Chapter XIV: Part 14

"Favourably impressed with the general expression of his features, I offered no resistance to his taking me where he liked. The fact is, I did not care what became of me, for I was independent of either fortune or circumstances.

"I was finally carried on board of a ship; and handed over to the care of her steward, where, for the first time in three years, I had my body covered with a complete suit of clothes.

"The man who had thus taken possession of me, was a good-natured, eccentric old bachelor, about fifty years of age; and was master and owner of the ship, that traded between Liverpool and Kingston, Jamaica.

"I remained with this man seven years; and under his tuition, I obtained something of an education. Had I been his own son, he could not have shown more zeal, or taken greater pains to teach me.

"During all that time, his ship was my only home; and I had nothing to tempt me away from it. It was all the world to me; and of that world I was not long in acquiring a knowledge.

"I was about twenty-one years of age, when I was made first officer of the ship. My father--for as such I had got to esteem the man who raised me from rags, and out of mud, to something like a human existence--was going to make one more voyage with me, and then lie by for the rest of his life--leaving me master of the ship.

"We were on our return from Kingston, very deeply laden, when we encountered a severe gale. For some time, we allowed the ship to run with the wind--in order that we might keep on our course; but the storm increased; and this could not be done with safety. We were preparing to lay her head to sea, when a wave rolled over the stern, and swept the decks fore and aft. The captain--my generous protector--and two of the sailors, were washed overboard; and we could do nothing to save them. All three were lost.

"I took the ship to Liverpool, where a wealthy merchant succeeded to the captain's property. To make way for some friend of the new owner, I was discharged from the service--after receiving the few pounds due to me as wages.

"The commotion caused by the discovery of the Australian gold-fields, had then reached Liverpool; and seamen were shipping to Melbourne, asking only the nominal wages of one shilling a month! I was able to get a situation as second officer of a brig bound for that port.

"We had one hundred and twelve passengers; and amongst them was a bankrupt London merchant, emigrating with a large stock of pride, and a small stock of merchandise, to the golden land. He was accompanied by his wife, and a beautiful daughter. To me, this young lady appeared lovely, modest, intelligent; in short, everything that a young man--who for the first time had felt the tender passion, could wish its object to be.

"I had frequent opportunities of conversing with her--when she would be seated outside on the poop; and many of my happiest moments were passed in her society, in those delightful evenings one experiences while crossing the Line.

"I was at length made perfectly happy, by the knowledge that there was one being in the world who felt an interest in my welfare.

"I soon saw that my attentions to his daughter, were displeasing to the proud merchant; and I was told by the girl herself: that she had been commanded to discourage my addresses.

"I sought an interview with the father; and demanded from him his reasons for thus rejecting me. I was simply told: that the girl was his daughter, and that I was only a sailor!

"That same evening, when on duty, I was spoken to by the captain in a harsh and ungentlemanly manner. I was in no pleasant humour at the time: and to be thus addressed, in hearing of so many people--but more especially in the presence of her I loved--was a degradation I could not endure. I could not restrain myself, from making a sharp and angry reply.

"The captain was a man of very quick temper; and, enraged at my insolence, he struck me in the face with his open hand. For this insult, I instantly knocked him down upon the deck.

"The remainder of the voyage I passed in irons. On arriving at Williamston, I was sentenced to two months' imprisonment--during which time I was confined on board a hulk anchored in Hobson's Bay.

"I made an attempt to escape; and, being unsuccessful, I received a further sentence of two months' hard labour on the hulk.

"When at length I received my liberty, I hastened to Melbourne. There I made inquiries for the merchant, in hopes of being able to obtain an interview with his daughter, who was then the only being on earth, for whom I entertained the slightest feeling of friendship.

"I succeeded in finding the young lady; and was conducted into the presence of her mother--who, somewhat to my surprise, received me in the most cordial manner!

"The old merchant was dead. He had died within a month after landing; and the goods he had brought with him to the colony--not being suited to the market--had been sold for little more than the freight out from England had cost. His widow and her daughter were living by their own industry--which, I need hardly tell you, was something they had never done before."

Here Sailor Bill paused--as if he had got to the end of his story.

But his listeners were not contented with such a termination. They believed there must be something more to come--perhaps more interesting than anything yet revealed; and they clamoured for him to go on, and give them the finale.

"There's nothing more," said Bill, in response to the calls of the company; "at least nothing that would interest any of you."

"Let us be the judges of that," cried one. "Come, Bill, your story is not complete--finish it--finish it!"

"I'm sorry myself it's not finished," rejoined he. "It won't be, I suppose, until I get back to Melbourne."

"What then?" inquired several voices.

"Well then," said Bill, forced into a reluctant confession, "I suppose it will end by my getting spliced."

