THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS
 
 Sol sef out to look for the chestnut colt.
 
 THE MYSTERY OF 
 THE HILLS 
 
 BY 
 
 RUBY M. DOYLE 
 
 SYDNEY 
 
 W. C. PENFOLD & CO. LTD. 
 
 183 PITT STREET 
 1919
 
 Printed by 
 W. C. Penfold & Co. Ltd., 183 Pitt Street, Sydney
 
 Stack 
 
 TO 
 W. R. CHARLTON, ESQ. 
 
 Editor of the "Sydney Mail" 
 
 Who has always given me warm encouragement 
 and practical help 
 
 17S1791
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. INTRODUCES AGNES AND ANNETTE - i 
 
 II. VINTAGE TIME AT TARAWINGEE - 6 
 
 III. THE LOVERS ------ 19 
 
 IV. THE VINTAGE BALL - - - - 33 
 
 V. CONFIDENCES - 55 
 
 VI. A VISIT TO BTuNGAY 69 
 VII. THE KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 82 
 
 VIII. AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL - - 99 
 
 IX. JEALOUSY - - - - - - 119 
 
 X. HEARTACHE - - - - - - 138 
 
 XL CYNICISM ___.-- 148 
 
 XII. IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS - 153 
 
 XIII. THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON - - 174 
 
 XIV. AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS - - 195 
 XV. INTRODUCES DARK BEN - - -210 
 
 XVI. WHEREIN AGNES FINDS COMFORT - 227 
 
 XVII. THE BUSH FIRE ----- 233 
 
 XVIII. SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE CHESTNUT 
 
 COLT ------ 267
 
 Vlll 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 XXVIL 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 TOM MARCHMONT MAKES A DIS- 
 COVERY ------ 279 
 
 THE ELECTION - - - - - 292 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES - - 311 
 
 REVENGE 321 
 
 THE SKELETON IN THE MARCHMONT 
 
 CUPBOARD 331 
 
 ARTHUR MARCH MONT'S LAST AD- 
 VENTURE - 341 
 
 THE MYSTERY GROWS CLEARER - - 347 
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE PLATEAU - - 350 
 
 ZILLAH'S RETURN ----- 356 
 
 HAPPINESS ------ 360
 
 CHAPTER I 
 INTRODUCES AGNES AND ANNETTE 
 
 IT was at that time of the year when the shy 
 feathered denizens of the forest were 
 building their nests, when the orchards 
 were heavy in bloom, and the wild Kennedia 
 purpled every road and rough bush track. The 
 little girl's fingers ached to undo the stiff strings 
 of her bonnet. Annette tried to catch her 
 sister's eyes to ask if she might, but her sister 
 had evidently forgotten that she was sitting 
 there so straight, too on her high, stiff- 
 backed chair. 
 
 Her sister and the lady whom they were 
 visiting had been talking a very long time, the 
 little girl thought. She had grown tired of 
 gazing at the pictures and the big vases in the 
 fireplace, all gold, with wonderful birds circling 
 round them. Even the beautiful collection of 
 wax flowers standing under their glass shade in 
 the centre of the round table failed to enthrall 
 her any longer. She slipped from her chair and 
 walked softly across the white matting to one
 
 2 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 of the open windows. There were a great 
 many, for the room was very large. Annette 
 went to one that looked out upon the garden. 
 A delightful little building stood not far off, 
 filled with birds, gay and sombre feathered, the 
 sound of their twittering voices rising sweet and 
 clear in the noon silence. 
 
 In her sudden interest Annette forgot that 
 her sister and the lady were talking, their voices 
 now high, now low. The faint tinkle of silver 
 upon china sent her eyes roving to the far end 
 of the room. A maid was busily arranging a 
 tea table. Annette felt her weariness suddenly 
 deserting her as she saw the big iced cake and 
 the plate of thin bread and butter. She glanced 
 at Agnes. How pretty she was! That sweet 
 sprigged muslin showed up the whiteness of her 
 skin, and the forget-me-nots on it were not 
 bluer than her eyes. Annette felt proud of her 
 sister. She herself was so dark, with brown 
 eyes and hands stained liked walnuts. She 
 sighed ever so little ; but with that iced cake in 
 the near future who could be sad ? She felt 
 very prim and good that afternoon. There was 
 not a spot on her own short white frock and, 
 except for the starch that Katrin had put in her 
 bonnet strings, she would have been perfectly 
 happy.
 
 INTRODUCES AGNES AND ANNETTE 3 
 
 One of the French windows opening on to 
 the verandah suddenly flew wide open, and two 
 boys rushed in helter-skelter, one in hot pursuit 
 of the other. Annette drew back in alarm. 
 What rude creatures they were ! A howl from 
 the pursued one brought his mother to the 
 rescue. 
 
 "Benjamin," she said, "why did you hit 
 Thomas?" 
 
 "Didn't" said Benjamin sulkily, as he scowled 
 at Agnes. 
 
 "You did," roared his brother. 
 
 Suddenly they were aware of Annette's 
 presence. A girl! There was no mistaking 
 the glance of scorn in Benjamin's hazel eyes. 
 He promptly retired under the sofa. Thomas 
 foolishly sat on it and stared at her. Even 
 under her brown skin Annette felt the colour 
 rising, and she moved nearer Agnes. 
 
 "Tired, dear?" asked her sister kindly, as she 
 undid the annoying strings, and took the bonnet 
 off. 
 
 For a second Annette breathed quite evenly; 
 then Thomas jumped like a jack-in-the-box and 
 split the air with his yells. Mrs. Marchmont 
 rushed to the sofa. 
 
 Agnes laughed quietly to herself, and
 
 4 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 smoothed the crumpled strings of Annette's 
 sun-bonnet. 
 
 "He he pinched me," bellowed Thomas. 
 
 "Never," muttered a voice under the sofa. 
 
 "Benjamin," said his mother, "go upstairs to 
 the bathroom ; and, Thomas, sit on the other side 
 of the room." 
 
 Annette waited to see the culprit crawl out; 
 but Benjamin did not stir. Her eyes grew 
 round in alarm. Two fibs in one afternoon, and 
 frank disobedience on top of them ! What a 
 bad little boy he must be! She almost dropped 
 her piece of cake as she saw his eyes glaring up 
 at her from under the sofa. 
 
 Mrs. Marchmont was talking again to Agnes. 
 
 Just then Hal, her big brother came in, and 
 while he was there, Benjamin allowed Annette 
 to eat her cake in peace. 
 
 Then Agnes tied her bonnet on again and 
 they went out to where the horses waited with 
 the double buggy. 
 
 "You have a long drive," said Mrs. March- 
 mont. 
 
 "Yes," laughed Agnes, "twenty very rough 
 ones, but we felt we could not pass Tarawingee 
 without calling in." 
 
 "I am always glad to see you, Agnes," replied 
 Mrs. Marchmont. Kissing Annette and helping
 
 INTRODUCES AGNES AND ANNETTE 5 
 
 her up the high step, she put a parcel into the 
 little girl's hands, and smiled into brown eyes 
 which danced in pleasant anticipation as their 
 owner stammered shy thanks. Glancing up, she 
 saw Benjamin and Thomas staring at her from 
 a window. Their heads disappeared at once, 
 and though she hurt her neck gazing back and 
 waving to Mrs. Marchmont, she did not see 
 them again. 
 
 It grew dark as they drove home. At a 
 funny old way-side house they pulled up and 
 had tea. 
 
 "Just 'am and heggs," the stout old landlady 
 promised them, "and a slice of bacon for a 
 rilish." 
 
 Annette was not allowed the slice of bacon at 
 night, but the sight of her new doll proved ample 
 recompense. 
 
 "What a kind lady Mrs. Marchmont is," she 
 whispered to Agnes across the table. But 
 Agnes was staring dreamily out through the 
 open door at the deepening twilight, and did not 
 seem to hear her for she only murmured, "the 
 vintage ball." 
 
 Hal laughed kindly at the little girl's puzzled 
 expression, and soon after they were once more 
 driving along a shadowy forest road.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 VINTAGE TIME AT TARAWINGEE 
 
 VALLEY and hill wilted under February's 
 heat. Orchards, drooping with their 
 burden of fruit, dotted the ridges in vast 
 irregular patches. Beneath still leaves birds 
 sucked luscious juices, boring holes through 
 soft ripe skins. Lower than the orchards, and 
 running along the flats and lesser ridges, were 
 the vineyards. They stretched for miles, 
 divided only by low grey fences or thin stone 
 walls. 
 
