Chapter VIII: Fate

“Fate is strange--it is weird!” said Iris often to herself during the following days.

“Mother used to say that no girl had better chances of making a brilliant match than I; but I never could care for any of the men who counted, and now--” her tones grew soft and wistful--“and now there will be no marriage at all, for the only man I shall ever love--a poor driver employed by the mistress of a boarding-house--will have none of me! He loves me, yes, he loves me, as I love him.” Her eyes shone as she put the precious facts into words, but their brightness was dimmed by a dewy mist. “All the same he will have none of me. He has told me our love must one day be buried under that great white tombstone--that is the fate of our love; and mine--to be near him for a little while, to watch his beautiful life, see more clearly how useless my own has been, get to know him better--love him more desperately.” She stopped and breathed more quickly. “And then--when we have come to the end of our endurance--when we have gone as far as our love may go, he will take it, and, with strong though trembling hands, thrust it into its cold, silent grave. That is my future--all life will ever hold for me--the fate of the much envied, much-sought-after, spoilt Iris Dearn, who, London prophesied, would marry a prince or a duke--she has come to this! She cannot even marry a poor guide--he will not have her! Fate is weird! It has shown me what could give me unspeakable bliss and then told me it must never be mine. All that may be mine is a home with Amy in the vast desolation of the Australian bush. I shall live with her always and my future will be one long, sweet, terrible looking back on--_this_!

“I shall spend my days trying to live as he lives; be useful, bear burdens, give help. I shall ride about on Amy’s estate, visit the shepherds’ wives and children, take them things, sit with them when they are ill; drive about the whole district and do for all I can reach what he would do for them if he were there. I shall give most of my income away. I shall live simply, and it will not cost much to keep me; and the rest of my money shall be spent on people in need; myself and my money--all must be given.

“But at present I am still near him--this is the time to gather memories. I see him at meals; he comes and arranges for outings; his dear, sad eyes look often into mine. I sit beside him when we drive; we talk, discuss all kinds of things; his arm sometimes touches mine, we look at all the beauty together, smile and laugh, but--we have never been alone since the afternoon by the cliffs.”

* * * * *

Rees was very busy driving numerous visitors to the various beauty spots, and Iris and her cousin joined most of the excursions; but there had been no opportunity for him to take them out by themselves. However, at last there had been a big clearance of tourists, and one afternoon he was free to take them out alone wherever they cared to go.

Mrs. Henderson had for some time wished to explore a road winding its way among some very wild-looking hills, so they decided to go.

They drove some miles away from the township on a rather rough, chocolate-tinted road surrounded by magnificent bush. There were stretches of flowering ti-tree and sombre-hued blackwoods. Golden wattle, dogwood, bronze-green cherry trees, patches of grass-tree and numerous other shrubs grew in lavish tangle under the immense interlacing blue-gums, scenting the summer air with their delicious fragrance. From the bush came showers of silvery notes from the happy blue wren as it swelled its little blue and black throat in glad, liquid song. The track led through moist, shady corners, where sassafras and myrtle and huge tree ferns were matted together in luxuriant confusion.

When they came to a little stream trickling over moss-covered stones Mrs. Henderson suggested they should have afternoon tea as it was a cool, shady spot. They got out of the buggy, and, after Rees had unharnessed the horses, he began to gather bark and wood to light the fire.

“I shall go down under those tree ferns and have a quiet read while you two boil the billy,” said Mrs. Henderson, beginning to descend a small gully on the left side of the road.

“Be careful about snakes,” the driver cautioned as she left them.

“I am used to the bush, I shall be all right and I promise not to go far away.”

Iris insisted on helping Rees, and when the fire was burning brightly they unpacked the baskets and laid out the tea.

“Come and sit on this bank till the water boils,” suggested her companion.

Iris breathed a sigh of utter content. It was so lovely in this green, cool, fragrant spot in the depth of the great forest, where the exalted stillness was only broken by the flutter of wings, the murmur of streamlets and the soft notes of birds. They were by themselves at last, and her lover’s nearness brought her a great, vital joy.

“Miss Dearn, you have hurt your hand,” said her companion suddenly.

She glanced down at it quickly. “It is only a scratch.”

“I believe there is a splinter in it--may I look?”

She held out her hand to him. He took it tenderly between his own and examined it carefully; there really was a small splinter in the wound and he pulled it out gently. As he did so his sleeve and soft cuff slipped up a little and Iris noticed that above the wrist his arm was as white and his skin as fine in texture as her own. And, though his hands were brown, they were wonderfully soft, well cared for and had a delicacy of touch which had often surprised her.

When he had extracted the splinter he did not release her hand, but still held it caressingly and fondly in his clasp.

Neither of them spoke. Iris averted her face a little and in her eyes shone a deep, tremulous shyness.

“Miss Dearn, am I taking too great a liberty?” he asked in a low voice.

“No,” she breathed. There was another delicious pause; then she continued: “Please don’t call me Miss Dearn--at least not when we are just--together, like this.”