"And to the young lady, with whom you spent those pleasant evenings on the poop?"

"Exactly so. I've written to her, to say I'm coming to Melbourne. I intend to take her and her mother back to England--where they've long wished to go. Of course it would never do to make such a voyage, without first splicing the main brace, and securing the craft against all the dangers of the sea. For that reason, I've proposed to the young lady, that she and I make the voyage as man and wife; and I'm happy to tell you that my proposal has been accepted. Now you've got the whole of my _yarn_."

And with this characteristic ending, Sailor Bill brought his story to a termination.

Volume Three, Chapter XVIII.

MY BROTHER WILLIAM.

The next morning, I arose early, and went to Olliphant's tent--to take leave of him, and his companion Bill.

I accompanied them to the public-house, from which the stage coach to Geelong was to start. We stepped inside the house, to have a glass together.

"There's a question," said Bill, "that I've often thought of putting to you. I've heard you called Rowland. Excuse my appearing to be inquisitive; but I have a strong reason for it. You have some other name. Will you tell me what it is?"

There is something extraordinary in the power and quickness of thought. Suddenly a conviction came over my mind: that I had found my brother! I felt sure of it. Memory did not assist me much, in making the discovery. It seemed to come upon me, as if by inspiration!

It is true, I had something to guide me, in coming to this conclusion. Sailor Bill had evidently, at some time or other, known a person by the name of Rowland. It at once entered my mind, that I must be the individual of whom he had this distant recollection.

"My name," said I, in answer to his question, "is your own. Is not yours Stone?"

"It is," rejoined he, "William Stone."

"Then we are brothers!"

"You are the Rolling Stone!" exclaimed Bill, grasping my hand. "How strange that I did not ask the question, when I first heard you called Rowland!"

The excitement caused by our mutual recognition, was of the most pleasurable character; and, for some moments after the first words, we both remained speechless.

`The Elephant' was nearly as much astonished as ourselves, at the discovery thus made. "What a fool I've been," said he, "not to have seen long ago that you were brothers. If ever there were two brothers, I could swear that you two were the pair. I have been blind not to have told you before--what you have at last found out for yourselves."

We had no time to do more than exchange mutual congratulations: for the stage coach was about to start. I immediately paid for a seat; and set off along with them for Geelong. At the moment, I had along with me all the gold I had gathered. I had brought it out, for the purpose of taking it to the Escort Office--as soon as I should bid adieu to my friends. There was nothing else of much importance to detain me in Ballarat; and I parted from the place at less than a moment's notice.

My brother and I found plenty of employment for our tongues, while making the journey to Melbourne.

I asked him, if he had been aware of our mother's having followed Mr Leary to Australia.

"Yes," said he, "I knew, when she left me in Liverpool, that she was going to follow the brute out there; and I concluded she had done so."

"And have you never thought of trying to find her, while you were in Sydney?"

"No," said my brother, in a tone of solemnity, "when she deserted me in Liverpool, to go after that wretch, I felt that I had lost a mother; and it is my belief, that a mother once lost is never found again."

"But did it not occur to you that you should have tried to find Martha? Do you intend leaving the colonies without making some effort to discover our sister?"

"Poor little Martha!" exclaimed William, "she was a dear little child. I would, indeed, like to see her again. Suppose we both try to find her? I do not believe that if we discover her, we need have any fear of being ashamed of her. She was once a little angel; and I am sure she will be a good girl, wherever she is--Oh! I should like to see Martha once more; but to tell the truth Rowland, I do not care for ever seeing mother again!"

I then informed my brother, that his wishes might yet be gratified; and, as we continued our journey, I gave him a detailed history of the affairs of the family--so far as I was myself acquainted with them.

It was by no means an agreeable mode of transit, travelling by stage coach in the state the roads of Victoria were at the time, yet that was the happiest day I had ever passed in the colony. William and I kept up our conversation all day long. We had hardly a word for our companion, Olliphant; and we were under the necessity of apologising to him.

"Don't mention it," said the good-hearted Elephant. "I am as happy as either of you. You are two fellows of the right sort; and I'm glad you have found each other."

On our arrival in Melbourne, we all went together to the Union Hotel. After engaging rooms, we proceeded to the purchase of some clothes--in order that we might make a respectable appearance in the streets of the city. My brother was in breathless haste to get himself rigged out; and we knew his reason. He intended to spend the evening in the society of his future wife and her mother.

At an early hour in the afternoon, he took leave of us.

Olliphant and I were compelled to kill the time the best way we could; but the trouble of doing so was not great: since there are but few cities of equal size with Melbourne, where so much time and money are devoted to the purpose of amusement.

