wouldn't listen to this for the little maid's -sake, and said I was positive you would soon be back, and that nothing -was farther from your mind than the idea of going away entirely -without seeing her again. 'He will have to make haste,' said the -little lady, with a world of thought in her face, 'or he will never be -able to find me.' I asked why, and she answered that she believed, -when everything was settled, that her uncle would sell the plantation -and take her away to Europe. 'Can't it be prevented?' she asked, and I -said I was afraid it could not; that her uncle stood now in the place -of her father, and could do as he liked. 'If you are compelled to go,' -I said, 'you shall take the magpie away with you to remind you of the -old place--that is, if you will be allowed to keep it.' 'I shall be,' -she said; and now, child as she was, I noticed in her signs of a -resolute will I hadn't given her credit for. 'If you give it to me, it -will be mine, and they shall not take it from me. I will fight for it, -indeed, I will.' I was pleased to hear her speak like that; it showed -that she had spirit which would be of use to her when she was a woman -grown. She stopped with me as long as she dared, and before she went -away she said she would come again, and asked me if I thought I could -teach the bird to speak your name. 'It would be easy enough,' I -answered, and that is how it comes about that the magpie--which for -cleverness and common-sense, Master Basil, I would match against the -cunningest bird that ever was hatched--can call out 'Basil--Basil,' as -clearly as you pronounce your own name. It was at that meeting, and at -every meeting afterwards, she gave me a message to you if you -returned. You were to be sure not to go away again without seeing her; -if you couldn't contrive it, she would; that proved her spirit again; -and that if it should unfortunately happen that you returned after she -was taken away you were never to forget that Annette loved you, and -would love you all her life, whatever part of the world she might be -in. Those are her words as near as I can remember them, and they're -easy enough for you to understand, but it isn't so easy to make you -understand the voice in which she spoke them. I declare, Master Basil, -it runs through me now, broken by little sobs, with her pretty hands -clasping and unclasping themselves and her tender body shaking like a -reed." - -"Dear little Annette," said Basil, and his eyes, too, were tearful, -and his voice broken a little; "dear little Annette." - -"She's worth a man's thoughts, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, "and a -man's pity, and will be better worth em' when she's a woman grown. -You're a fortunate man, child as she is, to have won a love like the -little lady's, for if I'm a judge of human nature, and I believe -myself to be--which isn't exactly conceit on my part, mind you--it's -love that will last and never be forgotten. It's no light thing, -Master Basil, love like that; when it comes to a man he'll hold on to -it if he's got a grain of sense in him." - -"You cannot say one word in praise of Annette," said Basil, "that I'm -not ready to cap with a dozen. I believe, with you, that she has a -soul of constancy, and I hold her in my heart as I would a beloved -sister. If I could only help and advise her! But how can I do that -when she is to be taken away to a distant land?" - -"There's no telling what may happen in the future," said Old Corrie. -"What to-day seems impossible to-morrow comes to pass. To beat one's -head against a stone wall because things aren't as we wish them to be -is the height of foolishness, but it's my opinion that going on -steadily doing one's duty, working manfully and doing what's right and -square, is the best and surest way to open out the road we'd like to -tread. Your new mate, Mr. Chaytor, hasn't disturbed us, and I must do -him the justice to say that he shows sense and discretion." - -"He is one in a thousand," said Basil, "and it is impossible for me to -express to you how sorry I am that you have not taken kindly to each -other." - -"It does happen sometimes, but not often, that men are mistaken in -their likings and dislikings, but we'll not argue the point. Now I've -got to tell you how things stand at the plantation. There was an -inquest on the body of Mr. Anthony Bidaud, doctors and lawyers being -called in by Mr. Gilbert, and the verdict was that he died of natural -causes. There being no will, Mr. Gilbert took legal possession, as -guardian to his niece under age. He decides that it will not be good -for her to remain where she is; but must be educated as a lady, and -brought up as one. That, says Mr. Gilbert, can't be done on the -plantation; it must be done in a civilized country. Consequently the -plantation must be sold. With lawyers paid to push things on, three -months' work had been done in three weeks. A purchaser has been found, -deeds drawn up, money paid, and next Monday they're off; Mr. Gilbert -Bidaud, his sister, name unknown, and the little lady." - -"Hot haste, indeed," said Basil. - -"To which neither you nor I can have anything to say legally." - -"It is so, unhappily. And then to Europe?" - -"And then to Europe. I am telling you what the little lady tells me. I -can't go beyond that." - -"Of course not. But does she not know to what part of Europe?" - -"She knows nothing more. He keeps his mouth shut; you can't compel him -to open it. There are cases, Master Basil, in which honesty is no -match for roguery; this is one. Mr. Gilbert Bidaud has the law on his -side, and can laugh openly at you. Now, the little lady was here -yesterday. 'No news of Basil?' she asked. 'No news of Basil,' I said. -'Is he dead, do you think?' she whispered, with a face like snow. -'No,' I said stoutly; 'don't you go on imagining things of that sort. -He's alive, and will give a satisfactory account of himself when he -comes back.' I spoke confidently to keep up her heart, though I had -misgivings of you. 'I shall be here to-morrow,' she said, 'and every -day till we leave the plantation.' She has contrived cleverly, hasn't -she, to slip them as she does?" - -"Then I shall see her soon!" said Basil, eagerly. - -"In less than an hour, if she comes at her usual time. Our confab is -over. You had best go and seek your mate. I'll make my apologies to -him, if he needs 'em, for keeping you so long." - -If Basil had known, he had not far to go to find Newman Chaytor, for -that worthy was quite close to him. Being of an inquiring mind Chaytor -had resolved to hear all that passed between Basil and Old Corrie, and -had found a secure hiding-place in the rear, and well within earshot, -of the two friends. He stored it all up, being blessed with an -exceptionally retentive memory. Old Corrie went one way, and Basil -went another, and Chaytor emerged from his hiding-place. "I am quite -curious about little Annette," he said to himself, as he followed -Basil at a safe distance. "Quite a sentimental little body--and an -heiress, too! Well, we shall see. Say that my friend Basil's future is -a nut--I'll crack it; I may find a sweet kernel inside." - -He came up to Basil, and greeted him with a frank smile. "We've been -talking about the plantation," said Basil, "and poor Anthony Bidaud's -daughter, Annette. She is coming this afternoon to see me. I'll tell -you everything by-and-by." - -"I don't want to intrude upon your private affairs, Basil," said -Chaytor. - -"You have a right to know," said Basil. "I have no secrets from you, -Chaytor." - -Then they talked of other matters, Chaytor with animation, Basil with -a mind occupied by thoughts of Annette. "I see," said Chaytor, patting -Basil's shoulder with false kindness, "that you are thinking of the -little maid. Now I'm not going to play the churl. Don't mind me for -the rest of the day." - -"You're a good fellow," said Basil, as Chaytor walked away; but he did -not walk far. Unobserved by Basil, he kept secret watch upon him, -determined to see Annette, determined to hear what she and Basil had -to say to each other. As Old Corrie had said, "there are cases in -which honesty is no match for roguery." Basil posted himself in such a -position that he could see any person who came towards the wood from -Bidaud's plantation. He heard the thud of Old Corrie's axe in the -forest; the honest woodman could have remained idle had he chosen, but -he was unhappy unless he was at work, and though he desired no profit -from it he felled and split trees for the pleasure of the thing. Now -and again there came to Basil's ears the piping and chattering of -gorgeous-coloured birds as they fluttered hither and thither, busy on -their own concerns, love-making, nest-mending, and the like; in their -commonwealth many touches of human passion and sentiment found a -reflex. Vanity was there, jealousy was there, hectoring and bullying -of the weak was there, and much sly pilfering went on; entertainments, -too, were being given, for at some distance from the three men in the -woods, one swinging his axe with a will and wiping his cheerful brows, -another with his heart in his eyes watching for a little figure in the -distance, and the third, stirred by none but evil thoughts, watching -with cunning eyes the watcher--at some distance from these two honest -men and one rogue were assembled some couple of dozen feathered -songsters in green and yellow coats. They perched upon convenient -boughs and branches, forming a circle, with invisible music books -before them, and at a given signal from their leader they began to -pipe their songs without words, and filled space with melody. Their -music may be likened to the faintly sweet echoes of skilled -bell-ringers, each tiny bird the master of a note which was never -piped unless in harmony. It was while these fairy bells were pealing -their sweetest chord that Basil saw Annette approaching. He ran -towards her eagerly, and called her name; and she with a sudden flush -in her face and with her heart palpitating with joy, cried, "Basil! -Basil!" and fell into his arms. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -He led her to a secluded spot, followed secretly by fox Chaytor. They -passed close to where Old Corrie was working, and he, hearing -footsteps--be sure, however, that Chaytor's were noiseless--laid down -his axe, and went towards them. - -"He has come--he has come!" cried Annette. - -"What did I tell you?" said Old Corrie. "All you've got to do in this -world, little lady, is to have patience." - -She was so overjoyed, having tight hold of Basil's hand, that she -would have accepted the wildest theories without question. - -"Mr. Corrie," she said, "may I have the magpie to-day?" - -"Surely," he replied, "it is quite ready for you, and you will be able -to teach it anything you please. But why so soon? Aren't you coming -again?" - -Her face became sad, and she clutched Basil's fingers convulsively: "I -am afraid not this is the last, last time! I have heard something, Mr. -Corrie, and if it is true my uncle and aunt are going to take me away -to-morrow morning." - -"In that case," said Old Corrie, "I will have the bird ready for you. -Now you and Master Basil can talk; I'll not interrupt you." He went -away at once, and left them together. For a little while they had -nothing of a coherent nature to say to each other; but then Basil, -recognising the necessity of introducing some kind of system into -their conversation, related to Annette all that had happened within -his knowledge since the sad morning of her father's death, and heard -from her lips all that she had to relate. Much of it he had already -heard from Old Corrie. The refrain she harped upon was, "And must we, -must we part, Basil? And shall we never, never see each other again?" - -"Part we must, dear Annette," he said; "I have no control over you, -and no authority that can in any way be established. When I first came -to the plantation I was a stranger to you and your father, and the law -would acknowledge me as no better now." - -"Next to my dear father and mother," said Annette, "I love you best in -all the world. They cannot take that away from me; what I feel is my -own, my very own. Oh, Basil, I sometimes have wicked thoughts, and -feel myself turning bad; I never felt so before my uncle came." - -"Annette, listen to me. You must struggle against these thoughts and -must say to yourself, 'They will make my dear father and mother -sorrowful. They have shown me kindness and love and I will show the -same to them.' You cannot see them, Annette, but their spirits are -watching over you; and there is a just and merciful God in heaven who -is watching over you, too, and whom you must not offend." - -"I will do as you say, Basil, dear; I will never, never forget your -words. They will keep me good." - -"Let them keep you brave as well, my dear. I promise to remember you -always, to love you always, and perhaps when you are a woman--it will -not be so long, Annette--we shall meet again." - -"Oh, Basil, that will be true happiness." - -"Time flies quickly, Annette. It seems but yesterday since I was a boy -myself, and when I look back and think of my own dear parents, I am -happy in the belief that I never did anything to cause them sorrow. - -"You could not, Basil." - -"Ah, my dear, I don't know that; but I had a good mother and so had -you, and my father and yours were both noble men. They are not with -us, and that makes the duty we owe them all the stronger. To do what -is right because we feel that it is right to do it, not because it is -done in the sight of others--that is what makes us good, Annette. My -mother taught me that lesson as she lay on her death bed, and it has -brought me great happiness; it has supported me in adversity. You must -not mind my speaking so seriously, Annette----" - -"I love to hear you, Basil. I will be like you, indeed I will. - -"Much better, I hope. You see, my dear, this is the last time we shall -be together for a long time; but not so long after all, if we look at -it in the right light, and I should like you to remember me as you -would remember a brother, who, being older than you, is perhaps a -little wiser." - -"I will, Basil. All my wicked thoughts are gone; they shall never come -again; but I shall still feel a little unhappy sometimes." - -"Of course you will, dear, and so shall I. But faith in God's goodness -and the performance of our duty will always lighten that unhappiness. -The stars of heaven are not brighter than the stars of hope and love -we can keep shining in our hearts." - -"Kiss me, Basil; that is the seal. I shall go away happier now." - -"Tell me, Annette. Are your uncle and aunt kind to you?" - -"They are neither kind nor unkind. They talk a great deal to each -other, but very seldom to me, unless it is to order me to do -something. Aunt says, 'Go to bed,' and I go to bed; 'It is time to get -up,' and I get up? 'Come to dinner,' and I come to dinner. It is all -like that; they never speak to me as my father and mother did, and -they have never kissed me." - -"You must be obedient to them, Annette." - -"I will be, Basil." - -"They are your guardians, and a great deal depends upon them." - -"Yes, I know that; but I don't think they like me, and, Basil, I don't -think uncle is a good man." - -"It will be better," said Basil gravely, "not to fancy that. It may be -only that he is a little different from other men, and that you are -not accustomed to his ways." - -"I will try," said Annette piteously, "to obey you in everything, but -I can't help my thoughts, and I can't help seeing and hearing. He -speaks in a hard voice to everybody; he is unkind to animals; he has -never put a flower on my dear father's grave." - -"There, there, Annette--don't cry. I only want you to make the best, -and not the worst, of things." - -"I will, Basil--indeed, indeed I will. When I am far away from you, -you _will_ think, will you not, that I am trying hard to do everything -to please you?" - -"I promise to think so, and I have every faith in you. It is all for -your good, you know, Annette. When you are out of this country where -are your aunt and uncle going to live." - -"In Europe." - -"But in what part of Europe?" - -"I don't know. All that uncle and aunt say is, 'We are going to -Europe.' 'But in what country?' I asked. 'Don't be inquisitive,' they -answered; 'we are going to Europe;' and they will say nothing more. I -am sometimes afraid to speak when they are near me." - -"Poor little Annette! Now attend to me, dear. Wherever you are you can -write to me." - -"Yes, Basil, yes. And may I? Oh, how good you are! Oh, if ever I -should get a letter from you! It will be the next best thing to having -you with me." - -"Remember what I am saying, Annette. I want you to write to me, -wherever you are, and I want to answer your letters. This is the way -it can be done. When you are settled write me your first letter--I -shall not mind how long it is----" - -"It shall be a long, long one, Basil." - -"And address it to 'Mr. Basil Whittingham, Post-office, Sydney, New -South Wales.' I shall be sure to get it. Now for my answer. If you are -happy in your uncle's house, and tell me so, I will send my answer -there; but if you think it will be best for me not to send it to his -house, I will address it to the post-office in whatever town or city -you may be living. Some friend in the new country (you are sure to -make friends, my dear) will tell you how you may get my letters. This -looks a little like deceit, but it will be pardonable deceit if you -are unhappy--not otherwise. Do you understand?" - -"Perfectly, Basil. I shall have something to think of now; you have -given me something to do. And will you ever come to me?" - -"It is my hope; I intend to work hard here to get money, and if I am -fortunate, in a few years, when you are a beautiful woman----" - -"I would like to be, Basil, for your sake." - -"I will come to wherever you may be." - -"I do not wish for anything more, Basil. I shall pray night and -morning for your good fortune. How happy you have made me--how -happy--how happy! I shall keep the stars of love and hope shining in -my heart--for you. How beautifully the bellbirds are singing. I shall -hear them when I am thousands of miles away. But, Basil, you will want -something to remember me by." - -"No, dear Annette, I need nothing to remind me of you." - -"You do, Basil, and I have brought it for you. Look, Basil, my -locket----" - -"But Annette----" - -"Have I said 'No' to anything you have told me--and will you say 'No' -to this little thing? I think it will not be right if you do; so, dear -Brother Basil, you must not refuse me. I wish I had something better -to give you, but you will be satisfied with this, will you not? I have -worn it always round my neck, since I was a little, little girl, and -you must wear it round yours. Promise me." - -"I promise, dear, if you will not be denied." - -"I will not, indeed I will not--and your promise is made. See, Basil, -here it lies open in my hand; take it. The picture is a portrait of my -dear mother; father had it painted for me by a gentleman who came once -to the plantation. Then when you come to me in the country across the -sea, you will show it to me and tell me that you have worn it always -and always, because you love me, and because I love you." - -"I have nothing to give you, Annette. I am very, very poor." - -"You have given me a star of hope, Basil. How sorry I am that you are -poor! But my nurse, who has been sent away----" - -"Have they done that, Annette?" - -"Yes, and she cried so at leaving me. She told me that one day I -should be very, very rich. So what does it matter if you are poor? Let -me fasten it round your neck. Now you have me and my dear mother next -your heart." - -He took the innocent child in his arms, and she lay nestling there a -few moments with bright thoughts of the happy future in her mind. -Suddenly a loud "Coo-ey" was heard and the sound of hurried footsteps. -It was Old Corrie's voice that gave the alarm. It was intended as -such, for when Basil started to his feet and stood with his arm round -Annette, holding her close to him, he looked up, and saw Gilbert -Bidaud standing before him. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -A malicious smile played about the old man's lips as he glanced at -Basil and Annette. For a few moments he did not speak, but stood -enjoying the situation, feeling himself master of it; and when he -broke the silence his voice was smooth and suave. The malignancy of -his feelings was to be found in his words, not in the tone in which he -uttered them. - -"Ah, Mr. Basil Whittingham once more? Mr. Basil Whittingham, the -English gentleman, ready at a moment's notice to give lessons in -manners, conduct, and good breeding. But then it is to proclaim -oneself a fool to take a man at his own estimate of himself. I find -you here in the company of my niece. Favour me with an explanation, -Mr. Basil Whittingham." - -"There is nothing to explain," said Basil, still with his arm round -Annette. "I have been absent some time, and happening, fortunately, to -return before Miss Bidaud left the country, have met her here, and was -exchanging a few words of farewell." - -"Of course, of course. Who would venture to dispute with so -reproachless a gentleman? Who would venture to whisper that in these -last few words of farewell there was any attempt to work upon a -child's feelings, and to make the spurious metal of self-interest -shine like purest gold? On one side a young girl, as yet a mere child, -whose feelings are easily worked upon; on the other side a grown man -versed in the cunning of the world, and using it with a keen eye to -profitable use in the future. Not quite an equal match, it appears to -me, but I may be no judge. If I were to hint that this meeting between -you and my dear niece and ward has anything of a clandestine nature in -it, you would probably treat me to a display of indignant fireworks. -If I were to hint that, instead of so advising this child that she -should hold out her arms gladly to the new life into which she is -about to enter, you were instilling into her a feeling of repugnance -against it, and of mistrust against those whose duty it will be to -guide her aright and teach her--principles"--his eyes twinkled with -malignant humour as he spoke this word--"you, English gentleman that -you are, would repudiate the insinuation with lofty scorn. But when -you exchange confidences with me you are in the presence of a man who -has also seen something of the world, and who, although it has dealt -him hard buffets, retains some old-fashioned notions of honour and -manliness. I apply the test to you, adventurer, and you become -instantly exposed. Ah! here is my sister, this sweet young child's -aunt, who will relieve you of your burden." - -He took the hand of the unresisting girl and led her to her aunt, -whose arm glided round Annette's waist, holding it as in a vice. - -"I will not answer you," said Basil, with an encouraging smile at -Annette, whose face instantly brightened. "Annette knows I have spoken -the truth, and that is enough." - -"Yes, Basil," said Annette, boldly, "you have spoken the truth, and I -will never, never forget what you have said to me to-day." - -"Take her away," said Gilbert Bidaud to his sister; "the farce is -played out. In a week it will be forgotten." - -"Good-bye, Basil," said Annette "and God bless you." - -"Good-bye, Annette," said Basil, "and God guard you." - -"How touching, how touching!" murmured Gilbert Bidaud. "It is surely a -scene from an old comedy. Take her away." - -"Just one moment, please," said Old Corrie, joining the group. "Here -is something that belongs to the little lady, that she would like to -take with her to the new world. It will remind her of the old, and of -friends she leaves in it." - -It was the magpie in its wicker cage, whose tongue being loosened by -company, or perhaps by a desire to show off its accomplishments to an -appreciative audience, became volubly communicative. - -"Basil! Basil! Basil and Annette! Little lady! Little lady!" - -In his heart Gilbert Bidaud was disposed to strangle the bird, but his -smile was amiability itself as he said to Annette, "Yours, my child?" - -"Yes, mine," she answered. "Mr. Corrie gave it to me." - -"But Mr. Corrie is not rich," said Gilbert Bidaud, pulling out his -purse; "you are. Shall we not pay him for it?" - -"No," said Annette, before Old Corrie could speak. "I would not care -for it if he took money for it." - -"Well said, little lady," said Old Corrie; "the bird is friendship's -offering, and for that will be valued and well cared for, I don't -doubt. It is your property, mind, and no one has a right to meddle -with it." - -"Friendship's offering!" said Gilbert Bidaud, with a long, quiet -laugh. "We came out to the bush to learn something, did we not, -sister? Why, here we find the finest of human virtues and sentiments, -the smuggest of moralities, the essence of refined feeling. It is -really refreshing. Do not be afraid, Mr. Corrie. Although I would not -take your word about that wood-splitting contract, I have some respect -for you, as a rough specimen of bush life and manners. We part -friends, I hope." - -"Not a bit of it," said Old Corrie. "If ladies were not present I'd -open my mind to you." - -"Thank heaven," said Gilbert Bidaud, raising his eyes with mock -devotion, "for the restraining influence of the gentler sex. You do -not diminish my esteem for you. I know rough honesty when I meet with -it." - -"You shift about," interrupted Old Corrie, "like a treacherous wind. -I'm rough honesty now, am I? You're the kind of man that can turn -white into black. Let us make things equal by another sort of bargain. -I've given little lady the bird. You'll not take it from her?" - -"Heavens?" cried Gilbert Bidaud, clasping his hands. "What do you -think of me?" - -"That's not an answer. You'll not take it from her?" - -"I will not. Keep it, my child, and be happy." - -"Do you hear, little lady? Let us be thankful for small mercies. Shake -hands, my dear. When you're a woman grown, don't forget Old Corrie." - -"I never will--I never will," sobbed Annette. - -"And don't forget," said Old Corrie, laying his hand on Basil's -shoulder, "that Master Basil here is a gentleman to be honoured and -loved, a man to be proud of, a man to treasure in your heart." - -"I will never forget it," said Annette; with a fond look at Basil. - -"And this, I think," said Gilbert Bidaud, with genial smiles all -round, "is the end of an act. Let the curtain fall to slow music." - -But it was not destined so to fall. As Annette's aunt turned to leave -with her niece, her eyes, dwelling scornfully on Basil for a moment, -caught sight of the chain attached to the locket which Annette had put -round his neck. Quick as lightning she put her hand to the child's -neck, and discovered the loss. - -"He has stolen Annette's locket!" she cried, pointing to the chain. - -As quick in his movements as his sister, Gilbert Bidaud stretched -forth his hand and tore the locket and chain from Basil's neck. It was -done so swiftly and suddenly that Basil was unable to prevent it; but -the hot blood rushed into his face as he said: - -"Were you a younger man I would give you cause to remember your -violence. Annette, speak the truth." - -"I gave it to you, Basil," said Annette, slipping from her aunt's -grasp, and putting her hand on Gilbert Bidaud's. "It is false to say -he stole it. It belonged to me, and I could do what I pleased with it. -I gave it to Basil, and he did not want to take it at first, but I -made him." - -She strove to wrench it from her uncle's hand, but it was easy for him -to keep it from her. - -"I will have it!" cried Annette. "I will, I will! It is Basil's, and -you have no right to it." - -"A storm in a teapot," said Gilbert Bidaud, who seldom lost his -self-possession for longer than a moment, "Sister, you should -apologise to the young gentleman. Take the precious gift." - -But instead of handing it to Basil he threw it over the young man's -head, and Newman Chaytor, who during the whole of this scene had been -skulking, unseen, in the rear, and had heard every word of the -conversation, caught it before it fell, and slunk off with it. - -"I shall find it, Annette," said Basil. "Good-bye, once more. May your -life be bright and happy!" - -Those were the last words, and being uttered at the moment Newman -Chaytor caught the locket and was slinking off, were heard and -treasured by him. - -The whole of that day Basil, assisted by Old Corrie and Chaytor, -searched for the locket, of course unsuccessfully. He was in great -distress at the loss; it seemed to be ominous of misfortune. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -The story of the lives of Basil and Chaytor during the ensuing three -years may be briefly summarised. So far as obtaining more than -sufficient gold for the bare necessaries of life were concerned, -ill-luck pursued them. They went from goldfield to goldfield, and -followed every new rush they heard of, and were never successful in -striking a rich claim. It was all the more tantalising because they -were within a few feet of great fortune at least half-a-dozen times. -On one goldfield they marked out ground, close to a claim of fabulous -richness, every bucket of wash-dirt that was hauled from the gutter -being heavily weighted with gold. This was the prospectors' claim, and -the shaft next to it struck the gutter to the tune of twelve ounces a -day per man. The same with the second, and Basil and Chaytor had every -reason, therefore, to congratulate themselves, especially when the men -working in the claim beyond them also struck the lead, and struck it -rich. But when at length the two gold diggers in whom we are chiefly -interested came upon the gutter, they were dismayed to find that -instead of ten ounces to the tub, it was as much as they could do to -wash out ten grains. It was the only poor claim along the whole of the -gutter; on each side of them the diggers were coining money, and they -were literally beggars. It is frequently so on the goldfields, the -life on which very much resembles a lottery, riches next door to -poverty; but the hope of turning up a lucky number seldom dies out in -the heart of the miner. He growls a bit, apostrophises his hard luck -in strong language, is despondent for a day, and the next shakes off -his despondent fit, and buckles to again with a will, going perhaps to -another new rush, jubilant and full of hope, to meet again with the -same bad fortune. The romance of the goldfield is a rich vein for -novelists, some few of whom have tapped it successfully; but the theme -is far from being worn out, and presents as tempting material to-day -as it did years ago, when gold was first discovered in Australia. - -"It is maddening, Basil," said Chaytor, as he gazed gloomily at the -"prospect" in his tin dish--two or three specks which would not have -covered a pin's head. "Here we are upon the gutter again, and the -stuff will wash about half a pennyweight to the tub." - -"It's jolly hard," said Basil, proceeding to fill his pipe with cut -cavendish, "but what can we do? Grin and bear it." - -"Ah, you're philosophical, you are," growled Chaytor, "but I'm not so -easy minded. Just think of it, and bring a little spirit to bear upon -it, will you?" - -"Off you go," said Basil. "I'm listening." - -"Here we are on Dead Man's Flat, and here we've been these last three -weeks. Just four days and three weeks ago we struck our claim in -Mountain Maid Gully, having got two ounces and three pennyweights for -our month's hard work. That contemptible parcel of gold brought us in -barely eight pounds, the gold buyer pretending to blow away sand -before he put it in the scale, but blowing away more than two -pennyweights of the stuff, and reducing it to a little over two -ounces. We weighed it in our own gold scales before we took it to him, -and it was two ounces three pennyweights full weight. You can't deny -that." - -"I've no intention of denying it. Don't be irritable. Go on, and let -off steam; it will do you good." - -"I want to point out this thing particularly," fumed Chaytor, "so that -we can get to the rights of our ill luck, get to the bottom of it, I -mean, and find out the why and the wherefore. Eight pounds we receive -for our gold, when we should have received eight pounds ten; not a -sixpence less; but the world is full of thieves. Now, that eight -pounds gives us a little under twenty shillings a week a man. I would -sooner starve." - -"I wouldn't--though I've had bitter blows, Chaytor." - -"Not worse than I have." - -"It is the pinching of our own shoes we feel, old fellow. We're a -selfish lot of brutes. Thank you for pulling me up. I'm sorry for you, -Chaytor." - -"And I'm sorry for you. Thinking our claim worthless we leave Mountain -Maid Gully, and come here to Dead Man's Flat. We are ready to jump out -of our skins with joy, for we come just in time--so we think. Here's a -new lead struck, with big nuggets in it, and we mark out our claim -exactly one hundred and twenty feet from the prospector's ground. They -get one day twenty ounces, the next day twenty-eight, the next day -forty-two--a fortune, if it lasts." - -"Which it seldom does." - -"It often does, and even if it lasts only six or seven weeks it brings -in a lot. 'We're in luck this time,' I say to you, and I dream of -nuggets as big as my head. The gutter, we reckon, is forty feet down, -and we reach it in three weeks. Everybody round us is making his -pile--why shouldn't we? But before we strike the lead a digger comes -up, and says, 'Hallo, mates, have you heard about the claim you left -in Mountain Maid Gully?' 'No,' say we, 'what about it?'--'Oh,' says -the digger, 'only that two new chums jumped in after you'd gone away -and found out it was the richest claim on the goldfield. They took a -thousand ounces out of it the second week they were at work.' What do -you say to that, Basil?" - -"Jolly hard luck, Chaytor." - -"Cursed hard luck, I say." - -"Strong words won't better it." - -"They're a relief. You take it philosophically, I admit; I growl over -it like a bear with a sore head. I'd like to know why there's this -difference between us." - -"I'll try and tell you presently, when you've finished about the two -claims." - -"All right. I shouldn't be much of a man if the news about the ground -we ran away from didn't rile me. I was so wild I could hardly sleep -that night. But when I heard that in the next claim to the one we're -working now a nugget weighing a hundred and fifty ounces was found I -thought perhaps we'd got a richer claim than the one we'd deserted. So -I bottled up my bad temper, and went on working with a good grace. And -now we're on the gutter again, and here's the result." He held out the -tin dish, and gazed at the tiny specks of gold with disgust. "Why it's -the very worst we've struck yet." - -"Not quite that. We've had as bad. What shall we do? Stick to it, or -try somewhere else? - -"We daren't go away. Stick to it we must. If we left it and I heard -afterwards the same sort of story we were told about our claim on -Mountain Maid, I should do somebody a mischief. You agree with me, -then, that we remain and work the claim out?" - -"I agree to anything you wish, Chaytor. I will stay or go away, just -as you decide." - -Chaytor looked at him with an eye of curiosity. "Were you ever a -fellow of much strength of character, Basil?" - -"I think so, once; not in any remarkable degree, but sufficient for -most purposes." - -"And now?" - -"And now," replied Basil, taking his pipe from his mouth, and holding -it listlessly between his fingers, "the life seems to have gone out of -me. The only tie that binds me to it is you. I owe you an everlasting -debt of gratitude, old fellow, and I wish I could do something to -repay it. But in tying yourself to me you are tied to a log that keeps -dragging you down. The ill luck that pursues us come from me. Throw me -off and fortune will smile upon you." - -"And upon you?" - -"No. The taste of all that's sweet and beautiful has gone out of my -mouth; I'm a soured man inside of me; you're a thousand times better -than I am. What is bitterness in you comes uppermost; it pleases you -to hide the best part of you; but you cannot hide it from me, for I've -had experience of you and know you. Now I'm the exact reverse. -Outwardly you would think I'm an easy-going, easy-natured fellow, -willing always to make the best of things, and to look on the -brightest side. It is untrue; I am a living hypocrite. Inwardly I -revile the world; because of my own disappointments I can see no good -in it. Good fortune or bad fortune, what does it matter to me now? It -cannot restore my faith, it cannot destroy the shroud which hangs over -my heart. That is the difference between us. You are a thoroughly good -fellow, I am a thoroughly bad one." - -"It was not always the same with you. How have you become soured?" - -"Thorough experience. Look here, Chaytor, it is only right you should -be able to read me. You have bared your heart to me, and it is unfair -that I should keep mine closed. There have been times when business of -your own has called you to Sydney. We were never rich enough to go -together, so you had to go alone, while I remained, in order not to -lose the particular luckless claim we happened to be working in, and -out of which we were always going to make our fortune. On the -occasions of your visits you have executed a small commission for me, -entailing but little trouble, but upon the successful result of which -I set great store. It was merely to call at the Post-Office, and ask -for letters for Basil Whittingham. The answer was always the same: -there were none. Every time you returned and said, 'No letters for -you, Basil,' I suffered more than I can express. There was less light -in the world, my heart grew old. I believe I did not betray myself; at -all events, I took pains not to do so." - -"I never knew till now, Basil," said Chaytor falsely, and in a tone of -false pity, "that you thought anything at all of not receiving -letters. You certainly succeeded in making me believe that it did not -matter one way or another." - -"That is what I have grown into, a living hypocrite, as I have said. -Why should I inflict my troubles upon you? You have enough of your -own, and I have never been free from the reproach that evil fortune -attends you because you persist in remaining attached to me. But the -honest truth is, I suffered much, and each time the answer was given -there was an added pang to make my sufferings greater. I'll tell you -how it is with me, or rather how it was, for were you torn from me, -were I pursuing my road of life alone, I should feel like a ghost -walking through the world, cut off from love, cut off from sympathy. -Not so many years ago--and yet it seems a lifetime--it was very -different. I know I loved my dear mother, and perhaps in a lesser -degree, but still with a full-hearted love, I loved my father. You -know the whole story of my life; I cannot recall an incident of any -importance in my career in the old country and in others through which -I travelled which I have omitted to tell you. Partly it was because -you took so deep an interest in me, partly because it gratified me to -dwell upon matters which gave me pleasure. Yes, although my shot was -pretty well expended when I left England for Australia, there is -nothing in my history there which causes me regret. Until the death of -my father everything looked fair for me. It was a good world, a bright -world, with joyous possibilities in it, some of which might in the -future be realised. I spent my fortune in paying my father's debts, -and though it alienated my uncle from me and ruined my prospects, -never for one moment did I regret it. There was no merit due to me in -doing what I did; any man of right feeling would have done the same; -you would have been one of the first to do it. Well, I came out to the -Colonies with a light heart and nearly empty pockets. I had my -hardships--what mattered? I was young, I was strong, I was hopeful, I -believed in human goodness. So I went on my way till I came to Anthony -Bidaud's plantation. There the sun burst forth in its most brilliant -colours, and all my petty trials melted away. Had my nature been -soured, it would have been the same, I think, for love is like the sun -shining upon ice. I met a man and a friend in Anthony Bidaud; we -understood and esteemed each other. I met a little maid to whom my -heart went out--you know whom I mean, little Annette. You never saw -her, Chaytor. When she came to Old Corrie's hut on the day we left Gum -Flat, after you snatched me from a cruel death and nursed me to -strength, you were wandering in the woods, and did not join us till -she had gone. If you had met her you might have some idea of the -feelings I entertained towards her, for although she was but a child -at the time, there was a peculiar attraction and sweetness about her -which could not have failed to make an impression upon you. You are -acquainted with all that passed between me and Annette's father, of -the project he entertained of making me guardian to his little -daughter, and of his strange and sudden death; and you are also -acquainted with the unexpected appearance of Gilbert Bidaud upon the -scene, and what afterwards transpired, to the day upon which he and -his sister and Annette left the colony for Europe. The little maid -promised faithfully to write to me from Europe, and I gave her -instructions, which she could scarcely have forgotten, how to -communicate with me. Her letters were to be directed to the Sydney -Post-office, and she was to let me know how to communicate with her. -Well, unreasonably or not, I fed upon the expectation of these -promised letters, but they never came. We must have some link of -affection to hold on to in this world if life is worth living, and -this was the link to which I clung. From old associations in England I -was absolutely cut away, not one friend was left to me; and when I -arrived at Anthony Bidaud's plantation and made Annette my friend, I -felt as if all the sweetness of life dwelt in her person. It was an -exaggerated view perhaps, but so it was. Since that time three years -have passed, and she is as one dead to me, and I suppose I am as one -dead to her. For some little while after she left I used to indulge in -hopes of wealth, in hopes of striking a golden claim and becoming -rich. Then I used to say to myself, I will go home and wait till -Annette is a woman, when I will take her from the hateful influence of -Gilbert Bidaud, and--and--but, upon my honour, my thoughts got no -farther than this; my dreams and hopes were unformed beyond the point -of proving myself her truest and best friend. But her silence has -changed my nature, and I no longer indulge in hopes and dreams, I no -longer desire riches. The future is a blank: there is no brightness in -it. If it happens that we are fortunate, that after all our ill luck -we should strike a rich claim, I will give you my share of the gold -freely, for I should have no use for it." - -"I would not accept it, Basil," said Chaytor; "we will share and share -alike. Have you no desire, then, to return to England?" - -"I shall never go back," replied Basil. "My days will be ended in -Australia." - -"Where you will one day meet with a woman who will drive all thoughts -of Annette out of your head." - -"That can never be." - -"You think of her still, then?" - -"As she was, not as she is. I live upon the spirit of the past." - -He spoke not as a young man, but as one who had lived long years of -sad and bitter experiences. In this he was unconsciously doing himself -a great wrong, for his heart was as tender as ever, and in reality he -had intense faith in the goodness of human nature; but the theme upon -which he had been dilating always, when he reflected upon or spoke of -it, filled his soul with gloom, and so completely dominated him with -its melancholy as to make him unintentionally false to his true self. - -"The question is," said Chaytor, "whether it is worth while to brood -upon such a little matter. The heart of a child--what is it? A pulse -with about as much meaning in it as the heart of an animal. There is -no sincerity in it. I have no doubt you would be amazed if you were to -know Annette as she is now, almost a woman, moulded after her uncle's -teaching, and therefore repulsive in nature as he was. You are wise in -your resolve to make no attempt to shatter an ideal. I have suffered -myself in love and friendship, and I know better than you how little -dependence is to be placed in woman. Let us get back to the claim. -We'll not give it up till we've proved it quite worthless." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -Had Basil been acquainted with the extent of Newman Chaytor's baseness -and villainy he would have been confounded by the revelation. But -unhappily for himself he was in entire ignorance of it, and it was out -of the chivalry of his nature that he placed Chaytor on an eminence, -in the way of human goodness, to which few persons can lay claim. But -Basil was a man who formed ideals; it was a necessity of his -existence, and it is such men who in their course through life are the -most deeply wounded. - -Chaytor's visits to Sydney were not upon business of his own, he had -none to take him there; they were simply and solely made for the -purpose of obtaining the letters which arrived for Basil from England, -and any also which might arrive for himself; but these latter were of -secondary importance. In his enquiries at the Post-office he was -always furnished with an order signed, "Basil Whittingham" (of which -he was the forger) to deliver to bearer any letters in that name. Thus -he was armed to meet a possible difficulty, although it would have -been easy enough to obtain Basil's letters without such order. But as -he had frequently observed he was a man who never threw away a chance. - -As a matter of fact, he received letters both for himself and Basil, -which he kept carefully concealed in an inner pocket. He had become a -man of method in the crooked paths he was pursuing, and these letters, -before being packed away, were placed in a wrapper, securely sealed, -with written directions outside to the effect that if anything -happened to him and they fell into the hands of another person they -should be immediately burnt. This insured their destruction in the -event of their falling into the hands of Basil, for Chaytor had -implicit faith in his comrade's quixotism and chivalry, at which he -laughed in his sleeve. - -It has already been stated that Chaytor had made himself a master of -the peculiarities of Basil's handwriting. Having served his -apprenticeship in his disgraceful career in England he could now -produce an imitation of Basil's hand so perfect as to deceive the most -skilful of experts, who often in genuine writing make mistakes which -should, but do not, confound them. Shortly after Annette and her uncle -and aunt had taken their departure from Australia he wrote to Basil's -uncle in England. It is not necessary to reproduce the letter; -sufficient to say that it was chatty and agreeable, that it recalled -reminiscences which could not but be pleasant to the old gentleman, -that it abounded in affectionate allusions, and wound up with the -expression of a hope that Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham would live till -he was a hundred in health and happiness. There was not a word in the -letter which could be construed into the begging of a favour; it was -all gratitude and affection; and the writer asked whether there was -any special thing in Australia which Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham would -like to have. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure," said the wily -correspondent, "than to obtain and send it to you in memory of dear old -times. I will hunt the emu for you; I will even send you home a -kangaroo. God bless you, my dear uncle! I have been a foolish fellow I -know, but what is done cannot be undone, and I have only myself to -blame. There, I did not intend to make the most distant allusion to -anything in the past that has offended you, but it slipped out, and I -can only ask your forgiveness." In a postscript the writer said that -his address was the Post Office, Sydney, not, he observed, that he -expected Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham to write to him or answer his -letter, but there was no harm in mentioning it. It was just such a -letter as would delight an old gentleman who had in his heart of -hearts a warm regard for the young fellow whose conduct had displeased -him. Chaytor had some real ability in him, which, developed in a -straight way, would have met with its reward; but there are men who -cannot walk the straight paths, and Chaytor was one of these. - -Two months afterwards, before any answer could have reached him, -Chaytor wrote a second letter, as bright and chatty as the first, -brimful of anecdote and story, and this he despatched, curious as to -the result of his arrows. They hit the mark right in the bull's-eye, -but Chaytor was not quite aware of this. However, he was satisfied -some time afterwards at receiving a brief note from a firm of -lawyers--not from Messrs. Rivington, Sons and Rivington, to whom he -had been articled, but from another firm, and for this he was -thankful--which said that Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had received his -nephew's letter, and was glad to learn that he was in good health and -spirits. That was all, but it was enough for Chaytor. In the first -place it proved that his handwriting was perfect and the circumstances -he spoke of correct. In the second place it proved that Basil's uncle -had a soft spot left for him and that the writer had touched it. In -the third place it proved that his letters were welcome, and that -others would be acceptable. - -"A good commencement," thought Chaytor. "I have but to play my cards -boldly, and the old fool's forty thousand pounds will be mine. What a -slice of luck for me that Rivington, Sons, and Rivington no longer -transact his business! At a distance I could deceive them. At close -quarters their suspicions might be excited, although I would chance -even that, if there were no other way. I wonder how long the old miser -will live. I am not anxious that he should die yet; things are not -ripe; there is Basil to get rid of." He was ready and resolved for any -desperate expedient to compass his ends, and he kept not only the -letters he received, but copies of the letters he sent, for future -guidance, if needed. Be sure that he continued to write, and that he -made not the slightest reference to any hope of becoming the old -gentleman's heir, or of being reinstated in his affection. It is -strange how a man's intellect and intelligence are sharpened when he -is following a congenial occupation. Machiavelli himself could not -have excelled Newman Chaytor in the execution of the villainous scheme -he was bent upon carrying out. He became even a fine judge of -character, and not a word he wrote was malapropos. Let it be stated -that, despite the risk he was running, he derived genuine pleasure -from the plot he had devised. He thought himself, with justice, a very -clever fellow; if all went on in England as he hoped it would he had -no fear as to being able to silence or get rid of Basil on the -Australian side of the world. He would be a dolt indeed if he could -not remove a man so weak and trustful as Basil from his path. He had -other letters from Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham's lawyers, and he knew, -from a growing cordiality in their tone (a sentiment in which lawyers -never of their own prompting indulge in their business transactions) -that they were dictated by the old gentleman himself. His -interpretation of Basil's uncle not writing in his own person was that -he had made up his mind not to have any direct personal communication -with his nephew, and that being of an obstinate disposition, he was -not going to break his resolution. "For all that," thought Chaytor, "I -will have his money. I'll take an even bet that he has either not -destroyed his old will, or that he has made a new one, making Basil -his heir. Newman Chaytor, there are not many men who can beat you." - -He received other letters as well from other persons--from his old -mother, addressed to himself, and from Annette, addressed to Basil. -Certainly when he went to Sydney his hands were full, and he had -enough to do. He did not grudge the labour. He saw in the distance the -pleasures of life awaiting him, and it is a fact that in time he came -to believe that they were his to enjoy, and that Basil had no rightful -claim to them. It was he, Newman Chaytor, who had schemed for them, -who was working for them. What was Basil doing? Nothing. Standing idly -by, without making an effort to come into his own. "This is the way -men get on," said Chaytor to himself, surveying with pride the letter -he had just finished to Basil's uncle, "and I mean to get on. Why, the -trouble of writing this letter alone is worth a thousand pounds. And -what is the risk worth, I should like to know? I am earning double the -money I shall get." - -The letters of his old mother to himself were less frequent--not more -than one every nine or ten months. They always commenced, "My dearly -beloved son," and they plunged at once into a description of the -difficulties with which she and her poor husband were battling. Her -first letter gave him a piece of news which caused him great joy. It -informed him that a certain bill which Chaytor had left behind him, -dishonoured, had been bought by his father, at the sacrifice of some -of the doubtful securities which he had saved from the wreck of his -fortune. "You can come home with safety now, my dear son," wrote the -unhappy old woman. "Well, that is a good hearing," mused Newman -Chaytor; "I was always afraid of that bill; it might have turned up -against me at any moment, but now it is disposed of, and I am safe. -So, the old man still had something left worth money all the time he -was preaching poverty to me. Such duplicity is disgusting. He owes me -a lot for frightening me out of the country as he did. And here is the -old woman going on with the preaching about hard times and poverty. -Such selfishness is wicked, upon my soul it is." It was true that his -mother's letters ran principally on the same theme. They had not a -penny; they lived in one room; their rent was behindhand; her husband -was more feeble than ever; they often went without food, for both she -and he were determined to starve rather than appeal to the parish. -Could not her dear son send them a trifle, if it was only a few -shillings, to help them fight the battle which was drawing to its -close? She hoped he would forgive her for asking him, but times were -so hard, and the winter was very severe. They had had no fire for two -days, and the landlady said if they could not pay the last two weeks' -rent that they would have to turn out. "Try, my dear boy, try, for the -sake of the mother who bore you, and who would sell her heart's blood -for you, if there was a market for it." - -These letters annoyed Chaytor, and he thought it horribly hard that -his mother should write them. "It is a try on," he thought; "the old -man has put her up to it. I ought to know the ins and outs of such -transparent tricks. 'Now, write this,' says the old man; 'Now write -that. We must manage to screw something out of him: work upon his -feelings, mother.' That's the way it goes. I'll bet anything they've -got a smoking dinner on the table all the time, but Newman's at a -distance, and can't see it. Oh, no, I can't see anything; a baby might -impose upon me." He never thought of the night he saw his mother -begging in the roadway with a box of matches in her hands. Some men -are gifted with the power of shutting out inconvenient memories, as -there are others who never lose sight of a kindness they have received -or of a debt that is justly due. Long before this the reader has -discovered to which class Chaytor belonged. - -Nevertheless he replied to the letters, cantingly regretting that he -was unable to send his dear old mother the smallest remittance to help -her on in her struggles. "How is it possible," he wrote, "when I am -myself starving? It is months since I have had to work sixteen hours a -day breaking stones on the road for a piece of dry bread. The -hardships I have endured, and am still enduring, are frightful. This -is a horrible place for a gentleman to live in. I should not have been -here if father had not driven me away. It almost drives me mad to -think that if he had not been so hard to me, if he had allowed me to -stop at home and manage his affairs, I could have pulled them -straight, and that we should all of us be living now in comfort and -plenty in the only country in the world where a man can enjoy his -days. You have no idea what kind of place this colony is. Men die like -lambs in the snow, and the sufferings they endure are shocking to -contemplate. I do not suppose I shall live to write you another -letter, but if you can manage to send me a few pounds it may arrive -just in time to save me." And so on, and so on. He took a keen delight -in the duplicities he was practising, and he would read his letters -over with a feeling of pride and exultation in his cleverness. "How -many men are there in the world," he would ask himself, "who could -write such a letter as this? Not many. Upon my word I'm wasted in this -hole and corner. But there's by-and-by to come; when I get hold of -that forty thousand pounds I'll have my revenge. No galley slave ever -worked harder than I am working for a future I mean to enjoy." That -may have been true enough, but the work of a galley slave was honest -labour in comparison with that to which Newman Chaytor was bending all -his energies. - -Lastly, there were the letters Annette wrote to Basil. They arrived at -intervals of about four months, so that Chaytor was in possession of -seven or eight of them. Proceeding as they did from a pure and -beautiful nature, these letters, had Basil received them, would have -been like wine to him, would have comforted and strengthened him -through the hardest misfortunes and troubles, would have kept the sun -shining upon him in the midst of the bitterest storms. He would have -continued to work with gladness and hope instead of with indifference. -It would have made the future a bright goal to which his eyes would -ever have been turned with joy. Evidences of kindness and sympathy, -still more, evidences of unselfish affection and love, are like the -dew to the flower. They keep the heart fresh, they keep its windows -ever open to the light. But of this blessing Basil was robbed by the -machinations of a scoundrel: hence there was no sweetness in his -labour, no hope for him in the future. So much to heart did Basil take -Annette's silence that, had his nature been inclined to evil instead -of good, mischief to others would probably have ensued, but as it was -he was the only sufferer. In his utterances, when he was drawn to -speak of the shock he had received, he was apt to exaggerate matters -and to present himself in the worst light, but there had fallen to his -share an inheritance of moral goodness which rendered it impossible -for him to become a backslider from the paths of rectitude and honour. -Except that he was unhappy in himself, and that Annette's silence took -the salt out of his days, he was as he ever was, straightforward in -his dealings and gentle and charitable towards his fellow-creatures. - - -"My dear, dear Basil" (thus ran Annette's first letter, written about -five months after their last meeting in the Australian woods), "I have -tried ever so hard to write to you before, but have not been able to -because of uncle and aunt. I was afraid if they found out I was -writing to you that they would take the letter away or do something to -prevent it reaching you, and I wanted, too, to tell you how you could -write to me, but have never been able till now. You will be glad to -hear that if you write and address your letters exactly as I tell you, -I am almost sure of receiving them. But first I must say something -about myself and how I am. Uncle and aunt are not unkind to me, but -they are not kind. They leave me to myself a good deal, but I know I -am being watched all the time. I don't mind that so much, but what I -do miss is my dear father's voice and yours, and the birds and flowers -and beautiful scenery I always lived among till I was taken away. I -would not mind if you were with me, for I love you truly, dear Basil, -and can never, never forget you. That last time we were together by -Mr. Corrie's hut, how often and often do I think of it! I go through -everything that passed except the unkind words spoken by Uncle -Gilbert, which I try not to remember. I must have a wonderful memory, -for everything you said to me is as fresh now as though you had just -spoken them. Yes, indeed. Perhaps it is because when we were on board -ship I used to sit on the deck, with my face turned to Australia--the -captain always pointed out the exact direction--and go through it all -in my mind over and over and over again, till I got letter perfect. -Shall I prove to you that it is really so? Well, then, when I told you -I was afraid I was turning hard and had since Uncle Gilbert came to -the plantation--the dear old plantation!--you chided me so gently and -beautifully, and I promised never to forget your words, knowing they -would keep me good. Then you said, 'Let them keep you brave as well, -my dear. I promise to remember you always, to love you always, and -perhaps when you are a woman--it will not be so long, Annette--we -shall meet again.' Well, Basil dear, I am waiting for that time. I -know it will not be yet, perhaps not for years, but I can wait -patiently, and I shall always bear your words in mind. 'The stars of -heaven are not brighter than the stars of hope and love we can keep -shining in our hearts.' Do you remember, Basil? And then I asked you -to kiss me, and said that was the seal and that I should go away -happier. It comes to my mind sometimes that your words are like -flowers that never die, and that grow sweeter and more beautiful every -day. You could not have given me anything better to make me happy. But -I must not keep going on like this or I shall not have time to tell -you some things you ought to know. - -"Well, then, Basil dear, we are not settled anywhere, and if you were -to come home now (you call it home, I know, and so will I) you would -not know where to find me unless you went to a place I will tell you -of presently. First we came to London and stopped there a little -while, then we went to Paris, then to Switzerland, and now we have -come back to London, where we shall remain two or three weeks, and -then go somewhere else, I don't know where. Uncle Gilbert never tells -me till the day before, when he says, 'We are going away to-morrow -morning; be ready.' So that by the time you receive this letter we -shall be I don't know where. Uncle Gilbert is very fond of theatres, -but he has not taken me to one because he says they are not proper -places for girls. I daresay he is right, and I don't know that I want -to go, but aunt has been very dissatisfied about it, as she is as fond -of theatres as Uncle Gilbert is. He used to go by himself, and aunt -would stop with me to take care of me, but a little while ago, a day -or two before we came back to London, they had a quarrel about it. -They did not notice that I was in the room when they begun, and when -they found it out they stopped. But I think it is because of the -quarrel that when we were in London a young woman was engaged to -travel with us and to look after me when uncle and aunt are away. I am -very glad for a good many reasons. I am not very happy when they are -with me, and I breath more freely--or perhaps I think I do--when they -are gone. The young woman they have engaged is kind and good-natured, -and I have grown fond of her already, and she has grown fond of me, so -we get along nicely together. Her name is Emily Crawford, and she has -a mother who lives in Bournemouth, a place by the sea somewhere in -England. Her mother is a poor woman, and that is why Emily is obliged -to go to service, but she is not a common person, not at all, and she -has a good heart. She can read and write very well, and she picks up -things quicker than I can. Of course you want to know why I speak so -much of Emily, when I might be writing about myself. Well, it is very, -very important, and it _is_ about myself I am speaking when I am -speaking of her. - -"Basil, dear, it does one good to have some one to talk to quite -freely and to open one's heart to. All the time I have been away, -until this week, I have not had any person who would listen to me or -who cared to speak of the happy years I spent on our dear plantation. -Whenever I ventured to say a word about the past Uncle Gilbert put a -stop to it at once by saying, 'There is no occasion to speak of it, -you are living another life now. Forget it, and everybody connected -with it.' Forget it! As if I could! But I do not dare to disobey him. -He is my guardian, and I must be obedient to him. Aunt is just the -same, only she snaps me up when I say anything that displeases her, -while uncle speaks softly, but he is as determined as she is although -they do speak so differently. I do not know which way I dislike -most--I think both. So one night this week when uncle and aunt were -away, and I was reading, and Emily was sewing, she said to me, 'You -have come from Australia, haven't you, miss?' Oh, how pleased I was! I -answered yes, and then we got talking about Australia, and I told her -all about the plantation and the life we led there, and all sorts of -things came rushing into my mind, and when I had told her a great deal -I began to cry. It was then I found out Emily's goodness, for there -she was by my side wiping my tears away and almost crying with me, and -that is how we have become friends. After that I felt that I could -speak freely to her, and I spoke about you, of course. She promised -not to say a word to uncle or aunt, and I know I can trust her. Now, -Basil, dear, she has told me how you can write to me and how I can -obtain your letters without uncle or aunt knowing anything about it. -Emily writes home to her mother and receives letters from her. If you -will write and address your letters to the care of Mrs. Crawford, 14, -Lomax Road, Bournemouth, England, Mrs. Crawford will enclose them to -Emily, who will give them to me. Mrs. Crawford will always know where -Emily is while she remains with me, which will be as long as she is -allowed, Emily says, and I am sure to get your letters. I feel quite -happy when I think that you will write to me, telling all about -yourself. You said I was certain to make friends in the new country I -was going to, through whom we should be able to correspond, and -although I would sooner do it through uncle and aunt (but there is no -possibility of that because they do not like you), I feel there is -nothing very wrong in our writing to each other in the way Emily -proposes. So that is all, and you will know what to do. I can hardly -restrain my impatience, but it is something very sweet to look forward -to. - -"I hope you found the locket with the portrait of my dear mother in -it. When we see each other I shall expect you to show it to me. If you -see Mr. Corrie tell him that the magpie is quite well, and that I can -teach him to say almost anything. Both uncle and aunt have grumbled a -good deal about the bird, and would like me to get rid of it, but that -is the one thing--the only thing--that I have gone against them in. 'I -will be obedient in everything else,' I said, 'but I must keep my -bird. You promised me.' So they have yielded, and I have my way in -this at all events. It means a great deal to me because I take care -it shall not forget your name. I keep it in my own room, where they -see very little of it, and it is only when we are travelling that it -is a trouble to them. - -"Now I must leave off, Basil dear. With all my love, and hoping with -all my heart that we shall see each other when I am a little older,--I -remain; for ever and ever, your loving friend, - -"Annette." - - -This letter interested and amused Newman Chaytor. "She is a clever -little puss," he thought, "and will not be hard to impose upon, for -all her cunning. I wonder, I wonder"--but what it was he wondered at -did not take instant shape; it required some time to think out. He -replied to the letter, addressing Annette as she directed. Although he -knew it was not likely that Annette could be very familiar with -Basil's handwriting, he was as careful in imitating it as he was in -his letters to Basil's uncle; and as in the case of his letters to -that old gentleman, he kept a copy of the letters he wrote to Annette. -He was very careful in the composition of his correspondence with the -young girl. He fell into the sentimental mood, and smiled to think -that the sentiments he expressed to Annette were just those which -would occur to Basil if he sat down to write to her. "Basil would be -proud of me," he said, "if he read this letter. It is really saving -him a world of trouble, and he ought to be grateful to me if it ever -come to his knowledge--which it never shall. I will see to that." -During the first year of the progress of the vile plot the full sense -of the dangerous net he was weaving for himself did not occur to him, -and indeed it was only by degrees that he became keenly conscious of -the peril attending its discovery. It made him serious at first, but -at the same time more fixed in his resolve to carry it out to the -bitter end. Whatever it was necessary to do he would do ruthlessly. -Everything must give way to secure his own safety, to insure the life -of ease and luxury he hoped to enjoy, if all went well. - -If all went well! What kind of sophistry must that man use who, to -compass his ends, deems all means justifiable, without considering the -misery he is ready to inflict upon others in the pursuit upon which he -is engaged? There lies upon some men's natures a crust of selfishness -so cruel that it becomes in their eyes a light matter to transgress -all laws human and divine. They are blinded by a moral obliquity, and -think not of the hour when the veil shall be torn from their eyes, and -when the punishment which surely waits upon crime is meted out to -them. - -Annette's first letter to Basil is a fair example of those which -followed, except that the progress of time seemed to deepen the -attachment she bore for him. In one letter she sent a photograph of -herself, and Newman Chaytor's heart beat high as he gazed upon it. -Annette was growing into a very lovely womanhood; beautiful, sweet, -and gracious was her face; an angelic tenderness dwelt in her eyes. - -"And this is meant for Basil," said Chaytor, in his solitude: and then -exclaimed, as he contemplated the enchanting picture, "No! For me--for -me!" - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -The claim they were working proved very little richer than others they -had taken up. They made certainly a few shillings a week more than was -absolutely necessary to keep them in food and tobacco, and these few -shillings were carefully husbanded by Chaytor, who was treasurer of -the partnership. Their departure was hastened by a meeting which did -not afford Chaytor unalloyed pleasure. As he and Basil sat at the door -of their canvas tent one summer night, who should stroll up to them -but old Corrie. - -"Here you are, then," cried the honest fellow. - -"Why, Corrie!" exclaimed Basil, jumping to his feet, and holding out -his hands. - -"Master Basil," said Old Corrie, grasping them cordially, "I am more -than glad to see you. I was passing through, and hearing your tent was -somewhere in this direction, I made up my mind to hunt you up. Well, -well, well!" - -"Here's my mate," said Basil, motioning to Chaytor, "you remember -him." - -"Oh yes," said Old Corrie, nodding at Chaytor. "So you've been -together all this time. What luck have you had?" - -"Bad luck," answered Chaytor. - -"Sorry to hear it. Never struck a rich patch, eh?" - -"Never," said Chaytor. "And you?" - -"I can't complain. To tell you the truth, I've made my pile." - -"You have!" cried Chaytor, with a furious envy in his voice. - -"I have. You made a mistake when you refused to go mates with me; I -could have shown you a trick or two. However, that's past: what's -ended can't be mended." - -"What are you going to do now?" - -"Haven't quite made up my mind. Think of going to Sydney for a spree; -perhaps to Melbourne for another; perhaps shall give up that idea, and -make tracks for old England. I've got enough to live upon if I like to -take care of it. Well, Master Basil, I wish you had better news to -give me. Have you heard from the old country? No?" This was in -response to Basil's shake of the head. "Why, I thought the little lady -promised to write to you." - -"She did promise, but I have not heard for all that." - -"Out of sight, out of mind," observed Chaytor, inwardly discomposed at -the turn the conversation had taken. - -Old Corrie gave him a sour look. "I'll not believe that of the little -lady. The most likely reason is that she has been prevented by that -old fox her uncle. Her silence must have grieved you, Master Basil." -Basil nodded. "I know how your heart was set upon her." - -"Don't let's talk about it," said Basil, "it is the way of the world." - -"That may be," said Old Corrie, regarding Basil attentively, "but I'd -have staked my life that it wasn't the way of the little lady. What -has come over you? You're changed. You were always brimming over with -life and spirits, and now you're as melancholy as a black crow." - -"I'm falling into the sere and yellow," said Basil, with a melancholy -smile. - -"I can only guess at what you mean. You're getting old. Why, man -alive, there's a good five-and-twenty year between you and me, and I -don't consider myself falling into the what-do-you-call-'em! Pluck up, -Master Basil. Here, let's have a little chat aside." - -Chaytor gave Basil a look which meant, as plain as words could speak -it, "Are you going to have secret conversations away from me after all -the years we have been together, after all I've done for you?" - -"Corrie," said Basil, laying one hand on Old Corrie's arm and the -other on Chaytor's, "if you've anything to say to me I should like you -to say it before Chaytor. There's nothing I would wish to hide from -him. He's been the truest friend to me a man ever had, and I owe him -more than I can ever repay." - -"Nonsense, Basil," said Chaytor with magnanimous humility; "don't say -anything about it." - -"But it ought to be said, and I should be the ungratefullest fellow -living if I ever missed an opportunity of acknowledging it. I owe you -something too, Corrie. There's that mare of yours I borrowed and -lost." - -"Shut up," growled Old Corrie, "if you want us to part friends. I've -never given the mare a thought, and as for paying me for it, well, you -can't, and there's an end of it. I'll say before your mate what is in -my mind. You're a gentleman, Master Basil, and here you are wasting -your time and your years to no purpose. England is the proper place -for you." Chaytor caught his breath, and neither Basil nor Old Corrie -could have interpreted this exhibition of emotion aright; but Basil, -who thought he understood it, smiled gently at Chaytor, as much as to -say, "Don't fear, I am not going to desert you." Old Corrie, who had -paused, took up his words: "England is the proper place for you. Say -the word, and we'll go together to Sydney and take two passages for -home. There you can hunt up your old friends, and you'll be a man once -more. Come now, say, 'Yes, Corrie,' and put me under an obligation to -you for life." - -"I can't say yes, Corrie, but I'm truly obliged to you for your kind -offer. Even if I wished to break my connection with Chaytor--which I -don't--it's for him to put an end to our partnership, not for -me--don't you see that it would be impossible for me to lay myself -under an obligation to you?" - -"No, I don't see it,' growled Old Corrie. - -"Then, again, Corrie, what inducement have I to return to England?" - -"There's little lady," interrupted Old Corrie. - -"She has forgotten me," said Basil, sadly. "What business have I to -thrust myself upon her? If she desired to continue a friendship which -was as precious to me as my heart's blood--yes, I don't mind -confessing it; there may be weakness, but there is no shame in -it--would she not have written to me? She would, if it was only one -line. It is true that her uncle may be jealously guarding and watching -her--there was love lost between us--but in these three years that -have passed since the last day we saw each other, it is not possible -to think that she could not have contrived once to have put in the -post a bit of paper with only the words, 'I have not forgotten you, -Basil.' Who and what am I that I should cross the road she is -traversing for the purpose of bringing a reminiscence to her mind that -she chooses not to remember? There would not be much manliness in -that. Besides, it's a hundred chances to one that she's not in England -at all. It is my belief she is living in her father's native country, -Switzerland, where, surrounded by new scenes and new companions, I -hope she is happy. Thank you again, Corrie; I cannot accept your -offer." - -"All right," said Corrie, with disappointment in his face and voice; -"you ought to know your own mind, though I make bold to say I don't -believe you've said what's in your heart. Well, there's an end to it. -I'm off early in the morning. Good-bye, Master Basil." - -"Good-bye, Corrie, and good luck to you." - -"Good luck to _you_, better than you've had in more ways than one." - -"Good-bye, Mr. Corrie," said Chaytor. - -Old Corrie could scarcely refuse the hand that Chaytor held out to -him, but the grasp he gave it was very different from the grasp he -gave Basil's. Before he turned to leave the ill-assorted comrades he -did something which escaped the eyes of Basil, but not those of -Chaytor. He furtively dropped, quite close to Basil's feet, a round -wooden matchbox, which, emptied of matches, gold-diggers frequently -used to fill with loose gold. Unobserved by old Corrie, Chaytor put -his foot on the box and slipped it to the rear of himself. This was -done while Old Corrie was turning to go. Basil was genuinely sorry to -See the last of his friend. Both the unexpected meeting and the -leave-taking had a touch of sadness in them which deeply affected him, -and he gazed with regret after the vanishing form of the man who had -offered to serve him. This gave Chaytor an opportunity of slyly -picking up the matchbox; it was weighty, and Chaytor knew that it was -filled with gold. "A bit of luck," he thought, as he put the box into -his pocket, "and a narrow escape as well." He felt like a man sitting -on a mine which a stray match might fire at any moment. - -"Basil," he said, when Old Corrie was out of sight, "we will strike -our tent to-morrow, and go prospecting. I have a likely spot in my -mind." - -"Very well," said Basil listlessly. "How about money? Can we manage to -get along?" - -"Oh, yes, we can manage." - -Early in the morning the pegs which fastened the tent were dug out of -the ground, the tent was rolled up and tied, and with heavy swags of -canvas, blankets, tools, and utensils conveniently disposed about -their persons, Basil and Chaytor set their faces to the south. They -walked for two days, camping out at night, and halted at length on the -banks of a river, the waters of which were low. In the winter the -floods rolling down from the adjacent ranges made the river a torrent, -covering banks which were now bare. These banks were of fine sand, and -rising on each side for a distance of some thousands of yards were -shelving mountains studded with quartz. Some eighteen months ago Basil -and Chaytor had passed the place on their way to a new rush, and -Chaytor thought it a likely place in which to find gold. They were now -quite alone, not a living soul was within a dozen miles of them. They -had reached the spot secretly, and their movements were unknown to any -but themselves. Their nearest neighbours were on a cattle station some -twelve or thirteen miles away. - -"I have had an idea," said Chaytor, throwing the swag off his -shoulders, an example which Basil followed, "for a long time past that -somewhere about here gold was to be found. My plan is to prospect the -place well, without any one being the wiser. Who knows? We may -discover a new goldfield, and make our fortunes before we are -tracked. Let us camp here, and try. We can't do much worse than we've -done already." - -"I'm agreeable to anything you propose," said Basil. "Let us camp here -by all means." - -"The great thing is, that nobody must be let into the secret. If we -are discovered, 'Rush, O!' will be the cry, and we shall be overrun -before we can say Jack Robinson." - -"You have only to say what you wish, Chaytor. You have the cleverer -head of the two. I hope for your sake we shall be successful." - -"You don't much care for your own." - -"Not much." - -"You'll sing to another tune when we do succeed. It's wonderful how -the possession of a lot of money alters one's views." - -"I'll wait till I get it," said Basil, sagely. - -"The river runs low at this season and there's no reason in the world -why the sand banks shouldn't hold gold." - -"They will hold it if its there," said Basil, with a smile. - -"We'll try the banks first because they are the easiest, and if we -don't get gold in sufficient quantities there we'll try higher up the -range. It's studded with quartz, and it looks the right sort. We'll -put our tent up now, and in the morning we'll commence work--or rather -you will commence while I am away." - -"Where are you going to?" - -"There's grub to look after. We can't do without meat and flour. All -we've got to live on at present is a tin of sardines, about half a -pint of brandy, a little tea, and a couple of handfuls of biscuits. -Now, I call that a coincidence." - -"In what respect?" - -"Do you forget," said Chaytor reproachfully, "the first night you come -to Gum Flat? I gave you then pretty well all I had in the world in the -shape of provisions, some biscuits, some sardines, and a flask of -brandy." - -"You did, old fellow, and that is the sum total of our provisions this -evening." He shook Chaytor's hand warmly. "Don't think me ungrateful, -Chaytor, because I don't profess much. Old Corrie said I was changed, -and I suppose I must be; but I shall never be so changed as to be -unmindful of the way you've stuck to me. Yes, it is a coincidence. But -go on. What do you mean to do about grub, for I see you've something -in your mind?" - -"There's only one thing to do," said Chaytor. "I must go to the cattle -station to-night, get there early in the morning, and buy mutton and -flour. I shall have to look out sharp that I'm not followed when I -make my way back again, but I think I can manage it. I've done more -difficult jobs than that." - -"And you will be tramping the bush," said Basil, "while I remain at my -ease here. Why can't I go instead of you?" - -"Because," replied Chaytor, in a tone of affectionate insistance, "as -you have already confessed, I am the cleverer of the two, and because -I have an idea, if we lose this chance, that we shall never get -another. I don't want you to be seen, Basil, that's the plain truth of -the matter. You're not up to the men we meet. Now, I am sly and -cunning----" - -"You?" interrupted Basil. "You are the soul of candour and honesty, -Chaytor. No one else should say that of you while I stood by." - -"I don't mean exactly what I said, Basil, but I am sure I can do the -job more neatly than you could. As to the tramp through the bush, I -think nothing of it, so let it be as I say." - -Basil making no further objection, the tent was put up and a trench -dug around to carry the rain away. Then a camp fire was made, and the -water for tea boiled in a tin billy, after which they finished the -biscuits and sardines. - -"You will have to hold out till I come back," said Chaytor. "As I need -not start till past midnight, I'll turn in for an hour or two." - -Shortly afterwards the comrades were wrapt in slumber, and the man -with the evil conscience slept the sounder of the two. A little after -midnight he rose and without disturbing Basil, started for the cattle -station. It was a warm starlit night, and he pondered upon matters as -he made his way through the bush. Indeed, during the past two days he -had thought deeply of the situation in which he was placed. Old -Corrie's proposition to take Basil to England had greatly alarmed him, -and had opened his eyes more clearly to its gravity. It was this which -had caused him to hurry Basil away from the vicinity of Old Corrie, -for it was quite likely that Corrie would make another attempt to -prevail upon Basil before he took his departure, and the second time -Basil might yield. At all hazards this must be prevented; step by step -he had descended the abyss of crime, and it was too late for him now -to turn back. In entering upon an evil enterprise men seldom see the -cost at which success must be purchased; it is only when they are face -to face with consequences that they tremble at their own danger. - -By daybreak Chaytor was at the cattle station and had made his -purchases; by noon he had rejoined Basil. His purchases, at the -station had attracted no attention; it was a common enough proceeding, -and now they had food for a week. Fifteen miles beyond the cattle -station was a small township where they could also obtain supplies; a -pilgrimage once a week to station or township would keep them going. -In the township such gold as they obtained and wished to dispose of -could also be turned into money. Thus, although they were quite alone, -they were within hail of all that was necessary. Shortly after -Chaytor's return they set to work on the banks of the river. Basil -showed his mate some pieces of quartz with fair-sized specks of gold -in them, but Chaytor decided to try the river first, alluvial digging -being so much easier. They found gold in the sand, and sufficient to -pay, but not sufficient to satisfy Chaytor's cupidity. The result of a -week's labour was between two and three ounces. - -"This is better than we have done yet," said Basil. - -"It is only the washings from the hills," said Chaytor, "and at any -unexpected moment a flood of rain would swamp us. There are too many -trees about to please me; wood draws water from the clouds. If we -don't do better than this by the end of next week we'll mark out a -claim on the range yonder, where the blue slate peeps out of the -quartz." - -Another journey had to be made for food, and this time Chaytor went to -the township, where he obtained what he required and sold exactly -seven pennyweights of gold. He put on an appearance of great anxiety -while the gold was being weighed, and sighed when the weight was -announced. This was to throw the storekeeper off the scent; any -considerable quantity of gold disposed of proudly would have excited -suspicion of a Tom Tiddler's ground somewhere near, and Chaytor, had -he so behaved, would certainly have been shadowed by men who were ever -watchful for signs of the discovery of a new goldfield. It was in -Chaytor's power to sell some fourteen ounces of gold had he been so -inclined, for the matchbox which Old Corrie had furtively dropped at -Basil's feet, and which Chaytor had slyly picked up unknown to his -mate, contained twelve ounces of the precious metal, but he knew -better than to attempt it. There was a post-office in the township, -from which he dispatched a letter to the Sydney office, requesting -that any letters lying there for Basil Whittingham might be forwarded -on to him. He wrote and signed the order in Basil's name. He could not -very well go to Sydney at present to fetch them; there would be a risk -in leaving Basil so long alone, for there being no coaches running -from the township, the journey to Sydney and back could not be -accomplished in less than nine or ten days. Easier to obtain the -letters from England, if any arrived, by the means he adopted, and it -was the easiest of tasks to keep the affair from the knowledge of -Basil, who never dreamed of asking at any post-office whether there -were any letters for him. - -They worked a second week on the river-bank, at the end of which they -had washed out over three ounces. - -"An improvement," remarked Basil. - -Chaytor shook his head discontentedly. - -"Let us mark off a prospector's claim up the hill," he said. "We can -always come back to the river." - -This was done, and they commenced to sink. The difficulty they now -encountered was the want of a windlass. Chaytor would not venture to -purchase one in the township, whither he went regularly, being well -aware that he could have done nothing that would more surely have -drawn attention upon him. At odd times he bought some pieces of rope -which he and Basil spliced till they had a length of about eighty -feet. This rope, properly secured, enabled them to ascend and descend -the shaft, foot-holes in the sides assisting them. The labour of -digging a shaft in this manner was increased fourfold at least, but -they could not be too cautious, Chaytor said. He remarked also that -they seemed to be haunted by coincidences, and upon Basil asking for -an explanation reproached him for his bad memory. - -"How many of us were there upon Gum Flat," he said, "after your horse -was stolen? Two. You and I alone. How many are there here? Two. You -and I alone. When you fell down the shaft how did I get you up? By -means of a rope secured at the top. How do we get up and down this -shaft? By the same means. There was no windlass there; there is no -windlass here. Don't you call these coincidences?" - -"Yes," said Basil, "it is very singular." - -"It would be very singular," thought Chaytor, "if you were at the -bottom of this shaft one of these fine days and never got out of it -alive. In that case coincidence would not hold good." - -He drew a mental picture of the scene: Basil helpless below, the rope -lying loose on the top, and he sitting by it waiting to assure himself -that the mate by whom he had dealt so foully could never rise in -evidence against him. He saw this mental picture at the very moment -that Basil, with his sad earnest face, was in sight. - -In the shaft they were sinking they were following a thin vein of -gold-bearing quartz which luckily for them was not devious in its -bearings, but ran down perpendicularly. It was very narrow, not more -than an inch in width, but the deeper they sank the richer it grew. -The vein was more rubble than stone, and the stuff was easily pounded -and washed. The first week they discovered it they obtained four -ounces of gold, the second week seven, the third week twelve, the -fourth and fifth weeks the same, and then there was a jump to twenty -ounces. They had reached a depth of forty odd feet, and not a living -being but themselves had been seen near the spot. - -This lucky break in their fortunes gave Chaytor serious and -discomforting food for thought. He was convinced that their better -luck would continue for some time, and was almost sure that the thin -vein they were following would lead them to a richer and wider reef. -What would be the effect of wealth upon Basil? Would it alter his -views? Would it turn his thoughts homewards? He became hot and cold -when this last thought suggested itself, and that night he was visited -in his sleep by a dream so startling that he jumped up in affright and -sat in the dark trembling like a leaf in a strong wind. He dreamt that -Basil had discovered his treachery, and had torn open his secret -pocket in which he kept not only the letters from Annette and Basil's -uncle he had received from England, but the documents he had stolen -from Basil on Gum Flat, and the locket which Annette had given to -Basil at their last meeting. "You monster!" Basil had cried. "You have -ruined my life and shall pay the penalty!" It was at this point that -Chaytor awoke, trembling and in great fear. Presently, when the pulses -of his heart beat more regularly, he heard Basil's soft breathing. He -struck a match, and rising, quietly looked down upon his comrade. The -young fellow was sleeping calmly, with no thought of the evil genius -standing over him. Convincing himself that his stolen treasures were -safe, Chaytor crept back to his stretcher, but he had little more -sleep that night. His sense of security was shaken; the earth was -trembling beneath his feet. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -When a man evilly inclined turns from the path of evil, it is -generally because he fears for his own safety. He does not choose the -straight road or relinquish a bad purpose from the awakening of the -moral principle, but from a conviction that the deviation will best -serve his own interests. In the initial stages of a bad scheme the -prime mover seldom counts the cost; it is only when he is deeply -involved that the consequences of his evil-doing stare him in the -face, and warn him to halt. True repentance is rare; but there have -been instances where a man, suddenly appalled by the enormity of his -career of crime, conscientiously resolves to turn before it is too -late, and to expiate, as far as lies in his power, for his misdeeds. -There is something of heroism in this, and the sinner may hope for -forgiveness at the divine throne, if not from human hands. Of such -heroism Newman Chaytor was not capable. If he wavered, it was purely -from selfish reasons, and because he saw before him a path in which -lay greater chances of safety for himself. That he did waver is true, -and the more wholesome and more merciful course which suggested itself -to him was due, not to conscientious motives, but to circumstances -quite independent of his original design. On the day following his -disturbing dream he and Basil struck a wonderfully rich patch in the -claim they were working. The stuff which was raised to the surface was -literally studded with gold, and by nightfall they had washed out -fifty ounces. The excitements of a gold-digger's life when fortune -smiles upon him are all-absorbing. Marvellous possibilities dazzle and -distort his mind; delirious visions rise to his imagination. In the -early days of the goldfields it was a belief with numbers of miners -that, at some time or other, gold would be discovered in such -quantities that it could be hewn out like coal. A favourite phrase -was, "We shall be able to cut it out with a cold chisel." Of course -every man hoped that this wonderful thing would happen to him. He held -a chance in the lottery, and why should _he_ not draw the grand prize -which would astonish the world? - -These possibilities flitted through Chaytor's mind as he and Basil sat -at the door of their tent, smoking their pipes after their day's -labour. The chairs they sat on were stumps of trees. Furniture they -had none, inside their tent or out of it. For their beds they had -gathered quantities of dry leaves, over which they spread a blanket, -with another to roll themselves in. Rough living, but healthier than -life in civilised cities. Early to bed and early to rise, plain food, -moderate drinking, exercising their muscles for a dozen hours a -day--all this was conducive to a healthy physical state. Their faces -were embrowned, their limbs were hardened, their beards had grown -long--they looked like men. This may be said of Chaytor as well as of -Basil, for such play of expression as would have revealed the cunning -of his nature was hidden by his abundant hair. A stranger, observing -them, would have been astonished at the likeness of one to the other, -and could have formed no other conclusion than that they were -twin-born; but no stranger had seen them thus, for it was only during -their late seclusion that Chaytor, had copied Basil so exactly. Basil -took but little note of this resemblance, and if he referred to it at -all it was in a manner so slight as to show that he attached no -importance to it. But it was seldom absent from Chaytor's mind; he had -brooded constantly upon it, and had studied it as a lesson which, -perfectly answered, was to bring with it the rich reward for which he -had schemed. - -"A good day's work," said Basil, holding out his hand for the tin dish -which Chaytor held. - -This tin dish contained the gold which they had gathered since -sunrise, and Chaytor was turning it over with his knife. The moisture -had dried out of it, and the gold lay loose. Chaytor passed the dish -to Basil, who, in his turn, played with the shining metal with -somewhat more than usual interest. - -"Nearly as much," said Chaytor, "as we've got these last five weeks. -It is a rare good day's work--if only it will last." - -"That's the question," said Basil; "I should like to weigh it." - -They entered the tent, and weighed the gold in the gold scales, which -form part of a miner's working implements. It turned the fifty ounces. - -"Honestly paid for," said Basil, "it represents a couple of hundred -pounds. A hundred pounds each." - -Chaytor merely nodded, and made no comment upon the remark, but it -dwelt in his mind. Not so very long ago Basil had expressed -indifference regarding their possessions of gold, and had gone the -length of saying that Chaytor might have his share, for all he cared -for it. Now he expressed an interest in it, and reckoned their day's -work at "a hundred pounds each." That indicated that he looked upon -half as his fair share. What did this newly-awakened interest portend? -With his instinctive cunning Chaytor felt that this was not a -favourable time to open up the subject; far better to let it work -quietly until it came to a natural head. Besides, he was feverishly -engrossed in the question he had suggested, whether the rich patch -they had struck would last. Time alone could answer that question. -They retired to their beds of dry leaves a little earlier than usual, -and were at work in the morning with the rising of the sun. Basil -worked chiefly at the bottom of the shaft, Chaytor at the top, and the -honest man of this ill-assorted pair sent up two buckets of stuff -before breakfast, which was even richer than they had raised on the -previous day. Basil climbed to earth's surface hand over hand. - -"He uses the rope like a cat," thought Chaytor. - -The two buckets of stuff were emptied into a tub. - -"Let us wash it out before breakfast," said Basil. - -They went down to the river, carrying the tub between them. On the top -of the auriferous soil were two tin basins, and, after puddling the -tub well and letting the worthless refuse flow over the brim, they set -to work washing what remained in the basins, with that rotary motion -in which gold-diggers are so skilful, and which enables them to get -rid of the loosened earth, and keep the heavy precious metal at a safe -angle in the bottom of the dish. It had hitherto been Basil's practice -to leave this delicate operation to Chaytor, but on this morning he -took part in it, using one dish, while Chaytor used the other. Chaytor -took, note of every small circumstance; nothing escaped him. - -"This is a new move of yours, Basil," he said. - -"I am beginning to take a real interest in the work," admitted Basil. -"In a manner of speaking, it is waking me up." - -"Glad to hear it," said Chaytor. "These two buckets are worth -something. There's not less than twenty ounces." - -There was more; the stuff they had washed yielded twenty-three ounces, -and the whole day's yield was worth four hundred pounds. - -"Nothing to complain of now, Chaytor," observed Basil in the evening. - -"Nothing." Basil was busy with paper and pencil. "What are you up to -there? Figuring?" - -"Yes," replied Basil. "I am reckoning how much four hundred pounds a -day would bring us in at the end of the year. Here it is. Three -hundred and twelve working days in the year, leaving Sundays free." - -"Why should we do that?" asked Chaytor. "There's no one to see us. It -would be a sheer waste of so much money." - -Basil looked up in surprise; the remark was not agreeable to him, the -tone in which it was spoken was still less so. - -"I am old-fashioned perhaps," he said. "I do not choose to work on the -Sabbath day." - -"Growing particular." - -"No; I have always held the same notion." - -"We'll not argue. What is your reckoning?" - -"Three hundred and twelve working days a year," continued Basil. -"Twelve days for sickness, leaving three hundred. At four hundreds -pound a day we get a total of a hundred and twenty thousand--in -pounds. Sixty thousand pounds each. Truly, a great fortune." - -"If it lasts," again said Chaytor. - -"Of course, if it lasts. There's the chance of its getting better. How -does it look to you--as if it will hold out?" - -Chaytor had been down the claim for some hours during the day, and had -pocketed between forty and fifty ounces, which he chose to regard as -his own special treasure trove. - -"There's no saying," he said. "The vein runs sideways into the rock. -It may peg out at any moment." - -"We shall not have done badly by the time it does. I have to thank you -for bringing me here." - -"Yes," said Chaytor, ungraciously; "it was my discovery. Don't forget -that." - -"I shall never forget it, Chaytor, nor any of the other good turns you -have done me. I don't know whether it is a healthy or an unhealthy -sign that this better luck should have aroused me from the apathy in -which I have been so long plunged. It has softened me; the crust of -indifference, of disbelief in human goodness, is melting away, I am -glad to say. That this is due to the prospect of becoming rich is not -very creditable; I would rather that the change in me had sprung from -a less worldly cause; it would have made me better satisfied with -myself. But we mortals are very much of the earth, earthy, and we take -too readily the impressions of immediate circumstances and of our -surroundings. They mould our characters, as it were, and change them -for better or worse." - -"You can do a lot of thinking in a little time, Basil." - -"How so, Chaytor?" - -"Because yesterday you were black, to-day you are white. Yesterday it -was a bad world; to-day it is a good one. A rapid transformation, -savouring somewhat of fickleness." - -"A just reproof, but I cannot alter my nature. I have never given -myself credit for much stability except in my affections, and there, I -think, I am constant. As you say, a little reflection has effected a -great change in me. We judge the world too much from our own -stand-point. We are fortunate, we trust and are not deceived, we love -and are loved in return, our daily labour is rewarded--it is a good -world, a bright world. We are unfortunate, we trust and are deceived, -we love and are not loved in return, we toil and reap dead leaves--it -is a bad world, a black world. That is the way with us." - -"All of which wise philosophy has sprung from our discovery of a rich -patch of gold." - -"I am afraid I can ascribe these better and juster feelings to no -other cause." - -"Basil," said Chaytor, toying with his pipe and tobacco, "say that -your reckoning should be justified by results. Say that we work here -undiscovered for a year--for there is the contingency of our being -tracked to be thought of----" - -"Of course." - -"Say that we do not fall ill or meet with an accident which disables -us, say that to-day is but a sample of all the other days to follow in -the next twelve months, say that we make a hundred thousand pounds, -what would you do with your share? For I suppose," said Chaytor, with -a light laugh, "that the offer you once made of letting me keep the -lot if we struck gold rich, is now withdrawn." - -"I am properly reproved. Yes, Chaytor, I should expect my share." -Basil said this in a rather shamefaced voice. "It proves in the first -place that I am not a very dependable fellow, and in the second place -it proves my philosophy, that we are moulded by immediate -circumstances." - -"Oh, it is natural enough; I never expected to meet with a man who -would step out of the ordinary grooves. There are temptations which it -is impossible to resist, and you and I are no different from the rest -of mankind." - -"I should place you above the majority, Chaytor." - -"I am obliged to you, but I am as modest as yourself, and cannot -accept the distinction. Well, Basil, say that everything happened as I -have described, what would you do at the end of the year, with its -wonderful result of overflowing purses?" Basil was silent and Chaytor -continued: "You said once that you intended to live and die in the -colonies. Do you stick to that?" - -"No." - -"What would you do?" - -"I should return to England." - -Chaytor shivered. This good fortune, then, which he had bestowed upon -Basil, was to be the means of his own destruction. Basil in England, -nothing could prevent his treachery being discovered. He had led to -his own ruin. With assumed unconcern he asked: - -"For any specific purpose, Basil?" - -"It has dawned upon me, Chaytor, that in my thoughts I may have done -injustice to one whom I loved and who loved me." - -"The little girl, Annette?" - -"The little girl, Annette." - -"But, speaking of love as you do, one would suppose that she was a -woman. Whereas she was a mere child when you last saw her." - -"That is true, and I speak of her only as a child. Chaytor, there was -something so sweet in Annette's nature that she grew in my heart as a -beloved sister might have done. To that length I went; no farther. -Have you ever felt the influence of a child's innocent love? It -purifies you; it is a charm against evil thoughts and evil promptings. -Annette's affection was like an amulet lying on my heart." - -"Your object in returning to England would be to seek her out?" - -"I should endeavour to find her. Her silence may have been enforced. -She may be unhappy; I might be of service to her. There are other -reasons. I seem in this far-off country to be cut off from sympathy, -from humanizing influences. The life does not suit me. A man, after -all, is not a stone; he has duties, obligations, which he should -endeavour to fulfil. You have heard me speak of my uncle. He was kind -to me for a great many years, up to the point of my offending him. He -is old: consideration is due to him. I should go to him and say, 'I do -not want your money; give it to whom you will, but let us be -friends.'" - -"A hundred to one that he would show you the door," said Chaytor, who -found in these revelations more than sufficient food for thought. - -"At all events I should have done my duty; but I think you are -mistaken. He has a tender heart under a rough exterior, and was always -fond of me, even, I believe, when he cast me off. I should not wonder -if he has not sometimes thought, 'Why did Basil take me at my word? -Why did he not make advances towards me?' He would be right in so -thinking; I ought to have striven for a reconcilement. But I was as -obstinate as he was himself, and perhaps prouder because I was poor. -In a sort of way I defied him, and as good as said I could do without -him. I was wrong; I should have acted differently. - -"You seem to me, Basil," said Chaytor, slowly, "to fall somewhat into -the same error in speaking of him as you do when you speak of Annette. -You speak of the little girl as if she was a woman; you speak of your -uncle as if he is living." - -"If he is dead I should learn the truth." - -"I suppose that you would not leave the colony unless you were rich?" - -"I think not; I should be placing myself in a false position. We will -not talk of it any more to-night, Chaytor. I am tired and shall go to -bed." - -"So shall I. The conversation has been a bit too sentimental for me. -Besides, when you say that you are cut off from sympathy and human -influences here, you are not paying me a very great compliment, after -the sacrifices I have made for you. But it is the way of the world." - -"Why, Chaytor," said Basil, with affectionate emphasis, "I never -proposed that we should part. My hope was that we should go home -together. You are as much out of place here as I am. With your -capacities and with money in your pocket, you could carve a career in -England which would make you renowned." - -"It is worth thinking of; but I must have your renewed promise, Basil, -that you will not throw up our partnership here till we have made our -fortune." - -"I give you the promise. It would be folly to land in the old country -penniless." - -"So that the upshot of it is, that it all depends upon money. In my -opinion everything in life does." - -"You do yourself an injustice, and are not speaking in your usual -vein. I daresay I am to blame for it. Forgive me, friend." - -"Oh, there's nothing to forgive; but it _is_ strange, isn't it, that -the first difference we have had should have sprung from the prospect -of our making our pile? Good night, old fellow." - -"Good night, Chaytor." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -Chaytor lay awake that night, brooding. He found himself on the horns -of a dilemma, and all the cunning of his nature was needed to meet the -difficulty and overcome it successfully. The scheme he had laid, and -very nearly matured, had been formed and carried out in the -expectation that the run of ill-luck which had pursued him on the -goldfields would continue. But now the prospect was suddenly altered. -Gold floated before his eyes; he saw the stuff in the claim they were -working more thickly studded than ever with the precious metal; -extravagant as were the calculations which Basil had worked out they -were not too extravagant for his imagination, and certainly not -sufficiently extravagant for his cupidity. There was no reason in the -world why these anticipations should not be more than fulfilled. -Fabulous fortunes had been realised on the goldfields before -to-day--why should not the greatest that had ever been made be theirs? -He was compelled to take Basil into this calculation. He could not -work alone in the claim; a mate was necessary, and where should he -find one so docile as Basil? With all his heart he hated Basil, who -seemed to hold in his hands the fate of the man who had schemed to -destroy him. Luck had changed and the end he had in view must be -postponed, must even, perhaps, be ultimately abandoned. To turn his -back upon the fortune within his grasp for a problematical fortune in -the old country was not to be dreamt of. The bird he had in hand was -worth infinitely more than the two he had in the bush--these two being -Annette and Basil's uncle. The result of his cogitations was that the -scheme upon which he had been engaged should remain in abeyance until -it was proved whether the gold they had struck in their claim was a -flash in the pan, or would hold out till their fortunes were made. In -the former case he would carry out his scheme to the bitter end: in -the latter he would amass as much money as he could, and then fly to -America, where life would be almost as enjoyable as in England. It was -hardly likely, if Basil discovered his treachery, that he would follow -him for the mere purpose of revenge. "He is not vindictive," thought -the rogue; "he is a soft-hearted fool, and will let me alone." Thus -resolved, Chaytor waited for events. It is an example of the tortuous -reasoning by which villainy frequently seeks to justify itself that -Chaytor threw from his soul the responsibility of a contemplated -crime, by arguing that the result did not depend upon him but upon -nature. If the claim proved to be as rich as they hoped, Basil would -be spared; if the gold ran out, he must take the consequences. Having -thus established that circumstance would be the criminal, the -evil-hearted man disposed himself for sleep. - -He had not long to wait to decide which road he was to tread. During -the week they learned that their anticipations of wealth were not to -be realised. Each bucket of earth that was sent up from the shaft -became poorer and poorer, and from the last they obtained but a few -grains of gold. The following day they met with no better fortune; the -rich patch was exhausted; the pocket in which they had found the gold -was empty. - -"Down tumble our castles," said Basil, with a certain bitterness. - -"We may strike another rich patch," said Chaytor, and thought, "I will -not wait much longer. I am sick of fortune's freaks; I will take the -helm again, and steer my ship into pleasure's bay." - -He went to the township, openly for provisions and secretly to see if -there was any news from England. There were letters at the Post Office -awaiting Basil Whittingham, Esq. Chaytor put them in his pocket -without opening them, purchased some provisions, and set forth to -rejoin Basil. He was more careful in his movements than he had ever -been. He had a premonition that the unopened letters contained news of -more than ordinary importance, and if he were tracked and followed now -his plans would be upset and all the trouble he had taken thrown away. -Basil and he were hidden from the world; no one knew of their -whereabouts, no person had any knowledge of their proceedings. Should -Basil disappear, who would suspect? Not a soul. Basil had not a friend -or acquaintance in all the colonies who was anxious for his safety or -would be curious to know what had become of him. - -Midway between the township at which he had obtained Basil's letters -and the claim which had animated him with delusive hopes the schemer -halted for rest. He listened and looked about warily to make sure that -no one had followed him. Not a sound fell upon his ears, no living -thing was within hail. There are parts of the Australian woods which -are absolutely voiceless for twenty-three out of every twenty-four -hours. This one hour, maybe, is rendered discordant by the crows, -whose harsh cries grate ominously upon the ear. At the present moment, -however, these pestilential birds were far away, and satisfied that -there was no witness of his proceedings, Chaytor threw himself upon -the earth and opened the letters. The first he read was from the -lawyers, who had already written to Basil in reply to the letters his -false friend had forged. It was to the following effect:-- - - -"Dear Sir, - -"We write at the request of your uncle, Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, -who, we regret to say, is seriously ill. He desires us to inform you -that he has abandoned the intention as to the disposition of his -property with which he made you acquainted before your departure from -England. A will has been drawn out and duly signed, constituting you -his sole heir. Ordinarily this would not have been made known to you -until the occurrence of a certain event which appears imminent, but -our client wished it otherwise, and as doctors happily are not -invariably correct in their prognostications it may happen that you -will yet be in time to see him if you use dispatch upon the receipt of -this communication, and take ship for England without delay. To enable -you to do this we enclose a sight draft upon the Union Bank of Australia -for five hundred pounds, and should advise you to lose not a day in -putting it to the use desired by our client. It is our duty at the same -time to say that we hold out no hope that you will arrive in time. -In the expectation of seeing you within a reasonable period, and -receiving your instructions, we have the honour to remain, - -"Your obedient servants, - -"Bulfinch & Bulfinch." - - -There was another letter from the lawyers: - - -"Dear Sir, - -"Following our letter of yesterday's date we write to say that we have -been directed by your uncle Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, to forward to -you the sealed enclosure which you will find herewith. We regret to -inform you that our client is sinking fast, and that the doctors who -are attending him fear that he cannot last through the week. - - "We have the honour to remain, - - "Your obedient servants, - - "Bulfinch & Bulfinch." - - -Before unfastening the "sealed enclosure," Chaytor rose in a state of -great excitement, and allowed his thoughts to find audible expression: - -"At last! Here is the certainty. No more Will-o'-the-wisps. Fortune is -mine--do you hear?--mine. Truly, justly mine. Who has worked for it -but I? Tell me that. Would the idiot Basil ever have humbled himself -as I did; would he ever have worked his old uncle as I have done? What -is the result? I softened the old fellow's heart, and the money he -would have left to some charity has fallen to me. Every labourer is -worthy of his hire, and I am worthy of mine. Basil would never have -had one penny of the fortune, and therefore it is my righteous due. At -last, at last! No more sweating and toiling. The world is before me, -and I shall live the life of a gentleman. There is work still to be -done, both here and at home, and _I will do it_. No blenching, -Chaytor; no flinching now. What has to be done _must_ and _shall_ be -done. There is less danger in making the winning move than in -upsetting the board after the game I have played. Hurrah! Let me see -what the precious 'enclosure' has to say for itself." - -He broke the seal, and read: - - -"My Dear Nephew Basil, - -"My sands of life are running out, and before it is too late I write -to you, probably for the last time. You will be glad to hear from me -direct, I know, for your nature is different from mine, and your heart -has always been open to tender impressions. When I cast you from me I -dare say you suffered, but after my first unjust feeling of resentment -was over my sufferings have been far greater than yours could have -been. It is the honest truth that in abandoning you I abandoned the -only real pleasure which life had for me; but my obstinacy, dear lad, -would not allow me to take steps towards a reconcilement. It may be -that had you done so I should still have hardened my heart against -you, and should have done you the injustice of thinking that you -wished to propitiate me for selfish motives. In these, as I believe -them to be, the last hours of my life, I have no wish to spare myself; -I can see more clearly now than I have done for many a long year, and -my pride deserves no excuse. This 'pride' has been the bane of my -life; it has sapped the fountains of innocent enjoyment; it has -enveloped me in a steel shroud which shut me out from love and -sympathy. You, and you alone, since I was a young man, were able to -penetrate this shroud, and even to you I showed only that worse side -of myself by which the world must have judged me. I did not give -myself the trouble of inquiring whether the counsel I was instilling -into you was true or false; I see now that it was false, and it is -some comfort to me to know that your nature was too simple and -honourable, too loving and sympathetic, to be warped by it. Early in -life I met with a disappointment which soured me. There is no need to -inscribe that page in this letter--a loving letter, I beg you to -believe. It was a disappointment in love, and from the day I -experienced it I became soured and embittered. I was a poor man at the -time, and I devoted myself to the task of making money; I made it, and -much good has it done me. With wealth at my command I set up two dark -starting points, which I allowed to influence me in every question -under consideration--one, money, the other human selfishness. These, -with a dogged and obstinate belief in the correctness of my own -judgment on every matter which came before me, made me what I have -been. I had no faith, I had no religion; my life was godless, and the -attribute of selfishness which I ascribed to the actions of all other -men guided and controlled me in mine. You never really saw me in my -true character. That I regarded money as the greatest good I did not -conceal from you, but other sides of me, even more objectionable than -this, were not, I think, revealed to you. The mischief I would have -done you glanced off harmlessly, as the action you took in ruining -yourself to pay your father's debts proved. You were armed with an -shield, my dear lad, a shield in which shone the religious principle, -honourable conduct, and faith in human nature. Be thankful for that -armour, Basil; it is not every man who is so blessed. And let me tell -you this. It is often an inheritance, and if not that, it is often -furnished by a mother's loving teaching and influence. You had the -sweetest of mothers; mine was of harder grain. I lay no blame upon -her, nor, I repeat, do I seek to excuse myself, but I would point out -to you, as a small measure of extenuation, that some of us are more -fortunate than others in the early training we receive, and in the -possession of inherited virtues. - -"Basil, my dear lad, you did right in paying your father's debts, -despite the base view I expressed of your action. Angry that a step so -important should have been taken without my consent being asked, -angry, indeed, that it should have been taken at all, I said to -myself, 'I will punish him for it; I will teach him a lesson.' So I -wrote you a heartless letter, informing you that I had resolved to -disinherit you, and suggesting that you should return the money I had -freely given you and which was justly yours. There are few men in the -world who would have treated that request as you did, and you could -not have dealt me a harder blow than when you forwarded me a cheque -for the amount, with interest added. Your independence, your -manliness, hardened instead of softened me; 'He does it to defy me,' I -thought, and I allowed you to leave England under the impression that -the ties which had bound us together were irrevocably destroyed. But -the blow I aimed at you recoiled upon myself; your reply to my mean -and sordid request has been a bitter sting to me, and had you sought -to revenge yourself upon me you could not have accomplished your -purpose more effectually. I have always lived a lonely life, as you -know; since I lost you my home has been still more cheerless and -lonesome; but I would not call you back--no, my pride stopped me: I -could not endure the thought that you or any man should triumph over -me. You see, my boy, I am showing you the contemptible motives by -which I was actuated; it is a punishment I inflict upon myself; and I -deserve the harshest judgment you could pass upon me. If my time were -to come over again, would I act differently? I cannot say. A man's -matured character is not easily twisted out of its usual grooves. I am -as I have been made, or, to speak more correctly, as I chose to make -myself, and I have been justly punished. - -"But, Basil, if the harvest I have gathered has been worthless to me -and to others, some good may result from it in the future. Not at my -hands, at yours. You are my sole heir, and you will worthily use the -money I leave you. I look forward to the years to come, and I see you -in a happy home, with wife and children around you, and it may be then -that you will give me a kind thought and that you will place a flower -on my grave. - -"I am greatly relieved by this confession. Good-bye, my lad, and God -bless you. - - "Your affectionate Uncle. - - "Bartholomew Whittingham." - - -"Sentimental old party," mused Newman Chaytor, as he replaced the -letter in its envelope. "If this had fallen into Basil's hands it -would have touched him up considerably. The old fellow had to give in -after all, but it was my letters that worked the oracle. The credit of -the whole affair is mine, and Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham ought to be -very much obliged to me for soothing his last hours." He laughed--a -cruel laugh. "As for the harvest he has gathered, I promise him that -it shall be worthily spent. He sees in the future his heir in a happy -home, with wife and children around him. Well!--perhaps. If all goes -smooth with the charming Annette, we'll see what we can do to oblige -him. Now let me read the little puss's letter; there may be something -interesting in it." - - -"My dear Basil" (wrote Annette), "I have something to tell you. Uncle -Gilbert has discovered that we have been corresponding with each -other, and there has been a scene. It came through aunt. The day -before yesterday they went out and left me and Emily together. From -what they said I thought they would have been gone a good many hours, -and I got out my desk and began to read your letters all over again. -Do you know how many you have written me? Seven; and I have every one -of them, and mean to keep them always. After reading them I sat down -to write to you--a letter you will not receive, because this will take -its place, and because I had not written a dozen words before aunt -came in suddenly, and caught me bending over my desk. Seeing her, I -was putting my letter away (I never write to you when she is with me) -when she came close up to me and laid her hand on mine. 'What is that -you are writing?' she asked. 'A letter,' I replied. It was not very -clever of me, but I did not for the moment know what other answer to -give. 'To whom?' she asked. 'To a friend,' I said. 'Oh, you have -friends,' she said; 'tell me who they are.' 'I have only one,' I said, -'and I am writing to him.' 'And he has written to you?' she said. -'Yes,' I said, 'he has written to me.' 'Who is this only friend?' she -asked; 'do I know him?' 'Yes,' I said, 'you knew him slightly. There -is no reason for concealment; it is Basil, my dear father's friend.' -'Oh,' she said, 'your dear father's friend. Is he in England, then?' -'No,' I answered, 'he is in Australia.' 'His letters should have been -addressed to the care of your uncle,' she said, 'and that, I am sure, -has not been the case, or they would have passed through our hands. -How have you obtained them?' 'It is my secret,' I replied. Fortunately -Emily was not in the room, and I do not think they have any suspicion -that she has been assisting me; if they had they would discharge her, -though I should fight against that. 'Your answers are evasive,' she -said. 'They are not, aunt,' I said; 'they are truthful answers.' 'Are -you afraid,' she asked, 'if the letters had been addressed to our -care, as they ought to have been, that they would not have been given -to you?' I did not answer her, and she turned away, and said she would -inform Uncle Gilbert of the discovery she had made. I did not go on -with my first letter to you when she was gone; I thought I would wait -till Uncle Gilbert spoke to me. He did the same evening. 'Your aunt -has informed me,' he said, 'that you have been carrying on a -correspondence with that man named Basil, who so very nearly imposed -upon your father in Australia.' 'That man, uncle,' I said, 'is a -gentleman, and he did not try to impose upon my father.' 'It will be -to your advantage, my dear niece,' said Uncle Gilbert, very quietly, -'not to bandy words with me, nor say things which may interfere with -your freedom and comfort. I am your guardian, and dispute it as you -may, I stand in your father's place. To carry on a clandestine -correspondence with a young man who is no way related to you is -improper and unmaidenly. May I inquire if there is any likelihood of -your correspondent favouring us with a visit?' 'I hope I shall see him -one day,' I said. 'There is a chance of it then,' he said, 'and you -can probably inform me when we may expect him.' 'No, I cannot tell you -that,' I said. 'Your aunt believes,' he said, 'that you are not -speaking the truth when you answer questions we put to you.' 'All my -answers are truthful ones,' I said. 'You refuse to tell us,' he said, -'by what means this secret correspondence has been carried on.' 'I -refuse to tell you,' I answered. 'I will not press you,' he said, 'but -it will be my duty to discover what you are hiding from me. I shall -succeed; I never undertake a task and fail. I always carry it out -successfully to the end. In the meantime this correspondence must -cease.' 'I will not promise,' I said, 'anything I do not mean to -fulfil.' 'That is an honest admission,' he said, 'and I admire you for -it. Nevertheless, the correspondence must cease, and if you persist in -it I shall find a way to put a stop to it. Your reputation, your good -name is at stake, and I must guard you from the consequences of your -imprudence. My dear niece, I fear that you are bent upon opposing my -wishes. It is an unequal battle between you and me--I tell you so -frankly. You are under my control, and I intend to exercise my -authority. We will now let the matter drop.' And it did drop there and -then, and not another word has been spoken on the subject. - -"There, Basil, I have told you everything as far as I can recollect -it. I might be much worse off than I am. But it would be different if -I did not have you to think of, if I did not feel that I have a dear, -dear friend in the world, though he is so many thousands of miles -away, and that some day I shall see him again. It is something to look -forward to, and not a day passes that I do not think of it. You -remember the books you used to tell me of on the plantation. I have -read them all again and again, and they are all delightful. If the -choice were mine, and you were to be near me, or with me as my dear -father wished, I should dearly like to live the old life on the -plantation; but there would be a difference, Basil; I could not live -it now without books, and I do not see how anybody could. Often do I -believe them to be real, and when I have laid down one which has made -me laugh and cry I feel as if I had made new friends with whom I can -rejoice and sympathise. There will be plenty to talk of when we meet, -for that we shall meet some day I have not the least doubt. Only if -you would grow rich, and come home soon, it would be so beautiful. -Really and truly, Basil, I want a friend, a true friend to talk to -about things. 'About what things, Annette?' perhaps you ask. How shall -I explain? I will try--only you must remember that I am older than -when we were together on the plantation, and that, as Uncle Gilbert -implied, in a year or two I shall be a woman. - -"Basil, when that time comes I want to have more freedom than I have -now; I do not want to feel as if I were in chains; but how shall I be -able to set myself free without a friend like you by my side? I do not -think I am clever, but one can't help thinking of things. I understand -that when my dear father died Uncle Gilbert was doing what he had a -right to do in becoming my guardian and taking care of the money that -was left. Emily says it is all mine, but I do not know. If it is, I -should be glad to give half of it to Uncle Gilbert if he would agree -to shake hands with me and bid me good-bye. We should be ever so much -better friends apart from each other. I did venture timidly to speak -to him once about my dear father's property, but he only said, 'Time -enough, time enough; there is no need to trouble yourself about it; -wait till you are a good many years older.' But, Basil, I want to be -free before I am a good many years older, and how is that to be -managed without your assistance? That is what I mean when I say I want -a true friend to talk about things." - -"I must leave off soon; Emily says the mail for Australia leaves -to-day, and this letter has to be posted. I am writing it very early -in the morning in my bedroom, before uncle and aunt are up; it is -fortunate that they do not rise till late. But to be compelled to -write in this way--do you understand now what I mean when I say that I -do not want to feel as if I were in chains? Emily says she will manage -to post the letter for me without uncle and aunt knowing, and I hope -she will be able to. Of course it would be ridiculous for me to -suppose that Emily and I can be a match for Uncle Gilbert, for I am -certain he is watching me, though there is no appearance of it. The -way he talks and the way he looks sometimes puts me in mind of a fox. - -"Good-bye, Basil. Do not forget me, and if you do not hear from me for -a long time do not think I have forgotten you. I can never, never, do -that. Oh, how I wish time would pass quickly! - - "Always yours affectionately, - - "Annette." - - -When he finished reading Annette's letter Newman Chaytor looked at the -date and saw that it had been written a month earlier than the letter -from the lawyers. Examining the postmark on the envelope he saw that -it could not have been posted till three weeks after it had been -written, and that it bore a French stamp. - -"The little puss was not in England," he thought, "when she contrived -to get this letter popped into the post. That shows that she was right -in supposing that Uncle Gilbert was watching her. Sly old fox, Uncle -Gilbert. He means to keep tight hold of the pretty Annette. Saint -George to the rescue! I feel quite chivalrous, and as if I were about -to set forth to rescue maidens in distress. She is not quite devoid of -sense, this Annette; it will be an entertainment to have a bout with -Uncle Gilbert on her behalf. He saw very little of Basil, and if we -resembled each other much less than we do it would be scarcely -possible for him to suspect that another man was playing Basil's part -in this rather remarkable drama. Time, circumstance, everything is in -my favour--but I wish the next few weeks were over." - -The harsh cawing of crows aroused him from his musings. Their grating -voices were a fit accompaniment to his cruel thoughts. With a set, -determined face, and with a heart in which dwelt no compunction for -the deed he was about to do, he turned his face towards the spot where -Basil, unsuspicious of the fate in store for him, was awaiting the -comrade in whom he had put his trust. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -In Australia, as in all new countries where treasure is discovered or -where land is not monopolised by the few, townships spring up like -mushrooms. Some grow apace, and become places of importance; others, -in which the promise which brought them into existence is unfulfilled, -languish and die out, to share the fate of the township of Gum Flat, -in which Basil had met the man who played him false. Shortly after the -events which have been recorded, a party of prospectors halted in a -valley some eight miles from the valley where Basil and Newman Chaytor -had been working, and began to look for gold. Their search was -rewarded, the precious metal was found in paying quantities, and -miners flocked to the valley and spread themselves over the adjacent -country. The name of one of the early prospectors was Prince, and a -township being swiftly formed, there was a certain fitness in dubbing -it Princetown. All the adjuncts of a town which bade fair to be -prosperous were soon gathered together. At the heels of the -gold-diggers came the storekeepers, with tents in which to transact -their business, and drayloads of goods wherewith to stock their -stores. The tide, set going, flowed rapidly, and in less than a -fortnight Princetown was a recognised centre of the rough civilisation -which reigns in such-like places. Storekeepers, publicans, -auctioneers, plied their trade from morning till night, and the gold, -easily obtained, was as easily parted with by the busy bees, who lived -only for the day and thought not of the morrow. The scene, from early -morning till midnight, was one of remarkable animation, replete with -strange features which a denizen of old-time civilisation, being set -suddenly in its midst, would have gazed upon with astonishment. Here -was a cattle-yard, in which horses for puddling machines and drays, -and sheep and oxen for consumption, were being knocked down to the -highest bidder during ten hours of the day. A large proportion of the -horses purchased by the miners were jibbers and buckjumpers, and a -very Babel of confusion reigned in the High Street as they strove to -lead away their purchases. Around each little knot of mates who had -bought a jibber or a buckjumper a number of idlers gathered, shouting -with derision or approval when the horse or the man was triumphant. -Exciting struggles between the two were witnessed; men jumped upon -unsaddled horses and were thrown into the air amid the yells of the -spectators, only to jump on again and renew the contest. Here an -attempt was being made to pull along a jibber, whose forelegs were -firmly planted before it, while twenty whips were being cracked at its -heels to urge it on in the desired direction. A dozen yards off, up -and out went the heels of a buckjumping brute, scattering the crowd, -and for a moment victorious. Nobody was seriously hurt, bruises being -reckoned of no account by these wanderers from the home-land, who for -the first time in their lives were breathing the air of untrammelled -freedom. It was wonderful to observe the effects of the newer life -which was pulsing in the veins of the adventurers. At home they would -have walked to and from their work, or idled in the streets because -work was not to be obtained, listless and spiritless, mere commonplace -mortals with pale faces, and often hopeless eyes. Here it was as if -fresh, vigorous young blood had been infused into them. The careless, -easy dress, the manly belt with its fossicking knife in sheath, the -ragged and graceful billycock hat, the lissome movements of their -limbs, the hair flowing upon their breasts, transformed them from -drudges into something very like heroes. Seldom anywhere in the world -can finer specimens of manhood be seen than on these new goldfields; -it is impossible to withhold admiration of the manlier qualities which -have sprung into life with the free labour in which their days are -engaged. It is true that liberty often degenerates into lawless -licence, but the vicious attributes of humanity must be taken into -account, and they are as conspicuous in these new scenes, mayhap, as -in the older grooves; and although crime and vice are met with, their -proportion is no larger--indeed, it is not so large--than is made -manifest by statistics in the older orders of civilisation. Next to -the cattle sale-yard is a small store in which the wily gold-buyer is -fleecing and joking with the miner who comes to change virgin gold -into coined sovereigns or the ragged bank notes of Australian banks. -Next to the gold-buyer's tent is a stationer who, for the modest sum -of half-a-crown, will give a man an envelope, a sheet of notepaper, -and pen and ink, with which he can write a letter to a distant friend. -It was an amazing charge, but it was not uncommon during the first few -weeks of life on a new goldfield, and the wonder of it was that men -who toiled in the old countries for little more than half-a-crown a -day slapped down the coin without a murmur against the extortion. Next -to the stationer was a canvas hotel, wherein thimblefuls of brandy and -whiskey were retailed at a shilling the nobbler, and Bass's pale ale -at two shillings the pint bottle. Then clothes stores, provision -stores, general stores, dancing and billiard saloons, branches of -great banks, with flags waving over their fronts, and all driving a -roaring trade. The joyousness of prosperity was apparent in every -animate sign that met the view, and a rollicking freedom of manner was -established, very much as if it were an order of freemasonry which -made all men brothers. Here was a man who in England never had three -sovereigns to "bless himself with" (a favourite saying, which has its -meaning) calling upon every person in sight--strangers to him, every -man Jack of them--to come and drink at his expense at the usual -shilling a thimbleful, throwing to the bartender a dirty banknote, and -pocketing the change without condescending to count it. At present the -circulation was confined to bank notes, sovereigns and silver money. -Coppers were conspicuous by their absence, and, falling into miners' -hands, would very likely be pitched away with scorn. The lowest price -for anything was sixpence, whether it was a packet of pins or a yard -of tape--a very paradise for haberdashers with their eternal three -farthings. The man who was standing treat all round, and the more the -merrier, had been a dockyard labourer in London, a grovelling grub, -who at the end of the week had not twopence to spare, and probably -would have been glad to accept that much charity from the hands of the -kindly-hearted. In Princetown he was a lord, and just now seemed bent -upon getting as drunk as one. He had struck a new lead, and on this -day had washed out more than he would have received for two years' -labour at home. Small wonder that his head was turned; small wonder -for his belief that he was in possession of a Midas mine of wealth -which would prove inexhaustible. Thus in varied form ran the story of -these newly-opened goldfields with their delirious excitements and -golden hopes. A new era had dawned upon mankind, and bone and muscle -were the valuable commodities. So believed the miners, the kings of -the land; the bush roads teemed with them, and a tramp of a hundred -miles was thought nothing of. Their swags on their backs, they marched -through bush and forest, and lit their camp fires at night, and sat -round the blazing logs, smoking, singing, and telling bush yarns -until, healthfully tired out with their day's labour, they wrapped -themselves in their blankets and slept soundly with the stars shining -on them. Up they rose in the morning, as merry as Robin Hood's men, -and drawing water from the creek in which they washed, made their tea -and baked their "damper," then shouldered their swags again, and -resumed their cheerful march. Soldiers of civilisation they, opening -up a new country in which fortunes were made and work honestly paid -for. No room for that pestilential brood, the hydra-headed middleman, -who pays the producer a shilling for his wares, and, passing it on -from hand to hand delivers it to the consumer at six times its proper -value. It is this multiplying process which makes life so hard to -hundreds of thousands in the overcrowded countries of the old-world. - -Some passing features of the sudden creation of Princetown have been -given, but one remains to be introduced. Exactly twelve days from the -discovery of gold in the valley, an ancient horse of lean proportions, -dragging a crazy old waggon behind it, halted in the High Street in -the early part of the day. By the side of the tired animal was a -pale-faced man, who never once used his worn-out whip, but gave kindly -words to his steed in the place of lashes. He was poorly dressed and -looked wan and anxious. When he halted there descended from the waggon -a woman as pale-faced and anxious as himself and a little girl -brimming over with life and spirits. The woman was his wife, the -little girl his daughter. The frontages to the most desirable -allotments had been pegged out a long way north and south, and there -were speculators who had no intention of occupying those allotments -themselves, but were prepared to sell their rights to newcomers. -After a few inquiries and some shrewd examination of the allotments, -the man bargained for one in a suitable position, and became its -owner. Then from the waggon was taken a tent of stout canvas, and -while the old horse ate its corn and bent its head to have its nose -stroked by the little girl, the man and woman set to work to build -their habitation. In the course of the afternoon this was done, and -then, after an _al fresco_ repast, the waggon was unloaded of its -contents. This process aroused the curiosity of the loungers in High -Street, Princetown, the goods being of an unusual character. -Mysterious looking articles were taken out of the waggon and conveyed -with great care into the tent, and presently one onlooker, better -informed than his comrades, cried: - -"Why, it's a printing-office!" - -A printing-office it was, of the most modest description, but still, a -printing-office; that engine of enlightenment without which the wheels -of civilisation would cease to revolve. The word was passed round, the -news spread, and brought other contingents of spectators, and the -canvas tent became a temple, and the pale-faced man a man of mark. -Inside the temple the woman was arranging the type and cases, putting -up without assistance two single frames and a double one; outside the -man was answering, or endeavouring to answer, the eager questions -asked of him, extracting at the same time, for his own behoof, such -scraps of information as would prove useful to him. Pale as was his -face, and anxious as was the look in his eyes, he was a man of energy -and resource. - -"Mates," he cried, "look out to-morrow morning for the first number of -the _Princetown Argus_. Who'll subscribe?" - -"I will," and "I will," answered a dozen voices, and the enterprising -printer, who had staked his all on the venture, was immediately -engaged in receiving subscriptions for his newspaper, and entering the -names in a memorandum book. His face became flushed, the anxious look -fled from his eyes; in less than half an hour he had thirty pounds in -his pockets. - -"Go and get me some news," he said, addressing his audience generally. -"Never mind what it is, I'll put it into shape." - -"William," cried the woman from the tent, "you must come and help me -to put up the press." - -While the two were thus engaged, a good-natured fellow in the -open took upon himself the task of receiving additional subscribers -and when the press was set up, and the master printer made his -appearance again, a matter of twenty pounds was handed to him by his -self-constituted lieutenant. - -"Fifty pounds," whispered the adventurer to his wife. "A good start." - -She nodded, beaming, and proceeded with her work, assisted by her -husband. He had announced the initial number of the _Princetown Argus_ -for the next morning, and out it would have to come. This would -necessitate their stopping up all night, but what did the matter? They -were establishing a property, and, were already regarded as perhaps -the most important arrival in the new township. In the middle of their -work a visitor presented himself. The printer was spreading ink upon -the ink table and getting his roller in order, when his visitor opened -up a conversation. - -"The _Princetown Argus_, eh?" - -"Yes." - -"A good move. The first number to-morrow morning?" - -"Yes." - -"Can it be done?" - -"Oh, yes," said the printer confidently. "When I say done, done it -is." - -"That's your sort. How many pages?" - -"Two. The second number four." - -"What do you ask for the whole of the front page in the first four -numbers? I've a mind to advertise." - -The proposal staggered the printer, but he did not show it; the woman -pricked up her ears. - -"A hundred pounds," replied the printer, amazed at his own boldness. - -The visitor nodded, as if a hundred pounds for an advertisement were -an every-day occurrence with him. - -"With the option," he said, "of the next four numbers at the same -price." - -"You can have the option," said the printer, who could not yet be -called a newspaper proprietor, because his journal was in embryo. - -"Have you got some bold type? Big letters?" - -"Yes. My plant is small at present, but I can do job printing as well -as newspaper work. That's what I'm here for. I shall be getting new -type sent out in a week or two." - -"Show me 'John Jones' in big letters." - -It was done almost instantaneously, and the visitor gazed at the name -approvingly. It was his own. - -"Now, underneath, 'Beehive Stores.'" - -The letters were put together, and the printer said, "That will look -well, right across the page." - -John Jones nodded again. "Now, underneath that, 'The Beehive, the -Beehive, The Only Beehive. John Jones John Jones, The only John Jones. -Look out for the Flag, Painted by the Finest Artist of the Age.'" - -"Go slow," said the printer. "All right, I'm up to you." - -"Buy everything you Want," proceeded John Jones, watching the nimble -fingers with admiration, "'at the only Beehive, of the only John -Jones. Groceries, Provisions, Clothing of every description, Picks and -Shovels, Powder and Fuse, Candles, Tubs and Dishes, Crockery, Bottled -Ale and Stout, Everything of the Very Best. The highest price given -for Gold. Come One, Come All. The Only Beehive. The Only John Jones. -The Flag that's Braved a Thousand Years the Battle and the Breeze. -Good luck to all.' There, that's the advertisement. Spread it out, you -know. Here's the hundred pounds. You might give me a paragraph." - -"I'll do that," said the printer. "Something in this style: 'We have -much pleasure in directing our readers' attention to the advertisement -of out enterprising townsman, John Jones, the Beehive Stores, at whose -emporium gold-diggers and others will find the finest stock of goods,' -&c., &c., &c. Will that do?" - -"Capitally," said John Jones. "Put me down as a subscriber." And off -went the enterprising storekeeper, satisfied with his outlay and that -it would bring him a good return. Both he and William Simmons, the -founder of _The Princetown Argus_, are types. It is opportunity that -makes the man. - -The midnight oil was burned in the new printing-office until the sun -rose next morning. Not a wink of sleep did William Simmons or his wife -have; she was almost as expert a compositor as her husband, and she is -presented to the reader standing before her case, composing-stick in -hand, picking up stamps, as a woman worthy of the highest admiration. -When she paused in her work it was to have a peep at her little girl, -who was sleeping soundly, and to stoop and give her darling a kiss. -William Simmons was the busiest of men the whole of the time, in and -out of the tent, running here and there to pick up scraps, of -information for paragraphs and short articles, and setting up his -leading article, introducing _The Princetown Argus_ to the world, -literally "out of his head," for he did not write it first and put it -in type afterwards, but performed the feat, of which few compositors -are capable, that of making his thoughts take the place of "copy." At -ten o'clock in the morning the first copy of the newspaper was -produced, William Simmons being the pressman and Mrs. Simmons the -roller boy. It is a curiosity in its way, and readers at the British -Museum should look it up. There was a great demand for copies, and -Simmons and his wife did their best to supply it, but they could not -hold out longer than twelve o'clock, at which hour they shut up shop, -and, throwing themselves upon some blankets on the ground, enjoyed the -repose which they had so worthily earned. Before they awoke something -took place which created a great stir in the township, and news of it -was conveyed to the office of _The Princetown Argus_. Aroused from -their sleep, the printer and his wife were up and astir again, and -getting his material together, William Simmons, on the following day, -issued an "extra edition" of his paper, the principal item of which is -given in the next chapter. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -"A sad discovery" (wrote the editor and proprietor of _The Princetown -Argus_) "was yesterday made on a spot some dozen miles from -Princetown, which we hasten to place before our readers in the shape -of an extra edition of our journal, the success of the first number of -which, we are happy to say, has exceeded our most glowing -anticipations. We ask the inhabitants of Princetown to accept the -issue of this our first extra edition as a guarantee of the spirit -with which we intend to conduct the newspaper which will represent -their interests. The facts of the discovery we refer to are as -follows: - -"At the distance we have named from Princetown runs the Plenteous -river, towards which the eyes of our enterprising miners have been -already turned as the source from which, when our creeks run dry, we -shall have to obtain our water supply. The party of miners who have -formed themselves into a company for the purpose of sluicing a portion -of the ground in Fairman's Flat, deputed two of their number, Joseph -Porter and Steve Fairfax to make an inspection of the lay of the land -between Plenteous River and Fairman's Flat, to decide upon the -feasibility of cutting a water race, and upon the best means of -carrying out the design. The ground they hold has been proved to be -highly auriferous, and there is no doubt that rich washings-out will -reward their enterprise. It was not to be expected that they would -make their examination without prospecting the ground here and there, -and the reports they have brought in seem to establish the fact that -the whole of the country between Princetown and the Plenteous River -constitutes one vast goldfield. The future of our township is assured, -and within a short time its position will be second to none in all -Australia. The report of Porter and Fairfax is also highly favourable -to the contemplated water race, and the work will be commenced at -once. It is calculated that there are already six thousand miners in -Princetown. We have room for five times six thousand, and we extend -the hand of welcome to our new comrades. - -"Upon the arrival of Porter and Fairfax at the Plenteous River they -naturally concluded they were the first on the ground, no accounts of -any gold workings thereabouts having been published in any of the -Australian journals. They soon discovered their error. Work had been -done on the banks of the river, as was shown by the heaps of tailings -in different places, and on one of the ranges sloping upwards from the -banks a shaft had been sunk. At no great distance from the shaft a -small tent was set up, and the two men proceeded to it for the purpose -of making inquiries. Although the tent presented evidences of having -been quite recently occupied, no person was visible, and they came to -the conclusion that its owner was at work in another direction and -would return at the close of day. Their curiosity induced them to -examine the shaft which had been sunk on the range, and this -examination led to an important result. There was no windlass over the -shaft, but a rope securely fastened at the top hung down the mouth. -They shook the rope, and ascertained that it hung loose. To their -repeated calls down the shaft they received no reply, and they pulled -up the rope. To their surprise there were not more than twelve feet of -rope hanging down, whereas the stuff that had been hauled up indicated -a depth of some forty or fifty feet. A closer examination of the rope -showed that it had been broken at a part where it had got frayed and -unable to bear a heavy weight. Being provided with a considerable -length of rope the men resolved to descend the shaft and ascertain -whether an accident had occurred. Having made their rope fast, Fairfax -descended, and reaching the bottom was horrified to discover a man -lying there senseless and apparently dead. As little time as possible -was lost in getting him to the top, a work of considerable difficulty -and danger, but it was accomplished safely after great labour. Then -came the task of ascertaining whether the man was dead. He was not; -but although he exhibited signs of life the injuries he received were -of such a nature that they feared there was little hope for him. It -was impossible for Fairfax and Porter to convey him to Princetown -without a horse and cart, and Fairfax hurried back to the township to -obtain what was necessary, while Porter remained at the Plenteous -River to nurse the injured man. He has been brought here, and is now -being well looked after. The latest reports of him are more -favourable, and hopes are entertained that his life may be saved. He -has not yet, however, recovered consciousness, and nothing is known as -to his name. Neither is anything absolutely precise known of the -circumstances of the accident, except that it was caused by the -breaking of the rope, a portion of which was found at the bottom of -the shaft, tightly clenched in the stranger's hand. - -"There is a certain element of mystery in the affair, and we shall -briefly allude to one or two points which seem to have a bearing upon -it. - -"Fairfax and Porter, to whose timely arrival at Plenteous River the -stranger undoubtedly owes his life, if it is spared, are of the -opinion that there were two men working in the shaft and living -together in the tent. Upon the former point they may be mistaken, for -the rope was so fixed that a man working by himself could ascend and -descend the shaft with comparative ease, although the labour of -filling each bucket of stuff below and then ascending to the top to -draw it up, would have been excessive. But upon the latter point there -can be no doubt, for the reason that the tent contained two beds, both -of which must have been lain upon within the last week or two. -Inferring that there _were_ two men working in the shaft, is it -possible, when the accident occurred, that the man at the top of the -shaft made tracks from the place and left his mate to a cruel and -lingering death? This is a mere theory, and we present it for what it -is worth. An opinion has been expressed that the rope has been -tampered with, and that it did not break from natural wear and tear. -If so, it strengthens the theory we have presented. Nothing was found -in the pockets of the injured man which could lead to his identity, -nor was any gold found upon his person or in the tent. Thus, for the -present, the affair is wrapt in mystery." - -In the next week's number of the _Princetown Argus_ the incident was -again referred to in a leading article, in which a number of other -matters found mention: - -"The man who was found at the bottom of a shaft on a range at the -Plenteous River and was brought to Princetown to have his injuries -attended to, is now conscious and in a fair way of recovery. But, -whether from a set purpose or from the circumstance that his mental -powers have been impaired from the injuries he received, he is -singularly reticent about the affair. He has volunteered no -information, and his answers to questions addressed to him throw no -light upon the mystery. It is expected that several weeks will elapse -before he can recover his strength. Meanwhile we have to record that -gold has been found in paying quantities in the banks of the river and -in the adjacent ranges, and it is calculated that there are already -five hundred men at work there. Gold is also being discovered in -various parts of the country between Princetown and the river, -and a great many claims are being profitably worked. The rush of -gold-diggers to Princetown continues, and men are pouring in every -day. Yesterday the gold escort took down 4,300 ounces; it is expected -that this quantity will be doubled next week. Our enterprising -townsman, Mr. John Jones, of the famous Beehive Stores, is having a -wooden building erected in which his extensive business will in future -be transacted. We direct the attention of our readers to Mr. Jones' -advertisement on our front page. The enterprising proprietor of the -Royal Hotel has determined to construct a movable theatre, also of -wood, which will be put up every evening in the cattle sale-yards -adjoining his hotel when the sales of the day are over, and taken down -after every performance to allow of the sales being resumed the next -morning. This is a novel idea, and will be crowned with success. A -first-class company is on its way to Princetown, and it is announced -that the first performance will be given in a fortnight. Fuller -particulars of these matters will be found in other columns. Our -readers will observe that we have doubled the size of the _Princetown -Argus_, which now consists of four pages. We have ordered an entire -new plant, and upon its arrival shall still further enlarge our paper. -Our motto is Onward." - -It will be seen from these extracts that Newman Chaytor had carried -out his cruel scheme to what he believed and hoped would be the end of -the comrade he had plotted against and betrayed. But what man proposes -sometimes fails in its purpose, and it was so in this instance. The -merciful arrival of the two gold-diggers upon the scene saved Basil's -life. - -This last act of Chaytor's was easily accomplished. While Basil slept -he crawled to the shaft, and by the moon's light weakened the strands -of the rope some ten feet down. Then he crawled back to his bed, and -tossed to and fro till the dawn of day. - -"We'll work the claim till the end of the week," he said to Basil over -breakfast, "and if it turns out no better, we will try the banks of -the river again." - -"Very well," said Basil. "I am truly sorry I don't bring you better -luck, but we have something to go on with, at all events." - -They walked to the shaft together, and Basil prepared to descend. -Grasping the rope, he looked up at Chaytor, and Chaytor smiled at him. -He responded with a cheerful look, for although the hopes in which he -had indulged of returning to England with a fortune were destroyed, he -had not abandoned his wish to leave the colony. He was sick of the -life he was leading, and he yearned for a closer human sympathy. His -share of the gold they had obtained would be close upon five hundred -pounds--that was something; it would enable him to take passage home, -to find Annette perhaps, to see and speak with her and renew the old -bond; and if the worst happened, if he could not find Annette, or -found her only to learn that the woman was different from the child, -he could come back to Australia and live out his life there. - -"Don't lose heart," he said to Chaytor; "we may strike the vein again -this week. There's a bright future before you, I am certain." - -"I half believe so myself," said Chaytor; "hoping against hope, you -know." And thought, "Will he never go down?" - -Basil gave one upward look at the floating clouds and descended. -Chaytor bent over the mouth of the shaft, looked down, and listened. - -"Is the rope firm?" Basil cried out. - -"Quite firm," said Chaytor. Then there came a terrified scream, and -the sound of a heavy body falling. Then--silence. - -Chaytor, with white face and lips tightly set, still bent over the -mouth of the shaft, still looked down the dark depths, still listened. -Not a sound--not even a groan. - -"It is done," he muttered. - -He pulled up the severed rope, and thought that it might have happened -without his intervention. He had read of a parallel instance, and of -the death of a miner in consequence. - -"It was an accident," he said, "as this is. The rope would have given -way without my touching it. Such things occur all over the world. Look -at the colliery accidents at home--hundreds of men are killed in them, -here there is only one." - -These thoughts were not prompted by compunction; he simply desired to -shift the responsibility from his own shoulders. It was a miserable -subterfuge, and did not succeed. In the first flush of his crime its -shadow haunted him. - -He let the rope fall from his hand down the shaft. "I could not go to -him," he said, "if I wanted. How quiet he is!" - -A mad impulse seized him. - -"Basil Basil!" he cried in his loudest tone; and as no reply reached -him, he said, looking around, "Well, then, is it my fault that he does -not answer me?" - -He paced to and fro, a dozen steps this way, a dozen that, counting -his steps. Fifty times at least he did this, always with the intention -of going to the tent or the river, and always being drawn back to the -mouth of the shaft, over which he hung and lingered. It possessed a -horrible fascination for him. - -"I _will_ go this time," he said, but he could not. He remained an -hour--the longest hour in his life. At length he went down to the -river, and as he gazed upon it thought, "Men die by drowning. What -does it matter the kind of death? Death is death: it is always the -same." - -The interminable hours lagged on till night came. He sat in the tent -weighing the gold and getting ready for flight. Once in Sydney he -would take the first ship for England. The flickering candle cast -monstrous shadows upon the walls and ceiling, and in his nervous state -he shrank shudderingly from them, and strove to ward them off, as -though they were living forms hovering about him with fell intent. The -silence appalled him; he would have given gold for the piping of a -little bird. - -Thus passed the miserable night, and in the morning he visited the -shaft again. The same awful stillness reigned. - -"It is all over," he said. "Newman Chaytor is dead; I, Basil -Whittingham, live. No one will ever know. Now for England!