Chapter II: The Cables

Autumn had made its colorous advance in Tasmania, scattering vermilion and coppery tints into gardens, orchards, and along mirroring streams shadowed by graceful, weeping willows and glistening poplars. It had dropped fleecy clouds into brooding valleys and trailed long ribbons of mist on the electric-blue hills.

Iris was sitting in the little creeper-covered summer-house at the lower end of the garden, waiting for Justin. He had returned the night before, but she had only seen him then for a little while; now he was coming for a long talk.

She sat gazing at the mountains and saw their bold rocky forms framed by the doorway, where yellow vines hung motionless in the still morning air.

Justin was home again! He was coming to her shortly, and then--a stupendous joy would be hers; it was on the point of pouring itself into her life! She sat quite still, waiting--waiting till the huge tidal wave of bliss should roll in upon her and carry her far, far out to sea, to the unmeasured deeps of a fathomless rapture.

She glanced through the doorway again. The great ecstasy was coming to her in this ideal place--it had given her--Justin! Tasmania had brought them to each other and was now on the point of linking their lives together with the sweetest chain in the world. How appropriate that they should have met in this romantic island, with its great wild beauty of dense tangled bush, cornflower-blue hills, lofty mountains lifting bold undaunted crags into azure skies; with its wondrous caves, its immense solitudes, its untamed loneliness, its deep melancholy; its riotous, exuberant sunshine: Tasmania with its flaming sunsets and pearly dawns, its violet-hued twilights, its tall majestic trees and green-matted undergrowth; its weird animals and lovely birds: this island with its many moods, sometimes silent, brooding, reflecting, profound; at others smiling, dazzling, laughing; some days tender, exquisitely yielding; on others, convulsed with passion, impetuous, ungoverned; but always beautiful, always alluring in its bewildering waywardness!

There were light, quick steps on the path leading to the summer-house.

A rich colour suffused the fair face of the girl waiting there. Justin was coming! She rose, a strange, glad confusion numbing her senses. She knew what he had come to say. He was at the doorway; for a second she saw him under the trailing yellow vines; she noticed the detail of his new navy-blue suit. Then she took a step towards him, would have taken another and been clasped by his arms, but a curious look of suppressed excitement in his face arrested her movement.

He held out an envelope to her. “This wire has just come; you had better open it at once,” he said with forced calmness.

The bright flush on Iris’s cheek subsided a little. A wire--who could it be from--surely only from her mother. Ralph could be in London by this time; he would have gone to her mother and told his own story. He would not spare her; she could expect no mercy from him; and, if he had not gone to England, he would have written, which would be just as bad. Perhaps her mother was so upset that she was coming out immediately and had cabled to say so.

She sank down on a low chair, tore open the envelope and read hastily. Rees watched her with an odd expression in his grey eyes. He saw her smooth brow pucker as she evidently read the message again and again.

At last she allowed the paper to drop to her knees. “Really,” she said at last, “I think my good mother must have taken leave of her intelligence! Look at that!” And she passed him the telegram.

He read:--

“Heartiest congratulations on your engagement to Lord Lennox have
wedding in London fondest love.
“YOUR MOTHER.”

Her lover kept his eyes on the cable for a long time; if he had lifted them from the paper, Iris would have seen a very bright twinkle under the long lashes.

“Well,” she said a little impatiently at length, “I suppose you can’t make any sense of it either; whatever can it mean?”

“Oh, the meaning is clear enough; there is no mistaking that. Your mother wants to let you know that she quite approves of your engagement to Lord Lennox.”

“But, Justin, how utterly foolish----” she stopped and began to think again. Was this her mother’s method of dealing with her after hearing Ralph’s story? Instead of coming herself was she sending this new man and indicating that she commanded her to marry him? That after the episode with the driver (Ralph was sure to have made a sensational story of it) she was to pay the penalty of marrying this man to avoid open scandal and disgrace--was this her mother’s scheme? How unwise she had been not to have written by the same mail and explained that she really loved Justin and would not marry any one else! She had written since, of course, but her mother would not receive that letter till a week later. It was the only mail she had missed; in her excitement and perplexity that week she had not written. It was a great pity and the result might be that she would have another man landed on her hands. It was really most appalling! A cloud of vexation swept over her face. “I suppose mother has seen Ralph by this time,” she said, thinking aloud, “and this is her way of dealing with me. I expect this man will be arriving presently. But,” she continued in a different tone, “I will have nothing to do with him--I shall not even see him!”

“Would you really object to becoming Lady Lennox instead of simply--Mrs. Rees?”

She looked up into his smiling eyes with a hurt look in her own. “Justin--how can you say such a thing even in fun--I hate jokes of that kind!” she said straightening a little; then she looked away and added, the perplexity coming back to her voice: “But I really can’t understand this, for, now when I come to think of it, I don’t know the man--that is, I believe I met him years ago when I was still in the schoolroom; but I remember he was delicate, and I think he has been in the south of France ever since.”

“That was the elder brother, but he died six months ago, and the second son has taken his place.”

“Is he really dead? I didn’t know, I haven’t read half the papers mother sends out. So it is the second son; that is worse--he was the wild one, wasn’t he? So that is the kind of man mother wants me to marry!”