Next day, I accepted an invitation from my brother, to accompany him on a visit to his sweetheart. She and her mother were living in a small house in Collingwood. When we arrived at the door, it was opened by a rather delicate ladylike woman, about forty years of age. She received my brother with a pleasant smile; and I was introduced to Mrs Morell.

The young lady soon made her appearance, from an adjoining room; and, after greeting my brother in a manner that gave me gratification to witness, I was introduced to her.

Sarah Morell was, what might have been called by any one, a pretty girl. She had not the beauty of my lost Lenore, nor was she perhaps even as beautiful as my sister Martha; but there was a sweet expression in her features, a charm in her smile, and a music in her gentle voice, that were all equally attractive; and I could not help thinking, that my brother had made choice of a woman worthy of his honest and confiding love.

She talked but little, during the interview--allowing most of the conversation to be carried on by her mother; but, from the little she did say; and the glance of her eyes--as she fixed them on the manly form of my brother--I could tell that he was beloved.

By that glance, I could read pride and reverence for the man upon whom she had bestowed her heart; and that she felt for him that affection I once hoped to win from Lenore.

How superior was my brother's fate to mine! He was beloved by the one he loved. He was in her presence; and they were soon to be man and wife. He was happy--happy as youth can be, when blessed with hope, love, wealth, and health. I was happy also; but it consisted only in seeing others blessed with the happiness, which I was myself denied.

After passing some hours in the cheerful companionship, of Mrs and Miss Morell, my brother and I returned to our hotel--where we found `The Elephant' in a very unamiable mood. He had just ascertained, that he would have to stay three days longer in Melbourne: as there was no steamer to start for Sydney before the third day from that time.

After a council held between my brother and myself, it was resolved that I should go on to Sydney with the Elephant; and try to induce our sister Martha to accompany me back to Melbourne. The pleasure of meeting a long-lost brother, and of being present at his wedding, we hoped, would be sufficient inducement to cause her to change her resolution, and consent to live with relatives, who were only too anxious to support and protect her.

Since William had been told of our mother's death, he appeared to take much more interest in Martha's welfare; and urged upon me, not to come back to Melbourne, without bringing her along with me. We could not, he said, feel happy, returning to England, and leaving our sister alone in the colonies.

I promised to use every effort in the accomplishment of his wishes-- which, of course, were but the echoes of my own.

Miss Morell, on hearing that her lover had a sister in Sydney, insisted on the marriage being postponed, until Martha should arrive.

"I am willing to be married the very day your sister comes," said she, adding in her artless manner, "I shall wait with great impatience until I have seen her."

It is hardly necessary to say, that these conditions redoubled William's anxiety for the speedy arrival of our sister; and, before taking leave of him, I was compelled to make a most emphatic promise of a speedy return. Olliphant, without knowing the object of my visit to Sydney, was gratified to hear that we were to continue our travelling companionship still further; and in joyous spirits we stepped aboard the steamer bound to that place.

Volume Three, Chapter XIX.

A MILLINER'S YARN.

The Melbourne steamer made the port of Sydney, at a late hour of the night. On landing, we proceeded direct to a hotel, where, after some difficulty, we obtained accommodation for the night.

In the morning, after eating our breakfast--which in Sydney is the most important meal of the day--my companion and I walked out into the streets. We soon parted company--each taking a different direction, since each had his own affairs to attend to.

I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two years before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not finding her there; and perceiving that the house was no longer a milliner's shop.

I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises; but could learn nothing of them.

"I am justly served," thought I, "I should have corresponded with my sister; and this disappointment could not have happened."

My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been a warning. I should have taken precautions against a recurrence of this misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to believe, that I had gone back to England; and during my absence had never written to her. I now perceived how foolishly I had acted; and felt as if I deserved never to see my sister again.

I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but that I still entertained the hope of being able to find her.

Sydney was not a large city; and if my sister was still within its limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her whereabouts-- especially with the energy and perseverance I determined to make use of in the search.

This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next street--though rather mechanically than otherwise: for I was still undecided as to how I should act.

All at once I remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha had gone into partnership, was a Mrs Green. I remembered, too, hearing Mrs Green say, that she had resided in Sydney for several years. Some one, therefore, should know her; and, if she could be found, it was natural to infer, that I should learn something of Martha.

While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my eye fell upon a little shop, which bore the sign of a milliner over the window. That should be the place for me to commence my inquiries. I entered the shop, where I saw standing behind a counter the worst-looking woman I had ever beheld. She was not ugly, from having a positively hideous face, or ill-formed features; but rather from the spirit that gave expression to both. It was a combination of wicked passions--comprising self-esteem, insolence, avarice, and everything that makes human nature despicable. The woman was dressed in a style that seemed to say: "vanity for sale."

I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs Green, who formerly kept a milliner's shop in the next street.