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -Occasionally in a man's life comes a pause: as between the acts of a -drama action slumbers awhile--only that the march through life's -season never halts. The pulse of time throbs silently and steadily -until the natural span is reached, or is earlier snapped, and the -bridge between mortality and immortality is crossed. Meanwhile the man -grows older--that is all. For him upon the tree of experience there is -neither blossom nor bloom; bare branches spread out, naked of hope, -and he gazes upon them in dumb wonderment or despair. The hum of -woodland life, the panorama of wondrous colour, the unceasing growth -of life out of death, the warlike sun, the breath of peace in moon and -stars, the eternal pæn that all nature sings, bear no message to his -soul. He walks, he eats, he sleeps, and waits unconsciously for the -divine touch that shall arouse him from his trance. - -Something of this kind occurred to Basil. Recovering from the physical -injuries he had sustained, he sank into an apathetic state which, but -for some powerful incentive, might have been morally fatal. Friends he -had none, or the effort might have been made; so for a year after -Newman Chaytor had left Australia he plodded aimlessly on, working for -wages which kept him in food, and desiring nothing more. Upon the -subject of his mate's desertion he preserved silence, as indeed he did -upon most other subjects, but it might reasonably have been expected -that upon this theme in which he was directly interested he would have -been willing to open his mind. It was not so. To questions addressed -to him he returned brief and unsatisfactory answers, and after a time -nothing further was asked of him. Curiosity died out; if he chose to -keep himself aloof it was his business, and in the new world, as in -the old, every man's affairs were sufficient to occupy him without -troubling himself about strangers. Thus it would appear that the -scheme upon which Newman Chaytor had bent all his energies was -destined to be in every way successful. - -With respect to the desertion and the disappearance of the gold, an -equal share of which was rightfully and lawfully his, Basil had -arrived at a definite conclusion. He entertained no doubt that the -rope had broken naturally; suspicion of foul play did not cross his -mind. He argued that Chaytor, believing him to be dead, had taken the -gold and left the claim they had been working in disgust. "He made no -secret," thought Basil, "that he was sick of the life we were leading. -To have gone away and left my share of the gold behind him--I being, -as he supposed, dead--would have been an act of folly. I do not blame -him; good luck go with him. He stuck to me to the last, and proved -himself my friend when most I needed one. Let my life go on as it -will; I will think nothing and say nothing to his injury." A -vindictive man would have argued otherwise, would have thought that it -was at least a comrade's duty, before he left the spot, to convince -himself by ocular proof that the fall was fatal. But Basil was not -vindictive; he believed he had the best of reasons to be grateful to -Chaytor, and if the gold his mate had taken was any repayment for -services rendered in the past, he was welcome to it. The strong moral -principle in Basil's nature kept him from yielding to temptations -against which not all men struggle successfully when misfortune -persistently dogs them. He led an honest life of toil, without -ambition to lift himself to a higher level. But happily an awakening -was in store for him, and it came through the sweetest and most -humanising of influences. - -Princetown throve apace; its promise was fulfilled, and twenty -thousand men found prosperous lodgment therein. The majority delved, -the minority traded, most of them throve. To be sure some were -unfortunate, and some idled and dissipated, but this must always be -expected. New leads were discovered, quartz reefs were opened, -crushing machines were put up, streets were formed, a fire brigade was -established, a benevolent institute and a lunatic asylum were founded. -Not even a mushroom town in these new countries can exist without -something in the shape of a municipal council, and one was formed in -Princetown, over the elections for which there was prodigious -excitement. Churches and chapels, even a synagogue, were erected by -voluntary contributions, and there were churchyards in which already -wanderers found rest. All the important buildings were now of wood, -and there was a talk of stone, the primal honour of erecting which was -presently to fall to John Jones, the enterprising proprietor of the -Only Beehive. The _Princetown Argus_ shared in the general prosperity. -First a weekly, then a bi-weekly, then a tri-weekly, finally a daily. -First, two pages, the size of the _Globe_, then four pages ditto, -finally four pages, the size of the _Times_. Not a bad sample of -enterprise this. The Saturday edition was eight pages, to serve the -purpose of a weekly as well as a daily, and in it was published a -novel, "to be continued in our next," which the editor took from a -London monthly magazine, and for which, in the innocence of his heart, -he paid nothing. Of course there was an opposition journal, but the -_Princetown Argus_ had taken the lead, and kept it in the face of all -newcomers. The shrewd editor and proprietor did one piece of business -with a more than usually obstinate rival which deserves to be -recorded. He bought up an opposition paper, the _Princetown Herald_, -whose politics were the reverse of those he advocated, and for a -considerable time he ran the two papers on their original lines, each -attacking the other's principles and policy with fierce zest and -vigour. Thus he occupied both fields of public opinion, and threw sops -to all who took an interest in local and colonial politics. And here a -word in the shape of information which will surprise many readers. -England is overrun with newspapers; the United States is more than -overrun, having nearly three to our one; but in journalistic -enterprise Australasia beats the record, having, in proportion to -population, more newspapers than any other country in the world. An -astonishing fact. - -Two circumstances must be mentioned which bear upon our story. The -first is that Basil's surname was not known; he called himself Basil, -and was so called. The second is that in the column of the _Princetown -Argus_ in which births, marriages, and deaths were advertised, there -was recorded the birth and death of a baby, the child of the editor -and his wife, born one day and dying the next. This was the first -birth and burial in Princetown. The child left to them, the little -girl of whom we have already spoken, whose name was Edith, took the -loss of her baby sister much to heart, and never a week passed that -she did not visit the churchyard and sit by the tiny grave. - -At the end of twelve months or so there came to Princetown a preacher -of extraordinary power. He was rough, he was uncultivated, he had not -been educated for the pulpit, but he could stir the masses and wake up -sleeping souls. He had a marvellous magnetism and tremendous -earnestness, which silenced the scoffer and made the sinner tremble; -the consequence was that sinners and scoffers went to hear him, and -some few were made better by his denunciations. There are souls which -can be reached only through fear. Happily there are more which can be -reached through love. - -Amongst those who were drawn to listen to the preacher was Basil, and -being once present he did not miss a service. One Sabbath the preacher -took sluggishness for his theme which he denounced, in its physical -and moral attributes, as a sin, the consequences of which were not to -be avoided. Men were sent into the world to work, to fulfil duties, -and to seek both assiduously. It was not only sinful, it was cowardly, -to put on the armour of indolence and indifference, and to so intrench -oneself was destructive of the highest qualities of humanity, the -exercise of which lifted men above the level of the beasts of the -field. To say, because one is unfortunate, "Oh, what is the use of -striving?" tends to rob life of nobility and heroism. To fight the -battle manfully to the last, to keep one's heart open to humanising -influences, however poor the return which proffered love and sympathy -and charity may meet with, is the work of a man and brings its reward. -He has striven, he has proved himself, he has established his claim to -the higher life. To live only for the day, to be indifferent to the -morrow, is a quality by which animals without reason are -distinguished, and, to share with them in this respect is a cowardly -and sinful degradation. "If" (said the preacher) "there are any here -who have fallen so low, I say to them, Arouse yourselves; take down -the shutters which darken heart and soul; admit the light which -purifies and sweetens. Be men, not brutes." - -This was the sum of his sermon. Few understood it, but they did not -perhaps value it the less highly on that account. To Basil it came as -a reproach; he quivered under the strokes and left the place of -worship with a beating heart, with tumultuous thoughts in his mind. -Scarcely noting whither he was going he walked towards the churchyard, -and there in the distance, sitting by a grave, he saw a child. It was -Edith sitting by the grave of her baby sister. - -The scene, the attitude, brought Annette's form to his mind. So used -she to sit by her mother's grave on the plantation, and he had -accompanied her and sat by her side. He looked about for flowers; -there were none near; but when he approached Edith he saw that she had -some in her lap, and was weaving them into a garland, as Annette had -done in a time really not so very long ago, but which seemed to belong -to another life. She looked up at him, and the tenderness of her gaze -touched him deeply; instantly on her countenance was reflected the sad -wistfulness which dwelt on his. Children are peculiarly receptive; -they meet your smiles with smiles, your sadness with sadness. Edith -just shifted her little body, conveying in the slight movement an -invitation to Basil to sit beside her. He instantly took his place -close to her, and they fell naturally into conversation. - -"What is your name, little one?" - -"Edith. Tell me yours. I like you." - -"My name is Basil." - -"I like that, too. Here is a flower for you." - -"Where did you gather them, Edith?" - -"We have a garden. Father says it puts him in mind of home." - -"Who is your father?" - -"Don't you know? Everybody else does. He's the editor of the -_Princetown Argus_. You know that, don't you?" - -"Yes. And you have a mother?" - -"Oh, yes. She is very clever." Basil nodded. "Father says she is the -cleverest woman in the world. She can make clothes, she can cook, she -knows all about flowers, she can write paragraphs for the paper, and -when they are written she can print them." - -"That is a great deal for your mother to do. Does she really help to -print the newspaper?" - -"Not now. She did when we first came here. But father has a great many -gentlemen printers in the office, and they do all that. These are -English flowers. The seeds come all the way from England where I was -born; but I don't remember it because I was only a little baby when we -came over in a great big ship. I don't remember the ship either, but I -know all about it because mother has told me about the great storm, -and how we were nearly wrecked, and how the ship was battered to -pieces almost." - -"The English flowers put your father in mind of home. That is -England?" - -"Yes, that is England. When we're very rich we're going back there. Do -you know where it is?" - -"I come from England." - -"That is nice. Like us. Are you going back?" - -"I cannot say." - -"Why? Because you don't know?" - -"That is the reason, perhaps." - -"You see," said Edith, arranging some flowers on the grave in the -shape of a cross, "there are so many people there we love. Two -grandfathers, two grandmothers, and such a lot of cousins I've never -seen. England must be very, very beautiful. Father and mother call it -home, and when I write I always say, 'We are coming home one day.' -We're going to have a fig-tree; father says we shall sit under it." -Basil smiled. "I like you to smile; you don't look so unhappy then. -What makes you unhappy? You mustn't be. You must go home with us and -see the people you love." - -"Suppose there are none, little Edith." - -She gazed at him solemnly. "Not even an angel?" she asked. - -"An angel!" he exclaimed somewhat startled. - -"Yes, an angel. One was here once." She had completed the cross of -flowers, and she pointed to the grave. "Only for a little while, and -when we go home she is coming with us. She came from heaven to us just -for one night only; I was asleep and didn't see her; I was so sorry. -Then they brought her here, and she flew straight up to heaven. I -can't go up there to give her the English flowers, so I lay them here -where she can see them, and when I come again and the flowers are gone -I know that she has taken them away and put them in a jug of water--up -there. Mother says flowers never die in heaven, so baby sister must -have a lot. I dream of her sometimes; I wish you could see her as I -do. There's a picture of a baby angel over my bed, and she is just -like that. Such beautiful large grey eyes--my eyes are grey--and -shining wings. We love each other dearly." - -"I hope that will always be, little Edith." - -"Oh, it will be. When you love once you love always; that is what -mother says, and she never says anything wrong. I wish you had an -angel." - -"I had one once." - -"Why, then you have one now. Once means always. Was she a little -girl?" - -"Yes." - -"Like our angel. I am glad. Now you must come and see mother and -father." She rose and took his hand. - -"They do not know me, Edith." - -"But _I_ know you, and you know me. You must come." - -"Yes, I will come. May I take one flower from your cross?" - -"Yes." - -He selected one and kissed it, and they walked together side by side. -The preacher had said, "Take down the shutters which darken heart and -soul; admit the light which purifies and sweetens." It was done, and -the light was shining in Basil's heart. He clung to the little hand -which was clasped in his. In that good hour it was indeed a Divine -link which re-united him once more to what was best and noblest. The -shadows were dying away. Dark days were before him, strange -experiences were to be his, but in the darkest day of the future a -star was always to shine. "Annette, Annette, Annette," he whispered. -"I will make an endeavour to see you. I will never again lose faith. A -weight has gone from my heart." - -"Let me kiss the flower where you kissed it," said Edith. - -He put it to her lips, and she kissed it, and raised her face -innocently. He stooped and kissed her lips. - -"I think," said Edith contemplatively, "I like you better than any one -else except mother and father and baby angel." - -The office of the _Princetown Argus_ was now an extensive building all -on one floor; architects had not yet reached higher flights. The door -from the street opened midway between two rooms, the one to the right -being that in which advertisements and orders for subscriptions were -taken, the one to the left being used for book-keeper, editor, and -reporters indiscriminately. The reporting staff did a great part of -their work standing; there were only a desk and a stool for the -book-keeper, who assisted in the reading of proofs, and a table and -two chairs for the accommodation of the editor and sub-editor. -Adjoining these two rooms in the rear was the composing-room of the -newspaper, in the rear of that the jobbing-room, in the rear of that -the press room. The living apartments of the editor and his little -family were quite at the end of the building, and were really -commodious--sitting-room, kitchen, and two sleeping-rooms, one for -little Edith, the other for her parents. In the sitting-room there was -a piano upon which every member of the family could play with one -finger, there were framed chromos on the walls, and sufficient -accommodation in the shape of chairs and tables. The mantelpiece was -embellished with an extensive array of photographs of grandfathers, -grandmothers, uncles, aunts, and cousins; and the floor was covered -with red baize. Taking it altogether it was an elegant abode for a new -goldfield, and Edith's garden, upon which the window of her bedroom -looked out, imparted to it an air of refinement and sweetness -exceedingly pleasant to contemplate. When Edith, still holding Basil's -hand, passed through the business rooms and entered the sitting-room, -the happy editor and proprietor was alone, his wife being busy in the -kitchen getting dinner ready. Domestic servants were the rarest of -birds in Princetown; indeed there were none in the private -establishments, for as soon as a girl or woman made her appearance in -the township there was a "rush" for her, and before she had been there -a week she had at least a dozen offers of marriage. A single woman was -worth her weight in gold--Princetown was a veritable paradise for -spinsters of any age, from fifteen to fifty. Small wonder that they -turned up their noses at domestic service, when by merely crooking -their little finger they could become their own mistress, picking and -choosing from a host of amorous gold diggers. Free and easy was the -wedding; the eating and drinking, the popping of corks, the drive -through the principal streets, the indiscriminate invitations to all, -the dancing at night, with more popping of corks and the cracking of -revolvers in the open air to proclaim to the world that an "event" of -supreme importance was being celebrated--all tended to show the value -of woman as a marketable commodity. Two or three miles away, in a -gully upon a hill, was the canvas tent to which the bridegroom bore -his bride an hour or two this or that side of midnight, literally bore -her often because of the open shafts which dotted the road; and there -the married life commenced. It is a lame metaphor to say that woman -ruled the roast; she ruled everything, and was bowed down to and -worshipped as woman never was before in the history of the world. - -The editor looked up as his little daughter and Basil entered, and -Edith immediately took upon herself the office of mistress of the -ceremonies. - -"This is Basil, father." The editor nodded. "He is going to spend the -whole day with us." - -"He is welcome," said the editor, who knew Basil by sight. - -Basil smilingly explained that little Edith had taken entire -possession, and was responsible for his intrusion. - -"But you are not intruding," said the editor. "We shall be very -pleased of your company. Our hive is ruled by a positive Queen Bee, -and there she stands"--with an affectionate look at his daughter, who -accepted her title with amusing gravity--"so that we cannot exactly -help ourselves." - -His tone was exceedingly cordial, and Basil, being heartily welcomed -by Edith's mother, soon made himself at home. The young man's manners -were very winning and afforded pleasure to Edith's parents, who had -not, at least on the goldfields, met with a guest of so much culture -and refinement. Regarding Basil as her special property, Edith pretty -well monopolised his attention in the intervals between meals, but -sufficient of Basil's character was revealed to the editor to set him -thinking. He saw that he was entertaining a gentleman and a man of -attainments, and he felt how valuable such an assistant would be on -the editorial staff of his newspaper. The journalists in his employ -had sprung out of the rough elements of colonial life, and although -they were fairly capable men, they lacked the polish which Basil -possessed. The result of his reflections was that before the day was -out he made Basil a business proposition. - -"It occurs to me," said the shrewd fellow, "that you are not exactly -cut out for a digger's life." - -"I am afraid you are right," said Basil, with a smile in which a touch -of sadness might be detected. - -"Why not try something else?" asked the editor. - -"It is difficult to know what," replied Basil; "there are so few -things for which I am fitted." - -"There is one in which you would make your mark." - -"May I know what it is? I may differ from you; but it would be a -pleasant hearing." - -"Sub-editor of the _Princetown Argus_, for instance," suggested the -editor, coming straight to the point. He was not the kind of man to -take two bites at a cherry. - -Basil looked him in the face; the proposition startled and gratified -him. "You rush at a conclusion somewhat hastily," he said. - -"Not at all. I know what I am talking about. You are cut out for just -that position." - -"I have never done anything in the literary way." - -"I'll take the risk," said the editor. "A man may go floundering about -all his life without falling into his proper groove. You are not bound -to any other engagement in Princetown?" - -"To none. I am quite free." - -"And you can commence at once?" - -"If you are serious." - -"I was never more so. It might be agreeable to you to take up your -quarters with us. In two days I will have a sleeping apartment built -for you, adjoining our little bit of garden. You are a sociable man -and a gentleman, and we should be glad to have you at our table. From -your conversation I should say you have had a classical education. Am -I right?" - -"Quite right; but I am not a very bright scholar. You must not expect -great things." - -"I expect what you are able to supply; you haven't half enough -confidence in yourself. Why, if I had your advantages--but never mind, -I haven't done badly with my small stock of brains. We'll wake them -up." He rubbed his hands. "You will be a bit strange at first, but -I'll put you in the way of things. I look upon it as settled." - -"Would it not be prudent," said Basil, "for you to take a little time -for consideration?" - -"Not an hour; not a minute. Strike while the iron's hot. My dear sir, -this is a go-ahead country. Shake hands on the bargain." - -They shook hands upon it, and immediately afterwards the editor -regarded Basil with a thoughtful air, and said: - -"You puzzle me, you do not ask anything about terms." - -"I am content to leave them to you. Wait till you see whether I am -worth anything." - -"No, the risk is mine, as I have said. Will six pounds a week and -board and lodging suit you?" - -"It is too much." - -"You will be satisfied with it for the first month?" - -"More than satisfied." - -"It is arranged, then. If we continue together you shall have an -advance at the end of the month, and I shall bind you down not to -leave me without a month's notice." - -"On my part, I will be so bound. You are free to discharge me without -notice." - -"It shall be the same to both of us. As you are to commence to-morrow -you might think of a subject for a 'leader' in Tuesday's paper. By -Wednesday your bedroom will be ready, and you can live with us as long -as you are on the staff. We shall have reason to congratulate -ourselves on the arrangement we have made." - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -Certainly neither Basil nor his employer had reason to be otherwise. -It led to important results in Basil's career, and in years to come he -often thought of the child, the chance meeting with whom in the -churchyard conducted him, by both straight and devious paths, to a -goal which he had not dared to hope he would ever reach. Between him -and Edith loving links were soon firmly forged which time was never to -sever. This sweet and human bond was of inestimable value to Basil; it -raised him from the slough of despond into which he had sunk; the hand -of a little child lifted him to a man's height. He was profoundly -grateful; he had now a happy home, he had congenial work to do. The -doubts he had entertained of his fitness for the position were -dispelled in a very short time. He threw himself with ardour and -animation into his new duties, which he performed in a manner that -more than justified the confidence reposed in him. Nominally -sub-editor, but really editor of the paper, he infused into its -columns a spirit of intelligence which made it more popular than ever. -It was talked of as an example of what a newspaper should be, and -Basil's opinions upon colonial matters were quoted in the more -influential journals in the colonies as those of a man of far-seeing -judgment. A classical allusion now and then added to the value of -Basil's writings, and all Princetown was proud of him because of the -vicarious distinction conferred, through him, upon its inhabitants. "A -clever fellow that," said John Jones, of the Only Beehive, -appreciating Basil the more because of his own utter ignorance of the -classics. There was a talk of Basil's representing the division in the -Legislative Assembly, but he promptly set that aside by emphatically -declaring that he had no desire for public life or parliamentary -honours. Thus six months passed by, when a revelation was made to him -which caused him to carry out a resolve deplored by all Princetown. - -The official quarters of the township, where public business was -transacted, was known as the Government Camp. In this camp, which was -laid out upon the slope of a hill, were situated the Magistrate's -Court, the buildings in which the mounted troopers lodged, where the -gold escort was made up, where miners' disputes were adjusted, and -where miners paid their yearly sovereign for miners' rights, which -gave lawful sanction to their delving for the precious metal and -appropriating the treasure they extracted from the soil. There were -swells in the Government Camp, members of good families in the old -country, for whom something in the shape of official employment had to -be found. It is pleasant to be able to record that there were few -sinecures among these employments, most of the holders having to do -something in the shape of work for their salaries. It was when Basil -had served on the staff of the _Princetown Argus_ for a space of six -months, and had saved during that period a matter of two hundred -pounds, that a new Goldfields' Warden made his appearance at the -Government Camp. The name of this gentleman was Majoribanks, and when -we presently part with him he will play no further part in our story; -but it will be seen that the small rôle he fills in it is sufficiently -pregnant. - -Mr. Majoribanks was "a new chum" in the colony. Arriving in the -capital with high credentials, the influence of his connections -provided him almost immediately with a berth to which a good salary, -with pickings, was attached. The position of Goldfields' Warden on -Princetown was vacant, and he was appointed to it. His special fitness -for the office need not here be discussed. Many members of good -families in England, whose wild ways rendered desirable their removal -to another sphere, developed faculties in Australia which elevated -them into respectable members of society, which they certainly would -not have been had they remained in the old world, surrounded by -temptations. Mr. Majoribanks was not a bad fellow at bottom, and it -was a fortunate day for him and his family when they exchanged -farewell greetings. - -There were not many gentlemen--in Mr. Majoribanks' understanding of -the term--in Princetown, and when the new Goldfields' Warden came in -contact with Basil, he recognised the superior metal in the hero of -our story. The casual acquaintance they formed ripened into intimacy, -and they met often in Mr. Majoribanks' quarters and passed many a -pleasant hour together. - -"Come and have a smoke this evening," said Mr. Majoribanks to Basil -one Saturday afternoon. - -Saturday was the only day in the week which Basil could call his own, -and he was glad of the invitation and accepted it. Mr. Majoribanks -knew Basil only, as others knew him, by the name of Basil and had not -taken the trouble to inquire whether it was a surname. So the two -gentlemen sat in Mr. Majoribanks' snug quarters on this particular -Saturday, and discussed a dainty little meal, cooked in capital style -by the Goldfields' Warden's Chinese cook. The meal finished, they -adjourned to the verandah, and lit their cigars. - -They had much in common; they had travelled over familiar country in -Europe and they compared notes, recalling experiences of old times -which in their likeness to each other drew them closer together. - -"Upon my soul," remarked Mr. Majoribanks, "it is an exceedingly -pleasant thing to find one's self in the company of a gentleman. It -makes banishment endurable. Do you ever think of returning to -England?" - -"One day, perhaps," replied Basil. - -"I hope we shall meet there," said Mr. Majoribanks. "Is it allowable -to ask what brought you out to the goldfields?" - -"I lost my fortune," said Basil, "and not knowing what to turn my hand -to came to Australia to make another." - -"Is it again allowable to ask whether you have succeeded?" - -"I have not succeeded." - -"If you had been a bricklayer or a navvy in England you might tell a -different tale." - -"It is not unlikely." - -"A gentleman stands but little chance here," observed Mr. Majoribanks. -"We are treated in the colonies to a complete reversal of the proper -order of things. I suppose in the course of time Australia will cut -itself away from the old country and become republic." - -"It is certainly on the cards, but it will be a long time before that -occurs; there are so many different interests, you see." - -"A jumble of odd elements," said Mr. Majoribanks. - -"When there is a real Australian population," said Basil, "men and -women born and living here, with no reminiscences of what is now -called 'home,' then the movement of absolute self-government will take -serious form." - -"Ah, well, I don't believe in the self-made man. I stick to the old -order." - -"Individual opinion will not change the current of natural changes. It -is not to be expected that this vast continent will be for ever -satisfied to remain a dependency of a kingdom so many thousands of -miles away. The talk about federation may satisfy for a time, but it -is merely a sop in the pan. By-and-by will come the larger question of -a nation with an autonomous constitution like the United States. -Children cut themselves from their mother's apron strings: so it will -be with these colonies." - -"You have made a study of such matters." - -"To some extent. My position on our local paper has sent me in that -direction." - -"You like your position?" - -"Tolerably well. I cannot say I am wedded to it, but I must not be -ungrateful." - -Then the conversation drifted into channels more personal. Mr. -Majoribanks launched into a recital of certain experiences in England -and the Continent, and mourned the break in a career more congenial to -him than that of Goldfields' Warden in Princetown, which he declared -to be confoundedly dull and uninteresting. He missed his theatres, his -club, his race meetings, his fashionable society, and many a sigh -escaped him as he dwelt upon these fascinating themes. Then occurred a -pause, and some sudden reminiscence, as yet untouched, caused him to -regard his companion with more than ordinary curiosity. - -"An odd idea strikes me," he said. "Have you a twin brother?" - -"No," replied Basil, smiling. "What makes you ask?" - -"No, of course that is not likely," said Mr. Majoribanks. "If you had -a twin brother his name would not be Basil. It is singular for all -that. But it is a most extraordinary likeness. A cousin of yours -perhaps?" - -"I haven't the slightest idea of your meaning. I have no cousins that -I am aware of." - -"It has only just struck me. As I looked at you a moment ago I saw the -wonderful resemblance between you and a man I met in Paris. Basil is -not a very common name." - -"Not very. Had the gentleman you met in Paris another tacked to it?" - -"Oh, yes," said Mr. Majoribanks. "Whittingham." - -"Whittingham!" exclaimed Basil, greatly startled. - -"Basil Whittingham--that is the gentleman's full name; and, by the -way, I was told, I remember, that he had been in Australia, -gold-digging. It is a curious story--but you seem excited." - -"With good cause," said Basil. "My name is Basil Whittingham." - -"You don't say so?" - -"It is a fact." - -"Well, that makes it all the stranger." Basil rose and paced the -verandah in uncontrollable excitement. The full significance of this -extraordinary revelation did not immediately dawn upon him, and at -present he did not connect Newman Chaytor with it. Out of the chaos of -thought which stirred his mind he evoked nothing intelligible. Mr. -Majoribanks' eyes followed him as he paced to and fro, and fixed -themselves frankly upon him when he paused and faced him. - -"Were you aware that my name is Whittingham?" asked Basil. - -"Upon my honour, no," replied Mr. Majoribanks. - -"There is some mystery here," said Basil, mastering his excitement, -"which it seems imperative should be solved. As you remarked, Basil is -not a common name; neither is Whittingham; and that the two should be -associated in the person of a man who bears so wonderful a resemblance -to me that you would have taken us to be twin brothers, makes it all -the more mysterious and inexplicable. You are not joking with me?" - -"As I am a gentleman, I have told you nothing but the truth. There are -such things as coincidences, you know." - -"Yes; but if this is one, it is the strangest I have ever heard of." - -"It has all the appearance of it," said Mr. Majoribanks, thoughtfully. -"Within my knowledge there are only two men bearing the name of -Whittingham--one, myself, the other an uncle in England, with whom, -unfortunately, I had some differences of opinion." - -"Ah," said Mr. Majoribanks, "the coincidences continue. The gentleman -I refer to had an uncle of the name of Whittingham with whom he also -had some differences of opinion." - -"_Had_ an uncle?" - -"Who is dead," said Mr. Majoribanks. - -"My uncle was a gentleman of fortune." - -"So was his." - -"I was to have been his heir. I displeased him and he disinherited me. -That was really the reason why I left England for Australia." - -Mr. Majoribanks fell back in his chair, and said, "You take my breath -away." - -"Why?" - -"Why? Because that is the sum total of the story which I said just now -was so curious. Mr. Whittingham, there must be something more than -coincidence in all this." - -"Oblige me a moment. Let me think." - -He turned his back upon Mr. Majoribanks, and steadied himself. By a -determined effort he subdued the chaos of thought by which he was -agitated. The form of Newman Chaytor rose before him. Was it possible -that this man, in whom he had placed implicit trust, who knew the -whole story of his life, who had deserted him and left him for dead -without taking the trouble to assure himself that his fall down the -shaft was fatal--was it possible that this man had played him false? -It seemed scarcely credible, but what other construction was to be -placed upon the story which Mr. Majoribanks had revealed to him. He -paused again before his companion, and said in his most earnest tone: - -"Mr. Majoribanks, a vital issue hangs upon the information you have -given me. I am sure you will not trifle with me. You are a gentleman, -and your word is not to be doubted. Were you intimately acquainted -with this double, who bears my name, who so strangely resembles me, -and whose story is so similar to my own?" - -"There was no intimacy whatever," said Mr. Majoribanks. "I saw him -once, and once only, in Paris, and we passed an evening together. When -I parted from him--a party of us went to the Comédie Française that -night to see Bernhardt--I saw him no more. The way of it was this. It -being resolved in solemn family council that I was to retrieve my -battered fortunes in the Sahara, I paid a last visit to dear -delightful Paris to bid it a long adieu. A friend accompanied me, and -a friend of his to whom he was under an obligation--to speak plainly, -a money-lender--happening to be in Paris at the same time, we chummed -together. We dined at the Grand, and there, at another table, sat your -prototype. Our money-lending friend, who knows everything and -everybody, pointed him out to us, and told us his story. His name was -Basil Whittingham; he had been in Australia, gold-digging; he had a -wealthy uncle of the same surname whom he had offended, and who had -driven him out of his native land, with an intimation that he was to -consider himself disinherited. Upon his death-bed, however, the old -gentleman's hard heart softened, and he made a will by which the -discarded nephew was restored to his good graces, and became heir to -all he possessed. The fortune which fell to your lucky double was not -in land and houses; it was in something better, hard cash, and it -amounted, so far as I can recollect, to not less than between fifty -and sixty thousand pounds. Whereupon the lucky heir winged his way -homeward, by which time his uncle had joined the majority, and took -possession of his windfall. Our money-lending friend had some slight -acquaintance with the heir, and we were introduced. It was a night I -had occasion to remember, quite apart from any connection you may have -with the story. Do you adhere to it that it resembles yours?" - -"Up to the day upon which I left England it agrees with it entirely. -As to what subsequently occurred I knew nothing until this moment." - -"Well, all that I can say--without understanding in the least, mind -you, how it could have come about--is, that I would look into it, if I -were in your place." - -"It shall be looked into. Do you remember if the uncle's christian -name was mentioned?" - -"I cannot quite say. Refresh my memory; it may have been." - -"Bartholomew." - -"Upon my word, now you mention it, I think Bartholomew was mentioned. -Another uncommon name." - -"You have occasion to remember that night, you said, apart from me. -May I inquire in what way?" - -"Well, when we left the theatre, we adjourned to a private room in the -Grand, and there we had a little flutter. Baccarat was the game, and I -was cleaned out. Upon my honour, I think I was the most unfortunate -beggar under the sun. I give you my word that I hadn't enough left to -pay my hotel bill, which was the last legacy I left my honoured -father." - -"Your money-lending friend won the money, I suppose?" - -"He won a bit, but the spoil fell principally to an elderly gentleman -of the name of--of--of--now what _was_ the fellow's name? It wasn't -English, nor was he an Englishman. Ah. I have it. Bidaud--yes, -Bidaud." - -Basil's face turned white; there was no longer room for doubt that -foul treachery had been done. It was Newman Chaytor who had plotted -and planned for his destruction. This he might have borne, and the -white heat of his anger might have grown cold with time. But Anthony -Bidaud's introduction into the bad scheme included also Annette, a -possible victim in the treachery. That she should become the prey of -these villains, and that he should allow her life to be ruined, her -happiness to be blasted, without an effort to save her, was not to be -thought of. The scales fell from his eyes, and he saw Newman Chaytor -in his true light. By what crooked paths the end had been reached he -could not, in the excitement of the moment, determine. That would have -to be thought out presently; meanwhile his resolution was taken. To -remain inactive would be the work of a coward. - -"You know the name of Bidaud?" said Mr. Majoribanks. - -"I know it well," said Basil. "Did this M. Bidaud accompany you to the -theatre on that night?" - -"He did." - -"Alone?" - -"Alone." - -"He and this namesake of mine were companions, I take it." - -"Something more than companions, to all appearances. Close friends -rather." - -"Did they appear to be on good terms with each other?" - -"On the best of terms." - -"I hope," said Basil, "you will excuse me for questioning you so -closely, but this is a matter that very deeply affects me." - -"My dear fellow," said Mr. Majoribanks, "you are heartily welcome to -every scrap of information I can give that will throw light upon this -most mysterious piece of business. It is altogether the strangest -thing I ever heard. I'll not ask you who the other fellow is, but I -have a faint idea that he must be the most unmitigated scoundrel on -the face of the earth. Tell me as much or as little as you please, and -in the meantime fire away." - -"My namesake was dining at the Grand Hotel when you first saw him. Was -M. Bidaud in his company?" - -"He was; they were dining together at a separate table." - -"Were any ladies with them?" - -"I'll not pledge myself. So far as I can recollect, there was no one -else at the table." - -"Did you hear talk of any ladies of their acquaintance?" - -"I think not. Stop, though. I fancy there was an allusion to a pretty -niece." - -"Annette lives," thought Basil, and said aloud, "An allusion made by -M. Bidaud to my namesake?" - -"Yes, I think so." - -"Who suggested the adjournment to a private room after the theatre?" - -"The invitation was given by M. Bidaud, and we accepted it. I was -always ready for that kind of thing--too ready, my people say. So off -we went, and played till daylight, with the aforesaid result." - -"Were M. Bidaud and my namesake living permanently in Paris?" - -"I fancy not; something was said of their travelling about for -pleasure." - -"One more question," said Basil, "and I have done. There was an -allusion to a pretty niece. Are you aware whether the young lady was -travelling with her uncle?" - -"I am not, and I do not remember what the allusion was. I think I have -completely emptied my budget." - -"I thank you sincerely; you have rendered me an inestimable service. I -have no wish to have my affairs talked about, and you will add to the -obligation if you will consider this conversation confidential." - -"Certainly, my dear fellow, as you desire it. It is entirely between -ourselves." - -They parted shortly afterwards, and Basil, plunged in thought, -returned to the township. The first step he took was to consult the -file of the _Princetown Argus_ for a record of the accident in which -he had so nearly lost his life. He had heard that its earliest numbers -contained accounts of his discovery and rescue, but he had not -hitherto had the curiosity to hunt them up and read them. It was now -imperative that he should make himself acquainted with every -particular of the affair. He found without difficulty what he sought, -and as he read through the reports of his condition which were -published from day to day he dwelt upon portions which a year ago he -would have considered monstrous inventions or exaggerations. Thus: -"There is a certain element of mystery in the affair, and we shall -briefly allude to one or two points which seem to have a bearing upon -it." Again: "Inferring that there were two men working the shaft, is -it possible, when the accident occurred, that the man at the top of -the shaft made tracks from the place and left his mate to a cruel and -lingering death?" The inference here sought to be established was not -to be mistaken--to wit, that Newman Chaytor had purposely left him to -a cruel and lingering death. And still more significant: "An opinion -has been expressed that the rope has been tampered with, and that it -did not break from natural wear and tear." Given that the peril into -which he had been plunged was the result of design, there was more -than a seeming confirmation of the opinion that the rope had been -tampered with. Basil, being now engaged upon a full consideration of -the circumstances, remembered that the rope to all appearance was -perfectly sound. That being so, it was Chaytor's deliberate intention -to murder him by weakening the strands. When suspicion enters the mind -of a man who has trusted and been deceived, it is hard to dislodge it; -small incidents and spoken words to which no importance was attached -at the time they were uttered, present themselves and gather force -until they assume a dark significance. When Basil laid aside the file -of newspapers he had arrived at the conclusion that Chaytor had -deliberately schemed for the fatal end which had been averted by the -merest accident. Old Corrie's warnings and distrust of Chaytor came to -his mind. "Corrie was right," thought Basil; "he read this man better -than I did." - -But clear as Chaytor's villainy had appeared to be, there was much that -Basil was unable to comprehend. In what way had Chaytor discovered -that Basil's uncle had repented of his determination to disinherit his -nephew? How and by what means had it come to the villain's knowledge? -Upon these and other matters Basil had yet to be enlightened. - -He continued his mental search. Chaytor, returning to England, had -succeeded in obtaining possession of his inheritance; and--what was of -still greater weight to Basil--he had succeeded in introducing himself -to Anthony Bidaud as the man he represented himself to be. "There was -an allusion to a pretty niece." Then Chaytor was with Annette, playing -Basil's part. Was it likely that Annette would be deceived. Years had -passed since they had met, and the woman might have reason to doubt -her childhood's memories. A cunning plausible villain this Newman -Chaytor. Successful in imposing upon Annette, in wooing and perhaps -winning her--Basil groaned at the thought--what a future was before -her! There was a clear duty before him. To go to England with as -little delay as possible, and unmask the plot. - -That night he counted the money he had saved; it amounted to two -hundred and thirty pounds. He could land in the old country with a -hundred and fifty pounds. He consulted the exchange newspapers sent to -the office. In seventeen days a steamer would start from Sydney for -England. By that vessel he would take his departure. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -The next morning Basil said to the editor, "I fear I am about to -inflict a disappointment upon you." - -"Wants a rise of salary," thought the editor. "All right; he shall -have it." Aloud he said, "Go ahead." - -"I wish you to release me from a promise." - -"What promise?" - -"When we made the engagement it was understood that I should not leave -you without a month's notice." - -"That was so," said the editor drily; and thought, "He's going to put -the screw upon me that way. I am ready for him; I'll give him all he -asks." - -"I wish to leave without notice." The editor was silent, and Basil -continued: "I am under great obligations to you; I have been very -happy in your service, and I have done my best to please you." - -"You have pleased me thoroughly; I hope I have said nothing to give -you a different impression." - -"Indeed you have not; no man could have acted fairer by me than you -have done." - -"Soft soap," thought the editor. "Have I been mistaken in him?" Aloud: -"Well, then, I am sure you will act fairly by me. I cannot release -you." - -"You must; indeed you must. It is an imperative necessity." - -"I can't see it. Look here. Are you going to start an opposition -paper?" - -"I have no intention of doing so. That would be a bad return." - -"It would. Some other fellow, then, is going to start an opposition, -and has made you a tempting offer." - -"You are wrong. It is upon purely personal grounds that I shall have to -leave. I am going home." - -"Home! To England?" - -"To England; and there is vital need for dispatch." - -"Hallo!" thought the editor, "he has come into property. I knew he was -highly connected." Aloud: "Now don't you be foolish. I am an older man -than you, and therefore, on the face of it, a better judge of things. -I don't expect a rise of salary would tempt you to remain." - -"It would not." - -"Not if I doubled what you are getting?" - -"Not if you were to multiply it by ten." - -The editor considered before he spoke again. "Come, here's an offer -for you. I will take you into partnership. You see the value I place -upon your services. I'm dealing fair and square." - -"You offer me more than I deserve, more than I accept. Nothing can -tempt me to remain. I must leave Princetown; I must leave the colony. -I am called home suddenly and imperatively. You have been a good -friend to me; continue so, I beg, and release me at once. You talk of -going home some day yourself. If all goes well with me we may meet in -the old land and renew our friendship. You know me well enough, I -trust, to be convinced that I would not desire to leave you so -abruptly without some strong necessity. If you compel me to -remain----" - -"Oh! you admit that I can compel you?" - -"The obligation is binding upon me, and if you insist upon my giving -you a month's notice it must be done, in honour. I cannot break my -word." - -"There speaks the gentleman," thought the editor, and gazed with -admiration at the pleader. "But you will be doing me," continued -Basil, "an injury that may be irreparable. The delay may ruin my life, -and the life of another very dear to me." - -"I am a dunderhead," thought the editor. "There's a young lady mixed -up in this." Aloud: "I should be sorry to do that; put you see the fix -you place me in." - -"It grieves me. I beg you to give me back my word." - -"It comes so sudden. Why did you not tell me before?" - -"Because I knew of nothing that called for my hasty departure until -last night." - -"There is something more than a business aspect of it. We have grown -fond of you." - -"I have grown fond of you and yours. I shall think of you with -affection." - -The editor was softened. "I will think it over, and let you know in -the course of the day." - -"It is only reasonable," said Basil, "that you should have time for -consideration." - -The subject was dropped. The editor consulted his wife, who was -genuinely sorry at the prospect of losing Basil. - -"I looked upon him as one of the family," she said, "and it will -almost break Edith's heart to part with him." Then, with a woman's -shrewd wit, she added, "Let us try what Edith can do to persuade him -out of his resolution." - -Away went Edith half an hour afterwards to seek Basil and argue with -him. She found him in the churchyard, standing by the grave of the -baby angel. - -"Mother says you are going away," said the child. - -"Yes, my dear," said Basil. "I am very, very sorry." - -"Oh! how I shall miss you," said Edith, the tears springing to her -eyes. "Won't you stay if I ask you?" - -"I cannot, dear child. Dry your eyes. We shall meet again by-and-by." - -She put her handkerchief to her eyes but her tears flowed fast, and -she sat by the grave and sobbed as if her heart was breaking. - -"Listen to me, Edith," said Basil, sitting beside her and taking her -hand. "If baby angel was a long, long way from here, and was in -trouble and cried for you to come to her, would you not go to help -her?" - -"Yes, I would, I would; and they would take me to her." - -"I am sure they would, for you have good parents my dear. You told me -when I first met you here that I had an angel, and that you were glad. -Edith, my dear, my angel is calling to me to come and help her in her -trouble. Would it not be very wrong for me to say, 'No, I will not -come; I do not care for your trouble?'" - -"It would be wicked." - -"Yes, dear, it would be wicked, and I should not deserve your love if -I acted so. When I first saw her she was a little girl like you; you -reminded me of her, and I loved you because of that, and loved you -better afterwards because of yourself. I shall always love you, Edith; -I shall never, never forget you." - -She threw her arms round his neck and lay in his embrace, sobbing more -quietly. - -"You can do something for me, Edith, that will fix you in my heart for -ever." - -"Can I? Tell me, and I will do it." - -"Go to your father and say, 'You must let Basil go, father. His angel -is calling for him, and it will be wicked if he does not go quickly.'" - -"But that will be sending you away from me!" - -"I know it will, my dear; but it will be doing what is right. If I -remain I shall be very, very unhappy. You would not like me to be -that?" - -"No, no; I want you to be happy." - -"Make me so, dear child, by doing as I bid you; and one day perhaps -you will see my angel, and she shall love you as I do." - -So by artfully affectionate paths he led her to his wish, and they -went back hand in hand. - -"Well," said the editor to Basil, later in the day, "you must have -your way. The little plot we laid has failed, and Edith says you must -go. You are a good fellow, and have served me well." - -"I sincerely thank you. If I apply to you for a character you will -give me one." - -"Indeed I will; the best that man could have. But there are conditions -to my consent. You must stop till Thursday." - -"I will do that." - -"And you must act as 'Our Special Correspondent' at home. A letter -once a month." - -"I promise you." - -"You have not beaten me entirely, you see," said the editor good -humouredly, "I shall get something out of you. I am pleased we shall -part good friends." - -They shook hands, and passed a pleasant evening together. The editor -had a motive in stipulating that Basil should remain till Thursday. He -was not going to let such a man leave Princetown without some public -recognition of his merits; and on the following day Basil received an -invitation to dine with the townsmen at the principal hotel on the -night before his departure. He gratefully accepted it; he had worked -honestly, and had won his way into the esteem of the inhabitants of -the thriving township. - -It was a famous gathering, and there was not room for all who applied -for tickets. John Jones, of the Only Beehive, took the chair. On his -right sat Basil, on his left, Mr. Majoribanks. The Government Camp was -worthily represented; all the large storekeepers were present, and -several of the most prosperous miners. It was a gala night; the -exterior of the hotel was gay with flags of all nations, and the -editor's wife and Edith had stripped their garden of flowers to -decorate the table. The Governor of the colony could scarcely have -been more honoured. - -Of course there were speeches, and of course they were reported in the -_Princetown Argus_ the next morning. Basil's health was proposed by -John Jones in magniloquent terms, which were cheered to the echo; had -Basil's thoughts not been elsewhere, even in the midst of this -festivity, he would have been greatly amused at the catalogue of -virtues with which he was credited by the chairman, but as it was he -could not help being touched by the evident sincerity of the -compliments which were showered upon him. Princetown, said John Jones, -owed Basil a debt which it could never repay. He had elevated public -taste, and had conferred distinction upon the township by his rare -literary gifts. Great was their loss at his departure but they had the -gratification of believing that he would ever look back with affection -upon the time he had spent in "our flourishing township." And they had -the further gratification of knowing that they had a champion in the -great world to which he was returning, and which he would adorn with -his gifts. Before resuming his seat it was his proud task to give -effect to one of the pleasantest incidents in this distinguished -gathering. The moment it was known that Basil was about to leave them -a movement was set afoot to present him with some token of their -regard. In the name of the subscribers, whose names were duly set -forth in the illuminated scroll which accompanied the testimonial, he -begged to present to the guest of the evening "a gold keyless lever -watch, half-quarter repeater, dome half hunting case, three-quarter -plate movement, best double roller escapement, compensated and -adjusted, and with all the latest improvements." John Jones rolled out -this elaborate description as though each item in it were a delicious -morsel which could not be dwelt upon too long. Engraved upon the case -was a record of the presentation, which the orator read amid cheers, -and attached to the watch was a gold chain, with another long -description, of which John Jones took care not to miss a single word. -Then came the peroration, in which the chairman excelled himself, its -conclusion being, "I call upon you now to drink, with three -times three, health and prosperity to our honoured guest, a -gentleman, scholar, and good fellow." He led a hip, hip, hip, -hurrah--hoorah--hoorah! And a little one in (the giant of the lot), -"Hoo-o-o-o-rah-h-h-h!" Then they sang, "For he's a jolly good fellow," -in which they were joined by all the gold-diggers at the bar and in -the High Street outside. John Jones sat down beaming, and gazing -around with broad smiles, wiped his heated forehead, and whispered to -himself, "Bravo, John Jones! Let them beat that if they can!" The -presentation of the watch was a surprise to Basil; the secret had been -well kept, and the generous-hearted donors were rewarded by the short -speech which Basil made in response. It was eloquent and full of -feeling, and when he had finished the cheers were renewed again and -again. The watch and chain were really a handsome gift, and before -Basil put them on they were passed round for general inspection. Then -a sentimental song was sung, followed by another toast. (The -story-teller must not omit to mention that the first proposed were -loyal toasts, which were received with the greatest enthusiasm.) Other -toasts and other songs followed, the health of everybody who was -anybody being proposed and drunk with acclaim. One of the most -effective speeches of the evening was made by the editor of the -Princetown Ares, in response to the toast of "The Press." He paid full -tribute to Basil, and said: "He is about to leave us, but we shall not -lose him entirely. I take the greatest pride in announcing that he has -accepted the post of special European correspondent to the _Princetown -Argus_, and we shall look out eagerly for the polished periods in -which he will describe the great events of the old world. We send a -herald forth to represent us, and the mother country has reason to -congratulate herself that our choice has fallen upon such a gentleman -as our guest," &c., &c. It would occupy too many pages to give a full -report of the proceedings. Those who are curious in such matters -cannot do better than consult the columns of the next morning's issue -of the _Princetown Argus_, in which the speeches were fully reported, -with a complete list of the names of those present on the notable -occasion. The party did not break up until the small hours, and it is -to be feared that some of the jolly fellows, when they sang "Auld Lang -Syne," were rather unsteady on their legs. Whether the occasion -furnished any excuse for this sad lapse the present chronicler will -not venture to say. To judge from John Jones, who was not the least of -the offenders, they were little the worse for it, for he was attending -to his Only Beehive, early the following morning as fresh as a lark. -But then John Jones was an exceptional being. - -The hardest parting was with Edith. The child gave Basil a bunch of -flowers and her favourite doll. To refuse the doll would have caused -the little maid fresh sorrow, so Basil accepted the token of -affection, and subsequently, before he left Sydney, sent Edith -another, with which she fell violently in Jove, and christened it -Basil, though it was of the female sex. - -"Good-bye, my dear," said Basil, "and God bless you!" - -Edith's voice was choked with tears, and she could only gaze -mournfully at the friend who had supplied her with loving memories. - -"Speed you well," said the editor; "hope we shall meet again." - -"Good luck, mate!" was the farewell greeting of a number of friends; -Basil did not know until now that he had so many. He waved his hand to -them, and was gone. But he had not travelled two miles before he heard -the sound of a horse's hoofs galloping after him. He turned and saw -Mr. Majoribanks. - -"It just occurred to me," said the Goldfields' Warden, "that the name -of the money-lender I met in Paris, through whom I became acquainted -with your namesake, might be useful." - -"It is very thoughtful of you," said Basil, "it ought to have occurred -to me." - -"I know no more about him than I have already told you," said Mr. -Majoribanks, "and I am not acquainted with his address, but I believe -he lives in London. His name real or assumed--for some of his -fraternity trade under false names--is Edward Kettlewell." - -"Thank you," said Basil; "I shall remember it." - -Mr. Majoribanks kept with him for another mile, and then galloped back -to the township. The steamer in which Basil took his passage home -started punctually to the hour, and bore Basil from the land in which -he had met with so many sweet and bitter experiences; on the -forty-fifth day from that of his departure he set foot once more in -England. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -For cogent reasons Basil had travelled home third-class. It economised -his funds--of which he felt the necessity--and it enabled him the -better to carry out his wish of not making friends on board. The task -upon which he was engaged rendered it advisable that as little -curiosity as possible should be aroused respecting himself and his -personal history. That he should have to work to some extent in -secresy was not congenial to his nature, but by so doing he would have -a better chance of success. Until he came face to face with Newman -Chaytor it was as well that his operations should be so conducted as -not to put his treacherous comrade on his guard. - -He had ample time on board ship to review the events of the past few -years, and although he found himself wandering through labyrinths of -extreme perplexity as to the doings of Newman Chaytor, the conclusion -was forced upon him that his false friend had practised towards him a -systematic course of treachery and deceit. He had read accounts of men -returning home from distant lands for the express purpose of -personating others to whom they bore some close personal resemblance, -and one famous case presented itself in which such a plot was only -exposed by the wonderful skill of the agents employed to frustrate it. -There, as in his own case, a large fortune hung upon the issue, but -Newman Chaytor had been more successful than the impostor who had -schemed to step into the enjoyment of a great estate. Chaytor had -obtained possession of the fortune, and was now enjoying the fruits of -his nefarious plot. But Basil's information was so imperfect that he -was necessarily completely in the dark as to the precise means by -which Newman Chaytor had brought his scheming to this successful -stage. He knew nothing whatever of the correspondence which Chaytor -had carried on with his uncle and Annette. Determined as he was to -spare no efforts to unmask the villain, such a knowledge would have -spurred him on with indignant fierceness. To recover his fortune, if -it were possible to do so, was the lesser incentive; far more -important was it, in his estimation, that Annette should be saved from -the snare which had been prepared for her. - -It was with strange sensations that he walked once more through -familiar thoroughfares, and noted that nothing was changed but -himself. Since last he trod them he had learnt some of life's saddest -lessons; but hope, and faith, and love remained to keep his spirit -young. It was no light matter that he had been awakened from the dull -lethargy of life into which he had fallen in the earlier days of -Princetown; that his faith in human nature had been restored; that he -had won affection and esteem from strangers who even now, though the -broad seas divided them, had none but kindly thoughts of him. Foul as -was the plot of which he was the victim, he had cause to be deeply -grateful. - -He took lodgings on the Lambeth side of Westminster Bridge, two modest -rooms, for which he paid seven shillings a week; food would cost him -little; his modest resources must be carefully husbanded, and he would -be contented with the humblest fare. His task might take long in the -accomplishment, and to find himself stranded in the City of Unrest -would be fatal. His experiences had been so far valuable that they -assisted him to a more comprehensive view of the circumstances of -life. When he was in England he had thought little of the morrow. Now -it had to be reckoned with. - -In considering how he should set about his task, he had decided that -it would be advisable to call in professional assistance. He had not -arrived at this decision without long deliberation. He detested the -means, but repugnant as the course was to him he felt that they were -justifiable. Singularly enough he had, without being aware of it, -taken lodgings in a house, the master of which belonged to the class -he intended to call to his aid. He arrived at this knowledge on the -second day of his tenancy. Children always attracted him, and his -landlady had four, all of them boys, with puffy cheeks and chubby -limbs. Their ages were three, five, seven, and nine, a piece of -information given to him by their mother as he issued from the house -on the second morning, and stood by her side a moment watching their -antics. The word is not exactly correct, for their pastime was -singularly grave and composed. The eldest boy wielded a policeman's -truncheon, and his three brothers, standing in a line, were obeying -the word of command to march, a few steps this way, a few steps that, -to halt, and finally to separate and take up positions in distant -doorways, from which they looked severely at the passers-by. - -"Bless their hearts!" said the proud mother. "They're playing -policemen." - -"They seem to know all about it," remarked Basil "They ought to," -responded the mother. "It was born in them." - -"Is your husband a policeman?" asked Basil. - -"He was, sir," replied the mother; "but he has retired from the force, -and belongs now to a private inquiry." - -Basil thought of this as he walked away, after patting the children on -the head, who did not know exactly whether to be gratified at the mark -of attention, or to straightway take the stranger into custody. He had -not seen his landlord yet, and it had happened, when he engaged the -rooms from the woman, that, with the usual carelessness of persons in -her station of life, she had not asked her new lodger's name, being -perfectly satisfied of his respectability by his paying her a -fortnight's rent in advance, and informing her that he would continue -to do so as long as he remained in the house. Basil was afraid, if he -went to a regularly established private office, that the fees demanded -would be higher than his slender resources warranted, and bent as he -was upon economising, he saw here a possible opportunity of obtaining -the assistance he needed at a reduced rate. Therefore on the evening -of this day he tapped at the door of the sitting-room, in which his -landlord was playing a game of "old maid" with three of his children, -and intimated his desire for a little chat with the man after the -youngsters had gone to bed. - -"On business," said Basil. - -"No time like the present, sir," said the landlord, who saw "with half -an eye," as he subsequently expressed himself, that his tenant was a -gentleman: "I'll come up to your room at once, unless you prefer to -talk here." - -"We shall be more private up-stairs," said Basil, and up-stairs they -went to discuss the business. - -As a preliminary the landlord handed Basil a card, with "Mr. -Philpott," printed on it, and in a corner, "Private Inquiry," to which -was added the address of the house in which they were sitting. - -"Do you carry on your business here, then?" inquired Basil. "Partly, -sir," replied Mr. Philpott. "I am engaged at an office in Surrey -Street, but it is seldom that my time is fully occupied there, and as -I am not on full pay I stipulate that I shall be free to undertake any -little bit of business that may fall into my hands in a private way." - -"That may suit me," said Basil. "To be frank with you, I was looking -out for some one who would do what I want at a reasonable rate; I am -not overburdened with funds, but I can afford to pay moderate fees. -Will that meet your views?" - -"Yes, sir. If you will tell me what you want done I will let you know -about how much it will cost." - -Basil paused before he commenced; he was dealing with a stranger, and -he did not wish to disclose his name. - -"What passes between us is in confidence, Mr. Philpott?" - -"Altogether in confidence, sir. That is one of the rules of our -profession. Whether anything comes of it or not, I shall say nothing -of my client to a third party, unless you instruct me otherwise." - -"You are sometimes consulted by people who desire to conceal their -names?" - -"Oh, yes, but they are not generally so frank as you are. You would -rather not tell me your name?" - -"That is my desire, if it will make no difference." - -"Not an atom of difference. Say Mr. Smith." - -"I am obliged to you. I need not, then, disclose my own particular -interest in the matter." - -"Not at all, if it will not hamper me." - -"I don't see how it will hamper you in the least. Shall I pay you a -modest retainer? Will a guinea do?" - -"A guinea will do, sir. Thank you." - -"You had better take notes of what I say, Mr. Philpott." The private -inquiry agent produced his pocket-book. "Write down first the names I -give you." - -Mr. Philpot took down the names and addresses of Mr. Bartholomew -Whittingham and of the lawyers in London who transacted that -gentleman's affairs when Basil was last in England; also the name of -Mr. Basil Whittingham. - -"Any address to this name, sir?" asked Mr. Philpott. - -"None. Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham is, or was--for I understand he is -dead--a gentleman of considerable fortune; Mr. Basil Whittingham is -his nephew; the lawyers whose names I have given you transacted the -old gentleman's business for many years, but I am not aware whether -they have continued to do so." - -"That is easily ascertained." - -"Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had neither wife nor children, and some -years since it was his intention to leave all his property to his -nephew. The young man, however, offended his uncle, and the old -gentleman thereupon informed his nephew that he had destroyed the will -he had made in his favour, and that Mr. Basil Whittingham might -consider himself disinherited. Do you understand it thus far?" - -"It is perfectly clear, sir." - -"The relations between the uncle and his nephew were completely broken -off. Mr. Basil Whittingham--who had some private fortune of his own, -but had got rid of it--being disappointed in his expectations, left -England for Australia, where he resided for a considerable time." - -"For how many years shall we say, sir." - -"Five or six. When he was near his end the uncle relented of his -decision, and made another will--I am supposing that he really destroyed -the first, which may or may not have been the case--by which his -original intention was carried out, and his nephew was constituted sole -heir to the property." - -"Good." - -"This property, I believe, was not in real estate, but in cash and -securities which were easily convertible. The knowledge of his -kindness reached the nephew's ears in Australia, and he returned home -and took possession of the fortune." - -"Very natural." - -"I wish these details to be verified, or otherwise, Mr. Philpott." - -"I undertake to do so, sir." - -"I wish also to ascertain where Mr. Basil Whittingham is now -residing." - -"Can you give a clue, sir?" - -"A very slight one, I am afraid. The last I heard of the nephew was -that about eighteen months ago he was in Paris, in the company of a -Mr. Edward Kettlewell, a money-lender, whose offices are, or were, in -London. I am under the impression that Mr. Basil Whittingham and Mr. -Kettlewell may have had some business transactions with each other. If -so, it should not be difficult to trace Mr. Basil Whittingham through -Mr. Kettlewell." - -"It may I be more difficult than you imagine," said Mr. Philpott. -"These money-lenders are difficult persons to deal with. They are as -jealous of their clients as a cat of her kittens. 'Hands off,' they -cry; 'this is my bird.' Hold hard a minute, sir. I have this year's -'London Directory,' downstairs." - -He left the room, and returned bearing the bulky volume, which he -proceeded to consult. No Mr. Edward Kettlewell, money-lender or -financial agent, was to be found in its pages. There were plenty of -Kettlewells, and a few Edwards among them but not one who dealt in -money. - -"Still," said Mr. Philpott, "it may be one of these. He may have -retired, he may have left the country, he may be dead. I will look -through the directories for a few years past, and we will see if we -can find him." - -"My information concerning him," said Basil, "is not very exact, and -may after all be incorrect; but with or without his assistance it is -most important that the address of Mr. Basil Whittingham should be -ascertained." - -"I will do my best, sir; no man can do more." - -"There is another matter, of which I must beg you not to lose sight. -Shortly after Mr. Basil Whittingham arrived in Australia he came in -contact with a gentleman, M. Anthony Bidaud, who owned a plantation in -Queensland. This gentleman had a daughter, quite a child then, whose -name is Annette. M. Anthony Bidaud died suddenly, and left no will. On -the morning of his death a brother and sister--the brother's name, -Gilbert--presented themselves at the plantation, and the brother -administered the estate, and assumed the guardianship of his niece. -The plantation was sold, and the little girl, with her uncle and aunt, -came to Europe. Between the child and Mr. Basil Whittingham there -existed a bond of affection, and since his return to England he has -succeeded--so my information goes--in establishing friendly relations -with M. Gilbert Bidaud. If you are fortunate enough to trace Mr. Basil -Whittingham, my impression is that the knowledge will lead you -straight to M. Gilbert Bidaud and his sister and niece, to discover -whom I consider of far greater importance than the young man. Now, Mr. -Philpott, if you have grasped the situation, are you prepared to set -to work?" - -"I will not lose a day, sir; I commence my inquiries to-morrow; and as -you inform me that you are not exactly rich it may be convenient if I -present a weekly account, including all charges to date, so that you -may know how you stand as to expenses. Then you can go on or stop at -your pleasure." - -"It will be the best plan," said Basil. - -Mr. Philpott was very much puzzled that night when he thought over the -commission entrusted to him. "He says nothing of himself," thought the -private inquiry agent, "nor of the particular interest he has in the -matter--a very particular interest, for I never saw any one more in -earnest than he is. His voice absolutely trembled when he spoke of the -uncle and Mdlle. Annette. Now that would not happen if he were acting -as an agent for another person. What is the conclusion, then? That he -is acting for himself. Does this Mr. Basil Whittingham owe him money? -Perhaps. And yet it does not strike me as an affair of that kind. -Well, at all events, he has acted openly and straightforwardly with me -so far as he and I are concerned. It is not often a client tells you -that he is living under an assumed name. I must ask the wife if his -shirts and handkerchiefs are marked." His curiosity, however, was -destined not to be appeased; his wife told him that Basil's clothing -bore no initials--which, according to Mr. Philpott's way of thinking, -betokened extreme caution, and whetted his curiosity. He did not, -however, allow this to interfere with the zealous exercise of his -duties. Proceeding step by step he presented his weekly reports to -Basil. In the course of a short time Basil's worst suspicions were -confirmed. Newman Chaytor had come home and, representing himself to -be Basil Whittingham, had experienced no difficulty in establishing -his position and administering his uncle's estate. This done, he had -disappeared, and Mr. Philpott was unsuccessful in tracing him. - -"But," said Basil, "would not a man, arriving from a country so -distant as Australia, in such circumstances have to prove his -identity?" - -Mr. Philpott opened his eyes at this question; to use his own term, -he "smelt a rat." - -"Certainly he would," replied Mr. Philpott. "But that was simple -enough in Mr. Basil Whittingham's case. He had been in correspondence -with his uncle for some time previous to his departure from -Australia." - -"What do you tell me?" cried Basil. - -"It is an established fact," said Mr. Philpott, expressing no -surprise; but Basil's tone no less than his words, opened his eyes -still further. "A few days before Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham's death -he wrote to his nephew in Australia, announcing his change of -intention. This letter was forwarded to Mr. Basil by his uncle's -lawyers, who, as you now know, are not the same he employed in former -years." - -"Basil Whittingham," said Basil, unable to repress his excitement, -"received these letters in Australia?" - -"Undoubtedly. He brought them home with him, and others also which he -had previously received from his uncle's lawyers." - -"There was a regular correspondence with them, then?" - -"Yes, extending over a considerable time." - -This was a fresh and startling revelation to Basil. Newman Chaytor had -not only personated him in England, but had personated him at a -distance, receiving letters intended for him and forging letters in -reply. - -"He robbed me of my papers," groaned Basil inly, "and obtained -possession of the means to prove him the man he represented himself to -be. The base, unutterable villain! He smiled in my face, a living lie! -And I trusted in him, believed in him, laid my heart bare to him, and -all the time he was planning my destruction. Just Heaven! Give me the -power to bring him to the punishment he deserves!" - -But did the foul plot go farther than this? Every time Chaytor -returned from the colonial post-office it was with the same -answer--there were no letters for Basil Whittingham. And the had -received and answered them; they were on his person while he was -uttering the infamous falsehood, smiling in Basil's face the while. To -what depths would human cunning and duplicity go! The tale, related to -Basil by one who had been wronged, would have sounded incredible. He -would have asked, "Is not this man labouring under some monstrous -delusion?" But the bitter experience was his, and no tale would now be -too wild for disbelief. Again he asked himself, did the plot go -farther than what had already come to his knowledge? Newman Chaytor, -going to the post-office for letters for him, would receive all -addressed to his name. - -What if Annette had written? It was more than possible, it was -probable; it was more than probable, it was true. At this conclusion -he quickly arrived. Annette had redeemed her promise; she had written -to him as she said she would, and had received Chaytor's letters in -reply. This explained how it was that Chaytor had been able to find -Annette and her uncle. Did Gilbert Bidaud suspect, and was he trading -upon the suspicion; and were the two villains conspiring for the -destruction of the poor girl's happiness? Basil looked round -pitifully, despairingly, as though invoking the assistance of an -unknown power. - -"You seem disturbed," said Mr. Philpott, who had been attentively -observing him. - -"The news you have imparted," said Basil, "is terrible. Is there no -way of discovering this Basil Whittingham?" - -"We might advertise for him," suggested Mr. Philpott. - -Basil shook his head. "If he saw the advertisement he would not answer -it." - -"Hallo," thought Mr. Philpott, "our absent friend has done something -that would place him in the criminal dock." Professionally he was in -the habit of hiding his hand, so far as the expression of original -thought went. "But some one who knows him," he said, "might see the -advertisement, and answer for him." - -Basil caught at the suggestion. "Advertise, then, and in such a manner -as not to alarm him." - -"Trust me for that," said Mr. Philpott, with great confidence. "I know -how to bait my line." - -But the advertisements meet with no response. Worked up to fever heat, -Basil instructed Mr. Philpott to spare no expense, and the inquiry was -prosecuted with wasted vigour, for at the end of two months they had -not advanced a step. Basil was in agony; he grew morbid, and raised up -accusing voices against himself. The reflection that Annette, the -sweet and innocent child who had given him her heart, should be in the -power of two such villains as Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor was an -inexpressible torture to him. He had accepted from her father a sacred -trust--how had he fulfilled it? He inflicted exquisite suffering upon -himself by arguing that it was he who had betrayed her, that it was -through him she had been brought to this pass. Had she not known him -she would never had known Newman Chaytor; had he not worked upon her -young affections and extracted her promise to write to him it would -have been impossible that Chaytor should ever have crossed her path. -He pressed into this self-condemnation all the cruel logic his mind -could devise. As he walked the streets at night Annette's image arose -before him and gazed upon him reproachfully. "You have compassed my -ruin." It seemed to say, "you are the cause of my corruption, of my -dishonour." He accepted the accusation, and groaned, "It is I, it is -I, who have made your life a waste!" Of all the dolorous phases -through which he had passed this perhaps was the worst. But he had yet -another bitter experience to encounter. On a Saturday evening Mr. -Philpott said: - -"I must speak honestly. I have done all I could, and nothing has come -of it. I might continue as long as you continued to engage my -services, but it would be only throwing your money away." - -It was an unusual confession for a man in his line to make. Private -inquiry agents have generally the quality of the leech, and will suck -the last drop of blood out of a client, but Basil had won the -commiseration of his landlord. - -"I must take the case into my own hands," said Basil gloomily. "I -intended, indeed, to tell you as much myself--for pressing reasons. I -thank you for all you have done for me." - -"Little enough," said Mr. Philpott "I wish you better luck than I have -had. Mind you, I don't give it up entirely, but if I do anything more -it will not be for pay." - -"You are, and have been, very kind. Have you made out your account?" - -Mr. Philpott presented it, and Basil settled it. Then he said: "Will -you ask your wife to step up and see me?" - -"Yes, sir. Now don't you be cast down, sir; it is a long lane that has -no turning, and there's no telling at any moment what may turn up. I -should like to take the liberty of asking one question." - -"Ask it." - -"If, after all, the search should be successful, is it likely you -would be in a better position than you are now? I am taking a liberty, -I know, but I don't mean it as such. You told me at first you were not -overburdened with funds; if it has been all going out and none coming -in, you must be worse off now." - -"I am very much worse off, Mr. Philpott. I will answer your question. -Should I succeed in finding the man I am hunting--a poor hunt it has -proved to be, with no quarry in view--I have reason to believe that I -should obtain funds which would enable me to discharge any liabilities -I may incur." - -"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Philpott, pushing across the table the money -which Basil had paid him; "then suppose I wait." - -"No," said Basil gently, "take it while you are sure of it, and you -have a family." - -"But I can afford to wait, sir. If I lost ten times as much it would -not break me." - -"I must insist upon you taking it, Mr. Philpott." - -It was the pride of the poor gentleman, who would leave himself -penniless rather than leave an obligation unsettled. Mr. Philpott -recognised it as such, and recognised also that it marked the -difference between them--which increased the respect he felt for -Basil. He pocketed the money reluctantly. - -"Send your wife up to me, Mr. Philpott." - -"I will, sir." - -Basil had indeed pressing reasons for dispensing with Mr. Philpott's -further services. The larger expenses of the last few weeks had -brought his funds to a very low ebb. He took out his purse and counted -his worldly wealth; it amounted to less than two pounds. He was -standing at poverty's door. In Australia, on the goldfields, it would -not have mattered so much. Earnest labour there can always ensure at -least food for the passing day; it is only the idle and dissolute and -men without a backbone who have to endure hunger; but here in this -overcrowded city hunger is no rare experience to those who are -willing to toil. Needless to say that the watch and chain which had -been presented to Basil in Princetown was no longer in Basil's -possession. The prospect before him, physically and morally, was -appalling. - -There was a gentle knock at the door. "Come in," said Basil, and Mrs. -Philpott entered the room. - -"My husband tells me you wish to see me, sir," said the landlady. - -"Take a seat, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil. "I hope you have brought -your weekly account; you should have given it to me yesterday." - -"Friday's an unlucky day, sir," said Mrs. Philpott, fencing. - -"But to-day is Saturday," said Basil, with a smile. - -"There's no hurry, sir, I assure you." - -Basil looked at her and shook his head. His look, and the weary, -mournful expression on his face, brought tears to the good creature's -eyes. - -"I must insist upon having the account, Mrs. Philpott." - -"Well, sir, if you insist," said Mrs. Philpott, reduced to -helplessness; "it is only the rent, seven shillings." - -"There are breakfasts," said Basil, "with which you have been good -enough to supply me. I have not kept faith with you. When I took these -rooms I promised to pay always a fortnight's rent in advance; lately I -have not done so." - -"How could you pay, sir, when you didn't know what the breakfasts came -to?" - -"That does not excuse me. Oblige me by telling me how much I owe you." - -"If you won't be denied, sir, it's twelve and tenpence." - -"There it is, and I am infinitely obliged to you. Mrs. Philpott, I am -sorry to say I must give you a week's notice." - -"You're never going to leave us, sir! Is there anything wrong with the -rooms? We'll have it put right in a twinkling." - -"The rooms are very comfortable, and I wish I could remain in them; -but it cannot be." - -"You must remain, sir, really you must. I won't take your notice. You -must sleep somewhere Philpott will never forgive me if I let you go." - -Her consciousness of the strait he was in, and her pity for it, were -so unmistakable--her desire to befriend him and her sympathy were so -clearly expressed--that Basil covered his eyes with his hand, and -remained silent awhile. When he removed his hand he said: - -"I am truly sensible of your goodness, Mrs. Philpott, but it must be -as I say." - -"Think better of it, sir," urged Mrs. Philpott. "You are a gentleman -and I am only a common woman, but I am old enough to be your mother, -and I don't think you ought to treat me so--so"--exactly the right -word did not occur to her, so she added--"suddenly. Here you are, sir, -all alone, if you'll excuse me for saying so, and here _we_ are with -more rooms in the house than we know what to do with. Why, sir, if -you'll stay it will be obliging us." - -All her kindly efforts were unavailing. She asked him to make the -notice a month instead of a week, and then she came down to a -fortnight, and made some reference to clouds with silver linings; but -Basil was not to be prevailed upon, and she left the room in a -despondent state. - -"We'll keep an eye on him if we can," her husband said to her when she -gave him an account of the interview. "I may find out something yet -that will be of use to him. It is a strange case, old woman, and I -don't mind confessing that I can't see the bottom of it." - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Sternly resolved to carry out his determination not to occupy rooms -for which he could not pay, Basil left Mrs. Philpott's house on the -appointed day. It was his wish to quit without being observed, but -Mrs. Philpott was on the look-out and lay in wait for him. Before he -reached the street door she barred his way in the landing. - -"You're not going away, sir," she said reproachfully, "without wishing -the children good-bye." - -In honest and affectionate friendship there is frequently displayed a -pleasant quality of cunning which it does no harm to meet with, and in -her exercise of it Mrs. Philpott pressed her children into the -service. Basil had no alternative but to accompany her into the -parlour, where the four little fellows were sitting at the table -waiting for dinner. - -"You'll excuse me a minute, sir," said the good woman; "if I don't -fill their plates before they're five minutes older they'll set up a -howl." - -Out she bustled, and quickly returned with a mighty dish of Irish -stew. - -"Philpott says," said Mrs. Philpott as she placed the steaming dish on -the table, "that no one in the world can make an Irish stew like mine; -and what father says is law, isn't it, children? I always have dinner -with them, sir; perhaps you'll join us. I really should like to know -if you're of my husband's opinion. Now this looks home-like"--as -Basil, who had independence of spirit, but no false pride, took his -seat at the table where a chair and a plate had already been set for -him--"almost as if father was with us, or as if the children had a -great big brother who had been abroad ever so many years, and had -popped in quite sudden to surprise us." - -All the time she was talking she was filling up the plates, and the -little party fell-to with a will, Basil eating as heartily as the -rest. Mrs. Philpott was delighted at the success of her ruse, but she -was careful not to show her pleasure, and when Basil said, in answer -to her inquiry, that he had had enough, she did not press him to take -more. When dinner was over the children had to be taken out of the -room to have their faces washed; they were brought back for Basil to -kiss, and then were sent into the street to play policemen. - -"You'll let us hear of you from time to time, sir," said Mrs. -Philpott, as she and Basil stood at the street door. "Philpott is -regular downhearted because of your going. I'm not to let your rooms -again, he says, so there they are sir, ready for you whenever you do -us the pleasure to come. We're getting along in the world, sir, and -the few shillings a-week don't matter to us now." - -"I am truly glad to hear it, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil. - -"There was a time," continued Mrs. Philpott, "when it did matter, and -when every shilling was worth its weight in gold in a manner of -speaking. We've had our ups and downs, sir, as most people have, and -if it hadn't been for a friendly hand heaven only knows where we -should be at this present minute. We were in such low water, sir, we -didn't know which way to turn. Philpott says to me, 'Mother,' he -says---- I hope I'm not wearying you, sir," said Mrs. Philpott, -breaking off in the middle of her sentence. - -"Pray go on," said Basil, feeling that it would be churlish to check -her. - -"It's a comfort, sir," continued Mrs. Philpott, "to open one's heart. -It doesn't make me melancholy to look back to those days, though my -spirit was almost broke at the time; I'm proud and grateful that we've -tided them over, with the help of God and the good friend He sent us. -'Mother,' says Philpott to me, 'I'm on my beam ends. We're in a wood, -and there's no way out of it.' 'Don't you go on like that, father,' I -says; 'you keep on trying, and you'll see a way out presently.' For -I'm one of that sort of women, sir, if you won't mind my saying as -much, who never give in and don't know when they're beat. I don't mean -to say I don't suffer; I do, but I put a brave face on it and never: -say die. 'You keep on trying, father,' I says. 'Now haven't I kept on -trying?' says he. 'For eight weeks I've answered every advertisement -in the paper, and applied for a job in hundreds and hundreds of places -without getting the smell of one. I'm ashamed to look you in the face, -mother, for if it wasn't for you our boy would starve.' We only had -one then, sir, and as for being ashamed to look me in the face -Philpott ought to have been ashamed to say as much. All that I did was -to get a day's charing wherever I could, and a bit of washing when I -heard there was a chance of it, and that was how we kept the wolf from -the door. But I fell ill, sir, and couldn't stir out of doors, and was -so weak that I couldn't stand at the wash-tub without fainting away. -Things were bad indeed then, and Philpott took on so that I did lose -heart a bit. Well, sir, when we'd parted with everything we could -raise a penny upon, when we didn't know where we should get our next -meal from though it was only dry bread, heaven sent us a friend. An -old friend of Philpott's, sir, that he hadn't seen for years, and that -he'd been fond of and kind to when he was a young man, before he kept -company with me. Philpott had lent him a couple of pound, and he'd -gone off to America, and, now, sir, now, in the very nick of time, he -came home to pay it back. Did you ever see the sun shine as bright as -bright can be in a dark room at ten o'clock at night--for that was the -time when Philpott's friend opened the door, and cried, 'Does Mr. -Philpott live here?' It shone in our room, sir, though there was never -a candle to light it up, and Philpott was sitting by me with his head -in his hands. Philpott starts up in a fright--when people are in the -state we were brought to the least unexpected, thing makes their -hearts beat with fear--he starts up and says, 'Who are you?' 'That's -Philpott's voice,' says our friend. 'I'd know it among a thousand; but -don't you know mine, old fellow? And what are you sitting in the dark -for?' Then he tells us who he is, and Philpott takes hold of his hand -and says he's glad to see his old friend--which he couldn't, sir--and, -ashamed of his poverty, pulls him out of the room. He comes back -almost directly, and stoops over me and kisses me, and whispers that -heaven has sent us a friend when most we needed one, and I feel my -dear man's tears on my face. Then, sir, if you'll believe me it seemed -to me as if the sun was shining in our dark room, and all the trouble -in my mind flew straight away. From that time all went well with us; -it was right about face in real earnest. Philpott's friend had another -friend who got my husband in the force, and now we've got a bit of -money put by for a rainy day, and don't need the rent for a couple of -empty rooms." - -Mrs. Philpott's account of her troubles was much longer than she -intended to make it, and her concluding words were spoken wistfully -and appealingly. They were not lost upon Basil, but they did not turn -him from his purpose. With a kindly pressure of her hand, and -promising to call and see her unless circumstances prevented--which -meant unless his fortunes remained in their present desperate -condition--he took his leave of her and passed out of her sight. - -"Poor young gentleman," sighed the good woman. "I would have given the -world if he'd have stopped with us. What on earth will become of him? -It's hard to come down like that. Better to be born poor and remain -so, than to be born rich and lose everything. His face was the image -of despair, though he was politeness itself all the time I was -talking. I sha'n't be able to get him out of my head." - -She and her husband talked of him that night, and if kind wishes and -sympathising words were of practical value, Basil would have been -comforted and strengthened. - -Strengthened in some poor way he was. It had been his hard fate to be -made the victim of as black treachery as one man ever practised -towards another; but he had met with kindness also at the hands of -strangers. He strove to extract consolation from that reflection. -Heaven knows he needed it, for he was now to make acquaintance with -poverty in its grimmest aspect. He was absolutely powerless. He had -debated with himself various courses which might be said to be open to -a man in his extremity, but he saw no possible road to success in any -one of them. The most feasible was that he should go to a capable -lawyer and endeavour to enlist his skill on his behalf. But what -lawyer would listen to a man who presented himself with a tale so -strange and without the smallest means to pay for services rendered? -It would be a natural conclusion that he was mad, or that he, being -Newman Chaytor, was adopting this desperate expedient to prove himself -to be Basil Whittingham. That he was a gentleman was true; he had the -manners of one, but so had many who were not gentlemen. Then his -appearance was against him; he had no other clothes than those he -stood upright in, and these were shabby and in bad repair. Even if he -had possessed assurance, it would not have served him--nay, it would -have told against him, as proclaiming, "Here is a plausible scoundrel, -who seeks to deceive us by swagger." He was truly in a helpless -plight. - -The necessity of living was forced upon him, and to live a man must -have money to purchase food. Recalling the efforts made by Mr. -Philpott in his days of distress, as described by that man's good -wife, he applied for situations he saw advertised, but there were a -hundred applicants for every office, and he ever arrived too late, or -was pushed aside, or was considered unsuitable. In one of his -applications he was very nearly successful, but it came to a question -of character, and he had no reference except the editor of the -_Princetown Argus_, who was fourteen thousand miles away. What wonder -that he was laughed at and dismissed? Then he thought that his -experiences on the goldfields and his training as a journalist might -help him, and he wrote some sketches and articles and sent them to -magazines and newspapers. He heard nothing of them after they were -dropped into the editorial boxes. The fault may have been his own, for -he had no heart to throw spirit into his effusions, but his state was -no less pitiable because of that. He felt as if indeed he had for ever -lost his place in the world. By day he walked the streets, and at -night occupied a bed in the commonest of London lodging-houses. At -first he paid fourpence for his bed, but latterly he could afford no -more than two-pence, and presently he would not be able to afford even -that. It was a stipulation of his nightly accommodation that he should -turn out early in the morning, and this he was willing enough to do, -for he had but little sleep, and the beings he was compelled to herd -with filled him with dismay. It was not their poverty that shocked -him; it was their language, their sentiments, their expressions of -pleasure in all that was depraved. He had had no idea of the existence -of such classes, and now that he came face to face with them he shrank -from them in horror. Had they been merely thieves it is possible that -he might have tolerated them, and even entertained pity for them, -arguing that they were born to theft, that their parents had been -thieves before them and had taught them no better; or that they had -been driven into the ranks by sheer necessity; but it was the -corruption of their souls that terrified him; it was the consciousness -that with vice and virtue placed for them to choose, with means for -each, they would have chosen vice and revelled in it. Amid all this -corruption and degradation he maintained a pitiable self-respect and -kept his soul pure. Often did he go without a meal, but he would -listen to no temptations, electing by instinct, rather to suffer -physically than to lower his moral nature to the level of those by -whom he was surrounded. When he walked the streets by day he did not -walk aimlessly and without purpose. It was probable enough that Newman -Chaytor was in London, and if so the fortune of which he had obtained -fraudulent possession would enable him to live in the best and most -fashionable quarters of the city. Basil haunted those better -localities, and watched for the villain who had betrayed him in the -vicinity of the grand hotels, the clubs, and the resorts of fashion in -the parks. Sometimes at night he lingered about the high-class -theatres to see the audience come out. In the event of his meeting his -enemy he had no settled plan except that he would endeavour to find -out where he lived, and through that knowledge to obtain access to -Annette. - -One night he met with a strange adventure. He had come from Covent -Garden, where, mingling in the crowd, he had watched the audience -issue from the Opera House, in which a famous songstress had been -singing. It was an animated, bustling scene, but it was impossible for -a man in such sore distress to take pleasure in it; neither did he -draw bitterness from the gaiety; he merely looked on with a pathos in -his eyes which was now their usual expression. Frequently, in his days -of prosperity, had he attended the opera, as one of the fashion, and -heard this same songstress, whose praise was on every man's lips; now -he was an outcast, hungry, almost in rags, without even a name which -the world would accept as his by right of birth and inheritance. It -was a cold night, but dry--that was a comfort to a poorly clad man. -Indeed, there is in all conditions of life something to be grateful -for, if we would only seek for it. - -A curious fancy entertained Basil's mind. He heard the carriages -called out--"Lady This's carriage," "Lord That's carriage," "The -Honourable T'other's carriage." How if "Mr. Basil Whittingham's -carriage" was called out? So completely was he for the moment lost to -the sad realities of his position, so thoroughly did the fancy take -possession of him, that he actually listened for the announcement, and -had it been made it is probable that he would have pushed his way -through the crowd with the intention of entering the carriage. But -nothing of the kind occurred. Gradually the theatre was emptied, and -the audience wended homeward, riding or afoot, north, south, east, -and west, till only the fringe was left--night-birds who filtered -slowly to their several haunts, not all of which could boast of roof -and bed. A night-bird himself, Basil walked slowly on towards -Westminster. He had fivepence in his pocket, and no prospect of adding -anything to it to-morrow, and he was considering whether he should -spend twopence for a bed, or pass the night on a bench on the -Embankment. It was a weighty matter to decide, as important to him as -the debate which was proceeding in the House, upon which a nation's -destiny hung. In Parliament Street a young couple brushed past him; -they had been supping after the theatre, and Basil heard the man -address the woman, as "Little Wifey," and saw her nestle closer to her -husband's arm as he uttered this term of endearment. For a moment -Basil forgot his own misery, and a bright smile came to his lips; but -it faded instantly, and he trudged wearily on discussing the momentous -question of bed or bench. Undecided, he found himself on Westminster -Bridge, where he stood gazing upon the long panorama of lights from -lamps and stars. Were this wonderful and suggestive picture situated -in a foreign country, English people would include it in their touring -jaunts and come home and rave about it, but as it is situated in -London its beauties are unheeded. - -Basil, leaning over the stone rampart, looking down into the river, -was presently conscious that some person was standing by his side. He -turned his head, and saw a woman, who gazed with singular intentness -upon him. She was neither young nor fair, but she had traces of beauty -in her face which betokened that in her springtime she could not have -been without admirers. Her age was about thirty, and she was well -dressed. So much Basil took in at a glance, and then he averted his -eyes and resumed his walk across the bridge. The woman followed him -closely, and when he paused and gently waved her off, she said: - -"Why do you avoid me? I want nothing of you." - -"Good-night, then," said Basil in a kind voice, and would have -proceeded on his way if the woman had not prevented him. - -"No, not good-night yet," she said. "Did you not understand me when I -said I want nothing of you? It is true; but happening to catch sight -of your face as I was crossing the bridge I could not pass without -speaking to you. It would have brought a punishment upon me--knowing -what I know." - -Being compelled by her persistence to a closer observance of her, -Basil was moved to a certain pity for her. There were tears in her -eyes and a pathos in her voice which touched him. Desolate outcast as -he was, whom the world, if he proclaimed himself, would declare to be -an impostor, what kind of manhood was that which would refuse a word -of compassion to a woman who appeared to be in affliction? His pitying -glance strangely affected her; she clung to the stone wall and burst -into a passion of tears. - -"I am sorry for your trouble," said Basil, waiting till she had -recovered herself. "Can I do anything to help you?" - -"Nothing," she replied. "No one can help me. I have lost all I love in -the world. This is a strange meeting; I have been thinking of you -to-day, but never dreamt I should see you to-night. To-night of all -nights!" - -"Thinking of me!" exclaimed Basil in amazement. - -"You will not consider it strange," said the woman, "when you know -all. I could not stop at home; I have been sitting by her side since -three o'clock, and then a voice whispered to me, 'Go out for an hour, -look up to Heaven where the Supreme Guide is, and pray for a miracle.' -So I came out, and have been praying to Him to give her back to me." - -"Poor woman!" murmured Basil, for now he knew from her words that she -had lost one who was dear to her. "I pity you from my heart." - -"You are changed," said the woman; "not in face, for I should have -known you anywhere, but in your voice and manner. It is gentler, -kinder than it used to be." - -Basil did not answer her: he thought that grief had affected her mind, -and that her words bore no direct relation to himself. He had no -suspicion of the truth which was subsequently to be revealed to him. - -"It is many years since we met," she said. "Have you been long in -England?" - -"A few months," said Basil. - -"You have not made your fortune? - -"No, indeed." - -"You look poor enough. Have you no money?" - -"None," said Basil; and added hastily, "or very little." - -"You have been unfortunate since your return home?" - -"Very unfortunate." - -She opened her purse, and took out a sovereign and held it out to him. - -"Thank you no," said Basil, his wonder growing. - -"You are changed indeed," said the woman, "to refuse money. It is -honestly come by. Two years ago I was married, and my husband, who -died a year afterwards, left me a small income. It was more than I -deserved, for I deceived him by telling him I was a widow. It made no -difference, but still it was a deceit. Will you not take it?" - -"No." - -"And yet you need it?" - -"Do not urge me further. Good night." - -"Wait one moment. I was going to tell you to-night; but you had best -see for yourself. It is your right. Here is my address; my mother and -sister live with me. Come and see me to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. -Promise me." - -"No, I cannot promise," said Basil, moving away. "You must promise," -said the woman, moving after him. "I will not leave you till you do. I -tell you it is your right--it is more than your right, it is your -duty." - -Seeing there was no other way to release himself from her, Basil said, -"I promise." - -"On your sacred word of honour," said the woman. - -"On my sacred word of honour." - -"I will trust you; there was a time when I would not. Good night. -To-morrow, at ten." - -She glided away, and Basil was once more alone. The misery of his own -circumstances was no encouragement to him to dwell upon the adventure, -and he dismissed it from his mind, accounting for the woman's strange -utterances by the supposition that she was of weak intellect. He -passed the night in the open air, and in the morning bought one -pennyworth of bread--it was cheaper than buying a penny roll--for his -breakfast. This and water from a drinking-fountain satisfied hunger -and thirst. - -"A man can live upon very little," he said to himself, "but how is it -going to end?" - -It was a pertinent question, and answered itself. The end seemed near -and certain. - -It was a bright morning, and he walked in the sun. He did not forget -the promise he had made to the woman; it was a promise to which he had -pledged himself, and even if mischief resulted it must be fulfilled. -The name on the card was Mrs. Addison the address, Queen Street, Long -Acre. Thither he went, and paused before a milliner's shop, the -windows of which were partially masked by shutters. Over the shop -front was the name Addison, and the goods displayed bore evidence of a -certain prosperity; they were not of the poorest kind. An elderly, -grey-haired woman came forward as he entered. Her face was sad and -severe, and there was no civility in her voice as she informed him in -answer to his question, that he had come to the right address. - -"Go through that door," she said with a frown, "up-stairs to the first -landing. My daughter expects you. I must ask you to make your visit -short." - -It was not only that her voice was cold, it expressed repugnance, and -without requesting an explanation Basil followed her and mounted the -stairs. The sound of his footsteps brought the woman he had met on -Westminster Bridge to the door of the front room. - -"You have kept your promise," she said. "Come in." - -A younger woman than she rose as he entered, cast one brief glance at -him, and immediately left the room. The window blinds were down and -the gas was lighted. His strange acquaintance of the previous night -was dressed in deep mourning. Her face was white and swollen with -weeping. - -"I prayed for a miracle last night," she said, "but my prayers were -not answered. I have also repented that I asked you to come, but still -it is right, it is right. If you have a heart it should be a -punishment to you for all you have made me suffer." - -"I do not in the least understand you," said Basil. - -Had it not been for her grief her look would have been scornful. She -paid no heed to his words, but continued: - -"When I said last night that I wanted nothing of you I said what I -meant. When you go from here I wish never to see your face again. It -will be useless for you to trouble me." - -"I shall not trouble," said Basil in a gentle tone which seemed to -make her waver; but she would not yield to this softer mood. - -"That you are poor to-day," she said, "and I am well-to-do, so far as -money goes, proves that there is a Providence. Years ago--very soon -after your desertion of me--I cast you from my heart, and resolved -never to admit you into it again. It might have been otherwise had you -behaved honestly to me, for I loved you, and you made me believe that -you loved me. It was better for me that the tie which bound us should -be broken. I have led a respectable life, and shall continue to do so. -I am the happier for it." - -"For heaven's sake," cried Basil, "explain what it is you accuse me -of." - -"Ask your own heart. Although there is an apparent change in you, you -are still the same, I see, in cunning and duplicity. But I will listen -to no subterfuges; there is no possibility of your justifying -yourself, and your power over me is gone. Towards you my heart is cold -as stone." - -"You are labouring under some singular delusion," said Basil, "and I -can but listen to you in wonder." - -"Still the same, still the same," said the woman. "You used to boast -of your superior powers, and that you were so perfect an actor that -you could make the cleverest believe that black was white. See what it -has brought you to"--she pointed to his rags. "I have no pity for you; -as you have sown, so have you reaped. So might I have reaped had I not -seen the pit you treacherously dug for me; so might I have reaped had -I not repented before it was entirely too late. I owe you this much -gratitude--that it was your base desertion of me that showed me my -sin. Had you remained I might have sunk lower and lower till grace and -redemption were lost to me for ever. What expiation was possible for -me I have made, with sincere repentance, with sincere sorrow for my -error. It would be well for you if you could say the same. You saw my -mother downstairs. She cast me off, as you know, but she opened her -arms to me when I convinced her of my sincerity, when I vowed to her -to live a pure life. I am again her daughter. You see these drawn -blinds, you see my dress, you see that this is a house of mourning. -Can you guess what for?" - -"Indeed I cannot," said Basil, "except that you have lost one who is -dear to you. What comfort can I, a stranger, offer you that you cannot -find for yourself? It is small consolation to say that your loss is a -common human experience. Be faith your solace. There is a hereafter." - -Her scorn and horror of him, now plainly expressed in her face, so -overpowered her that she allowed him to finish without interruption. - -"You, a stranger to me!" she cried. "Will you still wear the mask--or -is it, _is_ it possible that the rank selfishness and callousness of -your nature can have made you forget? All was over between us--but a -link remained, a link of sweet and beautiful love which the good Lord -has taken from me. I bow my head; I will not, I must not rebel!" She -folded her hands, and, moving to the darkened window, stood for a few -moments there engaged in silent prayer. Presently she spoke again. "My -fond hopes pictured a bright and happy future for her. I, her mother, -would be for ever by her side, guiding her from the pitfalls which lay -before young and confiding innocence. Her life should be without -stain, without reproach. She did not know, she would never have known -the stain which rests upon mine. It is revealed to her now. Forgive -me, my darling, and look down with pity upon me! Yes, out of my sin I -created a garden of love--for her, who was to me what sight would be -to the blind, through whose sweet and pure influence I was led to the -Divine throne. My fond hopes have been dashed to the ground--they are -dead, never to be revived. Come with me." - -With noiseless footsteps she walked out of the room, and Basil -followed her to another on the same landing. Softly, tenderly, as -though fearful of disturbing what was therein, she turned the handle, -and she and Basil stood in the presence of death. - -Of death in its fairest form. Upon the bed lay the body of a young -girl whose age might be ten. The sweet beauty, the peace, the perfect -rest in the child's face, moved Basil to tears; she looked like a -sleeping angel. - -"Oh, my darling, my darling!" sobbed the bereaved mother, sinking to -her knees. "Pray for me; intercede for me. Unconsciously I strayed; I -saw not my sin. Oh, child of shame and love, bring peace to my -breaking heart, and do not turn from me when we meet above!" - -Basil spoke no word; some consciousness of the truth was slowly coming -to him. There was a silence in the room for several minutes; then the -woman rose to her feet. - -"Kiss her," she said. "When you last saw her she was a baby. If she -were living, and saw your face, she would look upon you as a stranger; -but now she knows the truth." - -Then Basil understood. "Yes," he said inly, "now she knows the truth." - -He stooped and kissed the child's lips, and the mother's tears broke -out afresh; checking them presently, she said: - -"It was by the strangest chance I met you last night. I have done what -I conceived to be my duty. Now go," and she pointed to the door. - -"I will obey you," said Basil, "but I must say a word to you first, in -the next room." - -She looked at him for a moment hesitatingly, then nodded her head, and -they left the chamber of death as noiselessly as they had entered it. - -"I did not intend it," said the woman, and taking a tress of fair hair -from her bosom, and dividing it, she offered him a portion. "You may -like to keep it as a remembrance." - -"I thank you humbly," said Basil; "it may help me on my way." - -A look of incredulous wonder flashed into her face, but remained there -only an instant, and she shook her head as though she were answering a -question she had asked mutely of herself. - -"Before us lies an open grave," she said. "You and I speak now -together for the last time on earth. I forgive you, as I hope to be -forgiven. You have something to say to me?" - -"Yes; and I entreat you, however strange you may think my question, to -suspend your indignation for awhile, and answer me in plain words." - -"I will endeavour to do so, if it is such a question as you should -address to me." - -"I will not fret you by arguments or expostulations. You have suffered -deeply, and from my heart I pity you. Plainly, whom do you take me -for?" - -"For yourself--for no other man, be sure." - -"But let me hear my name from your lips." - -"As you insist upon it," she said, with sad contempt, "though such a -farce should not be played at such a time; but when were you otherwise -than you are? You are Newman Chaytor." - -"I," said Basil, speaking very slowly, "am Newman Chaytor?" - -"You are he; there lives not such another, and remembering all that -has passed between us, remembering your vows and oaths, for that I -say, thank God! If you have any reason for going by another name, for -wishing to be known by another name--and you may have, heaven help -you!--be sure that I will not betray you. You are dead to me, as I am -dead to you." - -"Look at me well," said Basil. "If you were upon your oath would you -swear that I am the man you say I am?" - -"To swear otherwise would be to swear falsely. What crime have you -committed that you should stand in dread of being known?" - -"None. It is not to be expected that you will believe when I tell you -that you are the victim of delusion, as I am the victim of a foul and -monstrous plot." - -"Who would believe you? Denial is easy enough, and of course you will -deny, having reason to do so. But come into the light." - -She raised the blind, and he stepped to the window where the light -shone upon his face. - -"You are Newman Chaytor," she repeated, letting the blind fall. - -He bowed his head, and said, "You have just cause for your pitiless -resentment and whether I am or am not the man you believe me to be, I -bow my head before you in sorrow and shame. The day may come--I do not -know how, or in what way it may be brought about, for I am at the -extremity of misery--when, showing you this"--he touched his breast, -where he placed the lock of her child's hair--"and recalling this -interview, you will see the error into which you have innocently fallen. -Till then, or for ever, farewell." - -"One moment," said the woman, with trembling accents, "what has passed -cannot be recalled, nor will I speak of the folly of your denial of -the solemn truth. It is a meaningless proceeding." - -"To me," said Basil, interrupting her, "it means everything. Honour, -truth, fidelity, faith in virtue and goodness, all are at stake. It -may never come to an issue, for the end seems near, but heaven may yet -have some mercy in store for me. As you prayed for a miracle last -nigh: which was not vouchsafed you, so will I pray for a miracle to -help me to a just conclusion of my bitter trials." A pitiful smile -accompanied his words. "It is not for me, one suffering man among -millions happier, I trust, than myself, to doubt Divine Goodness. The -eternal principle of Justice remains and will, now or hereafter, -assert itself, as it has ever done. May peace and comfort, and -happiness be yours." - -"I offered you money last night," said the woman, impressed by what he -said, but making no comment upon it. "Will you not accept it now?" - -"I, thank you--no," he said bowing to her with humility. "Farewell." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -Basil's mind was quite clear when he left the house, and as he had -bowed his head to the bereaved mother when she declared him to be -Newman Chaytor, the villain who had betrayed and cast her off, so did -he bow his head to the elder woman in the shop below, who flung upon -him a look of anger and abhorrence as he passed from her sight. In the -light of the infamous wrong inflicted upon this family, the wrong -inflicted upon himself seemed to be lessened. Suffering and -humiliation were his portion, but not shame; herein Newman Chaytor was -powerless. There had grown in his mind an ideal presentment of -womanhood which shed a refined and delicate grace upon all his -dealings with the sex. His knowledge of the world had taught him that -some had fallen and were vile, but he had no harsh thoughts even for -these hapless ones, whom he regarded with tender pity. There were -women with whom he had come in contact whose images were touched with -sacred light. His mother was one, Annette was another; and it was -partly this good influence which enabled him to bear, with some degree -of moral fortitude, the weight of the troubles through which he was -passing. A heavy load had been added to these troubles by the -accusation which now had been brought against him; another man's sins -had been thrust upon his shoulders, and the circumstantial evidence -against him was so strong that he could scarcely hope to break it -down. He had said that he would pray for a miracle to aid him in his -bitter trials, and indeed it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle -would serve him. But although none occurred to bring the truth to -light, new experiences were awaiting him as strange as any within his -ken, and one, with some sweet touch of humanity in it, was to come -indirectly through the enemy who had played him false. - -Of the fourpence he had left one penny went that day for food, and he -contrasted his position with that of a shipwrecked man cast away in a -boat, helpless on a wild and desolate sea, with starvation staring him -in the face. "Among these millions," he thought, "I cannot be the only -one; there must be others adrift as I am. Heaven pity them!" It was -curious that, revolving this theme in his mind, he looked about for -men and women whose state resembled his own, and fancying he saw some, -longed for money more for their sake than for his own. Only in small -natures is grief entirely selfish. One question continually presented -itself. What could he do to better himself--what do to turn the tide? -He saw people begging in the roadways, and others fighting desperately -for dear life, their weapons a few boxes of matches. If he had known -where to purchase half-a-dozen boxes for the threepence which still -remained of his fortune he would have risked the venture, but he did -not know where to go for the investment, and those he asked for -information scowled at him or turned away, conscious perhaps that -their ranks were overcrowded, or that the addition of one to the horde -of mendicants would lessen their chances. During these times he gained -pregnant knowledge of a social nature. Living entirely in the streets, -pictures presented themselves in poor and rich thoroughfares alike. -His poverty made the contrasts startling. Ladies in carriages nursing -over-fed lapdogs; small morsels of humanity shuffling along with their -toes peeping out of their boots. In Covent Garden hothouse fruit at -fabulous prices, and white-faced mortals picking up refuse and -stealthily devouring it. Grand parties in great mansions, priceless -jewels flashing as the ladies stepped out of their carriages; in a -street hard by a woe-worn girl asleep on a doorstep, with a pallid -baby in her arms. These pictures did not embitter him; he pitied the -poor and envied not the rich, and had it been his good fortune to be -employed as a descriptive writer, his pen would not have been dipped -in gall. He did not purposely linger as he walked the streets, for the -reason that when he lagged he attracted the notice of policemen, who -followed him slowly, and quietly noted his movements. On such -occasions, feeling himself an object of suspicion, he would quicken -his steps to escape closer observation. Through all these sad -wanderings he was ever on the watch for Newman Chaytor; he would not -allow himself to sink into absolute apathy; while life remained he -would do what lay in his power to lift himself out of the slough of -despond. Only when his strength was exhausted would he lie down and -die. Thus did he endure three more doleful days, at the end of which -his last penny was spent. "The end is coming," he thought, and waited -for it. He had been five nights now without a bed, and on three of -these nights had been soaked to the skin. This exposure, with lack of -nourishing food, had already told upon a system constitutionally sound -and healthy. That the end was coming was no idle reflection; he felt -it in his bones. Whither should he turn for succour? Naturally strong, -and willing and anxious to work even for the barest pittance, he found -himself more forsaken and powerless in this city of unrest than -Robinson Crusoe on his desolate island. Charity is proverbially cold; -it is frozen indeed when a willing man is driven to such a pass. - -Another day passed, and another soaking night, and then fever -threatened. Delirious fancies took possession of him, haunted, -tortured and deluded him. He laughed aloud in the street, and aroused -to momentary reason by the looks of the passers-by, shambled away in -silence that engirt him as with iron bands--to break out again -presently when he was in another street. Each night some impulse for -which he sought no reason led his steps in the direction of the bridge -where he had met Newman Chaytor's victim; had he seen her again, and -she had offered him money, it is doubtful whether he would have had -the strength to refuse. - -Exhausted and spent, having been thirty hours without food, he clung -to the buttress of the bridge, and with dim eyes looked forward on the -river's lights. There seemed to be some meaning in their unrest; from -the mysterious depths messages from another world came to his dazed -mind. "Presently, presently," he thought, "but I should like first to -see Annette, and undeceive her. I would give my best heart's blood to -set myself straight with her. Too late to save her--too late, too -late!" He had no idea of seeking eternal rest by deliberate action, -only that he felt it was very near, and could not be long delayed. - -How he craved for food! How the demon hunger was tearing at his -vitals! His head fell forward, his mouth sucked his coat sleeve. A -policeman touched his arm; he languidly raised his head, and the -policeman gazed steadily at him, and then proceeded on his beat -without speaking a word. Maybe he recognised that a case of genuine -suffering was before him. Basil remained in the same position, his -eyes turned in the direction the officer was taking. But he did not -see him; he was blind to all surrounding things. Therefore it was that -he had no consciousness of the presence of an old woman, poorly -dressed, who had stopped when the policeman stopped, and appeared -rooted to the spot as her eyes fell upon Basil's face. Suddenly the -emotion which for a brief space had overpowered her, found voice. With -a piercing scream she tottered towards Basil, cleared the grey hair -from her eyes, and peered up into his face. Then with a piercing -scream, she cried: - -"Newman! My son, my darling, darling son! O God be thanked for -restoring you to me!" - -She threw her trembling arms around him, but Basil did not feel them, -and had no understanding of her words. With a dolorous groan he slid -from her arms to the ground, and lay there without sense or motion. -Nature's demands had reached a supreme point, and the groan which -issued from his lips was the last effort of exhausted strength. - -Although the bridge appeared to be deserted, with only the policeman, -the old woman, and Basil in view, a small knot of persons, as if by -magic, instantly surrounded the fallen man and the woman who knelt by -his side. The policeman, attracted by the scream, turned, and slowly -sauntered towards the group. - -"What's the matter, mother?" asked an onlooker. - -"It's my son," moaned the woman, "my dear son, Newman. He has come -from the goldfields, and is dying, dying." - -"Don't look much like a goldfields man," observed one of the group. -"Where's his nuggets?" - -"He has had a hard time," continued the woman, whom the reader will -recognise as Mrs. Chaytor. "He wrote to me about his hardships. See -what they have brought him to. Will none of you help me? Here is -money--I am not so poor as I look; my poor husband has had a bit of -luck. For pity's sake help me! O my son, my son!" - -"I am a doctor," said a gentleman, pushing his way through. Kneeling by -Mrs. Chaytor's side, he lifted Basil's head on his knee, and made a -rapid examination. "The poor fellow is starving, I should say. Run, -one of you, and fetch a quartern of brandy--and some water if you can -get it." - -Mrs. Chaytor held out a trembling hand, and a woman snatched the money -from lit and darted off. The policeman, who had by this time joined -the group, shook his head disapprovingly. - -"You've seen the last of that," he said. - -He was mistaken, however; the woman returned with two flat bottles, -one containing brandy, the other water. With these the doctor -moistened Basil's lips, and forced a few drops down his throat. - -"You see," he said, addressing himself to Mrs. Chaytor, "that he is -not yet dead. Whether he lives or dies depends not upon himself. I -think I heard you say you are his mother." - -"I am his unhappy mother," sobbed Mrs. Chaytor. "Oh, how I have prayed -for his return, and he is sent to me now like this! It is cruel, it is -unjust. Save him for me, doctor, and I will bless you to the last hour -of my life!" - -"We will see what can be done. Do you live near here?" - -"We live in Southwark Road." - -"Here is a cab passing. Let us get him into it; there is no time to -lose." - -A dozen arms were ready to assist him, but Basil had grown so thin -that the kind doctor lifted him with ease, and put him in the cab. -Then, giving the driver the address which he obtained from Mrs. -Chaytor, they drove off quickly, Mrs. Chaytor holding Basil in her -arms, and crooning over him as the priceless treasure of her life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -"Am I awake or dreaming?" This was the thought that passed through -Basil's mind as he opened his eyes. Two weeks had passed since he had -been rescued from death; and for the most of that time he had been -unconscious. But certain floating impressions were his, which now, as -his eyes travelled round the walls of the room in which he lay, he -endeavoured to recall. It was not without difficulty that he -succeeded, but after long and determined--if in his weak state such a -word may be used--effort, these impressions began to marshal -themselves. But just at the moment that memory reasserted its power -an interruption occurred, and Basil, bent upon his mental task, closed -his eyes, and waited once more for solitude. - -An old woman stole softly into the room, and crept with noiseless -tread close to his bed. She stooped over him, kissed him tenderly, -arranged the bedclothes about him, smoothed his pillow, and kissed him -again. What touched his feelings deeply was the exceeding tenderness -of these kisses, which could only have been bestowed upon one who was -very dear. What meaning lay in this strange tenderness to him who not -so long since was forsaken by all, and coming from one whose face was -absolutely unfamiliar to him? For with excusable cunning he had -partially raised his lids without being observed, and his half-veiled -eyes rested upon the woman who was attending him. She was an old woman -with grey and white hair, and there were signs of deep suffering on -her lined face. She looked like one who had experienced great trouble, -but Basil noted also in her countenance an expression of gratitude -which relieved the weight of years and care which lay heavy upon her. -He allowed his lids to droop, and setting aside awhile the task upon -which he was engaged when she entered the room, ransacked his memory -for a clue. He could find none, even though his mental efforts sent -him wandering weakly among his childhood's days. While thus engaged, -with his eyes still closed, he was conscious that another person had -entered the room, and the words which passed between them reached his -senses. - -"Good morning," in the cheerful voice of a man. - -"Good morning, doctor." - -"Doctor! He was being cared for, then, and friends were by his side. -Of this he was assured; he required no further proof than the tender -actions of the woman and the soft voice in which she returned the -doctor's greeting. But why should these stranger's care for him? for -strangers to him they were, though their intentions could not be -doubted. - -"How is our patient this morning?" - -"No worse, I hope, doctor. He has been very, very quiet." - -"That is a good sign." - -Basil felt the doctor's fingers on his pulse, and then his head was -gently raised, and he knew that his temperature was being taken. He -betrayed no consciousness of their presence; perhaps the conversation -would supply him with the clue for which he was seeking. - -"The fever has almost gone; in a few days he will be quite well. Has he -not spoken at all?" - -"No, doctor." - -"Not even in his sleep?" - -"No, doctor, not a word has passed his lips." - -"All the signs are good. Has he opened his eyes?" - -"No, doctor. If he only would! If he would only recognise me! I could -die happy, then." - -"You must not talk of dying. All that belongs to the past." - -"No, doctor," said the woman, with a sigh, "it belongs to the future." - -"I stand corrected in my philosophy. But, tush, tush! We must not have -you breaking down. I shall insist upon your getting a nurse for our -young gentleman here." - -"No, doctor, no," in almost a fierce tone, "no one shall nurse my dear -boy but myself. Have I waited all these years to let another woman -take my place?" - -"Be calm. But I warn you that you are overtaxing yourself, and at your -time of life it is not safe. You have done your duty; no woman can do -more." - -"I will not allow anybody else to take my place. It belongs to me; it -is my right." - -"There, there, don't agitate yourself. I hope our young friend will be -grateful for what you have done for him." - -"He will be; he always has been; you do not know his nature--the most -loving, the tenderest. Can you not see it in his face?" - -"It is a good face, and I have taken something more than a doctor's -interest in the case. It is, indeed, a mercy that you came across him -on the bridge a fortnight ago. Had he fallen into the hands of -strangers it is hardly likely he would have pulled through. It was -touch and go with him." - -"Providence led my steps. I am humbly, humbly grateful." - -"You saved him from death--I may tell you plainly now that he is in a -fair way of recovery. And how is our other patient?" - -"Still the same, doctor. Will you go and see him?" - -"You must come with me; he is suspicious of me, as you know, and would -order me out of the room if you were not by." - -"Can I leave my dear boy with safety?" - -"With perfect safety; he will not awake from sleep for a long time -yet, and when he does it will not harm him to find himself alone." - -"He must not find himself alone--I will not have it, I will not, I -will not!" - -"Well, well, surely you can take my word. He will sleep for hours; it -is nature's restorative." - -"Doctor," said the woman, in a tone so solicitous that Basil was -deeply moved, "he _will_ recover?" - -"He will. Come; I have not much time at my disposal." - -He walked to the door, but before she left the room, Basil felt her -tender hands about him again, ministering to his ease and comfort. -Presently he knew by the closing of the door that he was alone again. -Then he applied himself to the task of recalling his impressions. They -came to him slowly, and the sequence of events passed through his mind -in fair order. - -He recalled the dolorous days of hunger and privation, the meeting of -the young woman on the bridge, his visit to her house, and the cruel -accusation she brought against him. When he struggled against it she -had desired him to come into the light, and had said, "You are Newman -Chaytor." With this pronouncement and condemnation he left her, and -the look of abhorrence the woman's mother had cast upon him lived in -his memory as a burning brand. Then followed the days through which he -starved and suffered till he was on the bridge looking forward on the -river's lights, and waiting for death. He had no remembrance of what -subsequently occurred on that night and on many days and nights -afterwards. Sounds of voices he had heard, but not the sense of the -words that were spoken: except that on one occasion something had -reached his senses to the effect that the room in which he lay was -unhealthy, and that it would be better if he were removed to more airy -quarters. He was dimly conscious that this was done, and that gentle -hands had lifted him from his bed, and that he was carried to another -house through fresher air which flowed softly over his fevered brow. -Had this really been done, or was he deluding himself with fancies? He -opened his eyes, and gazed around. The room was large, and there was -but little furniture in it, but everything was clean and neat. There -was a pleasant paper on the walls, the device being flowers, the -colours of which, though subdued, had some healthful brightness in -them. On a table near his bed were medicine bottles, a basin with soup -jelly in it, and a plate of grapes. The loving care with which he was -being nursed was evident whichever way he turned. There was something -more than mere kindness, there was heartfelt devotion, in these -evidences and in what he had lately heard. The woman to whom he owed -this great debt had saved him from death--the doctor had said as much, -and Basil did not doubt that it was true. Whatever could have been her -motive he inwardly acknowledged that she had rendered him a service it -would be hard, if not impossible for him to repay. Saved from death! -To what end? That he might live to clear himself from the foul -accusation which hung over him, to avenge himself, to punish the -guilty, perhaps even yet to save Annette. A debt, indeed, that could -never be repaid. Exhausted with thought, he sank into slumber, with a -growing hope in his heart that there might yet be some brightness for -him in the future. - -When he awoke again it was night. Opening his eyes they fell upon the -form of the woman who had tended him. She was kneeling by his bed, -gazing upon his face. A shaded lamp in the room enabled him to see her -clearly. - -"Newman!" she said in a low voice of joy, and she half rose and -stretched forth her arms. - -That hated name! Denial was on his lips, but the voice of joy, the -agonized appeal of love expressed in her eyes, arrested his speech. -And indeed at that moment there suddenly flashed upon his mind some -glimmering of the truth. - -"Who speaks?" he asked, awed and stricken by the appeal. - -"Your mother, your fond, your loving mother. Oh, my son, don't break -my heart by saying you don't know me! Newman, Newman, my beloved boy, -kiss me, give me one word of love. I shall die, I shall die, if you -turn from me!" - -He could not repulse her; he felt that the sentence upon this loving -heart was his to pronounce. Scarcely knowing what he did, he held out -his hands. She seized and kissed them again and again, then fell upon -his neck and pressed him convulsively to her. - -"Who are you?" he said softly. - -"Your mother, your faithful, faithful mother. Did you not hear me? -Have I spoken too soon? O Newman, Newman, give me one kiss, one kind -look. My poor heart is breaking!" - -"Tell me who I am," said Basil. - -"You are our dear, our darling son, whom God in His infinite mercy has -sent back to us, to comfort us, to cheer the little time that remains -to us." - -Her mouth was close to his; her quivering lips pleaded for the kiss -for which she yearned. He could not resist her; their lips met; her -tears gushed forth. - -"Forgive me," he said: "I have been ill so long, and my mind may be -wandering still. Is it the truth that I am Newman Chaytor?" - -"Yes, my dear, yes, you are the only being left to us on earth, the -only link of love we have. If it distresses you to think, if the -effort is too painful, rest till the morning; I will watch over you. -Heaven has heard my prayers; my darling is restored to me. I can die -happy now. The clouds have passed away; there is nothing but sunshine; -your future shall be happy; we will make it so. Fortune has smiled -upon us. Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful--and just as you have come -back to us. But we will not speak of it to-night; we will wait till -to-morrow, when you will be stronger." - -"No, tell me something more--I am strong enough to listen." - -"Oh, my poor boy, you have suffered much, you have had great -troubles!" - -"Yes, great and bitter troubles. Bring the lamp nearer. Am I changed?" - -"Only a little paler than you used to be and a little thinner. There -is no other change in you. Your father----" - -"My father!" - -"He lives, Newman, he lives, but he is very ill, and I can see that -the doctor fears for him. But he loves you still. Do not think hardly -of him, Newman; he will not be long with us. Say that you forgive -him!" - -"What have I to forgive?" - -"There speaks the noble heart of my darling boy. You can bring peace -and comfort to him, as you have brought it to me. You can brighten his -last hours. You will do it, will you not, my dear boy?" - -"What lies in my power," said Basil slowly, "to repay you for your -goodness to me, that I will do." - -"I was sure of it, I was sure of it. You will find him changed, -Newman; he wanders in his mind sometimes, but you will be gentle with -him." - -"Yes I will be gentle with him." - -"We will forget the past--there shall be nothing in our hearts but -love and forgiveness." - -"Listen a moment. If anybody came to you and said I am not your son, -would you believe him?" - -"You ask it to try me, but you little know your mother's heart. If an -angel from heaven were to come and say so, I should not believe him; I -should know it was an evil spirit that spoke. I was going to speak to -you of our good fortune. Shall I go on?" - -"Yes, go on." - -"It happened only a week before I met you--O, heaven be praised for -it!--on the bridge. Do you remember, when everything went wrong with -us and we were plunged in poverty, that your father still had some -shares in mining companies left, shares that were supposed not to be -worth the paper they were printed on? Do you remember it, my dear -boy?" - -"Well?" - -"It is only three weeks ago that a gentleman found out where we were -living--we were very, very poor, Newman--and told us that these shares -were valuable, were worth a great deal of money. Fortunately your -father had not destroyed them, and fortunately, too, when the -gentleman called it was on one of your father's sensible days. He -found the shares, and some of them have been sold. We are now -rich--yes, my dear boy, rich. We should never murmur against heaven's -decrees; it was all ordained--that this should happen at the time it -did, and that I should meet you a few days afterwards, in time to save -you. Newman, my dear, you had not a penny in your pockets." - -"I was starving." - -"My poor boy, my poor, poor boy! Oh, how cruelly we have treated you!" - -"You must not say that. You are the soul of goodness; you have saved -me from death, from despair, from shame, from degradation. I have -something to live for now. Hope revives. I have an enemy who has -conspired to ruin my life. What shall be done to him?" - -"He must be punished." - -"He shall be." - -"The monster! To conspire against my dear lad. If I were not old and -weak, I would seek him out myself. He should learn what a mother could -do for a beloved son." - -"He shall be punished, I say, and his punishment shall come through -those who are nearest to him, and should be dearest." - -"It sounds hard, Newman, but it is just, it is just." - -"I am tired," said Basil, "I can talk no more; I want to sleep." - -"Sleep, my dear boy; I will watch by you." - -"No, you must seek rest yourself; I insist upon it; it will do me good -to know that you are resting after your long labour." - -"Are you sure you will not want me?" - -"Quite sure; I am gaining strength rapidly; to-morrow I shall be -almost well. Go." - -"When did I disobey my dear lad?" said Mrs. Chaytor. "When did I -disregard his slightest wish? He repays me with love, and I am happy, -happy! This is the brightest night of my life, Newman. What have I -done that such joy should be mine? It is more than I deserve. Yes, I -will go, though I don't want rest--indeed, indeed I do not. I could -stop up for weeks nursing my dear lad, and never feel fatigue." The -tears rose in Basil's eyes as he gazed upon her worn and wasted face. -"Good night, my dear, dear boy. God bless and guard you?" - -He could not deny her the kiss for which she mutely pleaded, and she -prepared to leave him; but she came back a dozen times to assure -herself that he was comfortable, that there was not a crease on his -pillow, that the clothes were smoothly laid over him, and to hover -about him with soft accents of love. At length he pretended to be -asleep, and she crept from the room so softly that he did not hear her -footfall. - -Being alone now, he could think of what had passed, of the revelation -that had been made to him, of the position in which he stood, and how -it behoved him to act. The woman believed him to be her son, the idol -of her heart, the one supreme treasure which heaven and earth -contained for her. In that belief she had rescued him from death, and -by so doing had perhaps afforded him the opportunity to redeem his -name and honour. To undeceive her would break her heart; of this he -had no doubt. How perfect was her love! How tender and beautiful were -its evidences! He remembered his own mother, and knew how pure was the -love which existed between them; but never till this moment had it -been given him to know to what wondrous extent a mother's love could -go. That Newman had been a bad son, that he had been profligate and -false--of this he was certain; such a nature as Newman's was capable -of nought else; but all this was forgotten and forgiven. Nay, instead -of entreaties for pardon being expected from him, it was himself that -was asked to forgive. Something more than gratitude stirred his heart -as he thought of Mrs. Chaytor's goodness, a feeling of pity and -affection rose within him, and he bethought himself in what way he -could repay her for the great service she had rendered to him. - -Had it been Newman, indeed, whom she had rescued from death and -dishonour, how would he have acted? Natures do not change, and Newman -would have followed the bent of his. He would have brought fresh -sorrows upon her head; he would have stripped her of her new fortune -and squandered it in dissolute practices? Would it not be a fine -revenge to make the end of her life sweet and beautiful by the loving -care and gratitude it was in Basil's power to bestow. His heart glowed -at the thought. The sterner part of his revenge could still be carried -out. He would have means to prosecute his search for Newman and -Annette, and it would be the easiest matter to find an excuse for -absence, if it were necessary that he should go personally to seek -them. Thus two good ends would be attained, one certain in the joy it -would bring to a good woman's heart, the other as yet uncertain, -inasmuch as the roads which would lead to it were enveloped in -darkness. - -Yes, he would have means to punish the guilty. But were those means -his to use? Could he with justice employ them in the task upon which -he was engaged, and which Mrs. Chaytor had saved him to prosecute? -This was the question which now obtruded itself. - -Why not? Had not Newman Chaytor, by the vilest conduct, by long -systematic deceit and treachery, fraudulently obtained possession of -his fortune, and was he not now using it for his own selfish -pleasures? Could human cunning go further than Newman had done in his -vile plot--could human baseness reach a baser depth? No. There would -be a strange and inscrutable justice in using the villain's weapons to -bring the villain to bay. - -There was another consideration: Annette. If in the morning he -declared himself to be Basil Whittingham, if he left the loving mother -in sorrow and tribulation, and rejected the opportunity which, through -no scheming on his part, had presented itself, if he threw himself -once more penniless upon the world, what chance had he of finding -Annette in time, maybe, to save her from a life of deepest -unhappiness? This last consideration induced him to resolve upon his -course of action. For the present he would allow matters to go on as -they would. He would not undeceive Mrs. Chaytor; she should, for as -long or as short a time as circumstances permitted, rest in a delusion -which had filled her heart with joy. She should believe that he, -Basil, was her son indeed, and he would work and wait for events. - -But he would be strictly just, as far as he could. What money he used -should be used to one end, and to one end only; unless, indeed (and a -strange smile wreathed his lips as this view presented itself) -collateral disclosures were revealed to him of Newman Chaytor's home -life of villainy and treachery which pleaded for some kind of -compensation. Then would he use some of Chaytor's money to repair the -wrong. A devious road to justice, but a justifiable one. Having thus -determined, sleep descended upon him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -Early the next morning he awoke. The sun was shining into the room, -and he was alone. There was some kind of stir in the house for which -he could not account, and the cause of which he was curious to -ascertain. Feeling that his strength had returned to him he rose from -the bed, and although a natural weakness was upon him, he succeeded in -partially dressing himself. While thus employed the door was opened -and the doctor entered the room. - -"Ah," said the doctor, "as I expected. You are yourself again." He was -a young man, and had a cheery voice and manner, which, used with -discretion, and not allowed to become too bluff, are invaluable aids -to a medical practitioner. - -"I am almost well, I think," said Basil. - -"But we must be careful," said the doctor, "we must husband our -strength. You have a good constitution, and that has served you." -Although his voice was cheerful, he spoke with a certain reserve. - -"Are you not here very early?" asked Basil. - -"I am," replied the doctor, "much earlier than usual. The fact is I -was called in." - -"They are too anxious about me." - -"Well, yes, but I was not called in to see you. Your parents required -me?" - -"For themselves?" - -"For themselves. Are you strong enough to hear some grave news?" - -"Let me know it, quickly." - -"To be plain, your good mother has overtaxed herself; and your -father's illness has taken a serious turn. Your mother did not wish me -to tell you; she asked me to think of some excuse why she could not -come to you; but in the circumstances the truth is best." - -"Yes, the truth is best. Disguise nothing from me. See--I am really -strong and well." - -"You will do, if you are careful. As I said, your mother has overtaxed -her strength, and she is now suffering from it. I warned her a score -of times, but she would not leave your side, it is wonderful the -devotion of these good women." - -"Is it anything serious?" - -"I fear so; she is old, and seems to have gone through some serious -troubles." - -"I will go and see her." - -"Not till you have breakfast. I have ordered it for you, and if you -will allow me, I will join you." - -"You are very welcome." - -The maid entered the room with a tray, which she placed on a table; -the doctor threw open the window, saying, "Nothing like fresh air. -Come, let us fall to." - -Basil was much taken with him; he was a man of culture and refinement, -and knew what he was about. As they proceeded with their breakfast he -entertained Basil with light and agreeable conversation, and it was -only when the meal was finished that he reverted to the subject of his -professional visit. - -"Has your mother," he inquired, "during late years endured privation?" - -"I have been absent from England for a great many years," replied -Basil evasively. - -"And if she had," continued the doctor, "she would conceal it from -you! it is in the nature of such women. But I am led to this belief by -her condition; it is not only that she is suffering from the reaction -of overtaxed endurance, but that she has no reserve strength to draw -upon." - -It was clear to Basil that he believed her case to be serious, and in -great anxiety he accompanied the doctor to the sickroom. There were -two beds in the room, one occupied by Mrs. Chaytor, the other by her -husband. Mr. Chaytor was dozing, and Basil, gazing upon him, saw a -white and wasted face, long drawn and thin as that of a man whose -sands of life were fast running out. Mrs. Chaytor cast a look of -reproach upon the doctor, as she murmured: - -"You should not have told him, you should not have told him!" - -"He was up and dressed, my dear lady," said the doctor softly, "when I -went in to see him. You must trust me to do what's best for all of -you." - -"I will, I will," murmured Mrs. Chaytor. "You have restored my dear -son to health. O, Newman, Newman!" - -Basil bent over her, and kissed her; she tried to rise, but had not -strength. - -"How good you are, how good, how good!" she sobbed. - -Basil was shocked at her appearance, which had undergone a sad change -since the previous evening. The faithful couple, after a long and -anxious life, seemed to be both waiting for the summons from the angel -of death. - -"It is my turn now to nurse you," said Basil, pityingly. - -"No, you must not; the kind doctor has sent for a nurse; you must take -care of yourself. There is a long and happy life before you, and you -must not waste your days upon old people like us. Are your father's -eyes closed." - -"Yes." - -"He wishes to speak to you when he wakes. He is quite sensible, and -has something to say to you. Doctor, I must speak to my son alone." - -He was about to forbid any serious conversation, but, looking -attentively at her, he did not speak the words that came to his lips. -He nodded, and beckoned to Basil, who joined him at the door of the -room. - -"I am going now," he said, "and shall return at noon. Do not let your -mother exhaust herself. If she speaks excitedly, calm her down and beg -her, for your sake--it is the appeal that will have the best effect -upon her--to speak more slowly." - -"But had she not better wait till she is stronger?" - -The doctor gazed at him with serious eyes, "It will perhaps be as well -not to wait. She seems to have something of importance to communicate -to your By-and-bye may be too late?" - -Inexpressively grieved, Basil returned to the bedside, and took Mrs. -Chaytor's thin hand in his; her fingers clung to his convulsively. - -"I must speak to you about your father," she said, and to save her the -effort of raising her voice, Basil laid his head on the pillow close -to her mouth. A beautiful smile came to her lips as he did so. "Always -loving and considerate!" she murmured. "Always the same tender and -unselfish lad! Newman, your father has not seen you yet; all the time -you were lying ill he has been unable to rise from his bed. Don't -contradict him, my dear lad." - -"I will not," said Basil. - -"He has strange fancies; he was always strange--but he has been good -to me. Remember that, Newman, and bear with him for my sake." - -"I will do so." - -"Thank you, my dear boy. If he says anything about the past, listen in -silence--even if it is hard to hear, listen in silence. He was not so -considerate of you as he might have been, but we can't alter our -natures, can we, my darling? He could never see that young people love -pleasure, and ought to have it; he wanted you to be grave and serious, -as he was, and he would not make excuses for little faults. Bear that -in mind, my dear." - -"Yes, I will." - -"He said to me, 'I shall speak to Newman plainly,' and I know what -that means. He may speak harsh words, but you will be prepared for -them. He loves you in his heart, indeed he does, and intends to behave -rightly to you. Yesterday he wrote a paper, which I think he will give -you, and something else with it--something that will make your life -easy and happy. You need never want again, my dear boy, never, never. -Oh, how you must have suffered! And you were starving, and were too -proud to come to us, who would have shared our last crust with you. -Let me tell you about our fortune, Newman. When some cheques were -brought to your father for the shares, he would not take them: he -would take nothing but notes and gold; and the money was brought to -him, and he has it now under his bed. 'If I put it into a bank,' he -said, 'it will break, and I shall be ruined again. I will keep it -always by me in cash.' I told him it wasn't safe, that we were old and -might be robbed, but he would not listen to me. He was always -self-willed, you must remember that; he would always have his way, and -never thought that anyone was right but himself. I don't know how much -money he has, but it must be thousands of pounds. He gave me a hundred -pounds in gold to pay the house expenses; I have only spent forty, and -there is sixty left. Here it is--take it, Newman; take it, my dear -boy. If you love me don't refuse. That's right, put it in your pocket; -all we have belongs to you--every farthing. 'When you want more,' he -said to me, 'ask me for it and you shall have it.' He was never -niggardly, I will say that of him; we had a beautiful home once, did -we not? How happy you made it when you were little--and when you were -big, too, my dear! One day, when you are married--I hope you will -marry a good woman, who will love you with all her heart, and -appreciate you--you will find out how happy a little child can make a -home. Then you will think of me, will you not?--then you will know -better what I mean." - -Her breath was spent, and she could not continue. She closed her eyes, -but her fingers tightened upon Basil's, and presently she began to -babble incoherently. The entrance of the nurse who had been sent her -was a welcome relief to Basil; the woman had received her -instructions, and she went about her duties noiselessly. Mrs. -Chaytor's grasp relaxed, and Basil removed his hand. - -"You had best go," whispered the nurse; "she wants sleep." - -Basil obeyed, and in his own room applied himself again to a review of -his position. Strange indeed were the circumstances in which he found -himself, but he saw no other course to pursue than that upon which he -had already resolved. At noon the doctor called again, and his report -was even less hopeful than on his previous visit. - -"I can do nothing, I fear," he said; "the end is approaching. You must -be prepared." - -"Is there no hope for one?" asked Basil. - -"For neither, so far as my judgment is to be trusted. It would be a -satisfaction to you, perhaps, if a physician were called in." - -"I think it should be done," said Basil, "but I am a stranger here and -know no one." - -"I will come at five o'clock, and bring a physician with me. -Meanwhile, if your parents have any arrangements to make with respect -to property, it should not be neglected. I am of the opinion that your -father will have an interval of consciousness this evening, and then -would be the proper time. In everything else you may trust the nurse I -have sent in; she understands the cases thoroughly." - -The physician's statement verified the warning. - -"Their vital forces are spent," he said; "the end cannot be averted or -arrested." - -It was at eight o'clock that the nurse presented herself, and told him -that his father had asked for him. - -"Your mother is sleeping," she said; "speak as softly as you can." - -He followed her to the room and took a chair by Mr. Chaytor's bed. He -had strange thoughts as he entered. Suppose that Mr. Chaytor, seeing -him for the first time should refuse to see the likeness to Newman -which others had seen? In that case, how should he act? He was puzzled -to answer, and, driven by circumstances into a position he had not -sought, could but leave events to take their course, which they had -already done independent of himself. But nothing of the sort happened. -Mr. Chaytor's eyes dwelt upon his face, and then he called Basil by -the name of Newman, and Basil had no alternative but to answer to it. -The nurse sat discreetly by Mrs. Chaytor's side. - -"Send that woman away," said Mr. Chaytor. - -His words came with difficulty; his voice was choked. The nurse heard -the demand, and as she passed from the room she whispered to Basil -that she would be ready outside if he wanted her. For several minutes -there was silence, a silence which Basil did not venture to break. Mr. -Chaytor appeared to be engaged in the effort of marshalling his -thoughts. - -"You have come back in time," he said, "to see me die." - -"I trust there is still hope," said Basil. - -"There is no hope," said the sick man. "The doctors spoke together -under their breath, and thought I could not hear. They were wrong; I -heard every word they said. The fools forgot that a dying man's senses -are often preternaturally sharpened. Mine were, 'He will die at -sunrise,' they said. Very well. I shall die at sunrise. Oh, I don't -dispute them; they know their business. Sunrise is some hours yet; I -have time to speak, and I mean to keep my wits together till I have -said what I have got to say. What you have to do is to listen. Do you -hear me?" - -"I hear you," said Basil. - -"I don't intend," continued the dying man, "to ask you questions, for -I know what kind of replies you would give. What you are, you are, and -of that I have had bitter experience. Your mother, lying there at the -point of death--Oh, I heard that, too, when they were putting their -heads together--believes in you, trusts you, thinks you the sun, moon, -and stars all rolled into one, and thinks me a black cloud whose only -aim is to tarnish your brightness. Let her believe so. There was never -any reason or any wisdom in her love; but she is a good woman. To him -she loves she gives all, and asks for nothing in return. Whom she -trusts is immaculate; she cannot see a spot upon him. That is how -it stands, how it has always stood, between you and her. It is -different with me. Ever since you became a man--heaven pardon me for -calling you one!--you have been corrupt and vicious; and I knew it. -Ever since you became a man you have been false to friendship, false -to love; and I knew it. Ever since you became a man you have had but -one idea--yourself, your vanities, your degraded pleasures, your low -and envious desires; and I knew it. Why, then, should I ask you -questions, knowing you would lie to me in your answers. For you are as -glib of speech, Newman Chaytor, as you are cunning of mind. You have -been absent from us a long time: doubtless you have a good -recollection of the day on which I turned you from my house. We became -stricken down; we became worse than poor; we became paupers. Your -mother wrote to you when you were on the goldfields, and you sent back -whining letters of your misfortunes. Your mother believed you and -pitied you; I disbelieved you and despised you. At length you came -home, and hunting for us to see whether there was another drop of -blood you could suck from our empty veins, discovered that you could -hope for nothing from us, and therefore kept aloof; for it is a fact -that until a week previous to your mother meeting you on Westminster -Bridge, we lived on beggary and charity. How do I arrive at this -knowledge of your movements? From intuition, from the bitter -experiences with which you supplied me. I must pause a little. I will -proceed in a minute or two, when I get back my treacherous voice. Do -not poison the silence with your voice. I prefer not to hear it." - -It was dreadful to hear him. The choked utterances, the pauses between -the words, the fixed determination to say what was in his mind, the -stern tones, produced a painful impression upon Basil; but he had -perforce to obey, and so he waited till the dying man resumed: - -"If you had heard of my good fortune you would have leapt upon us like -a wolf; but it did not reach your ears. Therefore you kept away from -us, fearing, while you had one penny left, that we should beg a -halfpenny of it. Your mother brought you home--not to these rooms at -first, for we had not removed from our old quarters, but afterwards we -came here for your pleasure. Well, for hers, too, perhaps,"--his eyes -softened a little as he turned them towards the bed in which Mrs. -Chaytor lay--"and she was happy, for the first time for many, many -years, because you were with us. I could not come to see you; it is -eight months since I was able to crawl, but your mother gave me -accounts of you, and I was not displeased that she was able to nurse -you into strength. She has hastened her end through it, but that -matters little to her. During this last week I have been thinking what -I should do with my money, and I have allowed myself to be persuaded, -most likely beguiled. Look beneath my bed; you will see a cashbox; -bring it forth." - -Basil did as he was directed, and produced the cashbox. - -"It contains a portion of my wealth; there are some shares in it which -may yet be valuable. I have made no will, but I give you the cashbox -and the contents while I live; they are yours--a free gift. Beneath my -bed, between the mattresses, is a larger sum which you may take -possession of when I am gone; I make no disposition of it, and you may -act as you please in regard to it. Take the key of the cashbox--it is -hanging there, at the head of the bed; and I lay this injunction upon -you, that you do not open the box until I am dead. In this I must -break through the rule I laid down when I began to speak. You will -obey me?" - -"I will obey you," said Basil. - -"It is a solemn promise?" - -"It is a solemn promise." - -"There is a look in your face I have never seen there before. Is it -possible that a change has come over you?" - -"I have none but kind and grateful thoughts for you." - -"Is it true. _Can_ it be true?" - -"It is true." Then, like a whirlwind, there rushed upon Basil's mind a -torrent of self-reproach. Was it right that he should allow the dying -man to rest in his delusion? Was it not incumbent upon him that he -should confess, here and now, that he was not Newman Chaytor? Whatever -the consequences, was it not his duty to brave them? But before he -could speak a word to this effect Mr. Chaytor raised himself in his -bed with a terrible cry; and at that cry the nurse unceremoniously -entered the room, and caught Mr. Chaytor in her arms. A little froth -gathered about his lips, his head tossed this way and that; then -movement ceased; his limbs relaxed, and the nurse laid him back in -bed. Awe-stricken, Basil whispered: - -"Is he dead?" - -"No," said the nurse; "if any change occurs I will call you. Go--I can -attend better to him alone." - -"Can I not assist you?" - -"No, you will be in my way. Hush! Go at once; your mother is stirring. -Be sure I will call you, I promise faithfully." - -Basil left the room, carrying the cashbox with him, which he placed -under his own bed, putting the key in his pocket. He did not seek -rest, his mind was too perturbed. Towards midnight the doctor called -in, and gently informed Basil that within a few hours he would lose -both his parents. - -"In one sense," he said, "apart from the grief which such a loss bears -with it, it is a happy fitness that two old people, who have lived a -long life in harmony with each other, should pass away at the same -time, the allotted span of existence having been reached. I sympathise -sincerely with you." - -Basil gave him a strange look; so completely was his position -recognised and established that he almost doubted his identity. It -wanted a few minutes to sunrise when the nurse came to the door and -solemnly beckoned to him. He followed her it silence; she pointed -first to the bed in which Mr. Chaytor lay. The form thereon was grey -and motionless. - -"He died in his sleep," whispered the nurse; "not a sound escaped him. -It was a happy, painless death." - -Basil gazed at the still form. - -"Now you know," he thought. "Forgive me for the deception which has -been forced upon me." - -The nurse touched his arm, and directed his attention to Mrs. Chaytor, -saying softly, "I would not let her know of your father's death." - -"Newman, Newman, my dear boy," murmured the dying woman, "put your -lips to mine; come closer to me, closer, closer. My last thoughts, my -last prayers are for you. Has your father spoken to you?" - -"Yes." - -"And has he given you what he promised?" - -"Yes." - -"Then all is well. We shall trouble you no more, my darling. A life of -happiness is before you. Think of us sometimes; and if your father -does not get well, lay us in the same grave." - -"It shall be done." - -"I shall wait for you in heaven. How happy I am--how happy, how happy! -I am not sorry to go now I have found you. I have prayed to die like -this. God has been very good to me. He has answered my prayer. Kiss -me, dear. God bless and guard you!" - -She said no more; before the next hour struck her spirit was in -another world. - -"Remain with them," Basil said to the nurse, "and let everything be -done that is proper and necessary." - -He gave her some money, and oppressed with thought, returned to his -chamber. No adventure that he had met with in the course of his -chequered life had stirred him so deeply as this. So strange and -singular was it that he might have been pardoned for doubting still -that it was true. But the cashbox, which he had drawn from beneath the -bed, was before him; the key was in his hand. - -After a brief space he opened the box, taking the precaution first to -lock his door. Upon the top of the box were eight acceptances for -various amounts, signed in different names, some in those of Mr. -Chaytor, others in names that were strange to him. They were pinned -together, and folded in a paper upon which was written: - - -"These acceptances are forgeries, committed by my son, Newman Chaytor. -I have paid them, and saved him from the just punishment which should -have been his. In this and in other ways he has ruined my career, and -brought his mother and me to direst poverty. But although the money is -paid and the exposure averted, the crime remains; he is not cleared of -it. It is a stain upon him for ever.--Edward Chaytor." - - -Beneath these documents was another, inscribed: - - -"The last words of Edward Chaytor, once a prosperous gentleman, but -brought to shame by a guilty son." - - -Unfolding the paper, Basil read: - - -"To my son Newman Chaytor, a man of sin, I, his unhappy father, -address these words. Your life has been a life of infamy, and you, who -should have been a blessing to us, have plunged us in misery. I have -little hope of your future, but remorse may prompt you to pay heed to -what I now say. Repent of your evil courses while there is time. You -may live to be old, when repentance will be too late. If there is any -wrong to be righted, which may be righted by money, seek it out, and -let my money right it. If there is any atonement to be made, and you -see a way to it--as you surely will if you try--let my money atone for -it. If there is any villainy committed by you which merits punishment, -but which in some small measure may be condoned by money, let my money -accomplish it. Do this, and you may hope for forgiveness. I could -write much more, but I have neither the desire nor the power; but if I -wrote for a week you would not have a better understanding of my -meaning. Signed on my death-bed. Your father, - -"Edward Chaytor." - - -The remaining contents of the cashbox were gold and notes, amounting -in all to a considerable sum. Basil counted the money, made a careful -and exact record of it on a fair sheet of paper, replaced the papers -and locked the box, and put it in a place of safety. - -He was not long in arriving at a decision as to what he should do with -respect to this money. For his own needs he would use the barest -pittance upon which he could live, and some part of the money he would -also use in the prosecution of his search for Newman Chaytor and -Annette. In this expenditure he felt himself justified, and he would -keep a strict and faithful account of the sums he expended. For the -rest, if anything in the career of Newman Chaytor came to his -knowledge, and he could in any way carry out the behests of the man -lying dead in the room beyond, he would do it, and thus vicariously -make atonement for the villain who had brought sorrow and misery upon -all with whom he came in contact. For the present there were duties -which demanded his attention, and Basil applied himself to the last -sad offices towards those who had passed away. In the course of the -week his task was accomplished. Mr. and Mrs. Chaytor lay in one grave, -and Basil made arrangements for a stone, and for a continual supply of -fresh flowers over the grave. Then, with a stern resolve, he set -himself to the serious work before him, and to the design which had -brought him home from the goldfields. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -The first thing he did was to remove from the house which had been -occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Chaytor, and take a room in a poor locality, -for which he paid four shillings a week. Including this sum he thought -he could live as well as he desired upon a pound a week. He -experienced a grim satisfaction from the reflection that he was -expending upon his own personal necessities some small portion of the -fortune of which Newman Chaytor had so successfully robbed him. If the -day ever arrived when it would be necessary to go into accounts with -Newman Chaytor this slight expenditure would be placed to the -villain's credit. He had an idea of returning to his lodgings in Mrs. -Philpott's house, the assistance of whose husband he determined again -to seek, but upon second thoughts he saw that he would be more free to -act if he were not under the kindly surveillance of this estimable -couple. Having established himself in his new quarters he went direct -to Mrs. Philpott's residence in Lambeth. The woman was overjoyed to -see him. - -"Why, sir, why," she cried, as she came to the door fresh from the -washing-tub wiping the suds from her arms, "this _is_ a pleasure. -Philpott will be more than glad. Here, children, children! Come and -see an old friend; there never was such a favourite with them as you -were, sir. They have been continually taking you into custody and -locking you up, and trying and acquitting you, without a stain on your -character." Mrs. Philpott laughed. "You mustn't mind ways; if they -didn't think all the world of you they'd give you six months hard -labour. It's the revenge they take upon people they don't like. Don't -crowd round the gentleman so, you rude things! Where's your manners, I -should like to know? Won't you walk in, sir? I hope you're coming back -to live with us; there's your room waiting for you; it's never been -occupied, and Philpott says it never shall be, unless you take it." - -"I am living elsewhere, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil, "but I've come to -see your husband on business. - -"I'm sorry he's not in, sir," said Mrs. Philpott; "he won't be home -till ten o'clock to-night." - -"Can I see him, then; my business will not admit of delay?" - -"Certainly, sir. Philpott would get up in the middle of the night to -serve you, and so would I. You'll stop and have a bite with us, sir, I -hope?" - -"No, thank you, I haven't time; I will be here punctually at ten." - -"Well, sir," said Mrs. Philpott, regretfully, "if you must go; but -you'll take a bit of supper with us." - -"I will, with pleasure. Your husband is sure to be at home, I -suppose?" - -"Yes, sir; Philpott's the soul of punctuality. He's gone for a day in -the country to see an old friend, and his train is due at Victoria at -twenty past nine. You're looking better than you did, sir." - -"I am better, and in better spirits." - -"Do you remember what I said, sir, about clouds with silver linings? -Lord Sir! When things are at their worst they're sure to mend. What -men and women have got to do is never to give in. Oh, I've had my -lessons, sir." - -"So have I, Mrs. Philpott: I shall be with you at ten." - -Patting the children on their heads, and giving them a penny each--he -felt like a shilling, but it was not exactly his own money he was -spending, and this small benefaction was a luxury which did not -properly come under the head of personal expenses--Basil, with -pleasant nods, left them to their favourite occupation of taking -people up and trying them for imaginary offences against the public -peace. At nightfall, having an idle hour or two before his appointment -with Mr. Philpott, an impulse which he made no effort to control -directed his steps towards Long Acre, and then to Queen Street, where -the woman whom Newman Chaytor had betrayed and deserted carried on her -business. The workgirls from the large establishments in the vicinity -of the street were coming from their shops, most of them in blithe -spirits, being young and in agreeable employment. It was the holiday -time of the day with them, and they were hurrying home, some doing a -little sweet-hearting on the road which it was pleasant to -contemplate. There were pictures not so pleasant; great hulking men -smoking pipes and lounging about, with "Brute" stamped on their -features, and women as coarse, whose birth and training perhaps were a -legitimate answer to their worse than common language and manners. -Basil's observations of London life during the last few months had -supplied him with ample food for reflection, and he could honestly -have preached a homily on charity which better men than he--say, for -instance, philanthropists or statesmen with hobbies--might serviceably -have taken to heart. - -His attention was diverted from these unfortunates by a startling -incident. There was a sudden cry of "Fire!" and the thoroughfare -became instantly thronged. - -"Where is it?--where is it?" "There, you fool! Can't you see it?--in -Queen Street." "It's a private house." "No, it isn't, it's a shop--a -milliner's. An old house; it'll burn like tinder." "A good job it -isn't in the middle of the night; they'd have been burnt in their -beds." - -The sparks rushed up in fierce exultation. "The next house is caught! -The whole street 'll be down. Here's the fire-engine!" - -In gallant haste the horses tore along, the brave firemen, heroes one -and all, standing firm and ready. Basil followed the crowd, and with -difficulty pushed his way through as far as he was allowed. It was -Mrs. Addison's shop that was on fire, and he saw immediately that -there was no chance of saving it. The weeping women were outside, -wringing their hands; among them the woman who had accused him, and -her mother, who had cast upon him that ever vivid look of abhorrence -and hatred. So quick and sudden and fierce was the fire that not a -stick of furniture nor a yard of ribbon was saved. The women strove to -rush into the shop, but the firemen held them back, and with firm -kindness impelled them to a place of safety. Basil, edging near to -them, and keeping his face hidden, heard what passed between. "We are -ruined," said one, despairingly. - -"Aren't you insured?" inquired a by-stander. - -"Not for a penny," was the answer. - -"Ah, you'll have to commence the world all over again." - -"Heaven help us!" was the answer. "We are worse than naked; we owe -money." - -"Never mind, old woman," shouted a tipsy man, "there's the work'us -open." - -"Shut up, you brute!" cried an indignant female. "Have you no bowels?" - -At the words, "We are ruined," a thrill shot through Basil. Here was a -woman whom Newman Chaytor had wronged; here was a woman to whom -atonement was due. He knew what it was right should be done, and he -determined to do it. He lingered near them until the shop lay a -mouldering heap of ruins; he heard a kind neighbour offer them lodging -for the night; he marked the house they entered; and then he went home -to his own lodging of one room. There, safely concealed, was a sum of -money amounting to three hundred pounds; he took the whole of it, -wrote on a sheet of paper, "In partial atonement of wrong committed in -the past," and put the paper and the notes in an envelope, which he -addressed to Mrs. Addison. Then he went to Mrs. Philpott's house. "You -are late, sir," said that cheerful woman; "an hour behind time." - -"I have been detained." - -"You're not too late for supper, sir, at all events," said Mrs. -Philpott; "I put it back for you." - -"You must excuse me," said Basil; "something of pressing importance -has occurred, and I want Mr. Philpott to come out with me -immediately." - -"Quite ready, sir," said Mr. Philpott, rising and getting his hat. - -Mrs. Philpott, recognising that the business was urgent, did not press -Basil further, although disappointment was in her face. - -"At another time," said Basil, "I shall be glad to accept of your -hospitality. Come, Mr. Philpott." - -As they walked on Basil explained that he wished Mr. Philpott to take -up the dropped threads of the search for Newman Chaytor, and then he -explained what he wished to do at the present moment. - -"It is purely a confidential matter," said Basil, "and is not to be -spoken of in any way after the commission is executed. Here is the -house. Some women are lodging here for the night whose place of -business near Long Acre has been burnt down. You will ask for Mrs. -Addison; if a mother and her daughter present themselves it is the -daughter you must address. Ask her if she is the woman who has been -burnt out, and if she answers in the affirmative give her this -envelope, and come away at once. If she seeks to detain you and asks -questions, do not answer them. I will wait for you on the opposite -side." - -He watched Mr. Philpott execute the commission, being right in his -conjecture that the women would be too excited to seek their beds -until late in the night. The woman with whom he had the interview -appeared at the door, and received the envelope; after which Mr. -Philpott joined him, as directed. At the corner of the street Basil -and his companion paused and looked back at the house. In a few -moments the woman who had answered Mr. Philpott's summons came quickly -to the street door and looked eagerly up and down; Basil and Mr. -Philpott were standing in the shadow, and could not be seen. The light -of the street lamp assisted Basil to see her face: it was radiant with -joy. - -"A good night's work," said Basil, taking Mr. Philpott's arm and -walking away. "I will call upon you to-morrow. Good night." - -Mr. Philpott left him and proceeded homewards, as did Basil. He did -not know that a man was following him with eager curiosity. He put his -latchkey in the street door of his lodging, and as he did so the man -touched his arm. Basil turned. - -"What, Old Corrie!" he cried, in a voice of delight. - -"No other," said Old Corrie, calmly. "It _is_ Master Basil. I thought -I wasn't mistaken. Well, well! This is a meeting to be thankful for. -I'm in luck." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -"Come in, come in," said Basil, clutching Old Corrie by the arm, as -though he feared to lose him, and dragging him into the house; "this -is indeed a meeting to be thanking for. It is I who am in luck." - -He regarded it as an omen of good fortune. If Old Corrie were thus -unexpectedly found, why not Newman Chaytor? And, besides, here was a -trusty friend upon whom he could rely--here was a man whose evidence -would go far to establish his identity, to restore his good name, to -give the lie to his traducers. He looked upon this meeting as the -opening of a brighter chapter in his strange career, and with this -cheering thought in his mind he ascended the stairs to his one room at -the top of the house, still keeping tight hold of Corrie, who, -accompanied him, willingly enough, in a kind of amazed silence. - -"I must find a candle," said Basil, pushing Old Corrie, into the room -before him. "You won't run away, Corrie?" - -"No fear, Master Basil," replied Corrie. "I am not in a run-away -humour. Shouldn't wonder, supposing I get encouragement, if I develop -the qualities of a leech." - -"I promise you encouragement enough," said Basil, with a little laugh. -His spirits were almost joyous; youth seemed to be returning to him. - -"I wait for proof," observed Corrie sententiously. "Friends are none -so plentiful in this hard world." - -"True, true," assented Basil, groping about for a candle. "You could -swear to me in the dark, eh?" - -"If needful." - -"That's more than some would do in the full light of the blessed sun. -I could sing for joy." - -"Hold your hand, Master Basil; let us exchange a few more words in -darkness. I am speculating whether you are changed." - -"What do you think, Corrie?" - -"I think not, but what man can be sure? I have been sore beset since -we last talked together." - -"We have been rowing in the same boat, then." - -"You have met with misfortunes, too! Have they soured you?" - -"They have brought sorrow and doubt in their train, but, there is -sweetness still in the world. This meeting is a proof." - -"You live high up, and the house is the house of poor people. Birds of -a feather flock together. Perhaps, after all, I had best go away." - -"If you attempt it I shall assault you. Corrie, old friend, you have -dropped upon me like a messenger from Heaven. Here is the candle at -last. Now we can have a good look at each other." - -They gazed in silence for a few moments, and Basil was grieved to see -old Corrie in rags. Beneath the bluff honesty of his face there were -undeniable marks of privation, but despite these signs there was a -gleam of humour still in his eyes. - -"Well, Master Basil?" said he presently. - -"I am truly sorry, dear old friend," said Basil, holding out his hand. -"You have had some hard knocks." - -"You may say that. It has been a case of battledore and -shuttlecock--the battledore a stone one and the shuttlecock a poor bit -of ironbark, with such a mockery of feathers in it that the moment it -was knocked up it fell down like a lump of lead. If I puzzle you, -Master Basil, you puzzle me. There is something in you I can't exactly -read. Your clothes are not what I should like to see you wear, though -they are the clothes of a prince compared with mine. This room is the -room of a man pretty low down in the world," and here Old Corrie added -with a laugh, "the higher up you live the lower down you are--and yet -you have the air of a man who is not hard up." - -"Regarding me," said Basil, "as a bundle of contradictions, you are -nearer the mark than you could suppose yourself to be. But surely I am -forgetting my manners and my duties as a host." He opened a cupboard, -and drew therefrom bread, butter, cheese, and a bottle of ale, which -he uncorked. Plates, glasses, and knives were on the table in a trice. -"Fall to, Corrie." - -"You can spare it, Master Basil?" - -"I can spare it, Corrie. You share with me from this time forth. Do -you live near here?" - -"Very near," replied Old Corrie, pointing to the window. "The sky is -my roof." - -"It has been mine. We'll house you better. I drink love and friendship -to a dear old friend." They clinked glasses, and Corrie ate like a -famished man. The meal being done he said: "I've been on my beam-ends -in Australia, but starving in this country is a very different pair of -shoes. It's a near thing here between want and death--so near that -they touch often and join hands in grim partnership. I've seen it -done, and a dead woman before me. Now, in Australia, unless it -comes to being lost in a bush--where it's no man's fault but the -explorer's--I never heard of a case. There's stone-breaking at all -events to tide over the evil day. I've had more than one turn at it, -and been thankful to get it to do, as every honest and willing man -would be. Different in England, Master Basil, where they've brought -civilization down to a fine point. Did you take notice how I ate my -supper? More like a wild beast than a man--and now, with a full -stomach, I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. Not that I am loth to -accept your hospitality; it's the need of it that riles me. That's -where the shoe really pinches." - -"I can sympathise with you, Corrie. By the way, I am in your debt." - -"How so, Master Basil?" - -"Over the water yonder, I borrowed a mare of you, and managed to lose -it. You remember. I wanted to get from Bidaud's plantation to Gum Flat -Township--a gruesome journey it turned out to be--and you lent me your -mare. When I returned and reported the matter to you my pockets were -empty, and not a word of reproach did you fling at me. I couldn't pay -the debt then--I can now." - -"Hold hard a bit, Master Basil; let me turn the thing over in my -mind." Basil humoured him, and there was a brief silence. Then Corrie -said, "It is a simple justice that the mare should be paid for if you -can afford it." - -"I can afford it. Why, if I had my own this night I should be worth -sixty thousand pounds." - -"Some one has cheated you, Master Basil?" - -"More than cheated me; has done me the foulest wrong. You shall hear -all by-and-by. But I still have money I can call my own. The robber, -unknown to himself, is making restitution by driblets. Here you are, -Corrie." He had counted out thirty pounds, which he now pushed over to -Corrie across the table. Corrie counted it, but did not take it up. - -"If this is for the mare, Master Basil, it's too much." - -"Too little, you mean." - -"Too much by twenty pounds. The old mare _might_ have fetched a ten -pound note in a sale-yard, and more likely than not would have been -knocked down for a fiver. So I'll take ten, if you don't mind, Master -Basil, and we'll cry quits on that account. I wouldn't take that if my -pockets weren't empty." - -No persuasion on Basil's part could induce Old Corrie to accept more -than the ten pounds, and the young man was fain to yield. - -"You were quite in earnest," said Old Corrie, "when you offered to -give me a shakedown for the night?" - -"I've a mind to be angry with you," responded Basil, "for asking the -question. Let us settle matters between us once and for all, Corrie. -You had a good opinion of me once." - -"I had, Master Basil, and would have done much to serve you." - -"You did do much--more than I had any right to expect, more than any -other man did." - -"Not more than any other man would have done," said Old Corrie, eyeing -Basil attentively, "if he had lived." - -"You refer to Anthony Bidaud?" - -"I do. I haven't forgotten him, nor little lady, nor that skunk of an -uncle of hers. - -"We have much to talk over, you and I," said Basil, restraining the -impulse to speak immediately of Annette, "but what is between us -must first be settled and clearly understood. You are right about -Anthony Bidaud. He would have been the first, but he died before -his intentions could be fulfilled. Next to him you stand, and surely -you would not have been the friend you were to me if you had not -esteemed and trusted me." - -"That goes without saying." - -"As I was then, Corrie," continued Basil, earnestly, "so I am now. I -have passed through the fire, and suffering may still await me, but I -am and hope to remain, unchanged. Let us take up the thread Of -friendship where it was broken off, on the goldfields, when Newman -Chaytor and I were working together and when you endeavoured to -persuade me to come home with you. Ah, what might I have been spared -had I accepted your generous offer! Corrie, if ever there was a time -in my life when I most needed a true friend, it is now. There is vital -work before me to do, and you, and you alone, can help me. By Heavens, -if you desert me I doubt whether I should be able to prove that I am -I! Come, old friend, say that you will believe in me as of old, and -that you will stick by me as you would have done in the old Australian -days." - -"Say no more," said Old Corrie. "I'll worry you no longer; it's -scarcely fair play, for, Master Basil, I never doubted you in reality; -but poverty is proud and suspicious, and often behaves like an -ill-trained watch-dog. And besides, there are times in some men's -lives when kindness is so rare and unexpected that it throws them off -their balance. I don't pretend to understand half you have said about -yourself, but I'll wait till you explain, and then if I can help you -in any way, here I am, ready. I am wondering whether something that -happened to me would be of interest to you--but, no, it is a foolish -thought. Doubtless you have seen her, and now I come to think of it, -perhaps there lies part of your trouble." - -"Seen whom?" asked Basil. - -"Little lady." - -"No," cried Basil, in great excitement, "I have not seen her, and I -would give the best years of my life to find her. You know where she -is; you can take me to her!" - -"Steady, lad, steady. I haven't seen her, and can't take you to her, -but there's a sign-post that may show the way. There's no certainty in -it; it's just a chance. What do you say if I lead up to it? It's late -in the night, but I've no inclination to close my eyes, knowing I -shouldn't sleep a wink, I'm that stirred up." - -"Neither could I sleep, Corrie. Let us sit and talk and smoke; here's -a spare pipe and tobacco--and you shall tell me in your own way." - -Corrie nodded, and filled his pipe, and lit it Basil did the same, and -waited in anxious expectancy, while Corrie puffed and contemplated the -ceiling meditatively. - -"In my own way, Master Basil?" - -"In your own way, Corrie." - -"A roundabout way, but there's plenty of time before daybreak, and -then a couple of hours sleep will make us both fit. Old bushmen like -ourselves won't miss one night's rest." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - - -There was distinct tenderness in Old Corrie's face as he watched the -curling wreaths of smoke. - -"I don't lay claim to being a poet," he said; "I leave that to my -betters; but they almost seem to me to belong to poetry, these rings -of smoke that come and go. They bring back old times, and I could -fancy we were in the bush, sitting by the camp fire before turning in -for the night, spinning yarns, and as happy as blackbirds in spring. -There's no life like it, Master Basil, say what they will of the -pleasures of the city. Pleasures! Good Lord! To think of the lives -some lead here and then to speak of pleasures! I'm not going to -preach, however; the ship's been battered about, but it has reached -port,"--he touched Basil's hand gratefully--"and here sits the old -bushman recalling old times. I shan't dwell upon them because I know -it would be trying your patience. I'd like you to give me a little -information about yourself before I go on." - -"Ask whatever you wish, Corrie." - -"I left you on the goldfields, mates with Newman Chaytor, of whom, as -you know, I did not have a good opinion." - -"However badly you thought of him, you were justified." - -"You found him out at last." - -"I found him out at last." - -"Did it take you long?" - -"Years." - -"Sorry to hear it. Did you get a proper knowledge of him suddenly or -gradually?" - -"Suddenly." - -"And all the time he was practising on you?" - -"He was." - -"Master Basil," said Old Corrie, gravely, "you were never fit to -battle with human nature; you never understood the worst half of it." - -"Perhaps not, Corrie, but I understand it now. Newman Chaytor is a -black-hearted villain." - -"I am not surprised to hear you say so; I had my suspicions of him -from the first. Unreasonable, I grant you, no grounds to go upon; but -there they were, and I am sorry, for your sake, that they proved true. -Where's my gentleman now?" - -"In Europe, somewhere. I am hunting for him; it will be a dark day for -the traitor when I come face to face with him." - -Old Corrie looked at Basil keenly from under his eyebrows. "Do you -want my assistance here?" he asked. - -"I do. You must be with me, by my side, when he and I are together. -With your aid, I succeed; without it, I fail. Do you require an -incentive? I will give you two." - -"I require none; it is sufficient that you want me and that you -believe I can be of assistance to you." - -"Still, I will give you the two incentives. One is, that it is not -alone Newman Chaytor I am fighting: linked with him, if I have not -been misinformed, is an associate worthy of him--Gilbert Bidaud." - -"Little lady's uncle. A precious pair, he and Chaytor. If I needed -spurring, this would do it." - -"The other is, that I am not only fighting to defeat these scoundrels, -but to save your little lady Annette." - -"Enough, enough," said Old Corrie; "I'll bide my time to learn. -Meanwhile, I pledge myself to you. Why, Master Basil, to give those -two men their deserts, and to serve you and little lady, I'd go -through fire and water. I will unfold my budget first, and will make -it as short as I can. When I left you on the goldfields, I did what -many another foolish fellow has done, went to Sydney and spent a week -or two there on the spree. What kind of pleasure is to be got out of -that operation heaven only knows, but it is supposed to be the correct -thing for a brainless, lucky gold-digger to do, and it leaves him -probably with empty pockets, and certainly with a headache and -heartache that ought to teach him to be wiser in future. There was no -excuse for me: I wasn't a young man, and wasn't fond of drink, and -when at the end of a fortnight I came to my sober senses, I said, -'Corrie, you're an old fool,' and I never said a truer thing. That -fortnight cost me a hundred pounds, I reckon. I treated every man -whose face I recognised, and a good many that were strange to me, and -I think it was the face of a gentleman I met in Pitt Street, who -looked at me in a kind of wonder, that pulled me up short. Somehow or -other he reminded me of you, Master Basil, though he wasn't a bit like -you; but he was a gentleman, and you are a gentleman, and the thought -ran into my head like a flash of fire, 'What would Master Basil think -of me it he saw me now?' It staggered me, and I felt as if I was -behaving like a traitor to you to so forget myself. You had given me -your friendship, and I was showing that I was unworthy of it. I made -my way back to the hotel I was staying at, and plunged my head into a -bucket of water, and kept it there until I had washed away the fumes -of half the cursed liquor I had poured down my throat. Then I went to -my bedroom, locked the door, threw myself on the bed, and slept myself -sober. 