 In Tarawingee vineyards the grape pickers 
 worked deftly, swiftly, and save for an occas- 
 ional word or short laugh, almost silently. Men 
 and boys, stationed at intervals, discharged 
 small shot into the air as chattering flocks of 
 birds descended upon the vineyard. With cries 
 of alarm the feathered thieves would circle 
 longingly over this El Dorado, then rise with 
 a whirr of frightened wings into the blue of a 
 cloudless sky, while the men refilled their guns 
 in readiness for the next battalion.
 
 VINTAGE TIME AT TARAWINGEE 7 
 
 In the cellars beneath the house the air was 
 resonant with speech and laughter, rough mirth 
 and sometimes rougher words. Benjamin and 
 Thomas, listening, small eyes and ears alert, felt 
 that manhood must surely be a grand pinnacle 
 wherefrom to view the world. On Benjamin 
 the words jarred unconsciously, and the laughter 
 was often incomprehensible, yet he longed to 
 be a man. 
 
 Thomas, watching with young dreamy eyes, 
 felt the bustle of life and the fever of accom- 
 plishment running through his youthful veins, 
 and wooed his adolescence subconsciously and 
 with deep secret longing. Both to Benjamin 
 and Thomas the men were well nigh demi-gods. 
 
 Old Tim, the sailor, was a hero of romance, 
 with countless sea yarns of stirring adventure 
 stored within his iron-grey head. His much 
 tattooed arms were a very necessary adjunct to 
 the charm. 
 
 Sol, the head stockman, was a veritable king. 
 With his long, crooked nose, thin, wide mouth, 
 his high nasal voice, and an eye with its 
 occasional squint, he represented to the boys all 
 that was enchanting in the great Bushland of 
 their country all its mystery, its sadness, its 
 mirth, its deep inscrutability, as it watched men 
 and women brave its frank disapproval of their
 
 8 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 further encroachment into its silent, tree-locked 
 heart. 
 
 These two, above, the rest, the boys loved. 
 The others migrated from one vineyard to 
 another; Sol and Tim were fixtures, having 
 lived many years at Tarawingee, or on its out 
 stations. 
 
 Thud thud down went the great crushers 
 in the grape filled vats. Purple juice stained 
 the feet and hands of the men, squirting even 
 to their heated faces. Kegs filled with the 
 bursting lobes were emptied in one after another, 
 to be reduced to pulp by the heavy crushers. 
 Benjamin, eating his bunch of grapes in a corner 
 of the cellar, snuffed the fragrance of the air 
 until his dark, curly head began to ache ; but he 
 stayed on, not wishing to leave this delightful 
 place, pungent with fermenting juice, purple 
 and slippery with fruit stains. 
 
 Thomas, feeling it too overpowering, got 
 down from his perch on an overturned wine keg, 
 and walking stiffly past his brother, ascended a 
 flight of stone steps and so emerged into the 
 heat and beauty of the day. Under the acacias 
 the shadows played hide-and-seek with the 
 golden sun-shafts, and here on the cemented 
 pathway leading to the house, Thomas paused 
 to survey his pet cockatoo. The cockatoo
 
 paused also in its slow and dignified ramble, and 
 eyed Thomas up and down with an air of great 
 thoughtfulness. Was it a teasing, petting or 
 scolding he read in his young master's eye? His 
 topknot of yellow feathers rose stiffly in his per- 
 plexity, and he put out a hard little tongue once 
 or twice before remarking, "Clear the way, clear 
 the way." 
 
 Thomas laughed. "How are you, Cocky?" 
 he asked, stooping quickly. With a swift back- 
 ward run the bird answered politely, "Quite 
 well, thank you. How's yourself?" 
 
 "Very sleepy," answered the boy, catching his 
 pet, who resisted slightly, muttering: "Let me 
 go! Let me go! Can't you 'ear me?" As 
 Thomas refused to heed, the old bird pecked 
 at him. "Grapes," he screamed. "I want 
 grapes. Can't you 'ear me?" Thomas turned 
 and retraced his steps back to the cellar. 
 
 "Throw me a bunch of grapes, Ben," he called, 
 "Cocky wants some." 
 
 His brother walked languidly to a cask, se- 
 lected a small bunch and threw it across. Cocky 
 forestalled his master's outstretched hand, 
 catching the bunch in his strong grey beak. 
 
 "Ain't they fine," he screamed, gobbling a few 
 greedily. 
 
 "Yes, ain't they?" said one of the men, as
 
 io THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 he emptied another keg of grapes into one of 
 the deep vats. "Be keerful, Cocky, or you'll be 
 three sheets in the wind afore yer know where 
 yer are." 
 
 Cocky was too busy enjoying himself to take 
 any notice. 
 
 "Thomas, Thomas," a voice was calling from 
 somewhere overhead. 
 
 "Yes, mother, coming!" he answered, slowly 
 ascending the steps once more to the cemented 
 pathway. 
 
 "What have you done with your father's gold 
 paint?" called his mother impatiently. "He is 
 in the drawing room waiting for it." 
 
 The boy walked slowly towards the aviary, 
 which showed plainly through the small wicket 
 gate at the lower end of the pathway. He had 
 been painting the canary's swinging bars, and 
 had forgotten to replace the bottle of gold paint 
 on his father's shelf. 
 
 "Hurry," his father's voice could be heard 
 from one of the drawing room windows. 
 
 Up the cemented pathway once more and up, 
 up a great flight of shallow stone steps to the 
 cool dark hallway. He found his father very 
 busy decorating the drawing room. Pictures 
 were off the walls and standing along the side 
 waiting to be re-gilt ; vases were being touched
 
 VINTAGE TIME AT TARAWINGEE 11 
 
 up and dusted, rosewood chairs and cabinets of 
 walnut shone beautifully from their recent 
 polishing. An antimacassar of some rich yellow 
 Indian stuff trailed on the floor. Thomas inad- 
 vertently tripped over it. 
 
 "What are you doing?" asked his father 
 sharply, "Use your eyes, boy. Here bring the 
 paint and hold this picture while I gild the 
 frame. I don't know what makes them get 
 black so quickly." 
 
 The boy did as his father bade him. His 
 mother 'entered the room presently with a cup 
 of milk and a slice of cake in her hands. 
 
 "Take it away, Louisa," said her husband 
 testily. "You spoil the boy. Can't you see he 
 is assisting me?" 
 
 But Thomas had seized the cake and buried 
 his nose in the cup. "Thank you, mum," he 
 said, handing it back. 
 
 "Well, Henry," said Mrs. Marchmont, ad- 
 dressing her husband, "What changes are we to 
 have in here?" Her eyes were on the waiting 
 pictures and on the vases ranged in a row beside 
 the fireplace. 
 
 Mr. Marchrnont laid aside his small brush and 
 turned to show his wife his freshly planned im- 
 provements. His was a nature in which the 
 artistic element predominated. Highly cul-
 
 12 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 tured, with a strong leaning towards a public 
 career, he was entirely out of his element as 
 merely the country gentleman. An unexpected 
 legacy had caused him to throw up his pro- 
 fession of law in the city, and in middle life 
 he had settled down to learn the management 
 of the land, and of wine-making in particular. 
 If ever there was a case of a square peg in a 
 round hole, his was one. Transplanted from his 
 rightful environment in the busy city centres, 
 where his brain found itself with others as quick, 
 the bush wild, silent, inexpressibly monotonous 
 to such a man seemed to exercise a deteriora- 
 ting influence on his whole nature. For a time 
 he struggled valiantly against it, organized and 
 attended meetings for the good of the district, 
 erected churches, built houses, halls and schools 
 in many a small settlement devoid of them, 
 arranged his house to pink of perfection, and 
 upset it again merely for the pleasure of repeat- 
 ing his work. 
 
 While he busied himself like this, his wife did 
 not see the huge mistake he had made. She 
 was content to think him happy. And for a 
 time, wrapped up in his new life, and full of 
 rightfully placed zeal for the country and his 
 own special district in particular, he really did 
 imagine himself happy. That jealousy which
 
 VINTAGE TIME AT TARAWINGEE 13 
 
 often baulked him in his cherished plans, but 
 served to encourage him to further efforts. 
 
 Just now he was fixing his drawing room for 
 the ball, which every year marked the close of 
 the vintage. His wife left it entirely to him, 
 perfectly sure that "Henry" knew better than 
 anyone what should be done. Her part was to 
 admire and praise. 
 
 While his father showed his mother the 
 various changes he intended making, Thomas 
 slipped from the room and retired with a book 
 to a tiny alcove in the dining room. Both 
 parents failed to notice his departure. 
 
