Force and Fraud (24 page)

“Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you; but, Flora, obey your father's will – and
marry me.”
So saying Pierce knelt at her feet, and pressed her hand to his lips.

She gazed at him with surprise, and making an effort to withdraw her hand, said “What do you mean? Are you mad?”

“I shall be if you refuse me, Flora, I love you.” He then threw his arms around her waist.

At length releasing herself from his grasp, she said, “Pierce Silverton, how dare you address such language to me; to the betrothed of your friend?”

“Because it is your father's will. Because if you marry Herbert Lindsey, your own conscience will whisper to you that you have given yourself to
his
murderer. And because I love you to distraction.”

“Now
you have spoken the truth; but I despise your perjured love. You know Herbert to be innocent, and such conduct is unworthy of yourself and insulting to me.”

Flora was about to leave the room, but he still held her hand; yet he did not dare rouse her anger, for he knew that if once banished from her presence, he might never see her again. Therefore, after a moment's pause, he said: “Forgive me, Flora, you do not know what I have suffered in preserving silence so long; you cannot guess one half my misery.”

She gazed on him, and saw on his countenance that anxious expression which Herbert had termed
remorseful;
and then her anger changed to pity, and she said “I do forgive you; but never speak on that subject again.”

“Say that we are friends, at least.”

“Yes, but–” She turned away confused by his ardent glance.

And he dared not trust himself to speak; and, after passionately kissing her hand, he left the house, mounted his horse, and galloped furiously away.

When Flora was once more alone, she burst into tears, overcome by contending emotions, for she scarcely knew whether to
blame
or
pity
her unfortunate lover. The latter feeling got the mastery; how, indeed, could she be severe to him whose sorrow she had caused?

Silverton did not call at Mount Alpin the next day, nor yet on the second; and Flora, notwithstanding her love for another, thought
of him
a great deal. She felt embarrassed also because there was now a subject on which she could not speak to Herbert. Whilst absorbed by these meditations, Philip Garlick rode up to the house. She heard him ask to see her
immediately,
and thought, as he entered, that he had never looked so grave before.

“I am sorry to be the bearer of ill news,” he said, adding, as he observed her look of alarm. “Nay, do not be frightened, it is nothing about Lindsey. But poor Silverton is very ill; in a very bad way indeed.”

“Good heavens, you don't say so!” she exclaimed. “What is the matter?”

“A sudden attack; he came riding up to the hotel like a madman the other evening. As I was told, he caught a sudden chill, but his nervous system has been out of order this long time, and if he doesn't take care it will be a case with him. I knew you would be very sorry, and yet thought it better to tell you. But don't fret, we will do all we can for the poor fellow.”

“Mrs Roberts will take care of him! Won't she?”

“I believe you. All the women at
The Southern Cross
are fighting who's to be head nurse. But I must be off. Shall I give him your love?”

“Say I hope he will soon be well again, and advise him to keep quiet.”

Philip rode off, muttering to himself: “
well
;
quiet?
Hum, I never heard of any good arising from these sentimental friendships”.

Mr Garlick was not the only person to divine the cause of Silverton's illness, which was at once attributed to a
love-fit
by Mrs Roberts, as well as by her maids; all of whom took the deepest interest in the case, Mary and Harriet having abandoned their ghost stories for equally fabulous legends of broken-hearts, and Bridget exerting all her skill in the manufacture of broths and jellies.
Their
efforts united to those of Mr Garlick, saved the life of the patient, but a thorough change of air and scene was insisted upon, and at the expiration of a few weeks Pierce Silverton left the district, though without seeing Flora. Before his departure, he despatched a note to her, containing merely the following words:

 

Forgive – and pray for

Yours till death,

PIERCE SILVERTON

He could only pay a flying visit to Mrs Garlick and her daughters, as the Sydney steamer was to sail the day after his arrival in Melbourne. In vain the ladies urged him to wait for the next, but having torn himself from the spot where Flora resided, he was anxious to leave the colony as fast as possible. Poor Bessie began to suspect the cause of the false one's complaint, and when he took leave of her, said peevishly, “Get along, if you won't stay with those who can take care of you – you deserve to be ill.”

