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."