 "See, Louisa," said Mr. Marchmont, "I mean 
 to have this piano drawn out of the corner 
 where you so foolishly had it placed." He 
 paused here, so that Louisa might recognize her 
 foolishness. 
 
 "I see, Henry. Yes, it does muffle the sound 
 when it is so close to the wall." answered his 
 wife, pleasantly. 
 
 "Of course," said Mr. Marchmont, drawing 
 out a silk handkerchief to stifle a sudden sneeze. 
 
 "The back shall be draped with that beautiful 
 Indian scarf I have. You remember, Louisa?" 
 interrogatively. His wife nodded. "And how 
 is the mantel to be arranged?" she queried with 
 very real interest. Mr. Marchmont turned to
 
 14 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 where an immense pier glass reflected the room 
 behind them. 
 
 "I have not quite made up my mind," he 
 answered with his head on one side, as he 
 studied the possibilities of the mantel. "I may 
 have those tall vases so that one can see their 
 reflection in the glass. They really look ex- 
 tremely well, Louisa." Mr. Marchmont dived 
 to the other end of the room, selected a vase, 
 and placed it in front of the wide mirror. 
 
 "See, Louisa!" he said, standing back to view 
 the effect, with decidedly complacent approval 
 of his own decorative abilities. 
 
 "Yes, very pretty, Henry. You really have 
 excellent taste," praised Mrs. Marchmont, also 
 standing back and admiring the poise of the 
 handsome vase. Beautiful pottery was a craze 
 with her husband. The house was filled with 
 curiously-shaped bowls, jugs, vases, some 
 brilliant, almost bizarre in colouring, others so 
 delicate that one was afraid to touch them. Of 
 pictures, too, he was passionately fond, and not 
 a few really good ones were to be found 
 scattered throughout the house. 
 
 "We will have the centre of the floor polished 
 for dancing," continued Mr. Marchmont, moving 
 a chair of dark rosewood as he spoke. "These," 
 indicating settees, sofas, chairs and stools, "can
 
 VINTAGE TIME AT TARAWINGEE 15 
 
 be either placed round the walls or can stand in 
 the hall. Some can go on the verandah. I 
 trust you are seeing to the supper, Louisa?" 
 
 "I'm sure it will surpass any we have yet had," 
 answered his wife, stooping to pick up the silken 
 antimacassar. "Don't worry over it, Henry. 
 When will this be finished? Remember, the 
 Wiseman's and Arthur Wilsonholme arrive 
 to-day." 
 
 "Do they? Well Agnes Wiseman will be 
 able to come and appreciate my efforts. She 
 really is a very intelligent girl, I find. Do you 
 not think so?" 
 
 "She is a very sweet girl," said his wife 
 moving towards the door. 
 
 "Louisa!" Her husband's voice echoed after 
 her as she went down the hall. 
 
 "Yes, Henry?" 
 
 "Send one of those boys in here, will you? I 
 want him to hold this picture while I re-gild 
 the frame." 
 
 Thomas in his alcove heard, but instead of 
 going to his father's assistance he drew the dull 
 red curtains closer across the opening of the 
 recess. "Bother," he murmured, inaudibly. 
 
 "Thomas, Thomas," his mother's voice floated 
 through the room. "Where are you, Thomas?" 
 Receiving no answer, she went down the hall,
 
 16 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 and presently Thomas heard her calling, "Ben- 
 jamin! Benjamin! Your father wants you." 
 
 Thomas forgot to listen whether his brother 
 answered the summons, for just then he arrived 
 at a thrilling chapter in his book. 
 
 It was late in the afternoon when the Wise- 
 man's arrived. Benjamin saw them driving 
 down the road from the gate at the top of the 
 paddock. Behind the buggy rode a solitary 
 horseman. 
 
 Hands behind his back, Mr. Marchmont was 
 perambulating under the acacias evolving some 
 drastic scheme for the annihilation of cater- 
 pillars. They had eaten his vines badly that 
 year. He was quite unaware of the fact that 
 Thomas walked behind him, holding a stone 
 between his grubby fingers. In his turn Thomas 
 was not aware that the white cockatoo, won- 
 dering what it was all about, had strolled up to 
 investigate, and now strutted solemnly behind 
 his young master with a viligant eye on develop- 
 ments. "A slight solution of turpentine, per- 
 haps," mused Mr. Marchmont, aloud, fixing his 
 coat-tails and clasping his hands, palm outwards, 
 behind his back. Thomas gently dropped the 
 stone into them. The cockatoo saw and darted 
 swiftly at the boy's heels, retiring before he had 
 quite reached them.
 
 17 
 
 Undisturbed, Mr. Marchmont calmly let the 
 stone fall to the ground, and continued his 
 meditations. Thomas quietly picked up the 
 stone and proceeded after his father. The 
 cockatoo strolled after Thomas. 
 
 "Turpentine," said Mr. Marchmont, pausing 
 a moment, "mixed with a little acetic acid, 
 ought to have some effect if sprinkled over the 
 leaves." Thomas grinned and gently placed 
 the stone again into the open hand. Again the 
 cockatoo darted at his master's heels in pre- 
 tended annoyance. Mr. Marchmont's reverie 
 was very deep, for again the stone rolled noisily 
 on the cement. For a quarter of an hour this 
 little comedy had been going on, the cockatoo 
 entering into the fun of the thing and darting 
 at the boy's heels each time he put the stone 
 into his unconscious parent's hands. 
 
 Benjamin had bolted to the buggy-shed, and 
 with his eye glued on an opening between two 
 slabs, watched the approaching visitors, but did 
 not see Thomas and his father. Gazing up the 
 paddock, his quick eye espied Annette seated 
 between her sister and brother. 
 
 "Bother it," he muttered, "that girl coming 
 again !" 
 
 He watched Hal leap from the buggy and lift 
 her out, then saw his mother come from the
 
 house, arrayed in her pretty lilac silk, and take 
 the little girl in her arms and kiss her. 
 
 "Poof," said Benjamin, "what on earth are 
 girls good for?" 
 
 His father, Thomas and the cockatoo came 
 into line of vision. With a mad rush and an 
 Indian war-whoop, he ran from the shed and 
 tore down upon his brother and the cockatoo. 
 "Make way for the Bengal tiger," he yelled 
 frantically. 
 
 The cockatoo fled with a screech of rage. 
 Thomas dodged, and Mr. Marchmont stood still 
 in astonishment. "Boys," he began severely, then 
 saw the visitors, and went over to join his wife 
 in welcoming them. The horseman had dis- 
 mounted and was busy unsaddling. Annette, 
 the little girl was watching him critically. 
 
 Some time after, as she sat with her sister 
 Agnes at the open window of their bedroom, 
 gazing over the green fields and darker vine- 
 yards and at the undulating hills, purple in the 
 distance, she saw two boys on spirited taffy 
 ponies scampering madly about the paddocks. 
 
 "Agnes," said Annette gravely, "are boys any 
 good?" 
 
 Laughing, Agnes kissed her sister's brown 
 curls.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 THE LOVERS 
 
 THE following day was a very busy one. 
 Men and maids ran hither and thither, 
 directed now by Mrs. Marchmont from 
 the kitchen, where she presided in a whirlwind 
 of preparation, or by Mr. Marchmont, who, 
 aided by Agnes, Arthur Wilsonholme and a more 
 recently arrived visitor, was putting the 
 finishing touches to the big drawing room. 
 Hospitable and excited, Mr. Marchmont 
 bustled from corner to corner of the immense 
 room, now summoning Agnes to admire a pic- 
 ture or to express her opinion as to suitable 
 positions for chairs and sofas, anon setting 
 Arthur Wilsonholme to extracting stray tacks 
 left in the floor, and overlooked since the lifting 
 of the carpet. The third visitor, a tall grey- 
 haired man busied himself by spilling some 
 polishing mixture over the floor. This, he 
 tested, every now and then, by performing a 
 step from the schottische. 
 
 "I trust it is right, Mr. Antrobus?" said his 
 host at last, as he turned with Agnes from 
 
 19
 
 20 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 arranging the silk antimacassar to even greater 
 perfection. 
 
 "Splendid, splendid, Mr. Marchmont," answer- 
 ed his guest glancing up with a smile. His eyes 
 rested on Agnes's fair face instead of Mr. March- 
 mont's heated visage. Agnes smiled back at 
 him. 
 
 "You and Arthur are delightfully busy," she 
 said gaily. 
 