Justin winced a little; then he said, the odd expression on his face deepening: “Yes, he was rather wild; but he has been trying to mend his ways----”

Iris stopped him with a look. “You plead his cause well,” she said coldly, her face as white as marble.

“Naturally, seeing that you have already done him the honour of promising to become his wife.”

Iris had suddenly risen. She took an uncertain step towards him. “Justin,” she began, amazement, indignation and scorn in her tones, “you don’t mean to say----” But his face told her something. The indignation gave place to incredulity; and then, slowly, the lovely colour mantled to her cheeks and swept away the scorn. “Justin!” she pleaded now, “Do you mean to say--that--you are----”

“Yes, Sweetheart. That is just what I was trying to tell you.”

“You are--Lord Lennox--the Earl of Strathfell’s son?”

“Yes, darling.”

She turned pale again, her eyes shining like stars; then the colour came vividly back to her face. “And you have been Lord Lennox all this time and I did not know--oh! Justin--I can’t realise it--and fancy the way all those people have treated you--it is awful!”

“I could not expect anything else in that position, but your sweet gentleness has made up for it all.”

At his words she sank into the chair where she had been sitting, and covered her face with her hands.

Her lover sat down beside her. “Whatever is the matter, dearest?” he asked, trying to move her hands from her flushed face.

“Oh, Justin, to think of all the things I have said to you!”

“Iris, you have never said anything but the dearest, loveliest things in the world.”

“But, Justin, I actually asked you to----”

He slipped his arms about her and drew her to him. “Sweetheart, it was exquisite, beautiful of you to be so amazingly kind to poor obscure Justin Rees. I can’t tell you how I loved the way you treated him! I shall never forget, and it was worth being an insignificant driver all this time, just to have your unselfish goodness poured upon me!” He spoke in moved tones.

“But it seems so awful--now.”

“Iris, it is just as beautiful now as it was, and I do hope you are not going to change your way of treating me.”

“Why?” she asked, looking up at him again.

“Because if you are I shall stay plain Justin Rees for the rest of my life.”

“Would you really?” she inquired, a happy smile parting her red lips.

“Most certainly, now that I have known your delightful ways of dealing with the poor driver I shall certainly not be satisfied with anything different.”

“There mustn’t be any difference then.”

“But, sweetest, I haven’t told you, though I daresay you guessed that I had a cable from my father this morning; it came just before yours. He told me my brother had died and that he wanted me to come back; that all was right between us and that I could disclose my identity. He sent heartiest congratulations on my having won your love, said we could live at Strathfell Court and that he would allow me £10,000 a year. He also cabled me quite a fortune, so now,” he added with a humorous twinkle, “I shall be able to keep you, and I promise not to insist on your frocks lasting too many seasons!”

“Justin, what a fatal memory you have!” She blushed again.

“Father is evidently very anxious to have us back--he adores you so. I wrote to him after our night in the garden, explained how we had met and that we loved each other, and I felt sure when he heard about my altered life--I wrote before I went away that time, but I have written since and told him all about that too and he would have had that letter also before he cabled--that he would allow me to use my own name in future when he heard you were the girl I loved. He has always had the deepest affection for you. Even years ago, when you were quite a child, whenever he came back from London he was full of your praises, and once I even heard him remark to mother that he wished you would marry one of his boys some day.”

The girl’s face glowed with pleasure. “Your father was always so good to me; I just loved him to come and see us--I was always sent for then and allowed to stay in the drawing-room and talk to him. But, Justin, wasn’t it strange you and I did not meet in London?”

“Yes, it does seem rather odd. Only you see when I was in London you were still in the schoolroom, and when I had broken with my father I did not go back to our own set again.”

There was a short pause. Then Iris said: “Dear, what waste it was your going away! I knew it would be all right; you should have had more faith and you could have been here all this precious month instead of wasting it in town.”

“Yes, I felt it was going to be all right before I went. But I had another reason for going. You see, if I had stayed here and we had been together, we could not have kept our engagement a secret: it would have been impossible!”

“But would it have mattered so--very much if--people had found out?”

“It would.”

“But why--were you ashamed of me?”

Justin laughed heartily. “Try again, darling; that guess of yours was not even warm! But,” he went on more seriously, “though you were willing to be openly engaged to poor Rees, I had no intention that the Hon. Iris Dearn should suffer the indignity of being publicly engaged to such a social nonentity. So I wanted to delay the announcement until I heard from my father, for I was certain, after he had read my letters, even if he did not make everything right between us, that he would at least permit me to use my own name; and, as I was proving I could live among temptations, I could go to Sydney or Melbourne and get something much better to do. But, Iris, aren’t you glad about father’s changed attitude?”

“Yes, of course, for your sake--very.”

“Not for your own?”

“I should have been quite as happy if you had remained Justin Rees, and--all my plans could have been carried out.”

“Yes, I know; you have been so sublimely sweet to me, so divinely generous! But now I shall be able to carry out _my_ nice plans for _you_. Strathfell Court is such a fine old place in such beautiful surroundings--just the sort of place you and I could be most ideally happy in, darling.”