A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the woman, as she promptly replied, "Yes; Mrs Green was chased out of Sydney over a year ago. She thought to smash my business; but she got smashed herself."

"Can you tell me where she is to be found?" I inquired.

"Yes. She saw it wasn't no use to try to carry on business against me; and she's hooked it to Melbourne."

"There was a young woman with her, named Martha Stone," I continued, "can you tell me where _she_ is?"

"Yes. She's another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young men inquirin' for _her_. Don't think I am, mister. I've kept that lady from starving for the last six months; and I'm about tired of it, I can tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. What might you be wantin' with Miss Stone?"

"I wish to know where she is to be found--nothing more," I answered.

"Certainly. You wish to know where she is! Of course you do. Why not?" said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a significant leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to forget. "What right have you to think, that I should know where any such a person lives?" continued the woman. "I wish you to understand, sir, that _I am a lady_."

I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but, not the least grateful for the information, I answered:

"You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I am her brother, and wish to find her."

"Oh! that's it, is it?" retorted the woman with a look of evident disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck someway up a narrow staircase, she screamed out, "Susan! Susan!"

Soon after, a very young girl--apparently half-starved--made her appearance at the bottom of the stairs.

"Susan," said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, "tell this man, where Miss Stone lives."

There was something not so bad in the creature after all; and I began to fancy, I had been wronging her.

"Please, sir," said Susan, pointing with outstretched arm towards one of the sides of the shop, "go up this street, till you come to the baker's shop; then turn round this way, and go on till you pass the public-house with the picture of the horse on it; then turn that way, and go on till you come to where the house was burnt down; cross the street there, and go on to the house where they sell lollies; go by that, and at the turning beyond go this way until you come to the house with the green window blinds--"

"That will do," I exclaimed. "I don't want to lose my senses, as well as my sister. Can you tell me, Susan, the name of the street, and the number of the house, in which Miss Stone resides?"

"No, sir, thank you," answered Susan.

"Can you go there--if this lady will give you leave?"

"Yes, sir, if you please," said the girl, glancing timidly at her mistress.

I thought the mistress would refuse; and even hoped she would. Anxious as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so slight a favour from one whom I had hated with so very little exertion.

The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child's going out to show me the way; and I am so uncharitable as to believe, that her consent was given with the hope that, in finding my sister, I should meet with some chagrin!

I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, wretched suburb of the city, where the girl pointed out a house, and told me to knock at the door.

Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her away; and, the next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms.

Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest poverty. Strange that I did not regret it; but, on the contrary, was gratified by the appearance of her destitution! It was proof that she was still virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would now be the more willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. She was under the impression, that I had just returned from England. When I undeceived her on this point, she seemed much grieved, that I had been so long in the colonies, without letting her know it.

I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last parting. At the time she had joined Mrs Green in business, the latter was deeply in debt; and, in about three months after, all the stock in the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs Green's liabilities. Their business was broken up; and Mrs Green had gone to Melbourne--as her rival had stated. Martha had obtained employment in two or three milliner's establishments in the city; and, as she blushingly told me, had good reasons for leaving them all.

She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone who chanced to have sewing to give her; and was obtaining occasional, but ill paid employment, from the lady who had assisted me in finding her.

"Oh, Rowland!" said Martha, "that woman is the worst that ever lived. She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price that will allow me more than bread and water, and yet I have been obliged to take it from her, because I cannot get enough sewing elsewhere. I often work from six o'clock in the morning till ten at night--when I can get anything to do; and yet I've often been very, very hungry. I'm sure it is as bad here, as the stories I've heard about poor sempstresses in London. Ah, brother! Good girls are not wanted in this place. People seem only to care for those who are bad; and while they have everything they wish, girls like me must live as you see I've been doing. Oh, Rowland! is it not a cruel world?"

I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner: for each word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable life; and, moreover, her despondency led me to believe: that she would no longer oppose my projects, as she had previously done.

It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished her two years before. Had she then consented to returning with me to England, I should have gone thither--notwithstanding my disappointment about Lenore. By doing so, I should have missed meeting my brother--besides I should have lost the opportunity of making above fifteen hundred pounds--which I had gathered on the gold-fields of Victoria.

Volume Three, Chapter XX.

MY SISTER STILL OBSTINATE.

I had been some little time in my sister's company, before telling her of my intentions regarding her. I had allowed her to indulge in such conjectures about my designs, as the circumstances might suggest.

"I am very glad, Rowland," said she, "that you have made up your mind to stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. Oh! we would be so happy! You have come to stay here, have you not? Say yes, brother; and make me happy! Say you will not leave me any more?"

"I do not wish to leave you, dear sister," said I; "and I hope that you have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to accept the offer I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to take you with me to Melbourne."