 Wilsonholme looked up from the obstinate 
 tack with which he was just then struggling and 
 also smiled. "Awfully hard some of them," 
 he gasped as the tack came out with a jerk that 
 threw him back on to his heels. Agnes laughed 
 merrily, and the young man flushed quickly. 
 
 "Come now, that's too bad, Miss Wiseman?" 
 expostulated Guy Antrobus. 
 
 "What is it?" enquired Mr. Marchmont 
 hastily. He had not noticed the young fellow's 
 confusion, so occupied had he been with his final 
 touches to the room. 
 
 "Nothing, nothing," growled Arthur Wilson- 
 holme, who was bending over another tack to 
 hide his heated face from Agnes's quizzing eyes. 
 
 "Where is Mr. Forbes?" asked Mr. March- 
 mont presently. But no one heeded his question, 
 for just then a trio of warmly flushed girls en- 
 tered the room. They had been helping Mrs.
 
 THE LOVERS 21 
 
 Marchmont in the pantry. Mischief gleamed 
 in their eyes, merriment in their smiling faces. 
 
 "Agnes," they cried all together, "Mrs. 
 Marchmont would like you to see if there are 
 any ferns in the fernery that would look well in 
 here or in the hall. Can you go?" 
 
 "Yes, I think so," answered Agnes, wondering 
 for a moment why they had not gone them- 
 selves. 
 
 "Mr. Antrobus and Mr. Wilsonholme," cried 
 the girls simultaneously as both seemed about 
 to follow Agnes from the room. "Would you 
 be so kind as to ." 
 
 Agnes did not hear the end of the sentence, 
 for at that moment she tripped over the hem of 
 her frock and tore it so badly that she was 
 obliged to go to her room for a needle. 
 
 The whole house was rilled with the noise and 
 bustle of preparation, though strange to say, the 
 voices of Benjamin and Thomas could not be 
 heard. They had gone fishing in the creek 
 which ran past the house at the foot of the 
 garden. At breakfast they had remarked loudly 
 that girls would be in the way, so Annette, who 
 secretly longed to go, had taken her doll into 
 the garden, where she now sat, beneath one of 
 the huge pines which grew there. She was a 
 happy little soul, and drew much amusement
 
 22 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 from watching the scampering maids and 
 bustling men. The excited form of Mr. March- 
 mont made her feel she wanted to laugh, and 
 the slender, pretty figure of Mrs. Marchmont 
 brought a tender smile about her childish lips. 
 As she sat there, with the wind whispering in 
 the pine branches overhead, she was suddenly 
 aware of a tall young man walking down the 
 path. He did not appear to see her, for he was 
 gazing straight ahead and was whistling gaily. 
 "He looks like a Prince in my book of fairy 
 tales," said Annette to her doll. "I wonder if 
 he will see me. If we sit as quiet as mice, he 
 might go by, dolly." She leaned against the 
 pine tree and watched the young man approach. 
 Quite suddenly he saw her. 
 
 "Hullo!" he said, pausing in his brisk walk. 
 
 "Good morning," said Annette primly, 
 arranging her doll's pinafore so that the lace 
 might show to better advantage. 
 
 "Who are you?" asked the young man 
 curiously. 
 
 "Annette Wiseman," answered the little girl 
 with a slight effort over the long names. 
 
 "Ho! ho! are you?" he cried, coming closer 
 and eyeing her frankly. 
 
 "And this is Annette Wiseman's doll?" he
 
 THE LOVERS 23 
 
 queried, gaily smiling, so that Annette could see 
 his gold-filled teeth. 
 
 "Yes," she nodded, "her name is Muriel." 
 
 "Ho! ho!" suddenly sitting down beside the 
 little girl and picking Muriel up so that he might 
 see her beautiful eyes. Annette felt sure that 
 that was the reason. 
 
 "I wonder if Annette Wiseman has seen any- 
 one go past?" The young man tilted his straw 
 hat over his eyes and look quizzically down 
 upon her. 
 
 "Only Sol," she answered slowly. 
 
 "H'm," he mused. "They told me she went 
 along this path to the plum trees. It is quite 
 possible they were having a little fun on my 
 account.'' 
 
 "Sure ?" he questioned Annette, again bending 
 towards her. 
 
 "Yes," she said, her child's eyes round and 
 very serious. "Only old Sol and the boys went 
 to the creek with their fishing rods." 
 
 "Ho! ho!" cried the young man again. "Old 
 Sol and the boys !" 
 
 Annette wondered why he said "Ho! ho!" so 
 very often. Certainly it \vas like someone in 
 her book of fairy tales, but instead of the prince 
 it was the wicked magician. He did not seem 
 like a magician, and certainly not a wicked one. 
 c
 
 24 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Annette eyed him, nai've curiosity in her gaze. 
 She liked the way his hair waved across his fore- 
 head and the merry laugh in his eyes. She was 
 not quite sure about his smile, but his teeth were 
 certainly even and white. 
 
 "I suppose that is why he s ," she stopped 
 
 all at once and blushed. 
 
 "What?" he said, as though busy thinking of 
 something else. 
 
 "Nothing," answered the little girl shyly, glad 
 that she had escaped making so rude a remark. 
 
 "Here she is," cried the young man suddenly, 
 a new expression coming into his face. 
 
 "Who?" asked Annette, glancing up quickly. 
 "Why, its only Agnes," sudden delight in her 
 eyes, but quite at a loss as to why this young 
 man wanted her sister. She belonged solely to 
 Annette. The young man was standing now, 
 his hat off, a smile on his face. 
 
 "Only ," Annette heard him say in a low 
 voice as he went to meet Agnes. 
 
 "Poor Agnes," thought Annette. "How hot 
 she is! She has been working very hard. She 
 must rest after lunch, or she will be too tired 
 to dance to-night." 
 
 But, as Agnes and the young man met, the 
 little girl saw that the hot colour died from her 
 sister's face, leaving it pale, almost colourless.
 
 THE LOVERS 25 
 
 "They told me ," Agnes began hurriedly, 
 then stopped. 
 
 "Yes, they told me, too," laughed the young 
 man. 
 
 "That Mrs. Marchmont wished me to come 
 and choose some ferns from the fernery," said 
 Agnes, the colour flitting back into her face. 
 
 "They told me," said her companion, "that 
 you were down here picking plums." 
 
 "Did they?" said Agnes, in consternation. 
 "Why, the plums are all picked." 
 
 "I don't doubt it," said the young man, his 
 eyes on the girl's fair face. They were walking 
 slowly towards Annette, both suddenly very 
 silent. 
 
 "I have just had the extreme pleasure of intro- 
 ducing myself to Miss Annette Wiseman and 
 Miss Muriel Wiseman," observed the young 
 man politely, as they paused near the ladies in 
 question. 
 
 "Have you?" said Agnes, sweet laughter 
 edging her lips. "They are two darlings, aren't 
 they?" with a sunny smile at her small sister. 
 
 "I recognize their value straight away," he 
 answered, smiling also. 
 
 "I don't like him," thought Annette, and 
 wondered why. 
 
 "Well er shall we pick more plums, or
 
 26 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 shall we go to the fernery?" asked the young 
 man pensively. 
 
 "I am not sure," said Agnes, hastily, half 
 turning towards the house. "We are both here 
 under false pretences. Perhaps I had better 
 return." 
 
 "Return !" disappointment in his voice. "No, 
 Agnes, not yet; let's grasp this opportunity, 
 free from curious eyes." 
 
 "Mr. Forbes!" Agnes' voice was just a trifle 
 severe and distant. 
 
 "Miss Wiseman!" he answered, swift con- 
 trition in his tone and attitude. Agnes hesitated, 
 uncertainty in the poise of her slender body. 
 "I think,, perhaps, if we do go on to the 
 fernery " she began slowly. 
 
 "Yes, yes," the young man's voice was 
 jubilant. 
 
 "You may carry some of those big hanging 
 pots of fern back to the house for me," said 
 Agnes, quietly mischievous. 
 
 His face fell. "Nothing else?" he queried. 
 
 "What else is there to carry back?" asked the 
 girl, wilfully dense. 
 
 "If you will but answer the question I asked 
 you a few months ago, I shall have much to 
 carry back in my heart," he answered, ardent 
 eyes on her flushing cheek.
 
 THE LOVERS 27 
 
 ''Hush." murmured Agnes, moving on, her 
 eyes on Annette's wondering face. Mr. Forbes 
 walked by Agnes' side. 
 
 Agnes glanced back. "Will you be happy 
 there, dear?" she asked. 
 