'Never again, Corrie, old boy,' I said, 'never again.' And I -never did again, although I did some foolish things afterwards that -were quite as unwise though less disgraceful. I took ship home and -landed at St. Katherine's Docks with four thousand pounds in my -pocket. Yes, Master Basil, I had made that much and more on the -goldfields, and it ought to have lasted me my life. You shall hear how -long it _did_ last me. As a matter of course I was regularly knocked -over when I walked through the London streets. The crowds of people, -the gay shops, the cabs and 'busses, and carriages, the hurly-burly, -the great buildings, almost took my breath away. I looked back at my -old life in the woods, swinging my axe, felling trees, and splitting -slabs, with my laughing jackass on a branch near me, and the hum of -nature all around me, and I hardly knew whether I was awake or -dreaming. Was I happy in the London streets? I can't say; I was -certainly bewildered, and that, mayhap, prevented me from thinking of -things in a sensible way. I was looking in a shop window, speculating -whether I oughtn't to buy some of the bright ties for sale there, when -a voice at my elbow says 'Good day, mate.' 'Good day, mate,' said I, -though the man was a stranger to me, at least I thought so at the -moment, but he soon unsettled my thought. 'Where have I met you, -mate?' said he. 'In what part of the world?' 'On the goldfields, -perhaps,' said I, like an innocent pigeon. 'Most likely,' he said, on -the goldfields. 'Your face strikes me as familiar, but I don't -remember your name.' 'My name is Corrie,' said I; 'Old Corrie I used -to be called.' 'No,' he said, shaking his head; 'I don't remember it. -I've seen you on the goldfields, that's all, and it's only because I -never forget a face that I took the liberty of speaking to you. I ask -your pardon.' 'No offence, mate,' I said, and I shook the hand he held -out before he left me. Now, Master Basil, if that man had said, when I -told him my name, that we were old acquaintances, I should have been -suspicious of him, but his honest admission (it seemed honest) that he -only recognised my face because he'd seen it once or twice on the -goldfields--which would have been the most natural thing in the -world--made me look upon him with favour, and as he walked away, I -gazed after him with a feeling of regret that he should leave me so -quickly. He may have gone a dozen yards when he looked back over his -shoulder, and seeing me staring after him, turned with a smile, and -joined me again. 'It looks churlish scudding off so unceremoniously,' -said he, 'when I might by chance be of service to you. When did you -arrive?' 'I landed this morning,' I said, and I mentioned the name of -the ship. 'Have you friends in London?' he asked. 'No,' said I, 'I am -a stranger here.' 'Then you haven't taken lodgings yet,' said he. -'No,' I answered, 'and to tell you the truth I am puzzled where to -go.' He offered to advise me, and I gladly availed myself of the -offer. 'Come and have a chop with me first,' said he, and we went to -an eating-house all gilt and glass--I found out afterwards that the -street we were in was Cheapside--and had a chop and some beer. He -threw half-a-sovereign to the waiter, but I objected to it saying I -would pay. He insisted, saying he had invited me; but I insisted too, -saying I had plenty of money, and would take it as a favour if he -would let me have my way. The friendly wrangle ended in each of us -paying his own score, and then as though we had known each other all -our lives, we went out together to a quiet hotel, in a narrow street -in the Strand, down by the river, where I engaged a bedroom. I'll cut -a long story short, Master Basil, so far as my new friend goes, by -telling you how it ended with me and him. He was so clever, and I was -so simple, that he wormed himself completely into my confidence, and I -thought myself lucky in having made such a friend. He told me all -about himself, and I told him all about myself; it was a regular case -of Siamese twins: we were never apart. One day he spoke of -speculation, and of doubling one's money in a week, and doubling it -again when the opportunity offered, which wasn't too often. 'Of your -four thousand pounds, you make eight,' said he, 'of your eight -thousand you make sixteen, and if you like to stop, why there you are, -you know.' Yes, there I was, and no mistake. The opportunity that -presented itself to my confidential friend was something in my way--a -quartz reef on the Avoca, to be formed into a company. He showed me -figures which I couldn't dispute, and didn't wish to dispute. The -truth is, Master Basil, he had dazzled me. Sixteen thousand pounds was -certainly better than four, and to be content with one when you had -only to put your name on a piece of paper to secure the other was the -act of a simpleton. The upshot of it was that I went into the company -and signed away the whole of my money with the exception of a hundred -pounds, and very soon found out that I had signed it away for ever and -a day. Good-bye, my three thousand nine hundred pounds, and good-bye -to my dear friend who had tickled me into his web and made mincemeat -of me. I never saw anything of either money or friend again." - -Old Corrie paused to load his pipe, which gave Basil time to remark: - -"You said just now that I knew nothing of the worst side of human -nature. How about yourself, Corrie?" - -"It was my one mistake, Master Basil," replied Corrie composedly. -"There's no excuse for me; I was an old fool. Let me have four -thousand pounds again, and see if I'm bit a second time. Now, being -stranded with about enough to keep a fellow but little more than a -year, what was I to do? If I had been the wise man I'm trying to make -myself out to be, I should have taken passage to Australia, and taken -up my old life there. But more than one thing held me back, and kept -me here. First, there was a foolish pride; to retreat was to confess -myself beaten. Second, there was the chance of meeting with the friend -who had diddled me; it was about as strong as one thread of a spider's -web, but I dangled it before me. Third, I had never known what it was -to be without a crust of bread, and therefore had no fears on that -score. Another thing, perhaps, which only just now occurs to me, kept -me in this country. When I was a youngster there was a fatalist among -my acquaintances. He was the only thoroughly happy man I have ever -known. Nothing worried or disturbed him; he was a poor man, and he -never grumbled at being poor; he met with misfortunes, and he accepted -them smilingly, and never struggled against them; if he had broken his -leg, and it had to be amputated, he wouldn't have winced during the -operation. He had what he called a philosophical theory, and he -explained it to me. 'Nothing that anyone can do,' he said, 'will -prevent anything occurring. Everything that is going to happen is set -down beforehand, and an army ten million strong couldn't stop a straw -from blowing a certain way if fate ordained that it was to blow that -way. You can't prevent yourself from being imposed upon, from being -poor, from being rich, from being sick, from being healthy, from -living till you're a hundred, from dying when you're twenty, from -having a wife and blooming family, from living alone in a garret. -Therefore,' said he, 'it's of no use bothering about things. Do as I -do--take 'em easy.' 'But how,' I said once to him, 'if I've got a -different temper from yours, and worry myself to death about trifles?' -'Then you are much to be pitied,' said he, 'and I shall not trouble -myself about you.' I pressed, him, though, a little. 'If a man is -good?' I asked. 'He is fated to be good,' he answered. 'If he is a -murderer?' I asked. 'He is fated to be a murderer,' he answered. 'If -he is born to be hanged, hanged he will be, as sure as there's a sun -above us.' Well, now, Master Basil, perhaps it was fated that I should -remain in England in order to meet with a certain adventure which I -will tell you of presently, and afterwards to meet you here in London -to-night to assist you to a fated end." - -"It is a hateful theory," said Basil. "Were it true, vice would be as -meritorious as virtue, and monsters of iniquity would rank side by -side with angels of goodness. Go on with your story, Corrie, and put -fatalism aside." - -"So be it. Anyway, there I was, as my friend said, with a hundred -pounds in my pocket instead of sixteen thousand. I wasn't quite devoid -of prudence; I knew that a hundred pounds wouldn't last very long, and -that it would be as well if I could hit upon some plan to earn a -livelihood. It was the hop-picking season. 'I'll do a little hopping,' -said I, and off I set towards the heart of Kent for an autumn tour, -seasoned with so many or so few shillings a day. On the second night -of my tramp I missed my way. I was in a woody country, with the usual -puzzling tracks and fences. The night was fine, but very dark. Camping -out in England is a very different thing from camping out in -Australia, and I didn't intend to camp out here if I could help it. -But I was tired, and I squatted myself on the grass which grew on a -hill side, and thought I'll rest an hour and then stumble onwards on -the chance of reaching a village where I could get a night's lodging. -I was very comfortable; my legs hung down, there was a rest for my -back, and without any intention of doing so, I fell asleep. I was -awakened by something alive and warm quite close to me; I could not -see what it was, because when I opened my eyes I found that the night, -from being dark, had got black. There was not a star visible--everything -was black, above, below, around. But what was the object close -to me? I put out my hand and felt flesh covered with hair. 'A -dog,' thought I; but passing my hand along the body, I dismissed the -dog idea in consequence of the size of the animal. It was not high -enough nor smooth enough for a horse. A donkey, perhaps; but if a -donkey, why was it muzzled? The creature uttered no sound while my -hand was upon it, but when I took my hand away to get a match--the -only means at my command to obtain a view of my strange companion--it -put its head upon my arm, and then a foot, just as though it wanted to -pull me along in some particular direction--and then I heard a growl. -It made me start, though it was not a threatening growl, and I -wondered what sort of animal this could be that had attached itself to -me at such a time and in such a place. The next sound I heard was the -clank of a chain. I should have taken to my heels if I had not been -deterred by the thought that it might be safer to keep still, so I -softly took out my matchbox and struck a light--and there, with only -a few inches between our faces, was a great brown bear. I was -startled, but I soon got over my fears. I struck half a dozen matches, -one after the other, to get a good look at my new mate, and with the -lighting of each fresh match I became more assured. I took its paw in -my hand, and found that its claws had been pared down; it opened its -mouth, and there was scarcely a tooth in it; I happened to hold up my -arm, with the lighted match in my hand, and the bear immediately stood -on its hind legs and pawed the air. I jumped immediately at the right -conclusion. The creature was a harmless performing bear, and it had -either escaped from its master, or the man was not far off, and it -wished to lead me to him. I made an experiment. I rose, picked up the -end of the chain and cried, 'March!' March the bear did, and I after -it, for about a mile, and then it lay down by something on the road, -and moaned. I declare, Master Basil, there was a human sound in that -moan, and I knelt by its side and took a man's head on my knee. He was -a foreigner, but could speak fairly good English, and he told me that -he had met with an accident, having slipped on his ankle, and could -not walk. 'Bruno went for assistance,' said Bruno's master. 'Good -Bruno! Good Bruno!' The kind voice of the man attracted me: the -affection between bear and master attracted me; and I asked what I -could do, saying the country was strange to me, and I did not know my -way. 'But I know,' said the man; 'there is a village two miles off. -Help me to get on Bruno's back, and we will go there, if you will be -so good as to keep with me.' I said I would keep with him, partly -because I wanted a bed to sleep in myself, and partly because I should -be glad to be of service to him. With some difficulty I got him on -Bruno's back--the man was in pain, but he bore it well--and the three -of us trudged through the dark roads to the village, the man with his -head on my shoulder to keep his balance. It wasn't easy to get a -lodging; every house was shut, and then there was the bear, that -nobody cared to take in, not believing it was a harmless creature. -However, we managed it at last; Bruno was fastened up in an empty -stable, and I helped its master to a room where there were a couple of -straw beds. His ankle was badly sprained, and the next morning it was -very little better. He managed to limp out, and the pair of us, -leading the bear, trudged to a common where a village fair was being -held, and there Bruno's master began to put the bear through its -performances. Pain compelled him to stop, and he asked me to take his -place, instructing me what words and gestures to use to make the -patient creature do this or that. I got along so well that I was quite -proud of myself, and the comicality of my suddenly becoming a showman -never struck me till the evening, when the day's work was done. You've -come to something, Corrie,' said I, and I shook with laughter. After -tea the man counted up the takings, which amounted to close on ten -shillings, and divided them into three parts. 'One for Bruno,' said -he, 'one for me, one for you.' He pointed to my share, and I took it -and pocketed it as though I had been in the business all my life. -Again, Master Basil, I'm going to cut a long story short. I could talk -all night about my adventures with Bruno and its master, but I must -come to the pith of my story. Take it, then, that the three of us -travelled about for nearly twelve months, just managing to pick up a -living, that my foreign mate fell sick and had to go into a hospital, -that he died there, and that at his death I found myself with Bruno on -my hands, established as a regular showman. I accepted the position; I -could do nothing else; I couldn't run away from the bear because I -felt I should in some way be held answerable to the law for desertion; -we belonged to each other, and it wasn't at my option to dissolve the -partnership. My little stock of money was diminished by this time in -consequence of my mate's illness and the expenses of his funeral, and -I knew that Bruno's antics would always earn me a few shillings a -week. So there we were, Bruno and I, going about the country with -never a word or growl of disagreement between us till we came to a -fashionable sea-side place called Bournemouth. I had gone through the -performances, and Bruno and I were walking from street to street -looking for another pitch when I was struck almost dumb with amazement -at a sound that reached my ears. It was the voice of a bird speaking -some words in a loud key, and the words were--what do you think, -Master Basil?" - -"I can't imagine, Corrie," replied Basil. - -"The words were, 'Little lady, little lady! Basil and Annette! Basil, -Basil, Basil--dear Basil!'" - -"Corrie," cried Basil, in a voice of wonder and joy, "you are not -deceiving me!" - -"No, Master Basil, I am telling you the plain truth. You may imagine -by your own feelings the effect those words had upon me. What bird but -the magpie I had trained and taught for little lady could have uttered -them? And after all these years too! I could scarcely believe my ears, -but there was the bird, piping away at the window--I turned and saw it -in a cage--calling to me, in a manner of speaking, to come and say how -do you do? I went straight up to the house and knocked at the door. -The woman who opened it started back at sight of the bear. 'It won't -hurt you, ma'am,' I said, 'there's not a bit of vice in it. I've come -to ask you something about a bird you've got. It's an old friend of -mine, and I trained it for a young lady in Australia, and taught it -some of the things it says.' 'Sure enough,' said the woman, keeping as -far away from Bruno as she could, the bird's an Australian bird, and -the young lady it belongs to was born in Australia. Emily's not at -home now----' 'Not Emily, ma'am, begging your pardon,' I said, -interrupting her; 'Miss Annette's the young lady I mean. Her father's -name was Bidaud, and Basil, one of the names I taught the magpie to -speak, was a dear friend of hers and mine.' 'Oh, yes,' said the woman, -'I know all about that. My daughter Emily is Miss Bidaud's maid, and -she is taking care of the bird for her mistress for a little while. -Emily's home for a holiday, but she's gone to see some friends in -London, and won't be back till the day after to-morrow. Can I do -anything of you?' 'You can tell me, if you please,' said I, 'where -Miss Annette is. I'm sure she'll be glad to see me,' My idea was, -Master Basil, to see little lady and ask her if she had any news of -you, though I wanted, too, to see her for her own sake. Well, all at -once the woman grew suspicious of me, and instead of speaking civil -she spoke snappish. 'No,' she said, 'I shan't tell you anything about -Miss Bidaud. You're a showman, travelling about with a big, nasty -bear, and likely as not you're up to no good.' I didn't fire up; the -woman had fair reason on her side. 'I'm a respectable man, ma'am,' I -said, 'and it's only by accident I came into company with Bruno. My -name's Corrie, and Miss Annette would thank you for telling me where -she is.' But she wouldn't, Master Basil; all that I could get out of -her was that I might come and see Emily the day after to-morrow, and -her daughter could then do as she liked about telling me what I wanted -to know. I went away with the determination to come back and have a -talk with little lady's maid, but things don't always turn out as we -want them to do. Very seldom indeed. That night there was a great -hubbub in the place I was stopping at. Bruno had broke loose and gone -goodness knows where, and all sorts of stupid stories got about that -the bear was mad and was biting everybody it met. I had to go in -search of the creature, and the police kept me in sight. A pretty -dance Bruno led me. I was hunting for it three days and nights, and -when I found it at last it was in a sorry plight. I shall never forget -that evening, Master Basil. I don't know the rights of the story, but -I was certain that Bruno had been set upon by dogs and men--it had -marks of fresh wounds upon its body--and been hunted from place to -place. When I caught sight of the bear it was lying by the side of a -little pool, and at a little distance were some twenty men and boys -pelting it with stones. I scattered them right and left, and knelt by -Bruno's side. The poor beast tried to raise its head, but couldn't, -and I got some water from the pool, which was all mudded with the -stone-throwing, and bathed its mouth. It thanked me with its eyes--it -did, Master Basil--and did its best to lick my hand. Its chest went up -and down like billows of the sea, and once it gave a great sob as if -its heart was broke. After that it got quieter, but it could neither -eat nor drink. A policeman came up and told me to move on. 'Come, -Bruno,' I said, 'march, my man. The law's got its eyes on you.' The -creature actually managed to stand, and, more than that, got up on its -hind legs as it did when it was performing. It pawed the air a little, -and looked at me for orders, and then fell down all of a heap. 'Come,' -said the policeman, 'you must move on, the pair of you.' 'Not -possible, the pair of us,' said I, sorrowfully. 'Try if your truncheon -can bring it to life.' Bruno dead was much more difficult to manage -than Bruno alive. I had to pay money to get rid of its body, and then -somebody summoned me for a scratch or a bite Bruno had given him, he -said, and I had to pay money for that. All this took me some time, and -I had very little money left at the end of it. I hadn't the heart to -go back to Bournemouth to get little lady's address. What should I do -with it when I got it? Go to her and beg? No, I was too proud for -that. Most likely she was with her uncle, Mr. Gilbert Bidaud, the -gentleman who wouldn't respect a dead brother's word, and I knew -what I might expect from him. So I gave up the idea and came to -London--came here to starve, Master Basil, for I could get no work to -do, and have gone through more than I care to tell of. If I hadn't met -you to-night I should have wandered about the streets, as I've done -for many and many a night already; but I'll not dwell upon it. I've -told my story as straight as I could." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - - -"It is a strange story," said Basil, "but less strange than the story -I have to relate. We have both experienced the pangs of hunger and -solitude, with wealth and luxury all around us. What chiefly interests -me is your adventure in Bournemouth. Emily, you said, is the name of -Annette's maid?" - -"So her mother said." - -"And the mother's name?" - -"I ascertained that--Crawford." - -"Do you know the name of the street in which she lives?" - -"Lomax Road. I put it down on paper." - -"If we were in Bournemouth, you could take me to the house?" - -"Straight." - -"We will go there to-morrow; there will be little sleep for us -to-night, Corrie. As regards Annette do you draw any conclusions about -her character--for the Child and the woman are frequently at odds with -one another--from the incident of the bird?" - -"I do; Master Basil. I draw the sign of constancy. None but a constant -nature would have kept the bird so long, would have valued it so long, -would have taught it new words. - -"New words!" - -"Yes, Master Basil. If it said 'dear Basil' once, it said it twenty -times while the woman and I were talking. When I gave the bird to -little lady it couldn't say 'dear,' so she must have taught the lesson -with her own pretty lips. A straw will tell which way the wind blows." - -"Thank you, Corrie. When you have heard me out you will understand -what all this means to me." The recital of his adventures occupied him -over an hour, and Corrie listened with bent brows and without a single -word of interruption. His pipe went out, and he made no attempt to -relight it; the only movement he made was to turn his head -occasionally, as though something Basil had just said had inspired a -new thought. Basil brought his narrative down to this very night, and -paused only when he came to where Old Corrie accosted him at the -street door. "What do you think of it, Corrie?" he asked, when he had -finished. "It is wonderful," said Corrie. "My story is but a molehill -by the side of your mountain. There's no time to lose, Master Basil; a -day, an hour, may be precious, if little lady is to be saved." - -"No time shall be lost," said Basil; "an hour's rest in our clothes -after we've done talking, and at daybreak we are off to see how soon -and how quickly we can get to Bournemouth. There is a question I -haven't asked you. How long is it since you were in Bournemouth?" - -"It must be six months, quite; but I kept no account of time. What a -fool I was not to go back and see Emily Crawford!" - -"We'll waste no time in lamenting. What is past is past, and no man -can foresee what is in the future. Do you see, now, how important your -evidence is likely to be to me? Without it I might be compelled to -pass through life bearing the shameful name of the villain who -betrayed me. Corrie, there are anxious and dreaded possibilities in -the future to which I dare not give utterance. I can only hope and -work. Now let us rest." - -He wanted Corrie to take his bed, but Corrie refused, and, throwing -himself on the floor, was soon asleep. Not so Basil; the events of the -night had been too exciting for forgetfulness, and though he dozed off -now and then, his brain did not rest a moment. He was none the worse -for it in the morning; despite the trials he had undergone his -naturally strong constitution asserted itself and enabled him to bear -more than an ordinary amount of fatigue. The moment he arose from his -bed Old Corrie jumped to his feet as brisk as a lark. - -"I'm a new man, Master Basil," he said; "the prospect of something to -do is as good as wine to me. There's no curse like the curse of -idleness." - -They washed and breakfasted, and then went out. It was early morning, -and there were not many people astir. - -"We are going first," said Basil, "to see Mr. Philpott, of whom I told -you last night. I have an impression that Mr. Gilbert Bidaud is not in -England. If we are fortunate enough in striking the trail, and he is -in a foreign country, the task we are set upon may be long and -difficult. I am debating whether it would be advisable to ask Philpott -to accompany us." - -"From your opinion of him," said Corrie, "he is a man to be trusted." - -"Thoroughly." - -"In a foreign country I should be next door to useless, except to -prove that you are yourself. Mr. Philpott is accustomed to such jobs -as this, and knows the tricks of hunting men down. I should say take -him." - -"I will, if he is agreeable. He doesn't know who I really am, though -he has perhaps a suspicion of the truth, and it will be necessary that -I should tell him my story. If he can come with us I shall have no -hesitation in confiding in him." - -They found the Philpott family at breakfast. - -"I thought we were early birds, sir," said Mr. Philpott, while his -wife dusted two chairs for the visitors, "but there are other birds, I -see, more wide-awake than we are. Why, it's barely seven o'clock! -Breakfast done when the clock strikes--that's my notion of bringing up -a family." - -"I've something of importance to say to you," said Basil, "when you've -finished." - -"Finished now, sir," said Philpott; "always ready for business. We'll -talk outside if you don't mind. Mother hasn't had time to do the rooms -yet." They walked up and down the quiet street, and after Basil had -ascertained that Philpott was able and willing to accompany him, and -that the next train for Bournemouth did not start for a couple of -hours, he communicated to Philpott all he considered it necessary that -worthy man should know of his history. - -"A singular story, sir," said Philpott, "about as good as anything -that's come my way up to now. I always told mother there was -something out of the common about you. That Mr. Chaytor must be an -out-and-outer--as cunning as they make 'em now-a-days. It's as well -you should have a man like me with you. I know the ropes; you don't. -Let's get to the office, sir. I must give 'em notice I'm going away on -an important job. Luckily there's nothing very particular on hand just -now." This preliminary was soon accomplished, and Basil and his -companions arrived at Waterloo Station a few minutes before the train -started for Bournemouth. On the road it was arranged that Basil should -go alone to Mrs. Crawford's house. - -"The woman might be frightened," said Philpott, "at three men coming -to make inquiries. To a gentleman like you she will be open and -frank." - -Leaving Old Corrie and Philpott on the beach, Basil walked to Lomax -Road, the number of the house in which Mrs. Crawford lived being 14, -as he was informed by an obliging resident. He lingered outside, and -looked up at the windows for signs of the magpie, but no sound reached -his ears, and with somewhat of a despondent feeling he knocked at the -door. So much depended upon the next few minutes! If he should have to -leave Mrs. Crawford unsatisfied, without a clue to guide him, he would -be no further advanced than on the day he first set foot in London. -All he wanted was a starting point, and he vowed to leave no stone -unturned to obtain it, and that once he gained it, he would follow it -up till it led him to the end. The door was opened, and a -decent-looking woman stood before him. - -"Mrs. Crawford?" he said. - -"Yes, sir." - -"I wish to speak to you upon a subject very dear to me; I can offer no -other excuse for intruding upon you." - -"There was an unconscious wistfulness in his voice, which interested -Mrs. Crawford. There is no surer way of winning a woman's sympathies -than by appealing to them in some such way as this, and making them -understand it is in their power to assist you. - -"Are you a Bournemouth gentleman, sir?" asked Mrs. Crawford. - -"No, I have never been in Bournemouth before to-day. I have travelled -a long distance to see you." - -"Will you walk in, sir?" - -He followed her to the sitting-room. A little girl some seven or eight -years old was sitting there, turning over the pages of a child's -picture-book. - -"Run and play, Genie," said the mother. - -"Your little girl?" asked Basil, drawing the child to his knee. - -"Yes, sir." Basil took half-a-crown from his pocket. "Ask mamma, -by-and-by, to buy you a toy with this." - -"What do you say, Genie?" cried the gratified mother. - -"Thank you, sir," said the child, holding her bashful head down. - -Basil gave her a kiss, and she ran to her mother with the half-crown, -and afterwards left the room, shyly glancing at Basil, whose kind -manners, no less than the half-crown, had won her heart. And the -mother's also, it is almost needless to say. - -Basil looked around the walls. No sign of a bird. Then he turned to -the mantel-shelf and saw there the portrait of a young woman, bearing -in her face a strong resemblance to Mrs. Crawford. - -"Another daughter of yours," he observed. "I can see the likeness." - -"Yes, sir, and a good girl, and a good daughter." - -"I am sure she is. Might I inquire her name?" - -"Emily, sir." - -"Is she at home?" - -"No, sir; she is abroad with her mistress." - -Basil's heart beat high with hope already there was something gained. - -"Am I mistaken in my belief," he asked, "that her mistress is Miss -Annette Bidaud?" - -"That is the young lady's name, sir. I hope you will excuse my asking -why you keep on looking round the room, and why you looked up at the -windows of the house in the same way before you knocked at the -street-door? I saw you, sir." - -"I was looking for an old friend I had an idea was here." - -"An old friend, sir?" - -"Yes, a magpie that Miss Bidaud brought with her from Australia." - -Mrs. Crawford's face flushed up, and she said in a tone of vexation: - -"It was here a little while, sir, and it got me into trouble. But it -was nobody's fault but my own. Excuse me again, sir--you speak as if -you knew Miss Bidaud." - -"I knew her intimately; she and I were, and I hope are, very dear -friends. Her father and I had a great esteem for each other." - -"That was in Australia, sir?" - -"That was in Australia. Miss Bidaud was but a child at the time." - -"You have seen her since, I suppose, sir?" - -"I have not. To be frank with you, that is the object of my visit to -you. I earnestly desire to know where she is." - -"She is a beautiful young lady now, sir," said Mrs. Crawford; -diverging a little; from the expression on her face she seemed to be -considering something as she gazed attentively at Basil. "Perhaps you -can recognise her." - -She handed Basil an album, and he turned over its pages till he came -to a portrait which rivetted his attention. It was the portrait of -Annette; he recognised it instantly, but how beautiful she had grown! -An artist had coloured the picture, and the attractive subject must -have interested him deeply, so well and skilfully was the colouring -done. The gracefully-shaped head, the long, golden-brown hair, the -lovely hazel eyes, magnetised Basil, as it were. There was a pensive -look in the eyes, and something of wistfulness in the expression of -the mouth, which Basil construed into a kind of appeal. It may be -forgiven him if he thought that it was to him the mute face was -appealing. Long and earnestly did he gaze: reminiscences of the happy -hours they had passed together floated through his mind; her -confidence, her trust in him, and her father's last words on the -evening on which he had accepted the guardianship of his child, were -never less powerful and, sacred in the sense they conveyed of a duty -yet to be performed than they were at this moment. When, at length, he -raised his eyes from the portrait, Mrs. Crawford saw tears in them. -Had she had any doubts of her visitor, these tears would have -dispelled them. - -"Is she not lovely, sir?" - -"She has the face of an angel." - -"That is what my Emily says, sir; she dotes on my young lady, sir, and -would work her fingers to the bone to serve her." - -"Miss Miss Bidaud, then, has one faithful friend by her side." - -"You may say that, sir. There have been mistresses and servants but -there never was mistress and servant so bound to each other as my -Emily and my young lady." - -"They are in Europe?" - -"Oh, yes, sir, they are in Europe. I'll tell you presently where, but -I must finish what I was saying at first. It was about the magpie--the -bird you were looking for--as sensible a feathered thing as ever piped -a note. Emily wanted badly to come and see me, and some other of her -relations in England, and it happened that her uncle and guardian Mr. -Gilbert Bidaud--you know the gentleman, sir?" asked Mrs. Crawford, -breaking off suddenly; she had noticed a dark flash in Basil's eyes at -the mention of the name. - -"I had a brief acquaintance with him in Australia," replied Basil. - -"Do you like him, sir? Is he a friend of yours?" - -Before he replied he looked attentively at her, and a tacit -understanding seemed to pass between them. Without further hesitation -he answered: - -"I do not like him. He is no friend of mine." - -Mrs. Crawford nodded her head in a satisfied manner, and said: - -"The more likely you are to be a friend of Miss Bidaud's. Well, sir, -it happened that Mr. Gilbert Bidaud was going to pay a flying visit to -several foreign places, and, of course, was going to take my young -lady with him. He never lets her out of his sight if he can help it, -but Emily is very nearly a match for him. I don't say quite, but very -nearly, Emily _is_ clever. Mr. Bidaud made a great fuss about taking -the bird and the cage with them on this journey, and wanted my young -lady to leave it behind, but she wouldn't, and proposed instead that -Emily should have her holiday while they were away and should take -care of the bird and take it back when her holiday was over. That is -how the bird came to be here. Eight months ago it was, and Emily was -away on a visit, when a man with a great ugly bear came to the house -and began to ask questions about the bird. He said just what you said, -that it was an old friend of his, and that he'd trained it for my -young lady in Australia. He knew my young lady's name, and he wanted -me to tell him where she was to be found. Well, sir, I don't know -how it was, but I got suspicious of him. What business could a -common-looking man like him have with a young lady like Miss Bidaud? -As like as not he wanted to impose upon her, and it wasn't for me to -help him to do that. It didn't look well, did it, sir, that a man -going about the country with a bear should be trapesing after my young -lady? So I was very short with him, and I refused to tell him -anything, but said if he liked to come in a day or two Emily would be -home, and then he could speak to her about my young lady. He went -away, after leaving his name--Corrie, it was--and I never set eyes on -him again. That seemed to prove I'd done right, but I hadn't, for -Emily said, when she came home, that my young lady thought a good deal -of this Mr. Corrie, and had often spoken of him, and that he did train -and give her the bird, just as he said he had. Emily said my young -lady would be very sorry when she heard I'd turned Mr. Corrie away, -and that she would give a good deal if she could see the poor man. -Every letter I get from my daughter she asks me if I've seen anything -more of Mr. Corrie, and to be sure if I do to tell him where my young -lady is stopping. I could beat myself with vexation when I think of -it. Perhaps you could tell me something of him, as you were all in -Australia at the same time." - -"I can. He is here with me in Bournemouth." - -"Here in Bournemouth, sir! Oh, what a relief you have given me!" - -"He told you a true story, Mrs. Crawford, every word of it, and is a -sterling, honest fellow. You see how wrong it is to judge people by -their appearance." - -"Perhaps it is, sir," said Mrs. Crawford, a little doubtfully, and -added, with excusable flattery, "I judged you by yours, sir. I hope -you will bring Mr. Corrie here, but not his bear, sir, and I'll beg -his pardon." - -"No need to do that; Corrie is the last man to blame you for doing -what you believed to be right. As for the poor bear, it is dead. I -will go and fetch Corrie presently, and you can make it up with him; -but tell me now where Miss Bidaud is to be found." - -"She is in Switzerland, with her uncle and aunt, sir." - -"I want the exact address, Mrs. Crawford, if you please." - -"Here it is, sir, on a piece of paper. It is my Emily's writing, sir." - -Basil wrote down the address: "Villa Bidaud, Fernex, near Geneva, -Switzerland." His hand trembled as he wrote. At last he was fairly on -the track of the traitor. His heart beat tumultuously, and for a -moment he was overcome with dizziness; but he immediately recovered -himself, and continued the conversation. "Do you write to your -daughter to this address?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Villa Bidaud. That sounds as if it were a long-established -residence." - -"They live there on and off, sir, for a few weeks or a few months at a -time. I think when they go travelling the house is shut up." - -"Your daughter has doubtless given you a description of the house. Is -it small or large?" - -"Large, I should say, and very old. There must be a good many rooms in -it, and it stands in the middle of a very large garden." - -"Mrs. Crawford, look at me." - -Somewhat surprised at the request, Mrs. Crawford looked at Basil, and -saw a face quivering with earnestness, and eyes in which truth and -honour shone. - -"Yes, sir," she said, and waited. "I want you to be certain that I am -a man who is to be trusted." - -"I am certain of it, sir." - -"That I am a man who would do no woman wrong, and that in my present -visit to you I am animated by an honest, earnest desire to serve the -young lady your daughter serves and loves." - -"I am certain of it, sir." - -"Being certain of it," said Basil, "is there nothing more you can tell -me that might aid me in my desire to be of service to Miss Bidaud? I -gather from what you have said that your daughter is sincerely -attached to her young mistress, and she will know whether Miss Bidaud -is happy or not." - -"I'm not sure, sir," said Mrs. Crawford, speaking slowly, "whether -I've a right to tell everything, you being a stranger to me." - -"But not a stranger to Miss Bidaud," said Basil, eagerly, "remember -that, Mrs. Crawford. Next to her father, I was in Australia her -dearest friend----" - -"Are you sure of that, sir?" interrupted Mrs. Crawford. "We sometimes -deceive ourselves. My young lady, to my knowledge had a friend in -Australia--a young gentleman like yourself--she thought all the world -of. Emily says she was never tired of speaking about him and of his -kindness to her. His name is Mr. Basil Whittingham. Perhaps you are -acquainted with him?" - -"I know something of him," said Basil. He had been on the point of -disclosing himself, but remembrance of the part Newman Chaytor was -playing checked him in time. - -"Of course, there may be others," continued Mrs. Crawford, "and it -isn't for me to dispute with you; but if there's one thing that is -more positive than another, it is that my young lady thought all the -world of Mr. Whittingham. You are Miss Bidaud's friend, and you don't -seem to think much of her uncle. That's the way with us. My Emily -hates the very sight of him--though she doesn't let him see it, you -may be sure, sir--because of the way he behaves to Miss Bidaud. How I -come to know so much about Mr. Whittingham is, because all the letters -he wrote to Miss Bidaud from Australia were addressed to my care. If -they hadn't been, my young lady's uncle or aunt would have got hold of -them and she would never have seen them. When they arrived I used to -put them in an envelope and address them to my Emily--not to Villa -Bidaud, but to different post-offices, according to the directions she -gave me." - -"Were there many of these letters?" asked Basil, keeping guard upon -his feelings. - -"About one every six or seven months, sir." - -"Are you aware whether they afforded pleasure to Miss Bidaud?" - -"Yes, sir, they gave her the greatest possible pleasure. She was -always happy after she got one, so my Emily wrote to me. That makes it -all the stranger." - -"Makes what all the stranger?" Again Mrs. Crawford looked at Basil -with a possible doubt of the wisdom of her loquacity; but she was -naturally a gossip, and the sluice being open the waters continued to -flow. - -"Well, sir, my young lady had set her heart upon Mr. Whittingham -coming home--that much my daughter knew from what she said; and, -although she said nothing about it to Emily, there was something else -she set her heart upon. There are some things, you know, sir, a -delicate-minded young lady doesn't tell her best friend till they're -settled; and perhaps Miss Bidaud herself didn't quite know what her -feelings for Mr. Whittingham were. She was very young when she left -Australia, and her uncle hadn't been anxious to introduce her to -society, so since she's been home she has seen very little of young -men. But lookers on can see most of the game, sir, and my Emily said -to me, 'When Mr. Whittingham comes home there'll be a match made up, -you see if there won't, mother.' 'But how about the uncle?' I asked, -for it was pretty clear to me, from what I heard, that there was no -love lost between Mr. Bidaud and Mr. Whittingham. Then my Emily tells -me that, for all my young lady's gentle ways and manners, she -sometimes showed a will of her own when anything very dear to her was -in question. That is how she has been able to keep the bird Mr. Corrie -gave her; if it hadn't been that she was determined, her uncle would -have made away with it long ago. I didn't quite agree with Emily. I -argued like this, sir. Supposing, when Mr. Whittingham came home, he -and my young lady found they loved each other, and made a match of it. -So far, all well and good; but the moment Mr. Bidaud discovered it, he -would take steps. He is Miss Bidaud's natural guardian, and my young -lady is not yet of age. What would her uncle do? Whip her away, and -take her where Mr. Whittingham couldn't get at her. Perhaps discharge -Emily, and so deprive Miss Bidaud of every friend she has, and of -every opportunity of acting contrary to him. He's artful enough to -carry that out. I don't quite know the rights of it, but Emily says he -has control of all my young lady's fortune, and she don't believe he -has any of his own. Well, then, does it stand to reason that he would -let the money he lives upon slip through his fingers through any -carelessness of his own, or that he would hand it quietly over to a -man he hates like poison? That's the way I urged, sir, but it's all -turned out different. Of course you know, sir, that Mr. Basil -Whittingham's come home." - -"I have heard so," said Basil, quietly. - -"And has come into a great fortune!" - -"I have heard that, also." - -"Miss Bidaud was overjoyed when she saw him, and her uncle was the -other way. But if Emily's last two letters mean anything they mean -that things have got topsy turvy like. Mr. Whittingham and Mr. Bidaud -are great friends now, and as for my young lady being happy, that's -more than I can say. There's no understanding young people now; it was -different in my time; but there, they say the course of true love -never runs smooth. One thing seems pretty plain--there's a screw loose -somewhere in Villa Bidaud. And now, sir, I've told you everything, and -likely as, not I've been too free, and done what I shouldn't. If I -have done wrong I shall never hear the last of it from Emily." - -"You will live to acknowledge," said Basil, "that you have done right, -and that your confidence is not misplaced. I thank you from my heart, -and am grateful for the good fortune that led me to you. Mrs. -Crawford, I don't like to offer you money for the service you have -rendered me, though I hope I shall be in the humour to insist, before -long, upon your allowing me to make a fitting acknowledgment. But -there is something I should wish to purchase of you." - -"I have nothing to sell, sir, that you would care to have." - -"I would give more than its weight in gold," said Basil, laying his -hand upon the album, "for the portrait of Miss Bidaud. You can have no -idea of the value it would be to me, and how much I should esteem your -kindness. Let me have it, I entreat you." - -"I don't like to part with it," said Mrs. Crawford, looking admiringly -at Basil, "but I can't refuse you. Take it, sir." - -Basil quickly availed himself of the permission, and put a sovereign -on the table, saying, "For little Genie. Buy her a pretty frock with -it." Then wishing her good day, and thanking her again he left her to -rejoin Old Corrie and Mr. Philpott on the beach, and communicate the -good news to them. Half-an-hour later Old Corrie paid a visit to Mrs. -Crawford, and received her profuse excuses for the abrupt manner in -which he had behaved to him. - -"Nobody can blame you, ma'am," said Corrie, "for fighting shy of a -bear. It's a wonder to me now how I came to be mates with the -creature. But he was a worthy comrade, ma'am, rough as his outside -was--a deal worthier than some men I've met with. And I shall never -forget it, ma'am, because in the first place it brought me straight to -you, and in the second place it's taking me straight to a little -lady." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - - -We must now return to Newman Chaytor. He had established his position -as Basil Whittingham, he had obtained possession of Basil's fortune, -he was on a familiar footing with the Bidauds. In his proceedings -respecting the fortune which Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had -bequeathed to his nephew, he experienced, practically, no difficulty -whatever. The evidence in his possession, proving himself to be the -man he represented himself to be, was complete; and there being no -grounds for suspicion, none was aroused. Thus he was so far safe, and -on the high road. - -He went to London, and remained there only a few days. He made no -attempt to see his parents, and was careful to avoid the neighbourhood -in which they lived. With a large fortune at his disposal, and being -fertile in methods, he could easily have contrived to convey a few -pounds to them without drawing attention upon himself; but his -character has been unsuccessfully delineated if it is supposed he ever -allowed himself to yield to the dictates of humanity. He knew that his -parents were in direst poverty--his mother's last letter to him made -this very clear--but he had not the slightest feeling of compassion -for the mother who idolised him or the father he had brought to ruin. -Self, in its most abhorrent aspect, ruled every action of his life. -His own ease, his own pleasures, his own safety--these were paramount, -and pioneered him through the crooked paths he had trod since boyhood. -The correspondence he had kept up with Annette rendered it an easy -matter for him to find her. He had apprised her that he was starting -for home, and had directed her not to write to him again to Australia. -In this last letter he informed her that he had come into a great -fortune, and that his time would be so taken up by business matters -for a few weeks that he would not be able to see her immediately he -arrived in England. He gave her instructions how to communicate with -him at home, and told her to be sure to keep a corner in her heart for -him. It is hard to say how many times Annette read this letter. Basil -was on his way home--coming home, coming home, coming home--she kept -on repeating the magic words; and there was a light in her eyes, music -in her voice, and joy in her heart. At last, at last he was coming, -the friend whom she could trust, the man her dear father had loved and -honoured. She would see him soon, for he would not linger over the -business he had to transact; her hand would be in his, his eyes on her -face--and then she blushed and ran to the glass. Had she changed since -he last saw her? Would he know her again, or would she have to say, -"Basil, I am Annette?" No! that would not be necessary; she had sent -him her portrait, and he had told her in a letter that he would pick -her out of a thousand women. She had changed--yes, she was aware of -that, and aware, too, that she was very beautiful. What woman is not -who has grace and beauty for her dower; and is there a woman in the -world who is not proud of the possession, and who does not smile and -greet herself in the mirror as she gazes upon the bright reflection of -a brighter reality? Annette was innocently glad that she was fair, and -all through her gladness the form of Basil was before her. If he liked -her for nothing else, he would like her for her beauty. The quality of -vanity there was in this thought was human and natural. The name of -Basil represented to her all that there was of nobility, goodness, and -generosity. In Basil was centred all that was best and brightest in -life. She worshipped an ideal. He had asked her to keep a corner in -her heart for him. Was not her whole heart his? And he was coming -home--home! The word assumed a new meaning. It would be truly home -when Basil was with her. - -"You are excited, Annette," said Gilbert Bidaud, who, although he -seldom indulged in long conversations with his niece, noted every sign -and change in her. Only in one respect had he been baffled; he had not -succeeded in discovering how the correspondence between Basil and -Annette was carried on. He suspected Annette's maid, Emily, but that -shrewd young person was so extraordinarily careful and astute that he -could not lure her, for all the traps he set, into betraying herself. -He hinted once to Annette that he thought of discharging her, but -Annette had shown so much spirit that he went no farther. - -"Emily is my maid," said Annette, "and no one but I have a right to -discharge her." - -"And you do not mean to do so?" said Gilbert Bidaud. - -"No, uncle, I do not mean to do so." - -"Even though I expressed a wish that she should go." - -"Even then, uncle, I should not consent to her leaving me. I am fond -of her. If she goes, I go too." - -"You go! where?" - -"Where you would not find me, uncle." - -Gilbert thought there would be danger in that. She might fall into -other hands, and herself and fortune be lost to him. He was not quite -sure of his position in respect to Annette, and his best safety lay in -not disturbing the waters. His brother's affairs in Australia had been -administered hastily, and he was uneasily conscious that here in -Europe clever lawyers might make things awkward for him. He had -Annette's fortune absolutely in his control; he had used her money for -his own purposes, for he had none of his own; he had kept no accounts; -in worldly matters Annette was a child, and was not likely to become -wiser so long as she was in his charge. She was obedient and docile in -most ways, the only exceptions being her feeling for Emily, and the -secret correspondence she was carrying on with Basil. These matters -were not important; they did not trench upon his authority or -position. The letters she wrote were such as a fanciful, sentimental -girl would write, and Basil's letters were probably harmless enough. -Besides, he was at a safe distance. Time enough to fight when the -enemy was in view. "He will marry," thought Gilbert Bidaud, "he will -forget her. Let her indulge in her fancies. It is safest." So time -went on, outwardly calm, till Annette received Basil's letter -announcing his intended return to England. It was then that Gilbert -noted the change in her. They were on the continent at the time; of -late years Gilbert seldom visited England; there was more enjoyment -and greater security for him in his own country and in others more -congenial to him. He purchased, with Annette's money, a villa in -Fernex, which he called Villa Bidaud. The deeds were made out in his -own name; he had come to regard Annette's fortune as his; if -troublesome thoughts sprang up he put them aside, trusting to his own -cleverness to overcome any difficulties that might present themselves. - -"You are excited, Annette," he said. - -She hardly knew what to say. To deny it was impossible; her restless -movements, her sparkling eyes, her joyous face, were sufficient -confirmation of her uncle's statements. But to admit it would lead to -questions which she wished to avoid answering. Therefore she was -silent. - -"My dear niece," said Gilbert Bidaud, in his smooth voice, "there is -not that confidence between us which I should wish to exist. Why? Have -I oppressed you? Have I treated you harshly? You can scarcely so -accuse me. Have I not allowed you to have your own way in all things? -You have had perfect liberty, have you not? Be frank with me. I have -at heart only your interests. I wish only to secure your happiness. -When your poor father--my dear brother--died, you were almost a baby, -a child ignorant of the world and the ways of the world. I said to my -heart--it is my habit, my dear niece, to commune with myself--I said -to my heart, 'Annette is a child, an infant, with strong affections -and attachments. You come to her a stranger, yes, even while you are -closest to her in blood, you are still to her a stranger. She will not -regard you with favour; she will not understand you.' And so it was. -It was my unhappy duty to be stern and hard with some you regarded as -friends; it was my duty to be firm with you. Consequently, we -commenced badly, and I, who am in my way proud as you are, stood aloof -from you and exercised the duties of guardian and uncle without -showing that my heart was filled with love for you. Thus have we -lived, with a spiritual gulf dividing us. My dear niece, you are no -longer a child, you are a woman who can think for herself, who is open -to reason. Let us bridge that gulf. I extend to you the hand of amity, -of love. Take it, and tell me how I can minister to your happiness." - -It was the most gracious, as it was the falsest speech he had ever -made to her, and she was deceived by his specious frankness. She could -not refuse the hand he held out to her, and as she placed hers within -it, she reflected, "When Basil arrives they must meet. They were not -friends in Australia, but it will be a good thing accomplished if they -can be made friends here, through me. Then Basil can come freely, with -uncle's consent, and there need be no concealment. Uncle never spoke -to me like that before, and perhaps I have been to blame as well as -he. Neither he nor aunt has shown any great love for me, but may it -not have been partly my own fault. If they have wounded me, may I not -have wounded them?" - -Gilbert Bidaud saw that she was reflecting upon the new view he had -presented to her, and he did not disturb her meditations. Presently -she said: - -"Uncle, I have had some good news." -"It delights me," said Gilbert Bidaud. "In your own good time you -shall confide it to me." - -"I will confide it to you now. Basil is coming home." - -"See now," said Gilbert, in a tone of great good-humour, "how you have -misjudged me. Here have you, my ward, over whom I have the right to -exercise some authority, been corresponding with a young gentleman -between whom and myself there are differences of opinion. Candidly I -admit that I did not look upon him with love. Know now for the first -time that on the plantation I was warned against him, that he had -enemies who spoke of him as an adventurer. How was I to know that -those who spoke thus spoke falsely? You may answer, being a woman who -has cherished in her heart a regard for her Australian friend, 'You -should have asked me; I would have told you the truth about him.' Ah, -but consider. What were you? A mere infant, innocent, guileless, -unsuspecting. I venerate childhood, and venerate it the more because -it has no worldly wisdom. Happy, happy state! Would that we could live -all our lives in ignorance so blissful! Then there would be no more -duplicity, no more cheating and roguery. But it is otherwise, and we -must accept the world. Therefore the young gentleman and I crossed -swords on the first day we met, and from that time have misunderstood -each other. In my thoughts, perhaps, I have done him wrong; in his -thoughts, perhaps, he has done me wrong. And my niece, the only child -of my dear brother, sided with the stranger against me. I was wounded, -sorely wounded; and when I discovered that you and he were writing to -each other secretly, I spoke harshly to you; I may even have uttered -some foolish threats. What man, my child, can be ever wise, can ever -say the right words, can ever do the right things? None, not one, and -I perhaps, who have peculiar moods and temper, less than many. But -see, now, what came of those harsh words, those foolish threats? You -still correspond with your friend Basil, and I stood quietly aside and -interfered not. Could I not have stopped the correspondence, if I had -been seriously determined to do so? Doubt it not, my child. At any -moment I could have done so. But I said, 'No, I will not spoil -Annette's pleasure; it is an innocent pleasure; let it go on; I will -not interfere. One day my niece will do me justice. And it may be, -that one day her friend Basil and I will better understand each -other.' Is it not so?" - -"Indeed, uncle," said Annette, timidly, "it is I who have been in the -wrong." - -"No, no," said Gilbert, interrupting her, "I will not have you say so. -The fault was mine. What say the English? You cannot put an old head -on young shoulders. I expected too much. From to-day we commence -afresh. Eh, my dear child?" - -"Yes, uncle." - -"So be it," he said, kissing her. "We misunderstand each other never -again. It is agreed. Our friend Basil--I will make him my friend if he -will let me; you shall see--is coming home. He shall be welcome." - -"Uncle, you remove a weight from my heart." - -"It is what I would do, always. A weight is also removed from mine. -How long will our friend Basil be before he appears." - -"I do not know exactly. He will write." - -"He will write," echoed Gilbert merrily, pinching Annette's cheek. "We -have our secret post-office--ah, ah! Tell him it must be secret no -longer. Write openly to him; he shall write openly to you. He has been -many years in Australia. Has he grown rich on the goldfields? Did he -find what they call a golden claim?" - -"He does not say; but I think he did not get rich there." - -"Not get rich there. Did he get rich anywhere, or does he come poor?" - -The picture of a needy adventurer rose before him, and had he not been -a master in cunning he would have betrayed himself. - -"He writes," said Annette, "that his uncle has left him a large -fortune." - -Gilbert drew a long breath of relief. Easier to cope with Basil rich -than poor. If Basil wanted Annette, and Annette wanted him, why, he -would make a bargain with the young man, who, being wealthy, would not -be greedy for Annette's money. Gilbert Bidaud was a keen judge of -character, and he knew Basil to be a manly, generous-hearted -honourable fellow, who would be more likely to despise than to covet -money with the girl he loved. If that were so, Gilbert saw a road to -immunity for the past and a life of independence in the future. There -was a striking resemblance in certain features of his character and -that of Newman Chaytor, as there is in the natures of all purely -selfish men. - -"That is a pleasant thing to hear," he said. "I congratulate him from -my heart." He would have added, "And I congratulate you," but he -restrained himself; it was delicate ground, and it would be better to -wait. Subsequently, in a conversation with his sister, he expressed -himself more freely. Basil would be received and welcomed--yes, but he -would be carefully sounded and observed, and she was to play her part -both with Annette and her lover. It pleased Gilbert to call him so, -but it did not please the girl's aunt. - -"You have foolish ideas," she said. "Annette was thirteen years when -we took her from the plantation. What kind of love could a man have -for such a child?" - -"You will see, you will see," said Gilbert. "This Basil is what we -call an eccentric, and it is because he is so that I have settled upon -the plan of bringing them together under our noses. Remember, my idiot -of a brother left me not a coin. We have our future to look to, and -gentleman Basil is the man to make it sure for us. Would you wish to -have to slave for your bread as you used to do--and often not get it?" - -"No; but if I have an enemy I like him at a distance." - -"Foolish woman! If I have an enemy I like him here, close to me, where -my hand can reach him. I will have him--if I have the choice--as I -have now--in the light, not in the dark." - -Annette also had a conversation with her trusty maid Emily concerning -this new revelation in Gilbert Bidaud's character. Annette was very -enthusiastic about it, and very self-reproachful concerning the past, -but Emily looked grave and shook her head. - -"I'd rather agree with you than not, miss," she said, "but I don't -think I can about your uncle." - -"You must not be obstinate and prejudiced, Emily," said Annette, with -mild severity. - -"I'll try not to be, miss, but if an animal is born a donkey, a donkey -he remains all the days of his life." - -Annette laughed, and said, of course, but what _did_ Emily mean? - -"It's a roundabout way of explaining myself," said Emily. "And there's -different kinds of donkeys, some mild, and that'll take the whip as -patient as a wooden dummy; others that'll kick out and let fly at you -with their heels. The same with horses, the same with dogs, the same -with cats." - -"What _do_ you mean, Emily?" - -"Only when vice is in an animal you can't wheedle it out of him. No -more you can out of a man or a woman. I don't say they can help it, -but what's born in 'em _must_ come out. If I'm born sly I keep sly, -and the chances are I grow slyer as I grow older. I don't believe in -sudden changes, miss, and if you'll excuse me I'll wait a little -before I make up my mind about your uncle." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -Newman Chaytor first met Annette in Paris. She wrote to him to London, -saying that her uncle intended to make a stay there of a few weeks, -and telling him the name of the hotel they stopped at. Chaytor's -business in London was by that time transacted and he was nervous to -get away with his spoil. Bold as he had been, and little as he -believed he had to fear, there were moments when he was seized with -panic. What if Basil should not be dead? What if, recovering, and -being rescued from the tomb into which Chaytor had plunged him, some -suspicion should cross his mind of the treachery which had been -practised towards him? What if, after that, bent upon revenge, he -should find his way home, and there discover how he had been wronged -and robbed? Newman Chaytor was bathed in cold sweat, and his limbs -shook as he contemplated this contingency. In his calmer moments he -strove to laugh himself out of his fears, but he never entirely got -rid of them, and he deemed it safer to live most of his time out of -England. For reasons of safety, also, he converted Basil's fortune -into cash, and carried a large portion of it upon his person in Bank -of England notes. He had clothes made after his own design, and in his -waistcoats and trousers were inner pockets in which he concealed his -treasure. There were five bank notes of a thousand pounds each, twenty -of five hundred each, and the rest in hundreds and fifties. They -occupied but little space, and during the first month or two of his -coming into possession of the money, he was continually counting it in -the secresy of his room, with doors locked and windows shaded. The -passing of a cloud, the fluttering of a bird's wings across his -window, the sound of breathing or footstep outside his door, drove him -into agonies of apprehension as he was thus engaged. He would stop -suddenly and listen, and creep to door or window, and wait there till -the fancied cause for fear was gone; then he would resume his -operations and pack the money away in the lining of his clothes. The -dread of losing it, of his being robbed, of its being wrested from -him, was never absent. When he entered a new hotel he examined the -doors of his rooms, tried the locks and fastenings, and peered about -in every nook and corner, until he was satisfied that there was no -chink or loophole of danger. But as fast as his fears were allayed in -one direction they sprang up in another. The hydra-headed monster he -had created for himself left him no rest by day or night. He slept -with his clothes under his bolster, and waking up, would grope in the -dark with his hands to assure himself that they had not been taken -away. There were nights which were nothing less than one long terror -to him. The occupants of the apartments to the right and left of him -were talkative; he could not catch the sense of their words, but they -were, of course, talking of him. They were quiet; of course they were -so to put him off his guard. He would jump from his bed and stand, -listening, and whether he heard sounds or heard none, every existent -and non-existent sign became a menace and a terror. As time wore on it -could not be but that these fears became less strong and vivid, but -they were never entirely obliterated, and were occasionally revived in -all their original force. There was, however, one new habit which he -practised mechanically, and of which he never got rid. This was a -movement of the left hand towards those parts of his clothing in which -the money was concealed. He was quite unconscious of the frequency of -this peculiar motion, and took as little notice of it as any man takes -of the natural movements of his limbs. - -When he received Annette's letter informing him that they were in -Paris he immediately resolved to go there. "I am wondering," wrote -Annette, "whether we shall see you here, or whether we shall have to -wait because your business is not finished. You must forget all that I -have said about Uncle Gilbert; we did not understand each other, but -we do now, and he is very very kind to me; and although he cannot be -as anxious to see you as I am, he is ready to give you a warm and -hearty welcome." - -"She is an affectionate little puss," thought Chaytor, "and does not -seem to conceal anything from her dear Basil, but if she thinks I am -going to tie myself to her apron strings she is mistaken. I will feel -my way with her, and--yes, a good idea! will have a peep at her -somehow without her seeing me, before I introduce myself. Judging from -the photograph she sent me in Australia"--he was so accustomed to -think of himself as Basil that he often forgot he was Newman -Chaytor--"she is as pretty as a picture; but then portraits are -deceitful--like the originals. They are so touched up by the -photographers, that a very ordinary-looking woman is transformed into -an angel. If that is the case with Annette she will see very little of -me. Give me beauty, bright eyes, white teeth, a good figure, a pretty, -kissable mouth, and I am satisfied. So, my little Annette, it all -depends upon yourself. As for Uncle Gilbert, it is a good job that he -is changed; it will make things easier for me. I don't want to -quarrel, not I, and if I take a fancy to Annette, and he can help to -smooth the way for me, why, all the better." - -From the day he set foot on the vessel which brought him to England, -Chaytor had been most painstaking and careful about his appearance. He -spent hours before the glass arranging his hair after the fashion of -Basil's hair, as our hero had worn it in England; and, being a bit of -an artist, he succeeded perfectly. The resemblance was marvellous, and -Chaytor congratulated himself and chuckled at his cleverness. "Upon my -soul," he said, "we must have been changed at our birth. I am Basil, -and he----" He paused. No shudder passed through him, he was visited -by no pang of remorse at the thought of Basil lying dead at the bottom -of the shaft. It must have been very quick and sudden! Death must have -ensued instantaneously. Had he not listened and lingered, without a -sound of suffering, without even a sigh reaching him? "No man could do -more than that," he thought. "There's no telling what I should have -done if he had groaned or cried for help. But as he was dead and done -for, what was the use of my loitering there?" Across the many -thousands of miles of sea and land, his mental vision travelled with -more than lightning swiftness, and he saw at the bottom of a dark -shaft the form of his victim huddled up and still. And as he gazed, -the form unfolded itself, and rising to its feet, glided towards him. -The vision had presented itself once before, and he acted now as he -had acted then. Almost frenzied he dashed the phantom aside, with as -much force as if Basil had stood bodily before him, and, finding that -this was of no avail, threw himself upon the ground, and grovelled -there with closed eyes until reason re-assumed its sway and whispered -that he was but the fool of fevered fancies. "I shall go mad if I -don't mind," he muttered. "I know what's the matter with me; I am -keeping myself too solitary. I want friends, companionship." It is a -fact that he would not make friends with any one; the fewer questions -that were asked of him the better. He was in constant dread of meeting -with some person of whom Basil had not spoken who would begin to speak -of old times. Out of England this was not so likely to occur. Man of -pleasure as he was he had never been a heavy drinker, but now he flew -to brandy to deaden his fears. Altogether, despite his success, he was -not greatly to be envied. The lot of the poorest and most unfortunate -of men is to be preferred to that of a man of evil heart, whose -Nemesis is ever by his side throwing its black shadow over every -conscious hour. - -On the Continent Chaytor experienced some relief. He had always been -fond of Paris, and now he threw himself with zest into the pleasures -of that gay city. "This is life," he said enthusiastically; "it -is for this I have worked. Eureka! I have found the philosopher's -stone--freedom, light, enjoyment." He was in no hurry to go to -Annette; he would have his fling first--but, that, he said to himself, -he would always have, Annette or no Annette. His misfortune was that -he could not rule circumstance. Gilbert Bidaud set eyes on him as he -was driving with some gay companions, for here in Paris Chaytor was -not so bent upon avoiding society as in England. "Surely," mused the -elder fox, as he slipped into a carriage and gave the driver -instructions to follow Chaytor and his companions, "that is my old -friend Basil, for whom my foolish niece is looking and longing. He -presented himself to me in the Australian wilderness as a model of -perfection, a knight without a stain upon his shield, but in Paris he -appears to be very human. Very human indeed," he repeated with a -laugh, as he noted the wild gaiety of the man he was following. Be -sure that he did not lose sight of his quarry until he learnt as many -particulars concerning it as he could gain. So fox watched fox, and -the game went on, Annette waiting and dreaming of the Bayard without -flaw and without reproach who reigned in her heart of hearts. - -"Have you heard from our friend Basil?" asked Gilbert Bidaud. - -"Not for ten days," replied Annette. "He said he feared he would not -have time to write again till he came to Paris, he was so beset with -lawyers and business men." - -"Yes, yes," said Gilbert; "he must have much to do. He will come to -us, I hope, the moment he reaches Paris." - -"Oh, yes, uncle; he will not wait a day, an hour; he will come -straight here." - -Gilbert Bidaud nodded cheerfully, and said no more, but his cunning -mind was busy revolving pros and cons. - -Chaytor, after awhile, carried out his resolution of seeing Annette -before he presented himself to her. Ascertaining the rooms she and her -people occupied, he engaged apartments for a couple of days in an -hotel from the windows of which he could observe her movements. He -used opera glasses, and so arranged his post of observation that he -could not himself be seen. In the petty minutiæ of small schemes, he -was a master. - -The first time he saw Annette he almost let his glasses fall from his -hand. Her radiant countenance, her sparkling eyes, the beauty of her -face, the grace of her movements, were a revelation to him. Never had -he seen a creature so lovely and perfect. So fascinated was he that he -dreaded it might not be Annette--but yes, there was her uncle, Gilbert -Bidaud, standing now by her side, and apparently talking pleasantly to -her. Chaytor, though he had seen the old man but once in the -Australian woods, when he was a concealed witness of the interview -between Gilbert, Basil and Annette, recognised him immediately. -Gilbert Bidaud was not changed in the least, and Chaytor decided -within himself that neither Basil or Annette knew how to manage the -old fellow. He, Newman Chaytor, would be able to do so; he would be -the master of the situation, and would pull the strings of his puppets -according to his moods and wishes. He did not dream that Gilbert -Bidaud was aware that he was in their vicinity, that he even knew the -number of the rooms he had engaged in the hotel, and the name he had -assumed for the purposes of his secret watch. From the moment that -Gilbert had set eyes upon him, every step he took, every movement he -made, was noted down by agents employed by the old man, who kept a -written record for possible use in the future. These two forces were -well matched, but the odds were in favour of the elder animal. "It is -clear," said Newman Chaytor, "that Basil was mistaken in his estimate -of Gilbert Bidaud, and that he poisoned Annette's mind against her -uncle. The old man is harmless enough, and he and I will be great -friends." Presently Gilbert kissed his niece and left the room, -laughing to himself at the comedy scene he had played. His thoughts -may also be put into words. - -"He is in that room, watching Annette. He has arranged the curtains -and the furniture in the manner most convenient for his watch. What is -his object, and what do his movements prove? He wishes to convince -himself that Annette is a bird attractive enough to follow, to woo, to -win. If I knew what has passed between them in the letters they wrote -to each other, I should be more certain of my conclusions, but as it -is I shall not be far out. He wishes also to observe me secretly, and -to make up his mind about me before we come together. Well, he shall -have opportunity--he shall see what a kind pleasant uncle I am. We -were not the best of friends across the ocean--in good truth, we were -as bitter enemies as men could possibly be; and he remembers that we -exchanged hard and bitter words. Do I bear animosity? No; here, my -dear friend, is my hand: take it." He held it out, and the cunning of -his nature was exposed in the expression of his thin lips and his cold -blue eyes. "But what do his movements prove? That, setting himself up -as a gentleman, above doing a sly action, profuse in his scorn of -others and in glorification of himself, he is the personification of -low cunning and meanness. He deceived me when we clashed in the -forest; expressing scorn of him, and flinging mud upon his motives, I -yet believed him to be a gentleman, and was in my soul angry because -the belief was forced upon me. Bah! my friend Basil, my self-elected -gentleman of honour unblemished and untarnished, you are unmasked. You -play your game; I will play mine. We shall see who will win." - -While these communings were going on Chaytor continued his watch. His -greedy eyes dwelt upon Annette's sweet face--heavens, he thought, how -beautiful she is!--his sinful soul gloated upon her grace of form and -feature. Would she know him when her eyes fell upon him? Would she see -at once that he was Basil, or was there anything in his appearance -that would inspire a doubt? That afternoon he examined himself -narrowly in the glass; he practised Basil's little tricks of motion, -one of the most conspicuous of which was the caressing of his -moustache between finger and thumb, and any doubts he may have had -disappeared. "I am more like Basil Whittingham than he ever was," he -said. "Even in a court of law the chances would be all on my side." -When he was in a confident mood nothing more improbable could be -conceived than that Basil would ever cross his path. It was not -improbable, it was impossible. Basil was dead, and there was an end of -the matter; he had all the field to himself. - -He continued to observe Annette from his window, and the more he saw -of her the more constantly did his thoughts dwell upon her. During -these days he went through many rehearsals of the part he was playing, -recalling all that Basil had told him of his association with Annette, -the scenes they had walked through, the conversations they had -indulged in. He was letter perfect in what had passed between Basil -and Annette's father, and his retentive memory had preserved all the -incidents in the scene in the Australian woods, when Gilbert Bidaud -and his sister had surprised them near Old Corrie's hut. "Old Corrie," -thought Chaytor, "had a down on me, and came near to spoiling my game, -but I've been more than a match for the lot of them. What has become -of the old busy-body? Dead, most likely. Everybody's as good as dead -who could touch or interfere with me. And Annette, the pretty Annette, -is ready to fall into my arms the moment I make my appearance." It -will be remembered that on the last meeting between Basil and Annette, -she gave him a locket containing her mother's portrait, and that, when -Gilbert Bidaud flung it away into the bush, Newman Chaytor picked it -up and kept it close. From that day to this he had never parted with -it, and now, being about to present himself to Annette, he put it -round his neck, conscious that it would be a good card to play under -any circumstances. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - - -Annette was at lunch with her uncle and aunt in the public room of the -hotel when a gentleman entered, and took his seat at another table -close by. Annette, looking up from her plate, flushed rosy red, and in -uncontrollable excitement, started to her feet, then sank back into -her chair with her eyes fixed upon the newcomer. Gilbert Bidaud had -also noted the entrance of the gentleman, although his eyes seemed to -be directed to another part of the room; he took no outward notice, -but inwardly said, "Ah, ah, friend Basil, you have decided at last to -appear. Now for a few clever lies." - -"Uncle!" whispered Annette. - -"Yes, my niece," said Gilbert, "what do you wish?" - -"Look there uncle; look there." - -Gilbert looked in the desired direction and said, "I see a gentleman." - -"Do you not know who it is, uncle? Do you not recognise him?" - -"As I live," said Gilbert, "I believe him to be our Australian friend, -Basil. But no--I may be deceived." - -"It is he, uncle; it is he. Oh, why will he not look this way?" - -At that precise moment, Chaytor, who was speaking to a waiter, turned -towards Annette, and their eyes met. He rose and walked towards her, -with a certain air of irresolution, but with an expression of eager -delight in his face. - -"Basil!" she cried, advancing to him. - -"Is it possible?" exclaimed Chaytor, hugging himself with satisfaction -at this unhesitating recognition. It was not only that there were no -obstacles to remove, no awkward explanations to make, but it was a -tribute to his powers of duplicity, almost the crowning stone in the -monument of deception he had erected with so much skill. "Annette!" - -"Oh, Basil, Basil!" cried Annette, holding out her hands, which he -clasped in his. "How happy I am to see you--how happy, how happy!" - -Gilbert Bidaud, who had watched in silence the progress of this -comedy, now stepped forward. - -"You must allow me to interfere," he said. "We are not alone. There -are other ladies and gentlemen in the room, and their eyes are on you. -We will adjourn to our apartments." - -He took Annette's hand and led the way, and in a few moments they were -able to converse without drawing upon themselves the attention of -strangers. - -"You will excuse me," said Gilbert to Chaytor with grave courtesy, -pointing to a chair, "but I think this is better." - -"Infinitely better, M. Bidaud," said Chaytor, "and I thank you for -recalling me to myself. May I hope that you will shake hands with me?" - -"Willingly. Let bygones be bygones. We did not understand each other -at the other end of the world; we will manage better at this end. When -did you arrive in Paris?" - -"This morning. I travelled by the night mail." - -"Lie the first," thought Gilbert Bidaud as he smiled and nodded. - -"A weary journey, and I wanted to get rid of the stains of travel -before I presented myself. I was afraid, Annette--or I should rather -now say Miss Bidaud--might not recognise me." - -"I should have known you anywhere," said Annette softly. - -"And you, M. Bidaud?" asked Chaytor, turning laughingly to the old -man. - -"Anywhere, anywhere!" cried Gilbert, enthusiastically. "You have the -distinguished appearance, the grand air, which made me mistrust you on -my lamented brother's plantation. But we mistrusted each other, eh, -friend Basil?" - -"Well, we did; but as you say, 'let bygones be bygones.'" - -"They shall be. If we speak of them it shall be to teach us lessons. I -will leave you and my niece together for, say, half-an-hour, and then -we will drive out. The day is fine--this re-union is fine--everything -is fine. My dear niece, I salute you." - -Annette's cup of happiness was full. She had experienced a momentary -pang when she heard herself called Miss Bidaud, but she knew that it -was right. She was no longer a child, and although she had always -commenced her letters with "My dear Basil," she would have hesitated, -now that they were together, had she sat down to write to him. They -had so much to talk about! All the old days were recalled, and if once -or twice Chaytor tripped, his natural cleverness and Annette's -assistance soon put him right. In such a matter as the last meeting in -the forest between Basil and Annette, of which he was a secret -witness, he was very exact, his faithful memory reproducing the -smallest detail. - -"Do you remember this?" he asked, showing her the locket. - -She gazed at her mother's portrait with tears in her eyes. - -"I was afraid it was lost," she said, "when uncle threw it away." - -"What a hunt I had for it," said Chaytor. "For hours and hours did I -look about, and almost despaired of finding it. I'll tell you what -came into my mind. If I don't find the locket I shall never see -Annette again; if I do, I shall. And when it was in my hands I looked -upon it as a good omen. I believe it has brought me straight to you. -It has never left me; day and night I have worn it round my neck." - -"Old Corrie helped you to find it," said Annette. "Oh, yes, of course, -but it was I, not he, who first saw it. Lying among the leaves. -By-the-by, is that magpie still in the land of the living?" - -"Yes, I have it in my room." Annette blushed as she spoke, thinking of -the endearing words of Basil she had taught the bird to speak. "It is -all the dearer to me now that its poor master has gone." Then Chaytor -began to speak of his trials and troubles in Australia, and of his -fear that he would never be able to return to England. - -"I used to fret rarely over it," he said. "I would not tell you so in -my letters, because I did not want to make you sad. But all that is -over now; I am rich, and there is nothing but happiness before us." - -"Nothing but happiness before us!" Annette's heart beat tumultuously -as she heard those words. New hopes, new joys, were gathering, of -which she scarcely knew the meaning. She did not seek for it; it was -sufficient that Basil was with her, unchanged, the same dear friend he -had ever been. They had so much to say to each other that Gilbert -Bidaud's entrance at the end of half an hour was an unwelcome -interruption. - -"Come, come, young people," he said merrily, "the bright sun invites -us. You can talk as we ride." - -His voice was benignant, his manner paternal, and during the ride he -did not intrude upon them. That night Annette went to bed a perfectly -happy woman. No doubts or fears beset her. She was conscious of a -certain undefinable change in Basil which she could not exactly -explain to herself. His voice appeared to be in some way altered; it -was scarcely so gentle as it used to be, and there was a difference -also in his manner of speech. But she did not dwell upon these -impressions; the change was more likely in her than in him; she had -grown, she had ripened, childhood's days were over. Then Basil had -passed through much suffering, and had been for years in association -with rough men. What wonder if his manners were less refined than she -remembered them to be? But his heart was unchanged; he was the same -Basil as of old--tender, devoted, and as deeply attached to her as she -had dared to hope. Emily, assisting her young mistress to undress, -found her less conversational than usual. She divined the cause, and -was sympathetically quiet, asking but few questions, and listening -with unaffected interest to what Annette had to say. Emily had not yet -seen Basil, but her views with respect to him were fixed; she was -quite ready to subscribe to Annette's belief that he was above the -standard of the ordinary mortal, and she had set her heart upon its -being a match between them; and when, while she was assisting her -mistress, she saw her, in the glass, smile happily to herself, as one -might do who was under the influence of a happy dream, she was -satisfied that some progress had already been made towards the desired -end. - -As for Newman Chaytor, he left Annette that night in a very contented, -not to say ecstatic, frame of mind. There had not been a hitch; he had -passed through the examination with flying colours. He approved not -only of himself, he approved of Annette. She was beautiful from a -distance, but far more than beautiful did she prove to be when he came -into association with her; her winning voice, her tenderness, her -charm of manner, made as deep an impression upon him as a nature so -entirely selfish as his was capable of receiving. It was not possible -that he could entertain true and sincere love for any human being, but -Annette inspired within him those feelings which took the place of -such a love. "She has bewitched me," he said. "I can't drive her out -of my thoughts, and don't want to, the little darling! Basil, my -double, had a good eye for the future. He saw what she would grow -into, and intended to save her for himself; and so he has, for I am -he. My other self, I drink to you!" It was in the solitude of his -chamber that he communed thus with himself. Brandy and water were -before him; he mixed a stiff glass in which to drink the toast, and -raised it to his lips as he uttered the last words. Scarcely had the -glass touched his lips when it fell to the ground and was shattered to -pieces. There before him was the vision of the shaft with the dead -body of his other self lying at the bottom. It rose and moved towards -him. "Curse you!" he cried. "Can I never get rid of you?" A silent -voice answered him: "Never, while you live. I am the shadow of your -crime. I shall be with you--dogging you, haunting you--to the last -hour of your sinful life!" - - - - -CHAPTER XL. - - -Gilbert Bidaud was puzzled. As well as any man in the world did he -know the true metal when he saw it, and when he was in doubt and had -the opportunity of applying tests he did so, and thus resolved his -doubts. He had done so in the case of Newman Chaytor, with the result -that he proved the metal to be spurious; and still he was not -satisfied with the proof. There was something behind the scenes which -was hidden from him, and with all his cleverness he could not obtain -sight of it. - -His acquaintance with Basil in Australia had been brief, but he had -learnt in that short time to hate him most cordially. This hatred was -intensified by the conviction that forced itself upon him that Basil -was a straightforward, honourable gentleman. Gilbert Bidaud never -allowed his prejudices to blind him and obscure his judgment. When he -found himself in a difficult position he was careful that his view of -the circumstances with which he had to contend was a clear one, and -whatever discomfort he might bring upon himself by this course it was -invariably of assistance to him in the end he desired to attain. -Recognising in Basil the gentleman and the man of honourable impulse -he knew exactly where to sting him and how to cope with him. Looking -forward to association with Basil in Europe he had schooled himself -beforehand as to the methods to pursue with respect to him. But these -methods were not necessary. The Basil between whom and himself there -was now regular intercourse, was a different Basil from the man he had -known across the seas, easier to manage and grapple with. So far, so -good, but it did not content Gilbert Bidaud. By no process of -reasoning could he reconcile the opposing characteristics of the man -he had to fear. Where Basil was straight Chaytor was crooked, where he -was manly and independent Chaytor was shy and cringing. The physical -likeness was sufficiently striking to deceive the world; the moral -likeness could deceive very few, and certainly not for long an -intellect like Gilbert Bidaud's. They had been intimate now many -months, and Chaytor was regarded as one of the the family. Beneath the -tests which Gilbert employed his character had gradually unfolded -itself. He drank, he gambled, he dissipated, and in all his vices -Gilbert led him on and fooled him to the top of his bent, the elder -man becoming every day more convinced that there was here a mystery -which it would be useful to himself to unfold. All he wanted was a -starting point, and it was long before it presented itself; but it -came at last. - -The rift of light shone on a day when Gilbert Bidaud had taken it into -his head to direct the conversation to the first time he and Basil had -met. Chaytor and Gilbert were alone, and had just finished a match at -piquet, which left the more experienced gamester of the two a winner -of a couple of hundred pounds. Chaytor was in a vile temper; he was a -bad loser, and Gilbert had won a considerable sum of him within the -last few weeks. Had his brain been as evenly balanced as that of his -antagonist he would have recognised in him a superior player, and -would have declined to play longer with him for heavy stakes, but, -unluckily for himself, he believed he was the equal of any man in -games of skill, and the worst qualities of pride were aroused by his -defeats. - -"Curse your luck!" he cried. - -"It will turn, it will turn," said Gilbert, complacently; "it cannot -last with so good a player as yourself. If we had even cards I should -have a poor chance with you." - -He poured out brandy for Chaytor and claret for himself. Liquor was -always handy when these two were together, and Gilbert never drank -spirits. Chaytor emptied his glass, and Gilbert sipped at his -and then directed the conversation to their first meeting on the -plantation. - -"You must remember it well," said Gilbert. - -"Of course I do," said Chaytor, ungraciously, helping himself to more -brandy. "One doesn't soon forget his dealings with Mr. Gilbert -Bidaud." - -"Yes, yes, I make myself remembered," said Gilbert, laughing with an -affectation of good-humour. "For me, I have never forgotten that -alligator. I can see it now, lying without motion among the reeds." - -"What are you driving at?" exclaimed Chaytor, to whom, as it happened, -Basil had never given any account of the details of this first meeting -with Gilbert Bidaud. "If you want to humbug me you will have to get up -earlier in the morning, my friend." - -"Why, that is certain," said Gilbert, continuing to laugh, but with a -strange thoughtfulness in his observance of Chaytor. "I was only -recalling an incident that occurred on the morning I arrived on the -plantation. We had tramped through the bush, my sister and I, my poor -brother having urged us to hasten, and we arrived early in the -morning, tired and dusty. Before us stretched a river, and, leaving my -sister to rest beneath the wide-spread branches of a tree, I sought a -secluded spot where I could bathe. I undressed and was about to plunge -into the water, when I beheld lurking among the reeds a monstrous -alligator. A workman on the plantation chancing to pass that way, ran -down the bank and seized my arm, and pointing to the alligator, said, -with reference to a remark I made about being ready for my breakfast, -that instead of eating I might be eaten. It was kind of that workman -to make the attempt to save me. If it had been you, friend Basil, you -might not just then have been so anxious to deprive the monster of a -savoury meal." - -"It is pretty certain," acquiesced Chaytor, with a sneer, "that I -should have left you to your fate." - -"Now that is frank and honest," said Gilbert, "and what I like in you. -Not for you the trouble of meaning one thing and saying another. It -was not unlikely, however, that this kind workman, one of the -labourers on the plantation, might have mentioned this incident of the -alligator to you." - -"Whether it was or wasn't, he didn't mention it. This is the first -time I have heard the interesting story." - -"Ah, it _is_ interesting, is it not? It was from this same obliging -workman that I learnt many particulars of my brother's domestic -affairs, of which I was ignorant, having been so long separated from -him." - -And then Gilbert Bidaud, with something more than a suspicion that he -had his fingers on the pulse of the mystery which was perplexing him, -recapitulated, as nearly as he could recall them, all the particulars -of the conversation between Basil and himself on this occasion of -their first meeting, with not one of which was Chaytor familiar. -Chaytor, continuing to drink, listened contemptuously to this "small -talk," as he termed it, and wanted to know why Gilbert Bidaud bored -him with such stuff; but the old man continued, and finally wound up -with an invented account of a meeting with Basil on the plantation, to -which Chaytor, ignorant of what was true and what was false, willingly -subscribed, and thus materially assisted in the deception that was -being practised upon him. At length Gilbert Bidaud rose with the -intention of taking his leave. - -"And how goes matters," he asked, "with you and my niece? Does the -course of true love still run smooth?" - -"Never you mind," retorted Chaytor, "whether it does or doesn't. It -isn't your affair." - -"Perhaps not. You are not in a gracious humour, friend Basil. We will -speak of it another time. Do not forget that I am Annette's guardian." - -"Oh, no, I'll not forget. When she and I settle things I shall want -some information from you." - -"About----?" asked Gilbert, and paused. - -"About her fortune. You see, up till now, my friend, you have had it -all your own way." - -"True, true. We will speak of it. Oh, yes, we will speak of it," -adding inly, "and of other things as well, my mysterious friend." - -The remaining portion of that day Gilbert Bidaud devoted himself to -thought, the subject being the man who called himself Basil -Whittingham. This, with him, was a distinct process; he had cultivated -the art of marshalling facts and evidence, of weighing their relative -value and their direct and indirect bearing upon the problem he was -endeavouring to solve, and of imparting into it all the arguments -which would naturally suggest themselves to an intellect so subtle and -astute as his own. "Outside," thought Gilbert, "he is Basil, the man I -knew; inside he is not Basil, the man I knew. The outside of a man may -change, but it is against nature that his character should be twisted -inside out--that it should turn from white to black, from black to -white. In my estimate of Basil on my brother's plantation I was not -mistaken; and that being so, this man and that man are not the same -inwardly. How stands my niece in regard to him? She was all joy when -he first joined us; it was nothing but Basil, Basil, Basil, like the -magpie that the old woodcutter gave her. But her joy and gladness have -not stood the test of time; my niece has grown sad. I have seen her -watch Basil's face with grief in her own; I have seen her listen to -his conversation with sadness and surprise in her eyes. She says -nothing, she nurses her grief, and is the kind of woman that will -sacrifice herself to an idea, to a passion she regards as sacred. Yes, -this Basil is not the Basil she knew--and she knew him well and -intimately, far better than I. That one was capable of noble -deeds--though I hated him I will do him justice; this one is sordid, -mean, debased, depraved. Fruit ripens and rots; not so men's hearts. -Where there is sweetness it is never wholly lost; some trace of it -remains, and so with frankness, generosity, and nobility. Has this -Basil shown the least moral indication that he is the man we knew? Not -one. All the better for me, perhaps. He will want some information -from me respecting Annette's fortune, will he? I may want some -information from him. He will dictate to me, will he? Take care, my -friend, I may dictate to you." - -The result of his cogitations was that he made a little experiment. -For some time past a celebrated case of personation, in which the -fortunes of an old family and estate were involved, had been the theme -of conversation and speculation all the world over; and, curiously -enough, the man who caused this excitement hailed from Australia. The -trial had just commenced, and the newspapers were full of it. Armed -with a bundle of papers, Gilbert Bidaud presented himself to Chaytor. -Throwing them on the table, he said: - -"Never have I been so interested, never has there been such a case -before the public. How will it end? that is the question--how will it -end? You and I, who are students of human nature, who can read -character as we read books, even we must be puzzled and perplexed. -Why, what have you there? As I live, you have been purchasing the same -papers as myself." - -It was true that there were English newspapers scattered about the -room of the same dates as those Gilbert Bidaud had brought in with -him, and that their appearance indicated that Chaytor had perused -them. - -"An Englishman may buy an English newspapers I suppose," said Chaytor, -a little uneasily, "without its being considered in any way -remarkable. What particular case are you referring to?" - -"An Englishman, my dear friend," replied Gilbert, with exceeding -urbanity, "may purchase every English newspaper there is for sale in -the city if he is so inclined. This is the particular case to which I -refer." He pointed to the columns upon columns of the reports of the -case, taking up one paper after another and laying them all down -carefully a-top of each other with the case in question uppermost, -till he had gathered together every newspaper in the room, and had -arranged them in one pile. While he was thus employed he did not fail -to note that Chaytor's face had grown white, and that he was also -watching Gilbert Bidaud in fear and secresy. Gilbert Bidaud laughed -softly, as he said: - -"Study this case, my dear friend. Watch its progress--consider it -well. But perhaps it is not necessary for one so deep, so clever as -yourself. You have already made up your mind how it will end. Make me -as wise as yourself, friend of my soul." - -He laid his hand upon Chaytor's arm, and gazed steadily into the -traitor's eyes, which wavered in the observance. - -"How should I know," exclaimed Chaytor, shaking off Gilbert's hand, -"how it will end?" - -"Nay, my dear friend," said Gilbert, and once more he laid his hand -upon Chaytor's arm, "do not shake me off so rudely. You and I are -friends, are we not? We can serve each other; I may be useful to -you--yes, yes, very, very useful." - -He was one who placed a high value upon small tests, and he had laid -his hand upon Chaytor's arm the second time with a deliberate and -distinct purpose. If the man before him was really and truly Basil, he -could not possibly misunderstand the covert threat which the action -and the tone in which he spoke conveyed. Having nothing to fear, he -would show resentment, indignation, and would release himself -immediately from Gilbert's grasp. Newman Chaytor did nothing of the -kind; inwardly shaking with mortal dread, he allowed Gilbert's hand to -remain, and for a few moments neither of the men spoke. During this -brief silence Gilbert knew that the game was his, and that he had -nothing to fear from Chaytor's threat concerning the management of -Annette's fortune. He was too wise to push his advantage. With a light -laugh, he threw the pile of newspapers into a corner of the room, and -said: - -"What matter to us how the case ends? If it is against him, he is a -fool; if it is for him, he deserves to win; in either case whether he -be or be not the man, we will not discuss it. Our own affairs are for -us sufficient. Is it not so?" - -"Yes," replied Chaytor sullenly. He would not have answered had not -Gilbert looked up at him and compelled him to speak. - -"I love the daring deed," continued Gilbert; "my soul responds to him -who conceives and carries it out, and if there is danger in the -execution it is to me all the grander. I have myself been daring in my -time, and had I not been successful rue would have been my portion. -You and I, my dear friend, have in our nature some resemblance; we -view life and human matters with the eye of a philosopher. Life is -short--ah! I envy you; your feet have scarcely passed the threshold; I -am far on the way. For you the summer, for me the winter. Well, well, -there are some years before me yet, and I will exercise our philosophy -by enjoying them. I look to myself; let other men do the same. Nature -says aloud, 'Enjoy the sunshine.' I obey nature. Enjoy, enjoy, -enjoy--that is the true teaching; and you, dear friend, are of my -opinion. Let this proclaim that we are comrades." He held out his -hand, which Chaytor felt restrained to take. "That is well; it is -safer so. And attend. I pry not into your secrets, and you will not -pry into mine. Of our cupboards with their skeletons we will each keep -our key. What I choose to reveal I reveal; as with you. Beyond that -boundary we do not step." - -He had not uttered a compromising word, but Chaytor understood him -thoroughly. How much, or how little, he knew, Chaytor could not say, -but that he could be a most dangerous enemy was clear. He was not a -man from whom one could escape easily, and, even if he were, Chaytor -was not in the humour to make the attempt. The impression which -Annette's grace and beauty had made upon him was so strong that he -could not endure the idea of leaving her. The relations between them -had not been those of lovers: they had been of an affectionate nature, -but no words binding them to each other had passed between them. -Gilbert Bidaud was correct in his observation of her. Joyous and -bright at first, she had grown sad and quiet. A shadow had fallen upon -the ideal she had worshipped; and yet she did not dare to blame the -Basil who had reigned in her heart pure and undefiled. Was he still -so? She would not answer the question; when it presented itself she -refused to listen. With a sad shake of her head she strove to deaden -her senses against the still small voice which ever and again intruded -the torturing doubt, but she could not dismiss it entirely. Basil she -loved, Basil she would always love; was it not treason to love to -admit the whispered doubt that he was changed? She argued sometimes -that the change was in her, and wondered whether he observed in her -what she observed in him. She asked him once: - -"Am I changed, Basil!" - -"You are more beautiful and charming than ever, Annette." - -They had had a little conversation, in which Gilbert Bidaud took part, -as to calling each other by their Christian names, and Gilbert had -settled the question. - -"It is too cold," he said, "this Miss Bidaud, this Mr. Whittingham. -You proclaim yourself strangers. Let it be as it was, as it always -shall be, Basil and Annette. Always, always, Basil and Annette. -Children, be happy." - -It was as though he had given them a fatherly benediction. From the -day of the last recorded interview between Gilbert Bidaud and Newman -Chaytor, the intimacy between them grew still closer. Gilbert managed -that, and also so contrived matters that, without any open declaration -being made, no one could doubt that Chaytor and Annette were unavowed -lovers. Gilbert had decided that it would be best and safest for him -that they should marry. He had Chaytor in his power, and could make a -bargain with him which would ensure him ease and comfort for his -remaining years. With another man it would not be so easy; he would -have to render an account of his stewardship, and in this there was -distinct danger. He was very curious to arrive at the real truth -respecting Chaytor, and despite his assurance that he would not pry -into Chaytor's secret, he was continually on the watch for something -that would help to reveal it to him. Chaytor, however, was on his -guard, and Gilbert learnt nothing further. - -"Next week," he said to Chaytor, "we go to Villa Bidaud. The summer is -waning, and the climate there is warm and agreeable. You accompany -us?" - -"Where Annette goes I go," said Chaytor. - -"Yet," said Gilbert, with a certain wary thoughtfulness, "matters -should be more definitely arranged before you become absolutely one of -our family circle. I have spoken of this before. You are neither -brother nor cousin--what really would you be to her?" - -"You know what I would really be." - -"I know, but at present it is locked in a box. If you tarry too long -you will lose her. I perceive that that would be a blow; and well it -might be, for she is a prize a king would be proud to win. Shall we -decide it this evening?" Chaytor nodded. "Join us at nine o'clock, and -we will settle the matter. It may be advisable that I speak first to -Annette. She may need management. I will give you a word of warning. -If it goes according to your wish, be more careful in your behaviour. -Think a little less of yourself, a little more of her. Be tender, -considerate, thoughtful, for a time at least, until you are secure of -her. Then it is your affair and hers, and I shall have nought to do -with either of you." - -"I will take care of that," thought Chaytor, and said aloud, "You -think I need your warning?" - -"I know you need it. You have either small regard for women, or you -are clumsy in your management of them. Before I leave you now, I wish -you to sign this paper." - -It was a document, carefully worded, which Gilbert Bidaud had drawn -out, by which Chaytor bound himself to make no demand upon Annette's -guardian for any money or property, which had fallen to Annette upon -her father's death. It was in fact, a renunciation of all claims in -the present or the future. - -"Why should I sign this?" asked Chaytor rebelliously. - -"Because it is my wish," replied Gilbert. - -"If I refuse?" - -"In the first place, you will lose Annette. In the second place, -something worse than that will happen to you." - -"Through you?" - -"Through me. I have a touch of the bloodhound in me. Take heed. Only -in alliance with me are you safe." - -It was a bold hazard, but it succeeded. Without another word, Chaytor -signed the paper. - -"Basil Whittingham," said Gilbert Bidaud, examining the signature, and -uttering the name with significant emphasis. "Good." - -That evening the engagement between Annette and Chaytor was ratified -in the presence of Gilbert Bidaud and his sister. The old man had a -long conversation with his niece before Chaytor made his appearance. -He told her that Basil had formally proposed for her hand, and that -knowing her heart was already given to the young man, he had accorded -his consent to their union. He spoke in great praise of Basil's -character, and skilfully alluded to certain matters which he knew -Annette was grieving over. - -"You have observed a change in Basil," he said, "so have I; but you, -my dear niece, are partly responsible for it. The truth is, Basil was -fearful of the manner in which you would receive his declaration. He -loves you with so deep and profound a love, and he sets so high a -value upon you, that he hardly dared to hope. The uncertainty of his -position has made him forget himself; he has committed excesses; he -has behaved as if he were not Basil, but another man. You, my dear -child, with your simple heart, are ignorant of the vagaries which -love's fever, and the fear of disappointment, play in a man's nature. -They transform him, and only when his heart is at ease, and he is -satisfied that his love is returned, does his better, his higher self -return. But for this fear Basil would perhaps have unfolded his heart -to you without any intervention, though he has behaved like an -honourable man in speaking first to me. You will be very, very happy, -my child. I bless you." - -Only too ready was Annette to accept this explanation. Implicitly -believing in it, and not for one moment suspecting guile or duplicity, -she felt her faith and her best hopes restored. When Chaytor came to -her, he was for awhile humbled by her sweetness and modesty, and what -deficiencies there were in him Annette supplied them out of her faith -and trust. - -"There is a little formality," said Gilbert Bidaud, intruding upon the -lovers. "It is a custom in our family to sign a preliminary marriage -contract. Affix your signatures here--you, Basil Whittingham, you, -Annette Bidaud. It is well. Before the year is out, we will have a -wedding." - -Within a week they were in Switzerland, settled in the Villa Bidaud. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI. - - -Annette did not remain long in her delusion. Gradually, but surely her -bright hopes faded away, to be replaced by a terrible feeling of -hopeless resignation. The serpent cannot change its nature, and the -worst features in Newman Chaytor's character began to assert -themselves soon after the signing the document which Gilbert Bidaud -had described as the preliminary marriage contract. He was sure of -Annette; what need, therefore, for the wearing of an irksome mask? He -threw it aside, and exhibited himself in his true colours, to the -grief and despair of the girl he had successfully deceived. She heard -him, in conversation with her uncle, use language and utter sentiments -at which her soul revolted; she saw him frequently the worse for -liquor; and often now she purposely avoided him when he sought her -society. Brightness died out of the world, and she thought -shudderingly of the future. The flowers in her young heart were -withered. And yet she dwelt mournfully upon the image of the man she -had adored, and asked herself, Can it be possible--can it be possible? -The answer was there, in the same house with her, sitting by her side, -pressing her hand, while he uttered coarse jokes, or gazing darkly at -Gilbert Bidaud, who was ever ready to give smiles for frowns. For this -was the old man's method; he was urbane and light-hearted in the -family circle, and nothing that Chaytor said could disturb his -equanimity. He had the traitor in his toils, and he played his game -with the air of an indulgent master. - -The Villa Bidaud was a great rambling house of two storeys, standing -in its own grounds. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, and stood -far back from the public road; when the strong iron gates were locked -it resembled a prison. Annette, chilled at heart, began to feel that -it was one and but for the companionship of her faithful maid Emily, -her life would have been dark and gloomy indeed. It was a relief to -her when her uncle announced that he and the man to whom she was -betrothed were going away on business for two or three weeks. - -Their mission was special and important, and has been attempted by -hundreds of other gulls. Gilbert Bidaud had discovered a system by -which he could break the bank at Monte Carlo. The one diversion of the -two knaves at the Villa Bidaud was gambling. Never a day passed but -they were closeted together in a locked room rattling the dice or -shuffling the cards. It may be questioned whether the demon of play is -not more potent than the demon of drink, and it is certain that it had -so fastened itself upon Newman Chaytor that he could not escape from -it. His losses maddened him, but his infatuation led him on to deeper -and deeper losses, Gilbert Bidaud always declaring that the luck must -change and that the money Chaytor lost was only money lent. -Occasionally he professed indifference to the fatal pastime, and -lured Chaytor on to persuasion, replying, "Well, as you insist." One -day Chaytor, as usual, was savagely growling at his ill-luck, when -Gilbert said carelessly: "You can get it all back, ten, twenty, a -hundred-fold, if you like." - -"How?" eagerly demanded Chaytor. - -Then Gilbert unfolded his plan. He had made a wonderful discovery, an -absolutely infallible system by which fortunes could be won at the -roulette tables of Monte Carlo and elsewhere. Chaytor caught at the -bait, but with smaller cunning threw doubt upon it. - -"You can demonstrate it," said Gilbert. "I have here a roulette table -to which I have not yet introduced you, and upon which I have proved -my figures. You shall take the bank, and I will carry out my system. -We will play for small stakes. What say you?" - -Chaytor suggested that the stakes should be imaginary, but to this the -cleverer knave would not agree. - -"You insist that the bank must win," he said. "Take the bank and try." - -They played for three days, during which, as luck would have it, -Gilbert rose invariably a winner. At the end of the third day, he -said: - -"See now. I have won from you an average of one hundred pounds a day. -All we have to do at Monte Carlo is to increase the stakes, and we can -win as much as we please. Say, to be moderate, three thousand pounds a -day. Fifty days, one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Seventy five -thousand each." - -Chaytor was eager to begin, but there was first a bargain to be -struck. In return for the fortune they were to win, and of which -Chaytor was to have an equal share, Gilbert Bidaud stipulated that his -partner should provide the funds for the venture. At first Chaytor -refused, but when Gilbert said, "Very well, there is an end of the -matter," he implored to be admitted upon the stipulated terms. - -"We commence with a bank of five thousand pounds," said Gilbert. - -Chaytor drew a long face at mention of this sum, but he was in the -toils and avarice compelled compliance. On the morning of their -departure he handed over the amount in Bank of England notes, it being -another of Gilbert's conditions that he should be the treasurer. Now, -on the previous day, after Chaytor had consented to provide the five -thousand pounds, Gilbert had resolved to ascertain where he was in the -habit of concealing his treasure. It was easy enough to carry out this -resolve. The Villa Bidaud was an old house, with the peculiarities of -which Gilbert had made himself familiar at the time he purchased it. -In one part of the room in which Chaytor slept, the wall was double, -an outer panel admitting of the entrance of any person who wished to -play the spy. All he had to do was to ascend three steps, when an -artfully concealed peep-hole enabled him to see all the movements of -the occupant of the inner room. From that point of observation -Gilbert watched Chaytor's proceedings; saw him carefully lock the -door and mask the keyhole, so that no one could see into the room -through it; saw him as carefully cover the windows and render himself -safe in that direction; saw him take his hoard of banknotes from the -artfully-contrived pockets in his clothes, count them over, place a -small pile aside, and return the balance to its hiding-place. Gilbert -saw something more. He beheld Chaytor suddenly pause and look before -him, while upon his features gathered a convulsed and horror-stricken -expression, as though he was gazing on some appalling phantom. It was -at such a moment that the character of Chaytor's face became entirely -changed, all likeness to Basil being completely obliterated. Chaytor's -arms were stretched out in the act of repelling a presence visible -only to himself; his limbs trembled, a cold sweat bathed his -countenance, and he exhibited all the symptoms of a man in the throes -of a mortal agony. - -Slowly and thoughtfully Gilbert left his post and returned to his own -apartment. His suspicions were absolutely confirmed, so far as the -evidence he had obtained could confirm them. On the following morning -he and Chaytor took their departure. - -"They part from us without regret," he observed as they rode away. -"Who are they?" asked Chaytor, in a morose tone. He knew to whom his -companion referred. Annette had exhibited no concern when he informed -her that business compelled a separation of a couple of weeks. She had -received this intimation in silence, and when he kissed her good bye -had not returned his kiss. He inwardly resolved that when he and -Annette were married she should pay for her growing coldness towards -him. - -"I was thinking of my niece," replied Gilbert. "She displayed but -small grief at the departure of her lover. And such a lover!" - -Chaytor looked sharply at him, for there was a touch of sarcasm in his -voice, but Gilbert's countenance was expressionless. - -"Women are queer cattle," he said roughly. - -"True, true," assented Gilbert, "and cattle must be taught to know who -are their masters. Bah! We will not talk of them. Let us rather talk -of the fortune we are pursuing and shall overtake." - -So they fell to discussing this most agreeable theme, and indulging in -visions of vast gains. Chaytor did not know what his companion -knew--that the "system" discovered by Gilbert would have been really a -certain thing but for one combination or series of figures which might -not be drawn for many days together. - -It was upon the chance of this series not presenting itself that -Gilbert relied; if they escaped it, their purses would be filled; if -it occurred, it was not his money that would be lost. - -No time was wasted at Monte Carlo: within an hour of their arrival -they commenced to play, and before they retired to rest they counted -their winnings. - -"Are you satisfied?" asked Gilbert gaily. - -"No," replied Chaytor, feverishly fingering the gold and notes. "We -must win more, more!" - -"We will. The world is at our feet. Let us divide." - -This was a part of Gilbert's plan; the winnings of each day were to be -divided; thus he made sure of gain to himself, whatever might happen -to his partner. For some days their operations prospered, and then -came the inevitable bad experience. They sustained a loss, another, -another; a large sum had to be staked to recover their losses, and -that also was swept in by the croupiers, upon whose stony faces ruin -and despair produced no impression. Chaytor stormed and reviled, and -Gilbert listened with calmness to his reproaches. In desperation the -younger man took the game in hand himself, and plunged wildly at the -tables, Gilbert looking on in silence. The result was that, after a -fortnight had passed, Chaytor had lost ten thousand pounds of his -ill-gotten wealth. - -Nearly half the fortune of which he had obtained fraudulent possession -was gone. With a gloomy countenance he counted what remained; his -heart was filled with bitterness towards his companion, whose design -it was to lead Chaytor on step by step until his ruin was complete. -For a little while Chaytor contemplated flight, but so unwearying was -the watch kept on him by Gilbert, that, had he nerved himself -determinedly to his design, he could not have put it in execution. -Besides, the thought of Annette held him back. No, he would not fly, -he would return to the Villa Bidaud, he would marry Annette, he would -compel Gilbert to make restitution of his niece's fortune, and then he -would bid farewell for ever to his evil genius and take Annette to -America, where he would commence a new life. - -"I have had enough of this," he said to Gilbert. "If I followed your -counsels any longer I should land in the gutter." - -"Not so, not so," responded the unruffled Gilbert; "if you were guided -by me you would land in a palace. See, now, I kept a record of the -numbers while you were so recklessly staking your money on this chance -and that, throwing away, like a madman, the certainty I offered you. -You know my system; sit down with these numbers before you, follow -them, back them according to my notation, and discover how you would -have got back all your losses, and been in the end a large gainer. I -leave you for an hour to the lesson I set you." - -Chaytor applied himself to the task, with a savage desire to prove by -mathematical demonstration that his associate had robbed him, and -finding that Gilbert was right and that by following the system he -would have recovered his money, cursed his luck, and Gilbert, and all -the world. His paroxysm of anger abated, a sense of comfort stole upon -him. When he had freed himself from the shackles which Gilbert had -thrown around him, when Annette was his and he and she were alone, he -would come back to Monte Carlo and carry out on his sole account the -system he had so foolishly abandoned. Then all the money that was won -would be his own: there would be no Gilbert Bidaud to cheat him of -half. "Have you verified my figures?" asked the old man, returning. -"Have you established your folly?" - -"No," replied Chaytor, thrusting the paper upon which he made his -calculations into his pocket, "you have deceived and tricked me." - -"Ah, ah," ejaculated Gilbert, in a light and pleasant tone, "I have -deceived and tricked you--and you have seen through me! Clever Basil, -clever Basil! I am as a child in your hands. Come, let us get back to -our dear Annette. Let us fly on the wings of love." - -They had not announced their intended return, and their arrival at the -villa Bidaud was therefore unexpected. The gates were unlocked for -them by a servant, and they entered the grounds. Gilbert took the keys -from the man, and relocked the gates. - -"You are precious careful," said Chaytor. "Are you frightened of -thieves?" - -"I am old," said Gilbert, with a smile; "I am losing my nerve. We -stopped at the post-house, did we not, to inquire for letters?" - -"We did." - -"You heard me speak to the woman?" - -"You were talking, I know, but I did not hear what passed between -you." - -"Your thoughts were on our sweet Annette. Why is she not here to -receive us? Why does she not fly into our arms? Ah, I forgot. We did -not write that we were coming. Yes, I spoke to the woman at the -post-house; I asked her for the news." - -"News in this den!" exclaimed Chaytor, scornfully. "One might as well -be out of the world." - -"Out of the world--yes, out of the world. Speak not of it; I have -passed the sixties." - -"I tell you what," said Chaytor, with a gloomy look around, "I don't -intend to keep here much longer. It is as much like a tomb as any -place I have ever seen." - -"There again, there again! Out of the world, and tombs. You mock the -old man. What was I saying when you interrupted me? Ah, about the -woman at the post-house. I asked her for news, and she told me that -three strangers had been seen this afternoon in the village." - -"Rare news that. She might have saved her breath." - -"Everything is news in these small villages. Now, why is it that my -mind dwells upon these strangers? Such visits are common enough. -Doubtless they are but passing through, and we shall hear no more of -them." - -"Then why keep talking about them?" - -"Gently, gently. I had a bad dream last night, I saw you pursued by -foes, and I hastened after you in my dreams to assist you." - -"More than you would do if you were awake." - -"You misjudge me. But to continue. How many foes were pursuing you? -Three. How many strangers appeared in the village this afternoon? -Three. See you any warning, any hidden danger in this?" - -"It is a coincidence, nothing more," replied Chaytor, with an uneasy -shifting of his body. "Look here--I am not going to stand this, you -know." - -"You are not going to stand what?" - -"This infernal badgering--this attempt to make me uncomfortable. -Haven't I enough to worry me as it is? What do I care about your -dreams and your three strangers?" - -"I want to make you comfortable--and happy; yes, very, very happy. And -you will be if you do not quarrel with me." - -"And if I _do_ quarrel with you?" - -Gilbert Bidaud toyed musingly with a charm on Chaytor's watch chain. -"Be advised. Keep friends with me, the best of friends. Old as I am, -it is not safe to quarrel with me." - -"Oh, tush!" cried Chaytor, vainly endeavouring to conceal his -discomposure. "Have you done with your post-woman and her three -strangers?" - -"Not quite. I made further inquiries about them and learnt all there -was to learn. They came to the village, they inquired for the Villa -Bidaud, they walked all round the walls, they lingered at the gate, -they looked up at the house, which, as you know, is not to be seen -from any part of the road, they talked together, they lingered still -longer, and then--they went away." - -"The King of France went up the hill," quoted Chaytor. "Shall I tell -you what I make of all this?" - -"Do." - -"The dream you had was of _your_ enemies, not mine. These three -strangers are interested in you, and not, by any remote possibility, -in me. They inquired for the Villa Bidaud--_your_ villa, _your_ name. -The fact is, my friend, something you have forgotten in the past has -been raked up against you, and these three strangers have come to -remind you of it." He laughed in great enjoyment at this turning of -the tables. - -"It is an ingenious theory," said Gilbert, composedly. "Something I -have forgotten in the past! But I have been so very, very careful. Is -it possible that anything can have escaped me? Perhaps, perhaps? We -cannot be for ever on our guard. Thank you for reminding me. You asked -me if I was frightened of thieves. Friend of my soul, I am frightened -of everything, of everybody. That is why I gave instructions that -these gates were never to be opened to strangers unless by my orders. -None can gain admittance here against my wish. It is a necessary -precaution. Ah, here is my sister." He saluted her on both cheeks, and -then inquired for Annette. - -"She keeps her room," was the answer. - -"Sick?" - -"In temper only." - -"She knows of our return?" - -"Yes, I informed her myself." - -"And her reply?" - -"She will come down later." - -Gilbert turned to Chaytor and said, "Our little one has a will and a -temper of her own, but you will tame her; yes, you will tame her." - -Chaytor said nothing; he did not like the signs, and the temptation -came again upon him to fly. But still the image of Annette acted as a -counterpoise--her very avoidance of him made the prize more precious. - -"Why did you not come to welcome us?" he asked, when at length she -made her appearance. - -"I was not well," she answered, with her eyes on the ground. - -"Are you better now?" - -"No." - -"This is a nice lover's greeting," he said. - -She shivered. He gazed frowningly at her, but she did not raise her -head. "I will break her spirit," he thought. - -Aloud he said, "You do not seem happy, Annette." - -"I am most unhappy." - -"Am I the cause?" he asked, and waited for the reply which did not -come. "It is clear then; do you wish to break the contract?" - -"Can I?" she said, with sudden eagerness. - -"No," he answered, roughly. "You are bound by the paper we signed." - -This was her own belief. With a sigh she turned away, and strove to -fix her mind upon a book. But the words swam before her eyes; she -turned over page after page mechanically, without the least -understanding of their sense. All at once her attention was arrested -by mention of a name--Old Corrie. For some reason of his own, Gilbert -Bidaud had directed the conversation he was holding with Chaytor to -the old Australian days, and he had just inquired whether Chaytor -could give him any information of Old Corrie. The old fellow's visit -to Emily's mother in Bournemouth had been made about the time that -Annette's feelings were undergoing a change towards the man to whom -she had engaged herself, as she believed, irrevocably. This would not -have been a sufficient cause for her not speaking of the visit to -Chaytor, but he had latterly expressed himself sick of Australia and -all allusions to it. - -"Don't speak of it again to me," he had said, pettishly, "or of -anybody I knew there." - -She obeyed him, and thus it was that he was ignorant of particulars, -the knowledge of which would have saved him from tripping on the -present occasion. - -"Corrie," said Chaytor, "the woodman? Oh, that old fool!" Annette -started. The brutal tone in which Chaytor spoke shocked her. "He's -dead; and a good riddance too." Annette covered her eyes with her -hands. Old Corrie was dead; he must have died lately--since his visit -to Bournemouth. How strange that the man who had just spoken had said -nothing to her of the good old man's death! She held her breath, and -listened in amazement to what followed. - -"Dead, eh?" said Gilbert, callously. "Long since?" - -"A good many years ago." - -"In Australia, then?" - -"Of course, in Australia." Gilbert would have dropped the subject, as -being of small interest; but, observing that Annette was listening to -the conversation with somewhat unusual attention, was impelled to say -something more upon it. - -"Did he leave any money behind him?" - -"Not a shilling. Drank it all away. He died in a fit of delirium -tremens." - -Annette rose from her chair in horror. - -"You saw him dead?" pursued Gilbert, maliciously. - -"I was with him at the time. You are mighty particular with your -questions." - -He was not aware that Annette had slowly approached him, and was only -made conscious of it by the touch of her hand on his arm. - -"Well?" he said. - -She looked steadily at him; every vestige of colour had fled from her -face, her eyes dilated, her lips were apart; thus they gazed at each -other in silence, and Gilbert, leaning back in his chair, watched them -closely. There was an accusing quality in Annette's steady gaze which -fascinated Chaytor, and the colour died out of his face as it had died -out of hers. His eyes began to shift, his limbs to twitch. - -"How is this going to end?" thought Gilbert Bidaud, his interest in -the scene growing. "My niece has the upper hand here. Faith, she has -the Bidaud blood in her." - -His suddenly-aroused pride in her was a personal tribute to himself. -For fully five minutes there was dead silence in the room; then -Annette removed her hand from Chaytor's arm, and quitted the -apartment. - -The spell broken, Chaytor jumped up in fury, and looked after her -retreating form. Turning to Gilbert, he cried: - -"The girl has lost her senses. Is there insanity in your family, M. -Gilbert Bidaud?" - -"We were ever remarkable," replied Gilbert, in a more serious tone -than that in which he generally spoke, "for well-balanced brains. It -is that which has kept us always on the safe side, which has enabled -us to swim while others sink. Instead of losing her senses, Annette, -perhaps, has come to them. I give you my honest word, there crept into -my mind, while you were playing that silent scene with her, a profound -admiration for the young lady, my niece. She has qualities of the -Bidaud type; I pay her tribute." He bowed towards the door, half -mockingly, half admiringly. - -"I don't want your honest word," cried Chaytor in wrath and fear, for -it dawned upon him that the ally upon whom he reckoned might declare -himself against him. "I want your plain meaning." - -"You shall have it," said Gilbert; "but as walls have ears, and there -may be danger--to you and not to me--in what you force me to say, I -propose that we adjourn to the lodge by the gates, where we may -exchange confidences in safety." - -He led the way to the grounds, and Chaytor followed him, as a whipped -dog follows its master. - - - - -CHAPTER XLII. - - -The lodge to which Gilbert Bidaud referred stood close to the gates -through which entrance was obtained to the house and grounds. It -contained four rooms, two above and two below, and was furnished for -residence. There were times when Gilbert himself occupied it, and it -was always kept ready for him, the two rooms below affording him all -the accommodation he required. Between these two rooms ran a narrow -passage, at the back end of which was a door, but seldom used, leading -out to the grounds. A staircase at the side of this passage led to the -rooms above. - -Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor had arrived at the villa late in the -day, and it was now night. Dark clouds had gathered, obscuring moon -and stars. - -"There will be a storm before sunrise," said Gilbert, as they reached -the front door of the lodge, which he unlocked and threw open. "Enter, -my dear friend." - -Chaytor uttered no word, and followed Gilbert into the passage. The -old man carefully locked the door, and the two men stood in darkness a -moment, listening. Then the master of Villa Bidaud turned the handle -of the door of the sitting-room, and stepping towards the window, -closed the shutters through which no chink of light could be seen from -without. Having thus secured themselves from observation, he struck a -match and lit a lamp, which threw a bright light around. In a basket -by the sideboard were some bottles of red wine, and glasses and -corkscrew were handy. Gilbert uncorked a bottle and put glasses on the -table. - -"Will you drink?" he asked. - -"Have you nothing stronger than this stuff?" asked Chaytor, in reply. - -"There is a bottle of brandy somewhere," said Gilbert, opening a door -in the sideboard. "Ah, here it is. I am glad that am able to -accommodate you. I am always glad to accommodate my friends." - -Chaytor half filled a tumbler with the spirit, and drank it neat. His -companion took the bottle, and replaced it in the cupboard. - -"You are a generous host," observed Chaytor. - -"It is not that," said Gilbert, genially. "It is that you need your -wits to understand my plain meaning. Will you sit or stand?" - -"I will do as I please." - -"Do so. Your pleasure is a law to me. Pardon me a moment's -consideration. I am debating by what name to address you." - -"My name is Basil Whittingham, as you well know." - -"How should I well know it? It is not my custom to accept men as they -present themselves. I judge for myself. Man is a study. I study him, -and each one who crosses my path and enters, for a time short or long, -into my life, affords me scope for observation and contemplation. As -you have done." - -"As I have done," said Chaytor, moodily. - -"As you have done," repeated Gilbert. - -"I suppose I may make one observation." - -"One! A dozen--a hundred. What you say shall be attentively received. -Be sure of that." - -"I recall," said Chaytor, "a conversation we had. You said you would -not pry into my secrets, and expressed a desire that I should not pry -into yours." - -"I remember. I said also something about our cupboards with their -skeletons, and that each should keep his key." - -"Yes--and you concluded with these words: 'What I choose to reveal, I -reveal; as with you. Beyond that boundary we do not step.' I am -correct in the quotation, I think?" - -"It is freely admitted. You have a retentive memory, and my -observations must have made an impression upon you." - -"I have not," said Chaytor, "attempted to pry into your secrets. Why -do you attempt to pry into mine?" - -"My dear friend," said Gilbert, in his blandest tone, "you forget. It -is by your invitation we are now conversing, and it is for your safety -I proposed we should converse here in secresy. You said to me, 'I want -your plain meaning.' If you have changed your mind, we will finish -now, this moment, and will return to our dear Annette." - -"No," said Chaytor, "we will not finish now. I will hear what you have -to say." - -"You are gracious. But pray believe me; I have not attempted to pry -into your secrets. You have yourself revealed yourself to me by a -thousand signs. I am a man gifted with a fair intelligence. I do not -say to my mind, Observe, it observes intuitively, without command or -direction. What is the result? I learn, not what you are, but what you -are not." - -"Indeed! And what am I not?" - -"Plainly?" - -"Quite plainly." - -"My dear friend," said Gilbert Bidaud, with a smile and a confident -nod, "you are not Basil Whittingham." - -"That is your game, is it?" cried Chaytor, but his heart was chilled -by the cold assurance of Gilbert's voice and manner. - -"Not my game--yours. I did not intrude upon you; you intruded upon me. -By your own design you came, and if there is a pit before you, it is -you, not I, who have dug it. But you can yet save yourself." - -"How?" said Chaytor involuntarily, and was instantly made aware of his -imprudence by the amused smile which his exclamation called up to -Gilbert's lips. "Curse it! I mean, what have I revealed, as you so -cleverly express it?" - -"I will tell you. You come to Paris, and play the spy upon us. You -take rooms opposite our hotel, and so arrange a foreground of -observation, that you can see what passes in our apartments without -dreaming that you have laid yourself open to observation." - -"Oh, you found that out, did you?" exclaimed Chaytor. - -"I found that out; and I found out also that you had been in Paris a -long, long time, although you declared to my niece, when you first -presented yourself to us, that you had but just arrived by the night -train. I take no merit for the discovery. You revealed it to me while -you were driving with your gay companions. I asked myself, 'Why this -lie? Why this secret espionage?' and since then it is that I found the -answer. Naturally we spoke of Australia; naturally I recalled the -incidents of my first meeting with Basil Whittingham on my brother's -plantation. They were incidents it was not possible to forget by -either of us, and yet, dear friend, you were entirely ignorant of -them; indeed, you scoffed at me for inventing what never occurred. In -this way did you again reveal to me, not what you are, but what you -are not. Finding your memory so treacherous, I set a trap, frankly I -confess it, a simple, innocent trap, which you, being Basil -Whittingham, would have stepped over without injury to yourself. In -that case it would have been I, not you, who would have had to eat -humble pie--is not that your English saying? I invented scenes and -incidents in our meeting and brief acquaintanceship in Australia to -which you put your seal. On my word, it was as good as a comedy, these -imaginary conversations and incidents of my conjuring up, and you -saying, 'Yes, yes, I remember, I remember.' Fie, fie, dear friend, it -was clumsy of you. Again, those English newspapers, with their -celebrated case which you were so greedy to peruse. Your explanation -did not blind me. I knew why you bought and read them so eagerly. -There were here to my hand the pieces of a puzzle not difficult to put -together. Let me tell you--you deceived not one of us completely. My -sister says, 'That man is not Basil Whittingham.' My niece says no -word--her grief is too great--she suffers, through you, a martyrdom; -but she doubts you none the less. Some strong confirmation--I know not -what--of her doubts you presented her with this very night when you -spoke so freely of Old Corrie's death." - -"Curse you!" cried Chaytor. "You drew me on." - -"Could I guess what was coming when his name was introduced? Could I -divine what you were about to say? Take this from me, my friend; my -niece knows something of Old Corrie which neither you nor I know, and -when she placed her hand on your arm, and looked into those eyes of -yours which shifted and wavered beneath her gaze, you felt as I felt, -that she accused you of lying. Even her maid, Emily, who never set -eyes on Basil Whittingham, believes not in you. And the fault is all -your own. It is you, and you alone, who have supplied the evidence -against yourself. I see in your face an intention of blustering and -denying. Abandon it, dear friend. So far as we are concerned, the game -is up." - -"So you mean to say that you withdraw from the marriage contract -between me and Annette?" - -"It is not I who withdraw; it is she, who will choose death rather. -She may consider herself bound--I cannot say; but she and you will -never stand side by side at the altar." - -"The best thing I can do is to make myself scarce." - -"That is, to disappear?" - -"You can express it in those words if you choose. Mind, I do not leave -your hospitable abode because I am afraid. What is there to be afraid -of? I can afford to laugh at what you have said, which is false from -beginning to end, but I am sick of your ways. You have done pretty -well out of me; you are a cunning old bird, and you have feathered -your nest with my feathers. I calculate that you have at least five -thousand pounds of my money in your pocket." - -"Of your money?" queried Gilbert, with a quiet smile. - -"Of my money." - -"No, no; whatever else we do let us be truthful. Of Basil -Whittingham's money." - -"Oh, you can stick to that fiction as long as you like. Have you -anything else to say to me?" - -"Yes. You are not free to go yet." - -"What! Will you stop me?" - -"No; I will follow you, and will accuse you publicly. We will have the -case in the papers, and you shall have an opportunity of clearing -yourself of the accusation I bring against you. Basil Whittingham -maybe alive; Old Corrie may be alive; people who know really who you -are may be alive, and they shall all be found to be brought forward to -acquit or condemn you. If you want noise, fuss, publicity, you shall -have them. There is, however, an alternative." - -"Let me hear it." - -"Not being Basil Whittingham, you have committed forgery by affixing -his name to two documents in my possession. Not being Basil -Whittingham, you have obtained by fraud the fortune which was his. So -apprehensive of detection are you, that you would not deposit this -money in a bank, as a right-minded gentleman would have done, but you -carry it about with you, in secret pockets, on your person." Chaytor -started. "I could put my finger on the precise spots in which Basil -Whittingham's fortune is concealed. It is again you, dear friend, who -have revealed this to me. You have a habit of raising your hand--you -are doing it unconsciously at this moment--to your side, to your -breast, to assure yourself that the money is safe. Shall we make -terms?" - -"Name them." - -"I do not desire to know the amount of your wealth; I think only of -myself, and of what the secret in my possession is worth. Shall we say -five thousand pounds?" - -"You may say five thousand pounds," blustered Chaytor, and then suddenly -paused, overwhelmed by the sense of power in his companion's smiling -face. "Hang it," he said presently, "give me some brandy." - -Gilbert Bidaud produced the bottle, and, as Newman Chaytor gulped the -liquor down, repeated, "Shall we say five thousand pounds?" - -"I will give you one," said Chaytor faintly. "Five. Decide quickly. -Observe, I take out my watch; it wants two minutes to the hour. If at -the end of these two minutes you do not agree, I shall double the -terms. By this time you know me, and know that you cannot with safety -trifle with me." - -Chaytor stepped forward and looked at the second-hand, his mind dazed -with whirling thought. Should he refuse? Should he show fight? Did he -dare to risk the exposure which Gilbert threatened? - -"It wants thirty seconds yet," said Gilbert, calmly? -"they are precious moments, these that are flying so fast? -Twenty--fifteen--ten--five----" - -"I consent to be robbed," said Chaytor, hurriedly. He did not dare to -fight. - -"Good," said Gilbert, putting the watch back in his pocket. "The -bargain must be completed to-night, after which without loss of time, -I should advise you to disappear. I will make excuses to my niece; she -will not be anxious to see your face again. Nor shall I. At midnight, -here, we will meet again, for the last time, and after you have -purchased safety we will bid each other an eternal farewell. I will -have a horse ready for you, on which you can ride to--where you -please. Let us now return to the bosom of my beloved family; a longer -absence may arouse suspicion." - - - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - - -During the visit of Gilbert and Chaytor to Monte Carlo some important -action had been taken by Annette's staunch maid, Emily. Loyal to the -backbone to her young mistress, she had fully sympathised with her in -her unhappiness, and had gone farther than Annette, in her reflections -upon the future. She saw that a marriage with a man to whom Annette -had pledged herself would result in lifelong misery, and she set her -mind to work to consider how the dreadful consequence could be -averted. She saw but one way to accomplish this; she and her mistress -must fly from the Villa Bidaud. She did not moot this project to -Annette, for whenever she commenced to speak upon the subject of the -approaching union Annette stopped her, and would not listen to what -she had to say. "But at the last moment," thought the faithful maid, -"when she sees that there is no other escape for her, she will agree -to fly with me from this horrible place. We will go to mother in -Bournemouth; she will be safer there than in these wicked foreign -countries." Having reached thus far in her deliberations she did not -pursue them farther; she was not an argumentative person, and she was -comfortably satisfied with the general reflection that, after that, -things would be sure to come all right. Such a belief is common with -numbers of worthy people when they are considering knotty questions, -and if it evidences no deep powers of mental analysis, is at all -events a proof of the possession of an inherent dependence upon the -goodness of Providence--which, in its way, is a kind of religion not -to be despised. - -With a certain conclusion in her mind, Annette busied herself as to -the means of carrying it out when the proper time arrived. By Gilbert -Bidaud's orders the gates were kept locked, and the duty of opening -them devolved upon a man who did all the outdoor work in the house and -grounds. Emily's advances towards this man met with no response; other -means, therefore, must be tried. She had always been successful in -making friends outside Gilbert Bidaud's establishment, through whom -she obtained her letters from home, and the friend she had made in the -village in which the Villa Bidaud was situated was the woman who kept -the post-house. It was a matter easily arranged. Annette was a liberal -mistress, and Emily was a saving girl; a judicious system of small -bribes effected all that Emily desired in this respect. Twice or -thrice every week she visited the post-mistress to enquire for -letters, and these visits were made in the night, the darkest hours -being chosen. The gates being locked she could not get out that way, -and she sought another mode of egress. She found it in the lodge in -which Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor held their conference. There -was a secure lock on the front door, of which Gilbert, or his sister, -kept the key, but the lock on the back door was frail, and Emily -discovered how to manage it, so that she could get in and out of the -lodge without any person being the wiser. Once inside the lodge Emily -would creep up the stairs to the first floor, the window of the back -room of which almost touched the stone wall which ran round the -grounds. This wall was some seven feet in height, but there were -dilapidations in it which served for foot-holes, and by means of these -luckily-formed steps the courageous girl was enabled to pass to and -fro and make the desired visits to the post-mistress. Of course there -was the danger of discovery, but Emily was a girl in a thousand, and -the extraordinary care she took in these enterprises was a fair -guarantee of safety. The lonely situation of the house assisted her; -there were nights when, for hours together, not a human being -traversed the narrow road into which the front gate opened. - -On the night of the secret interview between Gilbert and Chaytor, -Emily had planned a visit to the post-mistress. She made her way into -the lodge unobserved, crept up the stairs in the dark, and was about -to open the back window, when her attention was arrested by a sound -below, which, as she afterwards described, sent her heart into her -mouth. It was the sound of the unlocking of the front door. Emily's -heart went rub-a-dub with the fear that she was discovered, but as the -slow minutes passed without anything occurring, her fear lessened, and -she became sufficiently composed to give attention to the -circumstances. Softly opening the door which led to the staircase, she -heard voices in a room below which she recognised as those of Gilbert -Bidaud and the man who called himself Basil Whittingham. What had they -come there to say? Why could they not have spoken in the house? They -must be hatching some plot against her young mistress. At all hazards, -she would try to hear what they were saying to each other. Quietly, -very quietly, she descended the stairs, setting her feet down with the -greatest care, and pausing between each step. A cat could not have -trod more noiselessly than she. At length she reached the door beyond -which the conversation was taking place, and crouching down she -applied her eye to the keyhole. There were the two men, one with a -smile on his face, the other, dark and sinister; and Emily observed -that they were not standing side by side, but that a broad table was -between them. This precaution had been taken by Gilbert, who was quite -prepared for any sudden attempt at violence on Chaytor's part. - -Emily was too late to hear all that was said, but she heard enough. -Had she not exercised control over her feelings she would have -screamed with mingled joy and horror; as it was, the tears ran down -her face as fast as she wiped them away, for she wanted to see as much -as she could. The brave girl thanked God that a fortunate conjuncture -had made her a witness of the interview between the two villains. Now, -certainly, her dear mistress was saved, and she the instrument to -avert the misery with which she was threatened; for it was not alone -the projected marriage which was breaking Annette's heart, but the -loss of faith in the purity and nobility of Basil's nature. Emily -waited very nearly to the end; she saw Gilbert take out his watch and -count the moments, she heard the bargain agreed to and the second -interview at midnight planned, and then, just in time, she crept up -the stairs as softly as she had crept down, and waited in the room -above until the two men left the lodge. - -What now should she do? Return to the house, and acquaint Annette with -what she had heard, or go to the post-mistress to see if there was a -letter for her? If she went straight to Annette she might not have -another opportunity of getting out that night; besides, she expected a -letter from her mother, and was anxious for it. She decided to go -first to the post-mistress; Annette knew that she would be away for -some little while, and had said, "I shall wait up for you, Emily." - -She threw open the window, and climbed on to the wall, and down into -the road. It was very dark, and as Gilbert Bidaud had prognosticated, -a storm was gathering, but Emily knew her way well to the post-office, -and was not afraid of darkness. So she sped along under the waving -branches and over black shadows till she arrived at her destination. -Once on her way she was startled; she thought she saw something more -substantial than shadow moving by the road side, but after pausing to -look and listen her alarm subsided; all was quiet and still. - -There was no light in the post-house, which was little better than a -cottage, but Emily did not expect to see one. She tapped at the -shutters, and a woman's voice from within asked if that was "Miss -Emily." The girl answering in the affirmative, a woman appeared at the -door and bade her enter. - -"Have you a letter for me?" said Emily. - -"Yes," the woman replied, "she had a letter for her," and produced it. - -"Why," cried Emily, "this is not from England?" No, said the woman, it -was not from England, and explained that a gentleman had visited her -in the evening, and had made enquiries concerning the Villa Bidaud and -its inmates. Hearing that Miss Annette Bidaud was there, he had then -inquired for the young lady's maid, mentioning her by name, Miss Emily -Crawford. The gentleman asked if the post-mistress was likely to see -the girl, and whether she could convey a letter to her secretly that -night or early in the morning. The post-mistress said she could not -promise to do so that night, but she would endeavour to convey the -letter in the morning, and added that it was not unlikely Miss Emily -would come before them to inquire for letters. "If she does," said the -gentleman, "give her this, and ask her to read it here, before she -goes back to the villa. It is a letter of the utmost importance, and -it must fall into no other hands than Miss Emily's." The post-mistress -concluded by saying that the gentleman had paid her well for the -service, and that she was sure there was something very particular in -the letter. - -Emily, although burning with impatience, listened quietly to the tale, -holding the letter tight in her hand all the time, and when the woman -had done speaking asked only one question. - -"Was the gentleman an Englishman?" - -"Yes," replied the woman; "he was an Englishman." - -Then Emily opened the letter, and read: - - -"My Dear Miss Emily Crawford,--The writer of this is Old Corrie, Miss -Annette's sincere and faithful friend. He has seen your mother in -Bournemouth, and has come here post haste to defeat a plot to ruin -your dear young mistress's happiness. He has a gentleman with him -little lady will be glad to see. If you get this letter to-night, -don't be frightened if Old Corrie speaks to you as you go back to the -Villa Bidaud. Not an hour should be lost to unmask the villain and -secure little lady's happiness. You are a brave, good girl. If you -don't get this letter till the morning, come at once to the back of -the school-house, where you will see little lady's true friend, - -"Old Corrie." - - -The letter had been composed partly by Basil and partly by Old Corrie, -who had written it himself. Emily's eyes sparkled as she read. She -bade the post-mistress good-night, thanked her for the letter, said it -contained good news, and went away with a heart as light as a bird's. -So light, indeed, that she carolled softly to herself as she stepped -very, very slowly along the dark, narrow road, and the words she -carolled were: - -"I am Emily Crawford, and I have got your letter. Where are you, dear -Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie?" The song could not have -been put into lines that would scan, but blither, happier words with -true poetry in them, were never sung by human voice. - -"Where are you, dear Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie?" -sang the girl, and paused and listened, and went on again, singing. - -"Here I am," said a kindly voice, "and God bless you for a true -heart!" - -"Stop a moment, please," said the girl; who now that the reality was -close by her side, could not help feeling startled. "Are you sure you -are Old Corrie, my dear mistress's friend from Australia? The -gentleman with a bear, you know?" - -"You do well to doubt," said Old Corrie, "with what is going on around -you in this outlandish country. I am the man I say. Stand still while -I strike a light, so that you can see me. We have a bull's-eye lantern -with us. Is little lady well?" - -"Her heart is breaking," said Emily. "But I have good news for her -before she sleeps to-night." - -"And so have we, my dear, if you can get us to her." - -"Let me hold the lantern, Mr. Corrie, said Emily. - -"No, my dear, you might drop it; there is a surprise in store for you -and for everyone in the villa yonder with its stone walls. There, the -lamp's alight, and you can see my face, dark as the night is. Do you -think you can trust me?" - -"Yes, I do, and it was only out of curiosity I wanted to look at you." -And then Emily cried, "Oh!" - -"What is it, my dear?" asked Old Corrie. - -"There is another," said Emily, gasping. - -"There are two others; we have come prepared." - -He whispered something in her ear which caused her to cry "Oh!" more -than once, and to clap her hands in wonderment. - -"May I see him?" she asked in a whisper. - -The answer was given by Basil himself, who came forward and took her -by the hand, while the light, directed by Old Corrie, shone upon his -face. - -"It is wonderful, wonderful!" she exclaimed, and added under her -breath, "But I think I should have known." - -In the expression of which opinion she paid a higher tribute to her -judgment than she could have rightly claimed for it; but this, at such -a time and in such circumstances, was a small matter. - -Mr. Philpott, who had been standing silently in the rear, now joined -the party. - -"Don't be frightened, my dear," said Old Corrie; "there are no more of -us. What we've got to do now is to decide what is to be done, how is -it to be done, and when is it to be done." - -"First," interposed Mr. Philpott, to whom, by tacit consent, the -command had been given, "Miss Emily will perhaps give us an -explanation of certain words she spoke a minute ago. Are we quite -private here, Miss Emily?" - -"It's hardly likely," replied Emily, "that a living soul will pass -along this road till daybreak." - -"So much the better. You said just now that Miss Bidaud's heart was -breaking, but that you had good news for her before she went to sleep -to-night. Did you mean by that that our arrival here was the good -news?" - -"No, I meant something very different, something that you ought to -know before you decide what to do." - -"I thought as much. Well, let us hear it, my girl." - -Thereupon Emily related all that she had overheard between Gilbert -Bidaud and Newman Chaytor. It was difficult for Basil to curb his -excitement, and whenever an indignant exclamation passed his lips, -Emily paused in sympathy, but he was too sensible of the value of time -to frequently interrupt her, and as she spoke quickly, her tale did -not occupy many minutes. - -"This story," said Mr. Philpott, with a beaming face, "decides what is -to be done, and how and when. The road is prepared for us by the -villains themselves. It is a bold move I am about to suggest, but to -adopt half-and-half measures with these scoundrels would be -ridiculous." - -Basil and Old Corrie said they were prepared for any move, however -bold and daring, and were only too eager to undertake it. - -"We mustn't be to eager," said Mr. Philpott; "cool and steady is our -watchword. Now, Miss Emily, can you get us into the grounds of the -villa to-night?" - -"If I can get in," said the girl, "you can get in." - -"And one of us into the lodge where the scoundrels are to meet at -midnight?" - -"Yes," said Emily, unhesitatingly. - -"You are a girl after my own heart," said Mr. Philpott, admiringly. -"There is a risk, you know, and you will have a share in it. It -wouldn't be right for me to deceive you." - -"I don't mind the risk," said the courageous girl. "I want to help to -save my dear young lady from these wretches and monsters." - -"God bless you, Emily," said Basil, pressing her hand, and Emily felt -that she needed no other reward. - -Mr. Philpott then described his plan. Guided by Emily, they were all -to get into the grounds, when their forces were to be thus disposed -of: Basil and Old Corrie were to hide in the grounds as close as -possible to the back door of the lodge; they were not to move or -speak; Emily was to return to the house, and impart to Annette all -that she knew, and in this way prepare her for what was to follow; -both Annette and her maid were to be ready to come from the house to -the lodge upon a given signal; Mr. Philpott was to conceal himself in -one of the upper rooms of the lodge, and no movement whatever was to -be made until he blew loudly upon a policeman's whistle. The moment -this signal was given, Basil and Old Corrie were to enter the lodge -through the back door, which Emily would leave unlocked, but properly -closed, so as to excite no suspicion in the minds of Gilbert Bidaud -and Newman Chaytor--and proceed at once to the lower room, in which -these men were located; and Annette and Emily were to leave the house -and come immediately to the lodge. - -"All this," said Mr. Philpott aside to Basil, "is not exactly lawful, -and if Mr. Bidaud and Mr. Chaytor had right on their side we should -get into trouble. But we have the whip hand of them and are safe. I -anticipate very little difficulty, only neither of our men must be -allowed to escape until we have settled with them." - -The party proceeded to the villa, Emily walking a little ahead with -Basil, to whom she imparted how matters stood with her young mistress. - -"Her heart was truly breaking," said the girl, "and she could never -have lived through it, never! But she will soon be her dear, bright -self again. All, sir, she is the sweetest lady that ever drew -breath--and O, how these wretches have made her suffer! But there is -happiness coming to her. I could sing for joy, indeed I could, sir!" - - - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - - -All was still in house and grounds and lodge. The dark clouds were -growing black, but the storm had not yet burst. A clock in the hall -struck twelve, and, as if the chimes had called them forth, Gilbert -and Chaytor issued from the house, and walked to their rendezvous. -Each man was occupied with his own special thoughts, and each kept a -wary eye upon the other's shadowed form. - -"I left the door of the lodge open," said Gilbert. "Enter." - -"After you," said Chaytor. - -"Pardon me," said Gilbert, "after you." - -Chaytor laughed and stepped into the passage. Gilbert followed, -pausing to light a small lamp he carried in his hand. Upon entering -the room he lit the larger lamp on the table, on one side of which he -placed himself, Chaytor being on the other. - -"You seem to be afraid of me," said Chaytor. - -"I do not trust you," responded Gilbert. - -"There is small temptation for trustfulness between such men as we," -said Chaytor. Gilbert nodded quietly. "Well, you have your game, and -have won a pretty large stake. Can't you be satisfied with what you -have got?" - -"You know my terms; the time for discussing them has gone by." - -"But there was something forgotten. You made me sign two documents, -and you have spoken of forgery." - -"You are correct. The production of these documents with the name of -Basil Whittingham attached to them in your handwriting would be -sufficient to convict you." - -"For that reason I do not choose to leave them in your possession. If -I pay you the five thousand pounds you are robbing me of you will have -to give them up." - -"They are here," said Gilbert, producing them, "and will be useless to -me when you are gone. You can have them and welcome when the money is -paid. You go to-night." - -"I go to-night, and hope never to set eyes upon you or yours again." - -"My dear friend," said Gilbert, with a courteous bow, "the hope is -reciprocal. Let us not prolong this interview. Open your bank and -purchase freedom." - -Chaytor unbuttoned his waistcoat, and from an inner pocket extracted -two bundles of bank notes. Gilbert held out his hand. - -"No, no, old fox," said Chaytor. "There are three times five thousand -pounds here." He looked at Gilbert savagely. - -"If," said the old man, laughing lightly, "by a wish you could burn me -to ashes where I stand, you would breathe that wish willingly." - -"Most willingly." - -"But why? I am dealing tenderly, mercifully by you. In right and -justice this money belongs not to you. It belongs to Basil -Whittingham. If he were here he could take possession of it, and -neither you nor I would care to gainsay him. It being, therefore, as -much mine as yours, I let you off lightly by demanding so small a sum. -Come, let us finish the comedy; it is time the curtain fell. Count out -the price of liberty, the price of my silence, and let us take an -affectionate farewell of each other." - -"Are you sure we are alone?" - -"Do you think I would reveal our conspiracy to a third person? In my -pleasant house every human being is asleep; they dream not of the -grief which will fill their hearts to-morrow when they learn that you -have departed." - -"Give me the papers I have signed. Here is your share of the robbery. -You had better count it to make sure." - -As Gilbert bent over the table to count the notes, Chaytor, with a -swift movement, drew a heavy life-preserver from his breast, and aimed -a murderous blow at the old man's head. But Gilbert was too quick for -him; he had but one eye on the money he was fingering, the other was -furtively watching his companion. He darted back, and so escaped the -blow; the weapon descended upon the table, and this shock and the -violent movements of the men overturned the lamps, the light of which -was instantly extinguished. Each man had but one hand disengaged, -Chaytor holding the life-preserver and Gilbert a pistol, which he had -brought with him as a protection against treachery. The moment the -room was in darkness the two disengaged hands groped over the table -for the money, and were fiercely clasped. And now a surprising -incident occurred. Upon these two hands a third hand was laid, and -before they could free themselves were handcuffed together. -Simultaneously with this startling and secure manacling of their hands -the pistol was knocked from Gilbert's grasp and the life-preserver -from Chaytor's; and then a shrill whistle pierced the air and drove -the blood from the cheeks of the conspirators. Hurried sounds of steps -resounded through the passage. - -"This way!" cried Mr. Philpott. "The door is open. Strike a light." - -But a light came from another quarter. A vivid flash of lightning -illuminated the apartment, and in that flash Newman Chaytor beheld the -form of Basil Whittingham, whose death he believed he had compassed on -the gold field across the seas. His face grew livid, a heavy groan -escaped his lips, and his head fell forward on the table. - -"See if you can relight one of the lamps," said Mr. Philpott. - -Both the lamps were soon lighted, the glass of only one having been -broken. Then Gilbert Bidaud, who had uttered no word during this -succession of startling incidents, saw two men whose faces were -strange to him, and one whose face he recognised. Manacled as he was -to his insensible partner in crime, and unable to release himself, he -instantly regained his self-possession. - -"If I mistake not," he said, in a tone of exceeding urbanity, "Mr. -Basil Whittingham, whose acquaintance I had the pleasure of making on -my brother's plantation in Australia. I suspected from the first that -this log lying here was an impostor. It is but a sorry welcome I am -able to give you, in consequence of the unlawful proceedings of a -ruffian"--he glanced at Mr. Philpott--"who shall answer for the -assault in a court of law." - -"Do not say one word to him, sir," interposed Mr. Philpott, seeing -that Basil was about to speak; "leave him to me; I know how to deal -with such cattle. I promise to tame him before I have done with him." - -"It will be well for you to bear in mind," said Gilbert, still -addressing Basil, "that this is my house, and that you are trespassing -illegally upon my property. However, for the sake of old times, and -for the sake of my niece, I am agreeable to waive that, and come to an -amicable settlement with you." - -"He speaks very good English for a foreigner," said Mr. Philpott, -"and, I'll wager, understands the law as well as we do. I am an -officer of the law"--(Mr. Philpott was satisfied that he was quite -safe in indulging in this fiction)--"and I tell him plainly that he as -laid himself open to a criminal action for conspiracy." - -"Shall I not have the pleasure," said Gilbert to Basil, ignoring Mr. -Philpott, "of hearing what you have to say in response to the flag of -peace I hold out?" - -"He is a shrewd customer, sir," said Mr. Philpott, "and if this flag -of peace means absolute and unconditional surrender I am ready to -consider it. It may interest him to learn that we are in possession of -all the particulars of the interview which took place between him and -the insensible party he is fastened to, and of the bargain they made -to share your money. That tickles him, I see, but it is only one out -of a handful of trumps we happen to hold. I will take care of these -notes"--he gathered them up--"and we will go into accounts later on." - -"Unless my ears deceive me," said Gilbert, "I hear the voice of my -niece's maid in the passage. Doubtless my niece accompanies her. Do -you think it seemly that she shall be a witness of this scene?" - -"Corrie," said Basil, "take one of the lamps, and keep Miss Bidaud -outside; I will come to her immediately. Allow me, Mr. Philpott; it -will shorten matters if I say a word." He addressed Gilbert Bidaud. -"You and your confederate have laid yourselves open to serious -consequences, and if I consent to an arrangement which will keep the -bad work that has been going on, and of which I was made the victim, -from exposure in the public courts, it is to spare the feelings of a -sweet and suffering young lady whose happiness you would have -wrecked." - -"My niece," said Gilbert, nodding his head. "As you say, a sweet young -lady, and she has been made to suffer by this villain. We have all -been made to suffer; we have all been his victims. But for your -arrival he would have murdered me. He can no longer impose on me; I -arrange myself on your side, against him. To my regret I perceive that -he has partially recovered his senses, and, while simulating -insensibility, is listening to what we are saying; his cunning is of -the lowest order. It is my earnest wish to make such an arrangement as -you suggest; it will be to my advantage, that is why I agree. Instruct -your man to release me." - -"Set him loose, Mr. Philpott," said Basil, "and see what you can do. I -put the matter unreservedly into your hands. Do not allow either of -them to leave the room. They will pass the night here. To-morrow, if -Miss Bidaud wishes it, she will quit this prison----" - -"No, no," interrupted Gilbert, good-humouredly, "not a prison--not a -prison." - -"--For England." - -"She shall have my free consent," said Gilbert. "Take that in writing, -Mr. Philpott. And there must be restitution, in some part, of the -inheritance her father left her." - -"In some part, that shall be done." - -"If it is any punishment to the wretch," said Basil, who saw that -Newman Chaytor was conscious and attentive, "who conspired against the -man who trusted in him, and treacherously endeavoured to compass his -death, to learn that had he followed the straight road he would have -known long since that his unhappy father died wealthy, let him learn -it now. You have a copy, Mr. Philpott, of the last letter written to -him by his father. Give it to him, that he may read the bitter words -written on the death-bed of one whom he should have loved and -honoured. His good mother died with her head upon my breast, and if he -escapes the punishment he deserves and has richly earned, he will owe -his escape to the kind memories I have of her who rescued me from -death in the London streets." - -"A noble man," murmured Gilbert Bidaud as Basil left the room, "A -gentleman. How is it possible that I allowed myself to be deceived for -an hour by so miserable a counterfeit!" - - - * * * * * * - - -When Basil joined his friends in the passage, Old Corrie touched -Emily's arm, and slight as was the action, she understood it, and -following him into the room in which Mr. Philpott and the two men they -had surprised were conferring, left Basil and Annette together. Old -Corrie had placed the lamp on a bracket, and by its dim light our hero -and heroine were enabled to see each other. Basil's eyes were fixed -earnestly upon Annette, but her agitation was too profound to meet his -loving gaze. His heart was filled with pity for the faithful girl who -had been for years the victim of Newman Chaytor's foul plot; her -drooping head, her modest attitude, her hands clasped supplicatingly -before her, made his pity and his love for her almost too painful to -bear. - -"Annette," he said softly, "will you not look at me?" - -She raised her eyes to his face, and he saw that they were filled with -tears. - -"Can you forgive me, Basil?" she whispered. - -"Forgive you, dear Annette!" he exclaimed, taking her hands in his, -"it is I who ought to ask forgiveness for believing that you could -forget me." - -"Never for a single day," she murmured, "have I forgotten you. Through -all these years you have been to me the star of hope which made life -bright for me. Oh, Basil, Basil! it seems as if you have lifted me -from death to life. The world was so dark, so dark-----" - -"It shall be dark no more dear," he said, his voice trembling with -excess of tenderness. "Until you bid me leave you I will be ever by -your side. I consecrate my life to you. What man can do to compensate -for the suffering you have endured, that will I do in truth, and -honour, and love." - -He placed his arms about her, and she laid her head upon his breast. -There are joys too sacred for utterance, and such joy did Basil and -Annette feel as they stood clasped in each other's arms on that dark -and solemn night. - - -* * * * * * - - -What more need be told? Radiant and happy, with faith restored, they -commenced their new life hand-in-hand. Those who had conspired against -them, and whose evil designs had been frustrated, went out into the -world unpunished by man; they and their intended victims never met -again. The business matters it was necessary to arrange were settled -by Basil's lawyers, who saved from the wreck a sufficient competence. -All who had served him and Annette were amply rewarded. In Mr. -Philpott's family their names were names to conjure with; Emily -remained with them till she found a sweetheart and a home of her own; -and Old Corrie was prevailed upon to live in a cottage near them, -attached to which was a piece of land which afforded him profitable -employment. He talked sometimes of returning to Australia, or of -buying another performing bear, but he did not carry either project -into execution. Often and often would the three friends talk of the -old days on the plantation, and call up reminiscences of the happy and -primitive life they enjoyed there; and then Old Corrie would steal -away and leave the lovers together; for, though they were man and -wife, they were lovers still, and lovers will remain--purified and -sweetened by their trials--till they are called to their rest. - - - -THE END. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil and Annette, by B. L. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/53224-8.zip b/old/53224-8.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f2d1bbf..0000000 --- a/old/53224-8.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53224-h.zip b/old/53224-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index dc0b16d..0000000 --- a/old/53224-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/53224-h/53224-h.htm b/old/53224-h/53224-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index ac4505a..0000000 --- a/old/53224-h/53224-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15587 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> -<html> -<head> -<title>Basil and Annette.</title> -<meta name="Author" content="B. L. Farjeon"> - -<meta name="Publisher" content="F. V. White & Co."> -<meta name="Date" content="1891"> -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1"> -<style type="text/css"> -body {margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;} - - -p.normal {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;} -p.center {text-align: center} -p.right {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;} - -p.continue {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;} - -h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {text-align: center;} - -span.sc {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:110%;} -span.sc2 {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:90%;} - -hr.W10 {width:10%; color:black; margin-top:0pt; margin-bottom:0pt} - -hr.W20 {width:20%; color:black; margin-top:12pt; margin-bottom:12pt} - -hr.W50 {width:50%; color:black;} -hr.W90 {width:90%; color:black;} - -p.hang1 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-3em;} -p.hang2 {margin-left:3em; text-indent:0em;} - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil and Annette, by B. L. Farjeon - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Basil and Annette - A Novel - -Author: B. L. Farjeon - -Release Date: October 6, 2016 [EBook #53224] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BASIL AND ANNETTE *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by -Google Books (The University of California) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Notes:<br> -1. Page Scan Source:<br> -https://books.google.com/books?id=xytLAAAAIAAJ<br> -(The University of California)</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>BASIL AND ANNETTE.</h3> -<br> -<h5>A Novel.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><span class="sc">By</span> B. L. FARJEON,</h4> - -<h5>AUTHOR OF "GREAT PORTER SQUARE," "TOILERS OF BABYLON,"<br> -"A YOUNG GIRL'S LIFE," "THE MYSTERY OF M. FELIX," &c.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><i>IN ONE VOLUME</i>.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><span style="font-size:smaller">LONDON:</span><br> -F. V. WHITE & CO.,<br> -31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.<br> -1891.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h5>PRINTED BY<br> -KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS W.C.,<br> -AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.</h5> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>CONTENTS.