"What reason can you have, for wishing me to go to Melbourne? It cannot be a better place than Sydney?"

"Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney?" I asked, with a painful presentiment, that I was once more to be baulked in my design of making my poor sister happy.

"Brother," she replied, "I am not willing to go to Melbourne. I don't wish to leave Sydney--at least, not yet."

"Would you not like to see your brother William?" I asked.

"What! William! dear little Willie! Have you heard of him, Rowland? Do you know where he is?"

"Yes. He is in Melbourne; and very anxious to see you. I have come to take you to him. Will you go?"

"I must see William--my long-lost brother William! I must see him. How came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all about it. Why did he not come here along with you?"

"We met by mere chance--on the diggings of Victoria; and, hearing me called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then recognised one another. Little Willie--as you call him--is now a tall, fine-looking young man. Next week he is going to be married to a beautiful girl. I have come to take you to the wedding. Will you go, Martha?"

"I don't know. I must see brother William. What shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot leave Sydney."

"Martha," said I, "I am your brother; and am willing to assist you in any manner possible. I am older than you; and we have no parents. I have the right to some authority over you; and now demand the reason, why you are not willing to go with me to Melbourne?"

My sister remained silent.

"Give me a straightforward answer," I cried in a tone that partook of command. "Tell me why you will not go?"

"Oh, brother!--because--because I am waiting here for some one--one who has promised--to return to me."

"A man, of course?"

"Yes, yes--a man--a true man, Rowland."

"Where has he gone; and how long is it, since you have seen him?" I asked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow.

"He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two years ago. Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come back; and then he would marry me."

"Martha! is it possible that this is your only reason for not going with me?"

"It is--my only one--I cannot go. _I must wait for him_!"

"Then you are as foolish, as our poor mother was in waiting for Mr Leary. The man who promised to return and marry you, has probably forgotten both his promise and you, long before this. Very likely he has married some other. I thought you had more sense, than to believe every idle word spoken by idle tongues. The man for whom you are making yourself miserable, would laugh at your simplicity, if he only knew of it. He has probably forgotten your name. Cease to think of him, dear sister; and make both yourself, and your brothers, happy!"

"Do not call me a fool, Rowland--do not think me one! I know I should be, if I was waiting for any common man; but the one I love is not a common man. He promised to return; and unless he dies, I am sure he will keep his word. I know it would be folly to have trusted most men as I've done him; but he's not like others. I shall yet be happy. To wait for him is but my duty; do not urge me to neglect it."

"Oh, Martha! our poor mother thought about Mr Leary, just as you do about this man. She thought him true to her--the best husband in the world! You may be as much mistaken as she was. I advise you to think no more of him, but go with me. Look around you! See the wretched state in which you are living! Leave it for a happy home, with those who will truly love you."

"Do not talk to me so, Rowland, or you will drive me mad. I wish to go with you, and wish to see William; but I cannot, and must not leave Sydney!"

It was evident to me, that my sister was afflicted with the same delusion, that had enslaved our mother even unto death; and, with much regret, I became conscious of the folly of trying to induce her to act in a rational manner. I saw that common sense, reason, persuasion, or threats, would all be alike unavailing to obtain compliance with my wishes. The little I had seen of her sex, had impressed me with the belief that no woman ever exhibited such blind faith and full confidence in a man worthy of the least regard; and I was willing to stake my existence, that my sister's lover was a fellow of no principle--some low blackguard of a similar stamp to the late Mr Leary. I could not suppose him to be quite so bad as Leary: for that to me would have appeared impossible.

I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards Martha should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Perhaps it was unmanly in me to be so. My sister was unfortunate. No doubt she had been deluded; and could not help her misfortune. She was more an object for pity than anger; but I was angry, and could not restrain myself from showing it. Conscious of my upright and disinterested regard for her, I could not help thinking it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs for her welfare.

"Martha," said I, "I ask you once more to go with me. By doing so, you will fulfil a sister's duty as well as seek your own welfare. Reject my offer now, and it will never be made again: for we shall part for ever, I will leave you to the misery, you seem not only to desire, but deserve."

"Rowland! Rowland!" exclaimed she, throwing her arms around my neck, "I cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You must not--you must not!"

"Will you go with me?" I asked, too much excited to listen patiently to her entreaties.

"Rowland, do not ask me! May heaven help me; I cannot go!"

"Then, farewell!" I cried, "farewell for ever!" and as I uttered the parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried half frantic out of the room.

Volume Three, Chapter XXI.

MY SISTER'S SWEETHEART.

On leaving the house, my soul was stirred by conflicting emotions. I was wild with disappointment, sorrow and indignation.