 The little girl nodded. She realized for the 
 first time that her sister had other interests in 
 the world besides her own small self, and the 
 realization hurt. As they went she hugged her 
 dolly to her, whispering in a small tense voice. 
 "I hate him, dolly; I hate him." 
 
 The pine needles were thick upon the path 
 as Agnes and her escort walked beneath the 
 towering trees. A tiny breeze moved the upper 
 branches, and the whisper of the birds came 
 faintly earthward. 
 
 ''Would you care much if I gave you a heavy 
 burden to carry back in your heart?" Agnes 
 asked. 
 
 For a moment Bertram Forbes searched her 
 face silently. "I do not think you are cruel," 
 he said at last. 
 
 "Sometimes I have been," said Agnes. "Once 
 I killed a bee." His merry laugh disturbed the 
 birds and set them chattering noisily. 
 
 "Killed a bee!" he said. "Is that all, Agnes, 
 my Agnes?" tenderness in his voice and the 
 swift step nearer her.
 
 28 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Agnes flushed. "Yes," she said, "I did. I 
 have killed other things, too, deliberately." 
 
 "Never a heart," said the young man gently. 
 "You would not toy with that, Agnes?" 
 
 The girl turned her face from him, and the 
 slow rose stole to her cheeks and back to the 
 tiny ear nestling under the soft fair hair. Before 
 them the plum trees stood, green and cool, and 
 a little to the right was the fernery, almost 
 hidden beneath its wilderness of vines. Some- 
 where beyond the plum trees a creek rippled 
 over many stones. 
 
 "Sol and the boys are fishing down there," 
 murmured Agnes, pretending to listen to the 
 water's laugh, yet so sharply conscious of his 
 presence. 
 
 He came closer to her. "They cannot know 
 we are here," he said quietly, restraining him- 
 self, for her very nearness made his pulse beat 
 more quickly. 
 
 "Someone may come from the house at any 
 moment," she murmured a little nervously as 
 she edged nearer the fernery. 
 
 "Not for a while," he answered. "Agnes!" 
 Her name on his lips thrilled her. Yet she 
 kept her face turned from him. The door of 
 the fernery clicked beneath her trembling
 
 THE LOVERS 29 
 
 fingers. "Which ferns shall we take?" she 
 asked, forcing careless speech. 
 
 "What do we care?" he whispered, coming 
 boldly to her, and turning her face to his own. 
 "Agnes, look at me?" 
 
 "I will not," she answered unevenly. "Mr. 
 Forbes, Bertram let me go." 
 
 With a quick low laugh of happiness Bertram 
 Forbes drew her closer to him, until the fair 
 head rested on his shoulder. "I will not let you 
 go, Agnes." he whispered fiercely. "You belong 
 to me alone. Let me see your eyes, dear one. 
 How did you withstand me so long, for I willed 
 you to love me." 
 
 Agnes grew very still. "You willed it?" she 
 whispered, her face lifting slowly to his. 
 "Bertram, are you a magician?" 
 
 "Dear heart," he murmured, laughing, "for 
 your love I would be anything." 
 
 The wind moved the leaves of the plum trees 
 gently. To Agnes each leaf seemed to be 
 watching, whispering. 
 
 "You love me?" Bertram Forbes' question 
 was close to her ear, thrilling her heart. 
 
 W r ith a deep, sweet sigh the girl turned her 
 face to his. "I do," she answered simply. 
 
 Listening to love's tenderness Agnes forgot 
 her small sister sitting so patiently beneath the
 
 30 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 pines. Annette, meanwhile, speculated deeply 
 on the unwelcome appearance of "Mr. Ho, Ho." 
 She remembered him now. He had come once 
 to Bungay, her home, riding on a fine black 
 horse. She remembered how she had secretly 
 admired his legs encased in brand new leggings, 
 and how she envied him his silver riding crop. 
 Now she detested him! The intensity of her 
 dislike brought hot tears to the brown eyes, and 
 her small red lips quivered. 
 
 "Not crying, little girl?" said a kind voice 
 suddenly and unexpectedly. 
 
 Annette bit her lips and glanced up through 
 a mist of tears. Two grey eyes were gazing 
 down at her, holding such a wealth of sympathy 
 in their depths that the little girl's heart un- 
 consciously warmed towards the grey haired 
 gentleman who owned them. 
 
 "No," she answered bravely, and shook her 
 sun-bonnet to further emphasise her denial. 
 
 "Well, I'm glad you're not," said the grey 
 haired gentleman, "for ," and here he sat down 
 beside her , "I almost feared you were just 
 going to." Annette remained silent under his 
 eyes, only, in spite of her. two big tear-drops fell 
 slowly and splashed on to the fair Muriel's lace 
 frills. Fortunately Guy Antrobus did not seem
 
 THE LOVERS 31 
 
 to notice them, and in her immense relief 
 Annette gave one gulp and smothered her grief. 
 
 "I wonder if anyone has passed you, little 
 girl,'' said Guy Antrobus presently, and he 
 looked at her gravely. 
 
 Immediately Annette eyed him suspiciously. 
 "Did you want my sister Agnes?" she asked 
 coldly. 
 
 Guy Antrobus smiled all at once so sunnily 
 that her distrust vanished. "Yes, I did. How 
 did you guess now?" 
 
 Annette's smi-le wavered, vanished, re- 
 appeared shyly, to give way again to a sober 
 expression of disapproval. "Because you won't 
 see her," she said, and hesitated. 
 
 "Why not?" enquired the grey haired gentle- 
 man, as he shaded his eyes with one hand and 
 stared down the path. 
 
 " 'Mr. Ho, Ho' took her away, and and I 
 hate, hate him," said Annette quickly and a little 
 breathlessly, fearing those tell-tale tears might 
 again betray her. 
 
 Her companion was quite silent as he stood 
 up again and gazed down the garden path with 
 an absent far-a-way look in his grey eyes. "Mr. 
 Ho. Ho?" he said enquiringly. 
 
 "He's only Mr. Forbes?" explained Annette. 
 "He's always smiling to show his gold teeth."
 
 32 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 She hated herself because she said it; but then 
 she hated "Mr. Ho, Ho" worse. 
 
 "Indeed!" said Antrobus, and once more his 
 eyes glowed with sympathy, so that Annette 
 stood up, arranged Muriel's dress, and then 
 shyly put her own hand into his. He held it 
 warmly and even squeezed it gently. 
 
 "Shall we see if we can find the white pea- 
 cock?" he asked, absently. 
 
 "Yes," said Annette quickly, for the moment 
 forgetting her deep trouble. 
 
 "It's hiding under the rose bushes, and its so 
 prickly there that I can't stroke its head. I saw 
 it there. Come on!" 
 
 As they went they heard the chatter of gay 
 voices from the drawing room, and saw the head 
 of Mr. Marchmont appear for an instant above 
 the window ledge. But at that moment Annette 
 saw the white peacock emerge from its hiding 
 place and begin slowly to unfurl its wonderful 
 tail.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 
 
 THE floor was polished; the piano stood 
 open. On the table, near the piano, 
 Tim's violin rested within its old black 
 case. The lights in the lamps and the chande- 
 liers were turned low, so that the corners of the 
 drawing room were dark with shadows. Here 
 and there a chair or a cushioned sofa stood 
 forth in bolder relief than its fellows, awaiting 
 silently the merry throng who would rest there 
 awhile, carelessly. 
 
 Round the room the windows were flung high, 
 showing the landscape without, mountains, near 
 and far, standing like huge, dull sapphires, 
 sharply outlined against a greenish sky; tall, 
 silent trees in a mighty ring about the house 
 and garden ; stars peeping furtively between the 
 branches as though anxious to see the very com- 
 mencement of the night's frivolities. To the 
 north the long, black vineyards; to the west, 
 fields of ripening grain. Through one of the 
 
 33
 
 34 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 doors opening from the hall a small white figure 
 stole. Softly tap-tap across the slippery floor 
 little feet came gingerly, half afraid to risk the 
 long walk to the piano. They paused beside 
 the table where Tim's violin rested, small 
 fingers feeling gently in the dusky light. 
 