Iris sighed a little. “I shall be happy anywhere you are, dearest.”

“You sighed?” and he lifted her face and looked long and tenderly into her eyes.

“That was only at the thought of leaving this. We have been so wonderfully happy here!”

“Yes, but we can be just as wonderfully happy there. And Iris,” his tones lowered, “can’t you understand the joy it is to me to be able to offer you a proper home?”

“You dear boy, of course I can; and I shall love to be there with you! But what about all our plans?”

“They can be carried out just as well in that part of the world; there are any amount of poor people in the villages and in London; and think how many there are in our own class who have the same--failing as--I. We can help them.”

“Yes, we will.”

Justin gazed at her with deep fondness. “Iris, what a lot you have been doing in my absence. Miss Smith told me before breakfast this morning how good you have been to poor old Turner--he simply worships you! She said I would not know his little cabin; it is so nice and cosy, and the poor old fellow has everything to make him comfortable now! Those are just the things I have always wanted to do for him, but have not been able; a driver’s salary is small, and all I could spare went to a poor widow living right in the bush with twelve children to bring up, so I have not been able to do much for other people in the district. But you have sent Turner all I wanted him to have and Miss Green’s father is surrounded with comforts too--what a treasure you are!” And he kissed her hand lingeringly.

A rich colour leapt into her cheeks. “I have done so little, and that little only because of--your influence. But about Turner--as I told you in my letter, he is so happy; and wasn’t it touching about the bottle those men brought him, keeping it all the time--a whole night--_untouched!_ and then giving it to me the next day! He said it was the first time he had ever been able to pass on a bottle he had not emptied to the dregs! I don’t think I have ever valued a gift more--except one.”

“What was that?”

She moved her head close to his. “The flask you gave me the night on the mountains--untouched: I am treasuring that!”

“Do you mean to say you are keeping it?”

“Of course I am, it is packed away among my treasures.”

He drew a deep breath and folded her closer. “Darling, if a man did not keep straight with you as his wife--he would deserve the worst torments in the universe.”

She pressed her cheek against his. “But, Justin, what shall we do about old Turner? He is so lonely, we can’t possibly leave him behind--he likes the cold and he was only saying the other day how much he would like to see the Old Country again.”

“You want to take him Home with us?” he smiled down at her tenderly.

“Yes--couldn’t you find a nice little cottage for him near us where we could look after him?”

“I will find a dozen if you like. Anybody else you would like to take--the Greens and the little cripple girl you have been visiting lately?” He spoke seriously.

“Yes,” she replied equally seriously; “I should like to take them all, but Mr. Green would never stand the climate, nor would little Janet; yet we can see they have everything they want before we go, can’t we? And we must send Miss Smith and her mother for a trip; they have been so awfully good to us.”

“Yes, we must see to them all before we go. But what about your cousin? She will be so lonely without you; we must make her come and stay with us as often and for as long as she likes; she has been so delightfully kind to me; our home must always be open for her too. And now, Iris,” he added in a different voice, “I am going to remind you of the promise you made me before I left--you will fulfil it at once, won’t you?”

The girl picked up the cable and looked down on it. “Mother asked me to have the--wedding in London,” she said, the drooping lashes hiding the smile in her eyes.

Justin rose and walked to the doorway, and looked out into the autumn glory in the garden for a moment; then he turned round and looked at her sadly as he said, “Iris, how can you ask me to wait all that time? If we are not married before we go, you will need a chaperon and I shan’t be able to have you to myself; it will be just awful! Besides--you promised!”

She went over to him quickly. “You dear, foolish boy, I didn’t ask you to wait; I was only reminding you of what mother said. Of course I shall marry you--any time you--wish,” she said with heightened colour.

He clasped her to him. “Any time?” he whispered. “To-morrow?”

“Yes, dearest,” she breathed.

He raised her face and pressed his lips long and closely to hers.

Shimmering golden minutes glided by in the glinting autumn silence. Love counted them as seconds.

Then Justin lifted his head a little and began to lilt very softly in his smooth faultless tenor to the girl in his arms--

“I’ve sometimes thought it was your eyes,
Sometimes your voice bade my enchanted heart arise
And make its choice.
I’ve counted over all your ways, my sweet, my mate,
And wondered which the sep’rate grace that holds my fate,
Vain task, I love you, dearest one for all you are,
The charm of Heav’n hangs not upon a single star.”

She trembled in his embrace. “Oh, Justin,” she half sobbed, her arms stealing about his neck in rapturous abandonment, “your voice simply tears my heart out--it is all just too beautiful--too heavenly! Do you really love me like that?” She clung to him while he pressed her yearningly to him.

“Yes, darling, I love you like that and--infinitely more,” he said; “but to-morrow and--ever afterwards, I shall be able to show you the never-ending depths of it.”

She closed her eyes as if blinded, and suddenly leant more heavily against him.

“To-morrow,” he whispered, “to-morrow----”

* * * * *

From one of the trailing vines over the doorway a yellow leaf fluttered silently to the ground, and, from a large, copper-tinted oak near the summer-house, came the soft note of a bird, calling to its mate.