</h4> -<br> -<div style="margin-left:20%"> -<p class="continue"> -<a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">CHAPTER I.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">CHAPTER II.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">CHAPTER III.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_04" href="#div1_04">CHAPTER IV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_05" href="#div1_05">CHAPTER V.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_06" href="#div1_06">CHAPTER VI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_07" href="#div1_07">CHAPTER VII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_08" href="#div1_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_09" href="#div1_09">CHAPTER IX.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_10" href="#div1_10">CHAPTER X.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_11" href="#div1_11">CHAPTER XI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_12" href="#div1_12">CHAPTER XII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_13" href="#div1_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_14" href="#div1_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_15" href="#div1_15">CHAPTER XV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_16" href="#div1_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_17" href="#div1_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_18" href="#div1_18">CHAPTER XVIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_19" href="#div1_19">CHAPTER XIX.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_20" href="#div1_20">CHAPTER XX.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_21" href="#div1_21">CHAPTER XXI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_22" href="#div1_22">CHAPTER XXII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_23" href="#div1_23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_24" href="#div1_24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_25" href="#div1_25">CHAPTER XXV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_26" href="#div1_26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_27" href="#div1_27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_28" href="#div1_28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_29" href="#div1_29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_30" href="#div1_30">CHAPTER XXX.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_31" href="#div1_31">CHAPTER XXXI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_32" href="#div1_32">CHAPTER XXXII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_33" href="#div1_33">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_34" href="#div1_34">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_35" href="#div1_35">CHAPTER XXXV.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_36" href="#div1_36">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_37" href="#div1_37">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_38" href="#div1_38">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_39" href="#div1_39">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_40" href="#div1_40">CHAPTER XL.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_41" href="#div1_41">CHAPTER XLI.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_42" href="#div1_42">CHAPTER XLII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_43" href="#div1_43">CHAPTER XLIII.</a><br> -<a name="div1Ref_44" href="#div1_44">CHAPTER XLIV.</a></p> -</div> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h3>BASIL AND ANNETTE.</h3> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">CHAPTER I.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">In the old world the reign of winter has commenced. The woods -are snow-white, the hedges are frosted over, the pools are frozen, icicles hang -from the branches of the trees. Wayfarers walk briskly, stamp their feet, and -beat their hands to keep the circulation going; while other humans, whom -business does not call from their houses, snuggle round the fireside, with doors -and windows closed to keep out the nipping air. Winged immigrants that came in -the sweet spring days have long since taken their departure to warmer climes, -bearing with them memories of a bright youth, to be renewed when another spring -smiles upon the land.</p> - -<p class="normal">In the new world, at the same moment, it is nature's holiday -time. The air is scented with the fragrance of white lilies and jessamine; -fringed violets carpet the woods; the wild passion fruit, with its gleaming -scarlet flowers, illuminates the bushes; the palm-tree rears its graceful head -above festoons of feathery leaves, in which clumps of red berries shine like -clusters of stars; tall quandong-trees and wild plums shoot up straight as -arrows, for the most part clear of vines and creepers, but not always successful -in escaping the embrace of the stag's horn fern, one of the handsomest of all -Australia's parasites; and the white-wooded umbrella-tree proudly asserts its -claim to preeminence, with its darkly lustrous laurel-shaped leaves surmounted -by long radiating spikes of crimson flowers, the brilliancy of which rivals the -glowing sunset of the South. Through the grand forests, in which for unnumbered -ages the dusky savage has roamed in freedom, never dreaming of the invasion of a -higher civilisation, flit flocks of resplendent parrots, chief among them being -the blue mountain, the rosella, and the crimson wing; black cockatoos, with -their dazzling tails spread out, are lurking in the branches of the bloodwood -trees, where they find both food and shelter; flycatchers, all green and gold, -are cunningly watching the waterholes for prey; laughing jackasses, with their -blue feathers and cold grey eyes, which are now twinkling with fun, are making -merry over the absurd antics of native companions, whose conceited hoppings and -twirlings are comic enough to inspire mirth in the dullest denizens of the -woods; while the soft musical notes of the bellbirds, all green and purple, blue -and golden, make harmonious the west wind which travels from the beeches, and -fill the air with melody strange and sweet.</p> - -<p class="normal">Within hail of these summer evidences of loveliness and -grandeur stand two men, one young, the other not yet middle-aged. The younger -man, whose name is Basil Whittingham, is the embodiment of careless, indolent -grace, but just now he is evincing an unusual earnestness of manner, both in -speaking and listening. His age is barely twenty-three, and he bears about him -the unmistakable stamp of gentleman. This is not always the case with men who -have honest claims to the title, but with some few it is a gift. It is so with -Basil Whittingham. He has blue eyes, fair hair, a supple, graceful form, a -laughing mouth, with teeth like pearl, delicate hands, and a long, light-brown -moustache, which he evidently regards as a magnificent possession, and cherishes -and nurses as a thing of beauty. Otherwise he has not much to be proud of in the -shape of possessions, for his clothes would be anything but presentable in -Mayfair, though here in the Australian woods they may serve well enough. His -trousers, tucked into old knee boots, have conspicuously seen their best days; -his shirt, of some light material, has rents in it, showing the fair skin of his -arms embrowned by the sun where the sun could get at them; the sash round his -waist is frayed and faded; his wide-awake hat, sound in front, is tattered at -the back, where it flaps loosely over his flowing hair; and, moreover, he is -smoking a short black cutty. Yet despite these drawbacks, if drawbacks they can -be called in this land of freedom, freer indeed than any republic under the sun, -even the most ordinary observer would be ready to acknowledge that the man was a -gentleman. One, for instance, who would not do a dirty trick, who would not tell -a lie to serve his own interests, who would not betray a friend, and who would -be more likely to wrong himself than others. Tender, simple, brave; fearless, -but not foolhardy; openhearted, confiding, and unsuspicious of sinister, motives -in those with whom he has once shaken hands; with a sense of humour which -lightens adversity; regretting not the past, though he has wilfully steered his -boat into the Bay of Poverty, and dreading not the future; such is Basil -Whittingham, a typical type of an honest, frank, manly English gentleman.</p> - -<p class="normal">His companion, by name Anthony Bidaud, was born and bred in -Switzerland, but is of French extraction. He speaks, English fluently, so well -indeed that those who serve him will not believe he is a foreigner. He has not -yet reached middle age, but he looks sixty at least, and on his worn, anxious -face dwells the expression of a man who is waiting for a mortal stroke. He is -well dressed, after the free bush fashion, and is no less a gentleman than Basil -Whittingham. It is the mutual recognition of social equality that keeps Basil -penniless and poorly clad, for he is a guest, not a dependent, on the plantation -of which Anthony Bidaud is master. This state of things suits the careless -nature of the younger gentleman, who, welcomed and received by Anthony Bidaud as -an equal, takes a pride in holding himself free from the touch of servitude. -Perhaps Annette, of whom you shall presently hear, serves as a factor in the -attitude he has chosen.</p> - -<p class="normal">Being the hero of our story, it is needful that something -should be related of his career in the home country.</p> - -<p class="normal">His parents were Devonshire people, and he their only child. -It was supposed that his father was a man of fortune; he lived as one, kept -hounds and horses, and maintained a costly establishment. Needless to say that -Basil was the idol of his parents; he was also the idol of a wealthy uncle, to -whom he paid a visit once in every year, and who, being childless, had announced -his intention of making Basil his heir. Thus, all seemed smooth and -pleasant-sailing before the young fellow. But misfortunes came; at the age of -fourteen he lost his mother. The memory of the solemn moments he spent by her -bedside before she closed her eyes upon the world, abided ever with Basil, whose -passionate adoration for the dear mother was a good testimony of his -affectionate disposition. But there was something deeper than affection in the -feelings he entertained for her. She had been to him more than a loving mother; -she had been his truest counsellor and friend. Upon her had devolved the -father's duty of inculcating in their child those strict principles of honour -and right-doing which set the seal of true manhood upon him who follows them out -in his course through life. Basil's father was of an easy, genial nature, and it -was from him that Basil inherited a cheerfulness of temper and a sense of humour -which lessened evils instead of magnifying them. The higher qualities of his -character came from his mother. Lying on her death-bed she impressed upon him -the beauty of honesty and uprightness, and the lad's heart responded to her -teaching.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never look to consequences, my dear child," she said. "Do -always what is right; and when you are a man counsel and guide your dear -father."</p> - -<p class="normal">He promised to obey her, but it was not until many years had -passed that he knew what she meant when she told him to counsel and guide his -father. It was she who had steered her husband's boat when it had got into -troubled waters, and steered it always into a safe harbour. No one knew it, no -one suspected it; not even her husband, who believed that it was due to himself -alone that he escaped dangers which threatened him from time to time; but this -ignorance was due to her wisdom, and partly, also, to her love; rather than -wound his feelings, she preferred to suffer herself. It is not to be inferred -from this remark that she had not led a happy life; she had, and her home was -happy in the truest sense; but she sighed to think of her husband, left alone to -grapple with difficulties which his easy nature prevented him from seeing.</p> - -<p class="normal">She had a private fortune of her own, and with her husband's -consent she made a will devising it all to her son, with the exception of some -small legacies to humble friends. The money was to be invested, and to -accumulate till Basil was twenty-one years of age, when he was to come into -possession of it; so that, even without his uncle, he was comfortably provided -for. A short time after his mother's death, his father announced his intention -of giving up his establishment in the country and settling in London. The home -in which he had passed so many happy years with his wife was desolate and sad -now that she was gone from it; he wandered through the rooms with a weight on -his heart which memory made heavier instead of lighter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes Basil," he said to his son, "it is the best thing I can -do. If I remain here I shall lose my reason; I must find some distraction from -grief."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil was too young to question this decision; what his father -resolved upon must be right. The old home was sold up, and father and son -removed to London. Then came the question of Basil's education. His uncle -considered removal to London a step in the wrong direction, and he wrote to that -effect; he also expressed his opinion that London was an unsuitable place in -which to conduct a young gentleman's education. "Give the lad a tutor," he said, -"and let him travel." This was done, and before he was fifteen years of age -Basil was living on the Continent, picking up knowledge and picking up pleasure -in not quite equal quantities, the latter predominating. It was an agreeable -life, and Basil did not harm by it. Every year he came to England, and spent a -month with his father in London and a week with his uncle in the country. On one -occasion he and his uncle spent this week together in the great city, living at -Morley's Hotel, Charing Cross, and seeing the sights, and this visit was -destined to be pregnant with strange results in years to come. Except upon all -other occasions the uncle received Basil in the country. The old gentleman was -full of quips and cranks and imaginary ills. He fancied himself an invalid, and -coddled himself up absurdly; and Basil, when he visited him, seldom left the -house. The forced seclusion did not trouble the young fellow; he could make -himself happy anywhere. Certainly there were few dull moments in his uncle's -house when Basil was in it, and the old gentleman, while not objecting to a -display of animal spirits, improved the opportunity by endeavouring to drive -into his nephew's head a special kind of worldly wisdom. As, for instance: All -men are rogues (ourselves excepted). Never open your heart to a friend (except -to an uncle who is going to leave you all his money). Keep your secrets. Spend -your money on your own pleasures and your own ambitions. Never make yourself -responsible for another man's debts. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. This kind -of counsel was showered upon Basil, and produced no effect upon him whatever; he -was spared the trouble of arguing upon these matters, even if he were in the -humour for it--which he was not; he had a knack of avoiding disagreeable topics -by his uncle's everlasting assertion that the counsel he gave was absolutely -indisputable, and was to be received as such.</p> - -<p class="normal">"All right, uncle," said Basil; "now let us talk of something -else."</p> - -<p class="normal">And he would fly off into accounts of such of his Continental -adventures as he knew would please the old fellow. He had a capital gift of -description, and the old man would sit huddled up in his arm-chair, cracking his -sides at his nephew's wit. Basil never bade his uncle good-bye without a cheque -for a substantial sum in his pocket. He was liberally provided for by his -father, but he did not despise his uncle's gifts. Seeing that his stories of his -travels amused his uncle, he said that he would one day write a book.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And when you write it," his uncle Said, "burn it. Write a -book indeed! Put your time out at better interest, Basil. Make money, money, -money. Then people will bow down to you. <i>I'm</i> not a nice object to look -at, am I? But I've got money, and people bow down to -<i>me!</i> How much more will they be likely to do so to a handsome fellow like -you? Make money, my boy, make money, and stick to it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Which worldly advice went as usual in at one ear and out at -the other. After all, the old gentleman's remarks had only a general -application; had there been any special interest at stake Basil would have -argued it stoutly enough, and thereby got himself into hot water.</p> - -<p class="normal">So things went on till Basil was twenty-one years of age, when -he was to come into possession of his mother's fortune. On his birthday he wrote -to his father, saying he would be home in a fortnight, and full of kind -messages--messages which did not reach the sense of the man for whom they were -intended: on the day the letter was delivered at the London address his father -was lying in delirium on a bed from which he was never to rise. A week before he -intended to start for home Basil received a letter informing him of the sad -news. "Come back immediately," the writer said, "if you wish to see your father -alive." Basil did not lose a moment. Travelling as quickly as possible he -arrived at his father's house--too late. It was a terrible blow to him, more -terrible than the loss of his mother, for which he had been in a measure -prepared. Death came more slowly in her case, and she had instilled into her son -a spirit of resignation which softened the bereavement. Even before she drew her -last breath Basil had thought of her as an angel in heaven. But with his father -it was so sudden; there had been no preparation for the parting, no indication -of it. It was true that his father had been ailing for months, but he had been -careful not to alarm his son. He may have believed, as most men do, that the -worst would not happen; we are chary in applying to ourselves the rules we are -so ready to apply to others. Only in his last hour of consciousness, before he -fell into the delirium from which it was fated he should not recover, had he -asked for his desk, and taking from it a sheet of paper wrote a few words to his -son, which he desired should be delivered in the event of anything serious -happening to him. He did not believe it even then; had he been a religious man -he would have weighed the matter more deeply, but he was one who, living as -fairly good and moral a life as the average church-goer, seldom went to the -Divine fount for comfort and counsel. It might have been better for Basil if he -had, for a warning might have come to him to check the mad desire which had -taken possession of him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Between him and Basil there had never been a harsh word. Each -bore for the other the truest affection. Never a cross, never an ill-tempered -look; unvarying sweetness had marked their intercourse. So sudden a separation -could have been nothing less than terrible to the living. It was long before -Basil recovered from it. With the exception of his crotchety old uncle he was -absolutely without kith or kin. Letters had passed between them with reference -to the sad event. "I cannot come to London to attend the funeral," his uncle -wrote; "I am too infirm and feeble. When you have settled your father's affairs -I shall be glad to see you to talk things over. It is time you made a serious -start in life. You have your mother's fortune, and your father's, which I should -say is a handsome one; you will have mine, though I intend to keep you out of it -as long as I can. You are a lucky dog; you ought to die a millionaire." A mortal -ending the absolute desirability of which may well be doubted. Basil replied, -hoping his uncle would live to a good old age, and promising to visit him as -soon as affairs were settled. In his father's desk he found the scrawl which the -dying man had written. It was very short.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear Basil,--The honour of my name is in your hands. Your -loving father."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had not strength to attach his name.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was not until the day after the funeral that the -significance of these words impressed itself on Basil. "The honour of my name is -in your hands." They were his father's last words to him. What meaning did they -bear? He had heard from his father's lawyers, informing him that they had the -will in their possession, and that they were at his service. He wrote to them, -to the effect that he would call upon them early the following morning.</p> - -<p class="normal">The head of the firm received him gravely and courteously, and -gave orders that they were not to be disturbed.</p> - -<p class="normal">The will had been drawn out years since, and no alteration had -been made in it. Everything was left to Basil, unreservedly to him. There were -affectionate allusions in it which drew tears from Basil's eyes. When this -emotion had subsided he observed that the lawyer was regarding him with an air -of curiosity.</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I ask," said the lawyer, "if full confidence existed -between you and your father?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The fullest," replied Basil. "He had no secrets from me, nor -I any from him."</p> - -<p class="normal">The lawyer seemed sensibly relieved. "You know of his -speculations?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"His speculations!" exclaimed Basil, in surprise. "I was not -aware that he speculated."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then full confidence did not exist between you. I warned him; -I could do no more than that. In my experience, my dear sir, I have seen so many -go the same way. There is but one end to it, and this has ended as the others -have done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will listen to nothing against my father," said Basil -warmly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have nothing to say against him," responded the lawyer, -"except that he was unwise. He had an intense craving to leave you a very large -fortune, and this craving became a kind of disease in him, and led him on. I -regret to tell you that all his speculations have ended disastrously."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is to say, have resulted in a loss?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In great losses."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To what extent?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Claims are pouring in. If they are satisfied, the will in -your hands is not worth more than waste paper. But some of the claims may be -contested, and in my belief successfully. But that will be a matter for -counsel's opinion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has nothing to do with counsel," said Basil; "it has to do -with me. I am my dear father's representative, and it is for me to determine -what is to be done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Undoubtedly. Instructions must come from you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Claims are pouring in, you say. Can you tell me to what -amount?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"As far as we have received them; there are more to be -presented you understand."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Plainly, then," said the lawyer, "the property your father -has left will not be sufficient to meet his debts."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They must be paid, however." The lawyer inclined his head.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Basil, rising and pacing the room in his -excitement, "they must be paid. No stigma must rest upon my father's memory. -Some of the claims may be contested, you say? In justice?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Legally," replied the lawyer.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I ask you again," said Basil. "In justice?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The lawyer, declining to commit himself, made no reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At least," said Basil, "you can answer me this question. My -father owes the money?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my dear sir, he owes the money."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then it must be paid. Do you not see that it <i>must</i> be -paid? No man shall have the power of uttering one word against him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But," said the lawyer, eyeing the young man as he would have -eyed a psychological puzzle, "if the estate left by your father is not -sufficient to satisfy all these claims, what is to be done?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have money of my own--my mother's fortune--of which you -have the particulars."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, we can give you all the information you require, and it -requires but your signature to a few documents, already prepared, my dear sir, -to place you in possession of this very handsome inheritance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can probably tell me the amount of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Almost to a farthing. It is invested in the safest -securities, realisable at an hour's notice, and it amounts to,"--the lawyer took -some papers from a japanned box and ran his eye over them--"it amounts to not -less than twenty-three thousand pounds."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will that," asked Basil, "with my father's estate, satisfy in -full the claims which are pouring in?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"But my dear sir," expostulated the lawyer, with a look of -astonishment.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil would not allow him to conclude. "I have to repeat some -of my questions, it seems," he said. "Will this fortune, which is realisable in -an hour, satisfy in full the claims of my father's creditors?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The lawyer shrugged his shoulders, and replied briefly, "More -than satisfy them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then the matter is settled," said Basil. "I empower you to -collect the whole of these claims to the uttermost farthing; to convert the -securities which are mine into money; to prepare a complete balance sheet, and -to pay my father's creditors in full, with as little delay as possible."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am to accept these instructions as definite and decisive?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"As definite and decisive!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They shall be followed and carried out with as little delay -as possible. I must trouble you to call here at three o'clock this afternoon to -sign the necessary papers."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will be punctual. Good morning; and I am greatly obliged to -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good morning, my dear sir," said the lawyer, adding under his -breath, "and I am greatly astonished at you."</p> - -<p class="normal">At three o'clock that afternoon Basil called again at the -lawyer's office, and signed "the necessary papers," and went away with a light -heart and a smiling face. Within a month the affair was concluded, his father's -estate was realised, and his father's creditor's paid in full. There remained to -him then, out of his mother's fortune, the sum of three thousand pounds.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was perfectly happy and contented. Long before the business -was finally settled he had realised what his father meant by his last few -written words: "My dear Basil,--The honour of my name is in your hands. Your -loving father." To good hands indeed had the honour of a dead man's name been -entrusted. Basil had preserved it unsullied, unblemished.</p> - -<p class="normal">He took no credit for it; he had fulfilled a sacred trust. It -was simply a duty performed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," he said to himself; "I will go and see my uncle."</p> - -<p class="normal">But while he was preparing to start he received a letter from -that gentleman, which will explain why the visit was never paid.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"Nephew Basil" (the letter ran), "I have received news of your -mad proceedings since your return home. No person in his sober senses would have -acted as you have done. The greater portion of the claims made against your -father's estate could have been legally and successfully contested, and even in -what remained a sharp lawyer could have obtained a substantial abatement. This -view, as I understand, was presented to you by an able firm of solicitors, but -you rejected it, and chose to play the fool. Now, I do not care to have dealings -with a fool.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I might have pardoned you for sacrificing your father's -estate to satisfy these claims, but I will not pardon you for sacrificing the -fortune your mother left you. It proves to me that it is not safe to entrust -money to you, and I have decided to put mine to better use than to leave it to -you. Accept this intimation as my ultimatum. It is the last letter you will ever -receive from me, and you will never see me again. Therefore you need not go to -the trouble of coming my way. My house is not open to you. All the good counsel -I have given you has been thrown away. You might have told me at the time and I -should have saved my breath and my patience. Good-bye, foolish nephew.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:40%"><span class="sc">"Bartholomew Whittingham."</span></p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">He was angry enough to add a postscript:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"As you are so fond of paying debts for which you are not -responsible, what do you say to considering the money I have given you from time -to time as one, and handing it back? You can do as you please about it. I can -make no legal demand for it, but I gave it to you under the impression that you -were not exactly an idiot. It amounts to quite fourteen hundred pounds. If I had -it I would put it out at good interest."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">To state that Basil was not hurt by this letter would be to -state what is not true. He had an affection for the old fellow, and he was -greatly pained to think that all was over between them; but he was not in the -least disturbed by the old man's arguments. He had done what was right; of this -he was sure. But the letter stung Basil as well as hurt him. There was a bitter -twang in his uncle's remark that he could make no legal demand for the money he -had given his nephew. "He shall have it back," said Basil, "every farthing of -it." Then he was seized with an expensive fit of humour. His uncle had spoken of -interest. He would prove that he was not a whit less independent than the old -fellow himself. He made some lame and ridiculous calculations of interest at -five per cent, per annum, and arrived at the sum of two thousand pounds and a -few pence. He got a draft for the amount, and inclosed it in the following -note:--</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"All right, my dear uncle. Here is your money back again, with -interest added. If it is not enough interest, let me know, and I will send you -more. Good-bye, and good luck to you.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:40%">"Your affectionate nephew,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:55%">"<span class="sc">Basil</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">This last debt paid, Basil had barely a thousand pounds left. -He did not hear from his uncle again.</p> - -<p class="normal">Now, what was he to do? He was without profession or trade, -and did not feel equal for any kind of service he saw around, even if it was -offered to him. "I think," he said, "I will travel a little more." He did so, -and was prudent enough to travel in an economic spirit but his money went fast -enough for all that. At the end of a year and a half he had in his purse exactly -one hundred pounds. Was he dashed? Not a bit. But he knew that something must be -done. "I will go to Australia," he said. The project exalted him. He glowed, he -rubbed his hands, he was in a whirl of pleasant excitement. He would be in a new -land, in a land of adventure, in a land of romance. There he would be all right, -of course. Not a doubt of it. As for his empty purse--and it <i>was</i> pretty -well empty by the time he had paid for his passage and a few necessary odds and -ends--he scarcely gave it a thought. Was he not going to Australia, the poor -man's El Dorado? So he set forth in a sailing vessel, and enjoyed the passage -immensely, and landed in Sydney as happy as a king. The fairy harbour, the most -beautiful in all the wide world, enchanted him; the ravishing scenery enchanted -him; the quaint old city, so home-like in its appearance, enchanted him. -Certainly he had come to the right place.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was rather more melancholy a few weeks afterwards, but he -never lost heart. Suitable employment did not present itself so readily as he -had thought it would, and gold was not to be picked up in the streets. "I am -making a mistake," he said. "I must not remain in the city; I must go into the -bush." He soon made a start, and began tramping Queensland way, and after some -weeks of wondering reached the tract of country which Anthony Bidaud had taken -up.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">CHAPTER II.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">On the plantation which he had brought almost to perfection by -twenty years of wise labour Anthony Bidaud lived with his only child, Annette, -fourteen years of age. He had no other of his kindred near him. The wife he -brought from Switzerland lay in a flower-covered grave within a mile of the spot -upon which he stood. They came to the colony childless, but after a lapse of -years Annette was born to them. Until the child was nine years of age the fond -mother was spared to rear her, and then one morning Annette awoke to find the -dear protector lost to her. It was an irreparable loss in that far-away land, -and there was no one of her own sex to take the mother's place. But Annette had -her father left, and he, not unsuccessfully, strove to fill the void in his -child's life. He was unremitting in his tenderness and watchfulness, and he -bestowed upon his little one a full-hearted love. The two had lived together -till now, when Anthony Bidaud's heart was gloomed by the fear of approaching -death. He had never been strong, and the climate of the new world in which he -had made his home was destined to be fatal to him. He made pilgrimages to Sydney -and Melbourne to consult the best physicians, but they gave him little hope. -Death was approaching surely and swiftly. A gnawing pain, an inexpressible -grief, stirred his heart as he thought of his child, whom he idolised. The -reflection that she would be left alone in this wild spot, in this remote part -of the world, without a relative, with scarcely a friend, appalled him. Yet what -could he do?</p> - -<p class="normal">He had neither sought nor made friends, he and his wife and -child had been sufficient for each other, and when his wife died he and Annette -sighed for no other companionship. But had he sought friendships he would not -have succeeded in making them in any but fitful fashion. His nearest neighbour -was twenty miles away, and everybody in the colony was so intent upon "getting -on" and making his fortune, that there was no time for social intercourse. In -colonial cities there was at that time but little "society;" in the bush, none.</p> - -<p class="normal">About a hundred feet above the blue clear stream of the -Pioneer stood the house in which Anthony Bidaud lived. The slabs with which it -was built had been split from the gum and bloodwood trees growing in the forest -which lay in the rear of the huts and buildings inhabited by the labourers, -chiefly South Sea Islanders, who worked on the plantation. The roof was composed -of shingles split from the same description of trees. The interior of the house -was lined with rich, dark red cedar, which grew in the thick scrub on the -opposite banks of the river. An avenue of bananas led from the house along the -cliff to an arbour, in which oranges, custard apples, guavas, and other -delicious fruits, ripened in unsurpassed perfection. The posts of the verandahs -which surrounded three sides of the house were covered by gigantic passion -fruit, except at one end, which was completely enclosed by grape vines and the -yellow jessamine. Hammocks were slung in the verandahs, and the occupants could -swing idly to and fro, shaded from the hot sun, and within reach of the fruit -which grew in such wonderful abundance and luxuriance all around. A lovely home -for husband, wife, and children; a dream which a poet soul only could properly -appreciate, but for one simple human being, in whose days the flower of human -affection was not blossoming--little better than a wilderness.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was of this sad prospect, which his state of health warned -him lay before Annette, that Anthony Bidaud was speaking to Basil at the time of -their introduction to the reader. They had been acquainted but a short time, but -each bore for the other a genuine esteem. Some kindred qualities of -independence, high-mindedness, and honesty of purpose had drawn them together -from the hour they first met, and would have drawn them even closer in the -future; but the shadows gathering over one life marred this fulfilment of a -brighter promise. Barely two months had elapsed since Basil Whittingham, -presenting himself to Anthony Bidaud, had asked for a shelter of his roof for a -night. Annette was present when Basil appeared; by her side a faithful Scotch -terrier, who guarded his young mistress with watchful care, and when needed, -with ferocity. Basil stooped and patted the head of the dog, who did not snarl -and show his teeth, as was his wont with strangers, but submitted to the -familiarity with unusual amiability. The sensible creature went even farther -than this; he rose, and rubbed his head against Basil's leg, courting by the -action a continuance of the caressing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Father," said Annette, "no stranger has ever done that with -Bruno before."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bruno and I are old friends," said Basil, with a pleasant -smile. Annette thought that she had never seen such beautiful teeth.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, Bruno," she cried reproachfully, "and you never told me! -Come here directly, sir!" Bruno approached her, wagging his tail. "Really old -friends?" she asked turning to Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, not really," he replied. "What I mean is, I love dogs, -and dogs love me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good testimonial," remarked Anthony Bidaud, gazing with -interest upon this poorly attired gentleman.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have found it so," responded Basil, "for dog and man."</p> - -<p class="normal">He held out his hand to Annette, who not only took it, but -retained it. This went far to complete the conquest of Anthony Bidaud. With the -ordinary tramp he was very familiar, but here was a man of another breed. No -hang-dog looks, no slouching, no lowering of the brows, no prison-mark about -him. An upright gentleman, who looked the man he was asking a favour from square -in the face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you travelled far?" asked Anthony Bidaud.</p> - -<p class="normal">"About twenty miles I should say. Rather too hot a day for so -long a walk."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must be tired," said Anthony Bidaud. "You are heartily -welcome here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thank you," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">That this young man had so swiftly won favour with his child -and her four-footed protector was a sufficient recommendation to Bidaud, but, -independent of that, he was rejoiced to meet with a gentleman from whom manners -and polish of good society had not been rubbed off by familiarity with the -rougher aspects of life in the new world. Basil was a man whom no experience -could harden; the inner grain of his nature was refined and sweet. The hardships -he had already met with in the colony had not embittered him in the least. He -grumbled at nothing, took all things easily, and showed a smiling face to the -world. When he presented himself to Anthony Bidaud he was really at his wits' -end, but though he had not tasted food that day he was not discouraged or -disheartened. A clean conscience is a wonderful sustainer. "I am like a cat," -thought Basil, as he trudged blithely through the bush, "I am bound to fall on -my feet". And fall on his feet he did that summer afternoon, which was to be the -prelude of many happier days; for before the night was over he told his host -sufficient of his antecedents to satisfy Bidaud that his hospitality was not -likely to be misplaced. Upon his persuasion his guest remained for a week, then -for another week, and so on till the present time. Bidaud was diffident in -asking Basil to enter his service, and Basil, though he had come to the -plantation with a vague idea of seeking employment, did not entertain it after -his first introduction to Bidaud and his daughter. The terms upon which they had -met and upon which he was received forbade his asking for employment. It was -gentleman and gentleman, not master and servant. But at length Bidaud--who had -learned sufficient to be aware that Basil's purse was empty, and that he had no -friends in the colony--delicately pressed his guest upon the subject, and, as -timidly as though he was asking a favour instead of being anxious to bestow one, -hinted at some business connection between them. Basil, from scruples with which -we are familiar but which he did not explain to his host, would not entertain -the idea, but firmly and courteously set it aside.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have your future to look to," said Bidaud.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is time enough to think of that," said Basil, -cheerfully. "I am not so very old."</p> - -<p class="normal">Many a time did Bidaud look with eyes of affection at Basil, -and wish he had a son like him to whom he could entrust his darling Annette. -Basil was a man peculiarly adapted to inspire affection in honest, simple -hearts, and such a bond grew between him and Annette. Happy is the man whose -manners cause children to regard him as one of themselves; he possesses an -inheritance of pleasant hours which money cannot purchase. Basil and Annette, -then, spent a great deal of time together, accompanied by the faithful Bruno, -and it gladdened the father's heart to see his child so happy in the society of -their new friend.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Father says your name is Whittingham," said Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, it is," said the young man.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. Do you like it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. You must have another name."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course I have. Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil. That is much nicer, ever so much nicer. I shall call -you Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall feel honoured, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">This compact being made, Annette took him in hand; the little -maid had already discovered that she knew a great deal which he did not, and she -set up a school, with Basil as her only pupil. Whether what she taught was -likely to be of use to him in the battle of life he was bound to fight is an -open question. Had some foreknowledge come upon him as to the nature of that -battle, and the roads into which it would lead him, he would have laughingly -rejected it as the wildest of fancies. He was quite content with the present; he -had found an enchanting companion, and time was passing delightfully. During -Annette's five years of motherless life she had acquired a wonderful knowledge -of the fauna and the flora of the colony, and to these mysteries she introduced -Basil. It is not incorrect to call them mysteries, for they are really so to -ninety-nine out of every hundred colonials, who spend their lives in ignorance -of the wonders by which they are surrounded. But it is so in all lands.</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette, then, opened Basil's mind, and let in knowledge. She -showed him how to snare game, which abounded in vast quantities, snipe, quail, -and numerous varieties of duck, of which the whistling duck is the most curious, -and the black duck the best eating; she taught him the names of the strange and -beautiful birds which found their home in the scrub and forests round about; she -described to him the different trees which grew in the neighbourhood of the -beautiful Pioneer River, and would not rest contented till he was familiar with -them, and could give them their right names.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is this, Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is this, Annette? Why, a tree."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But what kind of tree?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, I beg your pardon. Ha--hum--oh, yes, it is the tea-tree."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is not, Basil. It is the bottle-tree."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, the bottle-tree. Of course it is the bottle-tree. How -could I be so stupid?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are not stupid; you are inattentive. Do you see this hole -cut in the tree?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course I do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not have that answer. 'Of course I do' sounds as if I -had no right to ask the question. Say 'I do.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And mean it, if you please."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I mean it," said Basil, with his hand on his heart, and a -merry twinkle in his eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very good. You see the hole. Who cut it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"On my word of honour, Annette, I haven't the slightest idea."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was cut by the blacks. Now, what did they cut it for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"How on earth should I know?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You ought to know. You have been brought up in a very bad -school. I'll show you what for. Out with your knife, Basil. Dig it in here, a -long way under the hole. That is right. Now you can have a good drink of cold -sweet water. Is it not wonderful?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed it is. Like Oliver Twist, I ask for more."</p> - -<p class="normal">The conversation instantly took another turn. There were but -few books on the home station, and among them no work of fiction. It fell to -Basil's lot to open a new fairyland in the young girl's life. "What was Oliver -Twist?" "He was not a 'what'; he was a 'who.'" "Then who was Oliver Twist?" -Basil told the story as well as he could, and afterwards told another; and after -the second tale, still another, this time a more simple one, from the magic -cupboard of Hans Christian Andersen. It was long before they resumed their -woodland lessons. Annette pointed out where the best figs and almonds grew, -instructed him how to make bracelets and necklaces out of the stones of the -quandong fruit, and where the sugar bags of the native bees were to be found. -They caught a native bear, not a very ferocious creature and tamed it in a few -days so thoroughly that it followed them about like a dog, to the disgust of -Bruno, who did not approve of the proceeding; they gathered wild ginger and wild -nutmegs in the scrub, and in a famous creek they caught quantities of golden -perch, with red eyes and double chins; and once they saw two emus in the -distance, and heard the faint sound of their peculiar whistle. In such-like -idling the days flew by, and the hours were all too short, but suddenly it -dawned upon Basil that this lotus life could not last for ever. It was from a -sense of duty, and with a sinking heart (for the thought of parting from these -good friends, especially from Annette, sorely oppressed him) that he intimated -to Anthony Bidaud that he had lingered too long, and must go farther afield.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must not outstay my welcome," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You cannot do that," said Bidaud. "Are you not happy here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Too happy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, one cannot be too happy," said Bidaud, in a tone of great -sadness. There was that weighing on his heart which he yearned to impart to some -person in whom he could confide. He had thought of it for days past, and had -resolved to unbosom his sorrow to the young gentleman who had brought a new -light of tenderness into the prosperous home.</p> - -<p class="normal">His story was told. Basil learned that the father feared he -had not long to live, and that he was filled with apprehension at the -contemplation of Annette being left without a friend.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You were born in Switzerland," said Basil, thoughtfully. "Is -there no one connected with you in your own country into whose charge you could -give Annette?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is twenty years since I left my native land," said Bidaud, -"and great changes must have taken place during that time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You left relatives there?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, a sister--and a brother." His mention of his brother was -made with evident reluctance.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why not write to your brother," asked Basil, "to come and -receive the trust?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Heaven forbid!" cried Bidaud. "Give my darling child into -Gilbert's care! I would as soon give her into the care of a wolf! No, no, it is -not to be thought of. Six months ago I wrote to my sister, in whom I have some -confidence--she is a woman, and would surely not ill-treat my child--informing -her of my circumstances, and of the certain fate which awaited me, and imploring -her to come out to me. I promised to provide for her, and for her family, if she -had any. I thought that the knowledge that I was rich would tempt her. To that -letter I have received no reply. Basil"--like his daughter, he called his guest -by his Christian name--"it is the sad and sober truth that you are the only -friend upon whom I can rely to render me a service. Will you do so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If it is in my power," said Basil, gravely.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have given me the impression that you are alone in the -world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Practically alone," replied Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"With no kindred who have claims upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My parents are dead; I was their only child. There is but one -man alive in England who is of my blood--an uncle whose heir I was to be, but -who has cast me off."</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I inquire for what reason?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For a very serious reason. I did not know the value of money, -he said. My father, when he died, was heavily involved, and I ruined myself in -paying his debts. My uncle was angry at this, saying there was no obligation -upon me to satisfy my father's creditors. I held, and hold, a different opinion; -but the consequence was that my uncle abandoned his intention of making me his -heir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My task is all the easier for your explanation. The service I -am about to ask of you is no light one, and may be agreeable to you because it -will open out a future which few men would turn their back upon. I do not say -this to tempt you, for I know that you will be guided entirely by your own -feelings, by your own sense of right and wrong, and that worldly advantage will -weigh for nothing in the scale. You are fond of Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I love the child; I never met with a sweeter and more -sympathetic nature than hers. She has strength of character, too."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you think so?" asked Bidaud, anxiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am sure of it. Even now she rules me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Bidaud shook his head with a sad smile. "That is not a proof. -You are content to be ruled, and what passes between you springs from affection. -The strength of character required to battle with the world is of a different -kind from that which Annette exhibits towards you. The service I ask you to -render me concerns Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, then," said Basil, gaily, "it is rendered before you ask -for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must know its nature before you consent. It is nothing -more nor less, Basil, than that you should stand to my child in the light of -guardian."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil started. The tone in which this was spoken was that of a -man who was convinced that the world was slipping from him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Surely you are alarming yourself unnecessarily," said the -young man.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not. There are warnings which it would be criminal to -neglect, especially where there is such a vital interest at stake as the -happiness of an only and beloved child. I have received these warnings and must -be prepared. Say that the spiritual whisper which tells me that my end is -approaching is false, is no faith to be placed in the doctor's decree that my -hours are numbered? A man may have morbid fancies, but the teachings of -experience and science are not to be lightly set aside and disregarded. If my -fears prove groundless, so much the better for Annette; if they are -confirmed--which they will be, Basil, nothing can alter it--so much the worse -for her unless needful preparation is made for the crisis in her young life. -Will you now consent?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me hear more fully what you have to say," replied Basil, -gravely, "before I fully pledge myself. You speak of a brother and sister in -your own country, and you have written to one who may appear at any moment. The -claim she has upon Annette, and the authority with which the laws of nature have -invested her, are stronger than those of any stranger. I am a young man, and the -idea of becoming guardian to so tender and sweet a flower as Annette startles -me. I ask myself, am I equal to a responsibility so serious, and the question -reveals to me my own deficiencies, of which I am generally somewhat painfully -aware. It is really as though the most serious page in my life was about to be -opened."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">CHAPTER III.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"I have no fears," said Anthony Bidaud, with a gentle smile, -"on the score of your deficiencies. I have been no inattentive observer since -the fortunate day upon which I first formed acquaintance with you. That you have -had a disappointment in life counts for very little, and such small difficulties -as befall a newcomer in this new land are scarcely to be accounted among the -real difficulties of life. You do not yet know your own strength, but already, -in a position of serious responsibility, you have acted in a manner which few -men would have had the courage to do. Your past is honourable, and contents me. -You have a kind heart, and that adds to my content. Should the worst happen, my -Annette will have by her side a true and honest counsellor. Reflect a moment. -Say that I were to die to-morrow--nay, do not argue with me; death is the only -certain thing in life, and it may come at any unexpected moment to the -strongest--say that I die to-morrow, what would be the position of my dear -child? I have an estate worth thousands of pounds; she is a mere child, and -could not manage it. She would become the prey of schemers, who would -undoubtedly not deal fairly by her. I have a hundred servants on this -plantation, and not a friend among them. By accident you enter into our lives. I -use the term accident, but I believe it to be a providence. We are drawn to each -other. I have observed you closely, and am satisfied to deliver into your hands -a sacred charge, the charge of a young girl's future. At such moments as these -there comes to some men a subtle, unfathomable insight. It comes to me. I firmly -believe that there is a link between you and my child which, if you do not -recognise it now, you will be bound to recognise in the future. It may be broken -in the present, but the threads will be joined as surely as we stand here side -by side. Apart from this mysticism, to which I do not expect you to subscribe, -there is a worldly, practical side which it is right and necessary you should -understand. You ask for fuller information of my brother and sister. I will give -it to you. That my brother and I did not part friends, and that his attitude -towards me influenced my sister, was not my fault. I loved a young girl in my -own station in life, and she loved me and afterwards became my wife. That my -brother Gilbert loved her also was to be deplored; we were not to be blamed for -it, though Gilbert was furious--with me for loving her, with her for returning -my love. I endeavoured to remonstrate with him: he would not listen to me. 'You -have stepped in the way of my happiness,' he said; 'you shall rue it.' It is -hard to speak harshly of one's flesh and blood, but it is the truth that the -girl I loved was fortunate in not placing her affections upon him. He would have -broken her heart. He was a spendthrift and a libertine, and would stop at little -for the gratification of his selfish pleasures. He was furious against me, not -so much because he loved Annette's mother, but because he could not have his own -way. He was clever in crooked things, and in cunning shrewdness there were few -to beat him. Educated as a doctor, he could have earned a good name if he had -chosen to be industrious; but he preferred to lead an idle, dissolute life. -These evil courses caused him to be deeply in debt at the time of my father's -death. A portion of my father's fortune, which was not very large, was left to -me, and Gilbert endeavoured to rob me of it, saying he was the elder, as he was -by a year. With wedded life in view I resisted the attempt, and this angered him -the more. He swore that he would never forgive me, and that he would be revenged -upon me. It was strange that my sister leaned more towards him than towards me, -but that does sometimes happen with the scapegrace of the family. I am not -endeavouring to blacken Gilbert's character for my own glorification. In drawing -his picture I have dealt more than justly by him; were he not my brother I -should speak of actions of his which made me wonder how he and I could have been -born of the same mother. It is that I wish you to understand why I did not write -to him to come here and take charge of my dear child, and to understand why I -said that I would as soon give her into the care of a wolf. I succeeded in -obtaining my share of my father's fortune, and soon afterwards married. Even -then Gilbert did not cease from persecuting me. He would come and take up his -quarters in our house, and insult my wife, and revile me, unto our life became -intolerable. It was then that we resolved to emigrate, chiefly to escape his -persecutions. Then he showed us plainly that his love had changed to hate. He -said to me before I left Switzerland, 'One day I will be even with you. Remember -my words--dead or alive, I will be even with you!' Since that day I have never -seen him, never heard from him, and I do not know whether he is still living. -Upon our arrival in this colony fortune smiled upon us almost from the first. We -were happy, very happy, and as you see I have been prosperous. But I have not -been wise. I should have provided my child with a suitable companion at the -death of my wife, though heaven knows where I should have found one; but I -should have tried. To marry again was impossible; I loved my wife too well, and -I could not be false to her memory. I have been worse than unwise: I have -neglected a serious duty. Up to this day I have shrunk from making a will, so -that my affairs would get into confusion should anything happen to me. I have -resolved to make instant amends for this neglect of duty. To-night I shall write -to a lawyer to come to me without an hour's delay, and he shall draw out my will -before he departs. In this will it is my desire to appoint you manager of my -estate and guardian of my child till she arrives at the age of twenty-one. It is -not a bad prospect I hold out to you. At the end of seven years you will still -be a young man, and if you elect to leave Annette you can do so. She will by -that time have learned from you all that is necessary to continue the management -of the estate herself; but she will also then be free to act as she pleases: -either to remain upon it, or to sell it and go elsewhere. I do not think there -is anything more I can tell you to enable you to arrive at a decision. I do not -urge you to comply with my desire because of any personal advantage that may -accrue to yourself, but I beg of you as a friend to render me as great a service -as it is in the power of one man to render to another. If you wish for time to -consider this proposal take it, but decide before the arrival of the lawyer. One -way or another, my will must be made before a week has passed."</p> - -<p class="normal">But Basil did not ask for time; he was deeply touched by the -confidence reposed in him by Anthony Bidaud, and while the father spoke he had -made up his mind. He had been very happy on the plantation; he knew that it was -a desirable home, and that within its domains could be found much that would -make a man's life agreeable and useful He had come to the colony, as had -thousands of other colonists, with the intention of making his fortune and -returning to England. He could not hope to make a fortune in a day, though wild -ideas of gold-seeking--successful gold-seeking, of course--had floated through -his mind. Suddenly, when his fortunes were at the lowest ebb, there was -presented an opportunity which, unworldly as he was, he could not disguise from -himself it would be folly to throw away. But it was due to Anthony Bidaud that -the matter should not be concluded without something more being said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I need no time to consider," he said. "Your proposition is -flattering and advantageous to myself. But you speak of not being wise. Are you -wise in placing a trust so delicate and important in the hands of a stranger?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am content to do so," said Bidaud, "and I beg you to -believe that the obligation will be on my side."</p> - -<p class="normal">"After all," suggested Basil, with a little touch of -shrewdness "it may be with you a choice of evils."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a choice of good," observed Bidaud. "I have told you," -continued Basil, "that I have not been educated into an understanding of -business matters, and that my mission in life"--here he smiled -deprecatingly--"was to go through life in a gentlemanly way, without working for -my living."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But you came to the colony to work?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. I am only endeavouring to prove to you how utterly unfit -I am for the position you would assign to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am entirely convinced," said Bidaud, with a look of -affection at the young man, "of your fitness for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Think of my inexperience."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Experience will come to you as it came to me. You will learn -as I did."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then there is another view," said Basil, and now he spoke -with a certain hesitation. "You and Annette are here as father and daughter. It -is not to be supposed that I could supply your place. I am a young man; in a -very few years Annette will be a young woman. Will not our relative positions -then be likely to wound her susceptibilities----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not finish," said Bidaud, pressing Basil's hand warmly. -"Leave all to time. Nothing but good can spring from what I propose. If Annette -were now a young woman----"</p> - -<p class="normal">And here he himself purposely broke off in the middle of a -sentence. Certainly his manner could not be mistaken. A flush came into Basil's -face, and he did not speak again for a few moments.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has the letter," he then said, "you wrote to your sister been -returned to you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then it must have been delivered."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not necessarily. I am not sure whether undelivered letters -addressed to Switzerland are returned to the colonial post-offices. If you have -stated your principal objections I see nothing in them to cause you to hesitate. -You will consent?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Basil, "I accept the trust."</p> - -<p class="normal">"With all my heart I thank you," said Anthony Bidaud; then he -placed his hands on Basil's shoulders, and said in a solemn tone, "Guard my -child."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whatever lies in my power to do," said Basil, "shall be -done."</p> - -<p class="normal">Bidaud nodded and turned away; his heart was too full to say -more. Basil turned in another direction, with the intention of seeking Annette, -in fulfilment of a promise he had made to join her in the woods. He knew where -to find her.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_04" href="#div1Ref_04">CHAPTER IV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Traversing a narrow, winding bridle track, he soon reached the -river. A broad belt of white sand stretched on either side for some little -distance, the water glistening like polished mirrors in its smooth, deep -reaches. Here and there it broke into a thousand tiny silver-crested waves, -created by the inequalities in the ground. Farther on the main stream twisted -into great clusters of dark green river oaks, and was lost to view. The white -sands narrowed, and were replaced by rocks, covered with moss and lichen, and -here a bark canoe was moored. Stepping on a large boulder, Basil jumped into the -canoe, and loosening the rope, paddled down stream. The water ran like a mill -race, and presently divided into two streams, beautified by waterfalls and fairy -islands adorned with luxuriant vegetation. This dividing of the waters extended -only some three or four hundred yards, at the termination of which they were -united in one dark lagoon. A strange stillness reigned upon the surface of the -water, but this sign of peace was insincere, the current in reality running hard -and strong. Round about the canoe floated masses of white and mauve water -lilies; in parts the huge leaves formed a perfect carpet, which easily supported -the light weight of the lotus birds as they skipped from shore to shore. At the -lower end of the lagoon the stream became so narrow that a man could jump across -it, and here Basil left his canoe, and plunged into the woods to find Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">She was sitting on a great patch of velvet moss, idling with -some flowers of the wax plant and the yellow hibiscus. Her back was towards -Basil, who stepped softly, intending to surprise her, but the crackling of the -leaves betrayed him. She turned quickly, and jumping up, ran to meet him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been waiting for you ever so long," she said, and she -slipped her hand into his.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil made no excuse for being late; an age seemed to have -passed since he had last seen her, though scarcely three hours separated "then" -from "now." But short as was really the interval it had effected an important -alteration in their relations towards each other, and the contemplation of this -change made him silent. Neither was Annette as talkative as usual, and they -strolled idly along for some distance without exchanging a word. Basil had -hitherto accepted Annette's beauty in a general sense; she was pretty, she was -bright, she was full of vivacity--that was all. Had she been a woman he would -have subjected her to a closer and more analytical observation, for he had an -artist's eye for beauty, and loved to look at it in animate and inanimate -nature; but Annette was only a child, and he had paid her just that amount of -attention which one pays to small wild-flowers that grow by the wayside. But -now, looking down upon her as she walked by his side, he observed that her eyes -were hazel, and he said to himself that hazel eyes, in girl and woman, were the -most beautiful eyes in the world. The hazel colour in the eyes he was gazing -upon was brilliant, and Basil said to himself that it was the brilliant hazel -eyes that are the most beautiful in the world. Annette's features were not -exactly regular, but formed as fair a picture of human loveliness as a man would -wish to see, her lips sweetly curved, her teeth white and shapely, her ears like -little shells, her golden brown hair gathered carelessly about the gracefully -shaped head. Yes, Annette was beautiful even now as a child; how much more -beautiful was she likely to be when her springtime was fully set in!</p> - -<p class="normal">Raising her head suddenly she saw that Basil was gazing at her -more earnestly and closely than he was in the habit of doing. "I was looking at -your eyes, Annette," he said, rather guiltily. "I never noticed their colour -till to-day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are hazel. Do you like hazel eyes?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very much."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am glad of that. My eyes are like my mother's. Will you -come with me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To her grave."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had visited it before with Annette, and they now walked -towards the canoe, gathering wild flowers as they walked. Once Annette slipped, -and he caught her and held her up; there was an unusual tenderness in the -action, and Annette nestled closer to him, and smiled happily. In the canoe her -skilful fingers were busily at work, weaving the flowers they had gathered into -garlands to lay upon her mother's grave. She had a special gift in such-like -graceful tasks, but then her heart was in her fingers. The loving homage was -reverently rendered when they reached the spot, and Basil assisted her in -clearing the dead leaves and in planting some fresh roots she had brought with -her from the woods.</p> - -<p class="normal">Her task accomplished, Annette sat beside the grave, with a -wistful expression on her face which made Basil wonder what was stirring in her -mind. He waited for her to break the silence, and presently she spoke.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What makes you so quiet, Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know. Perhaps it is because you have said so little, -Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been thinking."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wanted all day to speak to you about it. I thought I would -when we were in the wood alone; then you spoke of my eyes and I thought of my -dear mother. You would have loved her, Basil, and she would have loved you. She -hears me now--yes, she hears and sees me, Basil, and I think she is glad you -came to us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am glad too, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Really glad, Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Really glad, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then you will not go away from us?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What makes you ask that?" Her question, tremulously uttered, -formed a pregnant link in the promise he had given her father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is my dream," said Annette. "I dreamt it last night, and -it made me sad. You came to say good-bye, and I was unhappy at the thought that -I should never see you again. Basil, if that was to happen I should be sorry you -ever came at all."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then you wish me to stay?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dearly, Basil, dearly! I thought I would speak to father -about it; then I thought I would speak to you first."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you not speak to your father?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not about my dream; but about your going away, yes. I asked -him to persuade you to stop with us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because, Annette----" he said, and paused. "Because I love -you, Basil. I told father so, and he said he loved you, too, and that he wished -he had a son like you. Then you would be my brother, and I should be very happy. -But father said he was afraid you intended to leave us soon, and that made me -dream, I suppose."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Annette, listen to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am listening, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your father has spoken to me, and that is why I was so late -in coming to you. He asked me to remain here, and I promised him I would."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You did? Oh, Basil!" Her voice expressed the most perfect -joy. She had risen in her excitement, and was now leaning towards him, her lips -parted, her eyes glowing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Annette, I promised him, and I promise you. For some -years at least we will live together."</p> - -<p class="normal">She threw her arms round his neck, and kissed him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That will be for ever, Basil. You have made me do happy, so -happy!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"So that is all settled," he said. "But I shall be a tyrant, -Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't mind, Basil; I will be very good and obedient. Do you -hear, Bruno, do you hear?" She knelt and kissed the faithful dog, and pressed -his head to her bosom. "Basil is not going away. He will remain here -forever--for ever!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil was very grateful for the little maid's affection, -grateful that his lines had fallen in such pleasant places. What more could man -desire? But there was a shadow gathering and swiftly approaching which neither -of them could see.</p> - -<p class="normal">They stopped out later than usual that evening, and when they -returned to the house Annette was radiant.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil has promised to remain with us, father," she said, in a -voice of great joy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has told you, then, dear child?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, father, yes. He will stop with us for ever. I don't wish -for anything now."</p> - -<p class="normal">The three happy beings sat together in the verandah during the -few brief minutes that divided day and night. In those latitudes there is but -little twilight, and the long peaceful rest of an English sunset is unknown. For -a few moments the brilliancy was dazzling. Great clouds of amethyst and ruby -spread over the western skies, melting soon into sombre shades of purple and -crimson. Then the sun dipped down and disappeared, and the skies were overspread -with a veil of faded gold, behind which the white stars glittered.</p> - -<p class="normal">Their souls were in harmony with the spiritual influence of -the lovely scene, and there was an ineffable peace in their hearts. Annette -kissed Basil before she retired to rest, and whispered: "Brother Basil, I shall -have happier dreams to-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">He kissed her tenderly, and bade her good-night. Unclouded -happiness shone in her eyes as she stole to her room, where she knelt by her -bedside, and uttered the name of Basil in her prayers.</p> - -<p class="normal">Anthony Bidaud gazed at his daughter till she entered the -house, and even then kept his eyes fixed upon the door through which she had -disappeared.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is years," he said to Basil, "since I have felt so -thoroughly content as I do to-night. Come to my room early in the morning; I -shall not write to my lawyer till then, and I wish you to see the letter."</p> - -<p class="normal">Shortly after all the inmates of the house were asleep.</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">And while they slept, there walked across the distant plains -towards the plantation, a man and a woman who had had that goal in view for -three months past. It was summer when they left their home across the seas. It -was summer when they reached the land to which the woman had been summoned. But, -judging from their faces, no summer errand was theirs.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Walk quicker," said the man, surlily. "We must get there -before sunrise. My heart is bent upon it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am fit to drop," said the woman. "How much farther have we -to go?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"According to information, fifteen miles. Walk quicker, -quicker! Have you travelled so far to faint at the last moment? Remember we have -not a penny left to purchase food, and have already fasted too many hours. I see -visions of ease and comfort, of wine and food, ay, and of riches too. I am eager -to get at them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you remember," said the woman, "that you were not bidden -to come?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What of that?" retorted the man. "I have my tale ready. Leave -me to play my part. Our days of poverty are over. This is the last of them. Walk -quicker, quicker!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_05" href="#div1Ref_05">CHAPTER V.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">A little after sunrise Basil was awake and out, hastening to -the river for his morning bath. He had slept well and soundly, but he had had -vivid dreams. The events of the day had sunk deep in his mind; it would have -been strange otherwise, for they had altered the currents of his whole future -life. They had furnished him with a secure and happy home; they had placed him -in a position of responsibility which he hailed with satisfaction and a sense of -justifiable pride; moreover, they had assured him that he had won the affection -of a kind and generous gentleman and of a sweet-tempered and gentle little maid. -He was no longer an outcast; he was no longer alone in the world.</p> - -<p class="normal">Until this void was supplied he had not felt it. Young, -buoyant, and with a fund of animal spirits which was the secret of his cheerful -nature, sufficient for the day had been the good thereof; but now quite suddenly -an unexpected and sweetly serious duty had been offered to him, and he had -accepted it. He would perform it faithfully and conscientiously.</p> - -<p class="normal">Every word Anthony Bidaud had spoken to him had impressed -itself upon his mind. He could have repeated their conversation almost word for -word. It was this which had inspired his dreams, which formed, as it were, a -panorama of the present and the future.</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette as she was at this moment, a child, appeared to him -and he lived over again their delightful rambles; for although it was but -yesterday that they were enjoyed, the duty he had taken upon himself seemed to -send them far back into the past; but still Annette was a child, and her sunny -ways belonged to childhood. The story of "Paul and Virginia" had been a -favourite with him when he was a youngster, and his dreams at first were touched -by the colour of that simple tale. The life he had lived these last few weeks on -Anthony Bidaud's plantation favoured the resemblance: the South Sea Islanders -who worked on the land, the waterfalls, the woods, the solitudes, the protecting -bond which linked him to Annette--all formed in his sleeping fancies a companion -idyll to the charming creation of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. He carried Annette -over the river, he wandered with her through the shadows of the mountains, they -were lost and found, they sat together under the shade of the velvet -sunflower-tree; and in this part of his dreams he himself was a youth and not a -man.</p> - -<p class="normal">So much for the present, and it was due to his light heart and -the happiness he had found that his dreams did not take the colour of the -subsequent tragedy which brought the lives of these woodland children to their -sad and pathetic end. His future and Annette's was brighter than that of Paul -and Virginia. He beheld her as a woman, and he was still her protector. She -represented the beauty of the entire world of thought and action. Her figure was -faultless, her face most lovely, her movements gracefully perfect. There are -countenances upon which an eternal cloud appears to rest, and which even when -they smile are not illumined. Upon Annette's countenance rested an eternal -sunshine, and this quality of light irradiated not only all surrounding visible -objects, but all hopes and feelings of the heart. When Basil awoke these -felicitous fancies were not obliterated or weakened, as most such fancies are in -waking moments, and as he walked towards the river they lightened his footsteps -and made him glad. Wending his way along a cattle track dotted with gum-trees, -he saw beneath the branches of one a woman whose face was strange to him. She -was not English born, and as she reclined in an attitude of fatigue against the -tree's trunk there was about her an air of exhaustion which stirred Basil to -compassion for her apparently forlorn condition. He remembered his own days and -nights of weary tramping through the bush, and, pausing, he looked down upon -her, and she peered up at him through her half-closed lids.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good morning," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it?" she asked, with a heavy sigh.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it what?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good morning. To me it is a bad morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil looked round. The heavens were luminous with vivid -colour, the birds were flying busily to and from their nests, nature's myriad -pulses throbbed with gladness. To him it was the best, the brightest of days. -But this sad woman before him was pale and worn; there were traces not only of -exhaustion but of hunger in her face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are hungry," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't mock me," said the woman, in no gracious tone; "let me -rest."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you follow this track," persisted Basil, "the way I have -come, you will see the Home Station. They will give you breakfast there."</p> - -<p class="normal">For a moment the woman appeared inclined to accept his -kindness she made a movement upwards, but almost immediately she relinquished -her intention.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," she said, "I will wait."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was loth to leave her in her distressful plight, but her -churlish manner was discouraging.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will you not let me help you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can help me," said the woman, "by leaving me."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had no alternative. "If you think better of it," he said, -"you can obtain shelter and food at the Home Station." Then he passed on to the -river.</p> - -<p class="normal">A stranger was there, already stripping for the purpose of -bathing. Scarcely looking at him, Basil was about to remove to a more retired -spot when he observed something in the water which caused him to run to the man, -who was removing his last garment, and seize his arm.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What for?" demanded the stranger.</p> - -<p class="normal">He spoke fairly good English, as did the woman who had -declined his assistance, but with a foreign accent. He was brown, and thin, and -wrinkled, and Basil saw at once that he was not an Englishman.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I presume you have not breakfasted yet," was Basil's -apparently inconsequential answer to the question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not yet," said the stranger impatiently, shaking himself free -from Basil's grasp. "Why do you stop me? Is not the river free?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite free," said Basil; "but instead of eating you may be -eaten."</p> - -<p class="normal">He pointed downwards, and leaning forward the stranger beheld -a huge alligator lurking beneath a thin thicket of reeds. The brute was -perfectly motionless, but all its voracious senses were on the alert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ugh!" cried the stranger, beginning to dress hurriedly. "That -would be a bad commencement of my business."</p> - -<p class="normal">He did not say "thank you," nor make the slightest -acknowledgment of the service Basil had rendered him. This jarred upon the young -man, who stood watching him get into his clothes. They were ragged and -travel-stained, and the stranger's physical condition was evidently none of the -best; but his eyes were keen, and all his intellectual forces were awake. In -this respect Basil found an odd resemblance in him to the alligator waiting for -prey in the waving reeds beneath, and also a less odd resemblance to the woman -he had left lying in the shadow of the gum-trees.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have business here, then?" asked the young man.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have--important business. Understand that I answer simply -to prove that I am not an intruder."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I understand. Is the woman I met on my way a relative of -yours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What woman?" cried the stranger, in sharp accents. "Like you -in face, and bearing about her signs of hard travel."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did she speak to you? Why do you question me about her? By -what right?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no particular right in question that I can see?" -said Basil. "I spoke to her as I am speaking to you, and asked if I could serve -her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And she!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Was as uncivil as yourself, and declined my offer of -assistance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She acted well. We are not beggars. For my incivility, that -is how you take it. You misconstrue me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am glad to hear it. You seem tired."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been walking all day and all night, and all day and -all night again, for more days and nights than I care to count I have done -nothing but walk, walk, walk, since my arrival at this world's end."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you but just arrived?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, but just arrived, wearied and worn out with nothing but -walking, walking, walking. Is that what this world's end was made for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">If the stranger had not Stated that he had important business -to transact, and had there not been something superior in his speech and -deportment to the ordinary tramp with whom every man in the Australian colonies -is familiar, Basil would have set him down as a member of that delectable -fraternity. Notwithstanding this favourable opinion, however, Basil took an -instinctive dislike to the man. He had seen in him an odd likeness to the -alligator, and brief as had been their interview up to this point, he had gone -the length of mentally comparing him now to a fox, now to a jackal--to any -member of the brute species indeed whose nature was distinguished by the -elements of rapacity and cunning.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you far to go?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No farther," replied the stranger, with an upward glance at -Anthony Bidaud's house, one end of which was visible from the spot upon which -they were conversing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that your destination?" inquired Basil, observing the -upward glance.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That," said the stranger, with a light laugh, "is my -destination, if I have not been misinformed."</p> - -<p class="normal">The laugh intensified Basil's dislike; there was a mocking -sinister ring in it, but he nevertheless continued the conversation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Misinformed in what respect?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is M. Bidaud's house?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is M. Bidaud's house."</p> - -<p class="normal">"M. Anthony Bidaud?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Originally from Switzerland."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil's hazard of the stranger's precise nationality now took -definite form.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As you are," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I am," said the stranger, "and as Anthony Bidaud is."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are right in your surmise. He is from Switzerland."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My surmise? Ah? He has a fine estate here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But his wife--she is dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is so, unhappily."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is one man's meat is another man's poison--a proverb -that may be reversed." His small eyes glittered, and his thin pointed features -seemed all to converge to one point. ("Fox, decidedly," thought Basil.) The -stranger continued. "His health, is it good?"</p> - -<p class="normal">In the light of Anthony Bidaud's revelation on the previous -evening this was a startling question, and Basil answered:</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is an inquiry you had best make of himself if you are -likely to see him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is more than likely that I shall see him," said the -stranger, "and he will tell me. He has but one child."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are well informed. He has but one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whose name is Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whose name," said Basil, wondering from what source the -stranger had obtained his information, "is Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Charming, charming, charming," said the stranger. "Everything -is charming, except"--with a loathing gesture at the alligator, which lay still -as a log, waiting for prey--"that monster; except also that I am dead with -fatigue. I came here for a bath to refresh myself after much travelling. Is -there any part of this treacherous river in which a man may bathe in safety?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will show you a place."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No tricks, young sir, said the stranger, suspicion in his -voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why should I play you tricks? If you do not care to trust me, -seek a secure spot yourself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I will accompany you, who must know the river well. You -do, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am thoroughly acquainted with it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You guessed my nation; shall I guess yours? Australian."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am an Englishman."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A great nation; a great people. Is this the spot?"</p> - -<p class="normal">They had arrived at a smooth piece of water, semi-circularly -protected by rocks from the invasion of alligators.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is the spot," said Basil, "you will be perfectly safe -here."</p> - -<p class="normal">The water was so clear that they could see to the bottom. -Black and silver bream, perch, mullet, and barramundi were swimming in its -translucent depths. The stranger peered carefully among the rocks to make sure -that they were free from foes, and then, without thanking Basil, began to strip -off his clothes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you--where will you bathe?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A little farther up stream. Good morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, good morning; but I may see you again if you are living -near."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I live," said Basil, "in the house yonder."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_06" href="#div1Ref_06">CHAPTER VI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">A sudden excitement was observable in the stranger. He paused -in his undressing, and laid his hand on Basil's arm, clutching with nervous -fingers.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are very intimate with M. Anthony Bidaud?" he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We are friends."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Friends? Ah! You are not related? No, you cannot be, for you -are English. Yet there are other ties. His wife is dead, you say, and as I know. -Yes, dead. But he may be looking for another, may be already married again." He -spoke in feverish haste. ("A touch of the jackal here," thought Basil.) "Tell -me, you friend of M. Anthony Bidaud."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is not married again," said Basil, "and to my knowledge is -not seeking another wife."</p> - -<p class="normal">The stranger drew a long breath of relief, followed -immediately by the exhibition of a new suspicion. "His daughter, Annette--if he -spoke truth a child. But men lie sometimes, very often, you, I, all men. He -married long, long ago, and this Annette may well be a young woman of twenty." -He scowled as he looked at Basil's handsome face. "Is she married, or going to -be?</p> - -<p class="normal">"Absurd," said Basil, but a little touch of colour came into -his face which the sharp eyes of the stranger noted, "she is scarcely fourteen -years of age."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good, good. Time, let us hope, to prevent mischief. But, -pardon me, if you live in the house of M. Bidaud, there must be a reason. You do -not look like a common labourer; you are something better, a gentleman--eh?" And -again all his thin pointed features seemed, foxlike, to converge to one point.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am a gentleman," said Basil, "and I am staying with M. -Bidaud as a guest." He referred to the present, not feeling warranted in -speaking of the future. The arrangement he had entered into with Anthony Bidaud -had yet to be carried into effect.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, ah, as a guest, only as a guest, but with an eye to the -future, perhaps. M. Anthony Bidaud is rich, and in two years his daughter, his -only child, will be sixteen and nearly ripe. There is a saying, is there not, -among you English that welcomes the coming and speeds the parting guest? I have -been in your country, and know something of its literature, and in my own land -my education was not neglected. That saying about the coming and parting guest -is a good omen, for I have but just arrived, and you----"</p> - -<p class="normal">But Basil did not wait to hear the conclusion of the sentence. -Annoyed at the turn the conversation had taken he turned on his heel, and left -the stranger to enjoy his bath. He walked slowly to his own, rather ruffled by -the interview.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who can he be?" he thought, as he prepared for his swim. "He -seems to be acquainted with M. Bidaud and with his personal history. What on -earth made me answer his interminable questions? His pertinacity, I suppose, and -a kind of magnetism in him which it was hard to resist. But I might have been -courteous without being communicative. I said nothing, however, of my own -prompting, and his questions followed each other naturally. What he learnt from -me he could have learnt from a dozen others, and after all there is no harm -done. He certainly has the knack of rubbing the wrong way; an extraordinarily -annoying fellow, but neither loutish nor ignorant. That is why I was constrained -to follow his lead. This is his destination; his business then, must be with M. -Bidaud. Important business, he said--and with Annette's father. I did not like -his references to Annette. Will it be right or wrong for me to convey my -impressions of this stranger to M. Bidaud? Wrong. I will merely mention that I -met with such a man, who was coming to the house upon business. He spoke of -having walked a long way. He must be poor, or he would have chosen another mode -of conveyance, especially as he seems to be in somewhat feverish haste. Being -poor is nothing against him; I am poor myself. Psha! What a worry I am making of -nothing!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He could not dismiss the subject, however, and the currents of -his thoughts ran on even as he swam.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The woman I met on my way to the river; how skilfully he -evaded my inquiries as to the relationship between them! His tone when he spoke -of her showed that he had power over her. I have not the least doubt he is the -kind of man who can make himself intensely disagreeable. Poor woman! There is a -resemblance in their features; I have heard that husband and wife frequently -grow like each other in face. She was hungry, but she declined the offer of a -good meal. Acting, I should say, under her husband's instructions, and too -frightened of him to disobey him. Faithful creatures, women. Patient as camels -some of them and as docile. A hard tramp she seems to have had of it, and he has -not spared her. Well, she can rest here a few days. Would I like them to remain -on the plantation? No. He would keep me in a continual state of irritation. His -allusions to Annette were in the worst of taste. I dare say before the day is -out I shall know the nature of his business. M. Bidaud will tell me. Confound -the fellow! I'll not think of him any more."</p> - -<p class="normal">As a contribution towards this end he plunged half a dozen -times into the deepest parts of the river, and finally emerged, glowing. The -disturbing impressions produced by the stranger were dissipated, and Basil -thought it would look churlish if on his road back to the house he did not go to -see whether he could be of any service to him. He saw nothing, however, of the -man or the woman, and greatly refreshed, he proceeded to the house. The sun was -now high in the heavens, and the labourers were at work on the plantation. He -exchanged greetings with a few of the better sort, and inquired whether they had -seen anything of the strangers. They replied in the negative; they had seen -nothing of them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you, Rocke?" he asked of one who was regarding him with -a scowl.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," said Rocke. "What business is it of mine?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was Rocke's misfortune to always wear a scowl on his face, -but in this scowl there were degrees. To produce an amiable smile was with Rocke -an impossibility; nature had been cruel, and his parents, one or both of them, -had transmitted to him a sour temper as an inheritance; but the state of his -feelings could be correctly judged by the kind of scowl he wore; a nice observer -could scarcely make a mistake as to whether he tolerated, disliked, or hated the -man he was gazing on. There could be no mistake made now; he hated Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was a reason. Every man has his good points, even the -worst of men, and Rocke's good point was that he conscientiously performed the -duties for which he was engaged. However hard the work before him, done it was -with a will--and a scowl. Now, this was a distinct virtue, and Anthony Bidaud -gave him credit for it, and appreciated the conscientious worker, as any other -master would do of a man who gave him full value for his wage. So far, so good; -master and man were satisfied. But before Basil's arrival on the plantation -Rocke had got it into his head--which was not an intellectual head--that Anthony -Bidaud entertained the notion of creating a general supervisor and manager of -the estate, and that he, Rocke, was the man to be appointed; and since Basil's -arrival his ambitious dream was disturbed by the conviction that Basil would -step into the shoes he wished to wear.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know that it is any business of yours," said Basil to -Rocke, "only I thought you might have seen these persons."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, I haven't," said Rocke.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil nodded cheerfully, and proceeded towards the house. He -was not a man of paroxysms; except upon very special occasions his temperament -was equable. As to whether Rocke had spoken the truth or no he did not -speculate; it was not in Rocke he was interested, but in the man and woman with -whom he had spoken on his way to the river.</p> - -<p class="normal">Anthony Bidaud was an early riser, and Basil went to the room -in which the master of the plantation was in the habit of transacting his -private business. He knocked twice or thrice at the door without receiving an -answer, and then, turning the handle, he entered the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">Anthony Bidaud was reclining in the chair in which he usually -sat when engaged in correspondence. His back was towards Basil, and before him -on the table writing materials were spread. He sat quite still, and for a moment -or two the young man was uncertain what to do. Then he called Bidaud by name. No -answer came, and Basil, surprised at the stillness, advanced to Bidaud, and -stood immediately behind him. Still no notice was taken of Basil. Then he laid -his hand upon Bidaud's shoulder. The occupant of the chair did not move, and -Basil leaned anxiously forward to look into his face. At first Basil believed -him to be asleep, but a closer examination sent the blood rushing to the young -man's heart in terror. Bidaud's arm hung listlessly by his side, and upon his -face dwelt an expression of acute suffering. Again Basil called him by name, and -shook him roughly, but no responsive word or movement greeted him from the quiet -figure in the chair. Basil thrust his hand into Bidaud's shirt over the region -of his heart, and trembled to meet with no pulsation there. He raised Bidaud's -arm and released it. It dropped lifeless down.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Merciful heavens!" cried Basil, looking helplessly around. -"Can this be death?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The question he asked of himself was heard by another man. The -stranger he had met on the banks of the river had noiselessly opened the door, -and now advanced to the chair.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who speaks of death?" asked the stranger. "Ah, it is you, who -are a guest in this house. And I find you and him "--he stretched a long bony -finger at the recumbent figure of Anthony Bidaud--"here together, alone. You -with a face of fear, terror, and excitement; he quite still, quite still!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He was perfectly composed, and there was a malicious smile on -his lips as he confronted Basil. Dazed by the situation, Basil could find no -words to reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are confounded," continued the stranger. "It needs -explanation. Who is this man sitting so quietly in his chair?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"M. Anthony Bidaud," said Basil, with white lips, "the master -of this house."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, M. Anthony Bidaud, the master of this house," said the -stranger, echoing Basil's words, but whereas Basil's voice was agitated, his had -not a tremor in it. "I will see if you are speaking the truth." He lowered his -face, and his eyes rested upon the face of the motionless figure. "Yes, it is -he, Anthony Bidaud, worn, alas! and wasted. Sad, sad, sad!" Grief was expressed -in the words but not in the tone of the speaker. "What was it you asked a moment -ago? Can this be death? I am a doctor. I will tell you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Lifting the lifeless form in his arms he laid it upon a couch, -and tearing open the shirt and waistcoat, placed his ear to Anthony Bidaud's -heart; then took his pulse between finger and thumb. He proceeded with his -examination by taking from his pocket a little leather case containing a small -comb and a narrow slip of looking-glass. Rubbing the surface of the glass dry -with a handkerchief that had dropped to the ground, he passed it over the mouth -of Anthony Bidaud; then held it up to the light.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he said, looking Basil full in the face, "it is death. -It is lucky I travelled hither in the night, and did not allow myself to be -delayed by fatigue. Fortune, I thank you. You have treated me scurvily hitherto; -at length you relent, and smile upon me. Being a lady, I kiss my hand to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">There was something so inexpressibly heartless in the action -that Basil cried indignantly, "Who are you, and by what right have you intruded -yourself into this room?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The stranger did not immediately reply. He felt in his pocket -for a snuff-box, and producing it regaled himself with a pinch. He offered the -box to Basil, who pushed it aside. He smiled and placed the box in his pocket, -and was also about to replace the leather case, when an amusing thought occurred -to him. He dressed his hair with the comb, and gazed at himself in the glass -with an affectation of vanity. His smile broadened as he noticed the look of -horror in Basil's face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You wish to know," he said slowly, "who I am, and by what -right I intrude myself into this room. You have presumption, you, M. Anthony -Bidaud's guest, to use the word 'intrude' to me! I am this dead gentleman's -brother. My name is Gilbert Bidaud. Eh? Did you speak?"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_07" href="#div1Ref_07">CHAPTER VII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">So many conflicting emotions had been pressed into the last -few minutes that Basil was utterly bewildered. The cold, sardonic face before -him, wreathed into mocking smiles even in the presence of death, added to his -bewilderment. He passed his hand across his eyes, wondering whether he was -dreaming, but removing his hand from his forehead he saw the dead form of -Anthony Bidaud on the sofa, and heard the light laugh of the man who called -himself Anthony's brother. This laugh recalled him to himself; he was in full -possession of his senses, and understood what had occurred, and to some extent -what it portended.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud! And the woman with him was not his wife, but -his sister, to whom Annette's father had written six months ago, imploring her -to come to him, and promising to provide for her and her family. That being so, -she was here by authority. She was but an instrument in the hands of Gilbert -Bidaud, whose lightest word she was constrained to obey.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud!</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is hard to speak harshly of one's flesh and blood, but it -is the truth that the girl I loved was fortunate in not placing her affections -upon him. He would have broken her heart. He was a spendthrift and a libertine, -and would stop at little for the gratification of his selfish pleasures."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was but last evening that these words were spoken by lips -that would never speak again, and now this spendthrift and libertine was within -touch of him, was standing with a smiling face by the dead body of the brother -he would have wronged. There came to Basil's mind the image of Annette, the -sweet confiding girl, who was to have been given into his care to guard and -protect. All that was over now. Inexorable death had stopped the fulfilment of -the fond father's wish. And Annette herself, how would it fare with her? She was -ignorant as yet of the crushing, terrible blow which had so suddenly fallen upon -her. Who would impart the cruel news to her? Who would comfort her in her -bereavement? Even as these reflections crossed his mind he heard the young -girl's voice singing outside as she tripped downstairs from her bedroom. He -glided to the door, and softly turned the key. Just in time. Annette lingered at -the door, tried the handle gently with the intention of kissing her father -good-morning, and, finding the door fast, passed on gaily and continued her -song.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is Annette?" questioned Gilbert Bidaud. Basil nodded. "A -sweet voice, the voice of a child, whose nature is not yet moulded. We will -mould it, my sister and I. We will instil into her virgin soul, principles. She -will be grateful that we have come, being of her blood. I have a number of your -English sayings at my fingers' ends. Blood is thicker than water. I represent -the one, you the other. She is not a woman--yet. The mind of a child is like a -slate! fancies, likings, are easily rubbed off. It is more serious when we grow -older. The child forgets, the woman remembers. Do you catch my meaning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should be sorry to say I did," replied Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, you would pay me a compliment, gilding me with virtues to -which I do not aspire, to which I have never aspired. I am a plain man, I; -honest to the backbone; with my heart on my sieve, transparent. It has not paid -up to this time, but my hour has come. Why did you lock the door?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Does not that answer you?" pointing to the dead body of -Annette's father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, she does not know. You are considerate, you." A strange -smile came to his lips as he added, "No one knows but you and I."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil stepped to the table. Perhaps the letter which Anthony -Bidaud intended to write to his lawyer was there; it might contain something by -which he could be guided at this dread crisis. But the sheet of paper which -Anthony Bidaud had taken from the open desk displayed only the mark of a scrawl -at the top. The pen, with the ink scarcely dried in it, lay upon the table. -Evidently at the very moment that Anthony Bidaud had put pen to paper he was -visited by the death-stroke. The pen had dropped from his fingers, and he had -fallen back lifeless in his chair. There was, however, an addressed envelope, -and Basil noted the name and the direction, which were those of the lawyer whom -Anthony Bidaud intended to summon to the plantation.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud had followed his movements attentively, and -now, when Basil looked up from the table, he repeated the last words he had -uttered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No one knows but you and I."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you mean by that?" demanded Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What I mean," said Bidaud, touching his forehead with a -finger, "I keep here for the present. It is sometimes dangerous to explain -meanings too soon. Take heed. When I came to this colony--but a short time -since--I was inwardly warned that I might meet with men from whom it would be -necessary to protect myself. Therefore I purchased this"--producing a -revolver--"and this"--producing a knife--"only to be used in self-defence, -against you, against any man."</p> - -<p class="normal">There was nothing menacing in his tone. He spoke, indeed, -rather playfully than otherwise, and handled the revolver and knife as though -they were toys instead of dangerous weapons. A wild thought crossed Basil's -mind, and he acted upon it instantly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You say you are Gilbert Bidaud, brother of this unfortunate -gentleman, but I have only your word for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, ah," said Gilbert Bidaud, with an air of great amusement, -"you have only my word for it. But what kind of authority do you hold here that -you should demand answers to questions upon this or any other subject?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil could not answer this direct challenge; he inwardly -recognised the weakness of his position; Anthony Bidaud dead, he was but a -cipher on his estate.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are as a feather to a rock," said Gilbert Bidaud, with a -gesture of contempt, "and I am but amusing myself with you. I stand quietly here -for a reason I may presently explain. This house has lost a master." He glanced -at his dead brother. "This house has gained a master." He touched his breast -triumphantly. "It is but a change, a law of nature. My brother and I have not -met for twenty years. He had a good motive for avoiding me; he fled from -Switzerland with money of mine, and now, through death, he is compelled to make -restitution."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is false," cried Basil, chivalrously defending the friend -he had lost. "If you are Gilbert Bidaud it was you who attempted to rob him of -his inheritance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, ah. Did my estimable brother open his heart entirely to -you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sufficiently to reveal your true character--even to the last -words you spoke to him before he left Switzerland."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Favour me with them. It may be excused if I do not faithfully -recall them at this distance of time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"'One day,' you said to him 'I will be even with you. Remember -my words--dead or alive, I will be even with you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I remember. My words were prophetic. Fate was on my side, -justice was on my side. They whispered to me, 'Wait.' I waited. And now--look -there! So, so, my ingenious young friend; you know the whole story."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was related to me by your brother."</p> - -<p class="normal">"By this lump of clay! It would be the act of a fool to deal -tenderly by you; and I, as you may have already learned, am no fool. How came my -brother by his death?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"How came he by his death?" stammered Basil, puzzled by the -question, and not seeing the drift of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ay, how came he by his death? I am not so ignorant as you -suppose. I have made inquiries about you; there are men on this estate who bear -you no good will. You are here, not as a guest, but an interloper. You and my -brother were strangers a few short weeks ago, and you forced yourself upon him -and lived here, a beggar, eating his food, drinking his wine, and paying for -them neither in service nor money. That is a creditable part to be played by one -who calls himself an English gentleman. Summoned here by M. Anthony Bidaud--I -have in my pocket the letter he wrote to our sister--I hasten on the wings of -love, tarrying not on the road, but wearing myself near to death in order that I -may satisfy his longing desire to embrace me. I meet you by accident on the -river's bank, and I perceive that you regard yourself as master here. The river -is yours, the land is yours, my brother is yours, his daughter Annette is -yours--ah, you wince at that. All this you proclaim in your lordly way, and -patronise me--me, whose rightful place you would have usurped. Before meeting -you pass my sister, resting in her labour of love, and you offer her -charity--you, a beggar, pass this insult upon a lady who, under my direction, -will educate my dear brother's little daughter, and teach her--principles. You -leave me by the river; I, guileless, unsuspicious, a child in innocence, calmly -take my bath, and reflect with delight upon the joy of my brother when he takes -me to his arms. Walking to this house, I meet a labourer, whose name is Rocke. -He tells me something of you; he directs me to my brother's private room. I open -the door; I see you standing by my brother's side. You are in a state of fear -and agitation; your face is white, your limbs tremble. I hear you ask the -question, 'Can this be death?' To whom or to what do you address this enquiry? -To your conscience, for you believe yourself to be alone; you are unconscious -that I am present 'Can this be death?' I convince myself, and you. It <i>is</i> -death. I am deprived of the opportunity of saying to my brother that I forgive -him for the wrong he did me in the past. It is most cruel, and you have robbed -me of the opportunity; but, before I forget it, I will chance the efficacy of my -forgiveness, though he be dead." With a mock humility shocking to witness, he -extended his hands, and, looking upwards, said, "Brother, I forgive you. I -return to my argument. What passed between you and my brother before I entered -this room? Again I ask, how came he by his death! If it is not a natural end, -who is the murderer?"</p> - -<p class="normal">In hot indignation Basil started forward, but by a great -effort of will restrained himself. He had been appalled by the careless mocking -tone in which Gilbert Bidaud had spoken, by his false assumption of a grief he -did not feel, by the evident enjoyment he derived from the glaring insincerity -of his professions. For no two things could be more distinctly at variance than -Gilbert Bidaud's words and the tone in which he uttered them. It exhibited a -refinement of malice, and, what rendered it more revolting, of malice in which -the intellectual quality was conspicuous.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is well," continued Gilbert Bidaud, "that you exercise -self-control. I might call aloud for help; I might, in less time than it takes -me to speak it, create in this room the evidences of a struggle, in the course -of which I might fire my revolver, produced for self-defence; I might inform -those who would break the door down--it is locked by you, remember--that you -attempted to murder me, even as you-- Ah, I perceive you understand. Yes, all -this I might do, and you would be in the toils. Do not move until I have done -with you, or you will be in deadly danger. In such parts of the world as this, -exasperated men often proceed hastily to summary justice, and it might be -executed upon you. I am teaching you lessons, as I shall teach my dear niece -Annette, principles. You are young; I, alas, am old. I have nothing to learn; -you have much. Tell me, you hanger-on in this house, you beggar of my brother's -hospitality, what passed between you and him before I entered this room?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing," replied Basil, confounded by the possibilities of a -ruthless malice with which Gilbert Bidaud had threatened him. "I have already -informed you that when I entered the room he was dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What brought you here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I came by appointment," said Basil. He no longer doubted that -the man before him was Anthony Bidaud's brother; and he was surprised that he -had not detected the resemblance upon his first meeting with Gilbert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What was the nature of the appointment?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He wished me to read a letter he intended to write to his -lawyer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, ah! He intended to write to his lawyer. May I ask this -lawyer's name?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is there upon an envelope."</p> - -<p class="normal">"His place of residence?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sydney, I believe."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A long way off. The letter was to have been written this -morning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. He at first intended to write it last night, but he put -it off till to-day. The postponement was most unfortunate."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should have urged him to carry out his intention last -night, as he designed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah! <i>Aprés dommage chacun est sage</i>--except the dead. -Why should you have urged him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would have been to my interests--and his, I fear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Leave his out of the question; he has done with the world. -Yours is another matter. How could a simple letter to a lawyer have been in your -interests? A letter is not a legal document." His preternatural sharpness as he -made this remark was a revelation to an honest nature like Basil's. There seemed -to be no limit to Gilbert Bidaud's cunning.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At least it would have explained matters, and cleared me from -your suspicions."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Words are easily spoken, and weigh no more than air. To what -effect was to have been this letter?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He desired to make his will."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud drew a deep breath of satisfaction; he had -elicited something tangible, something which had wonderfully strengthened his -position. "Then there is no will, and the letter, which would have been -valueless, was not written. Your expression of regret leads me to infer that the -will was to have been in your favour."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To a certain extent."</p> - -<p class="normal">"False. He intended to repair the injustice from which I have -so long suffered; his property would have been divided between me and the little -Annette. It is too late for him to do that now; but I stand as natural guardian -to my niece. I am truly the master here; the law will declare me so. Console -yourself. You shall depart from this house a free man. You are not in danger. -Bear witness to my magnanimity; my brother died a natural death. I will testify -it, to save you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That will not do," said Basil. "From what cause he died shall -be proved by proper evidence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall. I, a doctor, will supply it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I reject your proof; you are an interested party. It shall be -independent evidence that shall establish the cause of death."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So be it, young Daniel," said Gilbert Bidaud, briskly. -"Meanwhile, I release you from suspicion; I, the gentleman you have insulted, -believe you to be innocent. I go to seek my niece, to introduce myself to her, -and to break to her the sad, the melancholy news. But before I go I give you -notice of your discharge. For one week from this day you shall enjoy my -hospitality, but for no longer, for not an hour longer. Accept it, beggar, or -leave at once."</p> - -<p class="normal">He paused at the door, opened it, removed the key to the -outside, and with a contemptuous motion, ordered Basil to quit the room. The -young man had no choice but to obey. Whatever might be Gilbert Bidaud's -character, he stood in the house as legal representative of the dead. Annette -was but a child, and her uncle was her lawful guardian. Grieved, -sorrow-stricken, and humiliated, Basil left the room, and heard Gilbert Bidaud -turn the key.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_08" href="#div1Ref_08">CHAPTER VIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">What should he do now, how should he act? To accept Gilbert -Bidaud's hospitality was impossible. The old man was his bitter enemy, and would -show him no consideration. Indeed, what consideration could he expect? There was -no denying that he had no right to remain on the estate, but he felt he could -not leave it for ever without seeing Annette once more, without speaking to her -perhaps for the last time. Nor could be well take his final departure without -making an attempt to clear himself from the foul suspicions which, in his -absence, he felt convinced Gilbert Bidaud would set in circulation against him. -He had led a spotless life, and the thought that a stain should now be cast upon -it was unbearable. But what means could he take to clear himself from the breath -of slander? He could think of no way at present, and he walked into the open -with a heavy weight of melancholy at his heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">He wandered into the woods and gathered some fruit; he had a -vigorous appetite, and it would be a folly to starve himself. But the food of -which he partook had never tasted less sweet than on this sad morning. His -hunger appeased, he returned to the vicinity of the house.</p> - -<p class="normal">He heard a cry of distress in the distance, and saw men and -women hurrying to the spot from which the cry proceeded. The voice was -Annette's.</p> - -<p class="normal">Presently he saw the men and women coming towards the house. -They were headed by Gilbert Bidaud and his sister, and one of the men--before -the group came close to him he saw that it was Rocke--was carrying in his arms -the insensible form of Annette. Impelled by love and infinite compassion for the -child, he started forward, but was haughtily waved off by Gilbert Bidaud.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That man," said Gilbert to those in his rear, "has my -permission to remain on this estate for one week. When that time has expired he -will be a trespasser."</p> - -<p class="normal">As he finished speaking Annette opened her eyes--they fell -upon Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil, Basil!" she cried, extending her arms to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Annette!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Once more he attempted to go to her; once more Gilbert Bidaud -waved him off, and stepped before him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he touches her, if he follows her, arrest him. I give you -authority."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil fell back. Annette's mournful eyes were fixed upon his -face in dumb despair.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hurry in--hurry in," said Gilbert Bidaud in a harsh tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">They passed into the house, and Basil was left alone. It was a -favourite trick of his to put his thoughts into unspoken words; he had -encouraged the habit, finding it led to clearness and generally, when he was in -doubt, to some definite issue. In his disturbed mood he found this a suitable -time for this mental indulgence. Something should be done, clearly; but what?</p> - -<p class="normal">"Poor Annette!" he thought. "Poor child! What will now become -of her? What will be her future? That brute--he is no less--who boasts so -sardonically that he intends to teach her principles, will poison her mind -against me. If I do not see her again she will grow to hate me. It is dreadful -to think of. She has none but kind thoughts of me now; and though in a short -time we may be parted for ever, and all chance of ever seeing her again will be -lost, I should dearly like to feel that if she thinks of me in the future it -will be with gentleness and affection. I have done nothing to forfeit her -affection, except that I am unfortunate.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My bright dreams are suddenly snapped. A few short hours have -changed happiness to woe. Still--still I have committed no wrong. Of that I am -sure, and it is a comfort--but poor Annette! If I could assure her that I am not -to blame, I could bear it. She would believe me, and I could go on my way with a -less sorrowful heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That brute will try his hardest to prevent my seeing her. The -blow that has fallen upon her may prostrate her. She may die--it is horrible, -horrible! If that should happen, Gilbert Bidaud will come into possession of -everything. Is that the end to which he will work? He is capable of it, capable -of any villainy. Can I do nothing to save her?</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am powerless. I have no claim upon her; I have no right to -be here. But I will not go away without seeing, without speaking to her. If he -takes her from this place, which is likely enough, I will follow them. She must -not, she must not be left to the tender mercies of that jackal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"All very fine to talk, Basil. You will follow them? Why, man, -you must live. It is a necessity. And to live you must work. How much money have -you in your pocket to commence the fight of existence with?--to say nothing of -the grand things you are going to do for sweet Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has got hold of my heart-strings. I shall never, never -forget her. Certain words spoken by my dear friend, Anthony Bidaud, last night, -come to my mind. Let me recall them, exactly as he spoke them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"'We are drawn to each other,' he said. And before that: 'By -accident you enter into our lives. I use the term accident, but I believe it to -be a providence.' How if it should be so? The shadow of death was hanging over -him, and at such times some men have been gifted with prophetic insight. If it -were so with Anthony Bidaud, this is not the end. The thought I have expressed, -the very word 'insight' I have used, were his. 'I have observed you closely,' he -said, 'and am satisfied to deliver into your hands a sacred charge, the charge -of a young girl's future. At such moments as these there comes to some men a -subtle, unfathomable insight. It comes to me. I firmly believe that there is a -link between you and my child, which, if you do not recognise it now, you will -be bound to recognise in the future. It may be broken in the present, but the -threads will be joined as surely as we stand here side by side.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"With all my heart I hope so, but it is the wildest, the most -unreasonable of hopes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can nothing, nothing be done?</p> - -<p class="normal">"He said he had made no will; but he may have left papers -expressing his wishes. How to get a sight of them? If I had sufficient means to -take me to Sydney I would hasten there, to Anthony Bidaud's lawyer, and lay the -case before him. But my purse is empty. I have, however, something about me of -value. My gold watch and chain, given to me by my dear father. That is worth a -certain sum, but it would not carry me to Sydney. It would carry me, however, to -Gum Flat, where perhaps I can find a lawyer who will advise her. In the saddle I -could reach there to-night, and be back to-morrow. Where can I obtain a horse? I -dare not take one from the plantation. Gilbert Bidaud would accuse me of theft, -and he would be within his right. Ah! Old Corrie!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Here he stopped. His unspoken thoughts had led him to a -definite issue.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gum Flat was the name of the nearest township, if township it -could be called. In the Australian colonies they delight in singular names for -places. Old Corrie was a man who, by permission of Anthony Bidaud, occupied a -hut which he had built with his own hands on the plantation, some two miles from -the spot upon which Basil at that moment stood. He was not employed on the -estate, but did odd jobs in wood splitting and the felling of trees for the -master of the plantation. The man had "taken" to Basil, as the saying is, and in -his odd way had shown a liking for the young man, who always had a pleasant word -for any agreeable person he chanced to fall across.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie was not an old man, his age being about forty, but -he was dubbed Old Corrie because he was angular, because he was crooked, because -he had a mouth all awry, because he chose to keep himself from his fellows. He -owned a horse, and it occurred to Basil that he might lend it to him for the -journey to Gum Flat, which was distant some forty-five miles. To Old Corrie's -hut, therefore, Basil betook himself, stepping out with a will.</p> - -<p class="normal">In less than half-an-hour he reached the old fellow's -dwelling. Old Corrie was not at home, but Basil heard the sound of his axe in -the woods. It was not very near, but men's ears get trained to fine sounds in -the bush. Guided by the thud of the axe Basil in a short time found himself face -to face with the woodman.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie went on with his work, merely glancing up and -giving Basil a friendly nod. From another living creature Basil received a more -boisterous greeting, a laughing jackass which Old Corrie had tamed bursting into -an outrageous fit of laughter without the least apparent cause. This bird, which -is sometimes called the bushman's clock, was an uncouth-looking object, as big -as a crow, of a rich chestnut-brown colour with light-blue wings; its beak was -long and pointed, and its mouth inordinately large. These characteristics, in -alliance with a formidable crest, invested it with a ferocious air; but this -particular specimen was exceedingly gentle despite the extravagant sounds it -emitted, which might have been excruciatingly prolonged had not its sharp eye -caught sight of a carpet snake wriggling through the underwood. Down darted the -laughing jackass, and commenced a battle with the snake which terminated in the -bird throwing the dead body of the reptile into the air, with a series of -triumphant chuckles; after which it sat silent on a branch, contemplating the -dead snake with an air partly comical, partly profound, and waiting in grim -patience for a movement on the part of its victim which would furnish an excuse -for a renewal of hostilities.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil had time to note all this, for Old Corrie did not speak, -and the young man was debating how to commence.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, presently, throwing -down his axe and taking out his pipe, a common short clay which he would not -have exchanged for thrice its weight in gold, "what brings you this way? Any -message from Mr. Bidaud?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Corrie," replied Basil sadly, "you will receive no more -messages from him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was thinking myself," said Corrie, glancing at Basil; and -not immediately recognising the gravity of the reply, "that there mightn't be -any more."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What made you think that?" asked Basil, in doubt whether the -man knew of Anthony Bidaud's death.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm down with the fever, Master Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am sorry to hear that, Corrie," said Basil in surprise, for -Old Corrie was the picture of health and strength. "Can I do anything for you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, with a smile and a kindly -look at Basil. "The fever I'm down with ain't the kind of fever that's in your -mind. It's the gold fever I'm down with."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh," said Basil, "I understand."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The wonder is that I've never been down with it before. If I -don't strike a rich claim or find a big nugget or two, I can always come back to -this."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you heard any news, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, two men camped out here last night, and we had a talk. -I gave 'em some tea, and their tongues got loosened a bit. There's a new -goldfield discovered somewhere in the north, and they're after it. A regular Tom -Tiddler's ground, Mr. Basil, only it's all gold and no silver. Twenty ounces to -the tub."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you're off?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"When I've finished this job for Mr. Bidaud."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How long will that take you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"About three weeks."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it a contract job?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Signed on paper?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, we never had need of that. Mr. Bidaud's word is as good -as his bond; so's mine."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would not go on with it, Corrie, if I were you, till I made -sure."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because the gentleman who made the contract with you by word -of mouth is dead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dead!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Died this morning, suddenly, I grieve to say."</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie took his pipe from his mouth, and sent a look of -reproach in the direction of the laughing jackass, from whose throat proceeded a -faint gurgle of laughter. At this look the quaint bird--as odd a specimen of the -feathered tribes as Old Corrie was of the human race--checked--its mirth, and -cocking its head knowingly on one side, inquired with its speaking eye what was -the matter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's bad news, Master Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The worst of news, Corrie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Died suddenly?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite suddenly. It is a great shock."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What's to become of the little lady?" asked Old Corrie, in a -sympathising tone. The inquiry was addressed as much to himself as to Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is one of the things that are troubling me, Corrie. You -are a favourite of hers."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've seen her grow up, and remember her mother well. I've -cause. Once when I was down with the colonial fever--almost as bad as the gold -fever, Master Basil--Mrs. Bidaud as good as nursed me through it, coming or -sending every day for two months and more, till I got strong. When I was well I -went up to the house to thank her. The little lady was just toddling about, and -made friends with me. I shall never forget Mrs. Bidaud; I went to her funeral. -You stopped at my hut before you came here, I expect."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes; I thought you might be there."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you hear anything?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Only the sound of your axe in the woods."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I mean inside the hut. There's a magpie there that's got the -sense of a human being and a voice like a flute. I only got it a fortnight ago, -and I've tamed it already, surprising. Back as white as snow, Master Basil, and -breast and wings shining like black satin. A handsome bird, and quite young. It -says 'Little lady; Little lady!' and 'Miss Annette!' in a way that'll astonish -you. I'm doing it for the little lady herself, and I'm glad I began it because -I'm going away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will please her greatly, Corrie, if she is allowed to -accept it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What's to prevent her? Poor little lady! First her mother, -then her father. I thought there was trouble in your face when I saw it. Would -you mind explaining, Master Basil, about this wood-splitting contract of mine? -Why shouldn't I finish it till I made sure."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Basil told of the arrival of the dead man's brother and -sister, and was not delicate in expressing his opinion of Gilbert Bidaud.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're not the sort of man," said Old Corrie thoughtfully, -"to speak, ill behind another's back without good reason. Little lady's uncle -must be a bad lot. A man and a woman, you say, foreign looking. They must be the -pair that passed my hut early this morning when I was getting up. They didn't -stop; she wanted to, I think, but he wouldn't let her. 'Curse you!' I heard him -say, 'What are you lagging for? Put life into your miserable limbs; we haven't -got far to go.' It seemed to me as if he laid hands on her to drag her along. I -came out of the hut, and saw them ahead, the woman walking as if she was dead -beat, and the man lugging her on. They never turned to look behind, and I -watched till they were out of sight. I'm sorry for the little lady. I'll go up -to the house to-day, and judge for myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You may hear something against me, Corrie. Don't believe it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I won't, without reason. I make up my mind slow, Master -Basil. Perhaps you've got something more to tell me. It won't be thrown away."</p> - -<p class="normal">Wishing to stand well with Old Corrie, Basil became more -communicative, and put the woodman in possession, of the particulars of what had -passed between himself and Anthony Bidaud on the previous evening, and also of -his interviews with Anthony's brother.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It looks black," said Old Corrie. "It's a pity you didn't -leave him to the alligator. And now, Master Basil, you've something else in your -mind. Out with it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I came to ask you to do me a great service."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Give it mouth."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It may be that poor Annette's father has left some papers -with respect to her future which the law might declare valid. If that is so, and -her uncle finds them, he will destroy them; it may be to his interest to do so, -and in that case he will allow no considerations of right and wrong to stand in -his way. The presence of a lawyer may prevent this. Then there is the slanderous -talk he is sure to set going against me; I want to clear myself of it. The -precise cause of Anthony Bidaud's death should be ascertained and declared by a -competent and disinterested person, and I thought of going to Gum Flat and -enlisting the services of a lawyer and a doctor, whom I would bring back with -me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would be a proper thing to do," said Corrie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But I am in a difficulty. I could walk the distance, but I -could not get there till to-morrow. Coming and going, four days at least would -be wasted, and in that time Annette's uncle could work his own ends without -interruption. Now, if I had a horse I could get there this evening, and back -to-morrow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You want me to lend you my mare?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is what I came to ask you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can have her; she's a willing creature, and 'll go till -she drops."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is kind of you, Corrie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not at all. I do it a little bit for your sake, but a good -deal more for the sake of the little lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You run a risk, Corrie. My story may not be true; I may never -come back."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll take security, then."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no money. The only thing I possess of value is this -watch and chain."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I won't take that; you may need it to pay the lawyer and the -doctor with. Besides that isn't the security I mean. I'll take your word."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're a real good fellow, Corrie. Some day I may be able to -repay you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I had any idea of looking out for that day I shouldn't do -what I'm doing. Look here, Master Basil. I know a gentleman when I see one; and -you're a gentleman. I believe every word you've told me. This fellow that's -turned up, the little lady's uncle, is a scoundrel, or he wouldn't have spoken -the words I heard to a woman nearly dead with fatigue--his own sister, too. Come -along; let's saddle the mare."</p> - -<p class="normal">Before that was done, however, Old Corrie insisted that Basil -should eat a hearty meal and see the magpie he was training for Annette. Then -Basil mounted the willing mare, and with a grip of the hand and a hearty "Good -luck, mate," from Old Corrie, the young man started for Gum Flat.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_09" href="#div1Ref_09">CHAPTER IX.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">It was three months since Basil had passed through the -conglomeration of canvas tents and stores which rejoiced in a title which -certainly could not be called euphonious, and then, although those were its most -prosperous days, it struck him as being a wretched hole. Rumours of rich finds -of gold had originally attracted a population to Gum Flat township, but the -glowing anticipations of the gold diggers who flocked to the false El Dorado -were doomed to disappointment. It was not a gold-diggers' but a storekeepers' -rush, and the result was a foregone conclusion; after a time the miners who had -flocked thither began to desert the place. Not, however, before they gave it a -fair trial. They marked out claims, they prospected the hills and gullies, they -turned the waters of a large creek, they sank shafts in many a likely-looking -spot, they followed spurs of stones on the ranges in the hope that they would -lead them to a rich quartz reef, but their labours were unrewarded. A couple of -specks to the dish and the faintest traces of gold in the quartz were not -sufficient to pay for powder and tobacco, and the men gradually began to leave -the uninviting locality. A few remained, but not to dig for gold; these were -chiefly loafers, and lived on each other, playing billiards during the day on -the one billiard table that had been left behind, and cards during the nights, -for fabulous and visionary sums of money which, really lost and won, would have -transformed beggars into millionaires and millionaires into beggars. The poorer -they grew the larger the stakes they played for, and their delusions created for -their delectation the most delicious paroxysms of infinite joy and overwhelming -despair. These they enjoyed to the full, reckoning up their losses and gains -with wild eyes and radiant countenances. One beggarly loafer, who for the last -five years had not had five pounds to bless himself with, went to the creek one -dark night after a visionary loss of a hundred thousand pounds or so, and -insisted upon drowning himself. It required a vast amount of insistence on his -part, for the creek just then was not more than three feet deep. Anyway, he was -found dead the next morning, with a letter in his pocket to the effect that he -was financially ruined and could not survive the disgrace; whereupon his -principal creditor, who, in the matter of finances, was no better off than the -drowned man, perambulated High Street in a state of fury, fiercely denouncing -his debtor who had not the courage to live and pay his debts of honour.</p> - -<p class="normal">Some means of subsistence, however inadequate, Gum Flat must -have had; these were found in the persons of a half-a-dozen drivers of bullock -drays, who every two weeks brought their earnings there and spent them royally. -This process lasted on each occasion exactly three days, during which time the -population, numbering in all not more than thirty souls, were in clover. When -the bullock drivers returned to their avocations the loafers declared that the -colonies were going to the dogs, and resumed the routine of their dismal days, -gambling, drinking, quarrelling, until the six solvent men returned again to -gladden their hearts.</p> - -<p class="normal">Even this miserable state of affairs came to an end after a -time, and reached a more deplorable stage. The bullock drivers discovered more -agreeable quarters, and in their turn deserted the township. Driven by sheer -necessity the loafers, one by one, followed their example, and slunk from the -place, until only four remained. Such was the condition of Gum Flat as Basil -rode towards the township on a day eventful enough in the story of his life, but -scarcely less eventful than the night which followed it was destined to be. Had -he been aware of this he would have thought twice before he made up his mind to -proceed thither in search of lawyer and doctor; but such is the irony of -circumstances that, had he not set forth on his present journey, the entire -course of his future life would have drifted into channels which would, almost -to a certainty, have separated him from Annette for ever. Accident or fate, -which you will; but the course of many lives is thus determined.</p> - -<p class="normal">He rode all day through the tracks he remembered, and -concerning which he had been refreshed by Old Corrie, who was as ignorant as -himself of the deplorable change that had taken place. The road for a few miles -lay along great plains of rich black soil, dotted here and there with masses of -blue and barley grass, among which might be found the native leek and wild -cucumber; then followed a tract of country somewhat lightly timbered but heavily -grassed, where he came across a nasty bit of "devil devil" land, fortunately of -not great extent, for he had to ride with a loose rein and leave it to his horse -to pick the safest way. On his left were large lagoons in which a wondrous -variety of wild fowl abounded; on his right was a belt of impenetrable scrub; -but the track was well defined, and after riding twenty miles he entered a -thickly wooded forest, for the shade of which he was grateful, the sun now being -high in the heavens. Emerging from this forest he halted near a vast sheet of -water, in which tall reeds grew, and where he found the wild banana. Off this -fruit and some cold meat and bread which Old Corrie had forced upon him, he made -a sufficient meal, and then resumed his journey. In the afternoon the road lay -through a more even country, and he reckoned upon reaching Gum Flat before -sundown. But he reckoned without his host, for the distance was longer than he -calculated, and at sunset he was still, according to the information given to -him by the driver of a bullock dray, eight or ten miles from the township. This -man was the only human being he had met in his lonely ride. Many a time in the -course of the day had he fallen into contemplation of the pregnant events of the -last twenty-four hours, thinking, "This time yesterday I was walking with -Annette in the woods, gathering wildflowers for her mother's grave. She slipped, -and I caught her in my arms." And again: "This time yesterday Anthony Bidaud, -Annette, and I, were sitting in the verandah, watching the sunset; and a moment -afterwards white stars were glittering in the clouds of faded gold. How -peaceful, how happy we were! And now?" he shuddered as he thought of the dead -form of Anthony Bidaud lying in his room and of the sense of desolation which -must have fallen upon Annette. He strove to direct his thoughts into more -cheerful grooves, but he was not successful.</p> - -<p class="normal">The gorgeous colours in the heavens melted away; the sun -dipped beneath the horizon; it was night. Fortunately it was light, and he could -see the road he was riding over. The willing animal he bestrode plodded on, more -slowly now, and Basil did not attempt to quicken the pace. It was ten o'clock -when he reached the township of Gum Flat.</p> - -<p class="normal">He recognised it by the outlines of the tents. He had expected -to see lights in the dwellings, arguing that Gum Flat must have increased in -importance since his last visit, but all was dark on the outskirts. He was -surprised at the darkness, but grateful that his journey was over. He rode along -the High Street, and with still deeper surprise observed that on some of the -stores the canvas lay loose, and that the calico over the frame was torn and -rent. "Can I have mistaken the road?" he thought. In the middle of the High -Street he paused. The door of a store was thrown suddenly open, and three men, -whose movements had been inspired by the sound of the horse's hoofs, emerged -therefrom, and stood looking up at Basil. Each had cards in his hand, denoting -that when they were disturbed they had been gambling. The picture at that moment -was Rembrandtesque. The street was in darkness; not a light was visible. One of -the men standing at the door held above his head a lighted candle stuck in a -whiskey bottle, and this dim light enabled the three-gamblers and Basil not -exactly to see each other but to define outlines. Through the open door Basil -saw a table upon which was another candle, and sitting at which was another man, -also with cards in his hand. This man, leaning forward, was striving to pierce -the gloom in which his companions and Basil stood. He rose and joined them, and -going close to Basil, laid his hand upon the horse's neck. Thus, Basil and he -confronted each other. And at that moment was commenced the weaving of a strand -which was to connect the lives of these two men, for weal or woe.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_10" href="#div1Ref_10">CHAPTER X.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Each man of this small group represented in his own person the -epitome of a drama more or less stirring and eventful. With three of these we -have little to do, and no good purpose will be served by recounting their -antecedents. The history of the fourth--he who stood with his hand on the neck -of Old Corrie's horse, looking up at Basil--will presently be unfolded.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was a full-bearded man, the light brown hair so effectually -concealing his features that only his cheekbones and forehead were visible. To a -physiologist, therefore, the index was imperfect. He was a young man, of about -the same age as Basil, and his name was Newman Chaytor. This was his true name; -it will be as well to say as much, for there was much that was false about him.</p> - -<p class="normal">The man who held the candle was known as Jim the Hatter; Jim -belonged properly to him by right, the Hatter was patronymic he had earned by -working on various goldfields alone, without a mate. Why they call men on the -gold-diggings thus inclined, Hatters, is one of the mysteries, but it is a fact. -Of the other two it will be sufficient to refer to them as Nonentity Number One -and Nonentity Number Two. Jim the Hatter was a large-boned, loose-limbed man, of -great strength. Upon his first arrival in Australia his time, to put it gently, -was not his own; it belonged to his country. He was now free, but his morals had -not been improved by the lesson his country had administered to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">It will thus be seen that Basil had unfortunately fallen among -thieves.</p> - -<p class="normal">For a few moments the man on horseback and the men on foot -preserved silence, and opportunity was afforded for a striking picture. Jim the -Hatter was the first to speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, mate?" he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is this the township of Gum Flat?" inquired Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is. If you're looking for it, you're dead on the gutter."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thought I must have mistaken my way," said Basil. "What has -come over the place?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Newman Chaytor answered him. "It has gone," he said, "to the -dogs."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Like yourselves," thought Basil, gazing at the men, but -deeming it prudent not to express himself aloud upon a point so personal. He -spoke, however. "It is the place I was making for. I suppose I can put up here -for the night?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's nothing to prevent you. Gum Flat township just now is -Liberty Hall."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stop a bit, stop a bit," said Nonentity Number One, -considering it necessary to his dignity that he should take part in the -conference. "Is the gentleman prepared to pay for accommodation?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's a proper question," said Nonentity Number Two, thus -asserting himself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course he is," said Jim the Hatter, answering for Basil, -who, with an empty purse, was saved from awkwardness.</p> - -<p class="normal">A diversion occurred here. Newman Chaytor snatched the candle -from Jim the Hatter, in order that he might obtain a clearer view of Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Manners, mate," said Jim the Hatter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Manners be hanged!" retorted Newman Chaytor, holding the -candle high. "They're out of stock."</p> - -<p class="normal">This was evident. To smooth matters Basil volunteered an -explanation. "I have come hereupon business, but I am afraid I have lost my -time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perhaps not," said Jim the Hatter. "We're all business men -here; ready at a moment's notice to turn a honest penny. That's true, ain't it, -mate?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He addressed Newman Chaytor, but that worthy did not reply. -Having obtained a clearer view of Basil's face, he seemed to be suddenly struck -dumb, and stared at it as though he were fascinated.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still," continued Jim the Hatter, "it's as well to be -particular in these times. I'm very choice in the company I keep, and I don't as -a rule do business with strangers, unless," he added, with a grin which found -its reflection on the lips of Nonentities Numbers One and Two, "they pay their -footing first."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you wish to know my name," said Basil, "it is Basil -Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What!" cried Newman Chaytor, finding his tongue; but the -exclamation of undoubted astonishment appeared to be forced from him instead of -being voluntarily uttered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil Whittingham," repeated Basil. "Being here, I must stop -for the night. Is there a stable near?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's one at the back," said Newman Chaytor, with sudden -alacrity, "or rather there was one. I'll show you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you," said Basil, and followed his guide to the rear of -the shanty.</p> - -<p class="normal">The three men looked after them with no good will.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He's a swell," said Nonentity Number One.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He's got a watch and chain," said Nonentity Number Two.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And a horse," said Jim the Hatter.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then they re-entered the store, and settled down to their game -of cards.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stop here a moment," said Newman Chaytor to Basil. "I'll get -a light."</p> - -<p class="normal">Returning with a candle stuck in a bottle, the fashionable -form of candlestick in Gum Flat, he waved it about, sometimes so close to Basil -that it shone upon his features.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You stare at me," said Basil, "as if you knew me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never saw you before to my knowledge." (A falsehood, but that -is a detail.) "You're not a colonial."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am an Englishman, like yourself, I judge."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I am English."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have the advantage of me--you know my name. May I ask -yours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Certainly," said Chaytor, but he spoke, nevertheless, with a -certain hesitation, as if something of importance hung upon it. "My name is -Newman, with Chaytor tacked to it." Then, anxiously, "Have you heard it before?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never. This is a tumble-down place. It is a courtesy to call -it a stable."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will serve, in place of a better."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, it is better than nothing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Everything is tumble-down in Gum Flat. I am an Englishman -town-bred. And you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My people hail from Devonshire."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not dreaming, then," said Chaytor, speaking for the -second time involuntarily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dreaming!" exclaimed Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was thinking of another matter," said Chaytor, with -readiness. "Speaking my thoughts aloud is one of my bad tricks."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One of mine, too," said Basil smiling.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is not the only thing in which we're alike."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We are about the same age, about the same build, and we are -both gentlemen. Your horse is blown; you have ridden a long distance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"From Bidaud's plantation."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have heard of it. And you come upon business? I may be able -to assist you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall be glad of assistance," said Basil, recognising in -his companion an obvious superiority to the men they had left. "When I passed -through Gum Flat a few months ago I thought it a township likely to thrive, and -now I find it pretty well deserted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has gone to the dogs, as I told you. There's nothing but -grass for your horse to nibble at. So you're from Devonshire. Do your people -live there still?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He mixed up the subjects of his remarks in the oddest manner, -and cast furtive glances at Basil with a certain mental preoccupation which -would have forced itself upon Basil's attention had he not been so occupied with -his own special cares.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are none left," said Basil. "I am the only one -remaining."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The only one?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, I have an old uncle, but we are not exactly on amicable -terms."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are better off than I am. I have no family left." He -sighed pathetically. "I fancy I can lay my hands on a bundle of sweet hay."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should feel grateful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't leave the stable till I come back; I shan't be gone -long."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was absent ten minutes or so and though he went straight -about his errand, he was thinking of something very different. "It is the most -wonderful thing in the world," ran his thoughts--"that I should meet him here -again, in this hole, not changed in the slightest! It can't be accident; it was -predestined, and I should be a self-confessed idiot if I did not take advantage -of it. But how is it to be worked? His uncle is still alive. What did he say? -'We are not exactly on amicable terms.' That is because he is proud. I am not. I -should be a better nephew to the old fellow than this upstart. He is very old, -in his second childhood most likely. This is the turning-point of my life, and I -will not throw away the chance. Just as I was at the bottom of the ladder, too. -I'll climb to the top--I will, I will!" He raised his hand to the skies, as -though registering an oath.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There," he said, throwing down a bundle of hay which the -horse immediately began to munch, "with a bucket of water your mare will do very -well. I'll fetch it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are very kind," said Basil, warming to Newman Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not at all. <i>Noblesse oblige</i>." This was said with a -grand air.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil held out his hand, and Chaytor pressed it effusively. -Then, at Chaytor's request, Basil spoke of the errand upon which he was engaged, -and being plied skilfully with questions, put his companion in possession of a -great deal he wished to know, not only in relation to the affairs of Bidaud's -plantation, but his own personal history as well.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is curious," said Chaytor, "that we two should have met at -such a time and in such a place. Who knows what may come of it? I am, strange to -say, a bit of a doctor and a bit of a lawyer, and if you will accept my services -I shall be glad to accompany you back to Bidaud's plantation."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But why?" asked Basil, touched by the apparently unselfish -offer. "I have no claim upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Except the claim that one gentleman has upon another--which -should count for something. It always has with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon my word I don't know how to thank you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't try. It is myself I am rendering a service to, not you. -This deserted hole, and the association of those men"--jerking his thumb over -his shoulder in the direction of the tent--"sicken me. Does there not come to -some men a crisis in their lives which compels them to turn over a new leaf, as -the saying is, to cut themselves away entirely from the past and commence life -anew?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Basil, struck by the application of this figure of -speech to his own circumstances, "it has come to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And to me. I intended to leave Gum Flat to-morrow, and I did -not know in which direction. I felt like Robinson Crusoe on the desert island, -without a friend, without a kindred soul to talk to, to associate with. If you -will allow me to look upon you as a friend you will put me under a deep -obligation. Should the brother of the poor gentleman who died so suddenly this -morning--the father of that sweet young lady of whom you speak so -tenderly--succeed in having things all his own way, you will be cast adrift, as -I am. It is best to look things straight in the face, is it not?--even -unpleasant things."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is the most sensible course," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Exactly. The most sensible course--and the most manly. Why -should not you and I throw in our fortunes together? I am sure we should suit -each other."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can but thank you," said Basil. "It is worth thinking -over."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All right; there is plenty of time before us. Let us go into -the store now. A word of warning first. The men inside are not to be trusted. I -was thrown into their company against my will, and I felt that the association -was degrading to me. We can't pick and choose in this part of the world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed we cannot. I will not forget your warning. To speak -honestly, I am not in the mood or condition for society. I have had a hard day, -and am dead beat."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You would like to turn in," said Chaytor. "I can give you a -shakedown, and for supper what remains of a tin of biscuits and a tin of -sardines. There, don't say a word. The luck's on my side. Come along."</p> - -<p class="normal">The Nonentities and Jim the Hatter were in the midst of a -wrangle when they entered, and scarcely noticed them. This left Chaytor free to -attend to Basil. He placed before him the biscuits and sardines, and produced a -flask of brandy. Basil was grateful for the refreshment; he was thoroughly -exhausted, and it renewed his strength and revived his drooping spirits. Then he -filled his pipe, and conversed in low tones with his new friend, while the -gamblers continued their game.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I stop up much longer," said Basil, when he had had his -smoke, "I shall drop off my seat."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor rose and preceded him to the further end of the store. -The building, if such a designation may be allowed to an erection composed of -only wood and canvas, had been the most pretentious and imposing in the palmy -days of the township, and although now it was all tattered and torn, like the -man in the nursery rhyme, it could still boast of half a dozen private -compartments in which sleepers could find repose and solitude. The walls of -course were of calico, and for complete privacy darkness was necessary.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor and the three gamblers who were bending over their -cards in the dim light of the larger space without, each occupied one of these -sleeping compartments. Two remained vacant, and into one of these Chaytor led -Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was a stretcher in the room, a piece of strong canvas -nailed upon four pieces of batten driven into the ground. The canvas was bare; -there were no bedclothes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have two blankets," said Chaytor, "I can spare you one."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil was too tired to protest. Dressed as he was he threw -himself upon the stretcher, drew the blanket over him, and bidding his -hospitable friend good-night, and thanking him again, was fast asleep almost as -the words passed his lips.</p> - -<p class="normal">Newman Chaytor stood for a moment or two gazing upon the -sleeping man. "I can't be dreaming," he thought; "he is here before me, and I am -wide awake. I drink to the future." He held no glass, but he went through the -pantomime of drinking out of one.</p> - -<p class="normal">Taking the lighted candle with him he joined his mates, and -left Basil sleeping calmly in darkness. They were no longer playing cards, but -with heads close together were debating in whispers. Upon Chaytor's entrance -they shifted their positions and ceased talking.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you put your gentleman to bed?" asked Jim the Hatter, in -a sneering tone in which a sinister ring might have been detected.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Much obliged to you for the inquiry," replied Chaytor, -prepared to fence; "he is sound asleep."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Interesting child! A case of love at first sight, mates."</p> - -<p class="normal">Nonentities Numbers One and Two nodded, with dark looks at -Chaytor, who smiled genially at them and commenced to smoke.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Or," said Jim the Hatter, "perhaps an old acquaintance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take your choice," observed Chaytor, who, in finesse and -coolness, was a match for the three.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Doesn't it strike you, Newman, that it's taking a liberty -with us to feed and bolster him up, and stand drinks as well, without asking -whether we was agreeable?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not at all. The sardines were mine, the biscuits were mine, -the grog was mine. If you want to quarrel, say so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm for peace and quietness," said Jim the Hatter, -threateningly. "I was only expressing my opinion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And I mine. Look here, mates, I don't want to behave -shabbily, so I'll tell you what is in my mind."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, do," said Jim the Hatter, with a secret sign to the -Nonentities which Chaytor did not see; "then we shall know where we are."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll tell you where we are, literally, mates. We're in a -heaven-forsaken township, running fast to bone, which leads to skeleton. Now I'm -not prepared for that positive eventuality just yet. This world is good enough -for me at present, and I mean to do my best to enjoy it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can't you enjoy it in our company?" asked Jim the Hatter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think not," said Chaytor, with cool insolence. "The best of -friends must part."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, that's your little game, is it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is my little game. I am growing grey. If I don't look -out I shall be white before I am thirty. Really I think it must be the effect of -the company I have kept."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We're not good enough for you, I suppose?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you ask for my deliberate opinion I answer, most -distinctly not. No, mates, not by a long way good enough."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't be stuck up, mate. Better men than you have had to eat -humble pie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Any sort of pie," said Chaytor, philosophically, "is better -than no pie at all. Take my advice. Bid good-bye to Gum Flat, gigantic fraud -that it is, and go in search of big nuggets. That is what I am going to do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"With your gentleman friend?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"With my gentleman friend. We may as well part civilly, but if -you choose the other thing I am agreeable." The three men rose with the -intention of retiring. They did not respond to his invitation to part friends. -"Well, good-night, and good luck to you." They nodded surlily and entered their -sleeping apartments, after exchanging a few words quietly between themselves.</p> - -<p class="normal">Newman Chaytor helped himself to brandy from his flask then -filled his pipe, and began to smoke.</p> - -<p class="normal">That he had something serious to think of was evident, and -that he was puzzled what use to make of it was quite as clear. An enterprise was -before him, and he was disposed to pledge himself to it; but he was in the dark -as to what end it would lead him. In the dark, also, how it could be so -conducted as to result in profit to himself. He was in desperately low water, -and had lost confidence in himself. His ship was drifting anchorless on a waste -of waters; suddenly an anchor had presented itself, which, while it would afford -him peace and safety for a time, might show him a way to a golden harbour. An -ugly smile wreathed his lips, the sinister aspect of which was hidden by his -abundant hair: but it was there, and remained for many musing moments. He took -from his pocket a common memorandum book, and on a few blank pages he wrote the -names, Newman Chaytor and Basil Whittingham, several times and in several -different styles of handwriting. Then he wrote upon one, in the form of a check, -"Pay to Newman Chaytor, Esq., the sum of forty thousand pounds. Basil -Whittingham." He contemplated this valueless draft for a long time before -destroying it at the candle's light, as he destroyed the other sheets of paper -upon which he had written the signatures.</p> - -<p class="normal">"All the pleasures of existence," he mused, "all the light, -everything in the world worth having, are on the other side of the water. Was I -born to grind out my days in a prison like this? No, and I will not. Here is the -chance of escape"--he turned his head to the room in which Basil was -sleeping--"with possibilities which may give me all I desire. It would be flying -in the face of Providence to neglect it. The first law of nature is Self. I -should be a born fool not to obey the first law of nature."</p> - -<p class="normal">In these reflections he passed an hour, when he determined to -go to bed.</p> - -<p class="normal">All was still. He stepped on tip toe to each of the four -compartments occupied by Basil, Jim the Hatter, and the Nonentities, and -listened at the doors to assure himself that he was the only wakeful person in -the store. Deeming himself safe he entered his own room, and taking a small -round mirror in a zinc frame from the top of a packing case which served as -washstand and dressing-table, gazed at his face with strange intentness. Putting -the hand mirror down he cast wary looks around. Yes, he was alone; there were no -witnesses. Then he did a curious thing. He took off his beard and whiskers.