 Only for a moment, for the open piano was 
 resistless. The chair was low, and Annette 
 slipped easily upon the cushion. Just beside 
 her stood the mantel, its mirror reflecting the 
 vases standing along the marble ledge, the upper 
 portion showing a glimpse of the outside world 
 of trees and mountains and slyly winking stars. 
 Almost immediately the whisper of music stole 
 up and across the room. In the dim light 
 Annette's short fingers moved over the keys. 
 At first she was afraid of disturbing the visitors 
 dressing upstairs. Spasmodic voices staid, 
 worried, flustered, or carelessly gay floated 
 out to the tree tops and were imprisoned there. 
 But gradually Annette forgot everything in her 
 music. Snatches of song, of old fashioned 
 dances, of wild reels and jigs, were woven to- 
 gether in a sort of mesmeric cycle. The child 
 was a born musician. Agnes had long taught 
 her the little she had mastered, but Annette 
 needed small teaching; music rippled from her 
 brain to the slender finger tips unconsciously.
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 35 
 
 Benjamin, sliding noiselessly down the 
 bannisters, hearing music, came stealthily along 
 the hall and peeped in. At first he could not 
 see, then dimly he discerned the small figure at 
 the piano. "That girl !" His eyes could scarce- 
 ly credit it. 
 
 Annette neither saw nor heard him. Her 
 head was bent slightly forward, her fingers 
 feeling the notes tenderly, carefully, for it was 
 growing quite dark outside, and the lights from 
 the lowered lamps shed but a feeble glow over 
 the immense room. As Benjamin crept in and 
 slid into a convenient chair, the strains of an old 
 song stole round the room, lingering in the 
 shadowed corners, circling to the high panelled 
 ceiling, where they seemed to float for a time, 
 then circle back, spiral fashion, to the lower 
 portion of the room, and so wander out through 
 the open windows into the silent night. 
 
 Intense passion for music dominated the boy. 
 Like Annette it entranced him, lifted him from 
 the normal to the abnormal, from the sordid to 
 the sublime, that even the heart of a child dis- 
 cerns. Benjamin thought he had never heard 
 such music. His father could play, but mostly 
 marches and military strains, not the haunting, 
 heart-breaking music that Annette evoked from 
 the creamy notes,
 
 36 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 His eyes were riveted on her small form 
 silhouetted against the open window. Girls, 
 after all, were of some use. Benjamin began 
 to recognize that fact, and the knowledge gave 
 him food for thought. Gay voices came floating 
 down the hall. The boy slipped from the room 
 as noiselessly as he had entered it. Annette 
 ceased playing as a laughing bevy of girls came 
 in. "Shall we turn the lights up?" asked some. 
 
 "What angel has been playing?" the query 
 went round. "Was it Agnes Wiseman?" 
 
 Agnes's laugh rippled above the speaker. 
 "Me ?" she cried gaily. "I cannot play like that. 
 It was Annette." 
 
 "Annette!" Surprised voices echoed the 
 child's name. 
 
 "Do turn up the lights someone, please, and 
 let us see the child prodigy. Is she destined 
 for Germany?" 
 
 "I'm afraid not." Agnes's tone was a little 
 wistful. Annette would not have many advan- 
 tages she knew. 
 
 While they were talking amongst themselves 
 the child slipped from her stool and stole out 
 to the verandah. She had quite two hours 
 before bed time. Should she watch the stars or 
 the dancers? Annette, in her heart, preferred 
 the stars, yet she must see Agnes, who would
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 37 
 
 surely look very beautiful with her new blue 
 sash. 
 
 Mr. Marchmont entered the room. "Dear 
 me, girls," he exclaimed, "beauty in the dark! 
 Let me remedy the matter." The lights went up 
 one by one under his quick fingers. "There," 
 he cried. "Let me see you all. Agnes, my 
 dear, what is your dress?" 
 
 "Just a tarlatan and a blue sash," laughed the 
 girl, pirouetting coquettishly. 
 
 Her cheeks glowed, happiness sparkled in 
 the blue eyes ; it was to be a beautiful night for 
 her a night of nights. She glanced about her. 
 Was any girl there as happy? How pretty they 
 looked! Mavis White, small and shy as a dear 
 white violet; Beatrice Merryfield, tall, dignified, 
 with a calm self possession that was the secret 
 envy of all her girl friends; Myrtle Parry, with 
 the gleaming hair of red-gold Agnes did not 
 care for her much, but she certainly appeared 
 very charming to-night in her dress of shimmer- 
 ing satin and filmy blue gauze. Her eyes rested 
 on a host of others. Everyone had been hos- 
 pitably invited to tea. and had then dressed for 
 the dance at Tarawingee. Their cheery hostess 
 bustled in. "Now then, girls, have you practised 
 your steps? For I hear the men coming across 
 from their quarters."
 
 38 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 A subtle stir seemed to scatter the girls about 
 the room. Violet Langley went to the piano 
 and strummed a lively galop. Beatrice Merry- 
 field posed before the mantel knowing full well 
 that the glass behind reflected her beautiful head 
 and shoulders. Little Mavis White, growing- 
 nervous, retired to a far corner and sat demurely 
 on a sofa designed to hold two only. 
 
 Flushed, but suddenly very calm, Agnes 
 waited quietly near her hostess. The sound 
 of approaching footsteps echoed along the 
 cemented pathway under the acacias. Myrtle 
 Parry crossed the room with her host and 
 glanced through one of the open windows. She 
 caught someone's admiring eyes and drew back 
 in feigned coyness. 
 
 They were at the door now cheery, 
 laughing faces, gay with fun and humour. The 
 room swarmed with young people. Youth was 
 out for a frolic. Sadness and care had buried 
 their heads for the nonce. 
 
 "Where is Tim?" Mr. Marchmont could be 
 heard calling the violinist for the night. 
 
 A hired musician slipped on to the green plush 
 cushion, and ran his fingers lightly down the 
 keyboard, then raised his head and waited for 
 the advent of the indispensable Tim. 
 
 "Tim, Tim !" Mr. Marchmont was growing
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 
 
 39 
 
 anxious. Surely the vintage had not proved 
 too much for the old sailor. 
 
 " 'Ere 'e are." A voice rose above the babel 
 without, and Tim was pushed roughly into the 
 midst of couples arranging the various dances. 
 
 "Come on, Tim," cried Mr. Marchmont, 
 catching him by the arm and escorting him 
 almost affectionately to the corner where the 
 piano stood. 
 
 Tim lifted the violin carefully, tried the 
 strings, the musician beating each note on the 
 piano separately and clearly. It had been tuned 
 at least a dozen times that day, but Tim liked 
 certainty. 
 
 "Commence." Mr. Marchmont's quick 
 staccato gave the word. The musician broke 
 into a rippling waltz, and Tim chimed to the 
 beat with his violin. Slowly the various groups 
 untangled. Each man sought his partner, and 
 so in a stately measured rhythm the couples 
 glided into the waltz. 
 
 Agnes thrilled as she moved down the vast 
 room, her steps in perfect unison with those of 
 Bertram Forbes. How tall he was, and how
 
 40 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 dear! She dared not glance up, for she knew 
 that her heart lay mirrored in her eyes. People 
 named him flirt. She knew him for what he 
 really was. He hid the depths of his nature 
 from all but herself. 
 
 In the swinging maze many faces passed for 
 a moment and were gone. Half-consciously 
 she was aware of someone's eyes upon her. A 
 face swam past. Agnes saw the gleam of red- 
 gold hair, the shimmer of a blue gauze dress. 
 Was it Myrtle Parry's eyes that had made her 
 feel so strange? Someone had glanced at her 
 with scorn and half-veiled dislike. Agnes shook 
 herself mentally and promptly forgot the 
 momentary illusion in the strains of the beauti- 
 ful "Blue Danube." 
 
 "This is heaven," Bertram was murmuring in 
 her ear. 
 
 "Is it?" she asked, her sweet lips not quite 
 under control. 
 
 "I want to kiss you, Agnes, my Agnes." His 
 voice was still murmuring audaciously, his 
 breath stirring the fair hair curling on her 
 forehead. 
 
 "Bertram!" 
 
 He laughed, low and musically, and uncon- 
 sciously his arm tightened about her waist. 
 
 "So shy, Agnes?"
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 41 
 
 "You are so reckless," she murmured, as they 
 passed from the brilliantly lighted room to the 
 moon-lit verandah. 
 
 Annette, snugly crouched in a deep chair 
 where she could watch the dancers and also 
 study the stars if she so wished, hearing voices 
 near her burrowed deeper into the chair, not 
 wishing to be discovered. Then she recognized 
 Agnes's sweet laugh and allowed herself the 
 happiness of peeping over the side of the chair 
 and admiring her sister in the fresh tarlatan and 
 new blue sash. 
 