But whilst conflicting passions were agitating the breasts of these our leading characters, there was a more humble individual who was absorbed in one single thought
–
deep, deadly, and resistless – that of
Revenge.
Not revenge exhibited in stormy demonstration, but in persevering activity; and he who thus dedicated a portion of his remaining existence to
that motive
was no other than old Andrew Ross – his object being the pursuit of his master's murderer, demanding the consequent penalty on whomsoever it might fall: “a life for a life!”

He haunted the plain where the death-stroke had been given; he searched the grass, the sand, the scrub and the creek. In the latter, though not recently dropped there, he found a broken bridle and a stockwhip; these had apparently been lost on the verge of the creek farther up the country, and since washed down by the winter rain. Old Andrew exhibited these treasures to Mr Roberts who, after turning them about for some time, said they were ordinary things that might have belonged to any stockman in the district. “Weel! Weel!” replied Andrew, “wait a wee!” And he
did
wait, but not inactively.

Meantime winter was passing away, and the public mind becoming diverted from the murdered man, and also from the survivors, by events of local interest, private quarrels, and public meetings, peculiar to a Little Pedlington in any part of the world.

Herbert Lindsey had not yet returned from his professional trip, which (as he wrote to Flora) had proved far more remunerative than he had at first anticipated; indeed he had sufficient occupation to engage him for several months longer. It was said that Mr Lindsey having vanquished the prejudice once conceived against him, had become almost as great an idol in his present neighbourhood as he had formerly been in that of
The Southern Cross
. A rumour had also got afloat that he had engaged the affections of the daughter of a wealthy settler, whose corn fields and vineyards had long rendered the young lady a great object of attraction. This report reached Pierce Silverton in Queensland, and contributed far more than a tropical climate had done towards his recovery. Therefore, with as little delay as possible, he embarked for Sydney and from thence for Victoria.

It was not generally supposed that Miss McAlpin had heard anything respecting Herbert's fickleness, as they continued to correspond pretty regularly, and she seemed to be in her usual spirits. It was observed, however, that as soon as she was told of Mr Silverton's expected return, she invited Miss Bessie Garlick to keep her company – whether with the intention of making a match for that young lady, or as a blind towards promoting her own, no one could say.

When Pierce Silverton who, a few months earlier, had been almost lifted into the coach, now alighted from the same conveyance with a light step, and walked quietly into Mrs Roberts's parlour, the good landlady scarcely recognised him again. At length, after a look of pleased surprise, she exclaimed, “I
am
glad to see you looking so well, Mr Silverton. Oh, how delighted Roberts will be, and Miss McAlpin, and everybody else!”

Mr Roberts soon entered, and confirmed his wife's promise as far as he was concerned, and the next day Miss McAlpin spoke for herself. Pierce lost no time in paying his visit to her, and as she advanced towards him with her usual frankness, holding out both hands as she said, “Oh, how happy I am to see you restored to health!”

“Thank you, dear Miss McAlpin,” he replied, kissing the hand he held within his own. He answered all her questions respecting Queensland, its climate, and its cotton, but presently added, “I could think of nothing the whole time I was away but of returning to you,
Flora.”

Again he called her by her Christian name; but, having done so for the last two years, the circumstance might have passed unnoticed now, if he had not looked so lovingly into her eyes. She blushed – and then Pierce
hoped
once more.

Whilst in Melbourne Mr Silverton had shown himself extremely ungallant; having actually shirked the duty of accompanying Miss Bessie Garlick on her visit to the country. It has been seen that, on the occasion of Miss McAlpin's journey, he contrived
to finesse
a little, and now he was equally successful. First of all he said he could not leave so soon, and then – the young lady having agreed to wait a couple of days – he started off by rail, writing a hasty apology on the pretext urged by all gentlemen:
unexpected business.