</p> - -<p class="normal">In the room on his right lay Basil asleep; in the room on his -left was Jim the Hatter, whom he supposed to be. But in this he reckoned without -his host, as many another sharp rogue has done in his time. Jim the Hatter, -despite his deep breathing, which had deceived Newman Chaytor, was wide awake. -The moment Chaytor entered his room Jim the Hatter had slipped noiselessly from -his stretcher, and his face was now glued to the wall of calico through which -the light of Chaytor's candle was shining. There was a small slit in the calico, -which enabled Jim the Hatter to see what was passing in Chaytor's room. -Chaytor's back, however, was towards the wall through which he was peeping. The -watcher was puzzled; he could not exactly discover what it was Chaytor had done.</p> - -<p class="normal">Upon Chaytor's face, now beardless and whiskerless, there was -a natural growth of hair in the shape of a moustache. This moustache was the -precise colour of that which Basil grew and cherished. It was not so long, but a -few week's growth would make the resemblance perfect, if such was Chaytor's -wish. In other respects the resemblance between him and Basil was remarkable. -Height, figure, complexion--even the colour of the eyes--all tallied.</p> - -<p class="normal">In his anxiety to discover exactly what was going on, Jim the -Hatter made a slight movement, which was heard by Chaytor. He turned suddenly, -and the astonished watcher beheld the counterpart of Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"By Jove!" he said inly; "twins!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Then, warned by Chaytor's attitude that he was in danger of -himself being discovered, he slipped between his blankets as noiselessly as he -had slipped out of them. Waiting only to resume his disguise of beard and -whiskers, Chaytor, candle in hand, went quietly and swiftly into the adjoining -room and looked down upon the recumbent form of Jim the Hatter. Undoubtedly -asleep, and sleeping like a top. Chaytor passed the candle across the man's -face, who never so much as winked. Assured that there was no cause for alarm, -Chaytor stepped back to his own recess, put out the light, and went to bed.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_11" href="#div1Ref_11">CHAPTER XI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Leaving this schemer to his ill-earned repose, we strip the -veil from his past and lay it bare.</p> - -<p class="normal">Nature plays tricks, but seldom played a stranger than that of -casting Newman Chaytor physically in the same mould as Basil. Born in different -counties, with no tie of kinship between their families, their likeness to each -other was so marvellous that any man seeing them for the first time side by -side, without some such disguise as Chaytor wore on Gum Flat, and the second -time apart, would have been puzzled to know which was which. But not less -strange than this physical likeness was the contrast between their moral -natures. One was the soul of guilelessness and honour, the other the soul of -cunning and baseness. One walked the straight paths of life, the other chose the -crooked.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor was born in London, and his parents occupied a -respectable position. They gave him a good education, and did all they could to -furnish him worthily for the battle of life. The affection they displayed was -ill-requited. In his mother's eyes he was perfection, but his father's mind was -often disturbed when he thought of the lad's future. Perhaps in his own nature -there was a moral twist which caused him to doubt; perhaps his own youth was -distinguished by the vices he detected in his son. However that may be, he took -no blame to himself, preferring rather to skim the surface than to seek -discomfort in psychological depths.</p> - -<p class="normal">The parents discussed their son's future.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will make a doctor of him," said the father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will be a great physician," said the mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">At this time Chaytor was eighteen years of age. At twenty it -was decided that he was in the wrong groove; at least, that was the statement of -the doctor who had undertaken his professional education. It was not an entirely -ingenuous statement; the master was eager to get rid of his pupil, whose sharp -practices distressed him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What would you like to be?" asked his father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A lawyer," replied Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will be Lord Chancellor," said his mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">Thereupon Newman Chaytor was articled to a firm of lawyers in -Bedford Row, London, W.C., an old and respectable firm, Messrs. Rivington, Sons, -and Rivington, who kept its exceedingly lucrative business in the hands of its -own family. It happened, fatefully, that this firm of lawyers transacted the -affairs of Bartholomew Whittingham, Basil's uncle, with whom our readers have -already made acquaintance.</p> - -<p class="normal">In the course of two or three years Chaytor's character was -fully developed. He was still the idol of his mother, whose heart was plated -with so thick a shield of unreasoning love that nothing to her son's -disparagement could make an impression upon it. Only there were doors in this -shield which she opened at the least sign from the reprobate, sheltering him -there and cooing over him as none but such hearts can. Her husband had the -sincerest affection for her, and here was another safeguard for Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">The surroundings of life in a great and gay city are dangerous -and tempting even to the innocent. How much more dangerous and tempting are they -to those who by teaching or inclination are ripe for vice? It is not our -intention to follow Chaytor through these devious paths; we shall simply touch -lightly upon those circumstances of his career which are pertinent to our story. -If for a brief space we are compelled to treat of some of the darker shadows of -human nature, it must be set down to the undoubted fact that life is not made up -entirely of sweetness and light.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor's father, looking through his bank-book, discovered -that he had a balance to his credit less by a hundred pounds than he knew was -correct. He examined his returned cheques and found one with his signature for -the exact amount, a signature written by another hand than his. He informed his -wife, pending his decision as to what steps to take to bring the guilt home. His -wife informed her son.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah," said he, "I have my suspicions." And he mentioned the -name of a clerk in his father's employ.</p> - -<p class="normal">The ball being set rolling, the elder Chaytor began to watch -the suspected man, setting traps for him, across which the innocent man stepped -in safety. Mr. Chaytor was puzzled; he had, by his wife's advice, kept the -affair entirely secret, who in her turn had been prompted by her son to this -course, and warned not to drag his name into it. The father, therefore was not -aware that the accusation against the clerk proceeded from his son.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor had a design in view: he wished to gain time to avoid -possible unpleasant consequences.</p> - -<p class="normal">Some three weeks afterwards, when Mr. Chaytor had resolved to -take the forged cheque to the bank with the intention of enlisting its services -in the discovery of the criminal, he went to his desk to obtain the document. It -was gone, and other papers with it. He was confounded; without the cheque he -could do nothing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have I a thief in my house," he asked of himself, "as well as -a forger at my elbow."</p> - -<p class="normal">The man he had suspected was in the habit of coming to his -private house once a week for clerking purposes. Without considering what he was -laying himself open to, he accused his clerk of robbing him, and the result was -that the man left his service and brought an action for slander against him, -which he was compelled to compromise by an apology and the payment of a sum of -money.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is father's own fault," said Chaytor to his mother; "had -he waited and watched, he would have brought the guilt home to the fellow. But -don't say anything more to him about it; let the matter rest."</p> - -<p class="normal">It did rest, but Mr. Chaytor did not forget it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Being in pursuit of pleasure Chaytor found himself in -continual need of money, and he raised and procured it in many discreditable -ways, but still he managed to keep his secret. Then came another crime. Some -valuable jewels belonging to his mother were stolen. By whom?</p> - -<p class="normal">"By one of the female servants, of course," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was not only without conscience, he was without heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Chaytor proposed to call in a detective. Mrs. Chaytor, -acting upon the secret advice of her son, would not hear of it. The father had, -therefore, two forces working against him, his wife, whom he could answer, -because she was in the light, and his son, with whom he could not cope, because -he was in the dark.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would be a dreadful scandal," said young Chaytor to his -mother. "If nothing is discovered--and thieves are very cunning, you know--we -shall be in worse trouble than father got into with the clerk who forged his -name to the cheque. We should be the laughing-stock of everyone who knows us, -and should hardly be able to raise our heads."</p> - -<p class="normal">His word was law to her; he could twist her round his little -finger, he often laughingly said to himself; and as she, in her turn, dominated -her husband, the deceits he practised were not too difficult for him to safely -compass. Every domestic in the house was discharged, and a new set engaged. When -they sent for characters no answer was returned. Thus early in life young -Chaytor was fruitful in mischief, but he cared not what occurred to others so -long as he rode in safety.</p> - -<p class="normal">One day an old gentleman paid a visit to Messrs. Rivington, -Sons, and Rivington. This was Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, Basil's uncle. He had -come upon the business of his will, the particulars of which he had written down -upon paper. He was not in the office longer than ten minutes, and he left at -half-past one o'clock, the time at which Chaytor was in the habit of going to -lunch. Following the old gentleman Chaytor saw him step into a cab, in which a -young gentleman had been waiting. The young gentleman was Basil, and Chaytor was -startled at the resemblance of this man to himself. Relinquishing his lunch, -Chaytor jumped into a cab, and bade the driver follow Basil and his uncle. They -stopped at Morley's Hotel, Charing Cross, and Chaytor had another opportunity of -verifying the likeness between himself and Basil. It interested him and excited -him. He had not the least idea what he could gain by it, but the fact took -possession of his mind and he could not dislodge it. He ascertained the names of -Basil and his uncle by looking over the hotel book, and when he returned to the -office in Bedford Row the task was allotted to him of preparing the rough draft -of the will. Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham was very rich, and every shilling he -possessed was devised to Basil, without restrictions of any kind.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The old fellow must be worth forty thousand pounds," mused -Chaytor, and he rolled out the sum again and again. "For-ty thou-sand pounds! -For-ty thou-sand pounds! For-ty thousand pounds! And every shilling is left to -Mr. Basil Whittingham, my double. Yes, my Double! My own mother would mistake -him for me, and his doddering old uncle would mistake me for him. What wouldn't -I give to change places with him! For-ty thou-sand pounds! For-ty thou-sand -pounds! It's maddening to think of. He has a moustache; I haven't. But I can -grow one exactly like. His hair is the colour of mine. I'll keep my eye on him."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was an egregiously wicked idea, for by the wildest stretch -of his imagination he could not see how this startling likeness could be worked -to his advantage. Nevertheless he was fascinated by it, and he set himself the -task of seeing as much of Basil as possible. During the week that Basil was -living at Morley's Hotel, Chaytor in his spare hours shadowed him, without being -detected. Basil never once set eyes on him, and as the young gentleman never -entered the office of Messrs. Rivington, Sons, and Rivington, no one there had -opportunity to note the resemblance between the men.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor for a week was in his element; he ascertained from the -hall porter in the hotel the places of amusement which Basil visited of an -evening, and he followed him to them; he waited outside the hotel to catch -glimpses of him; he studied every feature, every expression, every movement -attentively, until he declared to himself that he knew him by heart. He began to -let his moustache grow, and he practised little tricks of manners which he had -observed. He was like a man possessed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is a gentleman," he said. "So am I. I am as good looking -as he is any day of the week. Why shouldn't I be, being his Double?</p> - -<p class="normal">"He pondered over it, he dreamt of it, he worked himself -almost into a fever concerning it. Distorted possibilities presented themselves, -and monstrous views. The phantom image of Basil entered into his life, directed -his thoughts, coloured his future. He walked along the streets with this -spectral Double by his side; he leant over the river's bridges and saw it -reflected in the water; he felt its presence when he woke up in the dark night. -One night during this feverish week, after being in the theatre which Basil -visited, after sitting in the shadow of the pit and watching him for hours in a -private box, after following him to Morley's Hotel and lingering so long in -Trafalgar Square that he drew the attention of a policeman to his movements, he -walked slowly homeward, twisting this and that possibility with an infatuation -dangerous to his reason, until he came quite suddenly upon a house on fire. So -engrossed was he that he had not noticed the hurrying people or their cries, and -it was only when the blazing flames were before him that he was conscious of -what was actually taking place. And there on the burning roof as he looked up he -beheld the phantom Basil on fire. With glaring eyes he saw it with the flames -devouring it, dwindling in proportions until its luminous outlines faded into -nothingness, until it was gone out of the living world for ever. A deep sigh of -satisfaction escaped him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now he is gone," he thought, "I will take his place. His -uncle is an old man; I can easily deceive him; and perhaps even <i>he</i> will -die before morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">In the midst of this ecstatic delirium a phantom hand was laid -upon his shoulder, a phantom face, with a mocking smile upon it, confronted him. -He struck at it with a muttered curse. It came to rob him of forty thousand -pounds.</p> - -<p class="normal">Had this mental condition lasted long he must have gone mad. -The reason for this would have been that he had nothing to grapple with, nothing -to fight, nothing but a shadow, which he had magnified into a mortal enemy who -had done him a wrong which could only be atoned for by death. It was fortunate -for him, although he deserved no good fortune, that Basil's residence at -Morley's lasted but a week, and that he and his double did not meet again in the -Old World; for although Basil passed much of his time in his father's house in -London he lived at a long distance from Chaytor's usual haunts, and the young -men's lives did not cross. Gradually Chaytor's reason reasserted itself, and he -became sane. Grimly, desperately sane, with still the leading idea haunting him, -it is true, but no longer attended by monstrous conceptions of what might occur -in a day, in an hour, in a moment, and he on the spot ready to take advantage of -it.</p> - -<p class="normal">Shortly after Basil's departure he asked his mother if she -ever had twins.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What on earth do you mean, my dear?" she asked, laughing at -him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is plain enough," he answered incautiously. "I dream -sometimes of a brother the exact counterpart of myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You work too hard," said his mother, pityingly. "You must -take a holiday, my darling."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who's to pay for it?" he asked gloomily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am," she said fondly. "I have saved fifty pounds for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Give it to me," he said eagerly, and with the money he went -to Paris for a fortnight and squandered it on himself and his pleasures.</p> - -<p class="normal">The foolish mother was continually doing this kind of thing, -saving up money, wheedling her husband out of it upon false pretexts, stinting -herself and making sacrifices for the worthless, ungrateful idol of her loving -heart. So time passed, and Chaytor was still in the office of Rivington, Sons, -and Rivington, picking up no sound knowledge of the law, but extracting from it -for future use all the sharp and cunning subtleties of which some vile men make -bad use. To the firm came a letter from Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, with the -tenor of which Chaytor made himself familiar. He was a spy in the office, and -never scrupled at opening letters and reading them on the sly to master their -contents. In the letter which Basil's uncle wrote occurred these words:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Send me in a registered packet, by first post, my will, the -will I made in favour of my nephew, Mr. Basil Whittingham. He has acted like a -fool, and I am going to destroy it and disinherit him. At some future time I -will give you instructions to draw up another, making different dispositions of -my property. I am not a young man, but I shall live a good many years yet, and -there is plenty of time before me. Meanwhile bear witness by this letter that I -have disinherited my nephew Basil Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">Of course they followed his instructions, and the will was -forwarded to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has stolen forty thousand pounds from me," thought -Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">Within a week thereafter he overheard a conversation between -two of the principals. He was never above listening at doors and creeping up -back staircases. The lawyers were speaking of Bartholomew Whittingham and the -will.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will he destroy it?" asked one.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think not," replied the other. "It is my opinion he will -keep it by him, half intending to destroy it, half to preserve it, and that it -will be found intact and unaltered when he dies."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not agree with you. He will destroy it one day in a -rage, and make another the next."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In favour of whom?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of his nephew. He has in his heart an absorbing love for the -young gentleman, and he is a good fellow at bottom. Mr. Basil Whittingham will -come into the whole of the property."</p> - -<p class="normal">The conversation was continued on these lines, and the -partners ultimately agreed that after all Basil would be the heir. "There is a -chance yet," thought Chaytor, for although the dangerous period of ecstasy was -passed there still lingered in his mind a hope of fortunate possibilities.</p> - -<p class="normal">He continued his evil courses, gambled, drank, and led a free -life, getting deeper and deeper into debt. His mother assisted him out of many a -scrape, and never for one single moment wavered in her faith in him, in her love -for him. It was a sweet trait in her character, but love without wisdom is -frequently productive of more harm than good. Chaytor's position grew so -desperate that detection and its attendant disgraceful penalty became imminent. -He had made himself a proficient and skilful imitator of handwriting, and more -than once had he forged his father's name to cheques and bills. The father was -aware of this, but out of tenderness for his wife had done nothing more than -upbraid his son for the infamy. Many a stormy scene had passed between them, -which both carefully concealed from the knowledge of the fond woman whose heart -would have been broken had she known the truth. On every one of these occasions -Chaytor had humbled himself and promised atonement, with tears and sighs and -mock repentance which saddened but did not convince the father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"For your mother's sake," invariably he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes," murmured the hypocrite, "for my dear mother's -sake--my mother, so good, so loving, so tender-hearted!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let this be the last time," said the father sternly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be, it shall be!" murmured the son.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a formula. The father may sometimes have deceived -himself into belief; the son, never. Even while he was humbling himself he would -be casting about for the next throw.</p> - -<p class="normal">This continued for some considerable time, but at length came -the crash. Chaytor and his parents were seated at breakfast at nine o'clock. The -father had the morning letters in his pocket; he had read them and put them by. -He cast but one glance at his son, and Chaytor turned pale and winced. He saw -that the storm was about to burst. As usual, nothing was said before Mrs. -Chaytor. The meal was over, she kissed her son, and left the room to attend to -her domestic affairs.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must be off," said Chaytor. "Mustn't be late this morning. -A lot to attend to at the office."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You need not hurry," said the father. "I have something to -say to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Won't it keep till the evening?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. It must be said here and now." He stepped to the door and -locked it. "We will spare her as long as possible; she will know soon enough."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, all right," said Chaytor sullenly. "Fire away."</p> - -<p class="normal">The father took out his letters, and, selecting one, handed it -to his son who read it, shivered, and returned it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What have you to say to it?" asked the father.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing. It is only for three hundred pounds."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A bill, due to-day, which I did not sign."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was done for all our sakes, to save the honour of the -family name. I was in a hole and there was no other way of getting out of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The bill must be taken up before twelve o'clock."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will it be?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will, for your mother's sake."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then there is nothing more to be said. I am very sorry, but -it could not be helped. I promise that it shall never occur again. I'll take my -oath of it if you like."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I take neither your word nor your oath. You are a scoundrel."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here, draw it mild. I am your son."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Unhappily. If your mother were not living you should be shown -into the dock for the forgery."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But she is alive. I shall not appear in the dock, and you may -as well let me go. Look here, father, what's the use of crying over spilt milk?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not much; and as I look upon you as hopeless, I would go on -paying for it while your mother lived. If she were taken from me I should leave -you to the punishment you deserve, and risk my name being dragged through the -mire."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope," said Chaytor, with vile sanctimoniousness, "that my -dear mother will live till she is a hundred."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is, I must remind you, another side to the shield. I -said 'as long as I can afford it.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, you can afford it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot," said Mr. Chaytor, with a sour smile. "My career -snaps to-day, after paying this forged bill with money that properly belongs to -my creditors. Newman Chaytor, you have come to the end of your tether."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are saying this to frighten me," said Chaytor, affecting -an indifference he did not feel. "Why, you are rolling in money."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are mistaken. Speculations into which I have entered have -failed disastrously. If you had not robbed me to the tune of thousands of -pounds--the sum total of your villainies amounts to that--I might have weathered -the storm, but as I am situated it is impossible. It is almost a triumph to me -to stand here before you a ruined man, knowing you can no longer rob me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still I do not believe you," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wait and see; you will not have to wait long."</p> - -<p class="normal">The tone in which he uttered this carried conviction with it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you know what you have done?" cried Chaytor furiously. -"You have ruined <i>me!</i>"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What!" responded Mr. Chaytor, with savage sarcasm. "Is there -any more of this kind of paper floating about?" Chaytor bit his lips, and his -fingers twitched nervously, but he did not reply. "If there is be advised, and -prepare for it. In the list of my liabilities, which is now being prepared, -there will be no place for them. How should there be, when I am in ignorance of -your prospective villainies. Do you see now to what you have brought me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do <i>you</i> see to what you have brought <i>me?</i>" -exclaimed Chaytor in despair. "Why did you not tell me of it months ago?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because I hoped by other speculations to set myself straight. -But everything has gone wrong--everything. Understand, I cannot trouble myself -about your affairs; I have enough to do with my own. I have one satisfaction; -your mother will not suffer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How is that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The settlement I made upon her in the days of my prosperity -is hers absolutely, and only she can deal with it. In the settlement of my -business there shall be no sentimental folly; I will see to that. Her money -shall not go to pay my debts.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But it shall go," thought Chaytor, with secret joy, "to get -me out of the scrape I am in. It belongs to me by right. <i>I</i> will see that -neither you nor your creditors tamper with it." He breathed more freely; he -could still defy the world.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have not told you quite all," continued Mr. Chaytor. "Here -is a letter from Messrs. Rivington, Sons, and Rivington, advising me that it -will be better for all parties that you do not make your appearance in their -office. Indeed, the place you occupied there is already filled up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do they give any reason for it?" asked Chaytor, inwardly not -greatly astonished at his dismissal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"None; nor shall I ask any questions of them or you. You know -how the land lies. Good morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">He unlocked the door, and left the house. This was just what -Chaytor desired. His vicious mind was quick in expedients; his mother was his -shield and his anchor. Her settlement would serve for many a long day yet. To -her he went, and related his troubles in his own way. She gave him, as usual, -her fullest sympathy, and promised all he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Between ourselves, mother," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my darling, between ourselves."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Father must not know. He was always hard on me. He thinks he -can manage everybody's affairs, but he cannot manage his own." Then he disclosed -to her his father's difficulties. "If he had allowed me to manage for him it -would not have happened. Trust everything to me, mother, and this day year I -will treble your little fortune for you. Let me have a chance for once. When I -have made all our fortunes you shall go to him and say, 'See what Newman has -done for us.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be exactly as you say, darling. You are the best, -the handsomest, the cleverest son a foolish mother ever had."</p> - -<p class="normal">Kisses and caresses sealed the bargain. Within twenty-four -hours he knew that everything his father had told him was true. The family were -ruined, and but for Mrs. Chaytor's private fortune would have been utterly -beggared. They moved into a smaller house and practised economy. Little by -little Chaytor received and squandered every shilling his mother possessed, and -before the year was out the sun rose upon a ship beating on the rocks.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you satisfied?" asked his father, from whom Chaytor's -doings could no longer be concealed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Satisfied!" cried Chaytor, trembling in every limb. "When -your insane speculations have ruined us!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he fell into a chair and began to sob. He had the best of -reasons for tribulation. With his mind's eye he saw the prison doors open to -receive him. It was not shame that made him suffer; it was fear.</p> - -<p class="normal">Again, and for the last time, he went to his mother for help.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What can I do, my boy?" quavered the poor woman. "What can I -do? I haven't a shilling in the world."</p> - -<p class="normal">He implored her to go to his father. "He can save me," cried -the terror-stricken wretch. "He can, he can!"</p> - -<p class="normal">She obeyed him and the father sent for his son.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Tell me all," he said. "Conceal nothing, or, as there is a -heaven above us, I leave you to your fate."</p> - -<p class="normal">The shameful story told, the father said, "Things were looking -up with me, but here is another knock-down blow, and from my own flesh and -blood. I accept it, and will submit once more to be ruined by you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bless you, father, bless you," whined Chaytor, taking his -father's hand and attempting to fondle it. Mr. Chaytor plucked his hand away.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is, however, a condition attached to the promise."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What condition?" faltered Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That you leave England and never return. Do you hear me? -Never. You will go to the other end of the world, where you will end your days.</p> - -<p class="normal">"To Australia?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To Australia. When you quit this country I wish never to hear -from you; I shall regard you as dead. You shall no longer trade upon your -mother's weak love for you. I will not argue with you. Accept or refuse."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I accept."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very well. Go from this house and never let me look upon your -face again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can I not see my mother?" whined Chaytor, "to wish her -good-bye?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. You want to hatch further troubles. You shall not do so. -Quit my house."</p> - -<p class="normal">With head bent low in mock humility, Chaytor left the house. -He had no sincere wish to see his mother; he had got out of her all he could, -and she was of no use to him in the future. The promise his father made was -fulfilled; the fresh forgeries he had perpetrated were bought up, but one still -remained of which he had made no mention. This was a bill for a large amount -which he had accepted in the name of Rivington, Sons and Rivington. It had still -two months to run, and Chaytor determined to remain in England till within a -week or two of its becoming due; something might turn up which would enable him -to meet it. He loved the excitement of English life; Australia was banishment; -but perhaps after all, if he were forced to go it might be the making of him. He -had read of rough men making fortunes in a week on the goldfields. Why should -not he?</p> - -<p class="normal">The last blow proved too much for Mr. Chaytor; it broke him up -utterly. He was seized with a serious illness which reduced him to imbecility. -The home had to be sold, and he and his wife removed to lodgings, one small room -at the top of a house in a poor neighbourhood. There poverty fell upon them like -a wolf. Five weeks afterwards Chaytor, slouching through the streets on a rainy -night, saw his mother begging in the roadway. The poor soul stood mute, with a -box of matches in her hand. Chaytor turned and fled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am the unluckiest dog that ever was born," he muttered. -"Just as I was going to see if I could get anything out of her!"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was now imperative that he should leave England, and he -managed to get a passage in a sailing vessel as assistant steward at a shilling -a month. He obtained it by means of forged letters of recommendation, and he -went out in a false name. This he would have retained had it not been that -shortly after his arrival in Australia he met a man who had known him in London, -and who addressed him by his proper name. It was not the only inconvenience to -which an alias subjected him. There was only one address in the colonies through -which he could obtain his letters, and that was the Post Office. Obviously, if -he called himself John Smith he could not expect letters to be delivered to him -in the name of Newman Chaytor. Now, he was eager for letters from the old -country; before he left it he had written to his mother to the effect that he -was driven out of it by a hard-hearted father, and that if she had any good news -to communicate to him he would be glad to hear from her. At the same time he -imposed upon her the obligation of not letting anyone know where he was. -Therefore, when his London acquaintance addressed him by his proper name, -saying, "Hallo, Chaytor, old boy!" he said to himself, "Oh hang it! I'll stick -to Newman Chaytor, and chance it. If mother writes to me I shall have to -proclaim myself Chaytor; an alias might get me into all sorts of trouble."</p> - -<p class="normal">Why did he write to his poor mother, for whom he had not the -least affection, and what did he mean by expecting her to have any good news to -communicate to him? The last time he saw her, was she not begging in the -streets? Well, there was a clear reason; he seldom did anything without one; and -be sure that the kernel of that reason was Self. His father, from the wreck of -his fortune, had managed to preserve a number of shares in some companies which -had failed, among them two mining companies which had come to grief. Now, it had -happened before and might happen again, that companies which were valueless one -day had leaped into favour the next, that shares which yesterday could have been -purchased for a song, to-morrow would be worth thousands of pounds. Suppose that -this happened to the companies, or to one of them, in which his pauper father -held shares. He was his father's only child, and his mother would see that he -was not disinherited. Chaytor was a man who never threw away a chance, and he -would not throw away this, remote as it was. Hence his determination to adhere -at all hazards to his proper name. The perilous excitements of the last two or -three years had driven Basil Whittingham out of his mind, but having more -leisure and less to occupy his thoughts in the colonies, he thought of him now -and then, and wondered whether the old uncle had relented and had taken his -nephew again into his favour. "Lucky young beggar," he thought. "I wish I stood -in his shoes, and he in mine. I would soon work the old codger into a proper -mood." His colonial career was neither profitable nor creditable, and he had -degenerated into what he was when he and Basil came face to face in Gum Flat, an -unadulterated gambler and loafer. The strange encounter awoke within him forces -which had long lain dormant. He recognised a possible chance which might be -worked to his benefit, and he fastened to it like a limpet. When he said to -Basil that he was in luck be really meant it.</p> - -<p class="normal">A word as to his false beard and whiskers. In London he had -had a behind-the-scenes acquaintance, and in a private theatrical performance in -which he played a part he had worn these identical appendages as an adjunct to -the character he represented. He had brought them out with him, thinking they -might be serviceable one day. Before he came to Gum Flat he had got into a -scrape on another township, and when he left it, had assumed the false hair as a -kind of disguise. Making his appearance on Gum Flat thus disguised, he deemed it -prudent to retain it, and when he came into association with Basil he thanked -his stars that he had done so; otherwise he might have drawn upon himself from -the man he called his double a closer attention than he desired.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_12" href="#div1Ref_12">CHAPTER XII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">In the middle of the night Basil awoke. He had had a tiring -day, but when he had slept off the first effects of the fatigue he had -undergone, the exciting events of the last two days became again the dominant -power. He dreamt of all that had occurred from the interview between himself and -Anthony Bidaud, in which he had accepted the guardianship of Annette, to the -moment of his arrival on Gum Flat. Of Newman Chaytor he dreamt not at all; this -new acquaintance had produced no abiding impression upon him.</p> - -<p class="normal">He lay awake for some five minutes or so in that condition of -quiescent wonder which often falls upon men when they are sleeping for the first -time in a strange bed and in a place with which they are not familiar. Where was -he? What was the position of the bed? Where was the door situated: at the foot, -or the head, or the side of the bed? Was there a window in the apartment, and if -so, where was it? Then came the mental question what had aroused him?</p> - -<p class="normal">It was so unusual for him to wake in the middle of the night -that he dwelt upon this question. Something must have disturbed him. What?</p> - -<p class="normal">Was it fancy that just at the moment of his awakening he had -heard a movement in the room, that he had felt a hand upon him, that he had -heard a man's breathing? It must have been, all was so quiet and still. Suddenly -he sat straight up on the stretcher. He remembered that he was in the township -of Gum Flat, sleeping in a strange apartment, and that men with whom he had not -been favourably impressed must be lying near him. This did not apply to Newman -Chaytor, who had been kind and attentive, and whom he now thought of with -gratitude. There was nothing to fear from him, but the other three had gazed at -him furtively and with no friendly feelings. He had exchanged but a few words -with these men, and those had been words of suspicion. When he entered the -store, after attending to his horse, they had not addressed a word to him. It -was Chaytor, and Chaytor alone, who had shown kindness and evinced a kindly -feeling. And now he was certain that someone had been in the room while he -slept, and had laid hands on him. For what purpose?</p> - -<p class="normal">He slid from the stretcher, and standing upright stretched out -his hands in the darkness. Where was the door?</p> - -<p class="normal">Outside the canvas building stood Chaytor's three mates, wide -awake, with their heads close together, as they had been inside on the return of -Basil and Chaytor from the stable. They were conversing in whispers.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did he hear you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. If he had moved I would have knocked him on the head."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you got it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, it is all right."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Pass it round."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; I will keep it till it's sold; then we'll divide -equally."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you think it's worth?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Twenty pounds, I should say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Little enough."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hush!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The sound of Basil moving about his room, groping for the -door, had reached them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he comes out, Jim, you tackle him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Leave him to me. Don't waste any more time. Get the horse -from the stable."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil, unable to find the door, stumbled against the calico -portion which divided his room from that in which Chaytor slept.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who's there?" cried Chaytor, jumping up.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, it's you," said Basil, recognising the voice. "Have you -got a light?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wait a moment."</p> - -<p class="normal">But half dressed he represented himself to Basil, with a -lighted candle in his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What's up?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know," replied Basil, "but I am not easy in my mind. -Perhaps it is only my fancy, but I have an idea that someone has been in my -room."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let us see." They proceeded to the three compartments which -should have been occupied by the three men. They were empty.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was not fancy," said Basil. "What mischief are they up to? -Come along; we will go and see."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor hesitated. He was not gifted with heroic qualities, -and he knew that his three mates were desperate characters.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you have any money about you?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"None. Why, where's my watch?" It was gone. There was a -hurried movement without; he heard the sound of a horse's feet. "They are -stealing Corrie's horse," he cried, "after robbing me of my watch! Stand by me, -will you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He rushed out, followed, but not too quickly, by Chaytor. The -moment he reached the open a pair of arms was thrown around him, and he was -grappling with an enemy. In unfamiliar ground, enveloped in darkness, and -attacked by an unseen enemy, he was at a disadvantage, and it would have fared -ill with him had he not been strong and stout-hearted. Jim the Hatter, who had -undertaken to tackle him soon discovered that the man they were robbing was not -easily disposed of. Down they fell the pair of them, twisting and turning, each -striving to obtain the advantage, Basil silent and resolved, Jim the Hatter -giving tongue to many an execration. In the midst of the struggle the ruffian -heard his mates, the Nonentities, moving off with Basil's horse. His experience -had taught him that "honour among thieves" was a fallacious proverb; anyway, he -had never practised it himself, and he trusted no men. With a powerful effort he -threw Basil from him and ran after his comrades. During the encounter Chaytor -had kept at a safe distance, but now that there was a lull he came close to -Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They have half throttled me," he gasped, tearing open his -shirt and blowing like a grampus. "Are you hurt?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," said Basil. "We may catch them yet."</p> - -<p class="normal">And he began to run, but the ruffians had got the start of -him, and knew the lay of the ground. Guided by his ear he stumbled on, across -the plains, through a gully riddled with holes, and finally up a steep range, -followed by Chaytor, panting and blowing. He had many a fall, and so had Chaytor -(who thought it well to follow suit, and cried out from time to time, "O, O, -O!"), and thus the flight and the pursuit continued, the sounds from the flying -men and Old Corrie's horse growing fainter and fainter, until matters came to a -sudden termination.</p> - -<p class="normal">Half-way up the range, which was veined with quartz, a shaft -had been sunk and abandoned. The miners who had done the work had followed a -gold-bearing spur some fifty feet down, in the hope of coming upon a golden -reef. But the spur grew thinner and thinner, the traces of gold disappeared, and -they lost heart. Disappointed in their expectations, and out of patience with -their profitless labour, they shouldered their windlass and started off to fresh -pastures. Thus the mouth of the shaft was left open and unprotected, and into it -Basil dropped, and felt himself slipping down with perilous celerity.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was fortunate that the shaft was not exactly perpendicular, -After following the spur down for twenty feet the miners had found that it took -an eccentric turn which necessitated the running in of an adit. This passage was -about two yards long, when the spur dipped again, and the shaft was continued -sheer into the bowels of the earth. It was this adit which saved Basil's life. -When he had slipped down the twenty feet he felt bottom, and there he lay, -bruised, but not dangerously hurt.</p> - -<p class="normal">He cried out for help at the top of his voice, and his cries -were presently answered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Below there!" cried Chaytor, lying flat on the ground above, -with his ear at the mouth of the shaft.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that you, Mr. Chaytor?" cried Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor (aside): "He remembers my name." (Aloud): "Yes, what's -left of me. Where are you?" (Which, to say the least of it, was an unnecessary -question.)</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "Down here."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor (blind to logical fact): "Alive?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil (perceiving nothing strange in the question, and -therefore almost as blind): "Yes, thank God!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "Any bones broke?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "I think not, but I am bruised a bit."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "So am I."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "I am sorry to hear it. Have the scoundrels got away?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "Yes, they're a mile off by this time."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil (groaning): "Old Corrie's mare! What will he think of -me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "It can't be helped."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "In which direction have they gone?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "Haven't the slightest idea. I warned you against -them."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "You did. You're a good fellow, but what could I do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "Neither of us could have prevented it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "I am not so sure. I ought to have stopped up all -night, and looked after what wasn't my own."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor (attempting consolation): "Why, you couldn't keep your -eyes open."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil (groaning again): "I ought to have kept my eyes open. I -had no right to sleep after your warning."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "I did what I could."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "You did; you're a true friend." (Chaytor smiled.) "How -am I to get up from here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "That's the question. How far are you down?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "Heaven knows. It seems a mile or so."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "There's no windlass."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "Isn't there?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "And it's pitch dark."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "It's as black as night down here. Can't you go for -help?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "I'll tell you something. There isn't a soul on the -township but ourselves."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "Not one?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "Not one. We must wait till daylight; then I'll see -what I can do."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "There's no help for it; it must be as you say. You'll -not desert me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor (in an injured tone): "Can you think me capable of so -dastardly an act?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "Forgive me; I hardly know what I'm saying. I deserve -that you should, for giving utterance to a thought so base."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "It was natural, perhaps. Why should you trust me, a -stranger, whom you have known for only a few hours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "I do trust you: it was an unnatural thought. You are a -noble fellow--and a gentleman."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "I hope so. Can I do anything for you while you are -waiting?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "I am devoured by thirst. Can you manage to get a drink -of water to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "I can do that; but you must have patience. I shall -have to go back to the township to get a bottle and some string. Shall I go?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil: "Yes, yes. Be as quick as you can."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor: "I won't be a moment longer than I can help."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then there was silence. Chaytor departed on his errand, and -Basil was left to himself. His right arm was bruised and sore, but he contrived -to feel in his pockets for matches. A box was there, but it was empty, and he -remembered that he had struck the last one at the end of his long ride from -Bidaud's plantation, just before he arrived in Gum Flat. He knew, from feeling -the opening of the adit, that it was likely he was not at the bottom of the -shaft, and he was fearful of moving, lest he should fall into a pit. He thought -of Newman Chaytor. "What a good fellow he is! I should be dead but for him. It -is truly noble of him to stick to me as he is doing. He has nothing to gain by -it, and he is saving my life. Yes, I will accept his proposal to go mates with -him, for I have no place now on Bidaud's plantation. Poor Annette--poor child! I -hope she will be happy. I hope her uncle and Aunt will be kind to her. I must -see her again before I go for good, and then we shall never meet again, never, -never! I would give the best twenty years of my life--if I am fated to live--to -be her brother, with authority to protect her and shield her from Gilbert -Bidaud. He is a villain, a smooth-tongued villain, a thousand times worse than -these scoundrels who have robbed me and brought me to this. What will Old Corrie -say when he hears I have lost his mare? Will he think I am lying--will he think -I have sold his horse and pocketed the money? If so, and it gets to Annette's -ears, how she will despise me! I must see her, I must, to clear myself. Gilbert -Bidaud will do all he can to prevent it, and he may succeed; but I will try, I -will try. If I had a hundred pounds I would buy another horse for Old Corrie, a -better one than that I have lost, but I haven't a shilling. A sorry plight. -There is only one human being in the world I can call a friend, and that is Mr. -Chaytor, who has taken such a strange fancy for me. Yesterday there was Old -Corrie, there was Anthony Bidaud, there was Annette. One is dead, the others may -cast me off, It is a cruel world. How long Mr. Chaytor is! It seems an age. -Shame on you, Basil, for reviling! There is goodness, there is sweetness, there -is faithfulness in the world. Don't whine, old man. All may yet be well, though -for the life of me I can't see how it is to be brought about."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then he fainted, but only for a few seconds; when he opened -his eyes again he thought hours must have elapsed.</p> - -<p class="normal">In truth Chaytor was absent no longer than was necessary, but -he was also mentally busy with the adventures of the last few hours. The man -whose phantom shadow had haunted him in London was now at his mercy. Basil's -life was absolutely at his disposal. To leave him where he was in that desolate -spot at the bottom of a deserted shaft would be to ensure for him a sure and -certain death, and if he wished to make assurance doubly sure, all he had to do -would be to roll a great stone upon him. But that would be a crime, and, -hardened as he was, he shrank from committing it. Not from any impulse of mercy, -but because he had nothing at present to gain from it. There was much to learn, -much to do before he nerved himself to a desperate deed which, after all, might -by some stroke of good fortune be unnecessary. And indeed it was only the -accident which had befallen Basil that darkened his soul with cruel suggestion. -The sleeping forces which lurk in the souls of such men as Newman Chaytor often -leap into active life by some unfortuitous circumstance in which they have no -direct hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was back at the shaft, leaning over it, with a bottle of -water not too tightly corked, to the neck of which was attached a long piece of -cord.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you there?" he called out.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Heaven be thanked!" said Basil. "What a time you have been."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have not been away an hour."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is that really so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is, but it must have seemed long to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Weeks seem to have passed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have a bottle of water which I will send down to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"God bless you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"When you get it, loosen the string from the neck of the -bottle, and I will send down what remains of the flask of brandy. It will do you -no harm."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can never repay you for your goodness to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, you can. Look out."</p> - -<p class="normal">The bottle of water was lowered, and afterwards the flask of -brandy: Basil took a long draught of water, half emptying the bottle, and sipped -sparingly of the brandy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have given me life, Mr. Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Psha! I have done nothing worth making a fuss about. Oblige -me by dropping the Mr."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will. With all my heart and soul I thank you, Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are heartily welcome, Basil. There is a light coming into -the sky."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sunrise! How beautiful the world is!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen," said Chaytor; "I will tell you what I am going to -do."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_13" href="#div1Ref_13">CHAPTER XIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"I am listening," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no windlass, as I have told you," said Chaytor, "so -I must devise something in its place to pull you up. The mischief is that I am -alone, and have no one to help me. However, I must do the best I can. I am going -to roll the trunk of a tree to the top of the shaft, then tie a rope firmly -round it so that you can climb into the world again. It must be dreadful down -there."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is," groaned Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can imagine it," said Chaytor, complacently; "but you -mustn't mind biding a bit. No man could do more than I am doing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed he could not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The tree is six or seven hundred yards off, and I daresay I -shall be an hour over the job. I can't help that, you know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course you can't. I can't find words to express my -gratitude for all the trouble you are taking. And for a stranger, too!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't look upon you as a stranger; I feel as if I had known -you all my life. I suppose, though, it is really but the commencement of a -friendship which will last I hope till we are both old men."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope so too."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A little while ago I was saying to myself, I will never trust -another man as long as I live; I will never believe in another; I will never -again confide in man or woman. I have been deceived, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am truly sorry to hear it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I have been deceived. Friend after friend have I -trusted, have I helped, have I ruined myself for, to find them in the end false, -selfish and unreliable. I was filled with disgust and with shame for my species. -'I renounce you all,' I cried in the bitterness of my soul. But now everything -seems changed. Since you came my faith in human goodness and sincerity and truth -is restored. I don't know why, but it is so. I can rely upon your friendship, -Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can. I will never forget your goodness; never."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am going, now, to roll the tree to the shaft. Be as patient -as you can."</p> - -<p class="normal">He did not go far. The slim trunk that he spoke of lay not six -or seven hundred yards off, but quite close to the shaft, and he knew that Basil -in his pursuit of the robbers could not have observed it. He was master of the -situation; Basil was at his mercy, and every word he had uttered was intended to -bind the unsuspicious man more firmly to him. "He is a soft-hearted fool," -thought Chaytor, "and I shall be able to bend him any way I please through the -gratitude he feels for me. I think I spoke rather well. What is this?" He -stooped and picked up a pocket-book which had slipped from Basil's pocket as he -ran after the thieves.</p> - -<p class="normal">Retreating still farther from the shaft, to make assurance -doubly sure, Chaytor, with eager fingers and a greedy expectancy in his eyes -opened the book and examined the contents. Intrinsically they were of no value, -but in their relation to the unformed design which was prompting Chaytor's -actions their value was inestimable. There were memoranda of dates, events, -names and addresses, and also some old letters. Any possible use of the latter -did not occur to Chaytor, but his examination of the former was almost instantly -suggestive. They were in Basil's handwriting, some being dated and signed "B. -W.", and would serve admirably as copies for anyone who desired to imitate the -writing. Clear up and down strokes, without twists or eccentric curves, -straightforward as Basil himself. "This is a find," thought Chaytor; "Providence -is certainly on my side. In a week I shall be able to write so exactly like -Basil that he will be ready to swear my writing is his. There is information, -too, in the book which may prove serviceable. I'll stick to him while there's a -chance, and contrive so that he shall stick to me. I haven't done badly up to -now."</p> - -<p class="normal">More than an hour did Chaytor employ in cunning cogitation, -smoking the while in a state of comfortable haziness as to the future. -Imagination gilded the prospect and clothed it with alluring fancies; and that -the roads which led to it were dark and devious did not deter him from revelling -in the contemplation. Time was up. Panting and blowing, he rolled the tree-trunk -to the shaft.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Below there!" he called out.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah!" replied Basil; "you are back again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have had a terrible job," said the hypocrite, "and almost -despaired of accomplishing it, but stout heart and willing hands put strength -into a fellow, and the tree is here. Look out for yourself while I roll it -across the shaft. The earth may be rotten, and some bits will roll down, -perhaps, though I'll do all I can to prevent it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, a thousand, thousand times. There's a little -tunnel here; I'll get into it while you're at work above."</p> - -<p class="normal">With loud evidences of arduous toil Chaytor placed the trunk -in position, and then made the rope secure around it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now," said Chaytor, "all is ready, Basil, and I'm going to -lower the rope. Have you got it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied Basil, in a faint tone.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will have to pull yourself up by it. I will keep the rope -as tight and steady as I can, and that is as much as I can do. Do you think you -will be able to manage it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must try, but I feel very weak. My strength is giving way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't let it, old fellow. Pluck up courage; it's only for a -few minutes, and then you will be safe at the top. Now then, with a will."</p> - -<p class="normal">It required a will on Basil's part, he was so weak, and more -than once he feared that it was all over with him; but at length the difficult -feat was accomplished, and, with daylight shining once more on him, he reached -the top, and was pulled from the mouth of the shaft by Chaytor's strong arms. -Then, his strength quite gone, he sank lifeless to the ground.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor, gazing upon the helpless form, reflected. He had -Basil's pocket-book packed safely away in an inner pocket of his waistcoat, one -of those pockets which men who have anything to conceal, or who move in lawless -places, have made in their garments. This book contained much that might be -useful; for instance, the correct name and address of Basil's uncle in England, -a statement of the debts which Basil had paid to keep his dead father's name -clear from reproach, the address of the lawyers who had managed that -transaction, the amount of the fortune that Basil's mother had bequeathed to -him, and other such matters. Now, had Basil anything more upon his person which -might be turned to account in the future? If so, this was a favourable -opportunity for Chaytor to possess himself of it. There would be no difficulty -in satisfactorily explaining the loss of any property which Basil had about him. -In the confusion and excitement of the last few hours anything might have -happened.</p> - -<p class="normal">Having decided the point, Chaytor's unscrupulous fingers -became busy, and every article in Basil's pockets passed through his hands. With -the exception of a purse, he replaced everything he had taken out. This purse -contained a locket with a lock of hair in it: at the back of the locket was an -inscription in Basil's writing--"My dear Mother's hair," her Christian name, the -date of her death, and her age. There was no money in the purse. Undoubtedly -Basil, when he recovered his senses, would miss his purse, but if his -pocket-book slipped out of his pocket while running, why not that? Chaytor was -perfectly easy in his mind as he deposited the purse by the side of the -pocket-book inside his waistcoat.</p> - -<p class="normal">Meanwhile Basil lay motionless. "I'll carry him a little way," -thought Chaytor. "Anything might drop from his clothes while he is hanging over -my shoulder. I'll have as many arrows to my bow as I can manufacture. When he -gets to his senses we will have a hunt for the purse and the pocket-book, and of -course shall not find them." With a grim smile he raised Basil to a sitting -posture, and gradually lifted him on to his shoulder. Clasping him firmly round -the body, Chaytor staggered on.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil was no light weight, and Chaytor, while he was pursuing -his dissipated life in London, had not been renowned for strength; but his -colonial career had hardened his muscles, and enabled him now to perform a task -which in years gone by would have been impossible. A dozen times he stopped to -rest and wipe his brows. The form he carried was helpless and inert, but Basil's -mind was stirred by the motion of being carried through the fresh air, and he -began to babble. He thought he was upon old Corrie's mare, and he urged the -animal on, muttering in disjointed and unconnected words that he must reach the -township of Gum Flat that night, and be back again next day. Then he went on to -babble about Annette and her father, and to a less intelligent man than -Chaytor--give him credit for that--his wandering talk might have been incoherent -and meaningless. But Chaytor's intellect was refined and sharpened by the -possibilities of a gilded future. He listened attentively to every word that -fell from Basil's fevered lips, and put meaning to them, sometimes false -sometimes true.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My friend Basil is in a delirium," said he during the -intervals of Basil's muttering, "and I shall have to nurse him through a fever -most likely. What with that probability, and the weight of him, I am earning my -wage. No man can dispute that. He raves like a man in love about this Annette. -How old is she? Is she pretty? Does she love him? Will she be rich? Is that a -vein I could work to profit? I don't intend to throw away the shadow of a -chance. An age seems to have passed since last night. But what," he cried -suddenly, "if all my labour is being thrown away--what if I am following a -will-o'-the-wisp?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He let Basil slip purposely from his arms, and heedless of the -sick man's groans, for the fall was violent, he looked down upon him as though a -mortal enemy was in his path. But one of the strongest elements in greed and -avarice is the hope that leads their votaries on, and this and the superstitious -feeling that the meeting had been brought about by fate, and was but the -beginning of a fruitful end, dispelled the doubt that had arisen. "I will work -for it," he muttered; "It is my only chance. Even if nothing comes of it I shall -be no worse off. But something <i>shall</i> come of it--I swear it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Reassured, he took up his burden, and in the course of an hour -reached the dwelling they had occupied the previous night. By that time Basil -was in a high fever, and Chaytor began to be disturbed by the fear that his -double would die. Then, indeed, his labour would be lost and his hopes -destroyed, for he had much to learn and much to do before the vague design which -spurred him on could be developed and ripened.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor had a secret store of provisions which he had hoarded -up unknown to Jim the Hatter and the Nonentities; some tins of preserved meat -and soup, the remains of a sack of flour, two or three pounds of tea, a few -bottles of spirits, and a supply of tobacco. These would have served for a -longer time than Basil's sickness lasted, and Chaytor comforted himself with the -reflection that he could not have carried them away with him had he been -compelled to leave the deserted township. It was really Basil's stout and -healthy constitution that pulled him through a fever which would have proved -fatal to many men. He did not recover his senses for sixteen days, and as he had -nothing to conceal he, during that time, revealed to Chaytor in his wild -wandering much of his early life. When at length he opened his eyes, and they -fell with dawning consciousness upon the man standing beside his bed, Chaytor -was in possession of particulars innocent enough in themselves, but dangerous if -intended to be used to a wily and dangerous end. During those sixteen days -Chaytor had not been idle, having employed himself industriously in studying and -imitating the few peculiarities in Basil's writing. To a past-master like -himself this was not difficult, and he succeeded in producing an imitation so -perfect as to deceive anyone familiar with Basil's style. He was careful in -destroying every evidence of this vile study.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil's eyes fell upon Chaytor's face, and he was silent -awhile. Chaytor also. Basil closed his eyes, opened them again, and fell to once -more pondering upon matters. Then Chaytor spoke.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you know me at last?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Know you! At last!" echoed Basil. "I have seen you -before--but where?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here, in Gum Flat township."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am in Gum Flat township. Yes, I remember, I was riding that -way on old Corrie's mare." He jumped up, or rather tried to do so, his weak -state frustrating his intention.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where are the robbers?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's the question," said Chaytor, "and echo answers. Not -very satisfactory."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is coming back to me little by little," said Basil -presently. "I arrived here late at night and found the township deserted by all -but four men, three of them scoundrels, the fourth a noble fellow whose name -was--was--what has happened to me that my memory plays me tricks? I have it -now--whose name was Newman Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A true bill. He stands before you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are the man. What occurred next? He found a stable for -Old Corrie's mare, gave me food and a bed, while the three scoundrels looked on -frowning. I slept like an unfaithful steward; the mare being Corrie's and not -mine, and I doubtful of the character and intentions of the scoundrels, I should -have kept watch over property that did not belong to me. Instead of doing that I -consulted my own ease and pleasure."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You could not help it; you were tired out."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No excuse. I made no attempt to guard Old Corrie's mare. If I -had watched and fallen asleep from weariness at my post it might have been -another matter. When I present myself to Old Corrie, that is if I am ever able -to stand upon my legs again I shall put no gloss upon my conduct. He shall hear -the plain unvarnished truth from the unfaithful steward's own lips. I am -unworthy of confidence or friendship; I warn you, Newman Chaytor, put no trust -in me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would trust you," said Chaytor, with well-simulated -candour, "with my life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The more fool you. Where was I? Oh, asleep in the comfortable -bed you gave me while these scoundrels were planning robbery. In the middle of -the night I woke up--pitch dark it was----forgive me for speaking ungratefully -to you. My heart is overflowing with gratitude, but I am at the same time filled -with remorse."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't trouble about that, Basil," said Chaytor. "You can't -hurt yourself in my esteem. Go on with your reminiscence; it is a healthy -exercise; it will strengthen your wandering memory."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Pitch dark it was. I was not sure then, but I am now, that -thieves had been in my room. Have I been lying here long, Chaytor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Two weeks and more."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you have been nursing me all that time?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"As well as I could. You could have found no other -nurse--though easy to find a better--in Gum Flat; you and I are the only two -living humans in the township."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why did you not leave me to die?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because I am not quite a brute."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Forgive me for provoking such a reply. But why--indeed, why -have you been so good to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will answer you honestly, Basil. Because I love you."</p> - -<p class="normal">He lowered his voice and bent his eyes to the ground as he -made the false statement; and Basil turned his head, and a little sob escaped -him at the expression of devotion.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope I may live to repay you," he said, holding out his -hand, which Chaytor seized.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will. All I ask of you is not to desert me. Stick to me -as a friend, as I have stuck to you; I have been so basely deceived in -friendship that my faith in human goodness would be irrevocably shattered if you -prove false." His voice faltered; tears came into his eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That will I never do. My life is yours."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I want your heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have it. The world contains no nobler man than my friend, -Newman Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am well repaid. Now you must rest; you have talked enough."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I will finish first. Hearing sounds outside the tent I -called for your assistance. We went out together and were immediately attacked. -Were you much hurt, Chaytor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A little," replied Chaytor, modestly. "A scratch or two not -worth mentioning."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is like you to make light of your own injuries. We pursued -the scoundrels through the darkness, but they knew the ground they were -travelling, we did not. An uncovered shaft lay in my way, and down I fell. That -is all I remember. But I know that my bones would be bleaching there at the -present moment if it had not been for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Try to remember a little more," said Chaytor, anxious that -not a grain of credit should be lost to him. "I came up to the shaft sorely -bruised, and called out to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes, it comes back to me. You brought me some -brandy--you cheered and comforted me--you rolled the trunk of a tree over the -mouth of the shaft--it was half a mile away--and after hours of terrible agony I -was brought into the sweet light of day. But for you I should have died. Indeed -and indeed, I remember nothing more. You must tell me the rest."</p> - -<p class="normal">This Chaytor did with an affectation of modesty, but with -absolute exaggeration of the services he had rendered, and Basil lay and -listened, and his heart went out to the man who had proved so devoted a friend, -and had sacrificed so much for his sake.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My gratitude is yours to my dying day," he said. "No man ever -did for another what you have done for me. Give me my clothes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are not strong enough yet to get up, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't want to get up. I want to see what the scoundrels -have left in my pockets." He felt, and cried: "Everything gone! my purse, my -pocket-book, everything--even a lock of my mother's hair. They might have left -me that!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They made a clean sweep, I suppose," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had considered this matter while Basil lay unconscious, and -had come to the conclusion that it would be wiser to strip Basil's pockets bare -than to make a selection of one or two things, which was scarcely what a thief -in his haste would have done. Thus it was that Basil found his pockets -completely empty.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have for a friend the neediest beggar that ever drew -breath," said Basil bitterly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll put up with that," said Chaytor, with great -cheerfulness. "Now, don't worry yourself about anything whatever. You shall -share with me to the last pipe of tobacco, and when that's gone we will work for -more."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, tobacco! Would a whiff or two do me any harm?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you good. You'll have to smoke out of my pipe; the -villains have stolen yours."</p> - -<p class="normal">He filled his pipe, and, giving it to Basil, held a lighted -match to the tobacco. Basil, lying on his side, watched the curling smoke as it -floated above his head. Distressed as he was, the evidences of Newman Chaytor's -goodness were to some extent a compensating balance to his troubles. And now he -was enjoying the soothing influence of a quiet smoke. Those persons who regard -the weed as noxious and baleful have a perfect right to their opinion, but they -cannot ignore the fact that to many thousands of thousands of estimable beings -it serves as a comforter, frequently indeed as a healer. It was so in the -present instance. As the smoke wreathed and curled above him an ineffable -consolation crept into Basil's soul. Things seemed at their blackest; the peace -and hope of a bright future had been destroyed; the man who had grown to honour -him, and who had assured him of the future, had with awful suddenness breathed -his last breath; the little child he loved, and to whom he was to have been -guardian and protector, was thrust into the care of a malignant, remorseless -man; suspicion of foul play had been thrown upon him; Old Corrie had lent him -his mare, and he had allowed it to be stolen; he had been so near to death that -but one man, and he a short time since an utter stranger, stood between him and -eternity; and he was lying now on a bed of sickness an utter, utter beggar. Grim -enough in all conscience, but the simple smoking of a pipe put a different and a -better aspect upon it. There was hope in the future; he was young, he would get -well and strong again; Anthony Bidaud was dead, but spiritual comfort died not -with life; he would see Annette once more, and would take his leave of her -assured of her love, so far as a child could give such an assurance, and in the -hope of meeting her again in years to come; he would outlive the injurious -suspicion of wrong-dealing which he did not doubt Gilbert Bidaud was spreading -against him; and he would be able to vindicate himself in Old Corrie's eyes and -perhaps by-and-by recompense the old fellow for the loss of the more. Much -virtue in a pipe when it can so transform the prospect stretching before a man -brought to such a pass as Basil had been.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," he said aloud, "all will come right in the end."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course it will," said Chaytor. "What special mental -question are you answering?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing special. I was thinking in a general way of my -troubles, and your pipe has put a more cheerful colour on them. Am I mistaken in -thinking you told me you were a doctor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. That is why I have been able to pull you through so -quickly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How long will it be before I am able to get about?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"At the end of the week if you will be reasonable."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I promise. I feel well already. The moment I am strong enough -I must go to Bidaud's plantation."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will go with you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course. We are mates from this day forth. The end of the -week? Not earlier?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't be impatient. My plan is to make a perfect cure. No -patching. At present I am in command."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I obey. But let it be as soon as possible."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor congratulated himself. However things turned out in -the future, all had gone on swimmingly up to this moment. Every little move he -had made had been successful. Basil had not the slightest suspicion that it was -he who had stolen his pocket-book and purse, and emptied his pockets.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If an angel from heaven," chuckled Chaytor that night, as he -walked to and fro outside the store, "came and told him the truth, he would not -believe it. I have him under my thumb--under my thumb. How to work his old uncle -in England? How to get hold of that forty thousand pounds? It must not go out of -the family; I will not submit to it. Would a letter or two from Basil, written -by me in Basil's hand, do any good? I don't mind eating any amount of humble pie -to accomplish my purpose. Even were it not a vicarious humiliation I am willing -to do it, the money being guided into its proper channel, and Basil safely out -of the way."</p> - -<p class="normal">He paused, with a sinister look in his eyes. Had Basil seen -him then he would hardly have recognised him. Dark thoughts flitted through his -mind, and animated his features.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing shall stop me," he cried, "nothing!" And he raised -his hands to the skies as though registering an oath. A sad cloud stole upon the -moon and obscured its light. "What is life without enjoyment?" he muttered. "By -fair means or foul I mean to enjoy. I should like to know what we are sent into -the world for if we are deprived of a fair share of the best things?" There -being no one to answer him, he presently went inside to bed.</p> - -<p class="normal">The next day Basil was so much better that without asking -permission he got up and dressed himself. Chaytor did not remonstrate with him; -he knew, now that Basil was mending, that he would mend quickly. So it proved; -before the week was out the two men set forth on the tramp to Bidaud's -plantations.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_14" href="#div1Ref_14">CHAPTER XIV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">At noon on the second day they were within hail of Old -Corrie's hut. It was meal time, and the old woodman was cooking his dinner. -Balanced on the blazing log was a frying-pan filled with mutton-chops, some -half-dozen or so, which were not more than enough for a tough-limbed fellow -working from sunrise till sunset in the open air. He looked up as Basil and -Chaytor approached, and with a nod of his head proceeded to turn the frizzling -chops in the pan. This was his way; he was the reverse of demonstrative.</p> - -<p class="normal">Such a greeting from another man, and that man a friend, would -have disconcerted Basil, but he was familiar with Old Corrie's peculiarities and -had it not been for his own inward disquiet regarding the mare, he would have -felt quite at his ease.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Back again," said Old Corrie, transferring a couple of chops -on to a tin plate.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Been away longer than you expected."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"On the tramp?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. Look here, Corrie--"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's no hurry," interrupted Old Corrie. "You must be -hungry. Go inside, and you'll see half a sheep dressed. Cut off what you want -and cook it while the fire serves."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But I would rather say first what I have to say. When I've -told you all, my mate and I might not be welcome."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't risk it, then. Never run to court trouble, Master -Basil. I'm an older man than you; take the advice I give you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is good advice," said Chaytor, whose appetite was sharp -set, and to whom the smell of the chops was well-nigh maddening.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie looked at him with penetrating eyes, and Chaytor -bore the gaze well. He was not deficient in a certain quality of courage when he -was out of peril and master of the situation, as he believed himself to be here. -Old Corrie showed no sign of approval or disapproval, but proceeded quietly with -his dinner. Basil took the woodman's advice. He went into the hut, cut a -sufficient number of chops from the half body of the sheep which was hanging up, -and came back and took possession of the frying-pan, which was now at his -disposal. Chaytor looked on; he had not been made exactly welcome, and was in -doubt of Old Corrie's opinion of him, therefore he did not feel warranted in -making himself at home. When the young men commenced their meal, Old Corrie had -finished his, and now, pipe in mouth, he leant his back against a great tree and -contemplated his guests.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Little lady! Little lady!"</p> - -<p class="normal">The sound came from within the hut. Chaytor started, Basil -looked up with a piece of mutton between his thumb and knife: forks they had -none.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil! Basil! Basil and Annette! Little lady! Little lady!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's the magpie I told you about," said Old Corrie to Basil, -"the last time I saw you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Its vocabulary is extended," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"By request," said Old Corrie in a pleasant voice, "of the -little lady herself."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil glowed. Annette had not forgotten him, even thought -kindly of him; otherwise, why should she wish that the bird Old Corrie was -training for her should become familiar with his name? Chaytor smarted under a -sense of injury. Basil and Old Corrie were speaking of something which he did -not understand--a proof that Basil had not told him everything. This, in -Chaytor's estimation, was underhanded and injurious. Basil and everything in -relation to him, his antecedents, his whole story, belonged by right to him, -Newman Chaytor, who had saved his life, who had the strongest claim of gratitude -upon him which a man could possible have. Old Corrie noted the vindictive flash -in his eyes, but made no comment upon it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And is that really a bird?" said Chaytor, in a tone of polite -inquiry.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go and see for yourself," replied Old Corrie, "but don't go -too close. It hasn't the best of tempers."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should like to see the bird that could frighten me," said -Chaytor, rising.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Should you?" said Old Corrie. "Then on second thoughts I -prefer that you stay where you are."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor laughed and resumed his seat. The meal proceeded in -silence after this, and when the last chop was disposed of, Old Corrie said, -"Now we will have our chat, Master Basil; and as we've a few private matters to -talk of, our mate here perhaps----"</p> - -<p class="normal">The hint was plain, though imperfectly expressed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am in the way," said Chaytor. "I'll smoke my pipe in the -woods. Coo-ey when you want me, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">He strode off; exterior genial and placid, interior like a -volcano. "He shall pay for it," was his thought. It pleased him to garner up a -store of imaginary injuries which were to be requited in the future. Then, when -the time arrived for him to deal a blow, it would be merely giving tit for tat. -Many men besides Chaytor reason in this crooked way, but none whose natures and -motives are honourable and straightforward.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where did you pick him up?" asked Old Corrie when he and -Basil were alone.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I want to speak to you first about your mare," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And I want to know first where you picked up your new mate," -persisted Corrie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He saved my life," said Basil. "Had it not been for his great -and unselfish kindness I should not be here to-day." Then he told the woodman -all that he knew of Chaytor, and dilated in glowing terms upon his noble -conduct.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It sounds well," said Old Corrie, "and I have nothing to say -in contradiction; only I have a crank in me. I look into a man's face and I like -him, and I look into a man's face and I don't like him. The first time I clapped -eyes on you, Master Basil, I took a fancy to you. I can't say the same for your -mate, but let it stand. I had it in my mind to make a proposition to you in case -you came back in time, but I doubt whether it can be carried out now. Have you -entered into a bargain to go mates with him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have, and have no wish to break it. I should be the basest -of men if I tried to throw him over."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Keep to your word, lad; I'm the loser, for I thought it -likely the two of us might strike up a partnership."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why not the three of us?" asked Basil, to whom the prospect -of working with Old Corrie was very agreeable.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because in the first place it wouldn't suit me, and in the -second it wouldn't suit him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But if he were willing?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie bent his brows kindly upon Basil's ingenuous face. -"Ask him, Master Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will you not listen to me first? I want to speak to you about -your mare."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A quarter of an hour more or less won't bring her back, will -it?" said Old Corrie, with no touch of reproach in his voice. "Go and speak to -your mate, and let me know what he says."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil departed and returned. It was as Old Corrie supposed: -Chaytor was not willing to admit Corrie into their partnership.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He says you took a dislike to him from the first," said -Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Almost my own words," said Old Corrie, with a laugh. "He's a -shrewd customer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"----And that he is certain you and he would not agree. I -would give a finger off each hand if it could have been, for a warmer-hearted -and nobler man does not exist than Chaytor; and as for you, Corrie, I would wish -nothing better. But I am bound to him by the strongest ties of gratitude."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say no more, Master Basil, say no more. Mayhap we shall meet -by-and-by, and we shall be no worse friends because this has fallen through. We -have a lot to say to each other. I'm off the day after to-morrow; I should have -been off before if it had not been for you and the little lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has been here?" cried Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has been here four times since you left--the last time -yesterday--not to see me, but you. She manages the thing herself, poor little -lady, and comes alone, after giving the slip to those about her. Her first grief -is over, though she will never forget the good father she has lost--never. It -isn't in her nature to forget--bear that in mind, Master Basil. She clings to -the friends that are left her. Friends, did I say? Why, she has only one--you, -Master Basil; I don't count. Besides, if I did it would matter little to her, -for there's nothing more unlikely than that, after two days have gone by, I -shall ever look upon her sweet face again. She goes one way, I go another.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She goes one way?" repeated Basil; "will she not remain on -the plantation?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She will not. You see it isn't for her to choose; she must do -as she is directed. But we are mixing up things, and it will help them right -well if I tell you what I've got to tell straight on, commencing with A, ending -with Z. Let us clear the ground so that the axe may swing without being caught -in loose branches. I'll hear what you've got to say. My mare is lost, I know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How do you know?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You would have brought it back with you if it hadn't been. -Now then, lad, straight out, no beating about the bush. It's not in your line. I -don't for a moment mistrust you. There's truth in your face always, Master -Basil, and I wish with all my heart the little lady had you by her side to guide -her instead of the skunk that's stepped into her dead father's shoes. You're a -square man, and my mare is lost through no fault of yours, my lad."</p> - -<p class="normal">Encouraged by these generous words, Basil told his story -straight, and Old Corrie listened with a pleasant face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The mare's gone," said Old Corrie when Basil had done, "and -bad luck go with her. I know the brands on her: mayhap I shall come across her -one of these fine days. Describe the rascals to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil did as well as he could, and said Old Corrie was not -treating him as he deserved.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am treating you as an honest gentleman," said Old Corrie, -"as I know you to be. Jem the Hatter the villain's called, is he? When a man -once gets a nickname on the goldfields it sticks to him through thick and thin; -if we meet he shall remember it. I give you a receipt in full, Master Basil." -And the good fellow held out his two hands, which Basil shook heartily. "I was -sure something serious kept you away." With Basil's hand clasped firmly in his, -he gazed steadily into the young man's face. "It is on odd fancy I've got," he -said, "but it's come across me two or three times while we've been talking. Is -there any relationship between you and your new mate?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"None."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sure of that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sure."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you met for the first time on Gum Flat?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For the first time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, it is odd, and the more I look at you now the odder it -becomes. You've let your hair grow since you went away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Obliged to," said Basil, laughing. "I had no razor. There are -a couple I can claim in Mr. Bidaud's house, as well as a brush or two; but I -daresay I shall not get them now that Mr. Gilbert Bidaud is in possession. What -is your odd fancy, Corrie?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why that you and your new mate would be as like each other as -two peas, if you were dressed alike and trimmed your hair alike. Haven't you -noticed it yourself?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've noticed that we resemble each other somewhat," said -Basil, "but not to the extent you mention. I remember now he spoke of it -himself; and that is one reason perhaps why he took a liking to me, and nursed -me as he did. But I am terribly anxious to hear about the plantation and -Annette. What is going to happen there that she is to leave it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In my own way, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, brushing his -hand across his eyes to chase the fancy away, "and to commence at the beginning. -When you left me in the wood I was splitting slabs, a job I was doing for poor -Mr. Anthony Bidaud. You doubted whether his brother would hold to it, as there -was no written bond to show for it, and you were right. I went up to the house, -as I said I would, and saw Mr. Gilbert. You described him well, Master Basil; -he's a man I would be sorry to trust. I told him of the contract between me and -his brother. 'Where is it?' he asked. 'There was none written,' I answered; 'it -was an order given as a dozen others have been, and of course you'll abide by -it.' 'Of course I will not,' said he. 'Who are you that I should take your word? -And you would fix your own price for the slabs? Clever, Mr. Corrie. Clever, Mr. -Corrie!' I had told him my name. 'But I am a cleverer and a sharper.' A sharper -he is in the right meaning of it, but he is not English, and didn't exactly know -what he was calling himself. 'No, no,' he said, 'the moment a man's dead the -vultures come. You are one. But I am equal to you. Burn your slabs.' 'You're a -pretty specimen,' I said. 'Your brother was a gentleman; it doesn't run in the -family.' He's a strange man, Master Basil, and if he ever loses his temper he -takes care not to show it. More than what I've told you passed between us, and -once he said quite coolly that if I could summon his brother as a witness, he -was willing to abide by his testimony. The testimony of a dead man! And to speak -so lightly of one's flesh and blood! I wouldn't trust such a man out of my -sight."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you see his sister?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I did, but she said very little, and never spoke without -looking at Mr. Gilbert for a cue. He gave it her always in a silent way that -passed my comprehension, but they understand each other by signs."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And Annette--did you see her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, but at a distance. They kept her from me, I think, but I -saw her looking at me quite mournfully, and I felt like going boldly up to her, -but second thoughts were best, and I kept away, only giving her to understand as -well as I could without speaking that I was her friend, ready at any time to do -her a service. 'Well,' said I to Mr. Gilbert, 'my compliments to you. Your -throwing over the contract your brother made won't hurt me a bit; I could buy up -a dozen like you'--which was brag, Master Basil, and he knew it was--'but I -should be sorry to dishonour the dead as you are doing.' He took out a -snuff-box, helped himself to a pinch, smiled, and said, 'Sentiment, Mr. Corrie, -sentiment. I treat the dead as I treat the living. Rid me of you.' It was his -foreign way of bidding me pack, but I told him I should take my time, that I had -plenty of friends among his brother's workmen, and that I should go away very -slowly. 'And let me give you a piece of advice,' I said. 'If you or any agent of -yours comes spying near my hut I'll mark him so that he shall remember it.' 'Ah, -ah,' he said, still smiling in my face, 'threats eh?' 'Yes, threats,' said I, -'and as many more of 'em as I choose to give tongue to.' 'Foolish Mr. Corrie, -foolish Mr. Corrie,' he said, taking more snuff, 'to lose your temper. Let <i>me</i> -give <i>you</i> a piece of advice. Think first, speak afterwards. It is a -lesson--take it to heart. You are too impulsive, Mr. Corrie, like another person -who also trespasses here, one who calls himself Basil.' 'Mr. Basil is a friend -of mine,' I said, 'say one word against him, and I'll knock you down.' He was -frightened, though he didn't show it, and he beckoned to a man, who came and -stood by him. You know him, I daresay, Master Basil; his name is Rocke."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is my enemy, I am afraid," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I found that out afterwards; he has been spreading reports -about you either out of his own spite, or employed by cold-blooded Mr. Gilbert -Bidaud. So Rocke came and stood by his side, but not too willingly. We've met -before Rocke and me, and he knows the strength of my muscle. I smiled at him, -and he grinned at me, and I said, 'We were speaking of Master Basil, and I was -saying that if anyone said a word against him I was ready to knock him down. -Perhaps you'd like to say something.' 'Not at all,' said Rocke, and his grin -changed to a scowl, 'I know when it will pay me best to hold my tongue.' Mr. -Gilbert Bidaud shook with laughter. 'Good Rocke,' he said, 'wise Rocke. We'll -make a judge of you. Anything more to say?' This was to me and I answered, -almost as cool now as he was himself, 'Only this. You spit upon a dead man's -bond, and you are a scoundrel. Don't come near my hut, you or anyone that sides -with you.' Rocke understood this. 'But,' said I, 'any friend of Master Basil's -is heartily welcome, and I'll give them the best I have. So good day to you, Mr. -Gilbert Bidaud.' Then I went among the workmen and chatted with them, and picked -up scraps of information, and turned the current wherever I saw it was setting -against you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My hearty thanks for the service, Corrie," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're as heartily welcome. If one friend don't stick up for -another behind his back we might as well be tigers. You see, Master Basil, -you're a stranger here compared with me; I've been chumming with the men this -many a year, and never had a word with one except Rocke, and even he has some -sort of respect for me. Then you're a gentleman; I'm not. My lad, there are -signs that can't be hidden; you've got the hallmark on you. Well, when I'd done -as much as I could in a friendly way, I turned my back on the plantation, and -came back here, and went on with my splitting, as if the contract still held -good."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Was not that a waste of time, Corrie?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I took my own view of it. There was the dead man soon to be -in his grave; here was I with the blood running free through my veins. If he'd -been alive he'd have kept his word; I was alive, and I'd keep mine. So I -finished the contract out of respect for Mr. Anthony Bidaud, and there the slabs -are, stacked and ready. While I was at work my thoughts were on you; four days -passed, and you hadn't returned. I concluded that something had happened to you, -but that you'd appear some time or another, and all I could do was to hope that -you'd come back before I left the place. I had a great wish to see the little -lady, but I didn't know how to compass it. Compassed it was, however, without my -moving in it. Just a week it was after you'd gone that I was at work in the -wood; it was afternoon, a good many hours from sundown, when my laughing jackass -began to laugh outrageous. When we're alone together he behaves soberly and -decently, contented with quietly laughing and chuckling to himself, and it's -only when something out of the way occurs that he gives himself airs. He's the -vainest of the vain, Master Basil, and he does it to show off. His tantrums made -me look round, and there, standing looking at me and the laughing jackass, -without a morsel of fear of me or the bird, was the little lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Annette?" cried Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The little lady herself," said Old Corrie.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_15" href="#div1Ref_15">CHAPTER XV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"Was she alone?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, quite alone. I dropped my axe, told the jackass to shut -up--which it didn't, Master Basil--and took the hand she held out to me. Such a -little hand, Master Basil! I give you my word that as I held it in mine my -thoughts went back, more years than I care to count, to the time when I was a -little 'un myself, snuggling close up to my mother's apron. I can't remember -when I'd thought of those days last. They were stowed away in a coffin, and -dropped into a grave which stood between me as a boy and me as a man. It's like -having lived two lives, one of which was dead and buried. Now, all at once, the -dead past came to life, and said, in a manner of speaking, 'I belong to you,' -and it didn't seem unnatural. The touch of the little lady's hand was like a -magic wand, and if she had said to me, 'Let's have a game of hopscotch,' I -believe I should have done it and thought it the proper thing to do. But she -said nothing of the sort, only looked at me with melancholy sweetness, and hoped -I was not sorry to see her. Sorry! I was heartily and thankfully glad, and I -told her so, and the tears came into her pretty eyes, and I said, without -thinking at the moment that she'd lost a dear father, 'Don't cry, don't cry! -there's nothing to cry for;' but I set myself right directly by saying, 'I mean, -I hope it isn't me that makes you cry.' 'No,' she answered, 'it's only that you -speak so kind.' My blood boiled up, for those words of hers showed me that since -her father's death she had not been treated with kindness, and if she hadn't -been a little lady, rich in her own right, I should have offered to run off with -her there and then. But under any circumstances that would have been a dangerous -thing to do, for her and me; it would have brought her uncle down upon me, and -he'd have had the law on his side. So, instead of offering to do a thing so -foolish, I said, 'Did you come on purpose to see me?' 'Yes,' she answered, on -purpose. 'I gave them the slip, and they don't know where I am.' 'Don't you be -afraid then, my little maid,' I said, 'they won't find you here, because they -won't venture within half a mile of me. You've done no harm in coming to see a -friend, as you may be sure I am. Can I do anything for you?' 'Yes,' she said; -'you like Basil, don't you?' Upon that I said I was as true a friend of yours as -I was of hers. 'Will you tell me, please,' she said then, 'why he has gone quite -away without trying to see me? I know it wouldn't be easy, because my uncle and -aunt are against him; but I thought he would have tried. I have been to every -one of his favourite places, in the hope of meeting him, and my uncle has said -such hard things of him that my heart is fit to break.' Poor little lady! She -could hardly speak for her tears. Well, now, that laughing jackass was making -such a chatter, and behaving so outrageous, pretending to sob, which made her -sob the more, that I proposed to take her to my hut here, where we could talk -quietly. She put her little hand in mine and walked along with me to my hut, and -the minute we came in the magpie cried out, 'Little lady, little lady.' She -looked up at this, and I told her it was a magpie I was training for her. It -gave her greater pleasure than such a little thing as that ought to have done, -and though she did not say it in so many words I saw in her face the grateful -thought that she still had friends in the world that had grown so sad and -lonely. Then I told her all about your last meeting with me--how tenderly you -had spoken of her, what love you had for her, and how I had lent you my mare to -take you to a place where you hoped to find a doctor and a lawyer who might be -able to serve her in some way. The news comforted her, but she was greatly -distressed by the fear that you had met with an accident which prevented your -return. I wouldn't listen to this for the little maid's sake, and said I was -positive you would soon be back, and that nothing was farther from your mind -than the idea of going away entirely without seeing her again. 'He will have to -make haste,' said the little lady, with a world of thought in her face, 'or he -will never be able to find me.' I asked why, and she answered that she believed, -when everything was settled, that her uncle would sell the plantation and take -her away to Europe. 'Can't it be prevented?' she asked, and I said I was afraid -it could not; that her uncle stood now in the place of her father, and could do -as he liked. 'If you are compelled to go,' I said, 'you shall take the magpie -away with you to remind you of the old place--that is, if you will be allowed to -keep it.' 'I shall be,' she said; and now, child as she was, I noticed in her -signs of a resolute will I hadn't given her credit for. 'If you give it to me, -it will be mine, and they shall not take it from me. I will fight for it, -indeed, I will.' I was pleased to hear her speak like that; it showed that she -had spirit which would be of use to her when she was a woman grown. She stopped -with me as long as she dared, and before she went away she said she would come -again, and asked me if I thought I could teach the bird to speak your name. 'It -would be easy enough,' I answered, and that is how it comes about that the -magpie--which for cleverness and common-sense, Master Basil, I would match -against the cunningest bird that ever was hatched--can call out 'Basil--Basil,' -as clearly as you pronounce your own name. It was at that meeting, and at every -meeting afterwards, she gave me a message to you if you returned. You were to be -sure not to go away again without seeing her; if you couldn't contrive it, she -would; that proved her spirit again; and that if it should unfortunately happen -that you returned after she was taken away you were never to forget that Annette -loved you, and would love you all her life, whatever part of the world she might -be in. Those are her words as near as I can remember them, and they're easy -enough for you to understand, but it isn't so easy to make you understand the -voice in which she spoke them. I declare, Master Basil, it runs through me now, -broken by little sobs, with her pretty hands clasping and unclasping themselves -and her tender body shaking like a reed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dear little Annette," said Basil, and his eyes, too, were -tearful, and his voice broken a little; "dear little Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She's worth a man's thoughts, Master Basil," said Old Corrie, -"and a man's pity, and will be better worth em' when she's a woman grown. You're -a fortunate man, child as she is, to have won a love like the little lady's, for -if I'm a judge of human nature, and I believe myself to be--which isn't exactly -conceit on my part, mind you--it's love that will last and never be forgotten. -It's no light thing, Master Basil, love like that; when it comes to a man he'll -hold on to it if he's got a grain of sense in him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You cannot say one word in praise of Annette," said Basil, -"that I'm not ready to cap with a dozen. I believe, with you, that she has a -soul of constancy, and I hold her in my heart as I would a beloved sister. If I -could only help and advise her! But how can I do that when she is to be taken -away to a distant land?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's no telling what may happen in the future," said Old -Corrie. "What to-day seems impossible to-morrow comes to pass. To beat one's -head against a stone wall because things aren't as we wish them to be is the -height of foolishness, but it's my opinion that going on steadily doing one's -duty, working manfully and doing what's right and square, is the best and surest -way to open out the road we'd like to tread. Your new mate, Mr. Chaytor, hasn't -disturbed us, and I must do him the justice to say that he shows sense and -discretion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is one in a thousand," said Basil, "and it is impossible -for me to express to you how sorry I am that you have not taken kindly to each -other."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It does happen sometimes, but not often, that men are -mistaken in their likings and dislikings, but we'll not argue the point. Now -I've got to tell you how things stand at the plantation. There was an inquest on -the body of Mr. Anthony Bidaud, doctors and lawyers being called in by Mr. -Gilbert, and the verdict was that he died of natural causes. There being no -will, Mr. Gilbert took legal possession, as guardian to his niece under age. He -decides that it will not be good for her to remain where she is; but must be -educated as a lady, and brought up as one. That, says Mr. Gilbert, can't be done -on the plantation; it must be done in a civilized country. Consequently the -plantation must be sold. With lawyers paid to push things on, three months' work -had been done in three weeks. A purchaser has been found, deeds drawn up, money -paid, and next Monday they're off; Mr. Gilbert Bidaud, his sister, name unknown, -and the little lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hot haste, indeed," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"To which neither you nor I can have anything to say legally."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is so, unhappily. And then to Europe?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"And then to Europe. I am telling you what the little lady -tells me. I can't go beyond that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course not. But does she not know to what part of Europe?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She knows nothing more. He keeps his mouth shut; you can't -compel him to open it. There are cases, Master Basil, in which honesty is no -match for roguery; this is one. Mr. Gilbert Bidaud has the law on his side, and -can laugh openly at you. Now, the little lady was here yesterday. 'No news of -Basil?' she asked. 'No news of Basil,' I said. 'Is he dead, do you think?' she -whispered, with a face like snow. 'No,' I said stoutly; 'don't you go on -imagining things of that sort. He's alive, and will give a satisfactory account -of himself when he comes back.' I spoke confidently to keep up her heart, though -I had misgivings of you. 'I shall be here to-morrow,' she said, 'and every day -till we leave the plantation.' She has contrived cleverly, hasn't she, to slip -them as she does?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then I shall see her soon!" said Basil, eagerly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"In less than an hour, if she comes at her usual time. Our -confab is over. You had best go and seek your mate. I'll make my apologies to -him, if he needs 'em, for keeping you so long."</p> - -<p class="normal">If Basil had known, he had not far to go to find Newman -Chaytor, for that worthy was quite close to him. Being of an inquiring mind -Chaytor had resolved to hear all that passed between Basil and Old Corrie, and -had found a secure hiding-place in the rear, and well within earshot, of the two -friends. He stored it all up, being blessed with an exceptionally retentive -memory. Old Corrie went one way, and Basil went another, and Chaytor emerged -from his hiding-place. "I am quite curious about little Annette," he said to -himself, as he followed Basil at a safe distance. "Quite a sentimental little -body--and an heiress, too! Well, we shall see. Say that my friend Basil's future -is a nut--I'll crack it; I may find a sweet kernel inside."</p> - -<p class="normal">He came up to Basil, and greeted him with a frank smile. -"We've been talking about the plantation," said Basil, "and poor Anthony -Bidaud's daughter, Annette. She is coming this afternoon to see me. I'll tell -you everything by-and-by."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't want to intrude upon your private affairs, Basil," -said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have a right to know," said Basil. "I have no secrets -from you, Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then they talked of other matters, Chaytor with animation, -Basil with a mind occupied by thoughts of Annette. "I see," said Chaytor, -patting Basil's shoulder with false kindness, "that you are thinking of the -little maid. Now I'm not going to play the churl. Don't mind me for the rest of -the day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're a good fellow," said Basil, as Chaytor walked away; -but he did not walk far. Unobserved by Basil, he kept secret watch upon him, -determined to see Annette, determined to hear what she and Basil had to say to -each other. As Old Corrie had said, "there are cases in which honesty is no -match for roguery." Basil posted himself in such a position that he could see -any person who came towards the wood from Bidaud's plantation. He heard the thud -of Old Corrie's axe in the forest; the honest woodman could have remained idle -had he chosen, but he was unhappy unless he was at work, and though he desired -no profit from it he felled and split trees for the pleasure of the thing. Now -and again there came to Basil's ears the piping and chattering of -gorgeous-coloured birds as they fluttered hither and thither, busy on their own -concerns, love-making, nest-mending, and the like; in their commonwealth many -touches of human passion and sentiment found a reflex. Vanity was there, -jealousy was there, hectoring and bullying of the weak was there, and much sly -pilfering went on; entertainments, too, were being given, for at some distance -from the three men in the woods, one swinging his axe with a will and wiping his -cheerful brows, another with his heart in his eyes watching for a little figure -in the distance, and the third, stirred by none but evil thoughts, watching with -cunning eyes the watcher--at some distance from these two honest men and one -rogue were assembled some couple of dozen feathered songsters in green and -yellow coats. They perched upon convenient boughs and branches, forming a -circle, with invisible music books before them, and at a given signal from their -leader they began to pipe their songs without words, and filled space with -melody. Their music may be likened to the faintly sweet echoes of skilled -bell-ringers, each tiny bird the master of a note which was never piped unless -in harmony. It was while these fairy bells were pealing their sweetest chord -that Basil saw Annette approaching. He ran towards her eagerly, and called her -name; and she with a sudden flush in her face and with her heart palpitating -with joy, cried, "Basil! Basil!" and fell into his arms.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_16" href="#div1Ref_16">CHAPTER XVI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">He led her to a secluded spot, followed secretly by fox -Chaytor. They passed close to where Old Corrie was working, and he, hearing -footsteps--be sure, however, that Chaytor's were noiseless--laid down his axe, -and went towards them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has come--he has come!" cried Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What did I tell you?" said Old Corrie. "All you've got to do -in this world, little lady, is to have patience."</p> - -<p class="normal">She was so overjoyed, having tight hold of Basil's hand, that -she would have accepted the wildest theories without question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Corrie," she said, "may I have the magpie to-day?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Surely," he replied, "it is quite ready for you, and you will -be able to teach it anything you please. But why so soon? Aren't you coming -again?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Her face became sad, and she clutched Basil's fingers -convulsively: "I am afraid not this is the last, last time! I have heard -something, Mr. Corrie, and if it is true my uncle and aunt are going to take me -away to-morrow morning."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In that case," said Old Corrie, "I will have the bird ready -for you. Now you and Master Basil can talk; I'll not interrupt you." He went -away at once, and left them together. For a little while they had nothing of a -coherent nature to say to each other; but then Basil, recognising the necessity -of introducing some kind of system into their conversation, related to Annette -all that had happened within his knowledge since the sad morning of her father's -death, and heard from her lips all that she had to relate. Much of it he had -already heard from Old Corrie. The refrain she harped upon was, "And must we, -must we part, Basil? And shall we never, never see each other again?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Part we must, dear Annette," he said; "I have no control over -you, and no authority that can in any way be established. When I first came to -the plantation I was a stranger to you and your father, and the law would -acknowledge me as no better now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Next to my dear father and mother," said Annette, "I love you -best in all the world. They cannot take that away from me; what I feel is my -own, my very own. Oh, Basil, I sometimes have wicked thoughts, and feel myself -turning bad; I never felt so before my uncle came."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Annette, listen to me. You must struggle against these -thoughts and must say to yourself, 'They will make my dear father and mother -sorrowful. They have shown me kindness and love and I will show the same to -them.' You cannot see them, Annette, but their spirits are watching over you; -and there is a just and merciful God in heaven who is watching over you, too, -and whom you must not offend."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will do as you say, Basil, dear; I will never, never forget -your words. They will keep me good."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let them keep you brave as well, my dear. I promise to -remember you always, to love you always, and perhaps when you are a woman--it -will not be so long, Annette--we shall meet again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, Basil, that will be true happiness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Time flies quickly, Annette. It seems but yesterday since I -was a boy myself, and when I look back and think of my own dear parents, I am -happy in the belief that I never did anything to cause them sorrow.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You could not, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, my dear, I don't know that; but I had a good mother and -so had you, and my father and yours were both noble men. They are not with us, -and that makes the duty we owe them all the stronger. To do what is right -because we feel that it is right to do it, not because it is done in the sight -of others--that is what makes us good, Annette. My mother taught me that lesson -as she lay on her death bed, and it has brought me great happiness; it has -supported me in adversity. You must not mind my speaking so seriously, -Annette----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I love to hear you, Basil. I will be like you, indeed I will.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Much better, I hope. You see, my dear, this is the last time -we shall be together for a long time; but not so long after all, if we look at -it in the right light, and I should like you to remember me as you would -remember a brother, who, being older than you, is perhaps a little wiser."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will, Basil. All my wicked thoughts are gone; they shall -never come again; but I shall still feel a little unhappy sometimes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course you will, dear, and so shall I. But faith in God's -goodness and the performance of our duty will always lighten that unhappiness. -The stars of heaven are not brighter than the stars of hope and love we can keep -shining in our hearts."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Kiss me, Basil; that is the seal. I shall go away happier -now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Tell me, Annette. Are your uncle and aunt kind to you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are neither kind nor unkind. They talk a great deal to -each other, but very seldom to me, unless it is to order me to do something. -Aunt says, 'Go to bed,' and I go to bed; 'It is time to get up,' and I get up? -'Come to dinner,' and I come to dinner. It is all like that; they never speak to -me as my father and mother did, and they have never kissed me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must be obedient to them, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will be, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are your guardians, and a great deal depends upon them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I know that; but I don't think they like me, and, Basil, -I don't think uncle is a good man."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will be better," said Basil gravely, "not to fancy that. -It may be only that he is a little different from other men, and that you are -not accustomed to his ways."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will try," said Annette piteously, "to obey you in -everything, but I can't help my thoughts, and I can't help seeing and hearing. -He speaks in a hard voice to everybody; he is unkind to animals; he has never -put a flower on my dear father's grave."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There, there, Annette--don't cry. I only want you to make the -best, and not the worst, of things."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will, Basil--indeed, indeed I will. When I am far away from -you, you <i>will</i> think, will you not, that I am trying hard to do everything -to please you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I promise to think so, and I have every faith in you. It is -all for your good, you know, Annette. When you are out of this country where are -your aunt and uncle going to live."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In Europe."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But in what part of Europe?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't know. All that uncle and aunt say is, 'We are going -to Europe.' 'But in what country?' I asked. 'Don't be inquisitive,' they -answered; 'we are going to Europe;' and they will say nothing more. I am -sometimes afraid to speak when they are near me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Poor little Annette! Now attend to me, dear. Wherever you are -you can write to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Basil, yes. And may I? Oh, how good you are! Oh, if ever -I should get a letter from you! It will be the next best thing to having you -with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Remember what I am saying, Annette. I want you to write to -me, wherever you are, and I want to answer your letters. This is the way it can -be done. When you are settled write me your first letter--I shall not mind how -long it is----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be a long, long one, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And address it to 'Mr. Basil Whittingham, Post-office, -Sydney, New South Wales.' I shall be sure to get it. Now for my answer. If you -are happy in your uncle's house, and tell me so, I will send my answer there; -but if you think it will be best for me not to send it to his house, I will -address it to the post-office in whatever town or city you may be living. Some -friend in the new country (you are sure to make friends, my dear) will tell you -how you may get my letters. This looks a little like deceit, but it will be -pardonable deceit if you are unhappy--not otherwise. Do you understand?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perfectly, Basil. I shall have something to think of now; you -have given me something to do. And will you ever come to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is my hope; I intend to work hard here to get money, and -if I am fortunate, in a few years, when you are a beautiful woman----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would like to be, Basil, for your sake."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will come to wherever you may be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not wish for anything more, Basil. I shall pray night -and morning for your good fortune. How happy you have made me--how happy--how -happy! I shall keep the stars of love and hope shining in my heart--for you. How -beautifully the bellbirds are singing. I shall hear them when I am thousands of -miles away. But, Basil, you will want something to remember me by."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, dear Annette, I need nothing to remind me of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You do, Basil, and I have brought it for you. Look, Basil, my -locket----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"But Annette----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have I said 'No' to anything you have told me--and will you -say 'No' to this little thing? I think it will not be right if you do; so, dear -Brother Basil, you must not refuse me. I wish I had something better to give -you, but you will be satisfied with this, will you not? I have worn it always -round my neck, since I was a little, little girl, and you must wear it round -yours. Promise me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I promise, dear, if you will not be denied."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not, indeed I will not--and your promise is made. See, -Basil, here it lies open in my hand; take it. The picture is a portrait of my -dear mother; father had it painted for me by a gentleman who came once to the -plantation. Then when you come to me in the country across the sea, you will -show it to me and tell me that you have worn it always and always, because you -love me, and because I love you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have nothing to give you, Annette. I am very, very poor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have given me a star of hope, Basil. How sorry I am that -you are poor! But my nurse, who has been sent away----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have they done that, Annette?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, and she cried so at leaving me. She told me that one day -I should be very, very rich. So what does it matter if you are poor? Let me -fasten it round your neck. Now you have me and my dear mother next your heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">He took the innocent child in his arms, and she lay nestling -there a few moments with bright thoughts of the happy future in her mind. -Suddenly a loud "Coo-ey" was heard and the sound of hurried footsteps. It was -Old Corrie's voice that gave the alarm. It was intended as such, for when Basil -started to his feet and stood with his arm round Annette, holding her close to -him, he looked up, and saw Gilbert Bidaud standing before him.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_17" href="#div1Ref_17">CHAPTER XVII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">A malicious smile played about the old man's lips as he -glanced at Basil and Annette. For a few moments he did not speak, but stood -enjoying the situation, feeling himself master of it; and when he broke the -silence his voice was smooth and suave. The malignancy of his feelings was to be -found in his words, not in the tone in which he uttered them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, Mr. Basil Whittingham once more? Mr. Basil Whittingham, -the English gentleman, ready at a moment's notice to give lessons in manners, -conduct, and good breeding. But then it is to proclaim oneself a fool to take a -man at his own estimate of himself. I find you here in the company of my niece. -Favour me with an explanation, Mr. Basil Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is nothing to explain," said Basil, still with his arm -round Annette. "I have been absent some time, and happening, fortunately, to -return before Miss Bidaud left the country, have met her here, and was -exchanging a few words of farewell."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course, of course. Who would venture to dispute with so -reproachless a gentleman? Who would venture to whisper that in these last few -words of farewell there was any attempt to work upon a child's feelings, and to -make the spurious metal of self-interest shine like purest gold? On one side a -young girl, as yet a mere child, whose feelings are easily worked upon; on the -other side a grown man versed in the cunning of the world, and using it with a -keen eye to profitable use in the future. Not quite an equal match, it appears -to me, but I may be no judge. If I were to hint that this meeting between you -and my dear niece and ward has anything of a clandestine nature in it, you would -probably treat me to a display of indignant fireworks. If I were to hint that, -instead of so advising this child that she should hold out her arms gladly to -the new life into which she is about to enter, you were instilling into her a -feeling of repugnance against it, and of mistrust against those whose duty it -will be to guide her aright and teach her--principles"--his eyes twinkled with -malignant humour as he spoke this word--"you, English gentleman that you are, -would repudiate the insinuation with lofty scorn. But when you exchange -confidences with me you are in the presence of a man who has also seen something -of the world, and who, although it has dealt him hard buffets, retains some -old-fashioned notions of honour and manliness. I apply the test to you, -adventurer, and you become instantly exposed. Ah! here is my sister, this sweet -young child's aunt, who will relieve you of your burden."</p> - -<p class="normal">He took the hand of the unresisting girl and led her to her -aunt, whose arm glided round Annette's waist, holding it as in a vice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not answer you," said Basil, with an encouraging smile -at Annette, whose face instantly brightened. "Annette knows I have spoken the -truth, and that is enough."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Basil," said Annette, boldly, "you have spoken the -truth, and I will never, never forget what you have said to me to-day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take her away," said Gilbert Bidaud to his sister; "the farce -is played out. In a week it will be forgotten."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-bye, Basil," said Annette "and God bless you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-bye, Annette," said Basil, "and God guard you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How touching, how touching!" murmured Gilbert Bidaud. "It is -surely a scene from an old comedy. Take her away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Just one moment, please," said Old Corrie, joining the group. -"Here is something that belongs to the little lady, that she would like to take -with her to the new world. It will remind her of the old, and of friends she -leaves in it."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was the magpie in its wicker cage, whose tongue being -loosened by company, or perhaps by a desire to show off its accomplishments to -an appreciative audience, became volubly communicative.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil! Basil! Basil and Annette! Little lady! Little lady!"</p> - -<p class="normal">In his heart Gilbert Bidaud was disposed to strangle the bird, -but his smile was amiability itself as he said to Annette, "Yours, my child?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, mine," she answered. "Mr. Corrie gave it to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But Mr. Corrie is not rich," said Gilbert Bidaud, pulling out -his purse; "you are. Shall we not pay him for it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," said Annette, before Old Corrie could speak. "I would -not care for it if he took money for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well said, little lady," said Old Corrie; "the bird is -friendship's offering, and for that will be valued and well cared for, I don't -doubt. It is your property, mind, and no one has a right to meddle with it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Friendship's offering!" said Gilbert Bidaud, with a long, -quiet laugh. "We came out to the bush to learn something, did we not, sister? -Why, here we find the finest of human virtues and sentiments, the smuggest of -moralities, the essence of refined feeling. It is really refreshing. Do not be -afraid, Mr. Corrie. Although I would not take your word about that -wood-splitting contract, I have some respect for you, as a rough specimen of -bush life and manners. We part friends, I hope."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not a bit of it," said Old Corrie. "If ladies were not -present I'd open my mind to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank heaven," said Gilbert Bidaud, raising his eyes with -mock devotion, "for the restraining influence of the gentler sex. You do not -diminish my esteem for you. I know rough honesty when I meet with it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You shift about," interrupted Old Corrie, "like a treacherous -wind. I'm rough honesty now, am I? You're the kind of man that can turn white -into black. Let us make things equal by another sort of bargain. I've given -little lady the bird. You'll not take it from her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Heavens?" cried Gilbert Bidaud, clasping his hands. "What do -you think of me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's not an answer. You'll not take it from her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not. Keep it, my child, and be happy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you hear, little lady? Let us be thankful for small -mercies. Shake hands, my dear. When you're a woman grown, don't forget Old -Corrie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I never will--I never will," sobbed Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And don't forget," said Old Corrie, laying his hand on -Basil's shoulder, "that Master Basil here is a gentleman to be honoured and -loved, a man to be proud of, a man to treasure in your heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will never forget it," said Annette; with a fond look at -Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And this, I think," said Gilbert Bidaud, with genial smiles -all round, "is the end of an act. Let the curtain fall to slow music."</p> - -<p class="normal">But it was not destined so to fall. As Annette's aunt turned -to leave with her niece, her eyes, dwelling scornfully on Basil for a moment, -caught sight of the chain attached to the locket which Annette had put round his -neck. Quick as lightning she put her hand to the child's neck, and discovered -the loss.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has stolen Annette's locket!" she cried, pointing to the -chain.</p> - -<p class="normal">As quick in his movements as his sister, Gilbert Bidaud -stretched forth his hand and tore the locket and chain from Basil's neck. It was -done so swiftly and suddenly that Basil was unable to prevent it; but the hot -blood rushed into his face as he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Were you a younger man I would give you cause to remember -your violence. Annette, speak the truth."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I gave it to you, Basil," said Annette, slipping from her -aunt's grasp, and putting her hand on Gilbert Bidaud's. "It is false to say he -stole it. It belonged to me, and I could do what I pleased with it. I gave it to -Basil, and he did not want to take it at first, but I made him."</p> - -<p class="normal">She strove to wrench it from her uncle's hand, but it was easy -for him to keep it from her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will have it!" cried Annette. "I will, I will! It is -Basil's, and you have no right to it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A storm in a teapot," said Gilbert Bidaud, who seldom lost -his self-possession for longer than a moment, "Sister, you should apologise to -the young gentleman. Take the precious gift."</p> - -<p class="normal">But instead of handing it to Basil he threw it over the young -man's head, and Newman Chaytor, who during the whole of this scene had been -skulking, unseen, in the rear, and had heard every word of the conversation, -caught it before it fell, and slunk off with it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall find it, Annette," said Basil. "Good-bye, once more. -May your life be bright and happy!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Those were the last words, and being uttered at the moment -Newman Chaytor caught the locket and was slinking off, were heard and treasured -by him.</p> - -<p class="normal">The whole of that day Basil, assisted by Old Corrie and -Chaytor, searched for the locket, of course unsuccessfully. He was in great -distress at the loss; it seemed to be ominous of misfortune.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_18" href="#div1Ref_18">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The story of the lives of Basil and Chaytor during the ensuing -three years may be briefly summarised. So far as obtaining more than sufficient -gold for the bare necessaries of life were concerned, ill-luck pursued them. -They went from goldfield to goldfield, and followed every new rush they heard -of, and were never successful in striking a rich claim. It was all the more -tantalising because they were within a few feet of great fortune at least -half-a-dozen times. On one goldfield they marked out ground, close to a claim of -fabulous richness, every bucket of wash-dirt that was hauled from the gutter -being heavily weighted with gold. This was the prospectors' claim, and the shaft -next to it struck the gutter to the tune of twelve ounces a day per man. The -same with the second, and Basil and Chaytor had every reason, therefore, to -congratulate themselves, especially when the men working in the claim beyond -them also struck the lead, and struck it rich. But when at length the two gold -diggers in whom we are chiefly interested came upon the gutter, they were -dismayed to find that instead of ten ounces to the tub, it was as much as they -could do to wash out ten grains. It was the only poor claim along the whole of -the gutter; on each side of them the diggers were coining money, and they were -literally beggars. It is frequently so on the goldfields, the life on which very -much resembles a lottery, riches next door to poverty; but the hope of turning -up a lucky number seldom dies out in the heart of the miner. He growls a bit, -apostrophises his hard luck in strong language, is despondent for a day, and the -next shakes off his despondent fit, and buckles to again with a will, going -perhaps to another new rush, jubilant and full of hope, to meet again with the -same bad fortune. The romance of the goldfield is a rich vein for novelists, -some few of whom have tapped it successfully; but the theme is far from being -worn out, and presents as tempting material to-day as it did years ago, when -gold was first discovered in Australia.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is maddening, Basil," said Chaytor, as he gazed gloomily -at the "prospect" in his tin dish--two or three specks which would not have -covered a pin's head. "Here we are upon the gutter again, and the stuff will -wash about half a pennyweight to the tub."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's jolly hard," said Basil, proceeding to fill his pipe -with cut cavendish, "but what can we do? Grin and bear it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, you're philosophical, you are," growled Chaytor, "but I'm -not so easy minded. Just think of it, and bring a little spirit to bear upon it, -will you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Off you go," said Basil. "I'm listening."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here we are on Dead Man's Flat, and here we've been these -last three weeks. Just four days and three weeks ago we struck our claim in -Mountain Maid Gully, having got two ounces and three pennyweights for our -month's hard work. That contemptible parcel of gold brought us in barely eight -pounds, the gold buyer pretending to blow away sand before he put it in the -scale, but blowing away more than two pennyweights of the stuff, and reducing it -to a little over two ounces. We weighed it in our own gold scales before we took -it to him, and it was two ounces three pennyweights full weight. You can't deny -that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've no intention of denying it. Don't be irritable. Go on, -and let off steam; it will do you good."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I want to point out this thing particularly," fumed Chaytor, -"so that we can get to the rights of our ill luck, get to the bottom of it, I -mean, and find out the why and the wherefore. Eight pounds we receive for our -gold, when we should have received eight pounds ten; not a sixpence less; but -the world is full of thieves. Now, that eight pounds gives us a little under -twenty shillings a week a man. I would sooner starve."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wouldn't--though I've had bitter blows, Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not worse than I have."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is the pinching of our own shoes we feel, old fellow. -We're a selfish lot of brutes. Thank you for pulling me up. I'm sorry for you, -Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And I'm sorry for you. Thinking our claim worthless we leave -Mountain Maid Gully, and come here to Dead Man's Flat. We are ready to jump out -of our skins with joy, for we come just in time--so we think. Here's a new lead -struck, with big nuggets in it, and we mark out our claim exactly one hundred -and twenty feet from the prospector's ground. They get one day twenty ounces, -the next day twenty-eight, the next day forty-two--a fortune, if it lasts."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Which it seldom does."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It often does, and even if it lasts only six or seven weeks -it brings in a lot. 'We're in luck this time,' I say to you, and I dream of -nuggets as big as my head. The gutter, we reckon, is forty feet down, and we -reach it in three weeks. Everybody round us is making his pile--why shouldn't -we? But before we strike the lead a digger comes up, and says, 'Hallo, mates, -have you heard about the claim you left in Mountain Maid Gully?' 'No,' say we, -'what about it?'--'Oh,' says the digger, 'only that two new chums jumped in -after you'd gone away and found out it was the richest claim on the goldfield. -They took a thousand ounces out of it the second week they were at work.' What -do you say to that, Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Jolly hard luck, Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Cursed hard luck, I say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Strong words won't better it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They're a relief. You take it philosophically, I admit; I -growl over it like a bear with a sore head. I'd like to know why there's this -difference between us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll try and tell you presently, when you've finished about -the two claims."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All right. I shouldn't be much of a man if the news about the -ground we ran away from didn't rile me. I was so wild I could hardly sleep that -night. But when I heard that in the next claim to the one we're working now a -nugget weighing a hundred and fifty ounces was found I thought perhaps we'd got -a richer claim than the one we'd deserted. So I bottled up my bad temper, and -went on working with a good grace. And now we're on the gutter again, and here's -the result." He held out the tin dish, and gazed at the tiny specks of gold with -disgust. "Why it's the very worst we've struck yet."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not quite that. We've had as bad. What shall we do? Stick to -it, or try somewhere else?</p> - -<p class="normal">"We daren't go away. Stick to it we must. If we left it and I -heard afterwards the same sort of story we were told about our claim on Mountain -Maid, I should do somebody a mischief. You agree with me, then, that we remain -and work the claim out?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I agree to anything you wish, Chaytor. I will stay or go -away, just as you decide."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor looked at him with an eye of curiosity. "Were you ever -a fellow of much strength of character, Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think so, once; not in any remarkable degree, but -sufficient for most purposes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"And now," replied Basil, taking his pipe from his mouth, and -holding it listlessly between his fingers, "the life seems to have gone out of -me. The only tie that binds me to it is you. I owe you an everlasting debt of -gratitude, old fellow, and I wish I could do something to repay it. But in tying -yourself to me you are tied to a log that keeps dragging you down. The ill luck -that pursues us come from me. Throw me off and fortune will smile upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And upon you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No. The taste of all that's sweet and beautiful has gone out -of my mouth; I'm a soured man inside of me; you're a thousand times better than -I am. What is bitterness in you comes uppermost; it pleases you to hide the best -part of you; but you cannot hide it from me, for I've had experience of you and -know you. Now I'm the exact reverse. Outwardly you would think I'm an -easy-going, easy-natured fellow, willing always to make the best of things, and -to look on the brightest side. It is untrue; I am a living hypocrite. Inwardly I -revile the world; because of my own disappointments I can see no good in it. -Good fortune or bad fortune, what does it matter to me now? It cannot restore my -faith, it cannot destroy the shroud which hangs over my heart. That is the -difference between us. You are a thoroughly good fellow, I am a thoroughly bad -one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was not always the same with you. How have you become -soured?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thorough experience. Look here, Chaytor, it is only right you -should be able to read me. You have bared your heart to me, and it is unfair -that I should keep mine closed. There have been times when business of your own -has called you to Sydney. We were never rich enough to go together, so you had -to go alone, while I remained, in order not to lose the particular luckless -claim we happened to be working in, and out of which we were always going to -make our fortune. On the occasions of your visits you have executed a small -commission for me, entailing but little trouble, but upon the successful result -of which I set great store. It was merely to call at the Post-Office, and ask -for letters for Basil Whittingham. The answer was always the same: there were -none. Every time you returned and said, 'No letters for you, Basil,' I suffered -more than I can express. There was less light in the world, my heart grew old. I -believe I did not betray myself; at all events, I took pains not to do so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I never knew till now, Basil," said Chaytor falsely, and in a -tone of false pity, "that you thought anything at all of not receiving letters. -You certainly succeeded in making me believe that it did not matter one way or -another."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is what I have grown into, a living hypocrite, as I have -said. Why should I inflict my troubles upon you? You have enough of your own, -and I have never been free from the reproach that evil fortune attends you -because you persist in remaining attached to me. But the honest truth is, I -suffered much, and each time the answer was given there was an added pang to -make my sufferings greater. I'll tell you how it is with me, or rather how it -was, for were you torn from me, were I pursuing my road of life alone, I should -feel like a ghost walking through the world, cut off from love, cut off from -sympathy. Not so many years ago--and yet it seems a lifetime--it was very -different. I know I loved my dear mother, and perhaps in a lesser degree, but -still with a full-hearted love, I loved my father. You know the whole story of -my life; I cannot recall an incident of any importance in my career in the old -country and in others through which I travelled which I have omitted to tell -you. Partly it was because you took so deep an interest in me, partly because it -gratified me to dwell upon matters which gave me pleasure. Yes, although my shot -was pretty well expended when I left England for Australia, there is nothing in -my history there which causes me regret. Until the death of my father everything -looked fair for me. It was a good world, a bright world, with joyous -possibilities in it, some of which might in the future be realised. I spent my -fortune in paying my father's debts, and though it alienated my uncle from me -and ruined my prospects, never for one moment did I regret it. There was no -merit due to me in doing what I did; any man of right feeling would have done -the same; you would have been one of the first to do it. Well, I came out to the -Colonies with a light heart and nearly empty pockets. I had my hardships--what -mattered? I was young, I was strong, I was hopeful, I believed in human -goodness. So I went on my way till I came to Anthony Bidaud's plantation. There -the sun burst forth in its most brilliant colours, and all my petty trials -melted away. Had my nature been soured, it would have been the same, I think, -for love is like the sun shining upon ice. I met a man and a friend in Anthony -Bidaud; we understood and esteemed each other. I met a little maid to whom my -heart went out--you know whom I mean, little Annette. You never saw her, -Chaytor. When she came to Old Corrie's hut on the day we left Gum Flat, after -you snatched me from a cruel death and nursed me to strength, you were wandering -in the woods, and did not join us till she had gone. If you had met her you -might have some idea of the feelings I entertained towards her, for although she -was but a child at the time, there was a peculiar attraction and sweetness about -her which could not have failed to make an impression upon you. You are -acquainted with all that passed between me and Annette's father, of the project -he entertained of making me guardian to his little daughter, and of his strange -and sudden death; and you are also acquainted with the unexpected appearance of -Gilbert Bidaud upon the scene, and what afterwards transpired, to the day upon -which he and his sister and Annette left the colony for Europe. The little maid -promised faithfully to write to me from Europe, and I gave her instructions, -which she could scarcely have forgotten, how to communicate with me. Her letters -were to be directed to the Sydney Post-office, and she was to let me know how to -communicate with her. Well, unreasonably or not, I fed upon the expectation of -these promised letters, but they never came. We must have some link of affection -to hold on to in this world if life is worth living, and this was the link to -which I clung. From old associations in England I was absolutely cut away, not -one friend was left to me; and when I arrived at Anthony Bidaud's plantation and -made Annette my friend, I felt as if all the sweetness of life dwelt in her -person. It was an exaggerated view perhaps, but so it was. Since that time three -years have passed, and she is as one dead to me, and I suppose I am as one dead -to her. For some little while after she left I used to indulge in hopes of -wealth, in hopes of striking a golden claim and becoming rich. Then I used to -say to myself, I will go home and wait till Annette is a woman, when I will take -her from the hateful influence of Gilbert Bidaud, and--and--but, upon my honour, -my thoughts got no farther than this; my dreams and hopes were unformed beyond -the point of proving myself her truest and best friend. But her silence has -changed my nature, and I no longer indulge in hopes and dreams, I no longer -desire riches. The future is a blank: there is no brightness in it. If it -happens that we are fortunate, that after all our ill luck we should strike a -rich claim, I will give you my share of the gold freely, for I should have no -use for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would not accept it, Basil," said Chaytor; "we will share -and share alike. Have you no desire, then, to return to England?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall never go back," replied Basil. "My days will be ended -in Australia."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where you will one day meet with a woman who will drive all -thoughts of Annette out of your head."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That can never be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You think of her still, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"As she was, not as she is. I live upon the spirit of the -past."</p> - -<p class="normal">He spoke not as a young man, but as one who had lived long -years of sad and bitter experiences. In this he was unconsciously doing himself -a great wrong, for his heart was as tender as ever, and in reality he had -intense faith in the goodness of human nature; but the theme upon which he had -been dilating always, when he reflected upon or spoke of it, filled his soul -with gloom, and so completely dominated him with its melancholy as to make him -unintentionally false to his true self.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The question is," said Chaytor, "whether it is worth while to -brood upon such a little matter. The heart of a child--what is it? A pulse with -about as much meaning in it as the heart of an animal. There is no sincerity in -it. I have no doubt you would be amazed if you were to know Annette as she is -now, almost a woman, moulded after her uncle's teaching, and therefore repulsive -in nature as he was. You are wise in your resolve to make no attempt to shatter -an ideal. I have suffered myself in love and friendship, and I know better than -you how little dependence is to be placed in woman. Let us get back to the -claim. We'll not give it up till we've proved it quite worthless."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_19" href="#div1Ref_19">CHAPTER XIX.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Had Basil been acquainted with the extent of Newman Chaytor's -baseness and villainy he would have been confounded by the revelation. But -unhappily for himself he was in entire ignorance of it, and it was out of the -chivalry of his nature that he placed Chaytor on an eminence, in the way of -human goodness, to which few persons can lay claim. But Basil was a man who -formed ideals; it was a necessity of his existence, and it is such men who in -their course through life are the most deeply wounded.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor's visits to Sydney were not upon business of his own, -he had none to take him there; they were simply and solely made for the purpose -of obtaining the letters which arrived for Basil from England, and any also -which might arrive for himself; but these latter were of secondary importance. -In his enquiries at the Post-office he was always furnished with an order -signed, "Basil Whittingham" (of which he was the forger) to deliver to bearer -any letters in that name. Thus he was armed to meet a possible difficulty, -although it would have been easy enough to obtain Basil's letters without such -order. But as he had frequently observed he was a man who never threw away a -chance.</p> - -<p class="normal">As a matter of fact, he received letters both for himself and -Basil, which he kept carefully concealed in an inner pocket. He had become a man -of method in the crooked paths he was pursuing, and these letters, before being -packed away, were placed in a wrapper, securely sealed, with written directions -outside to the effect that if anything happened to him and they fell into the -hands of another person they should be immediately burnt. This insured their -destruction in the event of their falling into the hands of Basil, for Chaytor -had implicit faith in his comrade's quixotism and chivalry, at which he laughed -in his sleeve.</p> - -<p class="normal">It has already been stated that Chaytor had made himself a -master of the peculiarities of Basil's handwriting. Having served his -apprenticeship in his disgraceful career in England he could now produce an -imitation of Basil's hand so perfect as to deceive the most skilful of experts, -who often in genuine writing make mistakes which should, but do not, confound -them. Shortly after Annette and her uncle and aunt had taken their departure -from Australia he wrote to Basil's uncle in England. It is not necessary to -reproduce the letter; sufficient to say that it was chatty and agreeable, that -it recalled reminiscences which could not but be pleasant to the old gentleman, -that it abounded in affectionate allusions, and wound up with the expression of -a hope that Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham would live till he was a hundred in -health and happiness. There was not a word in the letter which could be -construed into the begging of a favour; it was all gratitude and affection; and -the writer asked whether there was any special thing in Australia which Mr. -Bartholomew Whittingham would like to have. "Nothing would give me greater -pleasure," said the wily correspondent, "than to obtain and send it to you in -memory of dear old times. I will hunt the emu for you; I will even send you home -a kangaroo. God bless you, my dear uncle! I have been a foolish fellow I know, -but what is done cannot be undone, and I have only myself to blame. There, I did -not intend to make the most distant allusion to anything in the past that has -offended you, but it slipped out, and I can only ask your forgiveness." In a -postscript the writer said that his address was the Post Office, Sydney, not, he -observed, that he expected Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham to write to him or answer -his letter, but there was no harm in mentioning it. It was just such a letter as -would delight an old gentleman who had in his heart of hearts a warm regard for -the young fellow whose conduct had displeased him. Chaytor had some real ability -in him, which, developed in a straight way, would have met with its reward; but -there are men who cannot walk the straight paths, and Chaytor was one of these.</p> - -<p class="normal">Two months afterwards, before any answer could have reached -him, Chaytor wrote a second letter, as bright and chatty as the first, brimful -of anecdote and story, and this he despatched, curious as to the result of his -arrows. They hit the mark right in the bull's-eye, but Chaytor was not quite -aware of this. However, he was satisfied some time afterwards at receiving a -brief note from a firm of lawyers--not from Messrs. Rivington, Sons and -Rivington, to whom he had been articled, but from another firm, and for this he -was thankful--which said that Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had received his -nephew's letter, and was glad to learn that he was in good health and spirits. -That was all, but it was enough for Chaytor. In the first place it proved that -his handwriting was perfect and the circumstances he spoke of correct. In the -second place it proved that Basil's uncle had a soft spot left for him and that -the writer had touched it. In the third place it proved that his letters were -welcome, and that others would be acceptable.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good commencement," thought Chaytor. "I have but to play my -cards boldly, and the old fool's forty thousand pounds will be mine. What a -slice of luck for me that Rivington, Sons, and Rivington no longer transact his -business! At a distance I could deceive them. At close quarters their suspicions -might be excited, although I would chance even that, if there were no other way. -I wonder how long the old miser will live. I am not anxious that he should die -yet; things are not ripe; there is Basil to get rid of." He was ready and -resolved for any desperate expedient to compass his ends, and he kept not only -the letters he received, but copies of the letters he sent, for future guidance, -if needed. Be sure that he continued to write, and that he made not the -slightest reference to any hope of becoming the old gentleman's heir, or of -being reinstated in his affection. It is strange how a man's intellect and -intelligence are sharpened when he is following a congenial occupation. -Machiavelli himself could not have excelled Newman Chaytor in the execution of -the villainous scheme he was bent upon carrying out. He became even a fine judge -of character, and not a word he wrote was malapropos. Let it be stated that, -despite the risk he was running, he derived genuine pleasure from the plot he -had devised. He thought himself, with justice, a very clever fellow; if all went -on in England as he hoped it would he had no fear as to being able to silence or -get rid of Basil on the Australian side of the world. He would be a dolt indeed -if he could not remove a man so weak and trustful as Basil from his path. He had -other letters from Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham's lawyers, and he knew, from a -growing cordiality in their tone (a sentiment in which lawyers never of their -own prompting indulge in their business transactions) that they were dictated by -the old gentleman himself. His interpretation of Basil's uncle not writing in -his own person was that he had made up his mind not to have any direct personal -communication with his nephew, and that being of an obstinate disposition, he -was not going to break his resolution. "For all that," thought Chaytor, "I will -have his money. I'll take an even bet that he has either not destroyed his old -will, or that he has made a new one, making Basil his heir. Newman Chaytor, -there are not many men who can beat you."</p> - -<p class="normal">He received other letters as well from other persons--from his -old mother, addressed to himself, and from Annette, addressed to Basil. -Certainly when he went to Sydney his hands were full, and he had enough to do. -He did not grudge the labour. He saw in the distance the pleasures of life -awaiting him, and it is a fact that in time he came to believe that they were -his to enjoy, and that Basil had no rightful claim to them. It was he, Newman -Chaytor, who had schemed for them, who was working for them. What was Basil -doing? Nothing. Standing idly by, without making an effort to come into his own. -"This is the way men get on," said Chaytor to himself, surveying with pride the -letter he had just finished to Basil's uncle, "and I mean to get on. Why, the -trouble of writing this letter alone is worth a thousand pounds. And what is the -risk worth, I should like to know? I am earning double the money I shall get."</p> - -<p class="normal">The letters of his old mother to himself were less -frequent--not more than one every nine or ten months. They always commenced, "My -dearly beloved son," and they plunged at once into a description of the -difficulties with which she and her poor husband were battling. Her first letter -gave him a piece of news which caused him great joy. It informed him that a -certain bill which Chaytor had left behind him, dishonoured, had been bought by -his father, at the sacrifice of some of the doubtful securities which he had -saved from the wreck of his fortune. "You can come home with safety now, my dear -son," wrote the unhappy old woman. "Well, that is a good hearing," mused Newman -Chaytor; "I was always afraid of that bill; it might have turned up against me -at any moment, but now it is disposed of, and I am safe. So, the old man still -had something left worth money all the time he was preaching poverty to me. Such -duplicity is disgusting. He owes me a lot for frightening me out of the country -as he did. And here is the old woman going on with the preaching about hard -times and poverty. Such selfishness is wicked, upon my soul it is." It was true -that his mother's letters ran principally on the same theme. They had not a -penny; they lived in one room; their rent was behindhand; her husband was more -feeble than ever; they often went without food, for both she and he were -determined to starve rather than appeal to the parish. Could not her dear son -send them a trifle, if it was only a few shillings, to help them fight the -battle which was drawing to its close? She hoped he would forgive her for asking -him, but times were so hard, and the winter was very severe. They had had no -fire for two days, and the landlady said if they could not pay the last two -weeks' rent that they would have to turn out. "Try, my dear boy, try, for the -sake of the mother who bore you, and who would sell her heart's blood for you, -if there was a market for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">These letters annoyed Chaytor, and he thought it horribly hard -that his mother should write them. "It is a try on," he thought; "the old man -has put her up to it. I ought to know the ins and outs of such transparent -tricks. 'Now, write this,' says the old man; 'Now write that. We must manage to -screw something out of him: work upon his feelings, mother.' That's the way it -goes. I'll bet anything they've got a smoking dinner on the table all the time, -but Newman's at a distance, and can't see it. Oh, no, I can't see anything; a -baby might impose upon me." He never thought of the night he saw his mother -begging in the roadway with a box of matches in her hands. Some men are gifted -with the power of shutting out inconvenient memories, as there are others who -never lose sight of a kindness they have received or of a debt that is justly -due. Long before this the reader has discovered to which class Chaytor belonged.</p> - -<p class="normal">Nevertheless he replied to the letters, cantingly regretting -that he was unable to send his dear old mother the smallest remittance to help -her on in her struggles. "How is it possible," he wrote, "when I am myself -starving? It is months since I have had to work sixteen hours a day breaking -stones on the road for a piece of dry bread. The hardships I have endured, and -am still enduring, are frightful. This is a horrible place for a gentleman to -live in. I should not have been here if father had not driven me away. It almost -drives me mad to think that if he had not been so hard to me, if he had allowed -me to stop at home and manage his affairs, I could have pulled them straight, -and that we should all of us be living now in comfort and plenty in the only -country in the world where a man can enjoy his days. You have no idea what kind -of place this colony is. Men die like lambs in the snow, and the sufferings they -endure are shocking to contemplate. I do not suppose I shall live to write you -another letter, but if you can manage to send me a few pounds it may arrive just -in time to save me." And so on, and so on. He took a keen delight in the -duplicities he was practising, and he would read his letters over with a feeling -of pride and exultation in his cleverness. "How many men are there in the -world," he would ask himself, "who could write such a letter as this? Not many. -Upon my word I'm wasted in this hole and corner. But there's by-and-by to come; -when I get hold of that forty thousand pounds I'll have my revenge. No galley -slave ever worked harder than I am working for a future I mean to enjoy." That -may have been true enough, but the work of a galley slave was honest labour in -comparison with that to which Newman Chaytor was bending all his energies.</p> - -<p class="normal">Lastly, there were the letters Annette wrote to Basil. They -arrived at intervals of about four months, so that Chaytor was in possession of -seven or eight of them. Proceeding as they did from a pure and beautiful nature, -these letters, had Basil received them, would have been like wine to him, would -have comforted and strengthened him through the hardest misfortunes and -troubles, would have kept the sun shining upon him in the midst of the bitterest -storms. He would have continued to work with gladness and hope instead of with -indifference. It would have made the future a bright goal to which his eyes -would ever have been turned with joy. Evidences of kindness and sympathy, still -more, evidences of unselfish affection and love, are like the dew to the flower. -They keep the heart fresh, they keep its windows ever open to the light. But of -this blessing Basil was robbed by the machinations of a scoundrel: hence there -was no sweetness in his labour, no hope for him in the future. So much to heart -did Basil take Annette's silence that, had his nature been inclined to evil -instead of good, mischief to others would probably have ensued, but as it was he -was the only sufferer. In his utterances, when he was drawn to speak of the -shock he had received, he was apt to exaggerate matters and to present himself -in the worst light, but there had fallen to his share an inheritance of moral -goodness which rendered it impossible for him to become a backslider from the -paths of rectitude and honour. Except that he was unhappy in himself, and that -Annette's silence took the salt out of his days, he was as he ever was, -straightforward in his dealings and gentle and charitable towards his -fellow-creatures.</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"My dear, dear Basil" (thus ran Annette's first letter, -written about five months after their last meeting in the Australian woods), "I -have tried ever so hard to write to you before, but have not been able to -because of uncle and aunt. I was afraid if they found out I was writing to you -that they would take the letter away or do something to prevent it reaching you, -and I wanted, too, to tell you how you could write to me, but have never been -able till now. You will be glad to hear that if you write and address your -letters exactly as I tell you, I am almost sure of receiving them. But first I -must say something about myself and how I am. Uncle and aunt are not unkind to -me, but they are not kind. They leave me to myself a good deal, but I know I am -being watched all the time. I don't mind that so much, but what I do miss is my -dear father's voice and yours, and the birds and flowers and beautiful scenery I -always lived among till I was taken away. I would not mind if you were with me, -for I love you truly, dear Basil, and can never, never forget you. That last -time we were together by Mr. Corrie's hut, how often and often do I think of it! -I go through everything that passed except the unkind words spoken by Uncle -Gilbert, which I try not to remember. I must have a wonderful memory, for -everything you said to me is as fresh now as though you had just spoken them. -Yes, indeed. Perhaps it is because when we were on board ship I used to sit on -the deck, with my face turned to Australia--the captain always pointed out the -exact direction--and go through it all in my mind over and over and over again, -till I got letter perfect. Shall I prove to you that it is really so? Well, -then, when I told you I was afraid I was turning hard and had since Uncle -Gilbert came to the plantation--the dear old plantation!--you chided me so -gently and beautifully, and I promised never to forget your words, knowing they -would keep me good. Then you said, 'Let them keep you brave as well, my dear. I -promise to remember you always, to love you always, and perhaps when you are a -woman--it will not be so long, Annette--we shall meet again.' Well, Basil dear, -I am waiting for that time. I know it will not be yet, perhaps not for years, -but I can wait patiently, and I shall always bear your words in mind. 'The stars -of heaven are not brighter than the stars of hope and love we can keep shining -in our hearts.' Do you remember, Basil? And then I asked you to kiss me, and -said that was the seal and that I should go away happier. It comes to my mind -sometimes that your words are like flowers that never die, and that grow sweeter -and more beautiful every day. You could not have given me anything better to -make me happy. But I must not keep going on like this or I shall not have time -to tell you some things you ought to know.