 "Mr Ho, Ho?" was with her. Annette was 
 not altogether pleased. Why did he say it so 
 very often if he was not a magician or something 
 similar? She fell into a childish reverie while 
 watching them over the dark chair ledge, and 
 hardly noticed that they had strolled to the other 
 end of the verandah. As Tim's violin struck up 
 again she saw in a vague dreamy fashion "Mr. 
 Ho. Ho." reluctantly withdraw and leave 
 Agnes with the grey haired gentleman. 
 
 "I guessed he would want to dance with her," 
 thought Annette complacently. "They all like 
 Agnes, she's so pretty, 'specially with -a blue 
 sash." Agnes and the grey haired gentleman 
 had not seen her for they presently seated them- 
 selves quite near her and began to talk.
 
 42 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "You are very happy to-night, Miss Agnes?" 
 asked Guy Antrobus quietly. 
 
 "Yes, I am happy, Mr. Antrobus," returned 
 Agnes. "Why do you ask?" 
 
 Guy Antrobus did not answer for a time. 
 In spite of herself Annette could not help 
 waiting to hear what he should say. 
 
 "Happiness is a very wonderful thing, Miss 
 Agnes!" he said at last. Annette sighed in her 
 disappointment. 
 
 "It is," she heard her sister answer dreamily. 
 "It is so wonderful sometimes, it seems as 
 though it must vanish." 
 
 "No, no," said her companion in a quick un- 
 even voice. "Do not lose it Miss Agnes else 
 life becomes nothing." 
 
 It was Agnes's turn to grow silent, for she 
 knew that Guy Antrobus had had a great sorrow 
 in his own life. Long ago his year-old wife had 
 died, leaving him ever since a lonely kindly- 
 voiced man passionately fond of young people. 
 Was it because he had been denied his own 
 happiness and the prattle of childish lips? 
 
 Agnes's happy heart filled with sympathy 
 for him, and all unconsciously tears glistened on 
 her eyelashes. Happiness is so near to tears, 
 though perhaps one may not guess it. Annette 
 was growing restless in the long silence and she
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 43 
 
 was about to peep over the ledge of her chair 
 when Agnes spoke. 
 
 "What a wonderful night it is, Mr. Antrobus. 
 See the trees how dark and mysterious they 
 look, standing like silent old giants. What 
 secrets they must know. Have they known 
 happiness or do they whisper that it fades with 
 the day?" 
 
 Annette snuggled deeper into the chair. 
 Really she was having a most interesting 
 evening. She wondered if everyone else was 
 enjoying it as much as she was. Agnes was a 
 sister to be proud of. But what would he say 
 now ? 
 
 "True happiness does not fade with the day," 
 said Guy Antrobus, and then Annette fell asleep 
 quite unknown to herself, for while she slept 
 she seemed to be waiting an eternity to hear 
 what Agnes would say. When she did wake she 
 glanced boldly over her chair arm and found two 
 empty chairs beside her, which, when you think 
 that it was her first ball, was really very 
 annoying. Frowning slightly, she twisted her 
 slim body so that she could see through one of 
 the open doors into the big ball-room. 
 
 Mr. Marchmont and an elderly lady were just 
 about to dance a mazurka. The elderly lady 
 held her voluminous black-fringed skirts high
 
 44 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 with one hand thereby revealing a pair of rail- 
 way stockings, arched her instep in the good old 
 way taught her many years before, and waited, 
 gazing benignly over her spectacles at the 
 musicians. Mr. Marchmont cleared his throat, 
 changed step quickly, looked round the room, 
 smiled and nodded to Tim. 
 
 Tim's nimble ringers ran over his violin, the 
 piano came in on the beat, as the dancers stood 
 poised on their toes and the others waited 
 anxiously for them to begin. Under such a 
 concentrated battery of eager eyes, naturally 
 they made a false start. Mr. Marchmont de- 
 clared it was his fault, the elderly lady vowed it 
 was hers. Mrs. Marchmont advised both not 
 to be nervous since they were the only two who 
 said they could dance the mazurka. In her 
 interest Annette sat bolt upright, her brown 
 eyes bright with fun. "I b'lieve Agnes knows 
 it," she whispered to herself as they began again. 
 One, two, three! The elderly lady glided 
 elegantly, the railway stockings seeming 
 thoroughly to enjoy the pastime. Mr. March- 
 mont's grace was somewhat elephantine, but his 
 face beamed with pride and exertion, while, 
 watching him, his wife's glowed with love and 
 immense admiration. There was very little 
 that "Henry" could not do.
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 45 
 
 Just as the dancers were really getting into 
 the step Mr. Marchmont tripped over an obstin- 
 ate tack, which had flatly refused to come out, 
 lurched forward and deposited the elderly lady 
 heavily into a window seat. One of the cur- 
 tains, of course, came down. Annette gave a 
 faint little shriek of dismay, for the fallen curtain 
 revealed her brother Hal and a small fair-haired 
 girl dressed in white. The ball-room echoed 
 with the merriment of Mrs. Marchmont and her 
 guests. Mr. Marchmont began hastily to 
 apologise to the elderly lady, who recovered her 
 balance by a miracle, and in her turn began to 
 apologise to the guests whom the curtain had 
 previously screened. "Oh, dear," sighed 
 Annette, "I know Agnes could have done it 
 much better," and she sank back into her chair 
 with a sigh of disappointment. 
 
 Once more the music commenced to steal 
 through the room, and once again the inde- 
 fatigable dancers began to keep time to its 
 measure. There were polkas and galops, and a 
 Washington Post that left everyone breathless. 
 There was also a Circassian Circle and a slow 
 dreamy schottische, which so stirred the heart 
 of Arthur Wilsonholme he was dancing it with 
 Agnes that he found himself improvising a 
 proposal.
 
 46 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Miss Agnes," he breathed. "You can't 
 imagine the realms of bliss this schottische is 
 transporting me to." 
 
 "Really. Arthur!" said Agnes, her voice 
 a-tremble with laughter. 
 
 "I wonder- " murmured Arthur and 
 
 hesitated. 
 
 "Yes?" said Agnes dreamily, knowing full 
 well that Bertram Forbes' eyes were on her 
 every movement. 
 
 "If you could recip " 
 
 Agnes suddenly felt her shoe pinch horribly 
 and adroitly brought Arthur to a standstill near 
 the door where Annette sat watching. The 
 little girl immediately vanished from sight and 
 presently heard Agnes and her companion join 
 Mrs. Marchmont. A falling star distracted her 
 attention just then and she turned her attentions 
 heavenwards. "How beautiful," she whispered, 
 gazing at the multitude still winking above the 
 trees or blinking curiously over the summit of 
 the mountains guarding the horizon. When 
 her eyes sought the ballroom again Agnes was 
 dancing with "Mr. Ho, Ho." 
 
 A sharp pinch on her black-stockinged leg 
 made her jump. "Oh," she cried in affright, 
 "what was that?"
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 47 
 
 A derisive laugh came from behind the head 
 of the chair. "Cry Baby Bunting." 
 
 "I'm not crying." Annette's indignant voice 
 swelled with righteous anger. 
 
 "Cowardy Custard !" Thomas grinned at 
 her over the chair. "Cry Baby " 
 
 He was not allowed to finish, for a small fierce 
 fist struck him in the chest. 
 
 "Let her alone, I tell you." 
 
 Benjamin rose in Annette's estimation as a 
 knight of high romance. He defended her. 
 Hitherto she had felt some uncertainty as to her 
 opinion of him ; now it was altered into firm 
 liking. As the scales balanced high in favour 
 of Benjamin they sank correspondingly low 
 towards Thomas. She immediately despised 
 him unutterably. 
 
 "What d'yer mean?" gasped Thomas belliger- 
 ently, his voice lowered to a safe pitch. 
 
 "Let her alone," repeated his brother, feeling 
 more than righteous in a good cause. "Only 
 cowards pinch girls." 
 
 "Huh!" sniffed Thomas sarcastically. "You 
 said last time she was here you would pinch her 
 yourself if she ever came again." 
 
 Annette's round eyes surveyed her champion. 
 After all was he made of clay! Benjamin 
 disdained to answer.
 
 48 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Can you count the stars?" he asked Annette. 
 
 "Yes, a little," she answered. "I counted five 
 hundred just now." 
 
 "Where?" queried Thomas, in the tone of 
 Thomas the Doubter. 
 
 The little girl refused to answer him. 
 
 "Did you really?" Benjamin's voice was 
 pleasantly insinuating. 
 
 "Yes, over that big tree," said Annette 
 addressing her conversation entirely to her 
 brave rescuer. 
 
 "Pooh," growled the unabashed offender. 
 "I've just counted five million there." 
 