It was wrong to part with my poor sister in such fashion; and my conscience told me so, before I had proceeded two hundred yards along the street. I should at least have given her some money, to relieve her from the extreme necessity which she was evidently in.

A moment's reflection, as I stopped in the street, told me it was my duty to do this, if nothing more.

I thought of sending her a few pounds after getting back to the hotel. Then succeeded the reflection, that to do so would be more trouble, than to turn back, and give it to her myself. This thought decided me to return to the house, and see her once more. I retraced my steps; and again knocked at the door.

For some moments there was no answer; and I knocked again. I waited for nearly two minutes; and still there was no sign of my summons being answered.

I was on the point of bursting in the door, when it was opened by a man, whose huge frame almost filled the entrance from jamb to jamb. It was the Elephant! The truth instantly flashed upon my mind. It was for _him_ my sister had been waiting! She--was the sempstress for whom he had been toiling--the young girl spoken of in his story--she, whom he had said, he was going to return and marry!

Martha had flung herself into a chair; and appeared insensible.

I cannot remember that either Olliphant or I spoke on seeing one another. Each was too much surprised at meeting the other. And yet neither of us thought, there was anything strange in the circumstance. Let those, who can, explain the singularity of our sentiments at that encounter. I cannot, and therefore shall not make the attempt. The attention of both of us was soon called to Martha, who had recovered consciousness.

"I thank God!" she cried out addressing me, "I thank God, Rowland, you have returned. You see, he has come back!" she continued, placing her hand on the broad shoulder of `the Elephant.' "I knew he would. I told you he was certain to come; and that it was not possible for him to deceive me. This is my brother, Alex," she added, turning to Olliphant. "He wanted me to leave you; but don't blame him: for he did not know you, as I did. I've seen hard times, Alex; but the joy of this moment more than repays me for all."

It was some time before Olliphant and I had an opportunity of communicating with each other: for Martha seemed determined that no one should have anything to say but herself.

"What fools we have been!" exclaimed Olliphant, as soon as his sweetheart gave him a chance of speaking. "Had you told me that your name was Stone, and that you had a sister in Sydney, how much more pleasure we should have had in one another's society! You have nearly missed finding your brother; and either you or I have nearly lost your sister by keeping your name a secret. I know that for a man to talk to others of his family affairs is not strict etiquette; but the rules of that are often made by those who are only respected because they are unknown; or rather, because nothing concerning them can be told to their credit."

"You and I have been friends," continued the Elephant, still addressing his discourse to me. "Why should we have cared for etiquette? We ought to have acted independently of its requirements. Depend upon it, that open-hearted candour is ever preferable to secrecy."

I assured Olliphant, that I was convinced of the truth of this doctrine by late events; and that it was also my belief, an honest man has very little on his mind that need be concealed from his acquaintances.

The scene that followed was one of unalloyed happiness. It ended in the determination--that we should all three at once proceed to Melbourne; and that Olliphant and Martha should be married at the same time that my brother was to be united to Miss Morell.

It was ludicrous to witness the change, that had suddenly taken place in the sentiments of Martha. She no longer offered the slightest objection to leaving Sydney; but on the contrary, declared herself delighted at the prospect of going to Melbourne--a place, she said, she had been long desirous of seeing!

During the evening, the little slavey, Sarah, came over from the milliner's shop, with a bundle of sewing materials--which Martha was required to make up immediately.

"Tell your mistress," said Martha, "that I cannot afford to do any more work for her: for she does not pay me enough for it. Tell her, that I hope she will not be much disappointed; but that I really cannot sew any more for her. Will you tell her that?"

"Yes, thank you!" said Sarah, "but I don't think she'll be much disappointed: for she said she did not think you would do any more work now; and she only sent it to see."

We had enough to talk about that evening. Olliphant had been acquainted with our poor mother; and expressed much regret that she had died so unhappily.

We all had explanations to make; and Olliphant and I listened with equal interest to a long recital of my sister's struggle to maintain herself, and to an explanation of her sorrow at being unable to comply with my request, when I had entreated her to leave Sydney.

This confession was as pleasant to me as to the Elephant; but perhaps still pleasanter was it for him to hear that, during his long absence, she had never felt a doubt about his returning, and that such a suspicion had never remained for an instant in her mind.

As events had turned out, I could not regret that my sister had been, what I had too rashly termed foolish; and that her faith in Olliphant's promise had remained unshaken under such strong temptations, as those to which she had been subjected.

She had proved herself worthy of a good husband; and there was no one, whom I should have preferred seeing her united to, before the man, for whom she had so long and patiently waited.

Volume Three, Chapter XXII.

AT SEA.

On the third day after my arrival in Sydney, I started back for Melbourne, in the steamer "Warratah," accompanied by Olliphant and Martha.