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, then, Basil dear, we are not settled anywhere, and if -you were to come home now (you call it home, I know, and so will I) you would -not know where to find me unless you went to a place I will tell you of -presently. First we came to London and stopped there a little while, then we -went to Paris, then to Switzerland, and now we have come back to London, where -we shall remain two or three weeks, and then go somewhere else, I don't know -where. Uncle Gilbert never tells me till the day before, when he says, 'We are -going away to-morrow morning; be ready.' So that by the time you receive this -letter we shall be I don't know where. Uncle Gilbert is very fond of theatres, -but he has not taken me to one because he says they are not proper places for -girls. I daresay he is right, and I don't know that I want to go, but aunt has -been very dissatisfied about it, as she is as fond of theatres as Uncle Gilbert -is. He used to go by himself, and aunt would stop with me to take care of me, -but a little while ago, a day or two before we came back to London, they had a -quarrel about it. They did not notice that I was in the room when they begun, -and when they found it out they stopped. But I think it is because of the -quarrel that when we were in London a young woman was engaged to travel with us -and to look after me when uncle and aunt are away. I am very glad for a good -many reasons. I am not very happy when they are with me, and I breath more -freely--or perhaps I think I do--when they are gone. The young woman they have -engaged is kind and good-natured, and I have grown fond of her already, and she -has grown fond of me, so we get along nicely together. Her name is Emily -Crawford, and she has a mother who lives in Bournemouth, a place by the sea -somewhere in England. Her mother is a poor woman, and that is why Emily is -obliged to go to service, but she is not a common person, not at all, and she -has a good heart. She can read and write very well, and she picks up things -quicker than I can. Of course you want to know why I speak so much of Emily, -when I might be writing about myself. Well, it is very, very important, and it <i> -is</i> about myself I am speaking when I am speaking of her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil, dear, it does one good to have some one to talk to -quite freely and to open one's heart to. All the time I have been away, until -this week, I have not had any person who would listen to me or who cared to -speak of the happy years I spent on our dear plantation. Whenever I ventured to -say a word about the past Uncle Gilbert put a stop to it at once by saying, -'There is no occasion to speak of it, you are living another life now. Forget -it, and everybody connected with it.' Forget it! As if I could! But I do not -dare to disobey him. He is my guardian, and I must be obedient to him. Aunt is -just the same, only she snaps me up when I say anything that displeases her, -while uncle speaks softly, but he is as determined as she is although they do -speak so differently. I do not know which way I dislike most--I think both. So -one night this week when uncle and aunt were away, and I was reading, and Emily -was sewing, she said to me, 'You have come from Australia, haven't you, miss?' -Oh, how pleased I was! I answered yes, and then we got talking about Australia, -and I told her all about the plantation and the life we led there, and all sorts -of things came rushing into my mind, and when I had told her a great deal I -began to cry. It was then I found out Emily's goodness, for there she was by my -side wiping my tears away and almost crying with me, and that is how we have -become friends. After that I felt that I could speak freely to her, and I spoke -about you, of course. She promised not to say a word to uncle or aunt, and I -know I can trust her. Now, Basil, dear, she has told me how you can write to me -and how I can obtain your letters without uncle or aunt knowing anything about -it. Emily writes home to her mother and receives letters from her. If you will -write and address your letters to the care of Mrs. Crawford, 14, Lomax Road, -Bournemouth, England, Mrs. Crawford will enclose them to Emily, who will give -them to me. Mrs. Crawford will always know where Emily is while she remains with -me, which will be as long as she is allowed, Emily says, and I am sure to get -your letters. I feel quite happy when I think that you will write to me, telling -all about yourself. You said I was certain to make friends in the new country I -was going to, through whom we should be able to correspond, and although I would -sooner do it through uncle and aunt (but there is no possibility of that because -they do not like you), I feel there is nothing very wrong in our writing to each -other in the way Emily proposes. So that is all, and you will know what to do. I -can hardly restrain my impatience, but it is something very sweet to look -forward to.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope you found the locket with the portrait of my dear -mother in it. When we see each other I shall expect you to show it to me. If you -see Mr. Corrie tell him that the magpie is quite well, and that I can teach him -to say almost anything. Both uncle and aunt have grumbled a good deal about the -bird, and would like me to get rid of it, but that is the one thing--the only -thing--that I have gone against them in. 'I will be obedient in everything -else,' I said, 'but I must keep my bird. You promised me.' So they have yielded, -and I have my way in this at all events. It means a great deal to me because I -take care it shall not forget your name. I keep it in my own room, where they -see very little of it, and it is only when we are travelling that it is a -trouble to them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now I must leave off, Basil dear. With all my love, and -hoping with all my heart that we shall see each other when I am a little -older,--I remain; for ever and ever, your loving friend,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:55%">"<span class="sc">Annette</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">This letter interested and amused Newman Chaytor. "She is a -clever little puss," he thought, "and will not be hard to impose upon, for all -her cunning. I wonder, I wonder"--but what it was he wondered at did not take -instant shape; it required some time to think out. He replied to the letter, -addressing Annette as she directed. Although he knew it was not likely that -Annette could be very familiar with Basil's handwriting, he was as careful in -imitating it as he was in his letters to Basil's uncle; and as in the case of -his letters to that old gentleman, he kept a copy of the letters he wrote to -Annette. He was very careful in the composition of his correspondence with the -young girl. He fell into the sentimental mood, and smiled to think that the -sentiments he expressed to Annette were just those which would occur to Basil if -he sat down to write to her. "Basil would be proud of me," he said, "if he read -this letter. It is really saving him a world of trouble, and he ought to be -grateful to me if it ever come to his knowledge--which it never shall. I will -see to that." During the first year of the progress of the vile plot the full -sense of the dangerous net he was weaving for himself did not occur to him, and -indeed it was only by degrees that he became keenly conscious of the peril -attending its discovery. It made him serious at first, but at the same time more -fixed in his resolve to carry it out to the bitter end. Whatever it was -necessary to do he would do ruthlessly. Everything must give way to secure his -own safety, to insure the life of ease and luxury he hoped to enjoy, if all went -well.</p> - -<p class="normal">If all went well! What kind of sophistry must that man use -who, to compass his ends, deems all means justifiable, without considering the -misery he is ready to inflict upon others in the pursuit upon which he is -engaged? There lies upon some men's natures a crust of selfishness so cruel that -it becomes in their eyes a light matter to transgress all laws human and divine. -They are blinded by a moral obliquity, and think not of the hour when the veil -shall be torn from their eyes, and when the punishment which surely waits upon -crime is meted out to them.</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette's first letter to Basil is a fair example of those -which followed, except that the progress of time seemed to deepen the attachment -she bore for him. In one letter she sent a photograph of herself, and Newman -Chaytor's heart beat high as he gazed upon it. Annette was growing into a very -lovely womanhood; beautiful, sweet, and gracious was her face; an angelic -tenderness dwelt in her eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And this is meant for Basil," said Chaytor, in his solitude: -and then exclaimed, as he contemplated the enchanting picture, "No! For me--for -me!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_20" href="#div1Ref_20">CHAPTER XX.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The claim they were working proved very little richer than -others they had taken up. They made certainly a few shillings a week more than -was absolutely necessary to keep them in food and tobacco, and these few -shillings were carefully husbanded by Chaytor, who was treasurer of the -partnership. Their departure was hastened by a meeting which did not afford -Chaytor unalloyed pleasure. As he and Basil sat at the door of their canvas tent -one summer night, who should stroll up to them but old Corrie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here you are, then," cried the honest fellow.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, Corrie!" exclaimed Basil, jumping to his feet, and -holding out his hands.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Master Basil," said Old Corrie, grasping them cordially, "I -am more than glad to see you. I was passing through, and hearing your tent was -somewhere in this direction, I made up my mind to hunt you up. Well, well, -well!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here's my mate," said Basil, motioning to Chaytor, "you -remember him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh yes," said Old Corrie, nodding at Chaytor. "So you've been -together all this time. What luck have you had?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bad luck," answered Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sorry to hear it. Never struck a rich patch, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never," said Chaytor. "And you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can't complain. To tell you the truth, I've made my pile."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have!" cried Chaytor, with a furious envy in his voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have. You made a mistake when you refused to go mates with -me; I could have shown you a trick or two. However, that's past: what's ended -can't be mended."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What are you going to do now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Haven't quite made up my mind. Think of going to Sydney for a -spree; perhaps to Melbourne for another; perhaps shall give up that idea, and -make tracks for old England. I've got enough to live upon if I like to take care -of it. Well, Master Basil, I wish you had better news to give me. Have you heard -from the old country? No?" This was in response to Basil's shake of the head. -"Why, I thought the little lady promised to write to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She did promise, but I have not heard for all that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Out of sight, out of mind," observed Chaytor, inwardly -discomposed at the turn the conversation had taken.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie gave him a sour look. "I'll not believe that of the -little lady. The most likely reason is that she has been prevented by that old -fox her uncle. Her silence must have grieved you, Master Basil." Basil nodded. -"I know how your heart was set upon her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't let's talk about it," said Basil, "it is the way of the -world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That may be," said Old Corrie, regarding Basil attentively, -"but I'd have staked my life that it wasn't the way of the little lady. What has -come over you? You're changed. You were always brimming over with life and -spirits, and now you're as melancholy as a black crow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm falling into the sere and yellow," said Basil, with a -melancholy smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can only guess at what you mean. You're getting old. Why, -man alive, there's a good five-and-twenty year between you and me, and I don't -consider myself falling into the what-do-you-call-'em! Pluck up, Master Basil. -Here, let's have a little chat aside."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor gave Basil a look which meant, as plain as words could -speak it, "Are you going to have secret conversations away from me after all the -years we have been together, after all I've done for you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Corrie," said Basil, laying one hand on Old Corrie's arm and -the other on Chaytor's, "if you've anything to say to me I should like you to -say it before Chaytor. There's nothing I would wish to hide from him. He's been -the truest friend to me a man ever had, and I owe him more than I can ever -repay."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nonsense, Basil," said Chaytor with magnanimous humility; -"don't say anything about it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But it ought to be said, and I should be the ungratefullest -fellow living if I ever missed an opportunity of acknowledging it. I owe you -something too, Corrie. There's that mare of yours I borrowed and lost."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Shut up," growled Old Corrie, "if you want us to part -friends. I've never given the mare a thought, and as for paying me for it, well, -you can't, and there's an end of it. I'll say before your mate what is in my -mind. You're a gentleman, Master Basil, and here you are wasting your time and -your years to no purpose. England is the proper place for you." Chaytor caught -his breath, and neither Basil nor Old Corrie could have interpreted this -exhibition of emotion aright; but Basil, who thought he understood it, smiled -gently at Chaytor, as much as to say, "Don't fear, I am not going to desert -you." Old Corrie, who had paused, took up his words: "England is the proper -place for you. Say the word, and we'll go together to Sydney and take two -passages for home. There you can hunt up your old friends, and you'll be a man -once more. Come now, say, 'Yes, Corrie,' and put me under an obligation to you -for life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can't say yes, Corrie, but I'm truly obliged to you for -your kind offer. Even if I wished to break my connection with Chaytor--which I -don't--it's for him to put an end to our partnership, not for me--don't you see -that it would be impossible for me to lay myself under an obligation to you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I don't see it,' growled Old Corrie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then, again, Corrie, what inducement have I to return to -England?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's little lady," interrupted Old Corrie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has forgotten me," said Basil, sadly. "What business have -I to thrust myself upon her? If she desired to continue a friendship which was -as precious to me as my heart's blood--yes, I don't mind confessing it; there -may be weakness, but there is no shame in it--would she not have written to me? -She would, if it was only one line. It is true that her uncle may be jealously -guarding and watching her--there was love lost between us--but in these three -years that have passed since the last day we saw each other, it is not possible -to think that she could not have contrived once to have put in the post a bit of -paper with only the words, 'I have not forgotten you, Basil.' Who and what am I -that I should cross the road she is traversing for the purpose of bringing a -reminiscence to her mind that she chooses not to remember? There would not be -much manliness in that. Besides, it's a hundred chances to one that she's not in -England at all. It is my belief she is living in her father's native country, -Switzerland, where, surrounded by new scenes and new companions, I hope she is -happy. Thank you again, Corrie; I cannot accept your offer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All right," said Corrie, with disappointment in his face and -voice; "you ought to know your own mind, though I make bold to say I don't -believe you've said what's in your heart. Well, there's an end to it. I'm off -early in the morning. Good-bye, Master Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-bye, Corrie, and good luck to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good luck to <i>you</i>, better than you've had in more ways -than one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-bye, Mr. Corrie," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie could scarcely refuse the hand that Chaytor held -out to him, but the grasp he gave it was very different from the grasp he gave -Basil's. Before he turned to leave the ill-assorted comrades he did something -which escaped the eyes of Basil, but not those of Chaytor. He furtively dropped, -quite close to Basil's feet, a round wooden matchbox, which, emptied of matches, -gold-diggers frequently used to fill with loose gold. Unobserved by old Corrie, -Chaytor put his foot on the box and slipped it to the rear of himself. This was -done while Old Corrie was turning to go. Basil was genuinely sorry to See the -last of his friend. Both the unexpected meeting and the leave-taking had a touch -of sadness in them which deeply affected him, and he gazed with regret after the -vanishing form of the man who had offered to serve him. This gave Chaytor an -opportunity of slyly picking up the matchbox; it was weighty, and Chaytor knew -that it was filled with gold. "A bit of luck," he thought, as he put the box -into his pocket, "and a narrow escape as well." He felt like a man sitting on a -mine which a stray match might fire at any moment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil," he said, when Old Corrie was out of sight, "we will -strike our tent to-morrow, and go prospecting. I have a likely spot in my mind."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very well," said Basil listlessly. "How about money? Can we -manage to get along?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, we can manage."</p> - -<p class="normal">Early in the morning the pegs which fastened the tent were dug -out of the ground, the tent was rolled up and tied, and with heavy swags of -canvas, blankets, tools, and utensils conveniently disposed about their persons, -Basil and Chaytor set their faces to the south. They walked for two days, -camping out at night, and halted at length on the banks of a river, the waters -of which were low. In the winter the floods rolling down from the adjacent -ranges made the river a torrent, covering banks which were now bare. These banks -were of fine sand, and rising on each side for a distance of some thousands of -yards were shelving mountains studded with quartz. Some eighteen months ago -Basil and Chaytor had passed the place on their way to a new rush, and Chaytor -thought it a likely place in which to find gold. They were now quite alone, not -a living soul was within a dozen miles of them. They had reached the spot -secretly, and their movements were unknown to any but themselves. Their nearest -neighbours were on a cattle station some twelve or thirteen miles away.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have had an idea," said Chaytor, throwing the swag off his -shoulders, an example which Basil followed, "for a long time past that somewhere -about here gold was to be found. My plan is to prospect the place well, without -any one being the wiser. Who knows? We may discover a new goldfield, and make -our fortunes before we are tracked. Let us camp here, and try. We can't do much -worse than we've done already."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm agreeable to anything you propose," said Basil. "Let us -camp here by all means."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The great thing is, that nobody must be let into the secret. -If we are discovered, 'Rush, O!' will be the cry, and we shall be overrun before -we can say Jack Robinson."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have only to say what you wish, Chaytor. You have the -cleverer head of the two. I hope for your sake we shall be successful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You don't much care for your own."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not much."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You'll sing to another tune when we do succeed. It's -wonderful how the possession of a lot of money alters one's views."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll wait till I get it," said Basil, sagely.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The river runs low at this season and there's no reason in -the world why the sand banks shouldn't hold gold."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They will hold it if its there," said Basil, with a smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We'll try the banks first because they are the easiest, and -if we don't get gold in sufficient quantities there we'll try higher up the -range. It's studded with quartz, and it looks the right sort. We'll put our tent -up now, and in the morning we'll commence work--or rather you will commence -while I am away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where are you going to?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's grub to look after. We can't do without meat and -flour. All we've got to live on at present is a tin of sardines, about half a -pint of brandy, a little tea, and a couple of handfuls of biscuits. Now, I call -that a coincidence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In what respect?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you forget," said Chaytor reproachfully, "the first night -you come to Gum Flat? I gave you then pretty well all I had in the world in the -shape of provisions, some biscuits, some sardines, and a flask of brandy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You did, old fellow, and that is the sum total of our -provisions this evening." He shook Chaytor's hand warmly. "Don't think me -ungrateful, Chaytor, because I don't profess much. Old Corrie said I was -changed, and I suppose I must be; but I shall never be so changed as to be -unmindful of the way you've stuck to me. Yes, it is a coincidence. But go on. -What do you mean to do about grub, for I see you've something in your mind?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's only one thing to do," said Chaytor. "I must go to -the cattle station to-night, get there early in the morning, and buy mutton and -flour. I shall have to look out sharp that I'm not followed when I make my way -back again, but I think I can manage it. I've done more difficult jobs than -that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you will be tramping the bush," said Basil, "while I -remain at my ease here. Why can't I go instead of you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because," replied Chaytor, in a tone of affectionate -insistance, "as you have already confessed, I am the cleverer of the two, and -because I have an idea, if we lose this chance, that we shall never get another. -I don't want you to be seen, Basil, that's the plain truth of the matter. You're -not up to the men we meet. Now, I am sly and cunning----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You?" interrupted Basil. "You are the soul of candour and -honesty, Chaytor. No one else should say that of you while I stood by."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't mean exactly what I said, Basil, but I am sure I can -do the job more neatly than you could. As to the tramp through the bush, I think -nothing of it, so let it be as I say."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil making no further objection, the tent was put up and a -trench dug around to carry the rain away. Then a camp fire was made, and the -water for tea boiled in a tin billy, after which they finished the biscuits and -sardines.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will have to hold out till I come back," said Chaytor. -"As I need not start till past midnight, I'll turn in for an hour or two."</p> - -<p class="normal">Shortly afterwards the comrades were wrapt in slumber, and the -man with the evil conscience slept the sounder of the two. A little after -midnight he rose and without disturbing Basil, started for the cattle station. -It was a warm starlit night, and he pondered upon matters as he made his way -through the bush. Indeed, during the past two days he had thought deeply of the -situation in which he was placed. Old Corrie's proposition to take Basil to -England had greatly alarmed him, and had opened his eyes more clearly to its -gravity. It was this which had caused him to hurry Basil away from the vicinity -of Old Corrie, for it was quite likely that Corrie would make another attempt to -prevail upon Basil before he took his departure, and the second time Basil might -yield. At all hazards this must be prevented; step by step he had descended the -abyss of crime, and it was too late for him now to turn back. In entering upon -an evil enterprise men seldom see the cost at which success must be purchased; -it is only when they are face to face with consequences that they tremble at -their own danger.</p> - -<p class="normal">By daybreak Chaytor was at the cattle station and had made his -purchases; by noon he had rejoined Basil. His purchases, at the station had -attracted no attention; it was a common enough proceeding, and now they had food -for a week. Fifteen miles beyond the cattle station was a small township where -they could also obtain supplies; a pilgrimage once a week to station or township -would keep them going. In the township such gold as they obtained and wished to -dispose of could also be turned into money. Thus, although they were quite -alone, they were within hail of all that was necessary. Shortly after Chaytor's -return they set to work on the banks of the river. Basil showed his mate some -pieces of quartz with fair-sized specks of gold in them, but Chaytor decided to -try the river first, alluvial digging being so much easier. They found gold in -the sand, and sufficient to pay, but not sufficient to satisfy Chaytor's -cupidity. The result of a week's labour was between two and three ounces.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is better than we have done yet," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is only the washings from the hills," said Chaytor, "and -at any unexpected moment a flood of rain would swamp us. There are too many -trees about to please me; wood draws water from the clouds. If we don't do -better than this by the end of next week we'll mark out a claim on the range -yonder, where the blue slate peeps out of the quartz."</p> - -<p class="normal">Another journey had to be made for food, and this time Chaytor -went to the township, where he obtained what he required and sold exactly seven -pennyweights of gold. He put on an appearance of great anxiety while the gold -was being weighed, and sighed when the weight was announced. This was to throw -the storekeeper off the scent; any considerable quantity of gold disposed of -proudly would have excited suspicion of a Tom Tiddler's ground somewhere near, -and Chaytor, had he so behaved, would certainly have been shadowed by men who -were ever watchful for signs of the discovery of a new goldfield. It was in -Chaytor's power to sell some fourteen ounces of gold had he been so inclined, -for the matchbox which Old Corrie had furtively dropped at Basil's feet, and -which Chaytor had slyly picked up unknown to his mate, contained twelve ounces -of the precious metal, but he knew better than to attempt it. There was a -post-office in the township, from which he dispatched a letter to the Sydney -office, requesting that any letters lying there for Basil Whittingham might be -forwarded on to him. He wrote and signed the order in Basil's name. He could not -very well go to Sydney at present to fetch them; there would be a risk in -leaving Basil so long alone, for there being no coaches running from the -township, the journey to Sydney and back could not be accomplished in less than -nine or ten days. Easier to obtain the letters from England, if any arrived, by -the means he adopted, and it was the easiest of tasks to keep the affair from -the knowledge of Basil, who never dreamed of asking at any post-office whether -there were any letters for him.</p> - -<p class="normal">They worked a second week on the river-bank, at the end of -which they had washed out over three ounces.</p> - -<p class="normal">"An improvement," remarked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor shook his head discontentedly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let us mark off a prospector's claim up the hill," he said. -"We can always come back to the river."</p> - -<p class="normal">This was done, and they commenced to sink. The difficulty they -now encountered was the want of a windlass. Chaytor would not venture to -purchase one in the township, whither he went regularly, being well aware that -he could have done nothing that would more surely have drawn attention upon him. -At odd times he bought some pieces of rope which he and Basil spliced till they -had a length of about eighty feet. This rope, properly secured, enabled them to -ascend and descend the shaft, foot-holes in the sides assisting them. The labour -of digging a shaft in this manner was increased fourfold at least, but they -could not be too cautious, Chaytor said. He remarked also that they seemed to be -haunted by coincidences, and upon Basil asking for an explanation reproached him -for his bad memory.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How many of us were there upon Gum Flat," he said, "after -your horse was stolen? Two. You and I alone. How many are there here? Two. You -and I alone. When you fell down the shaft how did I get you up? By means of a -rope secured at the top. How do we get up and down this shaft? By the same -means. There was no windlass there; there is no windlass here. Don't you call -these coincidences?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Basil, "it is very singular."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would be very singular," thought Chaytor, "if you were at -the bottom of this shaft one of these fine days and never got out of it alive. -In that case coincidence would not hold good."</p> - -<p class="normal">He drew a mental picture of the scene: Basil helpless below, -the rope lying loose on the top, and he sitting by it waiting to assure himself -that the mate by whom he had dealt so foully could never rise in evidence -against him. He saw this mental picture at the very moment that Basil, with his -sad earnest face, was in sight.</p> - -<p class="normal">In the shaft they were sinking they were following a thin vein -of gold-bearing quartz which luckily for them was not devious in its bearings, -but ran down perpendicularly. It was very narrow, not more than an inch in -width, but the deeper they sank the richer it grew. The vein was more rubble -than stone, and the stuff was easily pounded and washed. The first week they -discovered it they obtained four ounces of gold, the second week seven, the -third week twelve, the fourth and fifth weeks the same, and then there was a -jump to twenty ounces. They had reached a depth of forty odd feet, and not a -living being but themselves had been seen near the spot.</p> - -<p class="normal">This lucky break in their fortunes gave Chaytor serious and -discomforting food for thought. He was convinced that their better luck would -continue for some time, and was almost sure that the thin vein they were -following would lead them to a richer and wider reef. What would be the effect -of wealth upon Basil? Would it alter his views? Would it turn his thoughts -homewards? He became hot and cold when this last thought suggested itself, and -that night he was visited in his sleep by a dream so startling that he jumped up -in affright and sat in the dark trembling like a leaf in a strong wind. He -dreamt that Basil had discovered his treachery, and had torn open his secret -pocket in which he kept not only the letters from Annette and Basil's uncle he -had received from England, but the documents he had stolen from Basil on Gum -Flat, and the locket which Annette had given to Basil at their last meeting. -"You monster!" Basil had cried. "You have ruined my life and shall pay the -penalty!" It was at this point that Chaytor awoke, trembling and in great fear. -Presently, when the pulses of his heart beat more regularly, he heard Basil's -soft breathing. He struck a match, and rising, quietly looked down upon his -comrade. The young fellow was sleeping calmly, with no thought of the evil -genius standing over him. Convincing himself that his stolen treasures were -safe, Chaytor crept back to his stretcher, but he had little more sleep that -night. His sense of security was shaken; the earth was trembling beneath his -feet.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_21" href="#div1Ref_21">CHAPTER XXI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">When a man evilly inclined turns from the path of evil, it is -generally because he fears for his own safety. He does not choose the straight -road or relinquish a bad purpose from the awakening of the moral principle, but -from a conviction that the deviation will best serve his own interests. In the -initial stages of a bad scheme the prime mover seldom counts the cost; it is -only when he is deeply involved that the consequences of his evil-doing stare -him in the face, and warn him to halt. True repentance is rare; but there have -been instances where a man, suddenly appalled by the enormity of his career of -crime, conscientiously resolves to turn before it is too late, and to expiate, -as far as lies in his power, for his misdeeds. There is something of heroism in -this, and the sinner may hope for forgiveness at the divine throne, if not from -human hands. Of such heroism Newman Chaytor was not capable. If he wavered, it -was purely from selfish reasons, and because he saw before him a path in which -lay greater chances of safety for himself. That he did waver is true, and the -more wholesome and more merciful course which suggested itself to him was due, -not to conscientious motives, but to circumstances quite independent of his -original design. On the day following his disturbing dream he and Basil struck a -wonderfully rich patch in the claim they were working. The stuff which was -raised to the surface was literally studded with gold, and by nightfall they had -washed out fifty ounces. The excitements of a gold-digger's life when fortune -smiles upon him are all-absorbing. Marvellous possibilities dazzle and distort -his mind; delirious visions rise to his imagination. In the early days of the -goldfields it was a belief with numbers of miners that, at some time or other, -gold would be discovered in such quantities that it could be hewn out like coal. -A favourite phrase was, "We shall be able to cut it out with a cold chisel." Of -course every man hoped that this wonderful thing would happen to him. He held a -chance in the lottery, and why should <i>he</i> not draw the grand prize which -would astonish the world?</p> - -<p class="normal">These possibilities flitted through Chaytor's mind as he and -Basil sat at the door of their tent, smoking their pipes after their day's -labour. The chairs they sat on were stumps of trees. Furniture they had none, -inside their tent or out of it. For their beds they had gathered quantities of -dry leaves, over which they spread a blanket, with another to roll themselves -in. Rough living, but healthier than life in civilised cities. Early to bed and -early to rise, plain food, moderate drinking, exercising their muscles for a -dozen hours a day--all this was conducive to a healthy physical state. Their -faces were embrowned, their limbs were hardened, their beards had grown -long--they looked like men. This may be said of Chaytor as well as of Basil, for -such play of expression as would have revealed the cunning of his nature was -hidden by his abundant hair. A stranger, observing them, would have been -astonished at the likeness of one to the other, and could have formed no other -conclusion than that they were twin-born; but no stranger had seen them thus, -for it was only during their late seclusion that Chaytor, had copied Basil so -exactly. Basil took but little note of this resemblance, and if he referred to -it at all it was in a manner so slight as to show that he attached no importance -to it. But it was seldom absent from Chaytor's mind; he had brooded constantly -upon it, and had studied it as a lesson which, perfectly answered, was to bring -with it the rich reward for which he had schemed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good day's work," said Basil, holding out his hand for the -tin dish which Chaytor held.</p> - -<p class="normal">This tin dish contained the gold which they had gathered since -sunrise, and Chaytor was turning it over with his knife. The moisture had dried -out of it, and the gold lay loose. Chaytor passed the dish to Basil, who, in his -turn, played with the shining metal with somewhat more than usual interest.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nearly as much," said Chaytor, "as we've got these last five -weeks. It is a rare good day's work--if only it will last."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's the question," said Basil; "I should like to weigh -it."</p> - -<p class="normal">They entered the tent, and weighed the gold in the gold -scales, which form part of a miner's working implements. It turned the fifty -ounces.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Honestly paid for," said Basil, "it represents a couple of -hundred pounds. A hundred pounds each."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor merely nodded, and made no comment upon the remark, -but it dwelt in his mind. Not so very long ago Basil had expressed indifference -regarding their possessions of gold, and had gone the length of saying that -Chaytor might have his share, for all he cared for it. Now he expressed an -interest in it, and reckoned their day's work at "a hundred pounds each." That -indicated that he looked upon half as his fair share. What did this -newly-awakened interest portend? With his instinctive cunning Chaytor felt that -this was not a favourable time to open up the subject; far better to let it work -quietly until it came to a natural head. Besides, he was feverishly engrossed in -the question he had suggested, whether the rich patch they had struck would -last. Time alone could answer that question. They retired to their beds of dry -leaves a little earlier than usual, and were at work in the morning with the -rising of the sun. Basil worked chiefly at the bottom of the shaft, Chaytor at -the top, and the honest man of this ill-assorted pair sent up two buckets of -stuff before breakfast, which was even richer than they had raised on the -previous day. Basil climbed to earth's surface hand over hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He uses the rope like a cat," thought Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">The two buckets of stuff were emptied into a tub.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let us wash it out before breakfast," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">They went down to the river, carrying the tub between them. On -the top of the auriferous soil were two tin basins, and, after puddling the tub -well and letting the worthless refuse flow over the brim, they set to work -washing what remained in the basins, with that rotary motion in which -gold-diggers are so skilful, and which enables them to get rid of the loosened -earth, and keep the heavy precious metal at a safe angle in the bottom of the -dish. It had hitherto been Basil's practice to leave this delicate operation to -Chaytor, but on this morning he took part in it, using one dish, while Chaytor -used the other. Chaytor took, note of every small circumstance; nothing escaped -him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is a new move of yours, Basil," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am beginning to take a real interest in the work," admitted -Basil. "In a manner of speaking, it is waking me up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Glad to hear it," said Chaytor. "These two buckets are worth -something. There's not less than twenty ounces."</p> - -<p class="normal">There was more; the stuff they had washed yielded twenty-three -ounces, and the whole day's yield was worth four hundred pounds.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing to complain of now, Chaytor," observed Basil in the -evening.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing." Basil was busy with paper and pencil. "What are you -up to there? Figuring?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied Basil. "I am reckoning how much four hundred -pounds a day would bring us in at the end of the year. Here it is. Three hundred -and twelve working days in the year, leaving Sundays free."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why should we do that?" asked Chaytor. "There's no one to see -us. It would be a sheer waste of so much money."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil looked up in surprise; the remark was not agreeable to -him, the tone in which it was spoken was still less so.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am old-fashioned perhaps," he said. "I do not choose to -work on the Sabbath day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Growing particular."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; I have always held the same notion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We'll not argue. What is your reckoning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Three hundred and twelve working days a year," continued -Basil. "Twelve days for sickness, leaving three hundred. At four hundreds pound -a day we get a total of a hundred and twenty thousand--in pounds. Sixty thousand -pounds each. Truly, a great fortune."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If it lasts," again said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course, if it lasts. There's the chance of its getting -better. How does it look to you--as if it will hold out?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor had been down the claim for some hours during the day, -and had pocketed between forty and fifty ounces, which he chose to regard as his -own special treasure trove.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's no saying," he said. "The vein runs sideways into the -rock. It may peg out at any moment."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We shall not have done badly by the time it does. I have to -thank you for bringing me here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Chaytor, ungraciously; "it was my discovery. Don't -forget that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall never forget it, Chaytor, nor any of the other good -turns you have done me. I don't know whether it is a healthy or an unhealthy -sign that this better luck should have aroused me from the apathy in which I -have been so long plunged. It has softened me; the crust of indifference, of -disbelief in human goodness, is melting away, I am glad to say. That this is due -to the prospect of becoming rich is not very creditable; I would rather that the -change in me had sprung from a less worldly cause; it would have made me better -satisfied with myself. But we mortals are very much of the earth, earthy, and we -take too readily the impressions of immediate circumstances and of our -surroundings. They mould our characters, as it were, and change them for better -or worse."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can do a lot of thinking in a little time, Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How so, Chaytor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because yesterday you were black, to-day you are white. -Yesterday it was a bad world; to-day it is a good one. A rapid transformation, -savouring somewhat of fickleness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A just reproof, but I cannot alter my nature. I have never -given myself credit for much stability except in my affections, and there, I -think, I am constant. As you say, a little reflection has effected a great -change in me. We judge the world too much from our own stand-point. We are -fortunate, we trust and are not deceived, we love and are loved in return, our -daily labour is rewarded--it is a good world, a bright world. We are -unfortunate, we trust and are deceived, we love and are not loved in return, we -toil and reap dead leaves--it is a bad world, a black world. That is the way -with us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All of which wise philosophy has sprung from our discovery of -a rich patch of gold."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am afraid I can ascribe these better and juster feelings to -no other cause."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil," said Chaytor, toying with his pipe and tobacco, "say -that your reckoning should be justified by results. Say that we work here -undiscovered for a year--for there is the contingency of our being tracked to be -thought of----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say that we do not fall ill or meet with an accident which -disables us, say that to-day is but a sample of all the other days to follow in -the next twelve months, say that we make a hundred thousand pounds, what would -you do with your share? For I suppose," said Chaytor, with a light laugh, "that -the offer you once made of letting me keep the lot if we struck gold rich, is -now withdrawn."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am properly reproved. Yes, Chaytor, I should expect my -share." Basil said this in a rather shamefaced voice. "It proves in the first -place that I am not a very dependable fellow, and in the second place it proves -my philosophy, that we are moulded by immediate circumstances."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, it is natural enough; I never expected to meet with a man -who would step out of the ordinary grooves. There are temptations which it is -impossible to resist, and you and I are no different from the rest of mankind."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should place you above the majority, Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am obliged to you, but I am as modest as yourself, and -cannot accept the distinction. Well, Basil, say that everything happened as I -have described, what would you do at the end of the year, with its wonderful -result of overflowing purses?" Basil was silent and Chaytor continued: "You said -once that you intended to live and die in the colonies. Do you stick to that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What would you do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should return to England."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor shivered. This good fortune, then, which he had -bestowed upon Basil, was to be the means of his own destruction. Basil in -England, nothing could prevent his treachery being discovered. He had led to his -own ruin. With assumed unconcern he asked:</p> - -<p class="normal">"For any specific purpose, Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has dawned upon me, Chaytor, that in my thoughts I may -have done injustice to one whom I loved and who loved me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The little girl, Annette?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The little girl, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But, speaking of love as you do, one would suppose that she -was a woman. Whereas she was a mere child when you last saw her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is true, and I speak of her only as a child. Chaytor, -there was something so sweet in Annette's nature that she grew in my heart as a -beloved sister might have done. To that length I went; no farther. Have you ever -felt the influence of a child's innocent love? It purifies you; it is a charm -against evil thoughts and evil promptings. Annette's affection was like an -amulet lying on my heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your object in returning to England would be to seek her -out?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should endeavour to find her. Her silence may have been -enforced. She may be unhappy; I might be of service to her. There are other -reasons. I seem in this far-off country to be cut off from sympathy, from -humanizing influences. The life does not suit me. A man, after all, is not a -stone; he has duties, obligations, which he should endeavour to fulfil. You have -heard me speak of my uncle. He was kind to me for a great many years, up to the -point of my offending him. He is old: consideration is due to him. I should go -to him and say, 'I do not want your money; give it to whom you will, but let us -be friends.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A hundred to one that he would show you the door," said -Chaytor, who found in these revelations more than sufficient food for thought.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At all events I should have done my duty; but I think you are -mistaken. He has a tender heart under a rough exterior, and was always fond of -me, even, I believe, when he cast me off. I should not wonder if he has not -sometimes thought, 'Why did Basil take me at my word? Why did he not make -advances towards me?' He would be right in so thinking; I ought to have striven -for a reconcilement. But I was as obstinate as he was himself, and perhaps -prouder because I was poor. In a sort of way I defied him, and as good as said I -could do without him. I was wrong; I should have acted differently.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You seem to me, Basil," said Chaytor, slowly, "to fall -somewhat into the same error in speaking of him as you do when you speak of -Annette. You speak of the little girl as if she was a woman; you speak of your -uncle as if he is living."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If he is dead I should learn the truth."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I suppose that you would not leave the colony unless you were -rich?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think not; I should be placing myself in a false position. -We will not talk of it any more to-night, Chaytor. I am tired and shall go to -bed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So shall I. The conversation has been a bit too sentimental -for me. Besides, when you say that you are cut off from sympathy and human -influences here, you are not paying me a very great compliment, after the -sacrifices I have made for you. But it is the way of the world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, Chaytor," said Basil, with affectionate emphasis, "I -never proposed that we should part. My hope was that we should go home together. -You are as much out of place here as I am. With your capacities and with money -in your pocket, you could carve a career in England which would make you -renowned."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is worth thinking of; but I must have your renewed -promise, Basil, that you will not throw up our partnership here till we have -made our fortune."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I give you the promise. It would be folly to land in the old -country penniless."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So that the upshot of it is, that it all depends upon money. -In my opinion everything in life does."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You do yourself an injustice, and are not speaking in your -usual vein. I daresay I am to blame for it. Forgive me, friend."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, there's nothing to forgive; but it <i>is</i> strange, -isn't it, that the first difference we have had should have sprung from the -prospect of our making our pile? Good night, old fellow."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good night, Chaytor."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_22" href="#div1Ref_22">CHAPTER XXII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor lay awake that night, brooding. He found himself on -the horns of a dilemma, and all the cunning of his nature was needed to meet the -difficulty and overcome it successfully. The scheme he had laid, and very nearly -matured, had been formed and carried out in the expectation that the run of -ill-luck which had pursued him on the goldfields would continue. But now the -prospect was suddenly altered. Gold floated before his eyes; he saw the stuff in -the claim they were working more thickly studded than ever with the precious -metal; extravagant as were the calculations which Basil had worked out they were -not too extravagant for his imagination, and certainly not sufficiently -extravagant for his cupidity. There was no reason in the world why these -anticipations should not be more than fulfilled. Fabulous fortunes had been -realised on the goldfields before to-day--why should not the greatest that had -ever been made be theirs? He was compelled to take Basil into this calculation. -He could not work alone in the claim; a mate was necessary, and where should he -find one so docile as Basil? With all his heart he hated Basil, who seemed to -hold in his hands the fate of the man who had schemed to destroy him. Luck had -changed and the end he had in view must be postponed, must even, perhaps, be -ultimately abandoned. To turn his back upon the fortune within his grasp for a -problematical fortune in the old country was not to be dreamt of. The bird he -had in hand was worth infinitely more than the two he had in the bush--these two -being Annette and Basil's uncle. The result of his cogitations was that the -scheme upon which he had been engaged should remain in abeyance until it was -proved whether the gold they had struck in their claim was a flash in the pan, -or would hold out till their fortunes were made. In the former case he would -carry out his scheme to the bitter end: in the latter he would amass as much -money as he could, and then fly to America, where life would be almost as -enjoyable as in England. It was hardly likely, if Basil discovered his -treachery, that he would follow him for the mere purpose of revenge. "He is not -vindictive," thought the rogue; "he is a soft-hearted fool, and will let me -alone." Thus resolved, Chaytor waited for events. It is an example of the -tortuous reasoning by which villainy frequently seeks to justify itself that -Chaytor threw from his soul the responsibility of a contemplated crime, by -arguing that the result did not depend upon him but upon nature. If the claim -proved to be as rich as they hoped, Basil would be spared; if the gold ran out, -he must take the consequences. Having thus established that circumstance would -be the criminal, the evil-hearted man disposed himself for sleep.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had not long to wait to decide which road he was to tread. -During the week they learned that their anticipations of wealth were not to be -realised. Each bucket of earth that was sent up from the shaft became poorer and -poorer, and from the last they obtained but a few grains of gold. The following -day they met with no better fortune; the rich patch was exhausted; the pocket in -which they had found the gold was empty.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Down tumble our castles," said Basil, with a certain -bitterness.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We may strike another rich patch," said Chaytor, and thought, -"I will not wait much longer. I am sick of fortune's freaks; I will take the -helm again, and steer my ship into pleasure's bay."</p> - -<p class="normal">He went to the township, openly for provisions and secretly to -see if there was any news from England. There were letters at the Post Office -awaiting Basil Whittingham, Esq. Chaytor put them in his pocket without opening -them, purchased some provisions, and set forth to rejoin Basil. He was more -careful in his movements than he had ever been. He had a premonition that the -unopened letters contained news of more than ordinary importance, and if he were -tracked and followed now his plans would be upset and all the trouble he had -taken thrown away. Basil and he were hidden from the world; no one knew of their -whereabouts, no person had any knowledge of their proceedings. Should Basil -disappear, who would suspect? Not a soul. Basil had not a friend or acquaintance -in all the colonies who was anxious for his safety or would be curious to know -what had become of him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Midway between the township at which he had obtained Basil's -letters and the claim which had animated him with delusive hopes the schemer -halted for rest. He listened and looked about warily to make sure that no one -had followed him. Not a sound fell upon his ears, no living thing was within -hail. There are parts of the Australian woods which are absolutely voiceless for -twenty-three out of every twenty-four hours. This one hour, maybe, is rendered -discordant by the crows, whose harsh cries grate ominously upon the ear. At the -present moment, however, these pestilential birds were far away, and satisfied -that there was no witness of his proceedings, Chaytor threw himself upon the -earth and opened the letters. The first he read was from the lawyers, who had -already written to Basil in reply to the letters his false friend had forged. It -was to the following effect:--</p> -<br> - -<p style="text-indent:10%">"<span class="sc">Dear Sir</span>,</p> - -<p class="normal">"We write at the request of your uncle, Mr. Bartholomew -Whittingham, who, we regret to say, is seriously ill. He desires us to inform -you that he has abandoned the intention as to the disposition of his property -with which he made you acquainted before your departure from England. A will has -been drawn out and duly signed, constituting you his sole heir. Ordinarily this -would not have been made known to you until the occurrence of a certain event -which appears imminent, but our client wished it otherwise, and as doctors -happily are not invariably correct in their prognostications it may happen that -you will yet be in time to see him if you use dispatch upon the receipt of this -communication, and take ship for England without delay. To enable you to do this -we enclose a sight draft upon the Union Bank of Australia for five hundred -pounds, and should advise you to lose not a day in putting it to the use desired -by our client. It is our duty at the same time to say that we hold out no hope -that you will arrive in time. In the expectation of seeing you within a -reasonable period, and receiving your instructions, we have the honour to -remain,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"Your obedient servants,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%">"<span class="sc">Bulfinch & Bulfinch</span>."</p> - -<br> -<p class="normal">There was another letter from the lawyers:</p> -<br> - -<p style="text-indent:10%">"<span class="sc">"Dear Sir</span>,</p> - -<p class="normal">"Following our letter of yesterday's date we write to say that -we have been directed by your uncle Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham, to forward to -you the sealed enclosure which you will find herewith. We regret to inform you -that our client is sinking fast, and that the doctors who are attending him fear -that he cannot last through the week.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"We have the honour to remain,</p> -<p style="text-indent:55%">"Your obedient servants,</p> -<p style="text-indent:60%">"<span class="sc">Bulfinch & Bulfinch</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Before unfastening the "sealed enclosure," Chaytor rose in a -state of great excitement, and allowed his thoughts to find audible expression:</p> - -<p class="normal">"At last! Here is the certainty. No more Will-o'-the-wisps. -Fortune is mine--do you hear?--mine. Truly, justly mine. Who has worked for it -but I? Tell me that. Would the idiot Basil ever have humbled himself as I did; -would he ever have worked his old uncle as I have done? What is the result? I -softened the old fellow's heart, and the money he would have left to some -charity has fallen to me. Every labourer is worthy of his hire, and I am worthy -of mine. Basil would never have had one penny of the fortune, and therefore it -is my righteous due. At last, at last! No more sweating and toiling. The world -is before me, and I shall live the life of a gentleman. There is work still to -be done, both here and at home, and <i>I will do it</i>. No blenching, Chaytor; -no flinching now. What has to be done <i>must</i> and <i>shall</i> be done. -There is less danger in making the winning move than in upsetting the board -after the game I have played. Hurrah! Let me see what the precious 'enclosure' -has to say for itself."</p> - -<p class="normal">He broke the seal, and read:</p> -<br> - -<p style="text-indent:10%">"<span class="sc">My Dear Nephew Basil</span>,</p> - -<p class="normal">"My sands of life are running out, and before it is too late I -write to you, probably for the last time. You will be glad to hear from me -direct, I know, for your nature is different from mine, and your heart has -always been open to tender impressions. When I cast you from me I dare say you -suffered, but after my first unjust feeling of resentment was over my sufferings -have been far greater than yours could have been. It is the honest truth that in -abandoning you I abandoned the only real pleasure which life had for me; but my -obstinacy, dear lad, would not allow me to take steps towards a reconcilement. -It may be that had you done so I should still have hardened my heart against -you, and should have done you the injustice of thinking that you wished to -propitiate me for selfish motives. In these, as I believe them to be, the last -hours of my life, I have no wish to spare myself; I can see more clearly now -than I have done for many a long year, and my pride deserves no excuse. This -'pride' has been the bane of my life; it has sapped the fountains of innocent -enjoyment; it has enveloped me in a steel shroud which shut me out from love and -sympathy. You, and you alone, since I was a young man, were able to penetrate -this shroud, and even to you I showed only that worse side of myself by which -the world must have judged me. I did not give myself the trouble of inquiring -whether the counsel I was instilling into you was true or false; I see now that -it was false, and it is some comfort to me to know that your nature was too -simple and honourable, too loving and sympathetic, to be warped by it. Early in -life I met with a disappointment which soured me. There is no need to inscribe -that page in this letter--a loving letter, I beg you to believe. It was a -disappointment in love, and from the day I experienced it I became soured and -embittered. I was a poor man at the time, and I devoted myself to the task of -making money; I made it, and much good has it done me. With wealth at my command -I set up two dark starting points, which I allowed to influence me in every -question under consideration--one, money, the other human selfishness. These, -with a dogged and obstinate belief in the correctness of my own judgment on -every matter which came before me, made me what I have been. I had no faith, I -had no religion; my life was godless, and the attribute of selfishness which I -ascribed to the actions of all other men guided and controlled me in mine. You -never really saw me in my true character. That I regarded money as the greatest -good I did not conceal from you, but other sides of me, even more objectionable -than this, were not, I think, revealed to you. The mischief I would have done -you glanced off harmlessly, as the action you took in ruining yourself to pay -your father's debts proved. You were armed with an shield, my dear lad, a shield -in which shone the religious principle, honourable conduct, and faith in human -nature. Be thankful for that armour, Basil; it is not every man who is so -blessed. And let me tell you this. It is often an inheritance, and if not that, -it is often furnished by a mother's loving teaching and influence. You had the -sweetest of mothers; mine was of harder grain. I lay no blame upon her, nor, I -repeat, do I seek to excuse myself, but I would point out to you, as a small -measure of extenuation, that some of us are more fortunate than others in the -early training we receive, and in the possession of inherited virtues.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil, my dear lad, you did right in paying your father's -debts, despite the base view I expressed of your action. Angry that a step so -important should have been taken without my consent being asked, angry, indeed, -that it should have been taken at all, I said to myself, 'I will punish him for -it; I will teach him a lesson.' So I wrote you a heartless letter, informing you -that I had resolved to disinherit you, and suggesting that you should return the -money I had freely given you and which was justly yours. There are few men in -the world who would have treated that request as you did, and you could not have -dealt me a harder blow than when you forwarded me a cheque for the amount, with -interest added. Your independence, your manliness, hardened instead of softened -me; 'He does it to defy me,' I thought, and I allowed you to leave England under -the impression that the ties which had bound us together were irrevocably -destroyed. But the blow I aimed at you recoiled upon myself; your reply to my -mean and sordid request has been a bitter sting to me, and had you sought to -revenge yourself upon me you could not have accomplished your purpose more -effectually. I have always lived a lonely life, as you know; since I lost you my -home has been still more cheerless and lonesome; but I would not call you -back--no, my pride stopped me: I could not endure the thought that you or any -man should triumph over me. You see, my boy, I am showing you the contemptible -motives by which I was actuated; it is a punishment I inflict upon myself; and I -deserve the harshest judgment you could pass upon me. If my time were to come -over again, would I act differently? I cannot say. A man's matured character is -not easily twisted out of its usual grooves. I am as I have been made, or, to -speak more correctly, as I chose to make myself, and I have been justly -punished.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But, Basil, if the harvest I have gathered has been worthless -to me and to others, some good may result from it in the future. Not at my -hands, at yours. You are my sole heir, and you will worthily use the money I -leave you. I look forward to the years to come, and I see you in a happy home, -with wife and children around you, and it may be then that you will give me a -kind thought and that you will place a flower on my grave.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am greatly relieved by this confession. Good-bye, my lad, -and God bless you.</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"Your affectionate Uncle.</p> -<p style="text-indent:55%">"<span class="sc">Bartholomew Whittingham</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"Sentimental old party," mused Newman Chaytor, as he replaced -the letter in its envelope. "If this had fallen into Basil's hands it would have -touched him up considerably. The old fellow had to give in after all, but it was -my letters that worked the oracle. The credit of the whole affair is mine, and -Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham ought to be very much obliged to me for soothing his -last hours." He laughed--a cruel laugh. "As for the harvest he has gathered, I -promise him that it shall be worthily spent. He sees in the future his heir in a -happy home, with wife and children around him. Well!--perhaps. If all goes -smooth with the charming Annette, we'll see what we can do to oblige him. Now -let me read the little puss's letter; there may be something interesting in it."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"My dear Basil" (wrote Annette), "I have something to tell -you. Uncle Gilbert has discovered that we have been corresponding with each -other, and there has been a scene. It came through aunt. The day before -yesterday they went out and left me and Emily together. From what they said I -thought they would have been gone a good many hours, and I got out my desk and -began to read your letters all over again. Do you know how many you have written -me? Seven; and I have every one of them, and mean to keep them always. After -reading them I sat down to write to you--a letter you will not receive, because -this will take its place, and because I had not written a dozen words before -aunt came in suddenly, and caught me bending over my desk. Seeing her, I was -putting my letter away (I never write to you when she is with me) when she came -close up to me and laid her hand on mine. 'What is that you are writing?' she -asked. 'A letter,' I replied. It was not very clever of me, but I did not for -the moment know what other answer to give. 'To whom?' she asked. 'To a friend,' -I said. 'Oh, you have friends,' she said; 'tell me who they are.' 'I have only -one,' I said, 'and I am writing to him.' 'And he has written to you?' she said. -'Yes,' I said, 'he has written to me.' 'Who is this only friend?' she asked; 'do -I know him?' 'Yes,' I said, 'you knew him slightly. There is no reason for -concealment; it is Basil, my dear father's friend.' 'Oh,' she said, 'your dear -father's friend. Is he in England, then?' 'No,' I answered, 'he is in -Australia.' 'His letters should have been addressed to the care of your uncle,' -she said, 'and that, I am sure, has not been the case, or they would have passed -through our hands. How have you obtained them?' 'It is my secret,' I replied. -Fortunately Emily was not in the room, and I do not think they have any -suspicion that she has been assisting me; if they had they would discharge her, -though I should fight against that. 'Your answers are evasive,' she said. 'They -are not, aunt,' I said; 'they are truthful answers.' 'Are you afraid,' she -asked, 'if the letters had been addressed to our care, as they ought to have -been, that they would not have been given to you?' I did not answer her, and she -turned away, and said she would inform Uncle Gilbert of the discovery she had -made. I did not go on with my first letter to you when she was gone; I thought I -would wait till Uncle Gilbert spoke to me. He did the same evening. 'Your aunt -has informed me,' he said, 'that you have been carrying on a correspondence with -that man named Basil, who so very nearly imposed upon your father in Australia.' -'That man, uncle,' I said, 'is a gentleman, and he did not try to impose upon my -father.' 'It will be to your advantage, my dear niece,' said Uncle Gilbert, very -quietly, 'not to bandy words with me, nor say things which may interfere with -your freedom and comfort. I am your guardian, and dispute it as you may, I stand -in your father's place. To carry on a clandestine correspondence with a young -man who is no way related to you is improper and unmaidenly. May I inquire if -there is any likelihood of your correspondent favouring us with a visit?' 'I -hope I shall see him one day,' I said. 'There is a chance of it then,' he said, -'and you can probably inform me when we may expect him.' 'No, I cannot tell you -that,' I said. 'Your aunt believes,' he said, 'that you are not speaking the -truth when you answer questions we put to you.' 'All my answers are truthful -ones,' I said. 'You refuse to tell us,' he said, 'by what means this secret -correspondence has been carried on.' 'I refuse to tell you,' I answered. 'I will -not press you,' he said, 'but it will be my duty to discover what you are hiding -from me. I shall succeed; I never undertake a task and fail. I always carry it -out successfully to the end. In the meantime this correspondence must cease.' 'I -will not promise,' I said, 'anything I do not mean to fulfil.' 'That is an -honest admission,' he said, 'and I admire you for it. Nevertheless, the -correspondence must cease, and if you persist in it I shall find a way to put a -stop to it. Your reputation, your good name is at stake, and I must guard you -from the consequences of your imprudence. My dear niece, I fear that you are -bent upon opposing my wishes. It is an unequal battle between you and me--I tell -you so frankly. You are under my control, and I intend to exercise my authority. -We will now let the matter drop.' And it did drop there and then, and not -another word has been spoken on the subject.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There, Basil, I have told you everything as far as I can -recollect it. I might be much worse off than I am. But it would be different if -I did not have you to think of, if I did not feel that I have a dear, dear -friend in the world, though he is so many thousands of miles away, and that some -day I shall see him again. It is something to look forward to, and not a day -passes that I do not think of it. You remember the books you used to tell me of -on the plantation. I have read them all again and again, and they are all -delightful. If the choice were mine, and you were to be near me, or with me as -my dear father wished, I should dearly like to live the old life on the -plantation; but there would be a difference, Basil; I could not live it now -without books, and I do not see how anybody could. Often do I believe them to be -real, and when I have laid down one which has made me laugh and cry I feel as if -I had made new friends with whom I can rejoice and sympathise. There will be -plenty to talk of when we meet, for that we shall meet some day I have not the -least doubt. Only if you would grow rich, and come home soon, it would be so -beautiful. Really and truly, Basil, I want a friend, a true friend to talk to -about things. 'About what things, Annette?' perhaps you ask. How shall I -explain? I will try--only you must remember that I am older than when we were -together on the plantation, and that, as Uncle Gilbert implied, in a year or two -I shall be a woman.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil, when that time comes I want to have more freedom than -I have now; I do not want to feel as if I were in chains; but how shall I be -able to set myself free without a friend like you by my side? I do not think I -am clever, but one can't help thinking of things. I understand that when my dear -father died Uncle Gilbert was doing what he had a right to do in becoming my -guardian and taking care of the money that was left. Emily says it is all mine, -but I do not know. If it is, I should be glad to give half of it to Uncle -Gilbert if he would agree to shake hands with me and bid me good-bye. We should -be ever so much better friends apart from each other. I did venture timidly to -speak to him once about my dear father's property, but he only said, 'Time -enough, time enough; there is no need to trouble yourself about it; wait till -you are a good many years older.' But, Basil, I want to be free before I am a -good many years older, and how is that to be managed without your assistance? -That is what I mean when I say I want a true friend to talk about things."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must leave off soon; Emily says the mail for Australia -leaves to-day, and this letter has to be posted. I am writing it very early in -the morning in my bedroom, before uncle and aunt are up; it is fortunate that -they do not rise till late. But to be compelled to write in this way--do you -understand now what I mean when I say that I do not want to feel as if I were in -chains? Emily says she will manage to post the letter for me without uncle and -aunt knowing, and I hope she will be able to. Of course it would be ridiculous -for me to suppose that Emily and I can be a match for Uncle Gilbert, for I am -certain he is watching me, though there is no appearance of it. The way he talks -and the way he looks sometimes puts me in mind of a fox.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-bye, Basil. Do not forget me, and if you do not hear -from me for a long time do not think I have forgotten you. I can never, never, -do that. Oh, how I wish time would pass quickly!</p> - -<p style="text-indent:50%">"Always yours affectionately,</p> -<p style="text-indent:65%">"<span class="sc">Annette</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">When he finished reading Annette's letter Newman Chaytor -looked at the date and saw that it had been written a month earlier than the -letter from the lawyers. Examining the postmark on the envelope he saw that it -could not have been posted till three weeks after it had been written, and that -it bore a French stamp.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The little puss was not in England," he thought, "when she -contrived to get this letter popped into the post. That shows that she was right -in supposing that Uncle Gilbert was watching her. Sly old fox, Uncle Gilbert. He -means to keep tight hold of the pretty Annette. Saint George to the rescue! I -feel quite chivalrous, and as if I were about to set forth to rescue maidens in -distress. She is not quite devoid of sense, this Annette; it will be an -entertainment to have a bout with Uncle Gilbert on her behalf. He saw very -little of Basil, and if we resembled each other much less than we do it would be -scarcely possible for him to suspect that another man was playing Basil's part -in this rather remarkable drama. Time, circumstance, everything is in my -favour--but I wish the next few weeks were over."</p> - -<p class="normal">The harsh cawing of crows aroused him from his musings. Their -grating voices were a fit accompaniment to his cruel thoughts. With a set, -determined face, and with a heart in which dwelt no compunction for the deed he -was about to do, he turned his face towards the spot where Basil, unsuspicious -of the fate in store for him, was awaiting the comrade in whom he had put his -trust.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_23" href="#div1Ref_23">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">In Australia, as in all new countries where treasure is -discovered or where land is not monopolised by the few, townships spring up like -mushrooms. Some grow apace, and become places of importance; others, in which -the promise which brought them into existence is unfulfilled, languish and die -out, to share the fate of the township of Gum Flat, in which Basil had met the -man who played him false. Shortly after the events which have been recorded, a -party of prospectors halted in a valley some eight miles from the valley where -Basil and Newman Chaytor had been working, and began to look for gold. Their -search was rewarded, the precious metal was found in paying quantities, and -miners flocked to the valley and spread themselves over the adjacent country. -The name of one of the early prospectors was Prince, and a township being -swiftly formed, there was a certain fitness in dubbing it Princetown. All the -adjuncts of a town which bade fair to be prosperous were soon gathered together. -At the heels of the gold-diggers came the storekeepers, with tents in which to -transact their business, and drayloads of goods wherewith to stock their stores. -The tide, set going, flowed rapidly, and in less than a fortnight Princetown was -a recognised centre of the rough civilisation which reigns in such-like places. -Storekeepers, publicans, auctioneers, plied their trade from morning till night, -and the gold, easily obtained, was as easily parted with by the busy bees, who -lived only for the day and thought not of the morrow. The scene, from early -morning till midnight, was one of remarkable animation, replete with strange -features which a denizen of old-time civilisation, being set suddenly in its -midst, would have gazed upon with astonishment. Here was a cattle-yard, in which -horses for puddling machines and drays, and sheep and oxen for consumption, were -being knocked down to the highest bidder during ten hours of the day. A large -proportion of the horses purchased by the miners were jibbers and buckjumpers, -and a very Babel of confusion reigned in the High Street as they strove to lead -away their purchases. Around each little knot of mates who had bought a jibber -or a buckjumper a number of idlers gathered, shouting with derision or approval -when the horse or the man was triumphant. Exciting struggles between the two -were witnessed; men jumped upon unsaddled horses and were thrown into the air -amid the yells of the spectators, only to jump on again and renew the contest. -Here an attempt was being made to pull along a jibber, whose forelegs were -firmly planted before it, while twenty whips were being cracked at its heels to -urge it on in the desired direction. A dozen yards off, up and out went the -heels of a buckjumping brute, scattering the crowd, and for a moment victorious. -Nobody was seriously hurt, bruises being reckoned of no account by these -wanderers from the home-land, who for the first time in their lives were -breathing the air of untrammelled freedom. It was wonderful to observe the -effects of the newer life which was pulsing in the veins of the adventurers. At -home they would have walked to and from their work, or idled in the streets -because work was not to be obtained, listless and spiritless, mere commonplace -mortals with pale faces, and often hopeless eyes. Here it was as if fresh, -vigorous young blood had been infused into them. The careless, easy dress, the -manly belt with its fossicking knife in sheath, the ragged and graceful -billycock hat, the lissome movements of their limbs, the hair flowing upon their -breasts, transformed them from drudges into something very like heroes. Seldom -anywhere in the world can finer specimens of manhood be seen than on these new -goldfields; it is impossible to withhold admiration of the manlier qualities -which have sprung into life with the free labour in which their days are -engaged. It is true that liberty often degenerates into lawless licence, but the -vicious attributes of humanity must be taken into account, and they are as -conspicuous in these new scenes, mayhap, as in the older grooves; and although -crime and vice are met with, their proportion is no larger--indeed, it is not so -large--than is made manifest by statistics in the older orders of civilisation. -Next to the cattle sale-yard is a small store in which the wily gold-buyer is -fleecing and joking with the miner who comes to change virgin gold into coined -sovereigns or the ragged bank notes of Australian banks. Next to the -gold-buyer's tent is a stationer who, for the modest sum of half-a-crown, will -give a man an envelope, a sheet of notepaper, and pen and ink, with which he can -write a letter to a distant friend. It was an amazing charge, but it was not -uncommon during the first few weeks of life on a new goldfield, and the wonder -of it was that men who toiled in the old countries for little more than -half-a-crown a day slapped down the coin without a murmur against the extortion. -Next to the stationer was a canvas hotel, wherein thimblefuls of brandy and -whiskey were retailed at a shilling the nobbler, and Bass's pale ale at two -shillings the pint bottle. Then clothes stores, provision stores, general -stores, dancing and billiard saloons, branches of great banks, with flags waving -over their fronts, and all driving a roaring trade. The joyousness of prosperity -was apparent in every animate sign that met the view, and a rollicking freedom -of manner was established, very much as if it were an order of freemasonry which -made all men brothers. Here was a man who in England never had three sovereigns -to "bless himself with" (a favourite saying, which has its meaning) calling upon -every person in sight--strangers to him, every man Jack of them--to come and -drink at his expense at the usual shilling a thimbleful, throwing to the -bartender a dirty banknote, and pocketing the change without condescending to -count it. At present the circulation was confined to bank notes, sovereigns and -silver money. Coppers were conspicuous by their absence, and, falling into -miners' hands, would very likely be pitched away with scorn. The lowest price -for anything was sixpence, whether it was a packet of pins or a yard of tape--a -very paradise for haberdashers with their eternal three farthings. The man who -was standing treat all round, and the more the merrier, had been a dockyard -labourer in London, a grovelling grub, who at the end of the week had not -twopence to spare, and probably would have been glad to accept that much charity -from the hands of the kindly-hearted. In Princetown he was a lord, and just now -seemed bent upon getting as drunk as one. He had struck a new lead, and on this -day had washed out more than he would have received for two years' labour at -home. Small wonder that his head was turned; small wonder for his belief that he -was in possession of a Midas mine of wealth which would prove inexhaustible. -Thus in varied form ran the story of these newly-opened goldfields with their -delirious excitements and golden hopes. A new era had dawned upon mankind, and -bone and muscle were the valuable commodities. So believed the miners, the kings -of the land; the bush roads teemed with them, and a tramp of a hundred miles was -thought nothing of. Their swags on their backs, they marched through bush and -forest, and lit their camp fires at night, and sat round the blazing logs, -smoking, singing, and telling bush yarns until, healthfully tired out with their -day's labour, they wrapped themselves in their blankets and slept soundly with -the stars shining on them. Up they rose in the morning, as merry as Robin Hood's -men, and drawing water from the creek in which they washed, made their tea and -baked their "damper," then shouldered their swags again, and resumed their -cheerful march. Soldiers of civilisation they, opening up a new country in which -fortunes were made and work honestly paid for. No room for that pestilential -brood, the hydra-headed middleman, who pays the producer a shilling for his -wares, and, passing it on from hand to hand delivers it to the consumer at six -times its proper value. It is this multiplying process which makes life so hard -to hundreds of thousands in the overcrowded countries of the old-world.</p> - -<p class="normal">Some passing features of the sudden creation of Princetown -have been given, but one remains to be introduced. Exactly twelve days from the -discovery of gold in the valley, an ancient horse of lean proportions, dragging -a crazy old waggon behind it, halted in the High Street in the early part of the -day. By the side of the tired animal was a pale-faced man, who never once used -his worn-out whip, but gave kindly words to his steed in the place of lashes. He -was poorly dressed and looked wan and anxious. When he halted there descended -from the waggon a woman as pale-faced and anxious as himself and a little girl -brimming over with life and spirits. The woman was his wife, the little girl his -daughter. The frontages to the most desirable allotments had been pegged out a -long way north and south, and there were speculators who had no intention of -occupying those allotments themselves, but were prepared to sell their rights to -newcomers. After a few inquiries and some shrewd examination of the allotments, -the man bargained for one in a suitable position, and became its owner. Then -from the waggon was taken a tent of stout canvas, and while the old horse ate -its corn and bent its head to have its nose stroked by the little girl, the man -and woman set to work to build their habitation. In the course of the afternoon -this was done, and then, after an <i>al fresco</i> repast, the waggon was -unloaded of its contents. This process aroused the curiosity of the loungers in -High Street, Princetown, the goods being of an unusual character. Mysterious -looking articles were taken out of the waggon and conveyed with great care into -the tent, and presently one onlooker, better informed than his comrades, cried:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, it's a printing-office!"</p> - -<p class="normal">A printing-office it was, of the most modest description, but -still, a printing-office; that engine of enlightenment without which the wheels -of civilisation would cease to revolve. The word was passed round, the news -spread, and brought other contingents of spectators, and the canvas tent became -a temple, and the pale-faced man a man of mark. Inside the temple the woman was -arranging the type and cases, putting up without assistance two single frames -and a double one; outside the man was answering, or endeavouring to answer, the -eager questions asked of him, extracting at the same time, for his own behoof, -such scraps of information as would prove useful to him. Pale as was his face, -and anxious as was the look in his eyes, he was a man of energy and resource.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mates," he cried, "look out to-morrow morning for the first -number of the <i>Princetown Argus</i>. Who'll subscribe?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will," and "I will," answered a dozen voices, and the -enterprising printer, who had staked his all on the venture, was immediately -engaged in receiving subscriptions for his newspaper, and entering the names in -a memorandum book. His face became flushed, the anxious look fled from his eyes; -in less than half an hour he had thirty pounds in his pockets.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go and get me some news," he said, addressing his audience -generally. "Never mind what it is, I'll put it into shape."</p> - -<p class="normal">"William," cried the woman from the tent, "you must come and -help me to put up the press."</p> - -<p class="normal">While the two were thus engaged, a good-natured fellow in the -open took upon himself the task of receiving additional subscribers and when the -press was set up, and the master printer made his appearance again, a matter of -twenty pounds was handed to him by his self-constituted lieutenant.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fifty pounds," whispered the adventurer to his wife. "A good -start."</p> - -<p class="normal">She nodded, beaming, and proceeded with her work, assisted by -her husband. He had announced the initial number of the <i>Princetown Argus</i> -for the next morning, and out it would have to come. This would necessitate -their stopping up all night, but what did the matter? They were establishing a -property, and, were already regarded as perhaps the most important arrival in -the new township. In the middle of their work a visitor presented himself. The -printer was spreading ink upon the ink table and getting his roller in order, -when his visitor opened up a conversation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The <i>Princetown Argus</i>, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good move. The first number to-morrow morning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can it be done?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes," said the printer confidently. "When I say done, -done it is."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's your sort. How many pages?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Two. The second number four."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you ask for the whole of the front page in the first -four numbers? I've a mind to advertise."</p> - -<p class="normal">The proposal staggered the printer, but he did not show it; -the woman pricked up her ears.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A hundred pounds," replied the printer, amazed at his own -boldness.</p> - -<p class="normal">The visitor nodded, as if a hundred pounds for an -advertisement were an every-day occurrence with him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"With the option," he said, "of the next four numbers at the -same price."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can have the option," said the printer, who could not yet -be called a newspaper proprietor, because his journal was in embryo.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you got some bold type? Big letters?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. My plant is small at present, but I can do job printing -as well as newspaper work. That's what I'm here for. I shall be getting new type -sent out in a week or two."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Show me 'John Jones' in big letters."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was done almost instantaneously, and the visitor gazed at -the name approvingly. It was his own.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now, underneath, 'Beehive Stores.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">The letters were put together, and the printer said, "That -will look well, right across the page."</p> - -<p class="normal">John Jones nodded again. "Now, underneath that, 'The Beehive, -the Beehive, The Only Beehive. John Jones John Jones, The only John Jones. Look -out for the Flag, Painted by the Finest Artist of the Age.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go slow," said the printer. "All right, I'm up to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Buy everything you Want," proceeded John Jones, watching the -nimble fingers with admiration, "'at the only Beehive, of the only John Jones. -Groceries, Provisions, Clothing of every description, Picks and Shovels, Powder -and Fuse, Candles, Tubs and Dishes, Crockery, Bottled Ale and Stout, Everything -of the Very Best. The highest price given for Gold. Come One, Come All. The Only -Beehive. The Only John Jones. The Flag that's Braved a Thousand Years the Battle -and the Breeze. Good luck to all.' There, that's the advertisement. Spread it -out, you know. Here's the hundred pounds. You might give me a paragraph."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll do that," said the printer. "Something in this style: -'We have much pleasure in directing our readers' attention to the advertisement -of out enterprising townsman, John Jones, the Beehive Stores, at whose emporium -gold-diggers and others will find the finest stock of goods,' &c., &c., &c. Will -that do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Capitally," said John Jones. "Put me down as a subscriber." -And off went the enterprising storekeeper, satisfied with his outlay and that it -would bring him a good return. Both he and William Simmons, the founder of <i> -The Princetown Argus</i>, are types. It is opportunity that makes the man.</p> - -<p class="normal">The midnight oil was burned in the new printing-office until -the sun rose next morning. Not a wink of sleep did William Simmons or his wife -have; she was almost as expert a compositor as her husband, and she is presented -to the reader standing before her case, composing-stick in hand, picking up -stamps, as a woman worthy of the highest admiration. When she paused in her work -it was to have a peep at her little girl, who was sleeping soundly, and to stoop -and give her darling a kiss. William Simmons was the busiest of men the whole of -the time, in and out of the tent, running here and there to pick up scraps, of -information for paragraphs and short articles, and setting up his leading -article, introducing <i>The Princetown Argus</i> to the world, literally "out of -his head," for he did not write it first and put it in type afterwards, but -performed the feat, of which few compositors are capable, that of making his -thoughts take the place of "copy." At ten o'clock in the morning the first copy -of the newspaper was produced, William Simmons being the pressman and Mrs. -Simmons the roller boy. It is a curiosity in its way, and readers at the British -Museum should look it up. There was a great demand for copies, and Simmons and -his wife did their best to supply it, but they could not hold out longer than -twelve o'clock, at which hour they shut up shop, and, throwing themselves upon -some blankets on the ground, enjoyed the repose which they had so worthily -earned. Before they awoke something took place which created a great stir in the -township, and news of it was conveyed to the office of <i>The Princetown Argus</i>. -Aroused from their sleep, the printer and his wife were up and astir again, and -getting his material together, William Simmons, on the following day, issued an -"extra edition" of his paper, the principal item of which is given in the next -chapter.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_24" href="#div1Ref_24">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"A sad discovery" (wrote the editor and proprietor of <i>The -Princetown Argus</i>) "was yesterday made on a spot some dozen miles from -Princetown, which we hasten to place before our readers in the shape of an extra -edition of our journal, the success of the first number of which, we are happy -to say, has exceeded our most glowing anticipations. We ask the inhabitants of -Princetown to accept the issue of this our first extra edition as a guarantee of -the spirit with which we intend to conduct the newspaper which will represent -their interests. The facts of the discovery we refer to are as follows:</p> - -<p class="normal">"At the distance we have named from Princetown runs the -Plenteous river, towards which the eyes of our enterprising miners have been -already turned as the source from which, when our creeks run dry, we shall have -to obtain our water supply. The party of miners who have formed themselves into -a company for the purpose of sluicing a portion of the ground in Fairman's Flat, -deputed two of their number, Joseph Porter and Steve Fairfax to make an -inspection of the lay of the land between Plenteous River and Fairman's Flat, to -decide upon the feasibility of cutting a water race, and upon the best means of -carrying out the design. The ground they hold has been proved to be highly -auriferous, and there is no doubt that rich washings-out will reward their -enterprise. It was not to be expected that they would make their examination -without prospecting the ground here and there, and the reports they have brought -in seem to establish the fact that the whole of the country between Princetown -and the Plenteous River constitutes one vast goldfield. The future of our -township is assured, and within a short time its position will be second to none -in all Australia. The report of Porter and Fairfax is also highly favourable to -the contemplated water race, and the work will be commenced at once. It is -calculated that there are already six thousand miners in Princetown. We have -room for five times six thousand, and we extend the hand of welcome to our new -comrades.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon the arrival of Porter and Fairfax at the Plenteous River -they naturally concluded they were the first on the ground, no accounts of any -gold workings thereabouts having been published in any of the Australian -journals. They soon discovered their error. Work had been done on the banks of -the river, as was shown by the heaps of tailings in different places, and on one -of the ranges sloping upwards from the banks a shaft had been sunk. At no great -distance from the shaft a small tent was set up, and the two men proceeded to it -for the purpose of making inquiries. Although the tent presented evidences of -having been quite recently occupied, no person was visible, and they came to the -conclusion that its owner was at work in another direction and would return at -the close of day. Their curiosity induced them to examine the shaft which had -been sunk on the range, and this examination led to an important result. There -was no windlass over the shaft, but a rope securely fastened at the top hung -down the mouth. They shook the rope, and ascertained that it hung loose. To -their repeated calls down the shaft they received no reply, and they pulled up -the rope. To their surprise there were not more than twelve feet of rope hanging -down, whereas the stuff that had been hauled up indicated a depth of some forty -or fifty feet. A closer examination of the rope showed that it had been broken -at a part where it had got frayed and unable to bear a heavy weight. Being -provided with a considerable length of rope the men resolved to descend the -shaft and ascertain whether an accident had occurred. Having made their rope -fast, Fairfax descended, and reaching the bottom was horrified to discover a man -lying there senseless and apparently dead. As little time as possible was lost -in getting him to the top, a work of considerable difficulty and danger, but it -was accomplished safely after great labour. Then came the task of ascertaining -whether the man was dead. He was not; but although he exhibited signs of life -the injuries he received were of such a nature that they feared there was little -hope for him. It was impossible for Fairfax and Porter to convey him to -Princetown without a horse and cart, and Fairfax hurried back to the township to -obtain what was necessary, while Porter remained at the Plenteous River to nurse -the injured man. He has been brought here, and is now being well looked after. -The latest reports of him are more favourable, and hopes are entertained that -his life may be saved. He has not yet, however, recovered consciousness, and -nothing is known as to his name. Neither is anything absolutely precise known of -the circumstances of the accident, except that it was caused by the breaking of -the rope, a portion of which was found at the bottom of the shaft, tightly -clenched in the stranger's hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a certain element of mystery in the affair, and we -shall briefly allude to one or two points which seem to have a bearing upon it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Fairfax and Porter, to whose timely arrival at Plenteous -River the stranger undoubtedly owes his life, if it is spared, are of the -opinion that there were two men working in the shaft and living together in the -tent. Upon the former point they may be mistaken, for the rope was so fixed that -a man working by himself could ascend and descend the shaft with comparative -ease, although the labour of filling each bucket of stuff below and then -ascending to the top to draw it up, would have been excessive. But upon the -latter point there can be no doubt, for the reason that the tent contained two -beds, both of which must have been lain upon within the last week or two. -Inferring that there <i>were</i> two men working in the shaft, is it possible, -when the accident occurred, that the man at the top of the shaft made tracks -from the place and left his mate to a cruel and lingering death? This is a mere -theory, and we present it for what it is worth. An opinion has been expressed -that the rope has been tampered with, and that it did not break from natural -wear and tear. If so, it strengthens the theory we have presented. Nothing was -found in the pockets of the injured man which could lead to his identity, nor -was any gold found upon his person or in the tent. Thus, for the present, the -affair is wrapt in mystery."</p> - -<p class="normal">In the next week's number of the <i>Princetown Argus</i> the -incident was again referred to in a leading article, in which a number of other -matters found mention:</p> - -<p class="normal">"The man who was found at the bottom of a shaft on a range at -the Plenteous River and was brought to Princetown to have his injuries attended -to, is now conscious and in a fair way of recovery. But, whether from a set -purpose or from the circumstance that his mental powers have been impaired from -the injuries he received, he is singularly reticent about the affair. He has -volunteered no information, and his answers to questions addressed to him throw -no light upon the mystery. It is expected that several weeks will elapse before -he can recover his strength. Meanwhile we have to record that gold has been -found in paying quantities in the banks of the river and in the adjacent ranges, -and it is calculated that there are already five hundred men at work there. Gold -is also being discovered in various parts of the country between Princetown and -the river, and a great many claims are being profitably worked. The rush of -gold-diggers to Princetown continues, and men are pouring in every day. -Yesterday the gold escort took down 4,300 ounces; it is expected that this -quantity will be doubled next week. Our enterprising townsman, Mr. John Jones, -of the famous Beehive Stores, is having a wooden building erected in which his -extensive business will in future be transacted. We direct the attention of our -readers to Mr. Jones' advertisement on our front page. The enterprising -proprietor of the Royal Hotel has determined to construct a movable theatre, -also of wood, which will be put up every evening in the cattle sale-yards -adjoining his hotel when the sales of the day are over, and taken down after -every performance to allow of the sales being resumed the next morning. This is -a novel idea, and will be crowned with success. A first-class company is on its -way to Princetown, and it is announced that the first performance will be given -in a fortnight. Fuller particulars of these matters will be found in other -columns. Our readers will observe that we have doubled the size of the <i> -Princetown Argus</i>, which now consists of four pages. We have ordered an -entire new plant, and upon its arrival shall still further enlarge our paper. -Our motto is Onward."</p> - -<p class="normal">It will be seen from these extracts that Newman Chaytor had -carried out his cruel scheme to what he believed and hoped would be the end of -the comrade he had plotted against and betrayed. But what man proposes sometimes -fails in its purpose, and it was so in this instance. The merciful arrival of -the two gold-diggers upon the scene saved Basil's life.</p> - -<p class="normal">This last act of Chaytor's was easily accomplished. While -Basil slept he crawled to the shaft, and by the moon's light weakened the -strands of the rope some ten feet down. Then he crawled back to his bed, and -tossed to and fro till the dawn of day.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We'll work the claim till the end of the week," he said to -Basil over breakfast, "and if it turns out no better, we will try the banks of -the river again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very well," said Basil. "I am truly sorry I don't bring you -better luck, but we have something to go on with, at all events."</p> - -<p class="normal">They walked to the shaft together, and Basil prepared to -descend. Grasping the rope, he looked up at Chaytor, and Chaytor smiled at him. -He responded with a cheerful look, for although the hopes in which he had -indulged of returning to England with a fortune were destroyed, he had not -abandoned his wish to leave the colony. He was sick of the life he was leading, -and he yearned for a closer human sympathy. His share of the gold they had -obtained would be close upon five hundred pounds--that was something; it would -enable him to take passage home, to find Annette perhaps, to see and speak with -her and renew the old bond; and if the worst happened, if he could not find -Annette, or found her only to learn that the woman was different from the child, -he could come back to Australia and live out his life there.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't lose heart," he said to Chaytor; "we may strike the -vein again this week. There's a bright future before you, I am certain."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I half believe so myself," said Chaytor; "hoping against -hope, you know." And thought, "Will he never go down?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil gave one upward look at the floating clouds and -descended. Chaytor bent over the mouth of the shaft, looked down, and listened.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is the rope firm?" Basil cried out.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite firm," said Chaytor. Then there came a terrified -scream, and the sound of a heavy body falling. Then--silence.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor, with white face and lips tightly set, still bent over -the mouth of the shaft, still looked down the dark depths, still listened. Not a -sound--not even a groan.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is done," he muttered.</p> - -<p class="normal">He pulled up the severed rope, and thought that it might have -happened without his intervention. He had read of a parallel instance, and of -the death of a miner in consequence.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was an accident," he said, "as this is. The rope would -have given way without my touching it. Such things occur all over the world. -Look at the colliery accidents at home--hundreds of men are killed in them, here -there is only one."</p> - -<p class="normal">These thoughts were not prompted by compunction; he simply -desired to shift the responsibility from his own shoulders. It was a miserable -subterfuge, and did not succeed. In the first flush of his crime its shadow -haunted him.</p> - -<p class="normal">He let the rope fall from his hand down the shaft. "I could -not go to him," he said, "if I wanted. How quiet he is!"</p> - -<p class="normal">A mad impulse seized him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil Basil!" he cried in his loudest tone; and as no reply -reached him, he said, looking around, "Well, then, is it my fault that he does -not answer me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He paced to and fro, a dozen steps this way, a dozen that, -counting his steps. Fifty times at least he did this, always with the intention -of going to the tent or the river, and always being drawn back to the mouth of -the shaft, over which he hung and lingered. It possessed a horrible fascination -for him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I <i>will</i> go this time," he said, but he could not. He -remained an hour--the longest hour in his life. At length he went down to the -river, and as he gazed upon it thought, "Men die by drowning. What does it -matter the kind of death? Death is death: it is always the same."</p> - -<p class="normal">The interminable hours lagged on till night came. He sat in -the tent weighing the gold and getting ready for flight. Once in Sydney he would -take the first ship for England. The flickering candle cast monstrous shadows -upon the walls and ceiling, and in his nervous state he shrank shudderingly from -them, and strove to ward them off, as though they were living forms hovering -about him with fell intent. The silence appalled him; he would have given gold -for the piping of a little bird.</p> - -<p class="normal">Thus passed the miserable night, and in the morning he visited -the shaft again. The same awful stillness reigned.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is all over," he said. "Newman Chaytor is dead; I, Basil -Whittingham, live. No one will ever know. Now for England!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_25" href="#div1Ref_25">CHAPTER XXV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Occasionally in a man's life comes a pause: as between the -acts of a drama action slumbers awhile--only that the march through life's -season never halts. The pulse of time throbs silently and steadily until the -natural span is reached, or is earlier snapped, and the bridge between mortality -and immortality is crossed. Meanwhile the man grows older--that is all. For him -upon the tree of experience there is neither blossom nor bloom; bare branches -spread out, naked of hope, and he gazes upon them in dumb wonderment or despair. -The hum of woodland life, the panorama of wondrous colour, the unceasing growth -of life out of death, the warlike sun, the breath of peace in moon and stars, -the eternal pæn that all nature sings, bear no message to his soul. He walks, he -eats, he sleeps, and waits unconsciously for the divine touch that shall arouse -him from his trance.</p> - -<p class="normal">Something of this kind occurred to Basil. Recovering from the -physical injuries he had sustained, he sank into an apathetic state which, but -for some powerful incentive, might have been morally fatal. Friends he had none, -or the effort might have been made; so for a year after Newman Chaytor had left -Australia he plodded aimlessly on, working for wages which kept him in food, and -desiring nothing more. Upon the subject of his mate's desertion he preserved -silence, as indeed he did upon most other subjects, but it might reasonably have -been expected that upon this theme in which he was directly interested he would -have been willing to open his mind. It was not so. To questions addressed to him -he returned brief and unsatisfactory answers, and after a time nothing further -was asked of him. Curiosity died out; if he chose to keep himself aloof it was -his business, and in the new world, as in the old, every man's affairs were -sufficient to occupy him without troubling himself about strangers. Thus it -would appear that the scheme upon which Newman Chaytor had bent all his energies -was destined to be in every way successful.</p> - -<p class="normal">With respect to the desertion and the disappearance of the -gold, an equal share of which was rightfully and lawfully his, Basil had arrived -at a definite conclusion. He entertained no doubt that the rope had broken -naturally; suspicion of foul play did not cross his mind. He argued that -Chaytor, believing him to be dead, had taken the gold and left the claim they -had been working in disgust. "He made no secret," thought Basil, "that he was -sick of the life we were leading. To have gone away and left my share of the -gold behind him--I being, as he supposed, dead--would have been an act of folly. -I do not blame him; good luck go with him. He stuck to me to the last, and -proved himself my friend when most I needed one. Let my life go on as it will; I -will think nothing and say nothing to his injury." A vindictive man would have -argued otherwise, would have thought that it was at least a comrade's duty, -before he left the spot, to convince himself by ocular proof that the fall was -fatal. But Basil was not vindictive; he believed he had the best of reasons to -be grateful to Chaytor, and if the gold his mate had taken was any repayment for -services rendered in the past, he was welcome to it. The strong moral principle -in Basil's nature kept him from yielding to temptations against which not all -men struggle successfully when misfortune persistently dogs them. He led an -honest life of toil, without ambition to lift himself to a higher level. But -happily an awakening was in store for him, and it came through the sweetest and -most humanising of influences.</p> - -<p class="normal">Princetown throve apace; its promise was fulfilled, and twenty -thousand men found prosperous lodgment therein. The majority delved, the -minority traded, most of them throve. To be sure some were unfortunate, and some -idled and dissipated, but this must always be expected. New leads were -discovered, quartz reefs were opened, crushing machines were put up, streets -were formed, a fire brigade was established, a benevolent institute and a -lunatic asylum were founded. Not even a mushroom town in these new countries can -exist without something in the shape of a municipal council, and one was formed -in Princetown, over the elections for which there was prodigious excitement. -Churches and chapels, even a synagogue, were erected by voluntary contributions, -and there were churchyards in which already wanderers found rest. All the -important buildings were now of wood, and there was a talk of stone, the primal -honour of erecting which was presently to fall to John Jones, the enterprising -proprietor of the Only Beehive. The <i>Princetown Argus</i> shared in the -general prosperity. First a weekly, then a bi-weekly, then a tri-weekly, finally -a daily. First, two pages, the size of the <i>Globe</i>, then four pages ditto, -finally four pages, the size of the <i>Times</i>. Not a bad sample of enterprise -this. The Saturday edition was eight pages, to serve the purpose of a weekly as -well as a daily, and in it was published a novel, "to be continued in our next," -which the editor took from a London monthly magazine, and for which, in the -innocence of his heart, he paid nothing. Of course there was an opposition -journal, but the -<i>Princetown Argus</i> had taken the lead, and kept it in the face of all -newcomers. The shrewd editor and proprietor did one piece of business with a -more than usually obstinate rival which deserves to be recorded. He bought up an -opposition paper, the <i>Princetown Herald</i>, whose politics were the reverse -of those he advocated, and for a considerable time he ran the two papers on -their original lines, each attacking the other's principles and policy with -fierce zest and vigour. Thus he occupied both fields of public opinion, and -threw sops to all who took an interest in local and colonial politics. And here -a word in the shape of information which will surprise many readers. England is -overrun with newspapers; the United States is more than overrun, having nearly -three to our one; but in journalistic enterprise Australasia beats the record, -having, in proportion to population, more newspapers than any other country in -the world. An astonishing fact.</p> - -<p class="normal">Two circumstances must be mentioned which bear upon our story. -The first is that Basil's surname was not known; he called himself Basil, and -was so called. The second is that in the column of the <i>Princetown Argus</i> -in which births, marriages, and deaths were advertised, there was recorded the -birth and death of a baby, the child of the editor and his wife, born one day -and dying the next. This was the first birth and burial in Princetown. The child -left to them, the little girl of whom we have already spoken, whose name was -Edith, took the loss of her baby sister much to heart, and never a week passed -that she did not visit the churchyard and sit by the tiny grave.</p> - -<p class="normal">At the end of twelve months or so there came to Princetown a -preacher of extraordinary power. He was rough, he was uncultivated, he had not -been educated for the pulpit, but he could stir the masses and wake up sleeping -souls. He had a marvellous magnetism and tremendous earnestness, which silenced -the scoffer and made the sinner tremble; the consequence was that sinners and -scoffers went to hear him, and some few were made better by his denunciations. -There are souls which can be reached only through fear. Happily there are more -which can be reached through love.</p> - -<p class="normal">Amongst those who were drawn to listen to the preacher was -Basil, and being once present he did not miss a service. One Sabbath the -preacher took sluggishness for his theme which he denounced, in its physical and -moral attributes, as a sin, the consequences of which were not to be avoided. -Men were sent into the world to work, to fulfil duties, and to seek both -assiduously. It was not only sinful, it was cowardly, to put on the armour of -indolence and indifference, and to so intrench oneself was destructive of the -highest qualities of humanity, the exercise of which lifted men above the level -of the beasts of the field. To say, because one is unfortunate, "Oh, what is the -use of striving?" tends to rob life of nobility and heroism. To fight the battle -manfully to the last, to keep one's heart open to humanising influences, however -poor the return which proffered love and sympathy and charity may meet with, is -the work of a man and brings its reward. He has striven, he has proved himself, -he has established his claim to the higher life. To live only for the day, to be -indifferent to the morrow, is a quality by which animals without reason are -distinguished, and, to share with them in this respect is a cowardly and sinful -degradation. "If" (said the preacher) "there are any here who have fallen so -low, I say to them, Arouse yourselves; take down the shutters which darken heart -and soul; admit the light which purifies and sweetens. Be men, not brutes."</p> - -<p class="normal">This was the sum of his sermon. Few understood it, but they -did not perhaps value it the less highly on that account. To Basil it came as a -reproach; he quivered under the strokes and left the place of worship with a -beating heart, with tumultuous thoughts in his mind. Scarcely noting whither he -was going he walked towards the churchyard, and there in the distance, sitting -by a grave, he saw a child. It was Edith sitting by the grave of her baby -sister.</p> - -<p class="normal">The scene, the attitude, brought Annette's form to his mind. -So used she to sit by her mother's grave on the plantation, and he had -accompanied her and sat by her side. He looked about for flowers; there were -none near; but when he approached Edith he saw that she had some in her lap, and -was weaving them into a garland, as Annette had done in a time really not so -very long ago, but which seemed to belong to another life. She looked up at him, -and the tenderness of her gaze touched him deeply; instantly on her countenance -was reflected the sad wistfulness which dwelt on his. Children are peculiarly -receptive; they meet your smiles with smiles, your sadness with sadness. Edith -just shifted her little body, conveying in the slight movement an invitation to -Basil to sit beside her. He instantly took his place close to her, and they fell -naturally into conversation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is your name, little one?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Edith. Tell me yours. I like you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My name is Basil."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I like that, too. Here is a flower for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where did you gather them, Edith?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We have a garden. Father says it puts him in mind of home."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who is your father?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't you know? Everybody else does. He's the editor of the -<i>Princetown Argus</i>. You know that, don't you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. And you have a mother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes. She is very clever." Basil nodded. "Father says she -is the cleverest woman in the world. She can make clothes, she can cook, she -knows all about flowers, she can write paragraphs for the paper, and when they -are written she can print them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is a great deal for your mother to do. Does she really -help to print the newspaper?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not now. She did when we first came here. But father has a -great many gentlemen printers in the office, and they do all that. These are -English flowers. The seeds come all the way from England where I was born; but I -don't remember it because I was only a little baby when we came over in a great -big ship. I don't remember the ship either, but I know all about it because -mother has told me about the great storm, and how we were nearly wrecked, and -how the ship was battered to pieces almost."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The English flowers put your father in mind of home. That is -England?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, that is England. When we're very rich we're going back -there. Do you know where it is?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I come from England."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is nice. Like us. Are you going back?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why? Because you don't know?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is the reason, perhaps."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You see," said Edith, arranging some flowers on the grave in -the shape of a cross, "there are so many people there we love. Two grandfathers, -two grandmothers, and such a lot of cousins I've never seen. England must be -very, very beautiful. Father and mother call it home, and when I write I always -say, 'We are coming home one day.' We're going to have a fig-tree; father says -we shall sit under it." Basil smiled. "I like you to smile; you don't look so -unhappy then. What makes you unhappy? You mustn't be. You must go home with us -and see the people you love."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Suppose there are none, little Edith."</p> - -<p class="normal">She gazed at him solemnly. "Not even an angel?" she asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"An angel!" he exclaimed somewhat startled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, an angel. One was here once." She had completed the -cross of flowers, and she pointed to the grave. "Only for a little while, and -when we go home she is coming with us. She came from heaven to us just for one -night only; I was asleep and didn't see her; I was so sorry. Then they brought -her here, and she flew straight up to heaven. I can't go up there to give her -the English flowers, so I lay them here where she can see them, and when I come -again and the flowers are gone I know that she has taken them away and put them -in a jug of water--up there. Mother says flowers never die in heaven, so baby -sister must have a lot. I dream of her sometimes; I wish you could see her as I -do. There's a picture of a baby angel over my bed, and she is just like that. -Such beautiful large grey eyes--my eyes are grey--and shining wings. We love -each other dearly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope that will always be, little Edith."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, it will be. When you love once you love always; that is -what mother says, and she never says anything wrong. I wish you had an angel."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I had one once."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, then you have one now. Once means always. Was she a -little girl?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Like our angel. I am glad. Now you must come and see mother -and father." She rose and took his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They do not know me, Edith."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But <i>I</i> know you, and you know me. You must come."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I will come. May I take one flower from your cross?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">He selected one and kissed it, and they walked together side -by side. The preacher had said, "Take down the shutters which darken heart and -soul; admit the light which purifies and sweetens." It was done, and the light -was shining in Basil's heart. He clung to the little hand which was clasped in -his. In that good hour it was indeed a Divine link which re-united him once more -to what was best and noblest. The shadows were dying away. Dark days were before -him, strange experiences were to be his, but in the darkest day of the future a -star was always to shine. "Annette, Annette, Annette," he whispered. "I will -make an endeavour to see you. I will never again lose faith. A weight has gone -from my heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me kiss the flower where you kissed it," said Edith.</p> - -<p class="normal">He put it to her lips, and she kissed it, and raised her face -innocently. He stooped and kissed her lips.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think," said Edith contemplatively, "I like you better than -any one else except mother and father and baby angel."</p> - -<p class="normal">The office of the <i>Princetown Argus</i> was now an extensive -building all on one floor; architects had not yet reached higher flights. The -door from the street opened midway between two rooms, the one to the right being -that in which advertisements and orders for subscriptions were taken, the one to -the left being used for book-keeper, editor, and reporters indiscriminately. The -reporting staff did a great part of their work standing; there were only a desk -and a stool for the book-keeper, who assisted in the reading of proofs, and a -table and two chairs for the accommodation of the editor and sub-editor. -Adjoining these two rooms in the rear was the composing-room of the newspaper, -in the rear of that the jobbing-room, in the rear of that the press room. The -living apartments of the editor and his little family were quite at the end of -the building, and were really commodious--sitting-room, kitchen, and two -sleeping-rooms, one for little Edith, the other for her parents. In the -sitting-room there was a piano upon which every member of the family could play -with one finger, there were framed chromos on the walls, and sufficient -accommodation in the shape of chairs and tables. The mantelpiece was embellished -with an extensive array of photographs of grandfathers, grandmothers, uncles, -aunts, and cousins; and the floor was covered with red baize. Taking it -altogether it was an elegant abode for a new goldfield, and Edith's garden, upon -which the window of her bedroom looked out, imparted to it an air of refinement -and sweetness exceedingly pleasant to contemplate. When Edith, still holding -Basil's hand, passed through the business rooms and entered the sitting-room, -the happy editor and proprietor was alone, his wife being busy in the kitchen -getting dinner ready. Domestic servants were the rarest of birds in Princetown; -indeed there were none in the private establishments, for as soon as a girl or -woman made her appearance in the township there was a "rush" for her, and before -she had been there a week she had at least a dozen offers of marriage. A single -woman was worth her weight in gold--Princetown was a veritable paradise for -spinsters of any age, from fifteen to fifty. Small wonder that they turned up -their noses at domestic service, when by merely crooking their little finger -they could become their own mistress, picking and choosing from a host of -amorous gold diggers. Free and easy was the wedding; the eating and drinking, -the popping of corks, the drive through the principal streets, the -indiscriminate invitations to all, the dancing at night, with more popping of -corks and the cracking of revolvers in the open air to proclaim to the world -that an "event" of supreme importance was being celebrated--all tended to show -the value of woman as a marketable commodity. Two or three miles away, in a -gully upon a hill, was the canvas tent to which the bridegroom bore his bride an -hour or two this or that side of midnight, literally bore her often because of -the open shafts which dotted the road; and there the married life commenced. It -is a lame metaphor to say that woman ruled the roast; she ruled everything, and -was bowed down to and worshipped as woman never was before in the history of the -world.</p> - -<p class="normal">The editor looked up as his little daughter and Basil entered, -and Edith immediately took upon herself the office of mistress of the -ceremonies.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is Basil, father." The editor nodded. "He is going to -spend the whole day with us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is welcome," said the editor, who knew Basil by sight.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil smilingly explained that little Edith had taken entire -possession, and was responsible for his intrusion.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But you are not intruding," said the editor. "We shall be -very pleased of your company. Our hive is ruled by a positive Queen Bee, and -there she stands"--with an affectionate look at his daughter, who accepted her -title with amusing gravity--"so that we cannot exactly help ourselves."</p> - -<p class="normal">His tone was exceedingly cordial, and Basil, being heartily -welcomed by Edith's mother, soon made himself at home. The young man's manners -were very winning and afforded pleasure to Edith's parents, who had not, at -least on the goldfields, met with a guest of so much culture and refinement. -Regarding Basil as her special property, Edith pretty well monopolised his -attention in the intervals between meals, but sufficient of Basil's character -was revealed to the editor to set him thinking. He saw that he was entertaining -a gentleman and a man of attainments, and he felt how valuable such an assistant -would be on the editorial staff of his newspaper. The journalists in his employ -had sprung out of the rough elements of colonial life, and although they were -fairly capable men, they lacked the polish which Basil possessed. The result of -his reflections was that before the day was out he made Basil a business -proposition.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It occurs to me," said the shrewd fellow, "that you are not -exactly cut out for a digger's life."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am afraid you are right," said Basil, with a smile in which -a touch of sadness might be detected.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why not try something else?" asked the editor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is difficult to know what," replied Basil; "there are so -few things for which I am fitted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is one in which you would make your mark."</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I know what it is? I may differ from you; but it would be -a pleasant hearing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sub-editor of the <i>Princetown Argus</i>, for instance," -suggested the editor, coming straight to the point. He was not the kind of man -to take two bites at a cherry.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil looked him in the face; the proposition startled and -gratified him. "You rush at a conclusion somewhat hastily," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not at all. I know what I am talking about. You are cut out -for just that position."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have never done anything in the literary way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll take the risk," said the editor. "A man may go -floundering about all his life without falling into his proper groove. You are -not bound to any other engagement in Princetown?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To none. I am quite free."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you can commence at once?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you are serious."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was never more so. It might be agreeable to you to take up -your quarters with us. In two days I will have a sleeping apartment built for -you, adjoining our little bit of garden. You are a sociable man and a gentleman, -and we should be glad to have you at our table. From your conversation I should -say you have had a classical education. Am I right?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite right; but I am not a very bright scholar. You must not -expect great things."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I expect what you are able to supply; you haven't half enough -confidence in yourself. Why, if I had your advantages--but never mind, I haven't -done badly with my small stock of brains. We'll wake them up." He rubbed his -hands. "You will be a bit strange at first, but I'll put you in the way of -things. I look upon it as settled."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Would it not be prudent," said Basil, "for you to take a -little time for consideration?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not an hour; not a minute. Strike while the iron's hot. My -dear sir, this is a go-ahead country. Shake hands on the bargain."</p> - -<p class="normal">They shook hands upon it, and immediately afterwards the -editor regarded Basil with a thoughtful air, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"You puzzle me, you do not ask anything about terms."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am content to leave them to you. Wait till you see whether -I am worth anything."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, the risk is mine, as I have said. Will six pounds a week -and board and lodging suit you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is too much."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will be satisfied with it for the first month?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"More than satisfied."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is arranged, then. If we continue together you shall have -an advance at the end of the month, and I shall bind you down not to leave me -without a month's notice."</p> - -<p class="normal">"On my part, I will be so bound. You are free to discharge me -without notice."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be the same to both of us. As you are to commence -to-morrow you might think of a subject for a 'leader' in Tuesday's paper. By -Wednesday your bedroom will be ready, and you can live with us as long as you -are on the staff. We shall have reason to congratulate ourselves on the -arrangement we have made."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_26" href="#div1Ref_26">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Certainly neither Basil nor his employer had reason to be -otherwise. It led to important results in Basil's career, and in years to come -he often thought of the child, the chance meeting with whom in the churchyard -conducted him, by both straight and devious paths, to a goal which he had not -dared to hope he would ever reach. Between him and Edith loving links were soon -firmly forged which time was never to sever. This sweet and human bond was of -inestimable value to Basil; it raised him from the slough of despond into which -he had sunk; the hand of a little child lifted him to a man's height. He was -profoundly grateful; he had now a happy home, he had congenial work to do. The -doubts he had entertained of his fitness for the position were dispelled in a -very short time. He threw himself with ardour and animation into his new duties, -which he performed in a manner that more than justified the confidence reposed -in him. Nominally sub-editor, but really editor of the paper, he infused into -its columns a spirit of intelligence which made it more popular than ever. It -was talked of as an example of what a newspaper should be, and Basil's opinions -upon colonial matters were quoted in the more influential journals in the -colonies as those of a man of far-seeing judgment. A classical allusion now and -then added to the value of Basil's writings, and all Princetown was proud of him -because of the vicarious distinction conferred, through him, upon its -inhabitants. "A clever fellow that," said John Jones, of the Only Beehive, -appreciating Basil the more because of his own utter ignorance of the classics. -There was a talk of Basil's representing the division in the Legislative -Assembly, but he promptly set that aside by emphatically declaring that he had -no desire for public life or parliamentary honours. Thus six months passed by, -when a revelation was made to him which caused him to carry out a resolve -deplored by all Princetown.</p> - -<p class="normal">The official quarters of the township, where public business -was transacted, was known as the Government Camp. In this camp, which was laid -out upon the slope of a hill, were situated the Magistrate's Court, the -buildings in which the mounted troopers lodged, where the gold escort was made -up, where miners' disputes were adjusted, and where miners paid their yearly -sovereign for miners' rights, which gave lawful sanction to their delving for -the precious metal and appropriating the treasure they extracted from the soil. -There were swells in the Government Camp, members of good families in the old -country, for whom something in the shape of official employment had to be found. -It is pleasant to be able to record that there were few sinecures among these -employments, most of the holders having to do something in the shape of work for -their salaries. It was when Basil had served on the staff of the <i>Princetown -Argus</i> for a space of six months, and had saved during that period a matter -of two hundred pounds, that a new Goldfields' Warden made his appearance at the -Government Camp. The name of this gentleman was Majoribanks, and when we -presently part with him he will play no further part in our story; but it will -be seen that the small rôle he fills in it is sufficiently pregnant.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Majoribanks was "a new chum" in the colony. Arriving in -the capital with high credentials, the influence of his connections provided him -almost immediately with a berth to which a good salary, with pickings, was -attached. The position of Goldfields' Warden on Princetown was vacant, and he -was appointed to it. His special fitness for the office need not here be -discussed. Many members of good families in England, whose wild ways rendered -desirable their removal to another sphere, developed faculties in Australia -which elevated them into respectable members of society, which they certainly -would not have been had they remained in the old world, surrounded by -temptations. Mr. Majoribanks was not a bad fellow at bottom, and it was a -fortunate day for him and his family when they exchanged farewell greetings.</p> - -<p class="normal">There were not many gentlemen--in Mr. Majoribanks' -understanding of the term--in Princetown, and when the new Goldfields' Warden -came in contact with Basil, he recognised the superior metal in the hero of our -story. The casual acquaintance they formed ripened into intimacy, and they met -often in Mr. Majoribanks' quarters and passed many a pleasant hour together.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come and have a smoke this evening," said Mr. Majoribanks to -Basil one Saturday afternoon.</p> - -<p class="normal">Saturday was the only day in the week which Basil could call -his own, and he was glad of the invitation and accepted it. Mr. Majoribanks knew -Basil only, as others knew him, by the name of Basil and had not taken the -trouble to inquire whether it was a surname. So the two gentlemen sat in Mr. -Majoribanks' snug quarters on this particular Saturday, and discussed a dainty -little meal, cooked in capital style by the Goldfields' Warden's Chinese cook. -The meal finished, they adjourned to the verandah, and lit their cigars.</p> - -<p class="normal">They had much in common; they had travelled over familiar -country in Europe and they compared notes, recalling experiences of old times -which in their likeness to each other drew them closer together.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon my soul," remarked Mr. Majoribanks, "it is an -exceedingly pleasant thing to find one's self in the company of a gentleman. It -makes banishment endurable. Do you ever think of returning to England?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"One day, perhaps," replied Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope we shall meet there," said Mr. Majoribanks. "Is it -allowable to ask what brought you out to the goldfields?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I lost my fortune," said Basil, "and not knowing what to turn -my hand to came to Australia to make another."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it again allowable to ask whether you have succeeded?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have not succeeded."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you had been a bricklayer or a navvy in England you might -tell a different tale."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is not unlikely."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A gentleman stands but little chance here," observed Mr. -Majoribanks. "We are treated in the colonies to a complete reversal of the -proper order of things. I suppose in the course of time Australia will cut -itself away from the old country and become republic."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is certainly on the cards, but it will be a long time -before that occurs; there are so many different interests, you see."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A jumble of odd elements," said Mr. Majoribanks.</p> - -<p class="normal">"When there is a real Australian population," said Basil, "men -and women born and living here, with no reminiscences of what is now called -'home,' then the movement of absolute self-government will take serious form."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, well, I don't believe in the self-made man. I stick to -the old order."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Individual opinion will not change the current of natural -changes. It is not to be expected that this vast continent will be for ever -satisfied to remain a dependency of a kingdom so many thousands of miles away. -The talk about federation may satisfy for a time, but it is merely a sop in the -pan. By-and-by will come the larger question of a nation with an autonomous -constitution like the United States. Children cut themselves from their mother's -apron strings: so it will be with these colonies."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have made a study of such matters."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To some extent. My position on our local paper has sent me in -that direction."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You like your position?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Tolerably well. I cannot say I am wedded to it, but I must -not be ungrateful."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then the conversation drifted into channels more personal. Mr. -Majoribanks launched into a recital of certain experiences in England and the -Continent, and mourned the break in a career more congenial to him than that of -Goldfields' Warden in Princetown, which he declared to be confoundedly dull and -uninteresting. He missed his theatres, his club, his race meetings, his -fashionable society, and many a sigh escaped him as he dwelt upon these -fascinating themes. Then occurred a pause, and some sudden reminiscence, as yet -untouched, caused him to regard his companion with more than ordinary curiosity.</p> - -<p class="normal">"An odd idea strikes me," he said. "Have you a twin brother?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," replied Basil, smiling. "What makes you ask?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, of course that is not likely," said Mr. Majoribanks. "If -you had a twin brother his name would not be Basil. It is singular for all that. -But it is a most extraordinary likeness. A cousin of yours perhaps?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I haven't the slightest idea of your meaning. I have no -cousins that I am aware of."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has only just struck me. As I looked at you a moment ago I -saw the wonderful resemblance between you and a man I met in Paris. Basil is not -a very common name."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not very. Had the gentleman you met in Paris another tacked -to it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes," said Mr. Majoribanks. "Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whittingham!" exclaimed Basil, greatly startled.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil Whittingham--that is the gentleman's full name; and, by -the way, I was told, I remember, that he had been in Australia, gold-digging. It -is a curious story--but you seem excited."</p> - -<p class="normal">"With good cause," said Basil. "My name is Basil Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You don't say so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a fact."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, that makes it all the stranger." Basil rose and paced -the verandah in uncontrollable excitement. The full significance of this -extraordinary revelation did not immediately dawn upon him, and at present he -did not connect Newman Chaytor with it. Out of the chaos of thought which -stirred his mind he evoked nothing intelligible. Mr. Majoribanks' eyes followed -him as he paced to and fro, and fixed themselves frankly upon him when he paused -and faced him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Were you aware that my name is Whittingham?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon my honour, no," replied Mr. Majoribanks.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is some mystery here," said Basil, mastering his -excitement, "which it seems imperative should be solved. As you remarked, Basil -is not a common name; neither is Whittingham; and that the two should be -associated in the person of a man who bears so wonderful a resemblance to me -that you would have taken us to be twin brothers, makes it all the more -mysterious and inexplicable. You are not joking with me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I am a gentleman, I have told you nothing but the truth. -There are such things as coincidences, you know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes; but if this is one, it is the strangest I have ever -heard of."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has all the appearance of it," said Mr. Majoribanks, -thoughtfully. "Within my knowledge there are only two men bearing the name of -Whittingham--one, myself, the other an uncle in England, with whom, -unfortunately, I had some differences of opinion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah," said Mr. Majoribanks, "the coincidences continue. The -gentleman I refer to had an uncle of the name of Whittingham with whom he also -had some differences of opinion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"<i>Had</i> an uncle?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who is dead," said Mr. Majoribanks.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My uncle was a gentleman of fortune."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So was his."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was to have been his heir. I displeased him and he -disinherited me. That was really the reason why I left England for Australia."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Majoribanks fell back in his chair, and said, "You take my -breath away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why? Because that is the sum total of the story which I said -just now was so curious. Mr. Whittingham, there must be something more than -coincidence in all this."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oblige me a moment. Let me think."</p> - -<p class="normal">He turned his back upon Mr. Majoribanks, and steadied himself. -By a determined effort he subdued the chaos of thought by which he was agitated. -The form of Newman Chaytor rose before him. Was it possible that this man, in -whom he had placed implicit trust, who knew the whole story of his life, who had -deserted him and left him for dead without taking the trouble to assure himself -that his fall down the shaft was fatal--was it possible that this man had played -him false? It seemed scarcely credible, but what other construction was to be -placed upon the story which Mr. Majoribanks had revealed to him. He paused again -before his companion, and said in his most earnest tone:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Majoribanks, a vital issue hangs upon the information you -have given me. I am sure you will not trifle with me. You are a gentleman, and -your word is not to be doubted. Were you intimately acquainted with this double, -who bears my name, who so strangely resembles me, and whose story is so similar -to my own?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was no intimacy whatever," said Mr. Majoribanks. "I saw -him once, and once only, in Paris, and we passed an evening together. When I -parted from him--a party of us went to the Comédie Française that night to see -Bernhardt--I saw him no more. The way of it was this. It being resolved in -solemn family council that I was to retrieve my battered fortunes in the Sahara, -I paid a last visit to dear delightful Paris to bid it a long adieu. A friend -accompanied me, and a friend of his to whom he was under an obligation--to speak -plainly, a money-lender--happening to be in Paris at the same time, we chummed -together. We dined at the Grand, and there, at another table, sat your -prototype. Our money-lending friend, who knows everything and everybody, pointed -him out to us, and told us his story. His name was Basil Whittingham; he had -been in Australia, gold-digging; he had a wealthy uncle of the same surname whom -he had offended, and who had driven him out of his native land, with an -intimation that he was to consider himself disinherited. Upon his death-bed, -however, the old gentleman's hard heart softened, and he made a will by which -the discarded nephew was restored to his good graces, and became heir to all he -possessed. The fortune which fell to your lucky double was not in land and -houses; it was in something better, hard cash, and it amounted, so far as I can -recollect, to not less than between fifty and sixty thousand pounds. Whereupon -the lucky heir winged his way homeward, by which time his uncle had joined the -majority, and took possession of his windfall. Our money-lending friend had some -slight acquaintance with the heir, and we were introduced. It was a night I had -occasion to remember, quite apart from any connection you may have with the -story. Do you adhere to it that it resembles yours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Up to the day upon which I left England it agrees with it -entirely. As to what subsequently occurred I knew nothing until this moment."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, all that I can say--without understanding in the least, -mind you, how it could have come about--is, that I would look into it, if I were -in your place."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be looked into. Do you remember if the uncle's -christian name was mentioned?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot quite say. Refresh my memory; it may have been."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bartholomew."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Upon my word, now you mention it, I think Bartholomew was -mentioned. Another uncommon name."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have occasion to remember that night, you said, apart -from me. May I inquire in what way?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, when we left the theatre, we adjourned to a private -room in the Grand, and there we had a little flutter. Baccarat was the game, and -I was cleaned out. Upon my honour, I think I was the most unfortunate beggar -under the sun. I give you my word that I hadn't enough left to pay my hotel -bill, which was the last legacy I left my honoured father."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your money-lending friend won the money, I suppose?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He won a bit, but the spoil fell principally to an elderly -gentleman of the name of--of--of--now what <i>was</i> the fellow's name? It -wasn't English, nor was he an Englishman. Ah. I have it. Bidaud--yes, Bidaud."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil's face turned white; there was no longer room for doubt -that foul treachery had been done. It was Newman Chaytor who had plotted and -planned for his destruction. This he might have borne, and the white heat of his -anger might have grown cold with time. But Anthony Bidaud's introduction into -the bad scheme included also Annette, a possible victim in the treachery. That -she should become the prey of these villains, and that he should allow her life -to be ruined, her happiness to be blasted, without an effort to save her, was -not to be thought of. The scales fell from his eyes, and he saw Newman Chaytor -in his true light. By what crooked paths the end had been reached he could not, -in the excitement of the moment, determine. That would have to be thought out -presently; meanwhile his resolution was taken. To remain inactive would be the -work of a coward.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know the name of Bidaud?" said Mr. Majoribanks.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know it well," said Basil. "Did this M. Bidaud accompany -you to the theatre on that night?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He did."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alone?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Alone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He and this namesake of mine were companions, I take it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Something more than companions, to all appearances. Close -friends rather."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did they appear to be on good terms with each other?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"On the best of terms."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hope," said Basil, "you will excuse me for questioning you -so closely, but this is a matter that very deeply affects me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear fellow," said Mr. Majoribanks, "you are heartily -welcome to every scrap of information I can give that will throw light upon this -most mysterious piece of business. It is altogether the strangest thing I ever -heard. I'll not ask you who the other fellow is, but I have a faint idea that he -must be the most unmitigated scoundrel on the face of the earth. Tell me as much -or as little as you please, and in the meantime fire away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My namesake was dining at the Grand Hotel when you first saw -him. Was M. Bidaud in his company?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He was; they were dining together at a separate table."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Were any ladies with them?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll not pledge myself. So far as I can recollect, there was -no one else at the table."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did you hear talk of any ladies of their acquaintance?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think not. Stop, though. I fancy there was an allusion to a -pretty niece."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Annette lives," thought Basil, and said aloud, "An allusion -made by M. Bidaud to my namesake?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I think so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who suggested the adjournment to a private room after the -theatre?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The invitation was given by M. Bidaud, and we accepted it. I -was always ready for that kind of thing--too ready, my people say. So off we -went, and played till daylight, with the aforesaid result."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Were M. Bidaud and my namesake living permanently in Paris?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I fancy not; something was said of their travelling about for -pleasure."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One more question," said Basil, "and I have done. There was -an allusion to a pretty niece. Are you aware whether the young lady was -travelling with her uncle?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not, and I do not remember what the allusion was. I -think I have completely emptied my budget."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thank you sincerely; you have rendered me an inestimable -service. I have no wish to have my affairs talked about, and you will add to the -obligation if you will consider this conversation confidential."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Certainly, my dear fellow, as you desire it. It is entirely -between ourselves."</p> - -<p class="normal">They parted shortly afterwards, and Basil, plunged in thought, -returned to the township. The first step he took was to consult the file of the <i> -Princetown Argus</i> for a record of the accident in which he had so nearly lost -his life. He had heard that its earliest numbers contained accounts of his -discovery and rescue, but he had not hitherto had the curiosity to hunt them up -and read them. It was now imperative that he should make himself acquainted with -every particular of the affair. He found without difficulty what he sought, and -as he read through the reports of his condition which were published from day to -day he dwelt upon portions which a year ago he would have considered monstrous -inventions or exaggerations. Thus: "There is a certain element of mystery in the -affair, and we shall briefly allude to one or two points which seem to have a -bearing upon it." Again: "Inferring that there were two men working the shaft, -is it possible, when the accident occurred, that the man at the top of the shaft -made tracks from the place and left his mate to a cruel and lingering death?" -The inference here sought to be established was not to be mistaken--to wit, that -Newman Chaytor had purposely left him to a cruel and lingering death. And still -more significant: "An opinion has been expressed that the rope has been tampered -with, and that it did not break from natural wear and tear." Given that the -peril into which he had been plunged was the result of design, there was more -than a seeming confirmation of the opinion that the rope had been tampered with. -Basil, being now engaged upon a full consideration of the circumstances, -remembered that the rope to all appearance was perfectly sound. That being so, -it was Chaytor's deliberate intention to murder him by weakening the strands. -When suspicion enters the mind of a man who has trusted and been deceived, it is -hard to dislodge it; small incidents and spoken words to which no importance was -attached at the time they were uttered, present themselves and gather force -until they assume a dark significance. When Basil laid aside the file of -newspapers he had arrived at the conclusion that Chaytor had deliberately -schemed for the fatal end which had been averted by the merest accident. Old -Corrie's warnings and distrust of Chaytor came to his mind. "Corrie was right," -thought Basil; "he read this man better than I did."</p> - -<p class="normal">But clear as Chaytor's villainy had appeared to be, there was -much that Basil was unable to comprehend. In what way had Chaytor discovered -that Basil's uncle had repented of his determination to disinherit his nephew? -How and by what means had it come to the villain's knowledge? Upon these and -other matters Basil had yet to be enlightened.</p> - -<p class="normal">He continued his mental search. Chaytor, returning to England, -had succeeded in obtaining possession of his inheritance; and--what was of still -greater weight to Basil--he had succeeded in introducing himself to Anthony -Bidaud as the man he represented himself to be. "There was an allusion to a -pretty niece." Then Chaytor was with Annette, playing Basil's part. Was it -likely that Annette would be deceived. Years had passed since they had met, and -the woman might have reason to doubt her childhood's memories. A cunning -plausible villain this Newman Chaytor. Successful in imposing upon Annette, in -wooing and perhaps winning her--Basil groaned at the thought--what a future was -before her! There was a clear duty before him. To go to England with as little -delay as possible, and unmask the plot.</p> - -<p class="normal">That night he counted the money he had saved; it amounted to -two hundred and thirty pounds. He could land in the old country with a hundred -and fifty pounds. He consulted the exchange newspapers sent to the office. In -seventeen days a steamer would start from Sydney for England. By that vessel he -would take his departure.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_27" href="#div1Ref_27">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The next morning Basil said to the editor, "I fear I am about -to inflict a disappointment upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wants a rise of salary," thought the editor. "All right; he -shall have it." Aloud he said, "Go ahead."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish you to release me from a promise."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What promise?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"When we made the engagement it was understood that I should -not leave you without a month's notice."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That was so," said the editor drily; and thought, "He's going -to put the screw upon me that way. I am ready for him; I'll give him all he -asks."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish to leave without notice." The editor was silent, and -Basil continued: "I am under great obligations to you; I have been very happy in -your service, and I have done my best to please you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have pleased me thoroughly; I hope I have said nothing to -give you a different impression."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed you have not; no man could have acted fairer by me -than you have done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Soft soap," thought the editor. "Have I been mistaken in -him?" Aloud: "Well, then, I am sure you will act fairly by me. I cannot release -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must; indeed you must. It is an imperative necessity."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can't see it. Look here. Are you going to start an -opposition paper?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have no intention of doing so. That would be a bad return."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would. Some other fellow, then, is going to start an -opposition, and has made you a tempting offer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are wrong. It is upon purely personal grounds that I -shall have to leave. I am going home."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Home! To England?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To England; and there is vital need for dispatch."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hallo!" thought the editor, "he has come into property. I -knew he was highly connected." Aloud: "Now don't you be foolish. I am an older -man than you, and therefore, on the face of it, a better judge of things. I -don't expect a rise of salary would tempt you to remain."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not if I doubled what you are getting?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not if you were to multiply it by ten."</p> - -<p class="normal">The editor considered before he spoke again. "Come, here's an -offer for you. I will take you into partnership. You see the value I place upon -your services. I'm dealing fair and square."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You offer me more than I deserve, more than I accept. Nothing -can tempt me to remain. I must leave Princetown; I must leave the colony. I am -called home suddenly and imperatively. You have been a good friend to me; -continue so, I beg, and release me at once. You talk of going home some day -yourself. If all goes well with me we may meet in the old land and renew our -friendship. You know me well enough, I trust, to be convinced that I would not -desire to leave you so abruptly without some strong necessity. If you compel me -to remain----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! you admit that I can compel you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"The obligation is binding upon me, and if you insist upon my -giving you a month's notice it must be done, in honour. I cannot break my word."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There speaks the gentleman," thought the editor, and gazed -with admiration at the pleader. "But you will be doing me," continued Basil, "an -injury that may be irreparable. The delay may ruin my life, and the life of -another very dear to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am a dunderhead," thought the editor. "There's a young lady -mixed up in this." Aloud: "I should be sorry to do that; put you see the fix you -place me in."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It grieves me. I beg you to give me back my word."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It comes so sudden. Why did you not tell me before?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because I knew of nothing that called for my hasty departure -until last night."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is something more than a business aspect of it. We have -grown fond of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have grown fond of you and yours. I shall think of you with -affection."</p> - -<p class="normal">The editor was softened. "I will think it over, and let you -know in the course of the day."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is only reasonable," said Basil, "that you should have -time for consideration."</p> - -<p class="normal">The subject was dropped. The editor consulted his wife, who -was genuinely sorry at the prospect of losing Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I looked upon him as one of the family," she said, "and it -will almost break Edith's heart to part with him." Then, with a woman's shrewd -wit, she added, "Let us try what Edith can do to persuade him out of his -resolution."</p> - -<p class="normal">Away went Edith half an hour afterwards to seek Basil and -argue with him. She found him in the churchyard, standing by the grave of the -baby angel.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mother says you are going away," said the child.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my dear," said Basil. "I am very, very sorry."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh! how I shall miss you," said Edith, the tears springing to -her eyes. "Won't you stay if I ask you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I cannot, dear child. Dry your eyes. We shall meet again -by-and-by."</p> - -<p class="normal">She put her handkerchief to her eyes but her tears flowed -fast, and she sat by the grave and sobbed as if her heart was breaking.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen to me, Edith," said Basil, sitting beside her and -taking her hand. "If baby angel was a long, long way from here, and was in -trouble and cried for you to come to her, would you not go to help her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I would, I would; and they would take me to her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am sure they would, for you have good parents my dear. You -told me when I first met you here that I had an angel, and that you were glad. -Edith, my dear, my angel is calling to me to come and help her in her trouble. -Would it not be very wrong for me to say, 'No, I will not come; I do not care -for your trouble?'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It would be wicked."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, dear, it would be wicked, and I should not deserve your -love if I acted so. When I first saw her she was a little girl like you; you -reminded me of her, and I loved you because of that, and loved you better -afterwards because of yourself. I shall always love you, Edith; I shall never, -never forget you."</p> - -<p class="normal">She threw her arms round his neck and lay in his embrace, -sobbing more quietly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can do something for me, Edith, that will fix you in my -heart for ever."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can I? Tell me, and I will do it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go to your father and say, 'You must let Basil go, father. -His angel is calling for him, and it will be wicked if he does not go quickly.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"But that will be sending you away from me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know it will, my dear; but it will be doing what is right. -If I remain I shall be very, very unhappy. You would not like me to be that?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no; I want you to be happy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Make me so, dear child, by doing as I bid you; and one day -perhaps you will see my angel, and she shall love you as I do."</p> - -<p class="normal">So by artfully affectionate paths he led her to his wish, and -they went back hand in hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well," said the editor to Basil, later in the day, "you must -have your way. The little plot we laid has failed, and Edith says you must go. -You are a good fellow, and have served me well."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I sincerely thank you. If I apply to you for a character you -will give me one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed I will; the best that man could have. But there are -conditions to my consent. You must stop till Thursday."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will do that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you must act as 'Our Special Correspondent' at home. A -letter once a month."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I promise you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have not beaten me entirely, you see," said the editor -good humouredly, "I shall get something out of you. I am pleased we shall part -good friends."</p> - -<p class="normal">They shook hands, and passed a pleasant evening together. The -editor had a motive in stipulating that Basil should remain till Thursday. He -was not going to let such a man leave Princetown without some public recognition -of his merits; and on the following day Basil received an invitation to dine -with the townsmen at the principal hotel on the night before his departure. He -gratefully accepted it; he had worked honestly, and had won his way into the -esteem of the inhabitants of the thriving township.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a famous gathering, and there was not room for all who -applied for tickets. John Jones, of the Only Beehive, took the chair. On his -right sat Basil, on his left, Mr. Majoribanks. The Government Camp was worthily -represented; all the large storekeepers were present, and several of the most -prosperous miners. It was a gala night; the exterior of the hotel was gay with -flags of all nations, and the editor's wife and Edith had stripped their garden -of flowers to decorate the table. The Governor of the colony could scarcely have -been more honoured.</p> - -<p class="normal">Of course there were speeches, and of course they were -reported in the -<i>Princetown Argus</i> the next morning. Basil's health was proposed by John -Jones in magniloquent terms, which were cheered to the echo; had Basil's -thoughts not been elsewhere, even in the midst of this festivity, he would have -been greatly amused at the catalogue of virtues with which he was credited by -the chairman, but as it was he could not help being touched by the evident -sincerity of the compliments which were showered upon him. Princetown, said John -Jones, owed Basil a debt which it could never repay. He had elevated public -taste, and had conferred distinction upon the township by his rare literary -gifts. Great was their loss at his departure but they had the gratification of -believing that he would ever look back with affection upon the time he had spent -in "our flourishing township." And they had the further gratification of knowing -that they had a champion in the great world to which he was returning, and which -he would adorn with his gifts. Before resuming his seat it was his proud task to -give effect to one of the pleasantest incidents in this distinguished gathering. -The moment it was known that Basil was about to leave them a movement was set -afoot to present him with some token of their regard. In the name of the -subscribers, whose names were duly set forth in the illuminated scroll which -accompanied the testimonial, he begged to present to the guest of the evening "a -gold keyless lever watch, half-quarter repeater, dome half hunting case, -three-quarter plate movement, best double roller escapement, compensated and -adjusted, and with all the latest improvements." John Jones rolled out this -elaborate description as though each item in it were a delicious morsel which -could not be dwelt upon too long. Engraved upon the case was a record of the -presentation, which the orator read amid cheers, and attached to the watch was a -gold chain, with another long description, of which John Jones took care not to -miss a single word. Then came the peroration, in which the chairman excelled -himself, its conclusion being, "I call upon you now to drink, with three times -three, health and prosperity to our honoured guest, a gentleman, scholar, and -good fellow." He led a hip, hip, hip, hurrah--hoorah--hoorah! And a little one -in (the giant of the lot), "Hoo-o-o-o-rah-h-h-h!" Then they sang, "For he's a -jolly good fellow," in which they were joined by all the gold-diggers at the bar -and in the High Street outside. John Jones sat down beaming, and gazing around -with broad smiles, wiped his heated forehead, and whispered to himself, "Bravo, -John Jones! Let them beat that if they can!" The presentation of the watch was a -surprise to Basil; the secret had been well kept, and the generous-hearted -donors were rewarded by the short speech which Basil made in response. It was -eloquent and full of feeling, and when he had finished the cheers were renewed -again and again. The watch and chain were really a handsome gift, and before -Basil put them on they were passed round for general inspection. Then a -sentimental song was sung, followed by another toast. (The story-teller must not -omit to mention that the first proposed were loyal toasts, which were received -with the greatest enthusiasm.) Other toasts and other songs followed, the health -of everybody who was anybody being proposed and drunk with acclaim. One of the -most effective speeches of the evening was made by the editor of the Princetown -Ares, in response to the toast of "The Press." He paid full tribute to Basil, -and said: "He is about to leave us, but we shall not lose him entirely. I take -the greatest pride in announcing that he has accepted the post of special -European correspondent to the <i>Princetown Argus</i>, and we shall look out -eagerly for the polished periods in which he will describe the great events of -the old world. We send a herald forth to represent us, and the mother country -has reason to congratulate herself that our choice has fallen upon such a -gentleman as our guest," &c., &c. It would occupy too many pages to give a full -report of the proceedings. Those who are curious in such matters cannot do -better than consult the columns of the next morning's issue of the <i>Princetown -Argus</i>, in which the speeches were fully reported, with a complete list of -the names of those present on the notable occasion. The party did not break up -until the small hours, and it is to be feared that some of the jolly fellows, -when they sang "Auld Lang Syne," were rather unsteady on their legs. Whether the -occasion furnished any excuse for this sad lapse the present chronicler will not -venture to say. To judge from John Jones, who was not the least of the -offenders, they were little the worse for it, for he was attending to his Only -Beehive, early the following morning as fresh as a lark. But then John Jones was -an exceptional being.