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.