“What may I call you then?” he asked eagerly.

“My name, of course,” she said very quietly.

“May I really call you by your beautiful flower-name?” There was wonder and exultation in his words.

“Yes, if you care to,” she whispered, her shyness increasing with the emotion he showed.

“Iris--Iris,” he murmured lingeringly. “How sweet of you to let me----”

There was a loud, seething splutter from the fire: the billy had boiled over.

He released her hand quietly, and went over to make the tea. He coo-eed to let Mrs. Henderson know it was ready, and presently they were all enjoying a dainty repast.

Iris noticed that the driver did not eat much, but he drank great quantities of tea. He was generally thirsty, but as a rule he was hungry as well; to-day he ate only one tiny scone.

“Mr. Rees, you are not eating anything--what has happened to your appetite? By the way, Iris,” Mrs. Henderson went on without waiting for his reply, “what did your mother say in the letter you got this morning?”

“There was no particular news. Mother told me about the things she and Helen had been doing lately, painted London in glowing colours, and concluded by asking her usual question--when am I coming home?”

Mrs. Henderson turned to Rees. “My cousin, as I dare say you have noticed, is not infatuated with London life; on the contrary she has fallen most violently in love with the life here, to the consternation and grief of her relations and friends on the other side of the world--they are always trying to induce her to go back to England.”

“I suppose they don’t quite understand the fascination of the life here.”

“No, indeed! They think our taste for it extraordinary, as they consider the people here rather rough, and of course some of the Australians cannot claim as fine breeding as they do for their sheep. It is this I am sure which worries our people at home when they think of Iris; as one friend put it in a letter last mail, if Iris stayed here much longer she would be marrying a----”

“Please don’t tell Mr. Rees about that,” interrupted Iris a little imperiously, blushing hotly.

“Why not, my dear? It would only amuse him.”

“No, please don’t tell me if Miss Dearn doesn’t want me to hear it,” the driver interposed.

“You are really too soft with her, all because of those pretty blushes. Now, when I come to think of it, Iris, you never used to blush like that; it is something you have acquired quite recently.”

The colour in the girl’s face deepened still more, but she did not lower her splendid eyes.

Mrs. Henderson continued: “Why shouldn’t Mr. Rees be allowed to share the joke about your marrying a bushranger----”

She stopped as she saw the driver’s face suddenly blanch, and a curious look came into his eyes as they became fixed on the ground behind her.

Rees had just discovered a huge black snake creeping in bulky curves towards Mrs. Henderson. Its small dark tongue was out, moving menacingly as its thick glistening body made a wide trail on the loose fine earth. Mrs. Henderson was evidently seated in front of its hole in the bank and it was determined to attack the obstacle in the way. Its small beady eyes glittered--in another moment it would spring, already it was raising its head to strike.

Rees had a gun in the buggy, but there was no time to get that. There was a stick within reach, but it was a very thin one and it would be dangerous to attack the monster with such a frail weapon. There was not a moment to lose, so he could not stop to think of the risk to himself. Quickly he gripped the wood, made a plunge forward, and with a big swoop brought the stick with all his force on the sleek black body.

There was a small cracking sound.

The slender weapon had broken without vitally injuring the snake, which now, goaded to fury, hissed viciously and turned fiercely on its assailant. Rees was within a yard of the snake and without defence for the moment. He would have retreated in search of a weapon, but he was alive to the fact that, if he were to do so, the monster would probably turn upon Mrs. Henderson, who was standing stock still, too fascinated with horror to move.

Iris took in his predicament instantly. In another second the man she loved would be bitten by the venomous, hissing thing so close to his feet. She was standing by the smouldering fire. Quickly she snatched one of the long, burning sticks, sprang forward and thrust it into the driver’s right hand.

It was only just in time to ward off the malicious head now only a few inches away from his left hand.

The reptile was brought to the ground by the close contact of the flames.

Before it could spring again there had been time to raise the heavy stick high and now it came down on the fat, glistening back with a power which broke it. The snake lay writhing on the dry dusty ground.

It was not dead yet and it hissed viciously, trying to wriggle towards its opponent, but a few more blows and it moved no more.

“What a horribly ugly thing!” shuddered Mrs. Henderson coming up beside it. “You have saved my life, Mr. Rees--it was just behind me,” she said unsteadily.

“It is Miss Dearn who saved us all. If she had not passed me that stick so quickly--it would have had me,” he said, not trusting himself to look at the girl who had helped him so promptly.

“Oh! that was nothing,” expostulated Iris, “it was you who killed it; I should never have had the courage to attack such a monster.”

“You were very nearly attacked by it when you put that stick in my hand.” He was looking at her now, and what she saw in his eyes made her heart suddenly bound at a terrible pace.

“How long is it?” asked Mrs. Henderson, still standing fascinated beside the dead reptile.

“It is over five feet and as thick as my arm,” said Rees quietly. “Dangerous brutes when they mean mischief!”