</p> - -<p class="normal">The hardest parting was with Edith. The child gave Basil a -bunch of flowers and her favourite doll. To refuse the doll would have caused -the little maid fresh sorrow, so Basil accepted the token of affection, and -subsequently, before he left Sydney, sent Edith another, with which she fell -violently in Jove, and christened it Basil, though it was of the female sex.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-bye, my dear," said Basil, "and God bless you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Edith's voice was choked with tears, and she could only gaze -mournfully at the friend who had supplied her with loving memories.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Speed you well," said the editor; "hope we shall meet again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good luck, mate!" was the farewell greeting of a number of -friends; Basil did not know until now that he had so many. He waved his hand to -them, and was gone. But he had not travelled two miles before he heard the sound -of a horse's hoofs galloping after him. He turned and saw Mr. Majoribanks.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It just occurred to me," said the Goldfields' Warden, "that -the name of the money-lender I met in Paris, through whom I became acquainted -with your namesake, might be useful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is very thoughtful of you," said Basil, "it ought to have -occurred to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know no more about him than I have already told you," said -Mr. Majoribanks, "and I am not acquainted with his address, but I believe he -lives in London. His name real or assumed--for some of his fraternity trade -under false names--is Edward Kettlewell."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you," said Basil; "I shall remember it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Majoribanks kept with him for another mile, and then -galloped back to the township. The steamer in which Basil took his passage home -started punctually to the hour, and bore Basil from the land in which he had met -with so many sweet and bitter experiences; on the forty-fifth day from that of -his departure he set foot once more in England.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_28" href="#div1Ref_28">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">For cogent reasons Basil had travelled home third-class. It -economised his funds--of which he felt the necessity--and it enabled him the -better to carry out his wish of not making friends on board. The task upon which -he was engaged rendered it advisable that as little curiosity as possible should -be aroused respecting himself and his personal history. That he should have to -work to some extent in secresy was not congenial to his nature, but by so doing -he would have a better chance of success. Until he came face to face with Newman -Chaytor it was as well that his operations should be so conducted as not to put -his treacherous comrade on his guard.</p> - -<p class="normal">He had ample time on board ship to review the events of the -past few years, and although he found himself wandering through labyrinths of -extreme perplexity as to the doings of Newman Chaytor, the conclusion was forced -upon him that his false friend had practised towards him a systematic course of -treachery and deceit. He had read accounts of men returning home from distant -lands for the express purpose of personating others to whom they bore some close -personal resemblance, and one famous case presented itself in which such a plot -was only exposed by the wonderful skill of the agents employed to frustrate it. -There, as in his own case, a large fortune hung upon the issue, but Newman -Chaytor had been more successful than the impostor who had schemed to step into -the enjoyment of a great estate. Chaytor had obtained possession of the fortune, -and was now enjoying the fruits of his nefarious plot. But Basil's information -was so imperfect that he was necessarily completely in the dark as to the -precise means by which Newman Chaytor had brought his scheming to this -successful stage. He knew nothing whatever of the correspondence which Chaytor -had carried on with his uncle and Annette. Determined as he was to spare no -efforts to unmask the villain, such a knowledge would have spurred him on with -indignant fierceness. To recover his fortune, if it were possible to do so, was -the lesser incentive; far more important was it, in his estimation, that Annette -should be saved from the snare which had been prepared for her.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was with strange sensations that he walked once more -through familiar thoroughfares, and noted that nothing was changed but himself. -Since last he trod them he had learnt some of life's saddest lessons; but hope, -and faith, and love remained to keep his spirit young. It was no light matter -that he had been awakened from the dull lethargy of life into which he had -fallen in the earlier days of Princetown; that his faith in human nature had -been restored; that he had won affection and esteem from strangers who even now, -though the broad seas divided them, had none but kindly thoughts of him. Foul as -was the plot of which he was the victim, he had cause to be deeply grateful.</p> - -<p class="normal">He took lodgings on the Lambeth side of Westminster Bridge, -two modest rooms, for which he paid seven shillings a week; food would cost him -little; his modest resources must be carefully husbanded, and he would be -contented with the humblest fare. His task might take long in the -accomplishment, and to find himself stranded in the City of Unrest would be -fatal. His experiences had been so far valuable that they assisted him to a more -comprehensive view of the circumstances of life. When he was in England he had -thought little of the morrow. Now it had to be reckoned with.</p> - -<p class="normal">In considering how he should set about his task, he had -decided that it would be advisable to call in professional assistance. He had -not arrived at this decision without long deliberation. He detested the means, -but repugnant as the course was to him he felt that they were justifiable. -Singularly enough he had, without being aware of it, taken lodgings in a house, -the master of which belonged to the class he intended to call to his aid. He -arrived at this knowledge on the second day of his tenancy. Children always -attracted him, and his landlady had four, all of them boys, with puffy cheeks -and chubby limbs. Their ages were three, five, seven, and nine, a piece of -information given to him by their mother as he issued from the house on the -second morning, and stood by her side a moment watching their antics. The word -is not exactly correct, for their pastime was singularly grave and composed. The -eldest boy wielded a policeman's truncheon, and his three brothers, standing in -a line, were obeying the word of command to march, a few steps this way, a few -steps that, to halt, and finally to separate and take up positions in distant -doorways, from which they looked severely at the passers-by.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Bless their hearts!" said the proud mother. "They're playing -policemen."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They seem to know all about it," remarked Basil "They ought -to," responded the mother. "It was born in them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is your husband a policeman?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He was, sir," replied the mother; "but he has retired from -the force, and belongs now to a private inquiry."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil thought of this as he walked away, after patting the -children on the head, who did not know exactly whether to be gratified at the -mark of attention, or to straightway take the stranger into custody. He had not -seen his landlord yet, and it had happened, when he engaged the rooms from the -woman, that, with the usual carelessness of persons in her station of life, she -had not asked her new lodger's name, being perfectly satisfied of his -respectability by his paying her a fortnight's rent in advance, and informing -her that he would continue to do so as long as he remained in the house. Basil -was afraid, if he went to a regularly established private office, that the fees -demanded would be higher than his slender resources warranted, and bent as he -was upon economising, he saw here a possible opportunity of obtaining the -assistance he needed at a reduced rate. Therefore on the evening of this day he -tapped at the door of the sitting-room, in which his landlord was playing a game -of "old maid" with three of his children, and intimated his desire for a little -chat with the man after the youngsters had gone to bed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"On business," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No time like the present, sir," said the landlord, who saw -"with half an eye," as he subsequently expressed himself, that his tenant was a -gentleman: "I'll come up to your room at once, unless you prefer to talk here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We shall be more private up-stairs," said Basil, and -up-stairs they went to discuss the business.</p> - -<p class="normal">As a preliminary the landlord handed Basil a card, with "Mr. -Philpott," printed on it, and in a corner, "Private Inquiry," to which was added -the address of the house in which they were sitting.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you carry on your business here, then?" inquired Basil. -"Partly, sir," replied Mr. Philpott. "I am engaged at an office in Surrey -Street, but it is seldom that my time is fully occupied there, and as I am not -on full pay I stipulate that I shall be free to undertake any little bit of -business that may fall into my hands in a private way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That may suit me," said Basil. "To be frank with you, I was -looking out for some one who would do what I want at a reasonable rate; I am not -overburdened with funds, but I can afford to pay moderate fees. Will that meet -your views?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir. If you will tell me what you want done I will let -you know about how much it will cost."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil paused before he commenced; he was dealing with a -stranger, and he did not wish to disclose his name.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What passes between us is in confidence, Mr. Philpott?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Altogether in confidence, sir. That is one of the rules of -our profession. Whether anything comes of it or not, I shall say nothing of my -client to a third party, unless you instruct me otherwise."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are sometimes consulted by people who desire to conceal -their names?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, but they are not generally so frank as you are. You -would rather not tell me your name?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is my desire, if it will make no difference."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not an atom of difference. Say Mr. Smith."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am obliged to you. I need not, then, disclose my own -particular interest in the matter."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not at all, if it will not hamper me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't see how it will hamper you in the least. Shall I pay -you a modest retainer? Will a guinea do?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A guinea will do, sir. Thank you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You had better take notes of what I say, Mr. Philpott." The -private inquiry agent produced his pocket-book. "Write down first the names I -give you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpot took down the names and addresses of Mr. -Bartholomew Whittingham and of the lawyers in London who transacted that -gentleman's affairs when Basil was last in England; also the name of Mr. Basil -Whittingham.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Any address to this name, sir?" asked Mr. Philpott.</p> - -<p class="normal">"None. Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham is, or was--for I -understand he is dead--a gentleman of considerable fortune; Mr. Basil -Whittingham is his nephew; the lawyers whose names I have given you transacted -the old gentleman's business for many years, but I am not aware whether they -have continued to do so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is easily ascertained."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had neither wife nor children, -and some years since it was his intention to leave all his property to his -nephew. The young man, however, offended his uncle, and the old gentleman -thereupon informed his nephew that he had destroyed the will he had made in his -favour, and that Mr. Basil Whittingham might consider himself disinherited. Do -you understand it thus far?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is perfectly clear, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The relations between the uncle and his nephew were -completely broken off. Mr. Basil Whittingham--who had some private fortune of -his own, but had got rid of it--being disappointed in his expectations, left -England for Australia, where he resided for a considerable time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For how many years shall we say, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Five or six. When he was near his end the uncle relented of -his decision, and made another will--I am supposing that he really destroyed the -first, which may or may not have been the case--by which his original intention -was carried out, and his nephew was constituted sole heir to the property."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good."</p> - -<p class="normal">"This property, I believe, was not in real estate, but in cash -and securities which were easily convertible. The knowledge of his kindness -reached the nephew's ears in Australia, and he returned home and took possession -of the fortune."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very natural."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish these details to be verified, or otherwise, Mr. -Philpott."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I undertake to do so, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish also to ascertain where Mr. Basil Whittingham is now -residing."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can you give a clue, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A very slight one, I am afraid. The last I heard of the -nephew was that about eighteen months ago he was in Paris, in the company of a -Mr. Edward Kettlewell, a money-lender, whose offices are, or were, in London. I -am under the impression that Mr. Basil Whittingham and Mr. Kettlewell may have -had some business transactions with each other. If so, it should not be -difficult to trace Mr. Basil Whittingham through Mr. Kettlewell."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It may I be more difficult than you imagine," said Mr. -Philpott. "These money-lenders are difficult persons to deal with. They are as -jealous of their clients as a cat of her kittens. 'Hands off,' they cry; 'this -is my bird.' Hold hard a minute, sir. I have this year's 'London Directory,' -downstairs."</p> - -<p class="normal">He left the room, and returned bearing the bulky volume, which -he proceeded to consult. No Mr. Edward Kettlewell, money-lender or financial -agent, was to be found in its pages. There were plenty of Kettlewells, and a few -Edwards among them but not one who dealt in money.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still," said Mr. Philpott, "it may be one of these. He may -have retired, he may have left the country, he may be dead. I will look through -the directories for a few years past, and we will see if we can find him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My information concerning him," said Basil, "is not very -exact, and may after all be incorrect; but with or without his assistance it is -most important that the address of Mr. Basil Whittingham should be ascertained."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will do my best, sir; no man can do more."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is another matter, of which I must beg you not to lose -sight. Shortly after Mr. Basil Whittingham arrived in Australia he came in -contact with a gentleman, M. Anthony Bidaud, who owned a plantation in -Queensland. This gentleman had a daughter, quite a child then, whose name is -Annette. M. Anthony Bidaud died suddenly, and left no will. On the morning of -his death a brother and sister--the brother's name, Gilbert--presented -themselves at the plantation, and the brother administered the estate, and -assumed the guardianship of his niece. The plantation was sold, and the little -girl, with her uncle and aunt, came to Europe. Between the child and Mr. Basil -Whittingham there existed a bond of affection, and since his return to England -he has succeeded--so my information goes--in establishing friendly relations -with M. Gilbert Bidaud. If you are fortunate enough to trace Mr. Basil -Whittingham, my impression is that the knowledge will lead you straight to M. -Gilbert Bidaud and his sister and niece, to discover whom I consider of far -greater importance than the young man. Now, Mr. Philpott, if you have grasped -the situation, are you prepared to set to work?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not lose a day, sir; I commence my inquiries -to-morrow; and as you inform me that you are not exactly rich it may be -convenient if I present a weekly account, including all charges to date, so that -you may know how you stand as to expenses. Then you can go on or stop at your -pleasure."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will be the best plan," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpott was very much puzzled that night when he thought -over the commission entrusted to him. "He says nothing of himself," thought the -private inquiry agent, "nor of the particular interest he has in the matter--a -very particular interest, for I never saw any one more in earnest than he is. -His voice absolutely trembled when he spoke of the uncle and Mdlle. Annette. Now -that would not happen if he were acting as an agent for another person. What is -the conclusion, then? That he is acting for himself. Does this Mr. Basil -Whittingham owe him money? Perhaps. And yet it does not strike me as an affair -of that kind. Well, at all events, he has acted openly and straightforwardly -with me so far as he and I are concerned. It is not often a client tells you -that he is living under an assumed name. I must ask the wife if his shirts and -handkerchiefs are marked." His curiosity, however, was destined not to be -appeased; his wife told him that Basil's clothing bore no initials--which, -according to Mr. Philpott's way of thinking, betokened extreme caution, and -whetted his curiosity. He did not, however, allow this to interfere with the -zealous exercise of his duties. Proceeding step by step he presented his weekly -reports to Basil. In the course of a short time Basil's worst suspicions were -confirmed. Newman Chaytor had come home and, representing himself to be Basil -Whittingham, had experienced no difficulty in establishing his position and -administering his uncle's estate. This done, he had disappeared, and Mr. -Philpott was unsuccessful in tracing him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But," said Basil, "would not a man, arriving from a country -so distant as Australia, in such circumstances have to prove his identity?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpott opened his eyes at this question; to use his own -term, he "smelt a rat."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Certainly he would," replied Mr. Philpott. "But that was -simple enough in Mr. Basil Whittingham's case. He had been in correspondence -with his uncle for some time previous to his departure from Australia."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you tell me?" cried Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is an established fact," said Mr. Philpott, expressing no -surprise; but Basil's tone no less than his words, opened his eyes still -further. "A few days before Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham's death he wrote to his -nephew in Australia, announcing his change of intention. This letter was -forwarded to Mr. Basil by his uncle's lawyers, who, as you now know, are not the -same he employed in former years."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil Whittingham," said Basil, unable to repress his -excitement, "received these letters in Australia?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Undoubtedly. He brought them home with him, and others also -which he had previously received from his uncle's lawyers."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was a regular correspondence with them, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, extending over a considerable time."</p> - -<p class="normal">This was a fresh and startling revelation to Basil. Newman -Chaytor had not only personated him in England, but had personated him at a -distance, receiving letters intended for him and forging letters in reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He robbed me of my papers," groaned Basil inly, "and obtained -possession of the means to prove him the man he represented himself to be. The -base, unutterable villain! He smiled in my face, a living lie! And I trusted in -him, believed in him, laid my heart bare to him, and all the time he was -planning my destruction. Just Heaven! Give me the power to bring him to the -punishment he deserves!"</p> - -<p class="normal">But did the foul plot go farther than this? Every time Chaytor -returned from the colonial post-office it was with the same answer--there were -no letters for Basil Whittingham. And the had received and answered them; they -were on his person while he was uttering the infamous falsehood, smiling in -Basil's face the while. To what depths would human cunning and duplicity go! The -tale, related to Basil by one who had been wronged, would have sounded -incredible. He would have asked, "Is not this man labouring under some monstrous -delusion?" But the bitter experience was his, and no tale would now be too wild -for disbelief. Again he asked himself, did the plot go farther than what had -already come to his knowledge? Newman Chaytor, going to the post-office for -letters for him, would receive all addressed to his name.</p> - -<p class="normal">What if Annette had written? It was more than possible, it was -probable; it was more than probable, it was true. At this conclusion he quickly -arrived. Annette had redeemed her promise; she had written to him as she said -she would, and had received Chaytor's letters in reply. This explained how it -was that Chaytor had been able to find Annette and her uncle. Did Gilbert Bidaud -suspect, and was he trading upon the suspicion; and were the two villains -conspiring for the destruction of the poor girl's happiness? Basil looked round -pitifully, despairingly, as though invoking the assistance of an unknown power.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You seem disturbed," said Mr. Philpott, who had been -attentively observing him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The news you have imparted," said Basil, "is terrible. Is -there no way of discovering this Basil Whittingham?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We might advertise for him," suggested Mr. Philpott.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil shook his head. "If he saw the advertisement he would -not answer it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hallo," thought Mr. Philpott, "our absent friend has done -something that would place him in the criminal dock." Professionally he was in -the habit of hiding his hand, so far as the expression of original thought went. -"But some one who knows him," he said, "might see the advertisement, and answer -for him."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil caught at the suggestion. "Advertise, then, and in such -a manner as not to alarm him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Trust me for that," said Mr. Philpott, with great confidence. -"I know how to bait my line."</p> - -<p class="normal">But the advertisements meet with no response. Worked up to -fever heat, Basil instructed Mr. Philpott to spare no expense, and the inquiry -was prosecuted with wasted vigour, for at the end of two months they had not -advanced a step. Basil was in agony; he grew morbid, and raised up accusing -voices against himself. The reflection that Annette, the sweet and innocent -child who had given him her heart, should be in the power of two such villains -as Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor was an inexpressible torture to him. He had -accepted from her father a sacred trust--how had he fulfilled it? He inflicted -exquisite suffering upon himself by arguing that it was he who had betrayed her, -that it was through him she had been brought to this pass. Had she not known him -she would never had known Newman Chaytor; had he not worked upon her young -affections and extracted her promise to write to him it would have been -impossible that Chaytor should ever have crossed her path. He pressed into this -self-condemnation all the cruel logic his mind could devise. As he walked the -streets at night Annette's image arose before him and gazed upon him -reproachfully. "You have compassed my ruin." It seemed to say, "you are the -cause of my corruption, of my dishonour." He accepted the accusation, and -groaned, "It is I, it is I, who have made your life a waste!" Of all the -dolorous phases through which he had passed this perhaps was the worst. But he -had yet another bitter experience to encounter. On a Saturday evening Mr. -Philpott said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must speak honestly. I have done all I could, and nothing -has come of it. I might continue as long as you continued to engage my services, -but it would be only throwing your money away."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was an unusual confession for a man in his line to make. -Private inquiry agents have generally the quality of the leech, and will suck -the last drop of blood out of a client, but Basil had won the commiseration of -his landlord.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must take the case into my own hands," said Basil gloomily. -"I intended, indeed, to tell you as much myself--for pressing reasons. I thank -you for all you have done for me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Little enough," said Mr. Philpott "I wish you better luck -than I have had. Mind you, I don't give it up entirely, but if I do anything -more it will not be for pay."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are, and have been, very kind. Have you made out your -account?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpott presented it, and Basil settled it. Then he said: -"Will you ask your wife to step up and see me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir. Now don't you be cast down, sir; it is a long lane -that has no turning, and there's no telling at any moment what may turn up. I -should like to take the liberty of asking one question."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ask it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If, after all, the search should be successful, is it likely -you would be in a better position than you are now? I am taking a liberty, I -know, but I don't mean it as such. You told me at first you were not -overburdened with funds; if it has been all going out and none coming in, you -must be worse off now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am very much worse off, Mr. Philpott. I will answer your -question. Should I succeed in finding the man I am hunting--a poor hunt it has -proved to be, with no quarry in view--I have reason to believe that I should -obtain funds which would enable me to discharge any liabilities I may incur."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, sir," said Mr. Philpott, pushing across the table -the money which Basil had paid him; "then suppose I wait."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," said Basil gently, "take it while you are sure of it, -and you have a family."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But I can afford to wait, sir. If I lost ten times as much it -would not break me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must insist upon you taking it, Mr. Philpott."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was the pride of the poor gentleman, who would leave -himself penniless rather than leave an obligation unsettled. Mr. Philpott -recognised it as such, and recognised also that it marked the difference between -them--which increased the respect he felt for Basil. He pocketed the money -reluctantly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Send your wife up to me, Mr. Philpott."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil had indeed pressing reasons for dispensing with Mr. -Philpott's further services. The larger expenses of the last few weeks had -brought his funds to a very low ebb. He took out his purse and counted his -worldly wealth; it amounted to less than two pounds. He was standing at -poverty's door. In Australia, on the goldfields, it would not have mattered so -much. Earnest labour there can always ensure at least food for the passing day; -it is only the idle and dissolute and men without a backbone who have to endure -hunger; but here in this overcrowded city hunger is no rare experience to those -who are willing to toil. Needless to say that the watch and chain which had been -presented to Basil in Princetown was no longer in Basil's possession. The -prospect before him, physically and morally, was appalling.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was a gentle knock at the door. "Come in," said Basil, -and Mrs. Philpott entered the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My husband tells me you wish to see me, sir," said the -landlady.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Take a seat, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil. "I hope you have -brought your weekly account; you should have given it to me yesterday."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Friday's an unlucky day, sir," said Mrs. Philpott, fencing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But to-day is Saturday," said Basil, with a smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There's no hurry, sir, I assure you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil looked at her and shook his head. His look, and the -weary, mournful expression on his face, brought tears to the good creature's -eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must insist upon having the account, Mrs. Philpott."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, sir, if you insist," said Mrs. Philpott, reduced to -helplessness; "it is only the rent, seven shillings."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are breakfasts," said Basil, "with which you have been -good enough to supply me. I have not kept faith with you. When I took these -rooms I promised to pay always a fortnight's rent in advance; lately I have not -done so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How could you pay, sir, when you didn't know what the -breakfasts came to?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That does not excuse me. Oblige me by telling me how much I -owe you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you won't be denied, sir, it's twelve and tenpence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There it is, and I am infinitely obliged to you. Mrs. -Philpott, I am sorry to say I must give you a week's notice."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're never going to leave us, sir! Is there anything wrong -with the rooms? We'll have it put right in a twinkling."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The rooms are very comfortable, and I wish I could remain in -them; but it cannot be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must remain, sir, really you must. I won't take your -notice. You must sleep somewhere Philpott will never forgive me if I let you -go."</p> - -<p class="normal">Her consciousness of the strait he was in, and her pity for -it, were so unmistakable--her desire to befriend him and her sympathy were so -clearly expressed--that Basil covered his eyes with his hand, and remained -silent awhile. When he removed his hand he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am truly sensible of your goodness, Mrs. Philpott, but it -must be as I say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Think better of it, sir," urged Mrs. Philpott. "You are a -gentleman and I am only a common woman, but I am old enough to be your mother, -and I don't think you ought to treat me so--so"--exactly the right word did not -occur to her, so she added--"suddenly. Here you are, sir, all alone, if you'll -excuse me for saying so, and here <i>we</i> are with more rooms in the house -than we know what to do with. Why, sir, if you'll stay it will be obliging us."</p> - -<p class="normal">All her kindly efforts were unavailing. She asked him to make -the notice a month instead of a week, and then she came down to a fortnight, and -made some reference to clouds with silver linings; but Basil was not to be -prevailed upon, and she left the room in a despondent state.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We'll keep an eye on him if we can," her husband said to her -when she gave him an account of the interview. "I may find out something yet -that will be of use to him. It is a strange case, old woman, and I don't mind -confessing that I can't see the bottom of it."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_29" href="#div1Ref_29">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Sternly resolved to carry out his determination not to occupy -rooms for which he could not pay, Basil left Mrs. Philpott's house on the -appointed day. It was his wish to quit without being observed, but Mrs. Philpott -was on the look-out and lay in wait for him. Before he reached the street door -she barred his way in the landing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're not going away, sir," she said reproachfully, "without -wishing the children good-bye."</p> - -<p class="normal">In honest and affectionate friendship there is frequently -displayed a pleasant quality of cunning which it does no harm to meet with, and -in her exercise of it Mrs. Philpott pressed her children into the service. Basil -had no alternative but to accompany her into the parlour, where the four little -fellows were sitting at the table waiting for dinner.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You'll excuse me a minute, sir," said the good woman; "if I -don't fill their plates before they're five minutes older they'll set up a -howl."</p> - -<p class="normal">Out she bustled, and quickly returned with a mighty dish of -Irish stew.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Philpott says," said Mrs. Philpott as she placed the steaming -dish on the table, "that no one in the world can make an Irish stew like mine; -and what father says is law, isn't it, children? I always have dinner with them, -sir; perhaps you'll join us. I really should like to know if you're of my -husband's opinion. Now this looks home-like"--as Basil, who had independence of -spirit, but no false pride, took his seat at the table where a chair and a plate -had already been set for him--"almost as if father was with us, or as if the -children had a great big brother who had been abroad ever so many years, and had -popped in quite sudden to surprise us."</p> - -<p class="normal">All the time she was talking she was filling up the plates, -and the little party fell-to with a will, Basil eating as heartily as the rest. -Mrs. Philpott was delighted at the success of her ruse, but she was careful not -to show her pleasure, and when Basil said, in answer to her inquiry, that he had -had enough, she did not press him to take more. When dinner was over the -children had to be taken out of the room to have their faces washed; they were -brought back for Basil to kiss, and then were sent into the street to play -policemen.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You'll let us hear of you from time to time, sir," said Mrs. -Philpott, as she and Basil stood at the street door. "Philpott is regular -downhearted because of your going. I'm not to let your rooms again, he says, so -there they are sir, ready for you whenever you do us the pleasure to come. We're -getting along in the world, sir, and the few shillings a-week don't matter to us -now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am truly glad to hear it, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was a time," continued Mrs. Philpott, "when it did -matter, and when every shilling was worth its weight in gold in a manner of -speaking. We've had our ups and downs, sir, as most people have, and if it -hadn't been for a friendly hand heaven only knows where we should be at this -present minute. We were in such low water, sir, we didn't know which way to -turn. Philpott says to me, 'Mother,' he says---- I hope I'm not wearying you, -sir," said Mrs. Philpott, breaking off in the middle of her sentence.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Pray go on," said Basil, feeling that it would be churlish to -check her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's a comfort, sir," continued Mrs. Philpott, "to open one's -heart. It doesn't make me melancholy to look back to those days, though my -spirit was almost broke at the time; I'm proud and grateful that we've tided -them over, with the help of God and the good friend He sent us. 'Mother,' says -Philpott to me, 'I'm on my beam ends. We're in a wood, and there's no way out of -it.' 'Don't you go on like that, father,' I says; 'you keep on trying, and -you'll see a way out presently.' For I'm one of that sort of women, sir, if you -won't mind my saying as much, who never give in and don't know when they're -beat. I don't mean to say I don't suffer; I do, but I put a brave face on it and -never: say die. 'You keep on trying, father,' I says. 'Now haven't I kept on -trying?' says he. 'For eight weeks I've answered every advertisement in the -paper, and applied for a job in hundreds and hundreds of places without getting -the smell of one. I'm ashamed to look you in the face, mother, for if it wasn't -for you our boy would starve.' We only had one then, sir, and as for being -ashamed to look me in the face Philpott ought to have been ashamed to say as -much. All that I did was to get a day's charing wherever I could, and a bit of -washing when I heard there was a chance of it, and that was how we kept the wolf -from the door. But I fell ill, sir, and couldn't stir out of doors, and was so -weak that I couldn't stand at the wash-tub without fainting away. Things were -bad indeed then, and Philpott took on so that I did lose heart a bit. Well, sir, -when we'd parted with everything we could raise a penny upon, when we didn't -know where we should get our next meal from though it was only dry bread, heaven -sent us a friend. An old friend of Philpott's, sir, that he hadn't seen for -years, and that he'd been fond of and kind to when he was a young man, before he -kept company with me. Philpott had lent him a couple of pound, and he'd gone off -to America, and, now, sir, now, in the very nick of time, he came home to pay it -back. Did you ever see the sun shine as bright as bright can be in a dark room -at ten o'clock at night--for that was the time when Philpott's friend opened the -door, and cried, 'Does Mr. Philpott live here?' It shone in our room, sir, -though there was never a candle to light it up, and Philpott was sitting by me -with his head in his hands. Philpott starts up in a fright--when people are in -the state we were brought to the least unexpected, thing makes their hearts beat -with fear--he starts up and says, 'Who are you?' 'That's Philpott's voice,' says -our friend. 'I'd know it among a thousand; but don't you know mine, old fellow? -And what are you sitting in the dark for?' Then he tells us who he is, and -Philpott takes hold of his hand and says he's glad to see his old friend--which -he couldn't, sir--and, ashamed of his poverty, pulls him out of the room. He -comes back almost directly, and stoops over me and kisses me, and whispers that -heaven has sent us a friend when most we needed one, and I feel my dear man's -tears on my face. Then, sir, if you'll believe me it seemed to me as if the sun -was shining in our dark room, and all the trouble in my mind flew straight away. -From that time all went well with us; it was right about face in real earnest. -Philpott's friend had another friend who got my husband in the force, and now -we've got a bit of money put by for a rainy day, and don't need the rent for a -couple of empty rooms."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Philpott's account of her troubles was much longer than -she intended to make it, and her concluding words were spoken wistfully and -appealingly. They were not lost upon Basil, but they did not turn him from his -purpose. With a kindly pressure of her hand, and promising to call and see her -unless circumstances prevented--which meant unless his fortunes remained in -their present desperate condition--he took his leave of her and passed out of -her sight.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Poor young gentleman," sighed the good woman. "I would have -given the world if he'd have stopped with us. What on earth will become of him? -It's hard to come down like that. Better to be born poor and remain so, than to -be born rich and lose everything. His face was the image of despair, though he -was politeness itself all the time I was talking. I sha'n't be able to get him -out of my head."</p> - -<p class="normal">She and her husband talked of him that night, and if kind -wishes and sympathising words were of practical value, Basil would have been -comforted and strengthened.</p> - -<p class="normal">Strengthened in some poor way he was. It had been his hard -fate to be made the victim of as black treachery as one man ever practised -towards another; but he had met with kindness also at the hands of strangers. He -strove to extract consolation from that reflection. Heaven knows he needed it, -for he was now to make acquaintance with poverty in its grimmest aspect. He was -absolutely powerless. He had debated with himself various courses which might be -said to be open to a man in his extremity, but he saw no possible road to -success in any one of them. The most feasible was that he should go to a capable -lawyer and endeavour to enlist his skill on his behalf. But what lawyer would -listen to a man who presented himself with a tale so strange and without the -smallest means to pay for services rendered? It would be a natural conclusion -that he was mad, or that he, being Newman Chaytor, was adopting this desperate -expedient to prove himself to be Basil Whittingham. That he was a gentleman was -true; he had the manners of one, but so had many who were not gentlemen. Then -his appearance was against him; he had no other clothes than those he stood -upright in, and these were shabby and in bad repair. Even if he had possessed -assurance, it would not have served him--nay, it would have told against him, as -proclaiming, "Here is a plausible scoundrel, who seeks to deceive us by -swagger." He was truly in a helpless plight.</p> - -<p class="normal">The necessity of living was forced upon him, and to live a man -must have money to purchase food. Recalling the efforts made by Mr. Philpott in -his days of distress, as described by that man's good wife, he applied for -situations he saw advertised, but there were a hundred applicants for every -office, and he ever arrived too late, or was pushed aside, or was considered -unsuitable. In one of his applications he was very nearly successful, but it -came to a question of character, and he had no reference except the editor of -the -<i>Princetown Argus</i>, who was fourteen thousand miles away. What wonder that -he was laughed at and dismissed? Then he thought that his experiences on the -goldfields and his training as a journalist might help him, and he wrote some -sketches and articles and sent them to magazines and newspapers. He heard -nothing of them after they were dropped into the editorial boxes. The fault may -have been his own, for he had no heart to throw spirit into his effusions, but -his state was no less pitiable because of that. He felt as if indeed he had for -ever lost his place in the world. By day he walked the streets, and at night -occupied a bed in the commonest of London lodging-houses. At first he paid -fourpence for his bed, but latterly he could afford no more than two-pence, and -presently he would not be able to afford even that. It was a stipulation of his -nightly accommodation that he should turn out early in the morning, and this he -was willing enough to do, for he had but little sleep, and the beings he was -compelled to herd with filled him with dismay. It was not their poverty that -shocked him; it was their language, their sentiments, their expressions of -pleasure in all that was depraved. He had had no idea of the existence of such -classes, and now that he came face to face with them he shrank from them in -horror. Had they been merely thieves it is possible that he might have tolerated -them, and even entertained pity for them, arguing that they were born to theft, -that their parents had been thieves before them and had taught them no better; -or that they had been driven into the ranks by sheer necessity; but it was the -corruption of their souls that terrified him; it was the consciousness that with -vice and virtue placed for them to choose, with means for each, they would have -chosen vice and revelled in it. Amid all this corruption and degradation he -maintained a pitiable self-respect and kept his soul pure. Often did he go -without a meal, but he would listen to no temptations, electing by instinct, -rather to suffer physically than to lower his moral nature to the level of those -by whom he was surrounded. When he walked the streets by day he did not walk -aimlessly and without purpose. It was probable enough that Newman Chaytor was in -London, and if so the fortune of which he had obtained fraudulent possession -would enable him to live in the best and most fashionable quarters of the city. -Basil haunted those better localities, and watched for the villain who had -betrayed him in the vicinity of the grand hotels, the clubs, and the resorts of -fashion in the parks. Sometimes at night he lingered about the high-class -theatres to see the audience come out. In the event of his meeting his enemy he -had no settled plan except that he would endeavour to find out where he lived, -and through that knowledge to obtain access to Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">One night he met with a strange adventure. He had come from -Covent Garden, where, mingling in the crowd, he had watched the audience issue -from the Opera House, in which a famous songstress had been singing. It was an -animated, bustling scene, but it was impossible for a man in such sore distress -to take pleasure in it; neither did he draw bitterness from the gaiety; he -merely looked on with a pathos in his eyes which was now their usual expression. -Frequently, in his days of prosperity, had he attended the opera, as one of the -fashion, and heard this same songstress, whose praise was on every man's lips; -now he was an outcast, hungry, almost in rags, without even a name which the -world would accept as his by right of birth and inheritance. It was a cold -night, but dry--that was a comfort to a poorly clad man. Indeed, there is in all -conditions of life something to be grateful for, if we would only seek for it.</p> - -<p class="normal">A curious fancy entertained Basil's mind. He heard the -carriages called out--"Lady This's carriage," "Lord That's carriage," "The -Honourable T'other's carriage." How if "Mr. Basil Whittingham's carriage" was -called out? So completely was he for the moment lost to the sad realities of his -position, so thoroughly did the fancy take possession of him, that he actually -listened for the announcement, and had it been made it is probable that he would -have pushed his way through the crowd with the intention of entering the -carriage. But nothing of the kind occurred. Gradually the theatre was emptied, -and the audience wended homeward, riding or afoot, north, south, east, and west, -till only the fringe was left--night-birds who filtered slowly to their several -haunts, not all of which could boast of roof and bed. A night-bird himself, -Basil walked slowly on towards Westminster. He had fivepence in his pocket, and -no prospect of adding anything to it to-morrow, and he was considering whether -he should spend twopence for a bed, or pass the night on a bench on the -Embankment. It was a weighty matter to decide, as important to him as the debate -which was proceeding in the House, upon which a nation's destiny hung. In -Parliament Street a young couple brushed past him; they had been supping after -the theatre, and Basil heard the man address the woman, as "Little Wifey," and -saw her nestle closer to her husband's arm as he uttered this term of -endearment. For a moment Basil forgot his own misery, and a bright smile came to -his lips; but it faded instantly, and he trudged wearily on discussing the -momentous question of bed or bench. Undecided, he found himself on Westminster -Bridge, where he stood gazing upon the long panorama of lights from lamps and -stars. Were this wonderful and suggestive picture situated in a foreign country, -English people would include it in their touring jaunts and come home and rave -about it, but as it is situated in London its beauties are unheeded.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil, leaning over the stone rampart, looking down into the -river, was presently conscious that some person was standing by his side. He -turned his head, and saw a woman, who gazed with singular intentness upon him. -She was neither young nor fair, but she had traces of beauty in her face which -betokened that in her springtime she could not have been without admirers. Her -age was about thirty, and she was well dressed. So much Basil took in at a -glance, and then he averted his eyes and resumed his walk across the bridge. The -woman followed him closely, and when he paused and gently waved her off, she -said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why do you avoid me? I want nothing of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good-night, then," said Basil in a kind voice, and would have -proceeded on his way if the woman had not prevented him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, not good-night yet," she said. "Did you not understand me -when I said I want nothing of you? It is true; but happening to catch sight of -your face as I was crossing the bridge I could not pass without speaking to you. -It would have brought a punishment upon me--knowing what I know."</p> - -<p class="normal">Being compelled by her persistence to a closer observance of -her, Basil was moved to a certain pity for her. There were tears in her eyes and -a pathos in her voice which touched him. Desolate outcast as he was, whom the -world, if he proclaimed himself, would declare to be an impostor, what kind of -manhood was that which would refuse a word of compassion to a woman who appeared -to be in affliction? His pitying glance strangely affected her; she clung to the -stone wall and burst into a passion of tears.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am sorry for your trouble," said Basil, waiting till she -had recovered herself. "Can I do anything to help you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing," she replied. "No one can help me. I have lost all I -love in the world. This is a strange meeting; I have been thinking of you -to-day, but never dreamt I should see you to-night. To-night of all nights!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thinking of me!" exclaimed Basil in amazement.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will not consider it strange," said the woman, "when you -know all. I could not stop at home; I have been sitting by her side since three -o'clock, and then a voice whispered to me, 'Go out for an hour, look up to -Heaven where the Supreme Guide is, and pray for a miracle.' So I came out, and -have been praying to Him to give her back to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Poor woman!" murmured Basil, for now he knew from her words -that she had lost one who was dear to her. "I pity you from my heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are changed," said the woman; "not in face, for I should -have known you anywhere, but in your voice and manner. It is gentler, kinder -than it used to be."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil did not answer her: he thought that grief had affected -her mind, and that her words bore no direct relation to himself. He had no -suspicion of the truth which was subsequently to be revealed to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is many years since we met," she said. "Have you been long -in England?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A few months," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have not made your fortune?</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, indeed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You look poor enough. Have you no money?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"None," said Basil; and added hastily, "or very little."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have been unfortunate since your return home?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very unfortunate."</p> - -<p class="normal">She opened her purse, and took out a sovereign and held it out -to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you no," said Basil, his wonder growing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are changed indeed," said the woman, "to refuse money. It -is honestly come by. Two years ago I was married, and my husband, who died a -year afterwards, left me a small income. It was more than I deserved, for I -deceived him by telling him I was a widow. It made no difference, but still it -was a deceit. Will you not take it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And yet you need it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not urge me further. Good night."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Wait one moment. I was going to tell you to-night; but you -had best see for yourself. It is your right. Here is my address; my mother and -sister live with me. Come and see me to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Promise -me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I cannot promise," said Basil, moving away. "You must -promise," said the woman, moving after him. "I will not leave you till you do. I -tell you it is your right--it is more than your right, it is your duty."</p> - -<p class="normal">Seeing there was no other way to release himself from her, -Basil said, "I promise."</p> - -<p class="normal">"On your sacred word of honour," said the woman.</p> - -<p class="normal">"On my sacred word of honour."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will trust you; there was a time when I would not. Good -night. To-morrow, at ten."</p> - -<p class="normal">She glided away, and Basil was once more alone. The misery of -his own circumstances was no encouragement to him to dwell upon the adventure, -and he dismissed it from his mind, accounting for the woman's strange utterances -by the supposition that she was of weak intellect. He passed the night in the -open air, and in the morning bought one pennyworth of bread--it was cheaper than -buying a penny roll--for his breakfast. This and water from a drinking-fountain -satisfied hunger and thirst.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A man can live upon very little," he said to himself, "but -how is it going to end?"</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a pertinent question, and answered itself. The end -seemed near and certain.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a bright morning, and he walked in the sun. He did not -forget the promise he had made to the woman; it was a promise to which he had -pledged himself, and even if mischief resulted it must be fulfilled. The name on -the card was Mrs. Addison the address, Queen Street, Long Acre. Thither he went, -and paused before a milliner's shop, the windows of which were partially masked -by shutters. Over the shop front was the name Addison, and the goods displayed -bore evidence of a certain prosperity; they were not of the poorest kind. An -elderly, grey-haired woman came forward as he entered. Her face was sad and -severe, and there was no civility in her voice as she informed him in answer to -his question, that he had come to the right address.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Go through that door," she said with a frown, "up-stairs to -the first landing. My daughter expects you. I must ask you to make your visit -short."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was not only that her voice was cold, it expressed -repugnance, and without requesting an explanation Basil followed her and mounted -the stairs. The sound of his footsteps brought the woman he had met on -Westminster Bridge to the door of the front room.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have kept your promise," she said. "Come in."</p> - -<p class="normal">A younger woman than she rose as he entered, cast one brief -glance at him, and immediately left the room. The window blinds were down and -the gas was lighted. His strange acquaintance of the previous night was dressed -in deep mourning. Her face was white and swollen with weeping.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I prayed for a miracle last night," she said, "but my prayers -were not answered. I have also repented that I asked you to come, but still it -is right, it is right. If you have a heart it should be a punishment to you for -all you have made me suffer."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not in the least understand you," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">Had it not been for her grief her look would have been -scornful. She paid no heed to his words, but continued:</p> - -<p class="normal">"When I said last night that I wanted nothing of you I said -what I meant. When you go from here I wish never to see your face again. It will -be useless for you to trouble me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall not trouble," said Basil in a gentle tone which -seemed to make her waver; but she would not yield to this softer mood.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That you are poor to-day," she said, "and I am well-to-do, so -far as money goes, proves that there is a Providence. Years ago--very soon after -your desertion of me--I cast you from my heart, and resolved never to admit you -into it again. It might have been otherwise had you behaved honestly to me, for -I loved you, and you made me believe that you loved me. It was better for me -that the tie which bound us should be broken. I have led a respectable life, and -shall continue to do so. I am the happier for it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For heaven's sake," cried Basil, "explain what it is you -accuse me of."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ask your own heart. Although there is an apparent change in -you, you are still the same, I see, in cunning and duplicity. But I will listen -to no subterfuges; there is no possibility of your justifying yourself, and your -power over me is gone. Towards you my heart is cold as stone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are labouring under some singular delusion," said Basil, -"and I can but listen to you in wonder."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still the same, still the same," said the woman. "You used to -boast of your superior powers, and that you were so perfect an actor that you -could make the cleverest believe that black was white. See what it has brought -you to"--she pointed to his rags. "I have no pity for you; as you have sown, so -have you reaped. So might I have reaped had I not seen the pit you treacherously -dug for me; so might I have reaped had I not repented before it was entirely too -late. I owe you this much gratitude--that it was your base desertion of me that -showed me my sin. Had you remained I might have sunk lower and lower till grace -and redemption were lost to me for ever. What expiation was possible for me I -have made, with sincere repentance, with sincere sorrow for my error. It would -be well for you if you could say the same. You saw my mother downstairs. She -cast me off, as you know, but she opened her arms to me when I convinced her of -my sincerity, when I vowed to her to live a pure life. I am again her daughter. -You see these drawn blinds, you see my dress, you see that this is a house of -mourning. Can you guess what for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed I cannot," said Basil, "except that you have lost one -who is dear to you. What comfort can I, a stranger, offer you that you cannot -find for yourself? It is small consolation to say that your loss is a common -human experience. Be faith your solace. There is a hereafter."</p> - -<p class="normal">Her scorn and horror of him, now plainly expressed in her -face, so overpowered her that she allowed him to finish without interruption.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You, a stranger to me!" she cried. "Will you still wear the -mask--or is it, <i>is</i> it possible that the rank selfishness and callousness -of your nature can have made you forget? All was over between us--but a link -remained, a link of sweet and beautiful love which the good Lord has taken from -me. I bow my head; I will not, I must not rebel!" She folded her hands, and, -moving to the darkened window, stood for a few moments there engaged in silent -prayer. Presently she spoke again. "My fond hopes pictured a bright and happy -future for her. I, her mother, would be for ever by her side, guiding her from -the pitfalls which lay before young and confiding innocence. Her life should be -without stain, without reproach. She did not know, she would never have known -the stain which rests upon mine. It is revealed to her now. Forgive me, my -darling, and look down with pity upon me! Yes, out of my sin I created a garden -of love--for her, who was to me what sight would be to the blind, through whose -sweet and pure influence I was led to the Divine throne. My fond hopes have been -dashed to the ground--they are dead, never to be revived. Come with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">With noiseless footsteps she walked out of the room, and Basil -followed her to another on the same landing. Softly, tenderly, as though fearful -of disturbing what was therein, she turned the handle, and she and Basil stood -in the presence of death.</p> - -<p class="normal">Of death in its fairest form. Upon the bed lay the body of a -young girl whose age might be ten. The sweet beauty, the peace, the perfect rest -in the child's face, moved Basil to tears; she looked like a sleeping angel.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, my darling, my darling!" sobbed the bereaved mother, -sinking to her knees. "Pray for me; intercede for me. Unconsciously I strayed; I -saw not my sin. Oh, child of shame and love, bring peace to my breaking heart, -and do not turn from me when we meet above!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil spoke no word; some consciousness of the truth was -slowly coming to him. There was a silence in the room for several minutes; then -the woman rose to her feet.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Kiss her," she said. "When you last saw her she was a baby. -If she were living, and saw your face, she would look upon you as a stranger; -but now she knows the truth."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Basil understood. "Yes," he said inly, "now she knows the -truth."</p> - -<p class="normal">He stooped and kissed the child's lips, and the mother's tears -broke out afresh; checking them presently, she said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was by the strangest chance I met you last night. I have -done what I conceived to be my duty. Now go," and she pointed to the door.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will obey you," said Basil, "but I must say a word to you -first, in the next room."</p> - -<p class="normal">She looked at him for a moment hesitatingly, then nodded her -head, and they left the chamber of death as noiselessly as they had entered it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I did not intend it," said the woman, and taking a tress of -fair hair from her bosom, and dividing it, she offered him a portion. "You may -like to keep it as a remembrance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thank you humbly," said Basil; "it may help me on my way."</p> - -<p class="normal">A look of incredulous wonder flashed into her face, but -remained there only an instant, and she shook her head as though she were -answering a question she had asked mutely of herself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Before us lies an open grave," she said. "You and I speak now -together for the last time on earth. I forgive you, as I hope to be forgiven. -You have something to say to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes; and I entreat you, however strange you may think my -question, to suspend your indignation for awhile, and answer me in plain words."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will endeavour to do so, if it is such a question as you -should address to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not fret you by arguments or expostulations. You have -suffered deeply, and from my heart I pity you. Plainly, whom do you take me -for?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For yourself--for no other man, be sure."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But let me hear my name from your lips."</p> - -<p class="normal">"As you insist upon it," she said, with sad contempt, "though -such a farce should not be played at such a time; but when were you otherwise -than you are? You are Newman Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I," said Basil, speaking very slowly, "am Newman Chaytor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are he; there lives not such another, and remembering all -that has passed between us, remembering your vows and oaths, for that I say, -thank God! If you have any reason for going by another name, for wishing to be -known by another name--and you may have, heaven help you!--be sure that I will -not betray you. You are dead to me, as I am dead to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Look at me well," said Basil. "If you were upon your oath -would you swear that I am the man you say I am?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"To swear otherwise would be to swear falsely. What crime have -you committed that you should stand in dread of being known?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"None. It is not to be expected that you will believe when I -tell you that you are the victim of delusion, as I am the victim of a foul and -monstrous plot."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who would believe you? Denial is easy enough, and of course -you will deny, having reason to do so. But come into the light."</p> - -<p class="normal">She raised the blind, and he stepped to the window where the -light shone upon his face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are Newman Chaytor," she repeated, letting the blind -fall.</p> - -<p class="normal">He bowed his head, and said, "You have just cause for your -pitiless resentment and whether I am or am not the man you believe me to be, I -bow my head before you in sorrow and shame. The day may come--I do not know how, -or in what way it may be brought about, for I am at the extremity of -misery--when, showing you this"--he touched his breast, where he placed the lock -of her child's hair--"and recalling this interview, you will see the error into -which you have innocently fallen. Till then, or for ever, farewell."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One moment," said the woman, with trembling accents, "what -has passed cannot be recalled, nor will I speak of the folly of your denial of -the solemn truth. It is a meaningless proceeding."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To me," said Basil, interrupting her, "it means everything. -Honour, truth, fidelity, faith in virtue and goodness, all are at stake. It may -never come to an issue, for the end seems near, but heaven may yet have some -mercy in store for me. As you prayed for a miracle last nigh: which was not -vouchsafed you, so will I pray for a miracle to help me to a just conclusion of -my bitter trials." A pitiful smile accompanied his words. "It is not for me, one -suffering man among millions happier, I trust, than myself, to doubt Divine -Goodness. The eternal principle of Justice remains and will, now or hereafter, -assert itself, as it has ever done. May peace and comfort, and happiness be -yours."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I offered you money last night," said the woman, impressed by -what he said, but making no comment upon it. "Will you not accept it now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I, thank you--no," he said bowing to her with humility. -"Farewell."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_30" href="#div1Ref_30">CHAPTER XXX.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Basil's mind was quite clear when he left the house, and as he -had bowed his head to the bereaved mother when she declared him to be Newman -Chaytor, the villain who had betrayed and cast her off, so did he bow his head -to the elder woman in the shop below, who flung upon him a look of anger and -abhorrence as he passed from her sight. In the light of the infamous wrong -inflicted upon this family, the wrong inflicted upon himself seemed to be -lessened. Suffering and humiliation were his portion, but not shame; herein -Newman Chaytor was powerless. There had grown in his mind an ideal presentment -of womanhood which shed a refined and delicate grace upon all his dealings with -the sex. His knowledge of the world had taught him that some had fallen and were -vile, but he had no harsh thoughts even for these hapless ones, whom he regarded -with tender pity. There were women with whom he had come in contact whose images -were touched with sacred light. His mother was one, Annette was another; and it -was partly this good influence which enabled him to bear, with some degree of -moral fortitude, the weight of the troubles through which he was passing. A -heavy load had been added to these troubles by the accusation which now had been -brought against him; another man's sins had been thrust upon his shoulders, and -the circumstantial evidence against him was so strong that he could scarcely -hope to break it down. He had said that he would pray for a miracle to aid him -in his bitter trials, and indeed it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle -would serve him. But although none occurred to bring the truth to light, new -experiences were awaiting him as strange as any within his ken, and one, with -some sweet touch of humanity in it, was to come indirectly through the enemy who -had played him false.</p> - -<p class="normal">Of the fourpence he had left one penny went that day for food, -and he contrasted his position with that of a shipwrecked man cast away in a -boat, helpless on a wild and desolate sea, with starvation staring him in the -face. "Among these millions," he thought, "I cannot be the only one; there must -be others adrift as I am. Heaven pity them!" It was curious that, revolving this -theme in his mind, he looked about for men and women whose state resembled his -own, and fancying he saw some, longed for money more for their sake than for his -own. Only in small natures is grief entirely selfish. One question continually -presented itself. What could he do to better himself--what do to turn the tide? -He saw people begging in the roadways, and others fighting desperately for dear -life, their weapons a few boxes of matches. If he had known where to purchase -half-a-dozen boxes for the threepence which still remained of his fortune he -would have risked the venture, but he did not know where to go for the -investment, and those he asked for information scowled at him or turned away, -conscious perhaps that their ranks were overcrowded, or that the addition of one -to the horde of mendicants would lessen their chances. During these times he -gained pregnant knowledge of a social nature. Living entirely in the streets, -pictures presented themselves in poor and rich thoroughfares alike. His poverty -made the contrasts startling. Ladies in carriages nursing over-fed lapdogs; -small morsels of humanity shuffling along with their toes peeping out of their -boots. In Covent Garden hothouse fruit at fabulous prices, and white-faced -mortals picking up refuse and stealthily devouring it. Grand parties in great -mansions, priceless jewels flashing as the ladies stepped out of their -carriages; in a street hard by a woe-worn girl asleep on a doorstep, with a -pallid baby in her arms. These pictures did not embitter him; he pitied the poor -and envied not the rich, and had it been his good fortune to be employed as a -descriptive writer, his pen would not have been dipped in gall. He did not -purposely linger as he walked the streets, for the reason that when he lagged he -attracted the notice of policemen, who followed him slowly, and quietly noted -his movements. On such occasions, feeling himself an object of suspicion, he -would quicken his steps to escape closer observation. Through all these sad -wanderings he was ever on the watch for Newman Chaytor; he would not allow -himself to sink into absolute apathy; while life remained he would do what lay -in his power to lift himself out of the slough of despond. Only when his -strength was exhausted would he lie down and die. Thus did he endure three more -doleful days, at the end of which his last penny was spent. "The end is coming," -he thought, and waited for it. He had been five nights now without a bed, and on -three of these nights had been soaked to the skin. This exposure, with lack of -nourishing food, had already told upon a system constitutionally sound and -healthy. That the end was coming was no idle reflection; he felt it in his -bones. Whither should he turn for succour? Naturally strong, and willing and -anxious to work even for the barest pittance, he found himself more forsaken and -powerless in this city of unrest than Robinson Crusoe on his desolate island. -Charity is proverbially cold; it is frozen indeed when a willing man is driven -to such a pass.</p> - -<p class="normal">Another day passed, and another soaking night, and then fever -threatened. Delirious fancies took possession of him, haunted, tortured and -deluded him. He laughed aloud in the street, and aroused to momentary reason by -the looks of the passers-by, shambled away in silence that engirt him as with -iron bands--to break out again presently when he was in another street. Each -night some impulse for which he sought no reason led his steps in the direction -of the bridge where he had met Newman Chaytor's victim; had he seen her again, -and she had offered him money, it is doubtful whether he would have had the -strength to refuse.</p> - -<p class="normal">Exhausted and spent, having been thirty hours without food, he -clung to the buttress of the bridge, and with dim eyes looked forward on the -river's lights. There seemed to be some meaning in their unrest; from the -mysterious depths messages from another world came to his dazed mind. -"Presently, presently," he thought, "but I should like first to see Annette, and -undeceive her. I would give my best heart's blood to set myself straight with -her. Too late to save her--too late, too late!" He had no idea of seeking -eternal rest by deliberate action, only that he felt it was very near, and could -not be long delayed.</p> - -<p class="normal">How he craved for food! How the demon hunger was tearing at -his vitals! His head fell forward, his mouth sucked his coat sleeve. A policeman -touched his arm; he languidly raised his head, and the policeman gazed steadily -at him, and then proceeded on his beat without speaking a word. Maybe he -recognised that a case of genuine suffering was before him. Basil remained in -the same position, his eyes turned in the direction the officer was taking. But -he did not see him; he was blind to all surrounding things. Therefore it was -that he had no consciousness of the presence of an old woman, poorly dressed, -who had stopped when the policeman stopped, and appeared rooted to the spot as -her eyes fell upon Basil's face. Suddenly the emotion which for a brief space -had overpowered her, found voice. With a piercing scream she tottered towards -Basil, cleared the grey hair from her eyes, and peered up into his face. Then -with a piercing scream, she cried:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Newman! My son, my darling, darling son! O God be thanked for -restoring you to me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">She threw her trembling arms around him, but Basil did not -feel them, and had no understanding of her words. With a dolorous groan he slid -from her arms to the ground, and lay there without sense or motion. Nature's -demands had reached a supreme point, and the groan which issued from his lips -was the last effort of exhausted strength.</p> - -<p class="normal">Although the bridge appeared to be deserted, with only the -policeman, the old woman, and Basil in view, a small knot of persons, as if by -magic, instantly surrounded the fallen man and the woman who knelt by his side. -The policeman, attracted by the scream, turned, and slowly sauntered towards the -group.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What's the matter, mother?" asked an onlooker.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's my son," moaned the woman, "my dear son, Newman. He has -come from the goldfields, and is dying, dying."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't look much like a goldfields man," observed one of the -group. "Where's his nuggets?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has had a hard time," continued the woman, whom the reader -will recognise as Mrs. Chaytor. "He wrote to me about his hardships. See what -they have brought him to. Will none of you help me? Here is money--I am not so -poor as I look; my poor husband has had a bit of luck. For pity's sake help me! -O my son, my son!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am a doctor," said a gentleman, pushing his way through. -Kneeling by Mrs. Chaytor's side, he lifted Basil's head on his knee, and made a -rapid examination. "The poor fellow is starving, I should say. Run, one of you, -and fetch a quartern of brandy--and some water if you can get it."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Chaytor held out a trembling hand, and a woman snatched -the money from lit and darted off. The policeman, who had by this time joined -the group, shook his head disapprovingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You've seen the last of that," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was mistaken, however; the woman returned with two flat -bottles, one containing brandy, the other water. With these the doctor moistened -Basil's lips, and forced a few drops down his throat.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You see," he said, addressing himself to Mrs. Chaytor, "that -he is not yet dead. Whether he lives or dies depends not upon himself. I think I -heard you say you are his mother."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am his unhappy mother," sobbed Mrs. Chaytor. "Oh, how I -have prayed for his return, and he is sent to me now like this! It is cruel, it -is unjust. Save him for me, doctor, and I will bless you to the last hour of my -life!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will see what can be done. Do you live near here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We live in Southwark Road."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here is a cab passing. Let us get him into it; there is no -time to lose."</p> - -<p class="normal">A dozen arms were ready to assist him, but Basil had grown so -thin that the kind doctor lifted him with ease, and put him in the cab. Then, -giving the driver the address which he obtained from Mrs. Chaytor, they drove -off quickly, Mrs. Chaytor holding Basil in her arms, and crooning over him as -the priceless treasure of her life.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_31" href="#div1Ref_31">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"Am I awake or dreaming?" This was the thought that passed -through Basil's mind as he opened his eyes. Two weeks had passed since he had -been rescued from death; and for the most of that time he had been unconscious. -But certain floating impressions were his, which now, as his eyes travelled -round the walls of the room in which he lay, he endeavoured to recall. It was -not without difficulty that he succeeded, but after long and determined--if in -his weak state such a word may be used--effort, these impressions began to -marshal themselves. But just at the moment that memory reasserted its power an -interruption occurred, and Basil, bent upon his mental task, closed his eyes, -and waited once more for solitude.</p> - -<p class="normal">An old woman stole softly into the room, and crept with -noiseless tread close to his bed. She stooped over him, kissed him tenderly, -arranged the bedclothes about him, smoothed his pillow, and kissed him again. -What touched his feelings deeply was the exceeding tenderness of these kisses, -which could only have been bestowed upon one who was very dear. What meaning lay -in this strange tenderness to him who not so long since was forsaken by all, and -coming from one whose face was absolutely unfamiliar to him? For with excusable -cunning he had partially raised his lids without being observed, and his -half-veiled eyes rested upon the woman who was attending him. She was an old -woman with grey and white hair, and there were signs of deep suffering on her -lined face. She looked like one who had experienced great trouble, but Basil -noted also in her countenance an expression of gratitude which relieved the -weight of years and care which lay heavy upon her. He allowed his lids to droop, -and setting aside awhile the task upon which he was engaged when she entered the -room, ransacked his memory for a clue. He could find none, even though his -mental efforts sent him wandering weakly among his childhood's days. While thus -engaged, with his eyes still closed, he was conscious that another person had -entered the room, and the words which passed between them reached his senses.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good morning," in the cheerful voice of a man.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good morning, doctor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Doctor! He was being cared for, then, and friends were by his -side. Of this he was assured; he required no further proof than the tender -actions of the woman and the soft voice in which she returned the doctor's -greeting. But why should these stranger's care for him? for strangers to him -they were, though their intentions could not be doubted.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How is our patient this morning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No worse, I hope, doctor. He has been very, very quiet."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is a good sign."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil felt the doctor's fingers on his pulse, and then his -head was gently raised, and he knew that his temperature was being taken. He -betrayed no consciousness of their presence; perhaps the conversation would -supply him with the clue for which he was seeking.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The fever has almost gone; in a few days he will be quite -well. Has he not spoken at all?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, doctor."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not even in his sleep?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, doctor, not a word has passed his lips."</p> - -<p class="normal">"All the signs are good. Has he opened his eyes?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, doctor. If he only would! If he would only recognise me! -I could die happy, then."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must not talk of dying. All that belongs to the past."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, doctor," said the woman, with a sigh, "it belongs to the -future."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I stand corrected in my philosophy. But, tush, tush! We must -not have you breaking down. I shall insist upon your getting a nurse for our -young gentleman here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, doctor, no," in almost a fierce tone, "no one shall nurse -my dear boy but myself. Have I waited all these years to let another woman take -my place?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Be calm. But I warn you that you are overtaxing yourself, and -at your time of life it is not safe. You have done your duty; no woman can do -more."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not allow anybody else to take my place. It belongs to -me; it is my right."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There, there, don't agitate yourself. I hope our young friend -will be grateful for what you have done for him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will be; he always has been; you do not know his -nature--the most loving, the tenderest. Can you not see it in his face?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a good face, and I have taken something more than a -doctor's interest in the case. It is, indeed, a mercy that you came across him -on the bridge a fortnight ago. Had he fallen into the hands of strangers it is -hardly likely he would have pulled through. It was touch and go with him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Providence led my steps. I am humbly, humbly grateful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You saved him from death--I may tell you plainly now that he -is in a fair way of recovery. And how is our other patient?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still the same, doctor. Will you go and see him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must come with me; he is suspicious of me, as you know, -and would order me out of the room if you were not by."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can I leave my dear boy with safety?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"With perfect safety; he will not awake from sleep for a long -time yet, and when he does it will not harm him to find himself alone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He must not find himself alone--I will not have it, I will -not, I will not!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, well, surely you can take my word. He will sleep for -hours; it is nature's restorative."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Doctor," said the woman, in a tone so solicitous that Basil -was deeply moved, "he <i>will</i> recover?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will. Come; I have not much time at my disposal."</p> - -<p class="normal">He walked to the door, but before she left the room, Basil -felt her tender hands about him again, ministering to his ease and comfort. -Presently he knew by the closing of the door that he was alone again. Then he -applied himself to the task of recalling his impressions. They came to him -slowly, and the sequence of events passed through his mind in fair order.</p> - -<p class="normal">He recalled the dolorous days of hunger and privation, the -meeting of the young woman on the bridge, his visit to her house, and the cruel -accusation she brought against him. When he struggled against it she had desired -him to come into the light, and had said, "You are Newman Chaytor." With this -pronouncement and condemnation he left her, and the look of abhorrence the -woman's mother had cast upon him lived in his memory as a burning brand. Then -followed the days through which he starved and suffered till he was on the -bridge looking forward on the river's lights, and waiting for death. He had no -remembrance of what subsequently occurred on that night and on many days and -nights afterwards. Sounds of voices he had heard, but not the sense of the words -that were spoken: except that on one occasion something had reached his senses -to the effect that the room in which he lay was unhealthy, and that it would be -better if he were removed to more airy quarters. He was dimly conscious that -this was done, and that gentle hands had lifted him from his bed, and that he -was carried to another house through fresher air which flowed softly over his -fevered brow. Had this really been done, or was he deluding himself with -fancies? He opened his eyes, and gazed around. The room was large, and there was -but little furniture in it, but everything was clean and neat. There was a -pleasant paper on the walls, the device being flowers, the colours of which, -though subdued, had some healthful brightness in them. On a table near his bed -were medicine bottles, a basin with soup jelly in it, and a plate of grapes. The -loving care with which he was being nursed was evident whichever way he turned. -There was something more than mere kindness, there was heartfelt devotion, in -these evidences and in what he had lately heard. The woman to whom he owed this -great debt had saved him from death--the doctor had said as much, and Basil did -not doubt that it was true. Whatever could have been her motive he inwardly -acknowledged that she had rendered him a service it would be hard, if not -impossible for him to repay. Saved from death! To what end? That he might live -to clear himself from the foul accusation which hung over him, to avenge -himself, to punish the guilty, perhaps even yet to save Annette. A debt, indeed, -that could never be repaid. Exhausted with thought, he sank into slumber, with a -growing hope in his heart that there might yet be some brightness for him in the -future.</p> - -<p class="normal">When he awoke again it was night. Opening his eyes they fell -upon the form of the woman who had tended him. She was kneeling by his bed, -gazing upon his face. A shaded lamp in the room enabled him to see her clearly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Newman!" she said in a low voice of joy, and she half rose -and stretched forth her arms.</p> - -<p class="normal">That hated name! Denial was on his lips, but the voice of joy, -the agonized appeal of love expressed in her eyes, arrested his speech. And -indeed at that moment there suddenly flashed upon his mind some glimmering of -the truth.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who speaks?" he asked, awed and stricken by the appeal.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your mother, your fond, your loving mother. Oh, my son, don't -break my heart by saying you don't know me! Newman, Newman, my beloved boy, kiss -me, give me one word of love. I shall die, I shall die, if you turn from me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">He could not repulse her; he felt that the sentence upon this -loving heart was his to pronounce. Scarcely knowing what he did, he held out his -hands. She seized and kissed them again and again, then fell upon his neck and -pressed him convulsively to her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Who are you?" he said softly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your mother, your faithful, faithful mother. Did you not hear -me? Have I spoken too soon? O Newman, Newman, give me one kiss, one kind look. -My poor heart is breaking!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Tell me who I am," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are our dear, our darling son, whom God in His infinite -mercy has sent back to us, to comfort us, to cheer the little time that remains -to us."</p> - -<p class="normal">Her mouth was close to his; her quivering lips pleaded for the -kiss for which she yearned. He could not resist her; their lips met; her tears -gushed forth.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Forgive me," he said: "I have been ill so long, and my mind -may be wandering still. Is it the truth that I am Newman Chaytor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my dear, yes, you are the only being left to us on -earth, the only link of love we have. If it distresses you to think, if the -effort is too painful, rest till the morning; I will watch over you. Heaven has -heard my prayers; my darling is restored to me. I can die happy now. The clouds -have passed away; there is nothing but sunshine; your future shall be happy; we -will make it so. Fortune has smiled upon us. Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful--and -just as you have come back to us. But we will not speak of it to-night; we will -wait till to-morrow, when you will be stronger."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, tell me something more--I am strong enough to listen."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, my poor boy, you have suffered much, you have had great -troubles!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, great and bitter troubles. Bring the lamp nearer. Am I -changed?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Only a little paler than you used to be and a little thinner. -There is no other change in you. Your father----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My father!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He lives, Newman, he lives, but he is very ill, and I can see -that the doctor fears for him. But he loves you still. Do not think hardly of -him, Newman; he will not be long with us. Say that you forgive him!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What have I to forgive?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"There speaks the noble heart of my darling boy. You can bring -peace and comfort to him, as you have brought it to me. You can brighten his -last hours. You will do it, will you not, my dear boy?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What lies in my power," said Basil slowly, "to repay you for -your goodness to me, that I will do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was sure of it, I was sure of it. You will find him -changed, Newman; he wanders in his mind sometimes, but you will be gentle with -him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes I will be gentle with him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will forget the past--there shall be nothing in our hearts -but love and forgiveness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Listen a moment. If anybody came to you and said I am not -your son, would you believe him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You ask it to try me, but you little know your mother's -heart. If an angel from heaven were to come and say so, I should not believe -him; I should know it was an evil spirit that spoke. I was going to speak to you -of our good fortune. Shall I go on?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, go on."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It happened only a week before I met you--O, heaven be -praised for it!--on the bridge. Do you remember, when everything went wrong with -us and we were plunged in poverty, that your father still had some shares in -mining companies left, shares that were supposed not to be worth the paper they -were printed on? Do you remember it, my dear boy?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is only three weeks ago that a gentleman found out where -we were living--we were very, very poor, Newman--and told us that these shares -were valuable, were worth a great deal of money. Fortunately your father had not -destroyed them, and fortunately, too, when the gentleman called it was on one of -your father's sensible days. He found the shares, and some of them have been -sold. We are now rich--yes, my dear boy, rich. We should never murmur against -heaven's decrees; it was all ordained--that this should happen at the time it -did, and that I should meet you a few days afterwards, in time to save you. -Newman, my dear, you had not a penny in your pockets."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was starving."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My poor boy, my poor, poor boy! Oh, how cruelly we have -treated you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must not say that. You are the soul of goodness; you have -saved me from death, from despair, from shame, from degradation. I have -something to live for now. Hope revives. I have an enemy who has conspired to -ruin my life. What shall be done to him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He must be punished."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He shall be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The monster! To conspire against my dear lad. If I were not -old and weak, I would seek him out myself. He should learn what a mother could -do for a beloved son."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He shall be punished, I say, and his punishment shall come -through those who are nearest to him, and should be dearest."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It sounds hard, Newman, but it is just, it is just."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am tired," said Basil, "I can talk no more; I want to -sleep."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sleep, my dear boy; I will watch by you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, you must seek rest yourself; I insist upon it; it will do -me good to know that you are resting after your long labour."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you sure you will not want me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite sure; I am gaining strength rapidly; to-morrow I shall -be almost well. Go."</p> - -<p class="normal">"When did I disobey my dear lad?" said Mrs. Chaytor. "When did -I disregard his slightest wish? He repays me with love, and I am happy, happy! -This is the brightest night of my life, Newman. What have I done that such joy -should be mine? It is more than I deserve. Yes, I will go, though I don't want -rest--indeed, indeed I do not. I could stop up for weeks nursing my dear lad, -and never feel fatigue." The tears rose in Basil's eyes as he gazed upon her -worn and wasted face. "Good night, my dear, dear boy. God bless and guard you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He could not deny her the kiss for which she mutely pleaded, -and she prepared to leave him; but she came back a dozen times to assure herself -that he was comfortable, that there was not a crease on his pillow, that the -clothes were smoothly laid over him, and to hover about him with soft accents of -love. At length he pretended to be asleep, and she crept from the room so softly -that he did not hear her footfall.</p> - -<p class="normal">Being alone now, he could think of what had passed, of the -revelation that had been made to him, of the position in which he stood, and how -it behoved him to act. The woman believed him to be her son, the idol of her -heart, the one supreme treasure which heaven and earth contained for her. In -that belief she had rescued him from death, and by so doing had perhaps afforded -him the opportunity to redeem his name and honour. To undeceive her would break -her heart; of this he had no doubt. How perfect was her love! How tender and -beautiful were its evidences! He remembered his own mother, and knew how pure -was the love which existed between them; but never till this moment had it been -given him to know to what wondrous extent a mother's love could go. That Newman -had been a bad son, that he had been profligate and false--of this he was -certain; such a nature as Newman's was capable of nought else; but all this was -forgotten and forgiven. Nay, instead of entreaties for pardon being expected -from him, it was himself that was asked to forgive. Something more than -gratitude stirred his heart as he thought of Mrs. Chaytor's goodness, a feeling -of pity and affection rose within him, and he bethought himself in what way he -could repay her for the great service she had rendered to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">Had it been Newman, indeed, whom she had rescued from death -and dishonour, how would he have acted? Natures do not change, and Newman would -have followed the bent of his. He would have brought fresh sorrows upon her -head; he would have stripped her of her new fortune and squandered it in -dissolute practices? Would it not be a fine revenge to make the end of her life -sweet and beautiful by the loving care and gratitude it was in Basil's power to -bestow. His heart glowed at the thought. The sterner part of his revenge could -still be carried out. He would have means to prosecute his search for Newman and -Annette, and it would be the easiest matter to find an excuse for absence, if it -were necessary that he should go personally to seek them. Thus two good ends -would be attained, one certain in the joy it would bring to a good woman's -heart, the other as yet uncertain, inasmuch as the roads which would lead to it -were enveloped in darkness.</p> - -<p class="normal">Yes, he would have means to punish the guilty. But were those -means his to use? Could he with justice employ them in the task upon which he -was engaged, and which Mrs. Chaytor had saved him to prosecute? This was the -question which now obtruded itself.</p> - -<p class="normal">Why not? Had not Newman Chaytor, by the vilest conduct, by -long systematic deceit and treachery, fraudulently obtained possession of his -fortune, and was he not now using it for his own selfish pleasures? Could human -cunning go further than Newman had done in his vile plot--could human baseness -reach a baser depth? No. There would be a strange and inscrutable justice in -using the villain's weapons to bring the villain to bay.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was another consideration: Annette. If in the morning he -declared himself to be Basil Whittingham, if he left the loving mother in sorrow -and tribulation, and rejected the opportunity which, through no scheming on his -part, had presented itself, if he threw himself once more penniless upon the -world, what chance had he of finding Annette in time, maybe, to save her from a -life of deepest unhappiness? This last consideration induced him to resolve upon -his course of action. For the present he would allow matters to go on as they -would. He would not undeceive Mrs. Chaytor; she should, for as long or as short -a time as circumstances permitted, rest in a delusion which had filled her heart -with joy. She should believe that he, Basil, was her son indeed, and he would -work and wait for events.</p> - -<p class="normal">But he would be strictly just, as far as he could. What money -he used should be used to one end, and to one end only; unless, indeed (and a -strange smile wreathed his lips as this view presented itself) collateral -disclosures were revealed to him of Newman Chaytor's home life of villainy and -treachery which pleaded for some kind of compensation. Then would he use some of -Chaytor's money to repair the wrong. A devious road to justice, but a -justifiable one. Having thus determined, sleep descended upon him.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_32" href="#div1Ref_32">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Early the next morning he awoke. The sun was shining into the -room, and he was alone. There was some kind of stir in the house for which he -could not account, and the cause of which he was curious to ascertain. Feeling -that his strength had returned to him he rose from the bed, and although a -natural weakness was upon him, he succeeded in partially dressing himself. While -thus employed the door was opened and the doctor entered the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah," said the doctor, "as I expected. You are yourself -again." He was a young man, and had a cheery voice and manner, which, used with -discretion, and not allowed to become too bluff, are invaluable aids to a -medical practitioner.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am almost well, I think," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"But we must be careful," said the doctor, "we must husband -our strength. You have a good constitution, and that has served you." Although -his voice was cheerful, he spoke with a certain reserve.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you not here very early?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am," replied the doctor, "much earlier than usual. The fact -is I was called in."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are too anxious about me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, yes, but I was not called in to see you. Your parents -required me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For themselves?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"For themselves. Are you strong enough to hear some grave -news?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me know it, quickly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"To be plain, your good mother has overtaxed herself; and your -father's illness has taken a serious turn. Your mother did not wish me to tell -you; she asked me to think of some excuse why she could not come to you; but in -the circumstances the truth is best."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, the truth is best. Disguise nothing from me. See--I am -really strong and well."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will do, if you are careful. As I said, your mother has -overtaxed her strength, and she is now suffering from it. I warned her a score -of times, but she would not leave your side, it is wonderful the devotion of -these good women."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it anything serious?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I fear so; she is old, and seems to have gone through some -serious troubles."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will go and see her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not till you have breakfast. I have ordered it for you, and -if you will allow me, I will join you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are very welcome."</p> - -<p class="normal">The maid entered the room with a tray, which she placed on a -table; the doctor threw open the window, saying, "Nothing like fresh air. Come, -let us fall to."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil was much taken with him; he was a man of culture and -refinement, and knew what he was about. As they proceeded with their breakfast -he entertained Basil with light and agreeable conversation, and it was only when -the meal was finished that he reverted to the subject of his professional visit.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Has your mother," he inquired, "during late years endured -privation?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been absent from England for a great many years," -replied Basil evasively.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And if she had," continued the doctor, "she would conceal it -from you! it is in the nature of such women. But I am led to this belief by her -condition; it is not only that she is suffering from the reaction of overtaxed -endurance, but that she has no reserve strength to draw upon."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was clear to Basil that he believed her case to be serious, -and in great anxiety he accompanied the doctor to the sickroom. There were two -beds in the room, one occupied by Mrs. Chaytor, the other by her husband. Mr. -Chaytor was dozing, and Basil, gazing upon him, saw a white and wasted face, -long drawn and thin as that of a man whose sands of life were fast running out. -Mrs. Chaytor cast a look of reproach upon the doctor, as she murmured:</p> - -<p class="normal">"You should not have told him, you should not have told him!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He was up and dressed, my dear lady," said the doctor softly, -"when I went in to see him. You must trust me to do what's best for all of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will, I will," murmured Mrs. Chaytor. "You have restored my -dear son to health. O, Newman, Newman!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil bent over her, and kissed her; she tried to rise, but -had not strength.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How good you are, how good, how good!" she sobbed.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil was shocked at her appearance, which had undergone a sad -change since the previous evening. The faithful couple, after a long and anxious -life, seemed to be both waiting for the summons from the angel of death.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is my turn now to nurse you," said Basil, pityingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, you must not; the kind doctor has sent for a nurse; you -must take care of yourself. There is a long and happy life before you, and you -must not waste your days upon old people like us. Are your father's eyes -closed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He wishes to speak to you when he wakes. He is quite -sensible, and has something to say to you. Doctor, I must speak to my son -alone."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was about to forbid any serious conversation, but, looking -attentively at her, he did not speak the words that came to his lips. He nodded, -and beckoned to Basil, who joined him at the door of the room.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am going now," he said, "and shall return at noon. Do not -let your mother exhaust herself. If she speaks excitedly, calm her down and beg -her, for your sake--it is the appeal that will have the best effect upon her--to -speak more slowly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But had she not better wait till she is stronger?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The doctor gazed at him with serious eyes, "It will perhaps be -as well not to wait. She seems to have something of importance to communicate to -your By-and-bye may be too late?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Inexpressively grieved, Basil returned to the bedside, and -took Mrs. Chaytor's thin hand in his; her fingers clung to his convulsively.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must speak to you about your father," she said, and to save -her the effort of raising her voice, Basil laid his head on the pillow close to -her mouth. A beautiful smile came to her lips as he did so. "Always loving and -considerate!" she murmured. "Always the same tender and unselfish lad! Newman, -your father has not seen you yet; all the time you were lying ill he has been -unable to rise from his bed. Don't contradict him, my dear lad."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will not," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He has strange fancies; he was always strange--but he has -been good to me. Remember that, Newman, and bear with him for my sake."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will do so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, my dear boy. If he says anything about the past, -listen in silence--even if it is hard to hear, listen in silence. He was not so -considerate of you as he might have been, but we can't alter our natures, can -we, my darling? He could never see that young people love pleasure, and ought to -have it; he wanted you to be grave and serious, as he was, and he would not make -excuses for little faults. Bear that in mind, my dear."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I will."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He said to me, 'I shall speak to Newman plainly,' and I know -what that means. He may speak harsh words, but you will be prepared for them. He -loves you in his heart, indeed he does, and intends to behave rightly to you. -Yesterday he wrote a paper, which I think he will give you, and something else -with it--something that will make your life easy and happy. You need never want -again, my dear boy, never, never. Oh, how you must have suffered! And you were -starving, and were too proud to come to us, who would have shared our last crust -with you. Let me tell you about our fortune, Newman. When some cheques were -brought to your father for the shares, he would not take them: he would take -nothing but notes and gold; and the money was brought to him, and he has it now -under his bed. 'If I put it into a bank,' he said, 'it will break, and I shall -be ruined again. I will keep it always by me in cash.' I told him it wasn't -safe, that we were old and might be robbed, but he would not listen to me. He -was always self-willed, you must remember that; he would always have his way, -and never thought that anyone was right but himself. I don't know how much money -he has, but it must be thousands of pounds. He gave me a hundred pounds in gold -to pay the house expenses; I have only spent forty, and there is sixty left. -Here it is--take it, Newman; take it, my dear boy. If you love me don't refuse. -That's right, put it in your pocket; all we have belongs to you--every farthing. -'When you want more,' he said to me, 'ask me for it and you shall have it.' He -was never niggardly, I will say that of him; we had a beautiful home once, did -we not? How happy you made it when you were little--and when you were big, too, -my dear! One day, when you are married--I hope you will marry a good woman, who -will love you with all her heart, and appreciate you--you will find out how -happy a little child can make a home. Then you will think of me, will you -not?--then you will know better what I mean."</p> - -<p class="normal">Her breath was spent, and she could not continue. She closed -her eyes, but her fingers tightened upon Basil's, and presently she began to -babble incoherently. The entrance of the nurse who had been sent her was a -welcome relief to Basil; the woman had received her instructions, and she went -about her duties noiselessly. Mrs. Chaytor's grasp relaxed, and Basil removed -his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You had best go," whispered the nurse; "she wants sleep."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil obeyed, and in his own room applied himself again to a -review of his position. Strange indeed were the circumstances in which he found -himself, but he saw no other course to pursue than that upon which he had -already resolved. At noon the doctor called again, and his report was even less -hopeful than on his previous visit.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can do nothing, I fear," he said; "the end is approaching. -You must be prepared."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is there no hope for one?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"For neither, so far as my judgment is to be trusted. It would -be a satisfaction to you, perhaps, if a physician were called in."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think it should be done," said Basil, "but I am a stranger -here and know no one."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will come at five o'clock, and bring a physician with me. -Meanwhile, if your parents have any arrangements to make with respect to -property, it should not be neglected. I am of the opinion that your father will -have an interval of consciousness this evening, and then would be the proper -time. In everything else you may trust the nurse I have sent in; she understands -the cases thoroughly."</p> - -<p class="normal">The physician's statement verified the warning.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Their vital forces are spent," he said; "the end cannot be -averted or arrested."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was at eight o'clock that the nurse presented herself, and -told him that his father had asked for him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your mother is sleeping," she said; "speak as softly as you -can."</p> - -<p class="normal">He followed her to the room and took a chair by Mr. Chaytor's -bed. He had strange thoughts as he entered. Suppose that Mr. Chaytor, seeing him -for the first time should refuse to see the likeness to Newman which others had -seen? In that case, how should he act? He was puzzled to answer, and, driven by -circumstances into a position he had not sought, could but leave events to take -their course, which they had already done independent of himself. But nothing of -the sort happened. Mr. Chaytor's eyes dwelt upon his face, and then he called -Basil by the name of Newman, and Basil had no alternative but to answer to it. -The nurse sat discreetly by Mrs. Chaytor's side.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Send that woman away," said Mr. Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">His words came with difficulty; his voice was choked. The -nurse heard the demand, and as she passed from the room she whispered to Basil -that she would be ready outside if he wanted her. For several minutes there was -silence, a silence which Basil did not venture to break. Mr. Chaytor appeared to -be engaged in the effort of marshalling his thoughts.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have come back in time," he said, "to see me die."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I trust there is still hope," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is no hope," said the sick man. "The doctors spoke -together under their breath, and thought I could not hear. They were wrong; I -heard every word they said. The fools forgot that a dying man's senses are often -preternaturally sharpened. Mine were, 'He will die at sunrise,' they said. Very -well. I shall die at sunrise. Oh, I don't dispute them; they know their -business. Sunrise is some hours yet; I have time to speak, and I mean to keep my -wits together till I have said what I have got to say. What you have to do is to -listen. Do you hear me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I hear you," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't intend," continued the dying man, "to ask you -questions, for I know what kind of replies you would give. What you are, you -are, and of that I have had bitter experience. Your mother, lying there at the -point of death--Oh, I heard that, too, when they were putting their heads -together--believes in you, trusts you, thinks you the sun, moon, and stars all -rolled into one, and thinks me a black cloud whose only aim is to tarnish your -brightness. Let her believe so. There was never any reason or any wisdom in her -love; but she is a good woman. To him she loves she gives all, and asks for -nothing in return. Whom she trusts is immaculate; she cannot see a spot upon -him. That is how it stands, how it has always stood, between you and her. It is -different with me. Ever since you became a man--heaven pardon me for calling you -one!--you have been corrupt and vicious; and I knew it. Ever since you became a -man you have been false to friendship, false to love; and I knew it. Ever since -you became a man you have had but one idea--yourself, your vanities, your -degraded pleasures, your low and envious desires; and I knew it. Why, then, -should I ask you questions, knowing you would lie to me in your answers. For you -are as glib of speech, Newman Chaytor, as you are cunning of mind. You have been -absent from us a long time: doubtless you have a good recollection of the day on -which I turned you from my house. We became stricken down; we became worse than -poor; we became paupers. Your mother wrote to you when you were on the -goldfields, and you sent back whining letters of your misfortunes. Your mother -believed you and pitied you; I disbelieved you and despised you. At length you -came home, and hunting for us to see whether there was another drop of blood you -could suck from our empty veins, discovered that you could hope for nothing from -us, and therefore kept aloof; for it is a fact that until a week previous to -your mother meeting you on Westminster Bridge, we lived on beggary and charity. -How do I arrive at this knowledge of your movements? From intuition, from the -bitter experiences with which you supplied me. I must pause a little. I will -proceed in a minute or two, when I get back my treacherous voice. Do not poison -the silence with your voice. I prefer not to hear it."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was dreadful to hear him. The choked utterances, the pauses -between the words, the fixed determination to say what was in his mind, the -stern tones, produced a painful impression upon Basil; but he had perforce to -obey, and so he waited till the dying man resumed:</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you had heard of my good fortune you would have leapt upon -us like a wolf; but it did not reach your ears. Therefore you kept away from us, -fearing, while you had one penny left, that we should beg a halfpenny of it. -Your mother brought you home--not to these rooms at first, for we had not -removed from our old quarters, but afterwards we came here for your pleasure. -Well, for hers, too, perhaps,"--his eyes softened a little as he turned them -towards the bed in which Mrs. Chaytor lay--"and she was happy, for the first -time for many, many years, because you were with us. I could not come to see -you; it is eight months since I was able to crawl, but your mother gave me -accounts of you, and I was not displeased that she was able to nurse you into -strength. She has hastened her end through it, but that matters little to her. -During this last week I have been thinking what I should do with my money, and I -have allowed myself to be persuaded, most likely beguiled. Look beneath my bed; -you will see a cashbox; bring it forth."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil did as he was directed, and produced the cashbox.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It contains a portion of my wealth; there are some shares in -it which may yet be valuable. I have made no will, but I give you the cashbox -and the contents while I live; they are yours--a free gift. Beneath my bed, -between the mattresses, is a larger sum which you may take possession of when I -am gone; I make no disposition of it, and you may act as you please in regard to -it. Take the key of the cashbox--it is hanging there, at the head of the bed; -and I lay this injunction upon you, that you do not open the box until I am -dead. In this I must break through the rule I laid down when I began to speak. -You will obey me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will obey you," said Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a solemn promise?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a solemn promise."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a look in your face I have never seen there before. -Is it possible that a change has come over you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have none but kind and grateful thoughts for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it true. <i>Can</i> it be true?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is true." Then, like a whirlwind, there rushed upon -Basil's mind a torrent of self-reproach. Was it right that he should allow the -dying man to rest in his delusion? Was it not incumbent upon him that he should -confess, here and now, that he was not Newman Chaytor? Whatever the -consequences, was it not his duty to brave them? But before he could speak a -word to this effect Mr. Chaytor raised himself in his bed with a terrible cry; -and at that cry the nurse unceremoniously entered the room, and caught Mr. -Chaytor in her arms. A little froth gathered about his lips, his head tossed -this way and that; then movement ceased; his limbs relaxed, and the nurse laid -him back in bed. Awe-stricken, Basil whispered:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is he dead?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," said the nurse; "if any change occurs I will call you. -Go--I can attend better to him alone."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can I not assist you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, you will be in my way. Hush! Go at once; your mother is -stirring. Be sure I will call you, I promise faithfully."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil left the room, carrying the cashbox with him, which he -placed under his own bed, putting the key in his pocket. He did not seek rest, -his mind was too perturbed. Towards midnight the doctor called in, and gently -informed Basil that within a few hours he would lose both his parents.</p> - -<p class="normal">"In one sense," he said, "apart from the grief which such a -loss bears with it, it is a happy fitness that two old people, who have lived a -long life in harmony with each other, should pass away at the same time, the -allotted span of existence having been reached. I sympathise sincerely with -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil gave him a strange look; so completely was his position -recognised and established that he almost doubted his identity. It wanted a few -minutes to sunrise when the nurse came to the door and solemnly beckoned to him. -He followed her it silence; she pointed first to the bed in which Mr. Chaytor -lay. The form thereon was grey and motionless.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He died in his sleep," whispered the nurse; "not a sound -escaped him. It was a happy, painless death."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil gazed at the still form.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now you know," he thought. "Forgive me for the deception -which has been forced upon me."</p> - -<p class="normal">The nurse touched his arm, and directed his attention to Mrs. -Chaytor, saying softly, "I would not let her know of your father's death."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Newman, Newman, my dear boy," murmured the dying woman, "put -your lips to mine; come closer to me, closer, closer. My last thoughts, my last -prayers are for you. Has your father spoken to you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And has he given you what he promised?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then all is well. We shall trouble you no more, my darling. A -life of happiness is before you. Think of us sometimes; and if your father does -not get well, lay us in the same grave."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I shall wait for you in heaven. How happy I am--how happy, -how happy! I am not sorry to go now I have found you. I have prayed to die like -this. God has been very good to me. He has answered my prayer. Kiss me, dear. -God bless and guard you!"</p> - -<p class="normal">She said no more; before the next hour struck her spirit was -in another world.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Remain with them," Basil said to the nurse, "and let -everything be done that is proper and necessary."</p> - -<p class="normal">He gave her some money, and oppressed with thought, returned -to his chamber. No adventure that he had met with in the course of his chequered -life had stirred him so deeply as this. So strange and singular was it that he -might have been pardoned for doubting still that it was true. But the cashbox, -which he had drawn from beneath the bed, was before him; the key was in his -hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">After a brief space he opened the box, taking the precaution -first to lock his door. Upon the top of the box were eight acceptances for -various amounts, signed in different names, some in those of Mr. Chaytor, others -in names that were strange to him. They were pinned together, and folded in a -paper upon which was written:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"These acceptances are forgeries, committed by my son, Newman -Chaytor. I have paid them, and saved him from the just punishment which should -have been his. In this and in other ways he has ruined my career, and brought -his mother and me to direst poverty. But although the money is paid and the -exposure averted, the crime remains; he is not cleared of it. It is a stain upon -him for ever.--Edward Chaytor."</p> - -<p class="normal">Beneath these documents was another, inscribed:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"The last words of Edward Chaytor, once a prosperous -gentleman, but brought to shame by a guilty son."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Unfolding the paper, Basil read:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"To my son Newman Chaytor, a man of sin, I, his unhappy -father, address these words. Your life has been a life of infamy, and you, who -should have been a blessing to us, have plunged us in misery. I have little hope -of your future, but remorse may prompt you to pay heed to what I now say. Repent -of your evil courses while there is time. You may live to be old, when -repentance will be too late. If there is any wrong to be righted, which may be -righted by money, seek it out, and let my money right it. If there is any -atonement to be made, and you see a way to it--as you surely will if you -try--let my money atone for it. If there is any villainy committed by you which -merits punishment, but which in some small measure may be condoned by money, let -my money accomplish it. Do this, and you may hope for forgiveness. I could write -much more, but I have neither the desire nor the power; but if I wrote for a -week you would not have a better understanding of my meaning. Signed on my -death-bed. Your father,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:55%">"<span class="sc">Edward Chaytor</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The remaining contents of the cashbox were gold and notes, -amounting in all to a considerable sum. Basil counted the money, made a careful -and exact record of it on a fair sheet of paper, replaced the papers and locked -the box, and put it in a place of safety.</p> - -<p class="normal">He was not long in arriving at a decision as to what he should -do with respect to this money. For his own needs he would use the barest -pittance upon which he could live, and some part of the money he would also use -in the prosecution of his search for Newman Chaytor and Annette. In this -expenditure he felt himself justified, and he would keep a strict and faithful -account of the sums he expended. For the rest, if anything in the career of -Newman Chaytor came to his knowledge, and he could in any way carry out the -behests of the man lying dead in the room beyond, he would do it, and thus -vicariously make atonement for the villain who had brought sorrow and misery -upon all with whom he came in contact. For the present there were duties which -demanded his attention, and Basil applied himself to the last sad offices -towards those who had passed away. In the course of the week his task was -accomplished. Mr. and Mrs. Chaytor lay in one grave, and Basil made arrangements -for a stone, and for a continual supply of fresh flowers over the grave. Then, -with a stern resolve, he set himself to the serious work before him, and to the -design which had brought him home from the goldfields.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_33" href="#div1Ref_33">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The first thing he did was to remove from the house which had -been occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Chaytor, and take a room in a poor locality, for -which he paid four shillings a week. Including this sum he thought he could live -as well as he desired upon a pound a week. He experienced a grim satisfaction -from the reflection that he was expending upon his own personal necessities some -small portion of the fortune of which Newman Chaytor had so successfully robbed -him. If the day ever arrived when it would be necessary to go into accounts with -Newman Chaytor this slight expenditure would be placed to the villain's credit. -He had an idea of returning to his lodgings in Mrs. Philpott's house, the -assistance of whose husband he determined again to seek, but upon second -thoughts he saw that he would be more free to act if he were not under the -kindly surveillance of this estimable couple. Having established himself in his -new quarters he went direct to Mrs. Philpott's residence in Lambeth. The woman -was overjoyed to see him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, sir, why," she cried, as she came to the door fresh from -the washing-tub wiping the suds from her arms, "this <i>is</i> a pleasure. -Philpott will be more than glad. Here, children, children! Come and see an old -friend; there never was such a favourite with them as you were, sir. They have -been continually taking you into custody and locking you up, and trying and -acquitting you, without a stain on your character." Mrs. Philpott laughed. "You -mustn't mind ways; if they didn't think all the world of you they'd give you six -months hard labour. It's the revenge they take upon people they don't like. -Don't crowd round the gentleman so, you rude things! Where's your manners, I -should like to know? Won't you walk in, sir? I hope you're coming back to live -with us; there's your room waiting for you; it's never been occupied, and -Philpott says it never shall be, unless you take it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am living elsewhere, Mrs. Philpott," said Basil, "but I've -come to see your husband on business.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm sorry he's not in, sir," said Mrs. Philpott; "he won't be -home till ten o'clock to-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can I see him, then; my business will not admit of delay?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Certainly, sir. Philpott would get up in the middle of the -night to serve you, and so would I. You'll stop and have a bite with us, sir, I -hope?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, thank you, I haven't time; I will be here punctually at -ten."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, sir," said Mrs. Philpott, regretfully, "if you must go; -but you'll take a bit of supper with us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will, with pleasure. Your husband is sure to be at home, I -suppose?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir; Philpott's the soul of punctuality. He's gone for a -day in the country to see an old friend, and his train is due at Victoria at -twenty past nine. You're looking better than you did, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am better, and in better spirits."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you remember what I said, sir, about clouds with silver -linings? Lord Sir! When things are at their worst they're sure to mend. What men -and women have got to do is never to give in. Oh, I've had my lessons, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So have I, Mrs. Philpott: I shall be with you at ten."</p> - -<p class="normal">Patting the children on their heads, and giving them a penny -each--he felt like a shilling, but it was not exactly his own money he was -spending, and this small benefaction was a luxury which did not properly come -under the head of personal expenses--Basil, with pleasant nods, left them to -their favourite occupation of taking people up and trying them for imaginary -offences against the public peace. At nightfall, having an idle hour or two -before his appointment with Mr. Philpott, an impulse which he made no effort to -control directed his steps towards Long Acre, and then to Queen Street, where -the woman whom Newman Chaytor had betrayed and deserted carried on her business. -The workgirls from the large establishments in the vicinity of the street were -coming from their shops, most of them in blithe spirits, being young and in -agreeable employment. It was the holiday time of the day with them, and they -were hurrying home, some doing a little sweet-hearting on the road which it was -pleasant to contemplate. There were pictures not so pleasant; great hulking men -smoking pipes and lounging about, with "Brute" stamped on their features, and -women as coarse, whose birth and training perhaps were a legitimate answer to -their worse than common language and manners. Basil's observations of London -life during the last few months had supplied him with ample food for reflection, -and he could honestly have preached a homily on charity which better men than -he--say, for instance, philanthropists or statesmen with hobbies--might -serviceably have taken to heart.</p> - -<p class="normal">His attention was diverted from these unfortunates by a -startling incident. There was a sudden cry of "Fire!" and the thoroughfare -became instantly thronged.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where is it?--where is it?" "There, you fool! Can't you see -it?--in Queen Street." "It's a private house." "No, it isn't, it's a shop--a -milliner's. An old house; it'll burn like tinder." "A good job it isn't in the -middle of the night; they'd have been burnt in their beds."</p> - -<p class="normal">The sparks rushed up in fierce exultation. "The next house is -caught! The whole street 'll be down. Here's the fire-engine!"</p> - -<p class="normal">In gallant haste the horses tore along, the brave firemen, -heroes one and all, standing firm and ready. Basil followed the crowd, and with -difficulty pushed his way through as far as he was allowed. It was Mrs. -Addison's shop that was on fire, and he saw immediately that there was no chance -of saving it. The weeping women were outside, wringing their hands; among them -the woman who had accused him, and her mother, who had cast upon him that ever -vivid look of abhorrence and hatred. So quick and sudden and fierce was the fire -that not a stick of furniture nor a yard of ribbon was saved. The women strove -to rush into the shop, but the firemen held them back, and with firm kindness -impelled them to a place of safety. Basil, edging near to them, and keeping his -face hidden, heard what passed between. "We are ruined," said one, despairingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Aren't you insured?" inquired a by-stander.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not for a penny," was the answer.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, you'll have to commence the world all over again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Heaven help us!" was the answer. "We are worse than naked; we -owe money."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never mind, old woman," shouted a tipsy man, "there's the -work'us open."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Shut up, you brute!" cried an indignant female. "Have you no -bowels?"</p> - -<p class="normal">At the words, "We are ruined," a thrill shot through Basil. -Here was a woman whom Newman Chaytor had wronged; here was a woman to whom -atonement was due. He knew what it was right should be done, and he determined -to do it. He lingered near them until the shop lay a mouldering heap of ruins; -he heard a kind neighbour offer them lodging for the night; he marked the house -they entered; and then he went home to his own lodging of one room. There, -safely concealed, was a sum of money amounting to three hundred pounds; he took -the whole of it, wrote on a sheet of paper, "In partial atonement of wrong -committed in the past," and put the paper and the notes in an envelope, which he -addressed to Mrs. Addison. Then he went to Mrs. Philpott's house. "You are late, -sir," said that cheerful woman; "an hour behind time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have been detained."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You're not too late for supper, sir, at all events," said -Mrs. Philpott; "I put it back for you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must excuse me," said Basil; "something of pressing -importance has occurred, and I want Mr. Philpott to come out with me -immediately."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite ready, sir," said Mr. Philpott, rising and getting his -hat.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Philpott, recognising that the business was urgent, did -not press Basil further, although disappointment was in her face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"At another time," said Basil, "I shall be glad to accept of -your hospitality. Come, Mr. Philpott."</p> - -<p class="normal">As they walked on Basil explained that he wished Mr. Philpott -to take up the dropped threads of the search for Newman Chaytor, and then he -explained what he wished to do at the present moment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is purely a confidential matter," said Basil, "and is not -to be spoken of in any way after the commission is executed. Here is the house. -Some women are lodging here for the night whose place of business near Long Acre -has been burnt down. You will ask for Mrs. Addison; if a mother and her daughter -present themselves it is the daughter you must address. Ask her if she is the -woman who has been burnt out, and if she answers in the affirmative give her -this envelope, and come away at once. If she seeks to detain you and asks -questions, do not answer them. I will wait for you on the opposite side."</p> - -<p class="normal">He watched Mr. Philpott execute the commission, being right in -his conjecture that the women would be too excited to seek their beds until late -in the night. The woman with whom he had the interview appeared at the door, and -received the envelope; after which Mr. Philpott joined him, as directed. At the -corner of the street Basil and his companion paused and looked back at the -house. In a few moments the woman who had answered Mr. Philpott's summons came -quickly to the street door and looked eagerly up and down; Basil and Mr. -Philpott were standing in the shadow, and could not be seen. The light of the -street lamp assisted Basil to see her face: it was radiant with joy.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good night's work," said Basil, taking Mr. Philpott's arm -and walking away. "I will call upon you to-morrow. Good night."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpott left him and proceeded homewards, as did Basil. -He did not know that a man was following him with eager curiosity. He put his -latchkey in the street door of his lodging, and as he did so the man touched his -arm. Basil turned.</p> - -<p class="normal">"What, Old Corrie!" he cried, in a voice of delight.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No other," said Old Corrie, calmly. "It <i>is</i> Master -Basil. I thought I wasn't mistaken. Well, well! This is a meeting to be thankful -for. I'm in luck."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_34" href="#div1Ref_34">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"Come in, come in," said Basil, clutching Old Corrie by the -arm, as though he feared to lose him, and dragging him into the house; "this is -indeed a meeting to be thanking for. It is I who am in luck."</p> - -<p class="normal">He regarded it as an omen of good fortune. If Old Corrie were -thus unexpectedly found, why not Newman Chaytor? And, besides, here was a trusty -friend upon whom he could rely--here was a man whose evidence would go far to -establish his identity, to restore his good name, to give the lie to his -traducers. He looked upon this meeting as the opening of a brighter chapter in -his strange career, and with this cheering thought in his mind he ascended the -stairs to his one room at the top of the house, still keeping tight hold of -Corrie, who, accompanied him, willingly enough, in a kind of amazed silence.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I must find a candle," said Basil, pushing Old Corrie, into -the room before him. "You won't run away, Corrie?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No fear, Master Basil," replied Corrie. "I am not in a -run-away humour. Shouldn't wonder, supposing I get encouragement, if I develop -the qualities of a leech."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I promise you encouragement enough," said Basil, with a -little laugh. His spirits were almost joyous; youth seemed to be returning to -him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wait for proof," observed Corrie sententiously. "Friends -are none so plentiful in this hard world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"True, true," assented Basil, groping about for a candle. "You -could swear to me in the dark, eh?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If needful."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That's more than some would do in the full light of the -blessed sun. I could sing for joy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hold your hand, Master Basil; let us exchange a few more -words in darkness. I am speculating whether you are changed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you think, Corrie?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I think not, but what man can be sure? I have been sore beset -since we last talked together."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We have been rowing in the same boat, then."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have met with misfortunes, too! Have they soured you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They have brought sorrow and doubt in their train, but, there -is sweetness still in the world. This meeting is a proof."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You live high up, and the house is the house of poor people. -Birds of a feather flock together. Perhaps, after all, I had best go away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If you attempt it I shall assault you. Corrie, old friend, -you have dropped upon me like a messenger from Heaven. Here is the candle at -last. Now we can have a good look at each other."</p> - -<p class="normal">They gazed in silence for a few moments, and Basil was grieved -to see old Corrie in rags. Beneath the bluff honesty of his face there were -undeniable marks of privation, but despite these signs there was a gleam of -humour still in his eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, Master Basil?" said he presently.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am truly sorry, dear old friend," said Basil, holding out -his hand. "You have had some hard knocks."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You may say that. It has been a case of battledore and -shuttlecock--the battledore a stone one and the shuttlecock a poor bit of -ironbark, with such a mockery of feathers in it that the moment it was knocked -up it fell down like a lump of lead. If I puzzle you, Master Basil, you puzzle -me. There is something in you I can't exactly read. Your clothes are not what I -should like to see you wear, though they are the clothes of a prince compared -with mine. This room is the room of a man pretty low down in the world," and -here Old Corrie added with a laugh, "the higher up you live the lower down you -are--and yet you have the air of a man who is not hard up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Regarding me," said Basil, "as a bundle of contradictions, -you are nearer the mark than you could suppose yourself to be. But surely I am -forgetting my manners and my duties as a host." He opened a cupboard, and drew -therefrom bread, butter, cheese, and a bottle of ale, which he uncorked. Plates, -glasses, and knives were on the table in a trice. "Fall to, Corrie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can spare it, Master Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can spare it, Corrie. You share with me from this time -forth. Do you live near here?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Very near," replied Old Corrie, pointing to the window. "The -sky is my roof."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It has been mine. We'll house you better. I drink love and -friendship to a dear old friend." They clinked glasses, and Corrie ate like a -famished man. The meal being done he said: "I've been on my beam-ends in -Australia, but starving in this country is a very different pair of shoes. It's -a near thing here between want and death--so near that they touch often and join -hands in grim partnership. I've seen it done, and a dead woman before me. Now, -in Australia, unless it comes to being lost in a bush--where it's no man's fault -but the explorer's--I never heard of a case. There's stone-breaking at all -events to tide over the evil day. I've had more than one turn at it, and been -thankful to get it to do, as every honest and willing man would be. Different in -England, Master Basil, where they've brought civilization down to a fine point. -Did you take notice how I ate my supper? More like a wild beast than a man--and -now, with a full stomach, I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. Not that I am loth -to accept your hospitality; it's the need of it that riles me. That's where the -shoe really pinches."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can sympathise with you, Corrie. By the way, I am in your -debt."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How so, Master Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Over the water yonder, I borrowed a mare of you, and managed -to lose it. You remember. I wanted to get from Bidaud's plantation to Gum Flat -Township--a gruesome journey it turned out to be--and you lent me your mare. -When I returned and reported the matter to you my pockets were empty, and not a -word of reproach did you fling at me. I couldn't pay the debt then--I can now."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Hold hard a bit, Master Basil; let me turn the thing over in -my mind." Basil humoured him, and there was a brief silence. Then Corrie said, -"It is a simple justice that the mare should be paid for if you can afford it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can afford it. Why, if I had my own this night I should be -worth sixty thousand pounds."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Some one has cheated you, Master Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"More than cheated me; has done me the foulest wrong. You -shall hear all by-and-by. But I still have money I can call my own. The robber, -unknown to himself, is making restitution by driblets. Here you are, Corrie." He -had counted out thirty pounds, which he now pushed over to Corrie across the -table. Corrie counted it, but did not take it up.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If this is for the mare, Master Basil, it's too much."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Too little, you mean."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Too much by twenty pounds. The old mare <i>might</i> have -fetched a ten pound note in a sale-yard, and more likely than not would have -been knocked down for a fiver. So I'll take ten, if you don't mind, Master -Basil, and we'll cry quits on that account. I wouldn't take that if my pockets -weren't empty."</p> - -<p class="normal">No persuasion on Basil's part could induce Old Corrie to -accept more than the ten pounds, and the young man was fain to yield.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You were quite in earnest," said Old Corrie, "when you -offered to give me a shakedown for the night?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've a mind to be angry with you," responded Basil, "for -asking the question. Let us settle matters between us once and for all, Corrie. -You had a good opinion of me once."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I had, Master Basil, and would have done much to serve you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You did do much--more than I had any right to expect, more -than any other man did."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not more than any other man would have done," said Old -Corrie, eyeing Basil attentively, "if he had lived."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You refer to Anthony Bidaud?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do. I haven't forgotten him, nor little lady, nor that -skunk of an uncle of hers.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We have much to talk over, you and I," said Basil, -restraining the impulse to speak immediately of Annette, "but what is between us -must first be settled and clearly understood. You are right about Anthony -Bidaud. He would have been the first, but he died before his intentions could be -fulfilled. Next to him you stand, and surely you would not have been the friend -you were to me if you had not esteemed and trusted me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That goes without saying."</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I was then, Corrie," continued Basil, earnestly, "so I am -now. I have passed through the fire, and suffering may still await me, but I am -and hope to remain, unchanged. Let us take up the thread Of friendship where it -was broken off, on the goldfields, when Newman Chaytor and I were working -together and when you endeavoured to persuade me to come home with you. Ah, what -might I have been spared had I accepted your generous offer! Corrie, if ever -there was a time in my life when I most needed a true friend, it is now. There -is vital work before me to do, and you, and you alone, can help me. By Heavens, -if you desert me I doubt whether I should be able to prove that I am I! Come, -old friend, say that you will believe in me as of old, and that you will stick -by me as you would have done in the old Australian days."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Say no more," said Old Corrie. "I'll worry you no longer; -it's scarcely fair play, for, Master Basil, I never doubted you in reality; but -poverty is proud and suspicious, and often behaves like an ill-trained -watch-dog. And besides, there are times in some men's lives when kindness is so -rare and unexpected that it throws them off their balance. I don't pretend to -understand half you have said about yourself, but I'll wait till you explain, -and then if I can help you in any way, here I am, ready. I am wondering whether -something that happened to me would be of interest to you--but, no, it is a -foolish thought. Doubtless you have seen her, and now I come to think of it, -perhaps there lies part of your trouble."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Seen whom?" asked Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Little lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," cried Basil, in great excitement, "I have not seen her, -and I would give the best years of my life to find her. You know where she is; -you can take me to her!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Steady, lad, steady. I haven't seen her, and can't take you -to her, but there's a sign-post that may show the way. There's no certainty in -it; it's just a chance. What do you say if I lead up to it? It's late in the -night, but I've no inclination to close my eyes, knowing I shouldn't sleep a -wink, I'm that stirred up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Neither could I sleep, Corrie. Let us sit and talk and smoke; -here's a spare pipe and tobacco--and you shall tell me in your own way."</p> - -<p class="normal">Corrie nodded, and filled his pipe, and lit it Basil did the -same, and waited in anxious expectancy, while Corrie puffed and contemplated the -ceiling meditatively.</p> - -<p class="normal">"In my own way, Master Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In your own way, Corrie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A roundabout way, but there's plenty of time before daybreak, -and then a couple of hours sleep will make us both fit. Old bushmen like -ourselves won't miss one night's rest."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_35" href="#div1Ref_35">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">There was distinct tenderness in Old Corrie's face as he -watched the curling wreaths of smoke.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't lay claim to being a poet," he said; "I leave that to -my betters; but they almost seem to me to belong to poetry, these rings of smoke -that come and go. They bring back old times, and I could fancy we were in the -bush, sitting by the camp fire before turning in for the night, spinning yarns, -and as happy as blackbirds in spring. There's no life like it, Master Basil, say -what they will of the pleasures of the city. Pleasures! Good Lord! To think of -the lives some lead here and then to speak of pleasures! I'm not going to -preach, however; the ship's been battered about, but it has reached port,"--he -touched Basil's hand gratefully--"and here sits the old bushman recalling old -times. I shan't dwell upon them because I know it would be trying your patience. -I'd like you to give me a little information about yourself before I go on."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ask whatever you wish, Corrie."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I left you on the goldfields, mates with Newman Chaytor, of -whom, as you know, I did not have a good opinion."</p> - -<p class="normal">"However badly you thought of him, you were justified."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You found him out at last."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I found him out at last."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did it take you long?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Years."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sorry to hear it. Did you get a proper knowledge of him -suddenly or gradually?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Suddenly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And all the time he was practising on you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He was."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Master Basil," said Old Corrie, gravely, "you were never fit -to battle with human nature; you never understood the worst half of it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perhaps not, Corrie, but I understand it now. Newman Chaytor -is a black-hearted villain."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am not surprised to hear you say so; I had my suspicions of -him from the first. Unreasonable, I grant you, no grounds to go upon; but there -they were, and I am sorry, for your sake, that they proved true. Where's my -gentleman now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In Europe, somewhere. I am hunting for him; it will be a dark -day for the traitor when I come face to face with him."</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie looked at Basil keenly from under his eyebrows. "Do -you want my assistance here?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do. You must be with me, by my side, when he and I are -together. With your aid, I succeed; without it, I fail. Do you require an -incentive? I will give you two."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I require none; it is sufficient that you want me and that -you believe I can be of assistance to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Still, I will give you the two incentives. One is, that it is -not alone Newman Chaytor I am fighting: linked with him, if I have not been -misinformed, is an associate worthy of him--Gilbert Bidaud."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Little lady's uncle. A precious pair, he and Chaytor. If I -needed spurring, this would do it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The other is, that I am not only fighting to defeat these -scoundrels, but to save your little lady Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Enough, enough," said Old Corrie; "I'll bide my time to -learn. Meanwhile, I pledge myself to you. Why, Master Basil, to give those two -men their deserts, and to serve you and little lady, I'd go through fire and -water. I will unfold my budget first, and will make it as short as I can. When I -left you on the goldfields, I did what many another foolish fellow has done, -went to Sydney and spent a week or two there on the spree. What kind of pleasure -is to be got out of that operation heaven only knows, but it is supposed to be -the correct thing for a brainless, lucky gold-digger to do, and it leaves him -probably with empty pockets, and certainly with a headache and heartache that -ought to teach him to be wiser in future. There was no excuse for me: I wasn't a -young man, and wasn't fond of drink, and when at the end of a fortnight I came -to my sober senses, I said, 'Corrie, you're an old fool,' and I never said a -truer thing. That fortnight cost me a hundred pounds, I reckon. I treated every -man whose face I recognised, and a good many that were strange to me, and I -think it was the face of a gentleman I met in Pitt Street, who looked at me in a -kind of wonder, that pulled me up short. Somehow or other he reminded me of you, -Master Basil, though he wasn't a bit like you; but he was a gentleman, and you -are a gentleman, and the thought ran into my head like a flash of fire, 'What -would Master Basil think of me it he saw me now?' It staggered me, and I felt as -if I was behaving like a traitor to you to so forget myself. You had given me -your friendship, and I was showing that I was unworthy of it. I made my way back -to the hotel I was staying at, and plunged my head into a bucket of water, and -kept it there until I had washed away the fumes of half the cursed liquor I had -poured down my throat. Then I went to my bedroom, locked the door, threw myself -on the bed, and slept myself sober. 'Never again, Corrie, old boy,' I said, -'never again.' And I never did again, although I did some foolish things -afterwards that were quite as unwise though less disgraceful. I took ship home -and landed at St. Katherine's Docks with four thousand pounds in my pocket. Yes, -Master Basil, I had made that much and more on the goldfields, and it ought to -have lasted me my life. You shall hear how long it <i>did</i> last me. As a -matter of course I was regularly knocked over when I walked through the London -streets. The crowds of people, the gay shops, the cabs and 'busses, and -carriages, the hurly-burly, the great buildings, almost took my breath away. I -looked back at my old life in the woods, swinging my axe, felling trees, and -splitting slabs, with my laughing jackass on a branch near me, and the hum of -nature all around me, and I hardly knew whether I was awake or dreaming. Was I -happy in the London streets? I can't say; I was certainly bewildered, and that, -mayhap, prevented me from thinking of things in a sensible way. I was looking in -a shop window, speculating whether I oughtn't to buy some of the bright ties for -sale there, when a voice at my elbow says 'Good day, mate.' 'Good day, mate,' -said I, though the man was a stranger to me, at least I thought so at the -moment, but he soon unsettled my thought. 'Where have I met you, mate?' said he. -'In what part of the world?' 'On the goldfields, perhaps,' said I, like an -innocent pigeon. 'Most likely,' he said, on the goldfields. 'Your face strikes -me as familiar, but I don't remember your name.' 'My name is Corrie,' said I; -'Old Corrie I used to be called.' 'No,' he said, shaking his head; 'I don't -remember it. I've seen you on the goldfields, that's all, and it's only because -I never forget a face that I took the liberty of speaking to you. I ask your -pardon.' 'No offence, mate,' I said, and I shook the hand he held out before he -left me. Now, Master Basil, if that man had said, when I told him my name, that -we were old acquaintances, I should have been suspicious of him, but his honest -admission (it seemed honest) that he only recognised my face because he'd seen -it once or twice on the goldfields--which would have been the most natural thing -in the world--made me look upon him with favour, and as he walked away, I gazed -after him with a feeling of regret that he should leave me so quickly. He may -have gone a dozen yards when he looked back over his shoulder, and seeing me -staring after him, turned with a smile, and joined me again. 'It looks churlish -scudding off so unceremoniously,' said he, 'when I might by chance be of service -to you. When did you arrive?' 'I landed this morning,' I said, and I mentioned -the name of the ship. 'Have you friends in London?' he asked. 'No,' said I, 'I -am a stranger here.' 'Then you haven't taken lodgings yet,' said he. 'No,' I -answered, 'and to tell you the truth I am puzzled where to go.' He offered to -advise me, and I gladly availed myself of the offer. 'Come and have a chop with -me first,' said he, and we went to an eating-house all gilt and glass--I found -out afterwards that the street we were in was Cheapside--and had a chop and some -beer. He threw half-a-sovereign to the waiter, but I objected to it saying I -would pay. He insisted, saying he had invited me; but I insisted too, saying I -had plenty of money, and would take it as a favour if he would let me have my -way. The friendly wrangle ended in each of us paying his own score, and then as -though we had known each other all our lives, we went out together to a quiet -hotel, in a narrow street in the Strand, down by the river, where I engaged a -bedroom. I'll cut a long story short, Master Basil, so far as my new friend -goes, by telling you how it ended with me and him. He was so clever, and I was -so simple, that he wormed himself completely into my confidence, and I thought -myself lucky in having made such a friend. He told me all about himself, and I -told him all about myself; it was a regular case of Siamese twins: we were never -apart. One day he spoke of speculation, and of doubling one's money in a week, -and doubling it again when the opportunity offered, which wasn't too often. 'Of -your four thousand pounds, you make eight,' said he, 'of your eight thousand you -make sixteen, and if you like to stop, why there you are, you know.' Yes, there -I was, and no mistake. The opportunity that presented itself to my confidential -friend was something in my way--a quartz reef on the Avoca, to be formed into a -company. He showed me figures which I couldn't dispute, and didn't wish to -dispute. The truth is, Master Basil, he had dazzled me. Sixteen thousand pounds -was certainly better than four, and to be content with one when you had only to -put your name on a piece of paper to secure the other was the act of a -simpleton. The upshot of it was that I went into the company and signed away the -whole of my money with the exception of a hundred pounds, and very soon found -out that I had signed it away for ever and a day. Good-bye, my three thousand -nine hundred pounds, and good-bye to my dear friend who had tickled me into his -web and made mincemeat of me. I never saw anything of either money or friend -again."</p> - -<p class="normal">Old Corrie paused to load his pipe, which gave Basil time to -remark:</p> - -<p class="normal">"You said just now that I knew nothing of the worst side of -human nature. How about yourself, Corrie?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was my one mistake, Master Basil," replied Corrie -composedly. "There's no excuse for me; I was an old fool. Let me have four -thousand pounds again, and see if I'm bit a second time. Now, being stranded -with about enough to keep a fellow but little more than a year, what was I to -do? If I had been the wise man I'm trying to make myself out to be, I should -have taken passage to Australia, and taken up my old life there. But more than -one thing held me back, and kept me here. First, there was a foolish pride; to -retreat was to confess myself beaten. Second, there was the chance of meeting -with the friend who had diddled me; it was about as strong as one thread of a -spider's web, but I dangled it before me. Third, I had never known what it was -to be without a crust of bread, and therefore had no fears on that score. -Another thing, perhaps, which only just now occurs to me, kept me in this -country. When I was a youngster there was a fatalist among my acquaintances. He -was the only thoroughly happy man I have ever known. Nothing worried or -disturbed him; he was a poor man, and he never grumbled at being poor; he met -with misfortunes, and he accepted them smilingly, and never struggled against -them; if he had broken his leg, and it had to be amputated, he wouldn't have -winced during the operation. He had what he called a philosophical theory, and -he explained it to me. 'Nothing that anyone can do,' he said, 'will prevent -anything occurring. Everything that is going to happen is set down beforehand, -and an army ten million strong couldn't stop a straw from blowing a certain way -if fate ordained that it was to blow that way. You can't prevent yourself from -being imposed upon, from being poor, from being rich, from being sick, from -being healthy, from living till you're a hundred, from dying when you're twenty, -from having a wife and blooming family, from living alone in a garret. -Therefore,' said he, 'it's of no use bothering about things. Do as I do--take -'em easy.' 'But how,' I said once to him, 'if I've got a different temper from -yours, and worry myself to death about trifles?' 'Then you are much to be -pitied,' said he, 'and I shall not trouble myself about you.' I pressed, him, -though, a little. 'If a man is good?' I asked. 'He is fated to be good,' he -answered. 'If he is a murderer?' I asked. 'He is fated to be a murderer,' he -answered. 'If he is born to be hanged, hanged he will be, as sure as there's a -sun above us.' Well, now, Master Basil, perhaps it was fated that I should -remain in England in order to meet with a certain adventure which I will tell -you of presently, and afterwards to meet you here in London to-night to assist -you to a fated end."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a hateful theory," said Basil. "Were it true, vice -would be as meritorious as virtue, and monsters of iniquity would rank side by -side with angels of goodness. Go on with your story, Corrie, and put fatalism -aside."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So be it. Anyway, there I was, as my friend said, with a -hundred pounds in my pocket instead of sixteen thousand. I wasn't quite devoid -of prudence; I knew that a hundred pounds wouldn't last very long, and that it -would be as well if I could hit upon some plan to earn a livelihood. It was the -hop-picking season. 'I'll do a little hopping,' said I, and off I set towards -the heart of Kent for an autumn tour, seasoned with so many or so few shillings -a day. On the second night of my tramp I missed my way. I was in a woody -country, with the usual puzzling tracks and fences. The night was fine, but very -dark. Camping out in England is a very different thing from camping out in -Australia, and I didn't intend to camp out here if I could help it. But I was -tired, and I squatted myself on the grass which grew on a hill side, and thought -I'll rest an hour and then stumble onwards on the chance of reaching a village -where I could get a night's lodging. I was very comfortable; my legs hung down, -there was a rest for my back, and without any intention of doing so, I fell -asleep. I was awakened by something alive and warm quite close to me; I could -not see what it was, because when I opened my eyes I found that the night, from -being dark, had got black. There was not a star visible--everything was black, -above, below, around. But what was the object close to me? I put out my hand and -felt flesh covered with hair. 'A dog,' thought I; but passing my hand along the -body, I dismissed the dog idea in consequence of the size of the animal. It was -not high enough nor smooth enough for a horse. A donkey, perhaps; but if a -donkey, why was it muzzled? The creature uttered no sound while my hand was upon -it, but when I took my hand away to get a match--the only means at my command to -obtain a view of my strange companion--it put its head upon my arm, and then a -foot, just as though it wanted to pull me along in some particular -direction--and then I heard a growl. It made me start, though it was not a -threatening growl, and I wondered what sort of animal this could be that had -attached itself to me at such a time and in such a place. The next sound I heard -was the clank of a chain. I should have taken to my heels if I had not been -deterred by the thought that it might be safer to keep still, so I softly took -out my matchbox and struck a light--and there, with only a few inches between -our faces, was a great brown bear. I was startled, but I soon got over my fears. -I struck half a dozen matches, one after the other, to get a good look at my new -mate, and with the lighting of each fresh match I became more assured. I took -its paw in my hand, and found that its claws had been pared down; it opened its -mouth, and there was scarcely a tooth in it; I happened to hold up my arm, with -the lighted match in my hand, and the bear immediately stood on its hind legs -and pawed the air. I jumped immediately at the right conclusion. The creature -was a harmless performing bear, and it had either escaped from its master, or -the man was not far off, and it wished to lead me to him. I made an experiment. -I rose, picked up the end of the chain and cried, 'March!' March the bear did, -and I after it, for about a mile, and then it lay down by something on the road, -and moaned. I declare, Master Basil, there was a human sound in that moan, and I -knelt by its side and took a man's head on my knee. He was a foreigner, but -could speak fairly good English, and he told me that he had met with an -accident, having slipped on his ankle, and could not walk. 'Bruno went for -assistance,' said Bruno's master. 'Good Bruno! Good Bruno!' The kind voice of -the man attracted me: the affection between bear and master attracted me; and I -asked what I could do, saying the country was strange to me, and I did not know -my way. 'But I know,' said the man; 'there is a village two miles off. Help me -to get on Bruno's back, and we will go there, if you will be so good as to keep -with me.' I said I would keep with him, partly because I wanted a bed to sleep -in myself, and partly because I should be glad to be of service to him. With -some difficulty I got him on Bruno's back--the man was in pain, but he bore it -well--and the three of us trudged through the dark roads to the village, the man -with his head on my shoulder to keep his balance. It wasn't easy to get a -lodging; every house was shut, and then there was the bear, that nobody cared to -take in, not believing it was a harmless creature. However, we managed it at -last; Bruno was fastened up in an empty stable, and I helped its master to a -room where there were a couple of straw beds. His ankle was badly sprained, and -the next morning it was very little better. He managed to limp out, and the pair -of us, leading the bear, trudged to a common where a village fair was being -held, and there Bruno's master began to put the bear through its performances. -Pain compelled him to stop, and he asked me to take his place, instructing me -what words and gestures to use to make the patient creature do this or that. I -got along so well that I was quite proud of myself, and the comicality of my -suddenly becoming a showman never struck me till the evening, when the day's -work was done. You've come to something, Corrie,' said I, and I shook with -laughter. After tea the man counted up the takings, which amounted to close on -ten shillings, and divided them into three parts. 'One for Bruno,' said he, 'one -for me, one for you.' He pointed to my share, and I took it and pocketed it as -though I had been in the business all my life. Again, Master Basil, I'm going to -cut a long story short. I could talk all night about my adventures with Bruno -and its master, but I must come to the pith of my story. Take it, then, that the -three of us travelled about for nearly twelve months, just managing to pick up a -living, that my foreign mate fell sick and had to go into a hospital, that he -died there, and that at his death I found myself with Bruno on my hands, -established as a regular showman. I accepted the position; I could do nothing -else; I couldn't run away from the bear because I felt I should in some way be -held answerable to the law for desertion; we belonged to each other, and it -wasn't at my option to dissolve the partnership. My little stock of money was -diminished by this time in consequence of my mate's illness and the expenses of -his funeral, and I knew that Bruno's antics would always earn me a few shillings -a week. So there we were, Bruno and I, going about the country with never a word -or growl of disagreement between us till we came to a fashionable sea-side place -called Bournemouth. I had gone through the performances, and Bruno and I were -walking from street to street looking for another pitch when I was struck almost -dumb with amazement at a sound that reached my ears. It was the voice of a bird -speaking some words in a loud key, and the words were--what do you think, Master -Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can't imagine, Corrie," replied Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The words were, 'Little lady, little lady! Basil and Annette! -Basil, Basil, Basil--dear Basil!'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Corrie," cried Basil, in a voice of wonder and joy, "you are -not deceiving me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, Master Basil, I am telling you the plain truth. You may -imagine by your own feelings the effect those words had upon me. What bird but -the magpie I had trained and taught for little lady could have uttered them? And -after all these years too! I could scarcely believe my ears, but there was the -bird, piping away at the window--I turned and saw it in a cage--calling to me, -in a manner of speaking, to come and say how do you do? I went straight up to -the house and knocked at the door. The woman who opened it started back at sight -of the bear. 'It won't hurt you, ma'am,' I said, 'there's not a bit of vice in -it. I've come to ask you something about a bird you've got. It's an old friend -of mine, and I trained it for a young lady in Australia, and taught it some of -the things it says.' 'Sure enough,' said the woman, keeping as far away from -Bruno as she could, the bird's an Australian bird, and the young lady it belongs -to was born in Australia. Emily's not at home now----' 'Not Emily, ma'am, -begging your pardon,' I said, interrupting her; 'Miss Annette's the young lady I -mean. Her father's name was Bidaud, and Basil, one of the names I taught the -magpie to speak, was a dear friend of hers and mine.' 'Oh, yes,' said the woman, -'I know all about that. My daughter Emily is Miss Bidaud's maid, and she is -taking care of the bird for her mistress for a little while. Emily's home for a -holiday, but she's gone to see some friends in London, and won't be back till -the day after to-morrow. Can I do anything of you?' 