Page:Once a Week Jul - Dec 1859.pdf/519

508 break his  gun  across  my  shoulders  if  ever  I darken his hut  again.”

“It’s a lie!” I had  cried  before  I could  refrain: and then,  to  vindicate  the  assertion,  I read  Bessie her father’s  note. She wept  bitterly.

“Oh, sir,  the  madness  of  the  first  wrong step!” she choked  out  between  her  tears.

“It is  a madness  more  curable  than  the  second step: take it  in  hand  at  once,  Bessie; I am  willing to help  you.”

“Thank you,  sir;  but,  I assure  you,  till  this moment I’ve  refused  to  see  my  father  because  I heard  he  only  wanted  to  see  me  to  disgrace  me, and of  course  I’ve  too  much  pride  for  that.”

“There!” injected the  living  tempest  blowing at us  from  the  corner. “There!” The  tone seemed to  mean,  “Are  you  satisfied  now  you’ve heard for  yourself?” But  unheeding  its  fury, I went on  to  implore  the  unhappy  girl  to  go  back with me.

She then  said: “At  any  rate,  sir,  it’s  quite  true that he  hid  out  in  the  bush  to  shoot  me  if  I went along.”

“Yes, that’s  as  true  as  Gospel. My maister  saw him lying  out  by  Newtown,  and  says  he,  ‘Why, Munro, what  be  doing  here  this  time  o’day? there’s no  game  flying  now.’  ‘Old  Nick  take  the game,’ says  he,    I be  out  after  that  girl.’”

I recounted the  story  of  my  first  interview  with Munro, and  Bessie  again  melted  to  tears. She seemed truly  miserable,  between  a sense  of  duty and affection  on  the  one  side,  and  indecision  and fear on  the  other. At last  she  exclaimed: “Do beg her  to  let  me  go!”

“Beg her! She can’t  detain  you: what  claim has she  on  you?”

“Ay, tell  him  what? But I don’t  want  you: go and  see  how  clever  it  is  to  get  back  a lost character!”

“Who dares  to  say  I’ve  lost  my  character?” cried Bessie,  indignantly.

“We shall  see! One doesn’t  go  into  government to  learn  nothin’,  I suppose?” sneered  the landlady.

“Come, come,  I’m  not  here  to  listen  to quarrels. Bessie, bethink  yourself; will  you  go with  me?”

“It requires  resolution,”  she  said,  shrinkingly.

“And for  the  want  of  that,  will  you  be  guilty of a crime?”

“Give me  time,  sir, — give  me  time,”  she hurriedly replied; and  with  that  unsatisfactory result I was  obliged  to  depart. Poor foolish young creature,  she  perceived  not  the  toils thickening about  her; and  for  one  wild  freak  of temper  was  likely  to  incur  a fearful  penalty.

I called several  times  at  the  Black  Bear,  but without success; she  was  never  to  be  seen,  and  I had  almost  given  up  all  hope  of  a second  interview, when  one  day,  in  returning  through  my former  route,  who  should  I espy  but  Bessie  sitting on the  very  trunk  where  I had  first  met  her father.

“You, Bessie! It looks  bad  to  see  you  out this time  of  night.”

“I am waiting  for  you,  sir: I’ve  never  been able to  find  out  your  name,  nor  where  you  live, and as  I saw  you  go  up  along,  I tried  to  run  after you, but  as  I couldn’t  overtake  you,  I rested  here till you  came  back.”

“And what  do  you  want  of  me,  Bessie?” I spoke  curtly  and  somewhat  austerely,  in  order  to set  a due  value  on  my  services  and  due  censure  on her  obstinacy.

“I want you  to  tell  them,  sir,  not  to  be  uneasy after me: for  there’s  no  manner  of  call  for  it,  I’m as respectable  as  when  I left  the  hut.”

“Bessie, you  are  both  wilful  and  rebellious;  do you  call  that  respectable? If you  are  saved  from destruction it  will  be  in  spite  of  yourself. What does a young  woman  expect  if  she  stays  out  to such  an  hour? look, it  is  eight  o’clock,  a fair  hour for England,  but  not  for  out  here.”  I showed  her my watch  by  the  lamp-light,  she  glanced  at  it,  and blushed deeply.

“Sir, I will  tell  you  all,  and  you’ll  see  I’m  not so bad. I don’t wish  to  go  back  to  father  and mother till  I can  repay  them  for  the  trouble  I’ve cost ’em,  and  that  1 hope  to  do  soon,  for  I’m  engaged to  Joe  Sadlers,  a successful  digger;  I’ve kept honest  company  with  him,  and  he’ll  marry me after  a bit; he’s  gone  up  the  country  now  this very evening  to  see  about  settling  near  Longford, and when  he  comes  back  ’twill  be  so  pleasant,  and I shall go  straight  to  father.”

I knew enough  of  diggers  to  make  me  tremble for her; but  to  shake  her  faith  in  her  betrothed was impossible. Joe Sadlers  was  not  a digger  of the  common  order: others  might  betray  her,  he never. We walked  and  talked  till  we  reached  the main road; there  Bessie  discovered  that  she  had left her  handkerchief  at  the  tree. I told her  it was  not  worth  returning  for,  but  she  confessed that she  had  also  left  her  lover’s  last  letter  there — and that  she  could  not  think  of  losing.

I could neither  dissuade  her  from  returning  nor accompany her  back,  as  urgent  business  bade  me go  forward; but  she  seemed  to  have  no  fear  of being  left,  and  cheerily  wished  me  good  night.

Two days  afterwards,  I was  passing  the  court  of justice,  with  a little  spare  time  at  command,  and being somewhat  of  a hanger-on  at  these  places,  I entered  to  hear  what  might  be  on. I had no sooner  set  foot  in  the  court,  than  a female  voice screeched out:

“There he  is! there he  is! He’ll tell  where  I was  at  eight  o’clock  on  Tuesday  evening;” then stretching her  arms  towards  me,  she  cried,  “Save me! save me,  sir!”

When the  commotion  consequent  on  this  outcry had ceased,  it  was  explained  to  me  that  Bessie was apprehended  on  suspicion  of  having  stolen the cash-box  of  the  Black  Bear  till,  which  was safe at  eight  o’clock,  and  missing  ten  minutes after. The suspicion  was  the  greater  from  the fact of  the  empty  box  having  been  secreted  in  the trunk of  a tree  from  the  direction  of  which  she had been  traced. Being duly  sworn,  I gave evidence, and  the  result  was  an  alibi  too  clearly proved for  disputation. I led her  from  the  court; and when  we  got  free  of  the  crowd  I asked  where she meant  to  go. She turned  a bright,  tearful look on  me,  as  much  as  to  say,  can  you  ask; so  I shook  her  hand,  and  departed; for  there  are scenes where  a stranger  should  not  intermeddle, and  such  an  one  I knew  would  take  place  in  the