But Miss Bessie, in her turn, arrived at Mount Alpin where she was most cordially welcomed by her young hostess, and towards whom she felt so grateful that she could not neglect her, especially when Mr Silverton called. And Miss McAlpin did not seem to adopt the prejudice about the number three spoiling company.

Sometimes when Mr Silverton, did not call, Miss Bessie would propose riding over to the township to look him up at his hotel; and if Miss McAlpin hinted at the impropriety of this step, she had always Berlin wool to match, or some other purchase to make, though she
had
left the metropolis so lately. Upon the whole, however, they all seemed to spend their time agreeably enough during that pleasant spring; that sweet Australian spring which – after those terrific gales
have
subsided – is so balmy and genial; not visiting you with hail, sleet, or snow as if Winter had come back to pay a debt not demanded of him.

And so, for the present, all was calm and tranquil in nature. But in the heart of man, oh who can fathom
its
mysteries.

 

From those rich Australian plains, smiling in peace and plenty, we must now turn to the wild waste of ocean, and there we shall perceive a majestic ship drifting through a narrow channel. This is not her course; and we might imagine that she had sea-room enough without getting amongst those rocks, but she has outrun her log. And, though her captain was positive that he should not sight Kerguelen's Land till noon on the next day, a little before midnight, the man on the look-out suddenly calls aloud, “Land ahead!”

The ship is sailing thirteen knots, and though, by taking in sail, her speed can be checked, it is too late to alter her course. In a few minutes another cry is heard, “Land on the larboard bow!”

On she goes, her tall masts gently bending and her sails swelling before the breeze. It behoves her commander to be on his guard, as the curvature of that rocky outline indicates an inner barrier in two directions
.

“Why do they shave the land so closely; surely there is plenty of space here, almost in mid-ocean?” asks a landlubber who, from his cabin, surveys the threatening rocks.

“Hard-a-port!” shouts the captain.

“Land to the starboard,” calls the man on the look-out.

There is a rush on deck; and screaming, praying, and cursing, as all became aware of their perilous situation – for the ship is running down a channel between Kerguelen's Land and a reef of rocks, in dangerous proximity to the mainland. The entrance to this channel is about nine miles in breadth, and though this at present may afford room for a ship of burden, yet the channel soon narrows; for the reef does not run parallel with the mainland, and in a very little time the distance between them is lessened to five miles.

Fortunately the night is fine, and moon shines brightly on the perilous track, so clearly indicating each projection of rock – but in so doing adds to the terror of the passengers, by rendering their danger more apparent. Even the hardiest of the crew is not without apprehension because, though many amongst them have sighted Kerguelen's Land before, none have been in that channel. If channel it be, for some persons say it is a mere inlet to a cluster of rocks which, on the farther side, will form a promontory, a sport for the ocean, but affording no safety for man. Others there are who suppose that a passage may exist between the rocks, but one of no avail for a ship of considerable tonnage.

In either case death seems to stare them in the face, as on the larboard side appears a mass of dark solid rock crowned with snow; on the starboard, a jagged and crenulated reef, stretching nearer and nearer towards the mainland. Straw and twigs are now seen on the surface of the water, which indicates its shallowness. Every moment they expect to strike; and some, who preserve their presence of mind, resolve calmly to await the catastrophe, knowing that their small remaining chance of preservation would only be the more imperilled by a frantic rush to the boats. A still more dreary fate arises to their imagination, as
Desolation Island
offers no means of subsistence save that afforded by a few coarse vegetables. But they prepare for the result, taking every precaution that human foresight can suggest, and then praying to that God who can restrain the fury of the waves, and compel the rocks to yield a shelter. This rational portion of the passengers are, however, extremely limited; terror and dismay having overcome the majority.

Nevertheless the vessel sails gallantly on; answering her helm to perfection and it may be that she will yet bear them safely through the channel. The moment is one of extreme anxiety; and the captain, though a very jovial sort of man, now looks grave; the sailors are earnest and obedient, and a manly spirit prevails, which suggests that the first objects of care should be the most helpless.