All at once Mrs. Henderson shook off her horror and walked away from the object which had held her attention. “Now look here,” she said, “we are not going to allow any snake to spoil our outing; let us forget all about the horrid episode and go on as if it hadn’t happened.”

Rees removed the crushed snake and threw it into a thicket of bracken.

“Now I am going for a little stroll along this lovely road while you two pack up the things,” said Mrs. Henderson.

“But----” remonstrated the driver.

“No, I’m not afraid, we can’t have two such adventures in one afternoon; that is really beyond all possibility--such things only happen in penny dreadfuls,” and she went smilingly down the furrowed road and soon disappeared round a sharp corner.

When she was well out of sight she sat down on a big stone. “Poor things,” she thought, “I’ll give them a little time to themselves; they deserve it after the brave way they behaved. There is no doubt about it they are badly in love with each other; but how in the world will it end? They can’t possibly marry, of course; Iris would never be allowed to do such a thing--though I am not sure that they could stop her if she really wanted to. The way he looks at her when he thinks himself unobserved! And she is properly in love with him too, but then--he really is so handsome--and such a perfect dear! I wonder what they are doing now--not discussing snakes I’ll be bound.”

HERMANDIE RIVER.]

“Iris,” said the driver when they had stowed the baskets away in the buggy, “I have not thanked you yet for saving my life.”

“I didn’t, I only passed you a piece of wood. You saved it yourself by being so brave and strong--you saved ours too--we have not thanked you either,” she replied with a tremulous smile.

“I don’t want to be thanked.”

“Never mind about the snake; let us follow Amy’s example and forget it--only I must say how splendid you always are,” she exclaimed with undisguised admiration.

His face brightened. “If you go on praising me like this, I shall begin to--blush also,” he said with a sudden twinkle in his eyes.

At the reference to her blushes, her cheeks grew warm again.

“But, Iris, why wouldn’t you allow your cousin to tell me the joke about your--marrying--a bushranger?” he asked, the twinkle still between his dark lashes.

“I didn’t want you to hear about it--it was so horrid.”

“What was horrid, your marrying a bushranger, or--my hearing about it?” he said, still smiling.

The warm blood mounted to her face again. “Both, of course--I mean----”

“Do you think it would be _very_ horrid to marry a bushman?”

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” she stammered in confusion.

“You don’t think it would be horrid then?”

“I don’t think it would be horrid to marry any man I--loved,” she said with fine courage.

“Could you love a bushman?”

“Why not--if he were--lovable?”

They had been standing by the buggy talking; now Rees said, “You must not be standing here, come and sit on this cleared bank.”

When he had spread a rug they sat down and for a while remained silently looking into the green tangle of undergrowth. Into the stillness came floating a clear flute-like note.

“That is the white magpie calling to its mate,” Rees said with his eyes still on the scented shrubs. “Happy birds!” he sighed. “Happy birds! they live their own free joyous lives, unfettered, unhampered--they mate, sing and--kiss.”

Iris stirred uneasily, but she did not speak.

After a pause another flute-like call fell upon the pregnant stillness, followed almost immediately by a tender response.

“Iris, did you hear that call, and--the answer?”

“Yes,” she murmured, her face averted.

“Iris--speak to me--please speak to me--use my name as I am using yours,” he said with restless intensity.

“I do not know your name.” His vehemence had curiously confused her.

“You don’t know it--how strange!”

“No, you have never told me and no one uses it here, so how could I know?”

“Justin is my name: please use it.”

“Thank you, I should like to.”

“Say it then.”

There came a silence.

“Iris,” he began, “please say it?”

“Some other time,” she faltered.

“Please say it now.”

Again there fell a throbbing pause.

“Are you punishing me because I--I--took that liberty this afternoon?” and he gazed fondly at the slim white hand he had held in his own a little while ago.

His companion suddenly looked down at it too.

“Of course not,” she said softly.

“Then are you trying to show me, that I must never--do it again?”

The well-poised head sank lower. “No.” He hardly caught the word.

“I may do it again then?”

“If--you care to.”

“Oh, Iris, you are too good to me--how little I deserve it! And yet you will not call me by my name.”

“Oh, Justin!” she faltered, catching her breath.

“You darling!” he said in scarcely audible tones, and she saw a tremor pass through him.

Some heavily pulsating moments went by, then he spoke again. “Iris--I wonder if you really understand where you and I are drifting?”

“I think so,” she said, with drooping lashes.

“And you do not mind?”

“What is the use?”

“Oh, Iris!” he broke out remorsefully: “I have no right to ask you all these questions--would to Heaven I had!”

At that moment Mrs. Henderson appeared at the bend of the road.

“Have you finished packing up? Isn’t it time to start home?” she inquired.

“That is of course as you like,” replied the driver a little absently.

“Well, then, I think we had better go. I hope you two haven’t been thinking about the reptile _all_ the time I have been away. It is so bad for one’s nerves to dwell on horrors; it brings nightmare, and it is unlucky to dream of snakes.”