On arriving at Melbourne, my sister was taken to the residence of Mrs Morell, where she had the pleasure of meeting her brother William; and making the acquaintance of her future sister-in-law.

Sarah Morell and Martha became warm friends upon sight; and on the evening of our return, a more happy party, than the one assembled in Mrs Morell's cottage, could not have been found in the colony.

At intervals, a thought of my own life-long disappointment would flash across my mind; but the sight of so many happy faces around me, would soon restore me to a feeling of tranquil contentment.

Next day, preparations were made for the double marriage, which took place shortly after.

The occasion was not marked by any grand ceremonial display--such as I have often witnessed at the "weddings" of lucky gold-diggers. All the arrangements were conducted with the same sense of propriety and taste, that appeared to have guided the previous conduct of the principal parties concerned.

My brother's honeymoon tour, was to be a voyage in the first ship that should sail for England. As I did not much like the idea of separating from him so soon; and, having no great desire to return to the diggings, I resolved to accompany him.

Olliphant and Martha only remained in Melbourne, until they should see us off, when they intended returning to Sydney to reside permanently in that city. The Elephant had gathered gold enough to set him up in some respectable business; and it was but natural he should prefer New South Wales--his native country--to any other. I knew that to my sister, all places were now alike; so long as she should be with her husband.

I do not much like travelling in a ship, where there is a large number of passengers. It is something like going out for a walk, along a street crowded with people. When there are many passengers in a vessel, there are likely to be some of a very disagreeable disposition, that will be sure to make itself manifest during the voyage. Moreover, in a crowded ship, the regulations require to be more rigidly enforced--thus rendering the passage more irksome to all. There is much greater freedom of action, and generally more amusement, on board a ship carrying only a limited number of passengers. For this reason, we took passage in the first cabin of a small vessel--where we knew there would be only about twenty others besides ourselves.

The ship was bound direct for the port of London; the captain, whose name was Nowell, was to all appearance a gentleman; the accommodation, as regarded room and other necessary requirements, was satisfactory; and we set sail, with every prospect of a pleasant voyage.

As Captain Nowell was a man of sociable inclinings, he soon became a favourite with all his passengers. Between him and myself an intimacy arose; and I passed much of my time in his company--either at chess, or in talking about subjects connected with his calling, which I had not altogether forgotten. He appeared to take an interest in my future welfare; so much so, as frequently to converse with me on the subject of my getting married.

"Lucky gold-diggers," said he, "often go home in my ship in search of a wife; and not unfrequently get cheated in the quality of the article. As I have some experience in matrimonial matters, you can't do better than let me choose a wife for you. Besides," he continued, "I have a young lady in view, that I think would just suit you. I have long been in search of a good husband for her; but have not yet met with a man, to whom I should think of confiding her happiness. From what I have seen of you, Mr Stone, I fancy I could trust her to your keeping."

Though perfectly indifferent about the captain's protegee, I could not help acknowledging the compliment.

"I only ask of you," he continued, "to make no rash engagements, after you arrive in England. Do nothing in that line till you have seen the girl; and then if you don't like her, there's no harm done."

I thanked the captain for his offer; and sighed, as I thought of the cruel fate, that had placed an impassible barrier between me and Lenore.

There is one thing in my narrative, that may appear remarkable to the reader--perhaps scarce truthful; and that is, the facility with which I made so many friends. An explanation of this may not be out of place.

I was always in earnest in what little I had to say. No one could converse long with me, without discovering that I was sincere in what I said. I do not claim this as a trait of character peculiar to myself; but I do affirm--as far as my experience has instructed me--that it is not so with the majority of mankind. Language is too often used, as the means for concealing thoughts--instead of expressing them.

Thousands of people say what they do not mean; and sometimes gain friends by it. But it is a friendship false as it is fleeting; and often confers on him who obtains it, more disappointment and trouble, than he would be likely to have with avowed enemies.

Nothing transpired during our home voyage, worthy of particular notice. After passing some small islands, that lie near the coast of Port Philip, we never sighted land again for three months!

On the ninety-second day of our voyage, the cheering cry of "Land ho!" resounded through the ship; and, hastening on deck, we looked upon the white cliffs of Dover.

Great was the joy of Mrs Morell and her daughter, at once more beholding their native shores; and I could envy my brother, who had contributed so much to the happiness of others, and at the same time so successfully established his own.

We landed at Portsmouth; and proceeded to London by rail. Before parting with Captain Nowell--who had to remain a few days with his ship--I promised to visit him in his London house--the address of which he had already made known to me.

A few hours after, I entered, for the first time, within the limits of the world's metropolis.

Volume Three, Chapter XXIII.

LIFE IN LONDON.

After staying one night at a hotel, we went into private lodgings at Brompton.