'You can tell me, if you -please,' said I, 'where Miss Annette is. I'm sure she'll be glad to see me,' My -idea was, Master Basil, to see little lady and ask her if she had any news of -you, though I wanted, too, to see her for her own sake. Well, all at once the -woman grew suspicious of me, and instead of speaking civil she spoke snappish. -'No,' she said, 'I shan't tell you anything about Miss Bidaud. You're a showman, -travelling about with a big, nasty bear, and likely as not you're up to no -good.' I didn't fire up; the woman had fair reason on her side. 'I'm a -respectable man, ma'am,' I said, 'and it's only by accident I came into company -with Bruno. My name's Corrie, and Miss Annette would thank you for telling me -where she is.' But she wouldn't, Master Basil; all that I could get out of her -was that I might come and see Emily the day after to-morrow, and her daughter -could then do as she liked about telling me what I wanted to know. I went away -with the determination to come back and have a talk with little lady's maid, but -things don't always turn out as we want them to do. Very seldom indeed. That -night there was a great hubbub in the place I was stopping at. Bruno had broke -loose and gone goodness knows where, and all sorts of stupid stories got about -that the bear was mad and was biting everybody it met. I had to go in search of -the creature, and the police kept me in sight. A pretty dance Bruno led me. I -was hunting for it three days and nights, and when I found it at last it was in -a sorry plight. I shall never forget that evening, Master Basil. I don't know -the rights of the story, but I was certain that Bruno had been set upon by dogs -and men--it had marks of fresh wounds upon its body--and been hunted from place -to place. When I caught sight of the bear it was lying by the side of a little -pool, and at a little distance were some twenty men and boys pelting it with -stones. I scattered them right and left, and knelt by Bruno's side. The poor -beast tried to raise its head, but couldn't, and I got some water from the pool, -which was all mudded with the stone-throwing, and bathed its mouth. It thanked -me with its eyes--it did, Master Basil--and did its best to lick my hand. Its -chest went up and down like billows of the sea, and once it gave a great sob as -if its heart was broke. After that it got quieter, but it could neither eat nor -drink. A policeman came up and told me to move on. 'Come, Bruno,' I said, -'march, my man. The law's got its eyes on you.' The creature actually managed to -stand, and, more than that, got up on its hind legs as it did when it was -performing. It pawed the air a little, and looked at me for orders, and then -fell down all of a heap. 'Come,' said the policeman, 'you must move on, the pair -of you.' 'Not possible, the pair of us,' said I, sorrowfully. 'Try if your -truncheon can bring it to life.' Bruno dead was much more difficult to manage -than Bruno alive. I had to pay money to get rid of its body, and then somebody -summoned me for a scratch or a bite Bruno had given him, he said, and I had to -pay money for that. All this took me some time, and I had very little money left -at the end of it. I hadn't the heart to go back to Bournemouth to get little -lady's address. What should I do with it when I got it? Go to her and beg? No, I -was too proud for that. Most likely she was with her uncle, Mr. Gilbert Bidaud, -the gentleman who wouldn't respect a dead brother's word, and I knew what I -might expect from him. So I gave up the idea and came to London--came here to -starve, Master Basil, for I could get no work to do, and have gone through more -than I care to tell of. If I hadn't met you to-night I should have wandered -about the streets, as I've done for many and many a night already; but I'll not -dwell upon it. I've told my story as straight as I could."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_36" href="#div1Ref_36">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"It is a strange story," said Basil, "but less strange than -the story I have to relate. We have both experienced the pangs of hunger and -solitude, with wealth and luxury all around us. What chiefly interests me is -your adventure in Bournemouth. Emily, you said, is the name of Annette's maid?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"So her mother said."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And the mother's name?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I ascertained that--Crawford."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you know the name of the street in which she lives?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lomax Road. I put it down on paper."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If we were in Bournemouth, you could take me to the house?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Straight."</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will go there to-morrow; there will be little sleep for us -to-night, Corrie. As regards Annette do you draw any conclusions about her -character--for the Child and the woman are frequently at odds with one -another--from the incident of the bird?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do; Master Basil. I draw the sign of constancy. None but a -constant nature would have kept the bird so long, would have valued it so long, -would have taught it new words.</p> - -<p class="normal">"New words!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, Master Basil. If it said 'dear Basil' once, it said it -twenty times while the woman and I were talking. When I gave the bird to little -lady it couldn't say 'dear,' so she must have taught the lesson with her own -pretty lips. A straw will tell which way the wind blows."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, Corrie. When you have heard me out you will -understand what all this means to me." The recital of his adventures occupied -him over an hour, and Corrie listened with bent brows and without a single word -of interruption. His pipe went out, and he made no attempt to relight it; the -only movement he made was to turn his head occasionally, as though something -Basil had just said had inspired a new thought. Basil brought his narrative down -to this very night, and paused only when he came to where Old Corrie accosted -him at the street door. "What do you think of it, Corrie?" he asked, when he had -finished. "It is wonderful," said Corrie. "My story is but a molehill by the -side of your mountain. There's no time to lose, Master Basil; a day, an hour, -may be precious, if little lady is to be saved."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No time shall be lost," said Basil; "an hour's rest in our -clothes after we've done talking, and at daybreak we are off to see how soon and -how quickly we can get to Bournemouth. There is a question I haven't asked you. -How long is it since you were in Bournemouth?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It must be six months, quite; but I kept no account of time. -What a fool I was not to go back and see Emily Crawford!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We'll waste no time in lamenting. What is past is past, and -no man can foresee what is in the future. Do you see, now, how important your -evidence is likely to be to me? Without it I might be compelled to pass through -life bearing the shameful name of the villain who betrayed me. Corrie, there are -anxious and dreaded possibilities in the future to which I dare not give -utterance. I can only hope and work. Now let us rest."</p> - -<p class="normal">He wanted Corrie to take his bed, but Corrie refused, and, -throwing himself on the floor, was soon asleep. Not so Basil; the events of the -night had been too exciting for forgetfulness, and though he dozed off now and -then, his brain did not rest a moment. He was none the worse for it in the -morning; despite the trials he had undergone his naturally strong constitution -asserted itself and enabled him to bear more than an ordinary amount of fatigue. -The moment he arose from his bed Old Corrie jumped to his feet as brisk as a -lark.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm a new man, Master Basil," he said; "the prospect of -something to do is as good as wine to me. There's no curse like the curse of -idleness."</p> - -<p class="normal">They washed and breakfasted, and then went out. It was early -morning, and there were not many people astir.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We are going first," said Basil, "to see Mr. Philpott, of -whom I told you last night. I have an impression that Mr. Gilbert Bidaud is not -in England. If we are fortunate enough in striking the trail, and he is in a -foreign country, the task we are set upon may be long and difficult. I am -debating whether it would be advisable to ask Philpott to accompany us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"From your opinion of him," said Corrie, "he is a man to be -trusted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thoroughly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In a foreign country I should be next door to useless, except -to prove that you are yourself. Mr. Philpott is accustomed to such jobs as this, -and knows the tricks of hunting men down. I should say take him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will, if he is agreeable. He doesn't know who I really am, -though he has perhaps a suspicion of the truth, and it will be necessary that I -should tell him my story. If he can come with us I shall have no hesitation in -confiding in him."</p> - -<p class="normal">They found the Philpott family at breakfast.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thought we were early birds, sir," said Mr. Philpott, while -his wife dusted two chairs for the visitors, "but there are other birds, I see, -more wide-awake than we are. Why, it's barely seven o'clock! Breakfast done when -the clock strikes--that's my notion of bringing up a family."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I've something of importance to say to you," said Basil, -"when you've finished."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Finished now, sir," said Philpott; "always ready for -business. We'll talk outside if you don't mind. Mother hasn't had time to do the -rooms yet." They walked up and down the quiet street, and after Basil had -ascertained that Philpott was able and willing to accompany him, and that the -next train for Bournemouth did not start for a couple of hours, he communicated -to Philpott all he considered it necessary that worthy man should know of his -history.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A singular story, sir," said Philpott, "about as good as -anything that's come my way up to now. I always told mother there was something -out of the common about you. That Mr. Chaytor must be an out-and-outer--as -cunning as they make 'em now-a-days. It's as well you should have a man like me -with you. I know the ropes; you don't. Let's get to the office, sir. I must give -'em notice I'm going away on an important job. Luckily there's nothing very -particular on hand just now." This preliminary was soon accomplished, and Basil -and his companions arrived at Waterloo Station a few minutes before the train -started for Bournemouth. On the road it was arranged that Basil should go alone -to Mrs. Crawford's house.</p> - -<p class="normal">"The woman might be frightened," said Philpott, "at three men -coming to make inquiries. To a gentleman like you she will be open and frank."</p> - -<p class="normal">Leaving Old Corrie and Philpott on the beach, Basil walked to -Lomax Road, the number of the house in which Mrs. Crawford lived being 14, as he -was informed by an obliging resident. He lingered outside, and looked up at the -windows for signs of the magpie, but no sound reached his ears, and with -somewhat of a despondent feeling he knocked at the door. So much depended upon -the next few minutes! If he should have to leave Mrs. Crawford unsatisfied, -without a clue to guide him, he would be no further advanced than on the day he -first set foot in London. All he wanted was a starting point, and he vowed to -leave no stone unturned to obtain it, and that once he gained it, he would -follow it up till it led him to the end. The door was opened, and a -decent-looking woman stood before him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mrs. Crawford?" he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I wish to speak to you upon a subject very dear to me; I can -offer no other excuse for intruding upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There was an unconscious wistfulness in his voice, which -interested Mrs. Crawford. There is no surer way of winning a woman's sympathies -than by appealing to them in some such way as this, and making them understand -it is in their power to assist you.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you a Bournemouth gentleman, sir?" asked Mrs. Crawford.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I have never been in Bournemouth before to-day. I have -travelled a long distance to see you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will you walk in, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">He followed her to the sitting-room. A little girl some seven -or eight years old was sitting there, turning over the pages of a child's -picture-book.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Run and play, Genie," said the mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your little girl?" asked Basil, drawing the child to his -knee.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir." Basil took half-a-crown from his pocket. "Ask -mamma, by-and-by, to buy you a toy with this."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What do you say, Genie?" cried the gratified mother.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Thank you, sir," said the child, holding her bashful head -down.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil gave her a kiss, and she ran to her mother with the -half-crown, and afterwards left the room, shyly glancing at Basil, whose kind -manners, no less than the half-crown, had won her heart. And the mother's also, -it is almost needless to say.</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil looked around the walls. No sign of a bird. Then he -turned to the mantel-shelf and saw there the portrait of a young woman, bearing -in her face a strong resemblance to Mrs. Crawford.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Another daughter of yours," he observed. "I can see the -likeness."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir, and a good girl, and a good daughter."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am sure she is. Might I inquire her name?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Emily, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is she at home?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, sir; she is abroad with her mistress."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil's heart beat high with hope already there was something -gained.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Am I mistaken in my belief," he asked, "that her mistress is -Miss Annette Bidaud?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is the young lady's name, sir. I hope you will excuse my -asking why you keep on looking round the room, and why you looked up at the -windows of the house in the same way before you knocked at the street-door? I -saw you, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was looking for an old friend I had an idea was here."</p> - -<p class="normal">"An old friend, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, a magpie that Miss Bidaud brought with her from -Australia."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Crawford's face flushed up, and she said in a tone of -vexation:</p> - -<p class="normal">"It was here a little while, sir, and it got me into trouble. -But it was nobody's fault but my own. Excuse me again, sir--you speak as if you -knew Miss Bidaud."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I knew her intimately; she and I were, and I hope are, very -dear friends. Her father and I had a great esteem for each other."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That was in Australia, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"That was in Australia. Miss Bidaud was but a child at the -time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have seen her since, I suppose, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have not. To be frank with you, that is the object of my -visit to you. I earnestly desire to know where she is."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is a beautiful young lady now, sir," said Mrs. Crawford; -diverging a little; from the expression on her face she seemed to be considering -something as she gazed attentively at Basil. "Perhaps you can recognise her."</p> - -<p class="normal">She handed Basil an album, and he turned over its pages till -he came to a portrait which rivetted his attention. It was the portrait of -Annette; he recognised it instantly, but how beautiful she had grown! An artist -had coloured the picture, and the attractive subject must have interested him -deeply, so well and skilfully was the colouring done. The gracefully-shaped -head, the long, golden-brown hair, the lovely hazel eyes, magnetised Basil, as -it were. There was a pensive look in the eyes, and something of wistfulness in -the expression of the mouth, which Basil construed into a kind of appeal. It may -be forgiven him if he thought that it was to him the mute face was appealing. -Long and earnestly did he gaze: reminiscences of the happy hours they had passed -together floated through his mind; her confidence, her trust in him, and her -father's last words on the evening on which he had accepted the guardianship of -his child, were never less powerful and, sacred in the sense they conveyed of a -duty yet to be performed than they were at this moment. When, at length, he -raised his eyes from the portrait, Mrs. Crawford saw tears in them. Had she had -any doubts of her visitor, these tears would have dispelled them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is she not lovely, sir?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She has the face of an angel."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is what my Emily says, sir; she dotes on my young lady, -sir, and would work her fingers to the bone to serve her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Miss Miss Bidaud, then, has one faithful friend by her side."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You may say that, sir. There have been mistresses and -servants but there never was mistress and servant so bound to each other as my -Emily and my young lady."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are in Europe?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, sir, they are in Europe. I'll tell you presently -where, but I must finish what I was saying at first. It was about the -magpie--the bird you were looking for--as sensible a feathered thing as ever -piped a note. Emily wanted badly to come and see me, and some other of her -relations in England, and it happened that her uncle and guardian Mr. Gilbert -Bidaud--you know the gentleman, sir?" asked Mrs. Crawford, breaking off -suddenly; she had noticed a dark flash in Basil's eyes at the mention of the -name.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I had a brief acquaintance with him in Australia," replied -Basil.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you like him, sir? Is he a friend of yours?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Before he replied he looked attentively at her, and a tacit -understanding seemed to pass between them. Without further hesitation he -answered:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not like him. He is no friend of mine."</p> - -<p class="normal">Mrs. Crawford nodded her head in a satisfied manner, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"The more likely you are to be a friend of Miss Bidaud's. -Well, sir, it happened that Mr. Gilbert Bidaud was going to pay a flying visit -to several foreign places, and, of course, was going to take my young lady with -him. He never lets her out of his sight if he can help it, but Emily is very -nearly a match for him. I don't say quite, but very nearly, Emily <i>is</i> -clever. Mr. Bidaud made a great fuss about taking the bird and the cage with -them on this journey, and wanted my young lady to leave it behind, but she -wouldn't, and proposed instead that Emily should have her holiday while they -were away and should take care of the bird and take it back when her holiday was -over. That is how the bird came to be here. Eight months ago it was, and Emily -was away on a visit, when a man with a great ugly bear came to the house and -began to ask questions about the bird. He said just what you said, that it was -an old friend of his, and that he'd trained it for my young lady in Australia. -He knew my young lady's name, and he wanted me to tell him where she was to be -found. Well, sir, I don't know how it was, but I got suspicious of him. What -business could a common-looking man like him have with a young lady like Miss -Bidaud? As like as not he wanted to impose upon her, and it wasn't for me to -help him to do that. It didn't look well, did it, sir, that a man going about -the country with a bear should be trapesing after my young lady? So I was very -short with him, and I refused to tell him anything, but said if he liked to come -in a day or two Emily would be home, and then he could speak to her about my -young lady. He went away, after leaving his name--Corrie, it was--and I never -set eyes on him again. That seemed to prove I'd done right, but I hadn't, for -Emily said, when she came home, that my young lady thought a good deal of this -Mr. Corrie, and had often spoken of him, and that he did train and give her the -bird, just as he said he had. Emily said my young lady would be very sorry when -she heard I'd turned Mr. Corrie away, and that she would give a good deal if she -could see the poor man. Every letter I get from my daughter she asks me if I've -seen anything more of Mr. Corrie, and to be sure if I do to tell him where my -young lady is stopping. I could beat myself with vexation when I think of it. -Perhaps you could tell me something of him, as you were all in Australia at the -same time."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I can. He is here with me in Bournemouth."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here in Bournemouth, sir! Oh, what a relief you have given -me!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He told you a true story, Mrs. Crawford, every word of it, -and is a sterling, honest fellow. You see how wrong it is to judge people by -their appearance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perhaps it is, sir," said Mrs. Crawford, a little doubtfully, -and added, with excusable flattery, "I judged you by yours, sir. I hope you will -bring Mr. Corrie here, but not his bear, sir, and I'll beg his pardon."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No need to do that; Corrie is the last man to blame you for -doing what you believed to be right. As for the poor bear, it is dead. I will go -and fetch Corrie presently, and you can make it up with him; but tell me now -where Miss Bidaud is to be found."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is in Switzerland, with her uncle and aunt, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I want the exact address, Mrs. Crawford, if you please."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here it is, sir, on a piece of paper. It is my Emily's -writing, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil wrote down the address: "Villa Bidaud, Fernex, near -Geneva, Switzerland." His hand trembled as he wrote. At last he was fairly on -the track of the traitor. His heart beat tumultuously, and for a moment he was -overcome with dizziness; but he immediately recovered himself, and continued the -conversation. "Do you write to your daughter to this address?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Villa Bidaud. That sounds as if it were a long-established -residence."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They live there on and off, sir, for a few weeks or a few -months at a time. I think when they go travelling the house is shut up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your daughter has doubtless given you a description of the -house. Is it small or large?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Large, I should say, and very old. There must be a good many -rooms in it, and it stands in the middle of a very large garden."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Mrs. Crawford, look at me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Somewhat surprised at the request, Mrs. Crawford looked at -Basil, and saw a face quivering with earnestness, and eyes in which truth and -honour shone.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir," she said, and waited. "I want you to be certain -that I am a man who is to be trusted."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am certain of it, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That I am a man who would do no woman wrong, and that in my -present visit to you I am animated by an honest, earnest desire to serve the -young lady your daughter serves and loves."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am certain of it, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Being certain of it," said Basil, "is there nothing more you -can tell me that might aid me in my desire to be of service to Miss Bidaud? I -gather from what you have said that your daughter is sincerely attached to her -young mistress, and she will know whether Miss Bidaud is happy or not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'm not sure, sir," said Mrs. Crawford, speaking slowly, -"whether I've a right to tell everything, you being a stranger to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But not a stranger to Miss Bidaud," said Basil, eagerly, -"remember that, Mrs. Crawford. Next to her father, I was in Australia her -dearest friend----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you sure of that, sir?" interrupted Mrs. Crawford. "We -sometimes deceive ourselves. My young lady, to my knowledge had a friend in -Australia--a young gentleman like yourself--she thought all the world of. Emily -says she was never tired of speaking about him and of his kindness to her. His -name is Mr. Basil Whittingham. Perhaps you are acquainted with him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know something of him," said Basil. He had been on the -point of disclosing himself, but remembrance of the part Newman Chaytor was -playing checked him in time.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course, there may be others," continued Mrs. Crawford, -"and it isn't for me to dispute with you; but if there's one thing that is more -positive than another, it is that my young lady thought all the world of Mr. -Whittingham. You are Miss Bidaud's friend, and you don't seem to think much of -her uncle. That's the way with us. My Emily hates the very sight of him--though -she doesn't let him see it, you may be sure, sir--because of the way he behaves -to Miss Bidaud. How I come to know so much about Mr. Whittingham is, because all -the letters he wrote to Miss Bidaud from Australia were addressed to my care. If -they hadn't been, my young lady's uncle or aunt would have got hold of them and -she would never have seen them. When they arrived I used to put them in an -envelope and address them to my Emily--not to Villa Bidaud, but to different -post-offices, according to the directions she gave me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Were there many of these letters?" asked Basil, keeping guard -upon his feelings.</p> - -<p class="normal">"About one every six or seven months, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you aware whether they afforded pleasure to Miss Bidaud?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, sir, they gave her the greatest possible pleasure. She -was always happy after she got one, so my Emily wrote to me. That makes it all -the stranger."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Makes what all the stranger?" Again Mrs. Crawford looked at -Basil with a possible doubt of the wisdom of her loquacity; but she was -naturally a gossip, and the sluice being open the waters continued to flow.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, sir, my young lady had set her heart upon Mr. -Whittingham coming home--that much my daughter knew from what she said; and, -although she said nothing about it to Emily, there was something else she set -her heart upon. There are some things, you know, sir, a delicate-minded young -lady doesn't tell her best friend till they're settled; and perhaps Miss Bidaud -herself didn't quite know what her feelings for Mr. Whittingham were. She was -very young when she left Australia, and her uncle hadn't been anxious to -introduce her to society, so since she's been home she has seen very little of -young men. But lookers on can see most of the game, sir, and my Emily said to -me, 'When Mr. Whittingham comes home there'll be a match made up, you see if -there won't, mother.' 'But how about the uncle?' I asked, for it was pretty -clear to me, from what I heard, that there was no love lost between Mr. Bidaud -and Mr. Whittingham. Then my Emily tells me that, for all my young lady's gentle -ways and manners, she sometimes showed a will of her own when anything very dear -to her was in question. That is how she has been able to keep the bird Mr. -Corrie gave her; if it hadn't been that she was determined, her uncle would have -made away with it long ago. I didn't quite agree with Emily. I argued like this, -sir. Supposing, when Mr. Whittingham came home, he and my young lady found they -loved each other, and made a match of it. So far, all well and good; but the -moment Mr. Bidaud discovered it, he would take steps. He is Miss Bidaud's -natural guardian, and my young lady is not yet of age. What would her uncle do? -Whip her away, and take her where Mr. Whittingham couldn't get at her. Perhaps -discharge Emily, and so deprive Miss Bidaud of every friend she has, and of -every opportunity of acting contrary to him. He's artful enough to carry that -out. I don't quite know the rights of it, but Emily says he has control of all -my young lady's fortune, and she don't believe he has any of his own. Well, -then, does it stand to reason that he would let the money he lives upon slip -through his fingers through any carelessness of his own, or that he would hand -it quietly over to a man he hates like poison? That's the way I urged, sir, but -it's all turned out different. Of course you know, sir, that Mr. Basil -Whittingham's come home."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have heard so," said Basil, quietly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And has come into a great fortune!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have heard that, also."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Miss Bidaud was overjoyed when she saw him, and her uncle was -the other way. But if Emily's last two letters mean anything they mean that -things have got topsy turvy like. Mr. Whittingham and Mr. Bidaud are great -friends now, and as for my young lady being happy, that's more than I can say. -There's no understanding young people now; it was different in my time; but -there, they say the course of true love never runs smooth. One thing seems -pretty plain--there's a screw loose somewhere in Villa Bidaud. And now, sir, -I've told you everything, and likely as, not I've been too free, and done what I -shouldn't. If I have done wrong I shall never hear the last of it from Emily."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will live to acknowledge," said Basil, "that you have -done right, and that your confidence is not misplaced. I thank you from my -heart, and am grateful for the good fortune that led me to you. Mrs. Crawford, I -don't like to offer you money for the service you have rendered me, though I -hope I shall be in the humour to insist, before long, upon your allowing me to -make a fitting acknowledgment. But there is something I should wish to purchase -of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have nothing to sell, sir, that you would care to have."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I would give more than its weight in gold," said Basil, -laying his hand upon the album, "for the portrait of Miss Bidaud. You can have -no idea of the value it would be to me, and how much I should esteem your -kindness. Let me have it, I entreat you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't like to part with it," said Mrs. Crawford, looking -admiringly at Basil, "but I can't refuse you. Take it, sir."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil quickly availed himself of the permission, and put a -sovereign on the table, saying, "For little Genie. Buy her a pretty frock with -it." Then wishing her good day, and thanking her again he left her to rejoin Old -Corrie and Mr. Philpott on the beach, and communicate the good news to them. -Half-an-hour later Old Corrie paid a visit to Mrs. Crawford, and received her -profuse excuses for the abrupt manner in which he had behaved to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nobody can blame you, ma'am," said Corrie, "for fighting shy -of a bear. It's a wonder to me now how I came to be mates with the creature. But -he was a worthy comrade, ma'am, rough as his outside was--a deal worthier than -some men I've met with. And I shall never forget it, ma'am, because in the first -place it brought me straight to you, and in the second place it's taking me -straight to a little lady."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_37" href="#div1Ref_37">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">We must now return to Newman Chaytor. He had established his -position as Basil Whittingham, he had obtained possession of Basil's fortune, he -was on a familiar footing with the Bidauds. In his proceedings respecting the -fortune which Mr. Bartholomew Whittingham had bequeathed to his nephew, he -experienced, practically, no difficulty whatever. The evidence in his -possession, proving himself to be the man he represented himself to be, was -complete; and there being no grounds for suspicion, none was aroused. Thus he -was so far safe, and on the high road.</p> - -<p class="normal">He went to London, and remained there only a few days. He made -no attempt to see his parents, and was careful to avoid the neighbourhood in -which they lived. With a large fortune at his disposal, and being fertile in -methods, he could easily have contrived to convey a few pounds to them without -drawing attention upon himself; but his character has been unsuccessfully -delineated if it is supposed he ever allowed himself to yield to the dictates of -humanity. He knew that his parents were in direst poverty--his mother's last -letter to him made this very clear--but he had not the slightest feeling of -compassion for the mother who idolised him or the father he had brought to ruin. -Self, in its most abhorrent aspect, ruled every action of his life. His own -ease, his own pleasures, his own safety--these were paramount, and pioneered him -through the crooked paths he had trod since boyhood. The correspondence he had -kept up with Annette rendered it an easy matter for him to find her. He had -apprised her that he was starting for home, and had directed her not to write to -him again to Australia. In this last letter he informed her that he had come -into a great fortune, and that his time would be so taken up by business matters -for a few weeks that he would not be able to see her immediately he arrived in -England. He gave her instructions how to communicate with him at home, and told -her to be sure to keep a corner in her heart for him. It is hard to say how many -times Annette read this letter. Basil was on his way home--coming home, coming -home, coming home--she kept on repeating the magic words; and there was a light -in her eyes, music in her voice, and joy in her heart. At last, at last he was -coming, the friend whom she could trust, the man her dear father had loved and -honoured. She would see him soon, for he would not linger over the business he -had to transact; her hand would be in his, his eyes on her face--and then she -blushed and ran to the glass. Had she changed since he last saw her? Would he -know her again, or would she have to say, "Basil, I am Annette?" No! that would -not be necessary; she had sent him her portrait, and he had told her in a letter -that he would pick her out of a thousand women. She had changed--yes, she was -aware of that, and aware, too, that she was very beautiful. What woman is not -who has grace and beauty for her dower; and is there a woman in the world who is -not proud of the possession, and who does not smile and greet herself in the -mirror as she gazes upon the bright reflection of a brighter reality? Annette -was innocently glad that she was fair, and all through her gladness the form of -Basil was before her. If he liked her for nothing else, he would like her for -her beauty. The quality of vanity there was in this thought was human and -natural. The name of Basil represented to her all that there was of nobility, -goodness, and generosity. In Basil was centred all that was best and brightest -in life. She worshipped an ideal. He had asked her to keep a corner in her heart -for him. Was not her whole heart his? And he was coming home--home! The word -assumed a new meaning. It would be truly home when Basil was with her.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are excited, Annette," said Gilbert Bidaud, who, although -he seldom indulged in long conversations with his niece, noted every sign and -change in her. Only in one respect had he been baffled; he had not succeeded in -discovering how the correspondence between Basil and Annette was carried on. He -suspected Annette's maid, Emily, but that shrewd young person was so -extraordinarily careful and astute that he could not lure her, for all the traps -he set, into betraying herself. He hinted once to Annette that he thought of -discharging her, but Annette had shown so much spirit that he went no farther.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Emily is my maid," said Annette, "and no one but I have a -right to discharge her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you do not mean to do so?" said Gilbert Bidaud.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, uncle, I do not mean to do so."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Even though I expressed a wish that she should go."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Even then, uncle, I should not consent to her leaving me. I -am fond of her. If she goes, I go too."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You go! where?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where you would not find me, uncle."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert thought there would be danger in that. She might fall -into other hands, and herself and fortune be lost to him. He was not quite sure -of his position in respect to Annette, and his best safety lay in not disturbing -the waters. His brother's affairs in Australia had been administered hastily, -and he was uneasily conscious that here in Europe clever lawyers might make -things awkward for him. He had Annette's fortune absolutely in his control; he -had used her money for his own purposes, for he had none of his own; he had kept -no accounts; in worldly matters Annette was a child, and was not likely to -become wiser so long as she was in his charge. She was obedient and docile in -most ways, the only exceptions being her feeling for Emily, and the secret -correspondence she was carrying on with Basil. These matters were not important; -they did not trench upon his authority or position. The letters she wrote were -such as a fanciful, sentimental girl would write, and Basil's letters were -probably harmless enough. Besides, he was at a safe distance. Time enough to -fight when the enemy was in view. "He will marry," thought Gilbert Bidaud, "he -will forget her. Let her indulge in her fancies. It is safest." So time went on, -outwardly calm, till Annette received Basil's letter announcing his intended -return to England. It was then that Gilbert noted the change in her. They were -on the continent at the time; of late years Gilbert seldom visited England; -there was more enjoyment and greater security for him in his own country and in -others more congenial to him. He purchased, with Annette's money, a villa in -Fernex, which he called Villa Bidaud. The deeds were made out in his own name; -he had come to regard Annette's fortune as his; if troublesome thoughts sprang -up he put them aside, trusting to his own cleverness to overcome any -difficulties that might present themselves.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are excited, Annette," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">She hardly knew what to say. To deny it was impossible; her -restless movements, her sparkling eyes, her joyous face, were sufficient -confirmation of her uncle's statements. But to admit it would lead to questions -which she wished to avoid answering. Therefore she was silent.</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear niece," said Gilbert Bidaud, in his smooth voice, -"there is not that confidence between us which I should wish to exist. Why? Have -I oppressed you? Have I treated you harshly? You can scarcely so accuse me. Have -I not allowed you to have your own way in all things? You have had perfect -liberty, have you not? Be frank with me. I have at heart only your interests. I -wish only to secure your happiness. When your poor father--my dear -brother--died, you were almost a baby, a child ignorant of the world and the -ways of the world. I said to my heart--it is my habit, my dear niece, to commune -with myself--I said to my heart, 'Annette is a child, an infant, with strong -affections and attachments. You come to her a stranger, yes, even while you are -closest to her in blood, you are still to her a stranger. She will not regard -you with favour; she will not understand you.' And so it was. It was my unhappy -duty to be stern and hard with some you regarded as friends; it was my duty to -be firm with you. Consequently, we commenced badly, and I, who am in my way -proud as you are, stood aloof from you and exercised the duties of guardian and -uncle without showing that my heart was filled with love for you. Thus have we -lived, with a spiritual gulf dividing us. My dear niece, you are no longer a -child, you are a woman who can think for herself, who is open to reason. Let us -bridge that gulf. I extend to you the hand of amity, of love. Take it, and tell -me how I can minister to your happiness."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was the most gracious, as it was the falsest speech he had -ever made to her, and she was deceived by his specious frankness. She could not -refuse the hand he held out to her, and as she placed hers within it, she -reflected, "When Basil arrives they must meet. They were not friends in -Australia, but it will be a good thing accomplished if they can be made friends -here, through me. Then Basil can come freely, with uncle's consent, and there -need be no concealment. Uncle never spoke to me like that before, and perhaps I -have been to blame as well as he. Neither he nor aunt has shown any great love -for me, but may it not have been partly my own fault. If they have wounded me, -may I not have wounded them?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud saw that she was reflecting upon the new view -he had presented to her, and he did not disturb her meditations. Presently she -said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Uncle, I have had some good news." "It delights me," said -Gilbert Bidaud. "In your own good time you shall confide it to me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will confide it to you now. Basil is coming home."</p> - -<p class="normal">"See now," said Gilbert, in a tone of great good-humour, "how -you have misjudged me. Here have you, my ward, over whom I have the right to -exercise some authority, been corresponding with a young gentleman between whom -and myself there are differences of opinion. Candidly I admit that I did not -look upon him with love. Know now for the first time that on the plantation I -was warned against him, that he had enemies who spoke of him as an adventurer. -How was I to know that those who spoke thus spoke falsely? You may answer, being -a woman who has cherished in her heart a regard for her Australian friend, 'You -should have asked me; I would have told you the truth about him.' Ah, but -consider. What were you? A mere infant, innocent, guileless, unsuspecting. I -venerate childhood, and venerate it the more because it has no worldly wisdom. -Happy, happy state! Would that we could live all our lives in ignorance so -blissful! Then there would be no more duplicity, no more cheating and roguery. -But it is otherwise, and we must accept the world. Therefore the young gentleman -and I crossed swords on the first day we met, and from that time have -misunderstood each other. In my thoughts, perhaps, I have done him wrong; in his -thoughts, perhaps, he has done me wrong. And my niece, the only child of my dear -brother, sided with the stranger against me. I was wounded, sorely wounded; and -when I discovered that you and he were writing to each other secretly, I spoke -harshly to you; I may even have uttered some foolish threats. What man, my -child, can be ever wise, can ever say the right words, can ever do the right -things? None, not one, and I perhaps, who have peculiar moods and temper, less -than many. But see, now, what came of those harsh words, those foolish threats? -You still correspond with your friend Basil, and I stood quietly aside and -interfered not. Could I not have stopped the correspondence, if I had been -seriously determined to do so? Doubt it not, my child. At any moment I could -have done so. But I said, 'No, I will not spoil Annette's pleasure; it is an -innocent pleasure; let it go on; I will not interfere. One day my niece will do -me justice. And it may be, that one day her friend Basil and I will better -understand each other.' Is it not so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed, uncle," said Annette, timidly, "it is I who have been -in the wrong."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no," said Gilbert, interrupting her, "I will not have you -say so. The fault was mine. What say the English? You cannot put an old head on -young shoulders. I expected too much. From to-day we commence afresh. Eh, my -dear child?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, uncle."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So be it," he said, kissing her. "We misunderstand each other -never again. It is agreed. Our friend Basil--I will make him my friend if he -will let me; you shall see--is coming home. He shall be welcome."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Uncle, you remove a weight from my heart."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is what I would do, always. A weight is also removed from -mine. How long will our friend Basil be before he appears."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not know exactly. He will write."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He will write," echoed Gilbert merrily, pinching Annette's -cheek. "We have our secret post-office--ah, ah! Tell him it must be secret no -longer. Write openly to him; he shall write openly to you. He has been many -years in Australia. Has he grown rich on the goldfields? Did he find what they -call a golden claim?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He does not say; but I think he did not get rich there."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not get rich there. Did he get rich anywhere, or does he come -poor?"</p> - -<p class="normal">The picture of a needy adventurer rose before him, and had he -not been a master in cunning he would have betrayed himself.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He writes," said Annette, "that his uncle has left him a -large fortune."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert drew a long breath of relief. Easier to cope with -Basil rich than poor. If Basil wanted Annette, and Annette wanted him, why, he -would make a bargain with the young man, who, being wealthy, would not be greedy -for Annette's money. Gilbert Bidaud was a keen judge of character, and he knew -Basil to be a manly, generous-hearted honourable fellow, who would be more -likely to despise than to covet money with the girl he loved. If that were so, -Gilbert saw a road to immunity for the past and a life of independence in the -future. There was a striking resemblance in certain features of his character -and that of Newman Chaytor, as there is in the natures of all purely selfish -men.</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is a pleasant thing to hear," he said. "I congratulate -him from my heart." He would have added, "And I congratulate you," but he -restrained himself; it was delicate ground, and it would be better to wait. -Subsequently, in a conversation with his sister, he expressed himself more -freely. Basil would be received and welcomed--yes, but he would be carefully -sounded and observed, and she was to play her part both with Annette and her -lover. It pleased Gilbert to call him so, but it did not please the girl's aunt.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have foolish ideas," she said. "Annette was thirteen -years when we took her from the plantation. What kind of love could a man have -for such a child?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will see, you will see," said Gilbert. "This Basil is -what we call an eccentric, and it is because he is so that I have settled upon -the plan of bringing them together under our noses. Remember, my idiot of a -brother left me not a coin. We have our future to look to, and gentleman Basil -is the man to make it sure for us. Would you wish to have to slave for your -bread as you used to do--and often not get it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; but if I have an enemy I like him at a distance."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Foolish woman! If I have an enemy I like him here, close to -me, where my hand can reach him. I will have him--if I have the choice--as I -have now--in the light, not in the dark."</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette also had a conversation with her trusty maid Emily -concerning this new revelation in Gilbert Bidaud's character. Annette was very -enthusiastic about it, and very self-reproachful concerning the past, but Emily -looked grave and shook her head.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'd rather agree with you than not, miss," she said, "but I -don't think I can about your uncle."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must not be obstinate and prejudiced, Emily," said -Annette, with mild severity.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I'll try not to be, miss, but if an animal is born a donkey, -a donkey he remains all the days of his life."</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette laughed, and said, of course, but what <i>did</i> -Emily mean?</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's a roundabout way of explaining myself," said Emily. "And -there's different kinds of donkeys, some mild, and that'll take the whip as -patient as a wooden dummy; others that'll kick out and let fly at you with their -heels. The same with horses, the same with dogs, the same with cats."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What <i>do</i> you mean, Emily?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Only when vice is in an animal you can't wheedle it out of -him. No more you can out of a man or a woman. I don't say they can help it, but -what's born in 'em <i>must</i> come out. If I'm born sly I keep sly, and the -chances are I grow slyer as I grow older. I don't believe in sudden changes, -miss, and if you'll excuse me I'll wait a little before I make up my mind about -your uncle."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_38" href="#div1Ref_38">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Newman Chaytor first met Annette in Paris. She wrote to him to -London, saying that her uncle intended to make a stay there of a few weeks, and -telling him the name of the hotel they stopped at. Chaytor's business in London -was by that time transacted and he was nervous to get away with his spoil. Bold -as he had been, and little as he believed he had to fear, there were moments -when he was seized with panic. What if Basil should not be dead? What if, -recovering, and being rescued from the tomb into which Chaytor had plunged him, -some suspicion should cross his mind of the treachery which had been practised -towards him? What if, after that, bent upon revenge, he should find his way -home, and there discover how he had been wronged and robbed? Newman Chaytor was -bathed in cold sweat, and his limbs shook as he contemplated this contingency. -In his calmer moments he strove to laugh himself out of his fears, but he never -entirely got rid of them, and he deemed it safer to live most of his time out of -England. For reasons of safety, also, he converted Basil's fortune into cash, -and carried a large portion of it upon his person in Bank of England notes. He -had clothes made after his own design, and in his waistcoats and trousers were -inner pockets in which he concealed his treasure. There were five bank notes of -a thousand pounds each, twenty of five hundred each, and the rest in hundreds -and fifties. They occupied but little space, and during the first month or two -of his coming into possession of the money, he was continually counting it in -the secresy of his room, with doors locked and windows shaded. The passing of a -cloud, the fluttering of a bird's wings across his window, the sound of -breathing or footstep outside his door, drove him into agonies of apprehension -as he was thus engaged. He would stop suddenly and listen, and creep to door or -window, and wait there till the fancied cause for fear was gone; then he would -resume his operations and pack the money away in the lining of his clothes. The -dread of losing it, of his being robbed, of its being wrested from him, was -never absent. When he entered a new hotel he examined the doors of his rooms, -tried the locks and fastenings, and peered about in every nook and corner, until -he was satisfied that there was no chink or loophole of danger. But as fast as -his fears were allayed in one direction they sprang up in another. The -hydra-headed monster he had created for himself left him no rest by day or -night. He slept with his clothes under his bolster, and waking up, would grope -in the dark with his hands to assure himself that they had not been taken away. -There were nights which were nothing less than one long terror to him. The -occupants of the apartments to the right and left of him were talkative; he -could not catch the sense of their words, but they were, of course, talking of -him. They were quiet; of course they were so to put him off his guard. He would -jump from his bed and stand, listening, and whether he heard sounds or heard -none, every existent and non-existent sign became a menace and a terror. As time -wore on it could not be but that these fears became less strong and vivid, but -they were never entirely obliterated, and were occasionally revived in all their -original force. There was, however, one new habit which he practised -mechanically, and of which he never got rid. This was a movement of the left -hand towards those parts of his clothing in which the money was concealed. He -was quite unconscious of the frequency of this peculiar motion, and took as -little notice of it as any man takes of the natural movements of his limbs.</p> - -<p class="normal">When he received Annette's letter informing him that they were -in Paris he immediately resolved to go there. "I am wondering," wrote Annette, -"whether we shall see you here, or whether we shall have to wait because your -business is not finished. You must forget all that I have said about Uncle -Gilbert; we did not understand each other, but we do now, and he is very very -kind to me; and although he cannot be as anxious to see you as I am, he is ready -to give you a warm and hearty welcome."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She is an affectionate little puss," thought Chaytor, "and -does not seem to conceal anything from her dear Basil, but if she thinks I am -going to tie myself to her apron strings she is mistaken. I will feel my way -with her, and--yes, a good idea! will have a peep at her somehow without her -seeing me, before I introduce myself. Judging from the photograph she sent me in -Australia"--he was so accustomed to think of himself as Basil that he often -forgot he was Newman Chaytor--"she is as pretty as a picture; but then portraits -are deceitful--like the originals. They are so touched up by the photographers, -that a very ordinary-looking woman is transformed into an angel. If that is the -case with Annette she will see very little of me. Give me beauty, bright eyes, -white teeth, a good figure, a pretty, kissable mouth, and I am satisfied. So, my -little Annette, it all depends upon yourself. As for Uncle Gilbert, it is a good -job that he is changed; it will make things easier for me. I don't want to -quarrel, not I, and if I take a fancy to Annette, and he can help to smooth the -way for me, why, all the better."</p> - -<p class="normal">From the day he set foot on the vessel which brought him to -England, Chaytor had been most painstaking and careful about his appearance. He -spent hours before the glass arranging his hair after the fashion of Basil's -hair, as our hero had worn it in England; and, being a bit of an artist, he -succeeded perfectly. The resemblance was marvellous, and Chaytor congratulated -himself and chuckled at his cleverness. "Upon my soul," he said, "we must have -been changed at our birth. I am Basil, and he----" He paused. No shudder passed -through him, he was visited by no pang of remorse at the thought of Basil lying -dead at the bottom of the shaft. It must have been very quick and sudden! Death -must have ensued instantaneously. Had he not listened and lingered, without a -sound of suffering, without even a sigh reaching him? "No man could do more than -that," he thought. "There's no telling what I should have done if he had groaned -or cried for help. But as he was dead and done for, what was the use of my -loitering there?" Across the many thousands of miles of sea and land, his mental -vision travelled with more than lightning swiftness, and he saw at the bottom of -a dark shaft the form of his victim huddled up and still. And as he gazed, the -form unfolded itself, and rising to its feet, glided towards him. The vision had -presented itself once before, and he acted now as he had acted then. Almost -frenzied he dashed the phantom aside, with as much force as if Basil had stood -bodily before him, and, finding that this was of no avail, threw himself upon -the ground, and grovelled there with closed eyes until reason re-assumed its -sway and whispered that he was but the fool of fevered fancies. "I shall go mad -if I don't mind," he muttered. "I know what's the matter with me; I am keeping -myself too solitary. I want friends, companionship." It is a fact that he would -not make friends with any one; the fewer questions that were asked of him the -better. He was in constant dread of meeting with some person of whom Basil had -not spoken who would begin to speak of old times. Out of England this was not so -likely to occur. Man of pleasure as he was he had never been a heavy drinker, -but now he flew to brandy to deaden his fears. Altogether, despite his success, -he was not greatly to be envied. The lot of the poorest and most unfortunate of -men is to be preferred to that of a man of evil heart, whose Nemesis is ever by -his side throwing its black shadow over every conscious hour.</p> - -<p class="normal">On the Continent Chaytor experienced some relief. He had -always been fond of Paris, and now he threw himself with zest into the pleasures -of that gay city. "This is life," he said enthusiastically; "it is for this I -have worked. Eureka! I have found the philosopher's stone--freedom, light, -enjoyment." He was in no hurry to go to Annette; he would have his fling -first--but, that, he said to himself, he would always have, Annette or no -Annette. His misfortune was that he could not rule circumstance. Gilbert Bidaud -set eyes on him as he was driving with some gay companions, for here in Paris -Chaytor was not so bent upon avoiding society as in England. "Surely," mused the -elder fox, as he slipped into a carriage and gave the driver instructions to -follow Chaytor and his companions, "that is my old friend Basil, for whom my -foolish niece is looking and longing. He presented himself to me in the -Australian wilderness as a model of perfection, a knight without a stain upon -his shield, but in Paris he appears to be very human. Very human indeed," he -repeated with a laugh, as he noted the wild gaiety of the man he was following. -Be sure that he did not lose sight of his quarry until he learnt as many -particulars concerning it as he could gain. So fox watched fox, and the game -went on, Annette waiting and dreaming of the Bayard without flaw and without -reproach who reigned in her heart of hearts.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you heard from our friend Basil?" asked Gilbert Bidaud.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not for ten days," replied Annette. "He said he feared he -would not have time to write again till he came to Paris, he was so beset with -lawyers and business men."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes," said Gilbert; "he must have much to do. He will -come to us, I hope, the moment he reaches Paris."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, yes, uncle; he will not wait a day, an hour; he will come -straight here."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud nodded cheerfully, and said no more, but his -cunning mind was busy revolving pros and cons.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor, after awhile, carried out his resolution of seeing -Annette before he presented himself to her. Ascertaining the rooms she and her -people occupied, he engaged apartments for a couple of days in an hotel from the -windows of which he could observe her movements. He used opera glasses, and so -arranged his post of observation that he could not himself be seen. In the petty -minutiæ of small schemes, he was a master.</p> - -<p class="normal">The first time he saw Annette he almost let his glasses fall -from his hand. Her radiant countenance, her sparkling eyes, the beauty of her -face, the grace of her movements, were a revelation to him. Never had he seen a -creature so lovely and perfect. So fascinated was he that he dreaded it might -not be Annette--but yes, there was her uncle, Gilbert Bidaud, standing now by -her side, and apparently talking pleasantly to her. Chaytor, though he had seen -the old man but once in the Australian woods, when he was a concealed witness of -the interview between Gilbert, Basil and Annette, recognised him immediately. -Gilbert Bidaud was not changed in the least, and Chaytor decided within himself -that neither Basil or Annette knew how to manage the old fellow. He, Newman -Chaytor, would be able to do so; he would be the master of the situation, and -would pull the strings of his puppets according to his moods and wishes. He did -not dream that Gilbert Bidaud was aware that he was in their vicinity, that he -even knew the number of the rooms he had engaged in the hotel, and the name he -had assumed for the purposes of his secret watch. From the moment that Gilbert -had set eyes upon him, every step he took, every movement he made, was noted -down by agents employed by the old man, who kept a written record for possible -use in the future. These two forces were well matched, but the odds were in -favour of the elder animal. "It is clear," said Newman Chaytor, "that Basil was -mistaken in his estimate of Gilbert Bidaud, and that he poisoned Annette's mind -against her uncle. The old man is harmless enough, and he and I will be great -friends." Presently Gilbert kissed his niece and left the room, laughing to -himself at the comedy scene he had played. His thoughts may also be put into -words.</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is in that room, watching Annette. He has arranged the -curtains and the furniture in the manner most convenient for his watch. What is -his object, and what do his movements prove? He wishes to convince himself that -Annette is a bird attractive enough to follow, to woo, to win. If I knew what -has passed between them in the letters they wrote to each other, I should be -more certain of my conclusions, but as it is I shall not be far out. He wishes -also to observe me secretly, and to make up his mind about me before we come -together. Well, he shall have opportunity--he shall see what a kind pleasant -uncle I am. We were not the best of friends across the ocean--in good truth, we -were as bitter enemies as men could possibly be; and he remembers that we -exchanged hard and bitter words. Do I bear animosity? No; here, my dear friend, -is my hand: take it." He held it out, and the cunning of his nature was exposed -in the expression of his thin lips and his cold blue eyes. "But what do his -movements prove? That, setting himself up as a gentleman, above doing a sly -action, profuse in his scorn of others and in glorification of himself, he is -the personification of low cunning and meanness. He deceived me when we clashed -in the forest; expressing scorn of him, and flinging mud upon his motives, I yet -believed him to be a gentleman, and was in my soul angry because the belief was -forced upon me. Bah! my friend Basil, my self-elected gentleman of honour -unblemished and untarnished, you are unmasked. You play your game; I will play -mine. We shall see who will win."</p> - -<p class="normal">While these communings were going on Chaytor continued his -watch. His greedy eyes dwelt upon Annette's sweet face--heavens, he thought, how -beautiful she is!--his sinful soul gloated upon her grace of form and feature. -Would she know him when her eyes fell upon him? Would she see at once that he -was Basil, or was there anything in his appearance that would inspire a doubt? -That afternoon he examined himself narrowly in the glass; he practised Basil's -little tricks of motion, one of the most conspicuous of which was the caressing -of his moustache between finger and thumb, and any doubts he may have had -disappeared. "I am more like Basil Whittingham than he ever was," he said. "Even -in a court of law the chances would be all on my side." When he was in a -confident mood nothing more improbable could be conceived than that Basil would -ever cross his path. It was not improbable, it was impossible. Basil was dead, -and there was an end of the matter; he had all the field to himself.</p> - -<p class="normal">He continued to observe Annette from his window, and the more -he saw of her the more constantly did his thoughts dwell upon her. During these -days he went through many rehearsals of the part he was playing, recalling all -that Basil had told him of his association with Annette, the scenes they had -walked through, the conversations they had indulged in. He was letter perfect in -what had passed between Basil and Annette's father, and his retentive memory had -preserved all the incidents in the scene in the Australian woods, when Gilbert -Bidaud and his sister had surprised them near Old Corrie's hut. "Old Corrie," -thought Chaytor, "had a down on me, and came near to spoiling my game, but I've -been more than a match for the lot of them. What has become of the old -busy-body? Dead, most likely. Everybody's as good as dead who could touch or -interfere with me. And Annette, the pretty Annette, is ready to fall into my -arms the moment I make my appearance." It will be remembered that on the last -meeting between Basil and Annette, she gave him a locket containing her mother's -portrait, and that, when Gilbert Bidaud flung it away into the bush, Newman -Chaytor picked it up and kept it close. From that day to this he had never -parted with it, and now, being about to present himself to Annette, he put it -round his neck, conscious that it would be a good card to play under any -circumstances.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_39" href="#div1Ref_39">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Annette was at lunch with her uncle and aunt in the public -room of the hotel when a gentleman entered, and took his seat at another table -close by. Annette, looking up from her plate, flushed rosy red, and in -uncontrollable excitement, started to her feet, then sank back into her chair -with her eyes fixed upon the newcomer. Gilbert Bidaud had also noted the -entrance of the gentleman, although his eyes seemed to be directed to another -part of the room; he took no outward notice, but inwardly said, "Ah, ah, friend -Basil, you have decided at last to appear. Now for a few clever lies."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Uncle!" whispered Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, my niece," said Gilbert, "what do you wish?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Look there uncle; look there."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert looked in the desired direction and said, "I see a -gentleman."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you not know who it is, uncle? Do you not recognise him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I live," said Gilbert, "I believe him to be our Australian -friend, Basil. But no--I may be deceived."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is he, uncle; it is he. Oh, why will he not look this -way?"</p> - -<p class="normal">At that precise moment, Chaytor, who was speaking to a waiter, -turned towards Annette, and their eyes met. He rose and walked towards her, with -a certain air of irresolution, but with an expression of eager delight in his -face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil!" she cried, advancing to him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Is it possible?" exclaimed Chaytor, hugging himself with -satisfaction at this unhesitating recognition. It was not only that there were -no obstacles to remove, no awkward explanations to make, but it was a tribute to -his powers of duplicity, almost the crowning stone in the monument of deception -he had erected with so much skill. "Annette!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, Basil, Basil!" cried Annette, holding out her hands, -which he clasped in his. "How happy I am to see you--how happy, how happy!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud, who had watched in silence the progress of -this comedy, now stepped forward.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must allow me to interfere," he said. "We are not alone. -There are other ladies and gentlemen in the room, and their eyes are on you. We -will adjourn to our apartments."</p> - -<p class="normal">He took Annette's hand and led the way, and in a few moments -they were able to converse without drawing upon themselves the attention of -strangers.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You will excuse me," said Gilbert to Chaytor with grave -courtesy, pointing to a chair, "but I think this is better."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Infinitely better, M. Bidaud," said Chaytor, "and I thank you -for recalling me to myself. May I hope that you will shake hands with me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Willingly. Let bygones be bygones. We did not understand each -other at the other end of the world; we will manage better at this end. When did -you arrive in Paris?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"This morning. I travelled by the night mail."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Lie the first," thought Gilbert Bidaud as he smiled and -nodded.</p> - -<p class="normal">"A weary journey, and I wanted to get rid of the stains of -travel before I presented myself. I was afraid, Annette--or I should rather now -say Miss Bidaud--might not recognise me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I should have known you anywhere," said Annette softly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And you, M. Bidaud?" asked Chaytor, turning laughingly to the -old man.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Anywhere, anywhere!" cried Gilbert, enthusiastically. "You -have the distinguished appearance, the grand air, which made me mistrust you on -my lamented brother's plantation. But we mistrusted each other, eh, friend -Basil?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well, we did; but as you say, 'let bygones be bygones.'"</p> - -<p class="normal">"They shall be. If we speak of them it shall be to teach us -lessons. I will leave you and my niece together for, say, half-an-hour, and then -we will drive out. The day is fine--this re-union is fine--everything is fine. -My dear niece, I salute you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette's cup of happiness was full. She had experienced a -momentary pang when she heard herself called Miss Bidaud, but she knew that it -was right. She was no longer a child, and although she had always commenced her -letters with "My dear Basil," she would have hesitated, now that they were -together, had she sat down to write to him. They had so much to talk about! All -the old days were recalled, and if once or twice Chaytor tripped, his natural -cleverness and Annette's assistance soon put him right. In such a matter as the -last meeting in the forest between Basil and Annette, of which he was a secret -witness, he was very exact, his faithful memory reproducing the smallest detail.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you remember this?" he asked, showing her the locket.</p> - -<p class="normal">She gazed at her mother's portrait with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was afraid it was lost," she said, "when uncle threw it -away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What a hunt I had for it," said Chaytor. "For hours and hours -did I look about, and almost despaired of finding it. I'll tell you what came -into my mind. If I don't find the locket I shall never see Annette again; if I -do, I shall. And when it was in my hands I looked upon it as a good omen. I -believe it has brought me straight to you. It has never left me; day and night I -have worn it round my neck."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Old Corrie helped you to find it," said Annette. "Oh, yes, of -course, but it was I, not he, who first saw it. Lying among the leaves. -By-the-by, is that magpie still in the land of the living?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I have it in my room." Annette blushed as she spoke, -thinking of the endearing words of Basil she had taught the bird to speak. "It -is all the dearer to me now that its poor master has gone." Then Chaytor began -to speak of his trials and troubles in Australia, and of his fear that he would -never be able to return to England.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I used to fret rarely over it," he said. "I would not tell -you so in my letters, because I did not want to make you sad. But all that is -over now; I am rich, and there is nothing but happiness before us."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nothing but happiness before us!" Annette's heart beat -tumultuously as she heard those words. New hopes, new joys, were gathering, of -which she scarcely knew the meaning. She did not seek for it; it was sufficient -that Basil was with her, unchanged, the same dear friend he had ever been. They -had so much to say to each other that Gilbert Bidaud's entrance at the end of -half an hour was an unwelcome interruption.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Come, come, young people," he said merrily, "the bright sun -invites us. You can talk as we ride."</p> - -<p class="normal">His voice was benignant, his manner paternal, and during the -ride he did not intrude upon them. That night Annette went to bed a perfectly -happy woman. No doubts or fears beset her. She was conscious of a certain -undefinable change in Basil which she could not exactly explain to herself. His -voice appeared to be in some way altered; it was scarcely so gentle as it used -to be, and there was a difference also in his manner of speech. But she did not -dwell upon these impressions; the change was more likely in her than in him; she -had grown, she had ripened, childhood's days were over. Then Basil had passed -through much suffering, and had been for years in association with rough men. -What wonder if his manners were less refined than she remembered them to be? But -his heart was unchanged; he was the same Basil as of old--tender, devoted, and -as deeply attached to her as she had dared to hope. Emily, assisting her young -mistress to undress, found her less conversational than usual. She divined the -cause, and was sympathetically quiet, asking but few questions, and listening -with unaffected interest to what Annette had to say. Emily had not yet seen -Basil, but her views with respect to him were fixed; she was quite ready to -subscribe to Annette's belief that he was above the standard of the ordinary -mortal, and she had set her heart upon its being a match between them; and when, -while she was assisting her mistress, she saw her, in the glass, smile happily -to herself, as one might do who was under the influence of a happy dream, she -was satisfied that some progress had already been made towards the desired end.</p> - -<p class="normal">As for Newman Chaytor, he left Annette that night in a very -contented, not to say ecstatic, frame of mind. There had not been a hitch; he -had passed through the examination with flying colours. He approved not only of -himself, he approved of Annette. She was beautiful from a distance, but far more -than beautiful did she prove to be when he came into association with her; her -winning voice, her tenderness, her charm of manner, made as deep an impression -upon him as a nature so entirely selfish as his was capable of receiving. It was -not possible that he could entertain true and sincere love for any human being, -but Annette inspired within him those feelings which took the place of such a -love. "She has bewitched me," he said. "I can't drive her out of my thoughts, -and don't want to, the little darling! Basil, my double, had a good eye for the -future. He saw what she would grow into, and intended to save her for himself; -and so he has, for I am he. My other self, I drink to you!" It was in the -solitude of his chamber that he communed thus with himself. Brandy and water -were before him; he mixed a stiff glass in which to drink the toast, and raised -it to his lips as he uttered the last words. Scarcely had the glass touched his -lips when it fell to the ground and was shattered to pieces. There before him -was the vision of the shaft with the dead body of his other self lying at the -bottom. It rose and moved towards him. "Curse you!" he cried. "Can I never get -rid of you?" A silent voice answered him: "Never, while you live. I am the -shadow of your crime. I shall be with you--dogging you, haunting you--to the -last hour of your sinful life!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_40" href="#div1Ref_40">CHAPTER XL.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud was puzzled. As well as any man in the world -did he know the true metal when he saw it, and when he was in doubt and had the -opportunity of applying tests he did so, and thus resolved his doubts. He had -done so in the case of Newman Chaytor, with the result that he proved the metal -to be spurious; and still he was not satisfied with the proof. There was -something behind the scenes which was hidden from him, and with all his -cleverness he could not obtain sight of it.</p> - -<p class="normal">His acquaintance with Basil in Australia had been brief, but -he had learnt in that short time to hate him most cordially. This hatred was -intensified by the conviction that forced itself upon him that Basil was a -straightforward, honourable gentleman. Gilbert Bidaud never allowed his -prejudices to blind him and obscure his judgment. When he found himself in a -difficult position he was careful that his view of the circumstances with which -he had to contend was a clear one, and whatever discomfort he might bring upon -himself by this course it was invariably of assistance to him in the end he -desired to attain. Recognising in Basil the gentleman and the man of honourable -impulse he knew exactly where to sting him and how to cope with him. Looking -forward to association with Basil in Europe he had schooled himself beforehand -as to the methods to pursue with respect to him. But these methods were not -necessary. The Basil between whom and himself there was now regular intercourse, -was a different Basil from the man he had known across the seas, easier to -manage and grapple with. So far, so good, but it did not content Gilbert Bidaud. -By no process of reasoning could he reconcile the opposing characteristics of -the man he had to fear. Where Basil was straight Chaytor was crooked, where he -was manly and independent Chaytor was shy and cringing. The physical likeness -was sufficiently striking to deceive the world; the moral likeness could deceive -very few, and certainly not for long an intellect like Gilbert Bidaud's. They -had been intimate now many months, and Chaytor was regarded as one of the the -family. Beneath the tests which Gilbert employed his character had gradually -unfolded itself. He drank, he gambled, he dissipated, and in all his vices -Gilbert led him on and fooled him to the top of his bent, the elder man becoming -every day more convinced that there was here a mystery which it would be useful -to himself to unfold. All he wanted was a starting point, and it was long before -it presented itself; but it came at last.</p> - -<p class="normal">The rift of light shone on a day when Gilbert Bidaud had taken -it into his head to direct the conversation to the first time he and Basil had -met. Chaytor and Gilbert were alone, and had just finished a match at piquet, -which left the more experienced gamester of the two a winner of a couple of -hundred pounds. Chaytor was in a vile temper; he was a bad loser, and Gilbert -had won a considerable sum of him within the last few weeks. Had his brain been -as evenly balanced as that of his antagonist he would have recognised in him a -superior player, and would have declined to play longer with him for heavy -stakes, but, unluckily for himself, he believed he was the equal of any man in -games of skill, and the worst qualities of pride were aroused by his defeats.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Curse your luck!" he cried.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will turn, it will turn," said Gilbert, complacently; "it -cannot last with so good a player as yourself. If we had even cards I should -have a poor chance with you."</p> - -<p class="normal">He poured out brandy for Chaytor and claret for himself. -Liquor was always handy when these two were together, and Gilbert never drank -spirits. Chaytor emptied his glass, and Gilbert sipped at his and then directed -the conversation to their first meeting on the plantation.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You must remember it well," said Gilbert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course I do," said Chaytor, ungraciously, helping himself -to more brandy. "One doesn't soon forget his dealings with Mr. Gilbert Bidaud."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, yes, I make myself remembered," said Gilbert, laughing -with an affectation of good-humour. "For me, I have never forgotten that -alligator. I can see it now, lying without motion among the reeds."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What are you driving at?" exclaimed Chaytor, to whom, as it -happened, Basil had never given any account of the details of this first meeting -with Gilbert Bidaud. "If you want to humbug me you will have to get up earlier -in the morning, my friend."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why, that is certain," said Gilbert, continuing to laugh, but -with a strange thoughtfulness in his observance of Chaytor. "I was only -recalling an incident that occurred on the morning I arrived on the plantation. -We had tramped through the bush, my sister and I, my poor brother having urged -us to hasten, and we arrived early in the morning, tired and dusty. Before us -stretched a river, and, leaving my sister to rest beneath the wide-spread -branches of a tree, I sought a secluded spot where I could bathe. I undressed -and was about to plunge into the water, when I beheld lurking among the reeds a -monstrous alligator. A workman on the plantation chancing to pass that way, ran -down the bank and seized my arm, and pointing to the alligator, said, with -reference to a remark I made about being ready for my breakfast, that instead of -eating I might be eaten. It was kind of that workman to make the attempt to save -me. If it had been you, friend Basil, you might not just then have been so -anxious to deprive the monster of a savoury meal."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is pretty certain," acquiesced Chaytor, with a sneer, -"that I should have left you to your fate."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Now that is frank and honest," said Gilbert, "and what I like -in you. Not for you the trouble of meaning one thing and saying another. It was -not unlikely, however, that this kind workman, one of the labourers on the -plantation, might have mentioned this incident of the alligator to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Whether it was or wasn't, he didn't mention it. This is the -first time I have heard the interesting story."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, it <i>is</i> interesting, is it not? It was from this -same obliging workman that I learnt many particulars of my brother's domestic -affairs, of which I was ignorant, having been so long separated from him."</p> - -<p class="normal">And then Gilbert Bidaud, with something more than a suspicion -that he had his fingers on the pulse of the mystery which was perplexing him, -recapitulated, as nearly as he could recall them, all the particulars of the -conversation between Basil and himself on this occasion of their first meeting, -with not one of which was Chaytor familiar. Chaytor, continuing to drink, -listened contemptuously to this "small talk," as he termed it, and wanted to -know why Gilbert Bidaud bored him with such stuff; but the old man continued, -and finally wound up with an invented account of a meeting with Basil on the -plantation, to which Chaytor, ignorant of what was true and what was false, -willingly subscribed, and thus materially assisted in the deception that was -being practised upon him. At length Gilbert Bidaud rose with the intention of -taking his leave.</p> - -<p class="normal">"And how goes matters," he asked, "with you and my niece? Does -the course of true love still run smooth?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never you mind," retorted Chaytor, "whether it does or -doesn't. It isn't your affair."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Perhaps not. You are not in a gracious humour, friend Basil. -We will speak of it another time. Do not forget that I am Annette's guardian."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, no, I'll not forget. When she and I settle things I shall -want some information from you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"About----?" asked Gilbert, and paused.</p> - -<p class="normal">"About her fortune. You see, up till now, my friend, you have -had it all your own way."</p> - -<p class="normal">"True, true. We will speak of it. Oh, yes, we will speak of -it," adding inly, "and of other things as well, my mysterious friend."</p> - -<p class="normal">The remaining portion of that day Gilbert Bidaud devoted -himself to thought, the subject being the man who called himself Basil -Whittingham. This, with him, was a distinct process; he had cultivated the art -of marshalling facts and evidence, of weighing their relative value and their -direct and indirect bearing upon the problem he was endeavouring to solve, and -of imparting into it all the arguments which would naturally suggest themselves -to an intellect so subtle and astute as his own. "Outside," thought Gilbert, "he -is Basil, the man I knew; inside he is not Basil, the man I knew. The outside of -a man may change, but it is against nature that his character should be twisted -inside out--that it should turn from white to black, from black to white. In my -estimate of Basil on my brother's plantation I was not mistaken; and that being -so, this man and that man are not the same inwardly. How stands my niece in -regard to him? She was all joy when he first joined us; it was nothing but -Basil, Basil, Basil, like the magpie that the old woodcutter gave her. But her -joy and gladness have not stood the test of time; my niece has grown sad. I have -seen her watch Basil's face with grief in her own; I have seen her listen to his -conversation with sadness and surprise in her eyes. She says nothing, she nurses -her grief, and is the kind of woman that will sacrifice herself to an idea, to a -passion she regards as sacred. Yes, this Basil is not the Basil she knew--and -she knew him well and intimately, far better than I. That one was capable of -noble deeds--though I hated him I will do him justice; this one is sordid, mean, -debased, depraved. Fruit ripens and rots; not so men's hearts. Where there is -sweetness it is never wholly lost; some trace of it remains, and so with -frankness, generosity, and nobility. Has this Basil shown the least moral -indication that he is the man we knew? Not one. All the better for me, perhaps. -He will want some information from me respecting Annette's fortune, will he? I -may want some information from him. He will dictate to me, will he? Take care, -my friend, I may dictate to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">The result of his cogitations was that he made a little -experiment. For some time past a celebrated case of personation, in which the -fortunes of an old family and estate were involved, had been the theme of -conversation and speculation all the world over; and, curiously enough, the man -who caused this excitement hailed from Australia. The trial had just commenced, -and the newspapers were full of it. Armed with a bundle of papers, Gilbert -Bidaud presented himself to Chaytor. Throwing them on the table, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never have I been so interested, never has there been such a -case before the public. How will it end? that is the question--how will it end? -You and I, who are students of human nature, who can read character as we read -books, even we must be puzzled and perplexed. Why, what have you there? As I -live, you have been purchasing the same papers as myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was true that there were English newspapers scattered about -the room of the same dates as those Gilbert Bidaud had brought in with him, and -that their appearance indicated that Chaytor had perused them.</p> - -<p class="normal">"An Englishman may buy an English newspapers I suppose," said -Chaytor, a little uneasily, "without its being considered in any way remarkable. -What particular case are you referring to?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"An Englishman, my dear friend," replied Gilbert, with -exceeding urbanity, "may purchase every English newspaper there is for sale in -the city if he is so inclined. This is the particular case to which I refer." He -pointed to the columns upon columns of the reports of the case, taking up one -paper after another and laying them all down carefully a-top of each other with -the case in question uppermost, till he had gathered together every newspaper in -the room, and had arranged them in one pile. While he was thus employed he did -not fail to note that Chaytor's face had grown white, and that he was also -watching Gilbert Bidaud in fear and secresy. Gilbert Bidaud laughed softly, as -he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Study this case, my dear friend. Watch its progress--consider -it well. But perhaps it is not necessary for one so deep, so clever as yourself. -You have already made up your mind how it will end. Make me as wise as yourself, -friend of my soul."</p> - -<p class="normal">He laid his hand upon Chaytor's arm, and gazed steadily into -the traitor's eyes, which wavered in the observance.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How should I know," exclaimed Chaytor, shaking off Gilbert's -hand, "how it will end?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Nay, my dear friend," said Gilbert, and once more he laid his -hand upon Chaytor's arm, "do not shake me off so rudely. You and I are friends, -are we not? We can serve each other; I may be useful to you--yes, yes, very, -very useful."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was one who placed a high value upon small tests, and he -had laid his hand upon Chaytor's arm the second time with a deliberate and -distinct purpose. If the man before him was really and truly Basil, he could not -possibly misunderstand the covert threat which the action and the tone in which -he spoke conveyed. Having nothing to fear, he would show resentment, -indignation, and would release himself immediately from Gilbert's grasp. Newman -Chaytor did nothing of the kind; inwardly shaking with mortal dread, he allowed -Gilbert's hand to remain, and for a few moments neither of the men spoke. During -this brief silence Gilbert knew that the game was his, and that he had nothing -to fear from Chaytor's threat concerning the management of Annette's fortune. He -was too wise to push his advantage. With a light laugh, he threw the pile of -newspapers into a corner of the room, and said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"What matter to us how the case ends? If it is against him, he -is a fool; if it is for him, he deserves to win; in either case whether he be or -be not the man, we will not discuss it. Our own affairs are for us sufficient. -Is it not so?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied Chaytor sullenly. He would not have answered -had not Gilbert looked up at him and compelled him to speak.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I love the daring deed," continued Gilbert; "my soul responds -to him who conceives and carries it out, and if there is danger in the execution -it is to me all the grander. I have myself been daring in my time, and had I not -been successful rue would have been my portion. You and I, my dear friend, have -in our nature some resemblance; we view life and human matters with the eye of a -philosopher. Life is short--ah! I envy you; your feet have scarcely passed the -threshold; I am far on the way. For you the summer, for me the winter. Well, -well, there are some years before me yet, and I will exercise our philosophy by -enjoying them. I look to myself; let other men do the same. Nature says aloud, -'Enjoy the sunshine.' I obey nature. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy--that is the true -teaching; and you, dear friend, are of my opinion. Let this proclaim that we are -comrades." He held out his hand, which Chaytor felt restrained to take. "That is -well; it is safer so. And attend. I pry not into your secrets, and you will not -pry into mine. Of our cupboards with their skeletons we will each keep our key. -What I choose to reveal I reveal; as with you. Beyond that boundary we do not -step."</p> - -<p class="normal">He had not uttered a compromising word, but Chaytor understood -him thoroughly. How much, or how little, he knew, Chaytor could not say, but -that he could be a most dangerous enemy was clear. He was not a man from whom -one could escape easily, and, even if he were, Chaytor was not in the humour to -make the attempt. The impression which Annette's grace and beauty had made upon -him was so strong that he could not endure the idea of leaving her. The -relations between them had not been those of lovers: they had been of an -affectionate nature, but no words binding them to each other had passed between -them. Gilbert Bidaud was correct in his observation of her. Joyous and bright at -first, she had grown sad and quiet. A shadow had fallen upon the ideal she had -worshipped; and yet she did not dare to blame the Basil who had reigned in her -heart pure and undefiled. Was he still so? She would not answer the question; -when it presented itself she refused to listen. With a sad shake of her head she -strove to deaden her senses against the still small voice which ever and again -intruded the torturing doubt, but she could not dismiss it entirely. Basil she -loved, Basil she would always love; was it not treason to love to admit the -whispered doubt that he was changed? She argued sometimes that the change was in -her, and wondered whether he observed in her what she observed in him. She asked -him once:</p> - -<p class="normal">"Am I changed, Basil!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are more beautiful and charming than ever, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">They had had a little conversation, in which Gilbert Bidaud -took part, as to calling each other by their Christian names, and Gilbert had -settled the question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is too cold," he said, "this Miss Bidaud, this Mr. -Whittingham. You proclaim yourself strangers. Let it be as it was, as it always -shall be, Basil and Annette. Always, always, Basil and Annette. Children, be -happy."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was as though he had given them a fatherly benediction. -From the day of the last recorded interview between Gilbert Bidaud and Newman -Chaytor, the intimacy between them grew still closer. Gilbert managed that, and -also so contrived matters that, without any open declaration being made, no one -could doubt that Chaytor and Annette were unavowed lovers. Gilbert had decided -that it would be best and safest for him that they should marry. He had Chaytor -in his power, and could make a bargain with him which would ensure him ease and -comfort for his remaining years. With another man it would not be so easy; he -would have to render an account of his stewardship, and in this there was -distinct danger. He was very curious to arrive at the real truth respecting -Chaytor, and despite his assurance that he would not pry into Chaytor's secret, -he was continually on the watch for something that would help to reveal it to -him. Chaytor, however, was on his guard, and Gilbert learnt nothing further.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Next week," he said to Chaytor, "we go to Villa Bidaud. The -summer is waning, and the climate there is warm and agreeable. You accompany -us?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where Annette goes I go," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yet," said Gilbert, with a certain wary thoughtfulness, -"matters should be more definitely arranged before you become absolutely one of -our family circle. I have spoken of this before. You are neither brother nor -cousin--what really would you be to her?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know what I would really be."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know, but at present it is locked in a box. If you tarry -too long you will lose her. I perceive that that would be a blow; and well it -might be, for she is a prize a king would be proud to win. Shall we decide it -this evening?" Chaytor nodded. "Join us at nine o'clock, and we will settle the -matter. It may be advisable that I speak first to Annette. She may need -management. I will give you a word of warning. If it goes according to your -wish, be more careful in your behaviour. Think a little less of yourself, a -little more of her. Be tender, considerate, thoughtful, for a time at least, -until you are secure of her. Then it is your affair and hers, and I shall have -nought to do with either of you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will take care of that," thought Chaytor, and said aloud, -"You think I need your warning?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I know you need it. You have either small regard for women, -or you are clumsy in your management of them. Before I leave you now, I wish you -to sign this paper."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a document, carefully worded, which Gilbert Bidaud had -drawn out, by which Chaytor bound himself to make no demand upon Annette's -guardian for any money or property, which had fallen to Annette upon her -father's death. It was in fact, a renunciation of all claims in the present or -the future.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why should I sign this?" asked Chaytor rebelliously.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Because it is my wish," replied Gilbert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I refuse?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In the first place, you will lose Annette. In the second -place, something worse than that will happen to you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Through you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Through me. I have a touch of the bloodhound in me. Take -heed. Only in alliance with me are you safe."</p> - -<p class="normal">It was a bold hazard, but it succeeded. Without another word, -Chaytor signed the paper.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Basil Whittingham," said Gilbert Bidaud, examining the -signature, and uttering the name with significant emphasis. "Good."</p> - -<p class="normal">That evening the engagement between Annette and Chaytor was -ratified in the presence of Gilbert Bidaud and his sister. The old man had a -long conversation with his niece before Chaytor made his appearance. He told her -that Basil had formally proposed for her hand, and that knowing her heart was -already given to the young man, he had accorded his consent to their union. He -spoke in great praise of Basil's character, and skilfully alluded to certain -matters which he knew Annette was grieving over.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You have observed a change in Basil," he said, "so have I; -but you, my dear niece, are partly responsible for it. The truth is, Basil was -fearful of the manner in which you would receive his declaration. He loves you -with so deep and profound a love, and he sets so high a value upon you, that he -hardly dared to hope. The uncertainty of his position has made him forget -himself; he has committed excesses; he has behaved as if he were not Basil, but -another man. You, my dear child, with your simple heart, are ignorant of the -vagaries which love's fever, and the fear of disappointment, play in a man's -nature. They transform him, and only when his heart is at ease, and he is -satisfied that his love is returned, does his better, his higher self return. -But for this fear Basil would perhaps have unfolded his heart to you without any -intervention, though he has behaved like an honourable man in speaking first to -me. You will be very, very happy, my child. I bless you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Only too ready was Annette to accept this explanation. -Implicitly believing in it, and not for one moment suspecting guile or -duplicity, she felt her faith and her best hopes restored. When Chaytor came to -her, he was for awhile humbled by her sweetness and modesty, and what -deficiencies there were in him Annette supplied them out of her faith and trust.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a little formality," said Gilbert Bidaud, intruding -upon the lovers. "It is a custom in our family to sign a preliminary marriage -contract. Affix your signatures here--you, Basil Whittingham, you, Annette -Bidaud. It is well. Before the year is out, we will have a wedding."</p> - -<p class="normal">Within a week they were in Switzerland, settled in the Villa -Bidaud.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_41" href="#div1Ref_41">CHAPTER XLI.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">Annette did not remain long in her delusion. Gradually, but -surely her bright hopes faded away, to be replaced by a terrible feeling of -hopeless resignation. The serpent cannot change its nature, and the worst -features in Newman Chaytor's character began to assert themselves soon after the -signing the document which Gilbert Bidaud had described as the preliminary -marriage contract. He was sure of Annette; what need, therefore, for the wearing -of an irksome mask? He threw it aside, and exhibited himself in his true -colours, to the grief and despair of the girl he had successfully deceived. She -heard him, in conversation with her uncle, use language and utter sentiments at -which her soul revolted; she saw him frequently the worse for liquor; and often -now she purposely avoided him when he sought her society. Brightness died out of -the world, and she thought shudderingly of the future. The flowers in her young -heart were withered. And yet she dwelt mournfully upon the image of the man she -had adored, and asked herself, Can it be possible--can it be possible? The -answer was there, in the same house with her, sitting by her side, pressing her -hand, while he uttered coarse jokes, or gazing darkly at Gilbert Bidaud, who was -ever ready to give smiles for frowns. For this was the old man's method; he was -urbane and light-hearted in the family circle, and nothing that Chaytor said -could disturb his equanimity. He had the traitor in his toils, and he played his -game with the air of an indulgent master.</p> - -<p class="normal">The Villa Bidaud was a great rambling house of two storeys, -standing in its own grounds. It was surrounded by a high stone wall, and stood -far back from the public road; when the strong iron gates were locked it -resembled a prison. Annette, chilled at heart, began to feel that it was one and -but for the companionship of her faithful maid Emily, her life would have been -dark and gloomy indeed. It was a relief to her when her uncle announced that he -and the man to whom she was betrothed were going away on business for two or -three weeks.</p> - -<p class="normal">Their mission was special and important, and has been -attempted by hundreds of other gulls. Gilbert Bidaud had discovered a system by -which he could break the bank at Monte Carlo. The one diversion of the two -knaves at the Villa Bidaud was gambling. Never a day passed but they were -closeted together in a locked room rattling the dice or shuffling the cards. It -may be questioned whether the demon of play is not more potent than the demon of -drink, and it is certain that it had so fastened itself upon Newman Chaytor that -he could not escape from it. His losses maddened him, but his infatuation led -him on to deeper and deeper losses, Gilbert Bidaud always declaring that the -luck must change and that the money Chaytor lost was only money lent. -Occasionally he professed indifference to the fatal pastime, and lured Chaytor -on to persuasion, replying, "Well, as you insist." One day Chaytor, as usual, -was savagely growling at his ill-luck, when Gilbert said carelessly: "You can -get it all back, ten, twenty, a hundred-fold, if you like."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How?" eagerly demanded Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Gilbert unfolded his plan. He had made a wonderful -discovery, an absolutely infallible system by which fortunes could be won at the -roulette tables of Monte Carlo and elsewhere. Chaytor caught at the bait, but -with smaller cunning threw doubt upon it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can demonstrate it," said Gilbert. "I have here a -roulette table to which I have not yet introduced you, and upon which I have -proved my figures. You shall take the bank, and I will carry out my system. We -will play for small stakes. What say you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor suggested that the stakes should be imaginary, but to -this the cleverer knave would not agree.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You insist that the bank must win," he said. "Take the bank -and try."</p> - -<p class="normal">They played for three days, during which, as luck would have -it, Gilbert rose invariably a winner. At the end of the third day, he said:</p> - -<p class="normal">"See now. I have won from you an average of one hundred pounds -a day. All we have to do at Monte Carlo is to increase the stakes, and we can -win as much as we please. Say, to be moderate, three thousand pounds a day. -Fifty days, one hundred and fifty thousand pounds. Seventy five thousand each."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor was eager to begin, but there was first a bargain to -be struck. In return for the fortune they were to win, and of which Chaytor was -to have an equal share, Gilbert Bidaud stipulated that his partner should -provide the funds for the venture. At first Chaytor refused, but when Gilbert -said, "Very well, there is an end of the matter," he implored to be admitted -upon the stipulated terms.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We commence with a bank of five thousand pounds," said -Gilbert.</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor drew a long face at mention of this sum, but he was in -the toils and avarice compelled compliance. On the morning of their departure he -handed over the amount in Bank of England notes, it being another of Gilbert's -conditions that he should be the treasurer. Now, on the previous day, after -Chaytor had consented to provide the five thousand pounds, Gilbert had resolved -to ascertain where he was in the habit of concealing his treasure. It was easy -enough to carry out this resolve. The Villa Bidaud was an old house, with the -peculiarities of which Gilbert had made himself familiar at the time he -purchased it. In one part of the room in which Chaytor slept, the wall was -double, an outer panel admitting of the entrance of any person who wished to -play the spy. All he had to do was to ascend three steps, when an artfully -concealed peep-hole enabled him to see all the movements of the occupant of the -inner room. From that point of observation Gilbert watched Chaytor's -proceedings; saw him carefully lock the door and mask the keyhole, so that no -one could see into the room through it; saw him as carefully cover the windows -and render himself safe in that direction; saw him take his hoard of banknotes -from the artfully-contrived pockets in his clothes, count them over, place a -small pile aside, and return the balance to its hiding-place. Gilbert saw -something more. He beheld Chaytor suddenly pause and look before him, while upon -his features gathered a convulsed and horror-stricken expression, as though he -was gazing on some appalling phantom. It was at such a moment that the character -of Chaytor's face became entirely changed, all likeness to Basil being -completely obliterated. Chaytor's arms were stretched out in the act of -repelling a presence visible only to himself; his limbs trembled, a cold sweat -bathed his countenance, and he exhibited all the symptoms of a man in the throes -of a mortal agony.</p> - -<p class="normal">Slowly and thoughtfully Gilbert left his post and returned to -his own apartment. His suspicions were absolutely confirmed, so far as the -evidence he had obtained could confirm them. On the following morning he and -Chaytor took their departure.</p> - -<p class="normal">"They part from us without regret," he observed as they rode -away. "Who are they?" asked Chaytor, in a morose tone. He knew to whom his -companion referred. Annette had exhibited no concern when he informed her that -business compelled a separation of a couple of weeks. She had received this -intimation in silence, and when he kissed her good bye had not returned his -kiss. He inwardly resolved that when he and Annette were married she should pay -for her growing coldness towards him.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was thinking of my niece," replied Gilbert. "She displayed -but small grief at the departure of her lover. And such a lover!"</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor looked sharply at him, for there was a touch of -sarcasm in his voice, but Gilbert's countenance was expressionless.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Women are queer cattle," he said roughly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"True, true," assented Gilbert, "and cattle must be taught to -know who are their masters. Bah! We will not talk of them. Let us rather talk of -the fortune we are pursuing and shall overtake."</p> - -<p class="normal">So they fell to discussing this most agreeable theme, and -indulging in visions of vast gains. Chaytor did not know what his companion -knew--that the "system" discovered by Gilbert would have been really a certain -thing but for one combination or series of figures which might not be drawn for -many days together.</p> - -<p class="normal">It was upon the chance of this series not presenting itself -that Gilbert relied; if they escaped it, their purses would be filled; if it -occurred, it was not his money that would be lost.</p> - -<p class="normal">No time was wasted at Monte Carlo: within an hour of their -arrival they commenced to play, and before they retired to rest they counted -their winnings.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you satisfied?" asked Gilbert gaily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," replied Chaytor, feverishly fingering the gold and -notes. "We must win more, more!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We will. The world is at our feet. Let us divide."</p> - -<p class="normal">This was a part of Gilbert's plan; the winnings of each day -were to be divided; thus he made sure of gain to himself, whatever might happen -to his partner. For some days their operations prospered, and then came the -inevitable bad experience. They sustained a loss, another, another; a large sum -had to be staked to recover their losses, and that also was swept in by the -croupiers, upon whose stony faces ruin and despair produced no impression. -Chaytor stormed and reviled, and Gilbert listened with calmness to his -reproaches. In desperation the younger man took the game in hand himself, and -plunged wildly at the tables, Gilbert looking on in silence. The result was -that, after a fortnight had passed, Chaytor had lost ten thousand pounds of his -ill-gotten wealth.</p> - -<p class="normal">Nearly half the fortune of which he had obtained fraudulent -possession was gone. With a gloomy countenance he counted what remained; his -heart was filled with bitterness towards his companion, whose design it was to -lead Chaytor on step by step until his ruin was complete. For a little while -Chaytor contemplated flight, but so unwearying was the watch kept on him by -Gilbert, that, had he nerved himself determinedly to his design, he could not -have put it in execution. Besides, the thought of Annette held him back. No, he -would not fly, he would return to the Villa Bidaud, he would marry Annette, he -would compel Gilbert to make restitution of his niece's fortune, and then he -would bid farewell for ever to his evil genius and take Annette to America, -where he would commence a new life.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have had enough of this," he said to Gilbert. "If I -followed your counsels any longer I should land in the gutter."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not so, not so," responded the unruffled Gilbert; "if you -were guided by me you would land in a palace. See, now, I kept a record of the -numbers while you were so recklessly staking your money on this chance and that, -throwing away, like a madman, the certainty I offered you. You know my system; -sit down with these numbers before you, follow them, back them according to my -notation, and discover how you would have got back all your losses, and been in -the end a large gainer. I leave you for an hour to the lesson I set you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor applied himself to the task, with a savage desire to -prove by mathematical demonstration that his associate had robbed him, and -finding that Gilbert was right and that by following the system he would have -recovered his money, cursed his luck, and Gilbert, and all the world. His -paroxysm of anger abated, a sense of comfort stole upon him. When he had freed -himself from the shackles which Gilbert had thrown around him, when Annette was -his and he and she were alone, he would come back to Monte Carlo and carry out -on his sole account the system he had so foolishly abandoned. Then all the money -that was won would be his own: there would be no Gilbert Bidaud to cheat him of -half. "Have you verified my figures?" asked the old man, returning. "Have you -established your folly?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," replied Chaytor, thrusting the paper upon which he made -his calculations into his pocket, "you have deceived and tricked me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Ah, ah," ejaculated Gilbert, in a light and pleasant tone, "I -have deceived and tricked you--and you have seen through me! Clever Basil, -clever Basil! I am as a child in your hands. Come, let us get back to our dear -Annette. Let us fly on the wings of love."</p> - -<p class="normal">They had not announced their intended return, and their -arrival at the villa Bidaud was therefore unexpected. The gates were unlocked -for them by a servant, and they entered the grounds. Gilbert took the keys from -the man, and relocked the gates.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are precious careful," said Chaytor. "Are you frightened -of thieves?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am old," said Gilbert, with a smile; "I am losing my nerve. -We stopped at the post-house, did we not, to inquire for letters?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We did."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You heard me speak to the woman?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You were talking, I know, but I did not hear what passed -between you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Your thoughts were on our sweet Annette. Why is she not here -to receive us? Why does she not fly into our arms? Ah, I forgot. We did not -write that we were coming. Yes, I spoke to the woman at the post-house; I asked -her for the news."</p> - -<p class="normal">"News in this den!" exclaimed Chaytor, scornfully. "One might -as well be out of the world."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Out of the world--yes, out of the world. Speak not of it; I -have passed the sixties."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I tell you what," said Chaytor, with a gloomy look around, "I -don't intend to keep here much longer. It is as much like a tomb as any place I -have ever seen."</p> - -<p class="normal">"There again, there again! Out of the world, and tombs. You -mock the old man. What was I saying when you interrupted me? Ah, about the woman -at the post-house. I asked her for news, and she told me that three strangers -had been seen this afternoon in the village."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Rare news that. She might have saved her breath."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Everything is news in these small villages. Now, why is it -that my mind dwells upon these strangers? Such visits are common enough. -Doubtless they are but passing through, and we shall hear no more of them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Then why keep talking about them?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Gently, gently. I had a bad dream last night, I saw you -pursued by foes, and I hastened after you in my dreams to assist you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"More than you would do if you were awake."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You misjudge me. But to continue. How many foes were pursuing -you? Three. How many strangers appeared in the village this afternoon? Three. -See you any warning, any hidden danger in this?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is a coincidence, nothing more," replied Chaytor, with an -uneasy shifting of his body. "Look here--I am not going to stand this, you -know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are not going to stand what?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"This infernal badgering--this attempt to make me -uncomfortable. Haven't I enough to worry me as it is? What do I care about your -dreams and your three strangers?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I want to make you comfortable--and happy; yes, very, very -happy. And you will be if you do not quarrel with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And if I <i>do</i> quarrel with you?"</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud toyed musingly with a charm on Chaytor's watch -chain. "Be advised. Keep friends with me, the best of friends. Old as I am, it -is not safe to quarrel with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, tush!" cried Chaytor, vainly endeavouring to conceal his -discomposure. "Have you done with your post-woman and her three strangers?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not quite. I made further inquiries about them and learnt all -there was to learn. They came to the village, they inquired for the Villa -Bidaud, they walked all round the walls, they lingered at the gate, they looked -up at the house, which, as you know, is not to be seen from any part of the -road, they talked together, they lingered still longer, and then--they went -away."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The King of France went up the hill," quoted Chaytor. "Shall -I tell you what I make of all this?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The dream you had was of <i>your</i> enemies, not mine. These -three strangers are interested in you, and not, by any remote possibility, in -me. They inquired for the Villa Bidaud--<i>your</i> villa, <i>your</i> name. The -fact is, my friend, something you have forgotten in the past has been raked up -against you, and these three strangers have come to remind you of it." He -laughed in great enjoyment at this turning of the tables.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is an ingenious theory," said Gilbert, composedly. -"Something I have forgotten in the past! But I have been so very, very careful. -Is it possible that anything can have escaped me? Perhaps, perhaps? We cannot be -for ever on our guard. Thank you for reminding me. You asked me if I was -frightened of thieves. Friend of my soul, I am frightened of everything, of -everybody. That is why I gave instructions that these gates were never to be -opened to strangers unless by my orders. None can gain admittance here against -my wish. It is a necessary precaution. Ah, here is my sister." He saluted her on -both cheeks, and then inquired for Annette.</p> - -<p class="normal">"She keeps her room," was the answer.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Sick?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"In temper only."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She knows of our return?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I informed her myself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And her reply?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"She will come down later."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert turned to Chaytor and said, "Our little one has a will -and a temper of her own, but you will tame her; yes, you will tame her."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor said nothing; he did not like the signs, and the -temptation came again upon him to fly. But still the image of Annette acted as a -counterpoise--her very avoidance of him made the prize more precious.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why did you not come to welcome us?" he asked, when at length -she made her appearance.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was not well," she answered, with her eyes on the ground.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you better now?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No."</p> - -<p class="normal">"This is a nice lover's greeting," he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">She shivered. He gazed frowningly at her, but she did not -raise her head. "I will break her spirit," he thought.</p> - -<p class="normal">Aloud he said, "You do not seem happy, Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am most unhappy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Am I the cause?" he asked, and waited for the reply which did -not come. "It is clear then; do you wish to break the contract?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can I?" she said, with sudden eagerness.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," he answered, roughly. "You are bound by the paper we -signed."</p> - -<p class="normal">This was her own belief. With a sigh she turned away, and -strove to fix her mind upon a book. But the words swam before her eyes; she -turned over page after page mechanically, without the least understanding of -their sense. All at once her attention was arrested by mention of a name--Old -Corrie. For some reason of his own, Gilbert Bidaud had directed the conversation -he was holding with Chaytor to the old Australian days, and he had just inquired -whether Chaytor could give him any information of Old Corrie. The old fellow's -visit to Emily's mother in Bournemouth had been made about the time that -Annette's feelings were undergoing a change towards the man to whom she had -engaged herself, as she believed, irrevocably. This would not have been a -sufficient cause for her not speaking of the visit to Chaytor, but he had -latterly expressed himself sick of Australia and all allusions to it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't speak of it again to me," he had said, pettishly, "or -of anybody I knew there."</p> - -<p class="normal">She obeyed him, and thus it was that he was ignorant of -particulars, the knowledge of which would have saved him from tripping on the -present occasion.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Corrie," said Chaytor, "the woodman? Oh, that old fool!" -Annette started. The brutal tone in which Chaytor spoke shocked her. "He's dead; -and a good riddance too." Annette covered her eyes with her hands. Old Corrie -was dead; he must have died lately--since his visit to Bournemouth. How strange -that the man who had just spoken had said nothing to her of the good old man's -death! She held her breath, and listened in amazement to what followed.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Dead, eh?" said Gilbert, callously. "Long since?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"A good many years ago."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In Australia, then?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of course, in Australia." Gilbert would have dropped the -subject, as being of small interest; but, observing that Annette was listening -to the conversation with somewhat unusual attention, was impelled to say -something more upon it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Did he leave any money behind him?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not a shilling. Drank it all away. He died in a fit of -delirium tremens."</p> - -<p class="normal">Annette rose from her chair in horror.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You saw him dead?" pursued Gilbert, maliciously.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I was with him at the time. You are mighty particular with -your questions."</p> - -<p class="normal">He was not aware that Annette had slowly approached him, and -was only made conscious of it by the touch of her hand on his arm.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Well?" he said.</p> - -<p class="normal">She looked steadily at him; every vestige of colour had fled -from her face, her eyes dilated, her lips were apart; thus they gazed at each -other in silence, and Gilbert, leaning back in his chair, watched them closely. -There was an accusing quality in Annette's steady gaze which fascinated Chaytor, -and the colour died out of his face as it had died out of hers. His eyes began -to shift, his limbs to twitch.</p> - -<p class="normal">"How is this going to end?" thought Gilbert Bidaud, his -interest in the scene growing. "My niece has the upper hand here. Faith, she has -the Bidaud blood in her."</p> - -<p class="normal">His suddenly-aroused pride in her was a personal tribute to -himself. For fully five minutes there was dead silence in the room; then Annette -removed her hand from Chaytor's arm, and quitted the apartment.</p> - -<p class="normal">The spell broken, Chaytor jumped up in fury, and looked after -her retreating form. Turning to Gilbert, he cried:</p> - -<p class="normal">"The girl has lost her senses. Is there insanity in your -family, M. Gilbert Bidaud?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"We were ever remarkable," replied Gilbert, in a more serious -tone than that in which he generally spoke, "for well-balanced brains. It is -that which has kept us always on the safe side, which has enabled us to swim -while others sink. Instead of losing her senses, Annette, perhaps, has come to -them. I give you my honest word, there crept into my mind, while you were -playing that silent scene with her, a profound admiration for the young lady, my -niece. She has qualities of the Bidaud type; I pay her tribute." He bowed -towards the door, half mockingly, half admiringly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't want your honest word," cried Chaytor in wrath and -fear, for it dawned upon him that the ally upon whom he reckoned might declare -himself against him. "I want your plain meaning."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You shall have it," said Gilbert; "but as walls have ears, -and there may be danger--to you and not to me--in what you force me to say, I -propose that we adjourn to the lodge by the gates, where we may exchange -confidences in safety."</p> - -<p class="normal">He led the way to the grounds, and Chaytor followed him, as a -whipped dog follows its master.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_42" href="#div1Ref_42">CHAPTER XLII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The lodge to which Gilbert Bidaud referred stood close to the -gates through which entrance was obtained to the house and grounds. It contained -four rooms, two above and two below, and was furnished for residence. There were -times when Gilbert himself occupied it, and it was always kept ready for him, -the two rooms below affording him all the accommodation he required. Between -these two rooms ran a narrow passage, at the back end of which was a door, but -seldom used, leading out to the grounds. A staircase at the side of this passage -led to the rooms above.</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor had arrived at the villa -late in the day, and it was now night. Dark clouds had gathered, obscuring moon -and stars.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There will be a storm before sunrise," said Gilbert, as they -reached the front door of the lodge, which he unlocked and threw open. "Enter, -my dear friend."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor uttered no word, and followed Gilbert into the -passage. The old man carefully locked the door, and the two men stood in -darkness a moment, listening. Then the master of Villa Bidaud turned the handle -of the door of the sitting-room, and stepping towards the window, closed the -shutters through which no chink of light could be seen from without. Having thus -secured themselves from observation, he struck a match and lit a lamp, which -threw a bright light around. In a basket by the sideboard were some bottles of -red wine, and glasses and corkscrew were handy. Gilbert uncorked a bottle and -put glasses on the table.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Will you drink?" he asked.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you nothing stronger than this stuff?" asked Chaytor, in -reply.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is a bottle of brandy somewhere," said Gilbert, opening -a door in the sideboard. "Ah, here it is. I am glad that am able to accommodate -you. I am always glad to accommodate my friends."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor half filled a tumbler with the spirit, and drank it -neat. His companion took the bottle, and replaced it in the cupboard.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are a generous host," observed Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is not that," said Gilbert, genially. "It is that you need -your wits to understand my plain meaning. Will you sit or stand?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will do as I please."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do so. Your pleasure is a law to me. Pardon me a moment's -consideration. I am debating by what name to address you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My name is Basil Whittingham, as you well know."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How should I well know it? It is not my custom to accept men -as they present themselves. I judge for myself. Man is a study. I study him, and -each one who crosses my path and enters, for a time short or long, into my life, -affords me scope for observation and contemplation. As you have done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"As I have done," said Chaytor, moodily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"As you have done," repeated Gilbert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I suppose I may make one observation."</p> - -<p class="normal">"One! A dozen--a hundred. What you say shall be attentively -received. Be sure of that."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I recall," said Chaytor, "a conversation we had. You said you -would not pry into my secrets, and expressed a desire that I should not pry into -yours."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I remember. I said also something about our cupboards with -their skeletons, and that each should keep his key."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes--and you concluded with these words: 'What I choose to -reveal, I reveal; as with you. Beyond that boundary we do not step.' I am -correct in the quotation, I think?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is freely admitted. You have a retentive memory, and my -observations must have made an impression upon you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I have not," said Chaytor, "attempted to pry into your -secrets. Why do you attempt to pry into mine?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear friend," said Gilbert, in his blandest tone, "you -forget. It is by your invitation we are now conversing, and it is for your -safety I proposed we should converse here in secresy. You said to me, 'I want -your plain meaning.' If you have changed your mind, we will finish now, this -moment, and will return to our dear Annette."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No," said Chaytor, "we will not finish now. I will hear what -you have to say."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are gracious. But pray believe me; I have not attempted -to pry into your secrets. You have yourself revealed yourself to me by a -thousand signs. I am a man gifted with a fair intelligence. I do not say to my -mind, Observe, it observes intuitively, without command or direction. What is -the result? I learn, not what you are, but what you are not."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Indeed! And what am I not?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Plainly?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Quite plainly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear friend," said Gilbert Bidaud, with a smile and a -confident nod, "you are not Basil Whittingham."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is your game, is it?" cried Chaytor, but his heart was -chilled by the cold assurance of Gilbert's voice and manner.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not my game--yours. I did not intrude upon you; you intruded -upon me. By your own design you came, and if there is a pit before you, it is -you, not I, who have dug it. But you can yet save yourself."</p> - -<p class="normal">"How?" said Chaytor involuntarily, and was instantly made -aware of his imprudence by the amused smile which his exclamation called up to -Gilbert's lips. "Curse it! I mean, what have I revealed, as you so cleverly -express it?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will tell you. You come to Paris, and play the spy upon us. -You take rooms opposite our hotel, and so arrange a foreground of observation, -that you can see what passes in our apartments without dreaming that you have -laid yourself open to observation."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, you found that out, did you?" exclaimed Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I found that out; and I found out also that you had been in -Paris a long, long time, although you declared to my niece, when you first -presented yourself to us, that you had but just arrived by the night train. I -take no merit for the discovery. You revealed it to me while you were driving -with your gay companions. I asked myself, 'Why this lie? Why this secret -espionage?' and since then it is that I found the answer. Naturally we spoke of -Australia; naturally I recalled the incidents of my first meeting with Basil -Whittingham on my brother's plantation. They were incidents it was not possible -to forget by either of us, and yet, dear friend, you were entirely ignorant of -them; indeed, you scoffed at me for inventing what never occurred. In this way -did you again reveal to me, not what you are, but what you are not. Finding your -memory so treacherous, I set a trap, frankly I confess it, a simple, innocent -trap, which you, being Basil Whittingham, would have stepped over without injury -to yourself. In that case it would have been I, not you, who would have had to -eat humble pie--is not that your English saying? I invented scenes and incidents -in our meeting and brief acquaintanceship in Australia to which you put your -seal. On my word, it was as good as a comedy, these imaginary conversations and -incidents of my conjuring up, and you saying, 'Yes, yes, I remember, I -remember.' Fie, fie, dear friend, it was clumsy of you. Again, those English -newspapers, with their celebrated case which you were so greedy to peruse. Your -explanation did not blind me. I knew why you bought and read them so eagerly. -There were here to my hand the pieces of a puzzle not difficult to put together. -Let me tell you--you deceived not one of us completely. My sister says, 'That -man is not Basil Whittingham.' My niece says no word--her grief is too -great--she suffers, through you, a martyrdom; but she doubts you none the less. -Some strong confirmation--I know not what--of her doubts you presented her with -this very night when you spoke so freely of Old Corrie's death."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Curse you!" cried Chaytor. "You drew me on."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Could I guess what was coming when his name was introduced? -Could I divine what you were about to say? Take this from me, my friend; my -niece knows something of Old Corrie which neither you nor I know, and when she -placed her hand on your arm, and looked into those eyes of yours which shifted -and wavered beneath her gaze, you felt as I felt, that she accused you of lying. -Even her maid, Emily, who never set eyes on Basil Whittingham, believes not in -you. And the fault is all your own. It is you, and you alone, who have supplied -the evidence against yourself. I see in your face an intention of blustering and -denying. Abandon it, dear friend. So far as we are concerned, the game is up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So you mean to say that you withdraw from the marriage -contract between me and Annette?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is not I who withdraw; it is she, who will choose death -rather. She may consider herself bound--I cannot say; but she and you will never -stand side by side at the altar."</p> - -<p class="normal">"The best thing I can do is to make myself scarce."</p> - -<p class="normal">"That is, to disappear?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You can express it in those words if you choose. Mind, I do -not leave your hospitable abode because I am afraid. What is there to be afraid -of? I can afford to laugh at what you have said, which is false from beginning -to end, but I am sick of your ways. You have done pretty well out of me; you are -a cunning old bird, and you have feathered your nest with my feathers. I -calculate that you have at least five thousand pounds of my money in your -pocket."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of your money?" queried Gilbert, with a quiet smile.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Of my money."</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no; whatever else we do let us be truthful. Of Basil -Whittingham's money."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Oh, you can stick to that fiction as long as you like. Have -you anything else to say to me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes. You are not free to go yet."</p> - -<p class="normal">"What! Will you stop me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No; I will follow you, and will accuse you publicly. We will -have the case in the papers, and you shall have an opportunity of clearing -yourself of the accusation I bring against you. Basil Whittingham maybe alive; -Old Corrie may be alive; people who know really who you are may be alive, and -they shall all be found to be brought forward to acquit or condemn you. If you -want noise, fuss, publicity, you shall have them. There is, however, an -alternative."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me hear it."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Not being Basil Whittingham, you have committed forgery by -affixing his name to two documents in my possession. Not being Basil -Whittingham, you have obtained by fraud the fortune which was his. So -apprehensive of detection are you, that you would not deposit this money in a -bank, as a right-minded gentleman would have done, but you carry it about with -you, in secret pockets, on your person." Chaytor started. "I could put my finger -on the precise spots in which Basil Whittingham's fortune is concealed. It is -again you, dear friend, who have revealed this to me. You have a habit of -raising your hand--you are doing it unconsciously at this moment--to your side, -to your breast, to assure yourself that the money is safe. Shall we make terms?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Name them."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not desire to know the amount of your wealth; I think -only of myself, and of what the secret in my possession is worth. Shall we say -five thousand pounds?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You may say five thousand pounds," blustered Chaytor, and -then suddenly paused, overwhelmed by the sense of power in his companion's -smiling face. "Hang it," he said presently, "give me some brandy."</p> - -<p class="normal">Gilbert Bidaud produced the bottle, and, as Newman Chaytor -gulped the liquor down, repeated, "Shall we say five thousand pounds?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I will give you one," said Chaytor faintly. "Five. Decide -quickly. Observe, I take out my watch; it wants two minutes to the hour. If at -the end of these two minutes you do not agree, I shall double the terms. By this -time you know me, and know that you cannot with safety trifle with me."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor stepped forward and looked at the second-hand, his -mind dazed with whirling thought. Should he refuse? Should he show fight? Did he -dare to risk the exposure which Gilbert threatened?</p> - -<p class="normal">"It wants thirty seconds yet," said Gilbert, calmly? "they are -precious moments, these that are flying so fast? Twenty--fifteen--ten--five----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"I consent to be robbed," said Chaytor, hurriedly. He did not -dare to fight.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Good," said Gilbert, putting the watch back in his pocket. -"The bargain must be completed to-night, after which without loss of time, I -should advise you to disappear. I will make excuses to my niece; she will not be -anxious to see your face again. Nor shall I. At midnight, here, we will meet -again, for the last time, and after you have purchased safety we will bid each -other an eternal farewell. I will have a horse ready for you, on which you can -ride to--where you please. Let us now return to the bosom of my beloved family; -a longer absence may arouse suspicion."</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_43" href="#div1Ref_43">CHAPTER XLIII.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">During the visit of Gilbert and Chaytor to Monte Carlo some -important action had been taken by Annette's staunch maid, Emily. Loyal to the -backbone to her young mistress, she had fully sympathised with her in her -unhappiness, and had gone farther than Annette, in her reflections upon the -future. She saw that a marriage with a man to whom Annette had pledged herself -would result in lifelong misery, and she set her mind to work to consider how -the dreadful consequence could be averted. She saw but one way to accomplish -this; she and her mistress must fly from the Villa Bidaud. She did not moot this -project to Annette, for whenever she commenced to speak upon the subject of the -approaching union Annette stopped her, and would not listen to what she had to -say. "But at the last moment," thought the faithful maid, "when she sees that -there is no other escape for her, she will agree to fly with me from this -horrible place. We will go to mother in Bournemouth; she will be safer there -than in these wicked foreign countries." Having reached thus far in her -deliberations she did not pursue them farther; she was not an argumentative -person, and she was comfortably satisfied with the general reflection that, -after that, things would be sure to come all right. Such a belief is common with -numbers of worthy people when they are considering knotty questions, and if it -evidences no deep powers of mental analysis, is at all events a proof of the -possession of an inherent dependence upon the goodness of Providence--which, in -its way, is a kind of religion not to be despised.</p> - -<p class="normal">With a certain conclusion in her mind, Annette busied herself -as to the means of carrying it out when the proper time arrived. By Gilbert -Bidaud's orders the gates were kept locked, and the duty of opening them -devolved upon a man who did all the outdoor work in the house and grounds. -Emily's advances towards this man met with no response; other means, therefore, -must be tried. She had always been successful in making friends outside Gilbert -Bidaud's establishment, through whom she obtained her letters from home, and the -friend she had made in the village in which the Villa Bidaud was situated was -the woman who kept the post-house. It was a matter easily arranged. Annette was -a liberal mistress, and Emily was a saving girl; a judicious system of small -bribes effected all that Emily desired in this respect. Twice or thrice every -week she visited the post-mistress to enquire for letters, and these visits were -made in the night, the darkest hours being chosen. The gates being locked she -could not get out that way, and she sought another mode of egress. She found it -in the lodge in which Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor held their conference. -There was a secure lock on the front door, of which Gilbert, or his sister, kept -the key, but the lock on the back door was frail, and Emily discovered how to -manage it, so that she could get in and out of the lodge without any person -being the wiser. Once inside the lodge Emily would creep up the stairs to the -first floor, the window of the back room of which almost touched the stone wall -which ran round the grounds. This wall was some seven feet in height, but there -were dilapidations in it which served for foot-holes, and by means of these -luckily-formed steps the courageous girl was enabled to pass to and fro and make -the desired visits to the post-mistress. Of course there was the danger of -discovery, but Emily was a girl in a thousand, and the extraordinary care she -took in these enterprises was a fair guarantee of safety. The lonely situation -of the house assisted her; there were nights when, for hours together, not a -human being traversed the narrow road into which the front gate opened.</p> - -<p class="normal">On the night of the secret interview between Gilbert and -Chaytor, Emily had planned a visit to the post-mistress. She made her way into -the lodge unobserved, crept up the stairs in the dark, and was about to open the -back window, when her attention was arrested by a sound below, which, as she -afterwards described, sent her heart into her mouth. It was the sound of the -unlocking of the front door. Emily's heart went rub-a-dub with the fear that she -was discovered, but as the slow minutes passed without anything occurring, her -fear lessened, and she became sufficiently composed to give attention to the -circumstances. Softly opening the door which led to the staircase, she heard -voices in a room below which she recognised as those of Gilbert Bidaud and the -man who called himself Basil Whittingham. What had they come there to say? Why -could they not have spoken in the house? They must be hatching some plot against -her young mistress. At all hazards, she would try to hear what they were saying -to each other. Quietly, very quietly, she descended the stairs, setting her feet -down with the greatest care, and pausing between each step. A cat could not have -trod more noiselessly than she. At length she reached the door beyond which the -conversation was taking place, and crouching down she applied her eye to the -keyhole. There were the two men, one with a smile on his face, the other, dark -and sinister; and Emily observed that they were not standing side by side, but -that a broad table was between them. This precaution had been taken by Gilbert, -who was quite prepared for any sudden attempt at violence on Chaytor's part.</p> - -<p class="normal">Emily was too late to hear all that was said, but she heard -enough. Had she not exercised control over her feelings she would have screamed -with mingled joy and horror; as it was, the tears ran down her face as fast as -she wiped them away, for she wanted to see as much as she could. The brave girl -thanked God that a fortunate conjuncture had made her a witness of the interview -between the two villains. Now, certainly, her dear mistress was saved, and she -the instrument to avert the misery with which she was threatened; for it was not -alone the projected marriage which was breaking Annette's heart, but the loss of -faith in the purity and nobility of Basil's nature. Emily waited very nearly to -the end; she saw Gilbert take out his watch and count the moments, she heard the -bargain agreed to and the second interview at midnight planned, and then, just -in time, she crept up the stairs as softly as she had crept down, and waited in -the room above until the two men left the lodge.</p> - -<p class="normal">What now should she do? Return to the house, and acquaint -Annette with what she had heard, or go to the post-mistress to see if there was -a letter for her? If she went straight to Annette she might not have another -opportunity of getting out that night; besides, she expected a letter from her -mother, and was anxious for it. She decided to go first to the post-mistress; -Annette knew that she would be away for some little while, and had said, "I -shall wait up for you, Emily."</p> - -<p class="normal">She threw open the window, and climbed on to the wall, and -down into the road. It was very dark, and as Gilbert Bidaud had prognosticated, -a storm was gathering, but Emily knew her way well to the post-office, and was -not afraid of darkness. So she sped along under the waving branches and over -black shadows till she arrived at her destination. Once on her way she was -startled; she thought she saw something more substantial than shadow moving by -the road side, but after pausing to look and listen her alarm subsided; all was -quiet and still.</p> - -<p class="normal">There was no light in the post-house, which was little better -than a cottage, but Emily did not expect to see one. She tapped at the shutters, -and a woman's voice from within asked if that was "Miss Emily." The girl -answering in the affirmative, a woman appeared at the door and bade her enter.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Have you a letter for me?" said Emily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," the woman replied, "she had a letter for her," and -produced it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Why," cried Emily, "this is not from England?" No, said the -woman, it was not from England, and explained that a gentleman had visited her -in the evening, and had made enquiries concerning the Villa Bidaud and its -inmates. Hearing that Miss Annette Bidaud was there, he had then inquired for -the young lady's maid, mentioning her by name, Miss Emily Crawford. The -gentleman asked if the post-mistress was likely to see the girl, and whether she -could convey a letter to her secretly that night or early in the morning. The -post-mistress said she could not promise to do so that night, but she would -endeavour to convey the letter in the morning, and added that it was not -unlikely Miss Emily would come before them to inquire for letters. "If she -does," said the gentleman, "give her this, and ask her to read it here, before -she goes back to the villa. It is a letter of the utmost importance, and it must -fall into no other hands than Miss Emily's." The post-mistress concluded by -saying that the gentleman had paid her well for the service, and that she was -sure there was something very particular in the letter.</p> - -<p class="normal">Emily, although burning with impatience, listened quietly to -the tale, holding the letter tight in her hand all the time, and when the woman -had done speaking asked only one question.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Was the gentleman an Englishman?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," replied the woman; "he was an Englishman."</p> - -<p class="normal">Then Emily opened the letter, and read:</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">"<span class="sc">My Dear Miss Emily Crawford,</span>,--The -writer of this is Old Corrie, Miss Annette's sincere and faithful friend. He has -seen your mother in Bournemouth, and has come here post haste to defeat a plot -to ruin your dear young mistress's happiness. He has a gentleman with him little -lady will be glad to see. If you get this letter to-night, don't be frightened -if Old Corrie speaks to you as you go back to the Villa Bidaud. Not an hour -should be lost to unmask the villain and secure little lady's happiness. You are -a brave, good girl. If you don't get this letter till the morning, come at once -to the back of the school-house, where you will see little lady's true friend,</p> - -<p style="text-indent:60%">"<span class="sc">Old Corrie</span>."</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">The letter had been composed partly by Basil and partly by Old -Corrie, who had written it himself. Emily's eyes sparkled as she read. She bade -the post-mistress good-night, thanked her for the letter, said it contained good -news, and went away with a heart as light as a bird's. So light, indeed, that -she carolled softly to herself as she stepped very, very slowly along the dark, -narrow road, and the words she carolled were:</p> - -<p class="normal">"I am Emily Crawford, and I have got your letter. Where are -you, dear Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie?" The song could not have -been put into lines that would scan, but blither, happier words with true poetry -in them, were never sung by human voice.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Where are you, dear Old Corrie, dear Old Corrie, dear Old -Corrie?" sang the girl, and paused and listened, and went on again, singing.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Here I am," said a kindly voice, "and God bless you for a -true heart!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Stop a moment, please," said the girl; who now that the -reality was close by her side, could not help feeling startled. "Are you sure -you are Old Corrie, my dear mistress's friend from Australia? The gentleman with -a bear, you know?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You do well to doubt," said Old Corrie, "with what is going -on around you in this outlandish country. I am the man I say. Stand still while -I strike a light, so that you can see me. We have a bull's-eye lantern with us. -Is little lady well?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Her heart is breaking," said Emily. "But I have good news for -her before she sleeps to-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And so have we, my dear, if you can get us to her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Let me hold the lantern, Mr. Corrie, said Emily.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, my dear, you might drop it; there is a surprise in store -for you and for everyone in the villa yonder with its stone walls. There, the -lamp's alight, and you can see my face, dark as the night is. Do you think you -can trust me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes, I do, and it was only out of curiosity I wanted to look -at you." And then Emily cried, "Oh!"</p> - -<p class="normal">"What is it, my dear?" asked Old Corrie.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is another," said Emily, gasping.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There are two others; we have come prepared."</p> - -<p class="normal">He whispered something in her ear which caused her to cry -"Oh!" more than once, and to clap her hands in wonderment.</p> - -<p class="normal">"May I see him?" she asked in a whisper.</p> - -<p class="normal">The answer was given by Basil himself, who came forward and -took her by the hand, while the light, directed by Old Corrie, shone upon his -face.</p> - -<p class="normal">"It is wonderful, wonderful!" she exclaimed, and added under -her breath, "But I think I should have known."</p> - -<p class="normal">In the expression of which opinion she paid a higher tribute -to her judgment than she could have rightly claimed for it; but this, at such a -time and in such circumstances, was a small matter.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpott, who had been standing silently in the rear, now -joined the party.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Don't be frightened, my dear," said Old Corrie; "there are no -more of us. What we've got to do now is to decide what is to be done, how is it -to be done, and when is it to be done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"First," interposed Mr. Philpott, to whom, by tacit consent, -the command had been given, "Miss Emily will perhaps give us an explanation of -certain words she spoke a minute ago. Are we quite private here, Miss Emily?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It's hardly likely," replied Emily, "that a living soul will -pass along this road till daybreak."</p> - -<p class="normal">"So much the better. You said just now that Miss Bidaud's -heart was breaking, but that you had good news for her before she went to sleep -to-night. Did you mean by that that our arrival here was the good news?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, I meant something very different, something that you -ought to know before you decide what to do."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I thought as much. Well, let us hear it, my girl."</p> - -<p class="normal">Thereupon Emily related all that she had overheard between -Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor. It was difficult for Basil to curb his -excitement, and whenever an indignant exclamation passed his lips, Emily paused -in sympathy, but he was too sensible of the value of time to frequently -interrupt her, and as she spoke quickly, her tale did not occupy many minutes.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This story," said Mr. Philpott, with a beaming face, "decides -what is to be done, and how and when. The road is prepared for us by the -villains themselves. It is a bold move I am about to suggest, but to adopt -half-and-half measures with these scoundrels would be ridiculous."</p> - -<p class="normal">Basil and Old Corrie said they were prepared for any move, -however bold and daring, and were only too eager to undertake it.</p> - -<p class="normal">"We mustn't be to eager," said Mr. Philpott; "cool and steady -is our watchword. Now, Miss Emily, can you get us into the grounds of the villa -to-night?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I can get in," said the girl, "you can get in."</p> - -<p class="normal">"And one of us into the lodge where the scoundrels are to meet -at midnight?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Yes," said Emily, unhesitatingly.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are a girl after my own heart," said Mr. Philpott, -admiringly. "There is a risk, you know, and you will have a share in it. It -wouldn't be right for me to deceive you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I don't mind the risk," said the courageous girl. "I want to -help to save my dear young lady from these wretches and monsters."</p> - -<p class="normal">"God bless you, Emily," said Basil, pressing her hand, and -Emily felt that she needed no other reward.</p> - -<p class="normal">Mr. Philpott then described his plan. Guided by Emily, they -were all to get into the grounds, when their forces were to be thus disposed of: -Basil and Old Corrie were to hide in the grounds as close as possible to the -back door of the lodge; they were not to move or speak; Emily was to return to -the house, and impart to Annette all that she knew, and in this way prepare her -for what was to follow; both Annette and her maid were to be ready to come from -the house to the lodge upon a given signal; Mr. Philpott was to conceal himself -in one of the upper rooms of the lodge, and no movement whatever was to be made -until he blew loudly upon a policeman's whistle. The moment this signal was -given, Basil and Old Corrie were to enter the lodge through the back door, which -Emily would leave unlocked, but properly closed, so as to excite no suspicion in -the minds of Gilbert Bidaud and Newman Chaytor--and proceed at once to the lower -room, in which these men were located; and Annette and Emily were to leave the -house and come immediately to the lodge.</p> - -<p class="normal">"All this," said Mr. Philpott aside to Basil, "is not exactly -lawful, and if Mr. Bidaud and Mr. Chaytor had right on their side we should get -into trouble. But we have the whip hand of them and are safe. I anticipate very -little difficulty, only neither of our men must be allowed to escape until we -have settled with them."</p> - -<p class="normal">The party proceeded to the villa, Emily walking a little ahead -with Basil, to whom she imparted how matters stood with her young mistress.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Her heart was truly breaking," said the girl, "and she could -never have lived through it, never! But she will soon be her dear, bright self -again. All, sir, she is the sweetest lady that ever drew breath--and O, how -these wretches have made her suffer! But there is happiness coming to her. I -could sing for joy, indeed I could, sir!"</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4><a name="div1_44" href="#div1Ref_44">CHAPTER XLIV.</a></h4> -<br> - -<p class="normal">All was still in house and grounds and lodge. The dark clouds -were growing black, but the storm had not yet burst. A clock in the hall struck -twelve, and, as if the chimes had called them forth, Gilbert and Chaytor issued -from the house, and walked to their rendezvous. Each man was occupied with his -own special thoughts, and each kept a wary eye upon the other's shadowed form.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I left the door of the lodge open," said Gilbert. "Enter."</p> - -<p class="normal">"After you," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Pardon me," said Gilbert, "after you."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor laughed and stepped into the passage. Gilbert -followed, pausing to light a small lamp he carried in his hand. Upon entering -the room he lit the larger lamp on the table, on one side of which he placed -himself, Chaytor being on the other.</p> - -<p class="normal">"You seem to be afraid of me," said Chaytor.</p> - -<p class="normal">"I do not trust you," responded Gilbert.</p> - -<p class="normal">"There is small temptation for trustfulness between such men -as we," said Chaytor. Gilbert nodded quietly. "Well, you have your game, and -have won a pretty large stake. Can't you be satisfied with what you have got?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"You know my terms; the time for discussing them has gone by."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But there was something forgotten. You made me sign two -documents, and you have spoken of forgery."</p> - -<p class="normal">"You are correct. The production of these documents with the -name of Basil Whittingham attached to them in your handwriting would be -sufficient to convict you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"For that reason I do not choose to leave them in your -possession. If I pay you the five thousand pounds you are robbing me of you will -have to give them up."</p> - -<p class="normal">"They are here," said Gilbert, producing them, "and will be -useless to me when you are gone. You can have them and welcome when the money is -paid. You go to-night."</p> - -<p class="normal">"I go to-night, and hope never to set eyes upon you or yours -again."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My dear friend," said Gilbert, with a courteous bow, "the -hope is reciprocal. Let us not prolong this interview. Open your bank and -purchase freedom."</p> - -<p class="normal">Chaytor unbuttoned his waistcoat, and from an inner pocket -extracted two bundles of bank notes. Gilbert held out his hand.</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no, old fox," said Chaytor. "There are three times five -thousand pounds here." He looked at Gilbert savagely.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If," said the old man, laughing lightly, "by a wish you could -burn me to ashes where I stand, you would breathe that wish willingly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Most willingly."</p> - -<p class="normal">"But why? I am dealing tenderly, mercifully by you. In right -and justice this money belongs not to you. It belongs to Basil Whittingham. If -he were here he could take possession of it, and neither you nor I would care to -gainsay him. It being, therefore, as much mine as yours, I let you off lightly -by demanding so small a sum. Come, let us finish the comedy; it is time the -curtain fell. Count out the price of liberty, the price of my silence, and let -us take an affectionate farewell of each other."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Are you sure we are alone?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do you think I would reveal our conspiracy to a third person? -In my pleasant house every human being is asleep; they dream not of the grief -which will fill their hearts to-morrow when they learn that you have departed."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Give me the papers I have signed. Here is your share of the -robbery. You had better count it to make sure."</p> - -<p class="normal">As Gilbert bent over the table to count the notes, Chaytor, -with a swift movement, drew a heavy life-preserver from his breast, and aimed a -murderous blow at the old man's head. But Gilbert was too quick for him; he had -but one eye on the money he was fingering, the other was furtively watching his -companion. He darted back, and so escaped the blow; the weapon descended upon -the table, and this shock and the violent movements of the men overturned the -lamps, the light of which was instantly extinguished. Each man had but one hand -disengaged, Chaytor holding the life-preserver and Gilbert a pistol, which he -had brought with him as a protection against treachery. The moment the room was -in darkness the two disengaged hands groped over the table for the money, and -were fiercely clasped. And now a surprising incident occurred. Upon these two -hands a third hand was laid, and before they could free themselves were -handcuffed together. Simultaneously with this startling and secure manacling of -their hands the pistol was knocked from Gilbert's grasp and the life-preserver -from Chaytor's; and then a shrill whistle pierced the air and drove the blood -from the cheeks of the conspirators. Hurried sounds of steps resounded through -the passage.</p> - -<p class="normal">"This way!" cried Mr. Philpott. "The door is open. Strike a -light."</p> - -<p class="normal">But a light came from another quarter. A vivid flash of -lightning illuminated the apartment, and in that flash Newman Chaytor beheld the -form of Basil Whittingham, whose death he believed he had compassed on the gold -field across the seas. His face grew livid, a heavy groan escaped his lips, and -his head fell forward on the table.</p> - -<p class="normal">"See if you can relight one of the lamps," said Mr. Philpott.</p> - -<p class="normal">Both the lamps were soon lighted, the glass of only one having -been broken. Then Gilbert Bidaud, who had uttered no word during this succession -of startling incidents, saw two men whose faces were strange to him, and one -whose face he recognised. Manacled as he was to his insensible partner in crime, -and unable to release himself, he instantly regained his self-possession.</p> - -<p class="normal">"If I mistake not," he said, in a tone of exceeding urbanity, -"Mr. Basil Whittingham, whose acquaintance I had the pleasure of making on my -brother's plantation in Australia. I suspected from the first that this log -lying here was an impostor. It is but a sorry welcome I am able to give you, in -consequence of the unlawful proceedings of a ruffian"--he glanced at Mr. -Philpott--"who shall answer for the assault in a court of law."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Do not say one word to him, sir," interposed Mr. Philpott, -seeing that Basil was about to speak; "leave him to me; I know how to deal with -such cattle. I promise to tame him before I have done with him."</p> - -<p class="normal">"It will be well for you to bear in mind," said Gilbert, still -addressing Basil, "that this is my house, and that you are trespassing illegally -upon my property. However, for the sake of old times, and for the sake of my -niece, I am agreeable to waive that, and come to an amicable settlement with -you."</p> - -<p class="normal">"He speaks very good English for a foreigner," said Mr. -Philpott, "and, I'll wager, understands the law as well as we do. I am an -officer of the law"--(Mr. Philpott was satisfied that he was quite safe in -indulging in this fiction)--"and I tell him plainly that he as laid himself open -to a criminal action for conspiracy."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Shall I not have the pleasure," said Gilbert to Basil, -ignoring Mr. Philpott, "of hearing what you have to say in response to the flag -of peace I hold out?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"He is a shrewd customer, sir," said Mr. Philpott, "and if -this flag of peace means absolute and unconditional surrender I am ready to -consider it. It may interest him to learn that we are in possession of all the -particulars of the interview which took place between him and the insensible -party he is fastened to, and of the bargain they made to share your money. That -tickles him, I see, but it is only one out of a handful of trumps we happen to -hold. I will take care of these notes"--he gathered them up--"and we will go -into accounts later on."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Unless my ears deceive me," said Gilbert, "I hear the voice -of my niece's maid in the passage. Doubtless my niece accompanies her. Do you -think it seemly that she shall be a witness of this scene?"</p> - -<p class="normal">"Corrie," said Basil, "take one of the lamps, and keep Miss -Bidaud outside; I will come to her immediately. Allow me, Mr. Philpott; it will -shorten matters if I say a word." He addressed Gilbert Bidaud. "You and your -confederate have laid yourselves open to serious consequences, and if I consent -to an arrangement which will keep the bad work that has been going on, and of -which I was made the victim, from exposure in the public courts, it is to spare -the feelings of a sweet and suffering young lady whose happiness you would have -wrecked."</p> - -<p class="normal">"My niece," said Gilbert, nodding his head. "As you say, a -sweet young lady, and she has been made to suffer by this villain. We have all -been made to suffer; we have all been his victims. But for your arrival he would -have murdered me. He can no longer impose on me; I arrange myself on your side, -against him. To my regret I perceive that he has partially recovered his senses, -and, while simulating insensibility, is listening to what we are saying; his -cunning is of the lowest order. It is my earnest wish to make such an -arrangement as you suggest; it will be to my advantage, that is why I agree. -Instruct your man to release me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Set him loose, Mr. Philpott," said Basil, "and see what you -can do. I put the matter unreservedly into your hands. Do not allow either of -them to leave the room. They will pass the night here. To-morrow, if Miss Bidaud -wishes it, she will quit this prison----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"No, no," interrupted Gilbert, good-humouredly, "not a -prison--not a prison."</p> - -<p class="normal">"--For England."</p> - -<p class="normal">"She shall have my free consent," said Gilbert. "Take that in -writing, Mr. Philpott. And there must be restitution, in some part, of the -inheritance her father left her."</p> - -<p class="normal">"In some part, that shall be done."</p> - -<p class="normal">"If it is any punishment to the wretch," said Basil, who saw -that Newman Chaytor was conscious and attentive, "who conspired against the man -who trusted in him, and treacherously endeavoured to compass his death, to learn -that had he followed the straight road he would have known long since that his -unhappy father died wealthy, let him learn it now. You have a copy, Mr. -Philpott, of the last letter written to him by his father. Give it to him, that -he may read the bitter words written on the death-bed of one whom he should have -loved and honoured. His good mother died with her head upon my breast, and if he -escapes the punishment he deserves and has richly earned, he will owe his escape -to the kind memories I have of her who rescued me from death in the London -streets."</p> - -<p class="normal">"A noble man," murmured Gilbert Bidaud as Basil left the room, -"A gentleman. How is it possible that I allowed myself to be deceived for an -hour by so miserable a counterfeit!"</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">When Basil joined his friends in the passage, Old Corrie -touched Emily's arm, and slight as was the action, she understood it, and -following him into the room in which Mr. Philpott and the two men they had -surprised were conferring, left Basil and Annette together. Old Corrie had -placed the lamp on a bracket, and by its dim light our hero and heroine were -enabled to see each other. Basil's eyes were fixed earnestly upon Annette, but -her agitation was too profound to meet his loving gaze. His heart was filled -with pity for the faithful girl who had been for years the victim of Newman -Chaytor's foul plot; her drooping head, her modest attitude, her hands clasped -supplicatingly before her, made his pity and his love for her almost too painful -to bear.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Annette," he said softly, "will you not look at me?"</p> - -<p class="normal">She raised her eyes to his face, and he saw that they were -filled with tears.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Can you forgive me, Basil?" she whispered.</p> - -<p class="normal">"Forgive you, dear Annette!" he exclaimed, taking her hands in -his, "it is I who ought to ask forgiveness for believing that you could forget -me."</p> - -<p class="normal">"Never for a single day," she murmured, "have I forgotten you. -Through all these years you have been to me the star of hope which made life -bright for me. Oh, Basil, Basil! it seems as if you have lifted me from death to -life. The world was so dark, so dark-----"</p> - -<p class="normal">"It shall be dark no more dear," he said, his voice trembling -with excess of tenderness. "Until you bid me leave you I will be ever by your -side. I consecrate my life to you. What man can do to compensate for the -suffering you have endured, that will I do in truth, and honour, and love."</p> - -<p class="normal">He placed his arms about her, and she laid her head upon his -breast. There are joys too sacred for utterance, and such joy did Basil and -Annette feel as they stood clasped in each other's arms on that dark and solemn -night.</p> - -<br> -<p class="center" style="letter-spacing:25px">* * * * * *</p> -<br> - -<p class="normal">What more need be told? Radiant and happy, with faith -restored, they commenced their new life hand-in-hand. Those who had conspired -against them, and whose evil designs had been frustrated, went out into the -world unpunished by man; they and their intended victims never met again. The -business matters it was necessary to arrange were settled by Basil's lawyers, -who saved from the wreck a sufficient competence. All who had served him and -Annette were amply rewarded. In Mr. Philpott's family their names were names to -conjure with; Emily remained with them till she found a sweetheart and a home of -her own; and Old Corrie was prevailed upon to live in a cottage near them, -attached to which was a piece of land which afforded him profitable employment. -He talked sometimes of returning to Australia, or of buying another performing -bear, but he did not carry either project into execution. Often and often would -the three friends talk of the old days on the plantation, and call up -reminiscences of the happy and primitive life they enjoyed there; and then Old -Corrie would steal away and leave the lovers together; for, though they were man -and wife, they were lovers still, and lovers will remain--purified and sweetened -by their trials--till they are called to their rest.</p> -<br> -<br> -<br> -<h4>THE END.</h4> -<br> -<br> -<br> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Basil and Annette, by B. L. 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