For several days after our arrival, my brother was employed in the pleasant duty of escorting his wife and mother-in-law--on a round of visits to their numerous old acquaintances, while I was left to wander alone through the streets of the stupendous city. I had anticipated some little pleasure in visiting the far-famed metropolis; but in this I was disappointed; and soon began to feel regret for having left behind me the free life I had been pursuing on the gold-fields.

I had some business, however, to transact, even in London. The gold I had obtained in California--along with that bequeathed to me by poor old Stormy Jack--had been forwarded to the Bank of England; and about a week after my arrival, I went down to the city, to draw out the money deposit that was due to me. On presenting myself to the cashier, I was told that it would be necessary for me to bring some responsible person, to say that my name was Rowland Stone. This individual must be known to the authorities of the Bank.

This requirement placed me in a little dilemma. Where was I to find a sponsor? I was a perfect stranger in London. So were my travelling companions. I knew not a soul belonging to the great city--much less one who should be known to the magnates of the Bank.

To whom should I apply?

When I had mentally repeated this question, for the twentieth time, I bethought me of Captain Nowell. He should be the very man.

I at once hailed a cab; and drove to the address he had given me. Fortunately he had arrived from Portsmouth; and was at home.

Without a moment's hesitation, he accompanied me to the Bank, where everything was satisfactorily arranged. Instead of drawing out the deposit, I added to it, by paying in an additional sum--consisting of the gold I had gathered in Australia. My only object in troubling myself about it at the time, was to make sure that the gold I had forwarded from California had arrived safely, and was otherwise "all right."

Before parting with Captain Nowell, he requested to know why I had not gone to his house to see him sooner.

"Your coming to-day," he said, "was not a visit; and I shan't take it as such. You only came to trouble me on business for which you needed me, or probably I should not have seen you at all. You must pay me a regular visit. Come to-morrow; or any time that best suits your convenience. You know my style at sea? You'll find me just the same ashore. Don't forget that I've something to show you--something you had better have a look at, before you choose elsewhere."

I gave the kind-hearted Captain my promise to call upon him--though not from any inclination to be assisted by him in the way he seemed to wish. The finding a wife was a thing that was far--very far from my thoughts.

Several days had elapsed after my interview with Captain Nowell; and each day I was becoming more discontented, with the life I was leading in London. My brother, his wife, and Mrs Morell, were very kind to me; and strove to make me as happy as possible. But much of their time was taken up in paying visits, or spent in amusements, in which I could feel no interest. I soon found that to be contented, it would be necessary for me, either to take an active part in the busy scenes of life, or be in possession of great domestic happiness. The latter I could never expect to attain; and London appeared to present no employment so well suited to my disposition and habits, as that I had followed upon the gold-fields.

I might have passed some of my time very pleasantly in the company of Captain Nowell; but I was prevented from availing myself of that pleasure--even of paying my promised visit to him--by the very thing that might otherwise have attracted me. I had no desire to form the acquaintance of the young lady, he had spoken of; and for me to call at his house might give occasion for him, as well as others, to think differently.

I admit that I may have been over-scrupulous in this matter: since Captain Nowell and I had become fast, and intimate friends. But from what he had already said, I could not visit the young lady, and remain indifferent to her, without the conclusion being come to, that I thought her unworthy of my regard, and that, after seeing, I had formed an unfavourable opinion of her. It may have been silliness on my part; allowing such a thought to prevent my visiting a friend; but, as I had not come to London wife-hunting, I did not desire others to think that I had. To me, matrimony was no more a pleasant subject for contemplation--especially when it referred to myself--and the few words, spoken to me by the captain on that theme, had been sufficient to defeat the only object he probably had any particular wish to attain: that I should call upon him and partake of his hospitality.

About a month after our arrival in London, I inquired at the General Post Office for letters from Australia; and had the pleasure of receiving two. One was from Olliphant, the other from my sister. Martha's was a true woman's letter: that could be read once by the recipient, and then easily forgotten. It was full of kind words for all of us in London; but the only information to be obtained from it was, that she thought well of everybody, and was herself exceedingly happy.

Perhaps I was more gratified with the contents of Olliphant's letter, from which I select the following extract:--

"On our return to Sydney, I learnt that my father had just got back from a visit to England--which he had long before determined on making. I was very anxious to see him, in the hope that we might become friends again; but, knowing that the first advances towards a reconciliation must come from himself, I would not go to him. I could not think of acknowledging myself sorry, for having done that which I knew to be right. The only step I could make, towards the accomplishment of my wishes, was to put myself in communication with a mutual friend; and let him know that I had returned to Sydney. I did not omit to add, that I had returned from the diggings with a full purse: for I knew that this would also be communicated to my father, and might have some effect upon him of a favourable character.