 "Five million?" Annette's voice was pitched 
 to the key of highest incredulity. "You couldn't 
 count five million in one night, I know you 
 couldn't, so there." 
 
 "Hur, I can," said Thomas. "Girls couldn't, 
 of course " 
 
 "They'll all be out in a minute," said Ben- 
 jamin quickly. "Let's get away while we can. 
 Come on." catching Annette by the hand and 
 pulling her after him over the edge of the 
 verandah. 
 
 The grass was damp with dew. It felt cold 
 through the little girl's thin stockings as she fell 
 upon it. She got up gingerly and rubbed her 
 fingers together.
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 49 
 
 "Where are you going?" she asked uncer- 
 tainly. 
 
 "Some of the pomegranates are turning quite 
 red on one side," said Benjamin, preparing to 
 lead the way towards a row of pomegranate 
 trees. "Come along." Annette followed in his 
 wake ; Thomas treading slowly in her footsteps ; 
 a small silent trio bent on iniquity. 
 
 Annette felt certain Agnes would not like her 
 to eat green pomegranates at night. Benjamin 
 and Thomas knew what their mother's horror 
 would be could she but see them. 
 
 Still they went. Stolen fruits are sweet with 
 a strange sweetness. As they passed the en- 
 trance of the cellar the air was heavy with the 
 odor of distilled grape-juice. It seemed to rise 
 from the flags beneath their feet, to ooze from 
 the crevices of the thick wooden doors, to per- 
 meate the night with its languorous enervating 
 essence. In the kitchen the maids were 
 laughing and chatting, an occasional masculine 
 voice ringing in a deeper key. In the yard, 
 under the box-trees, a group of men were 
 gathered about a keg of wine, their voices raised 
 somewhat immoderately, their gestures uncer- 
 tain and often belligerent. 
 
 "Who says the Pope ain't infallible?" cried 
 one boisterouslv.
 
 50 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "I do," the answer came promptly from a 
 short, fair man, unmistakably Teutonic. 
 
 "Then you're a liar," flung back the first 
 speaker. 
 
 "Let's hurry on," whispered Annette, frowning 
 at the noisy group, and quivering unconsciously 
 at the sound of ugly words. 
 
 Down the cemented path their footsteps 
 echoed. Overhead the acacias watched and 
 between their softly moving leaves the stars 
 peeped furtively. Benjamin opened the wicket 
 gate leading into the garden. Stealing past a 
 wooden portion of the house they came to the 
 pomegranate hedge stretching darkly irregular 
 to the banks of the creek. 
 
 Annette glanced into one of the rooms as they 
 passed the house. A lamp was burning dimly 
 beside the mirror. It was the bedroom where 
 she slept with Agnes. In a little while she must 
 go to bed; meanwhile the pomegranates lured 
 her. 
 
 Up in the brick portion of the house the 
 strains of Tim's violin circled a;id eddied, the 
 softer notes of the piano floating in unison. The 
 faint sound of many dancing feet upon a polished 
 floor stole down to the garden, with the subdued 
 mirth of voice and laugh. 
 
 "Hist!" Benjamin had found his favourite
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 51 
 
 tree. "Here we are," he whispered. "Give me 
 your hand." He seized the small brown hand 
 uplifted and drew Annette to the fence, Thomas 
 scrambling after her. Dark blotches, the young 
 pomegranates swung around them, above, 
 beneath, on a level. Benjamin's busy ringers 
 were feeling, pinching, breaking. 
 
 "Here's one," he said, offering it to Annette. 
 
 She took it, wondering however she would 
 eat it. Very soon all three were munching the 
 gleaming, half-ripe seeds, so lustrous and 
 glorious by moonlight. 
 
 The music died in the drawing-room, and the 
 children heard the dancers move out to the 
 verandah. For a while they kept still. The 
 boys felt the eagle eye of their father must surely 
 pierce the thick shadows of the hedge, should 
 he chance to be on the verandah, and Annette's 
 conscience began to prick her sorely. She felt 
 sure the juice of the fruit had stained her frock. 
 How should she avoid explanations with Agnes 
 on the morrow? With a brisk chord the music 
 awoke, and voices and footsteps deserted the 
 verandah. 
 
 "When I'm grown up," quoth Thomas, "I 
 intend to dance every night." 
 
 "You couldn't" said Annette.
 
 52 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Yes. I could. Boys can do anything," scorn- 
 fully. 
 
 "Sh " breathed Benjamin. "Someone is 
 coming." 
 
 The trio waited in suspense as two figures 
 came slowly down the cemented path, through 
 the gate, and past the hedge. Gleam of red-gold 
 hair, shimmer of satin and blue gauze, two 
 dainty shoes adorned with sparkling buckles. 
 
 "Miss Red-hair," whispered Thomas sarcas- 
 tically. 
 
 "Sh!" said his brother angrily. 
 
 Annette watched their approach the girl 
 beautiful in the moonlight, the man so tall and 
 debonair. 
 
 "Why it's 'Mr. Ho, Ho!'" she murmured 
 under her breath. 
 
 Benjamin squeezed her hand, signalling 
 silence. - 
 
 A moment of fear while the two scanned the 
 pomegranate trees, as though cognizant of what 
 was hidden in their thick black shadows. 
 
 "Is the white peacock in there ?" a girl's voice 
 asked curiously. 
 
 "Yes. dear heart," a man's voice answered 
 musically. 
 
 They passed on and the children moved.
 
 THE VINTAGE BALL 53 
 
 "Did you hear?" asked Benjamin, "they're 
 lovers I guess." 
 
 "They thought my dress was the white pea- 
 cock," said Annette. 
 
 "Some day," said Thomas, "I shall say 'dear 
 heart' to a girl." 
 
 "What girl?" Benjamin interrogated quickly. 
 
 Thomas cast his eyes on Annette's brown 
 curls but did not answer, for the sound of re- 
 turning footsteps caught his small sharp ears. 
 
 The girl was laughing this time. "Do you 
 really love me as much as that?" she asked, in 
 a voice sweet and clear as a flute. 
 
 "Ten thousand times more," her companion 
 answered softly, his arm circling her slim waist. 
 Her face was raised to his, the gleam of her 
 red-gold hair like living fire, the shimmer of her 
 gown a marvellous sea of azure. Swiftly the 
 man bent and kissed her on the lips. "Dear 
 heart," he whispered once more. 
 
 They had gone up the path to the verandah, 
 and so to the gay throng circling unwearingly> 
 before the children spoke. 
 
 "T must go to bed now," said Annette, re- 
 luctantly, moving to descend. 
 
 "I'm not going to bed all-night," said Thomas, 
 making room for her. 
 
 A guilty trio presently moved towards the
 
 54 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 house. In the moonlight Annette saw the dark 
 stain on her dress, and her heart was heavy. 
 
 "Good night," she said, slipping into the room 
 where the lamp burnt dimly. 
 
 "Good night," said Benjamin and Thomas 
 carelessly, moving on. 
 
 Annette turned up the light and surveyed 
 her frock, then dipped her handkerchief in the 
 water-jug and tried to sponge the stain. It 
 came out a little, and with a sigh she took the 
 dress off and hung it over a chair, taking care 
 to hang the stained part underneath. 
 
 Just before she fell asleep Agnes came in. To 
 Annette, half unconscious, she seemed some 
 white fairy floating noiselessly about the room. 
 A kiss, light and fragrant, descended upon her 
 forehead, the bedclothes were softly smoothed, 
 the nets pulled down; then the light dwindled 
 to a mere point of flame, and Annette was in 
 darkness and dreamland. 
 
 In their room, in another portion of the house, 
 two lithe figures scrambled into miniature bed- 
 garments. 
 
 "When I grow up," said Thomas, "I'm going 
 to marry a girl with red hair and brown eyes, 
 and I'm going to call her 'Dear Heart,' so there." 
 
 "So'm I," said his brother calmly, slipping 
 into bed.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 CONFIDENCES 
 
 A SOUTH wind, charged with rain, blew 
 fresh and cold upon the occupants of 
 the double buggy moving at an easy pace 
 over the rough track meandering through fence- 
 less miles of forest. The day following the 
 vintage ball had dawned cool and dull, and had 
 therefore been welcomed by Agnes and Hal 
 Wiseman for their long drive home. Annette, 
 too, was glad. Last time, in spite of the sun- 
 bonnet, her poor little nose had been burned by 
 the sun, and she did not wish a repetition. 
 
 Soon after lunch they had started. The 
 track wound like a mighty reptile under giant 
 trees, mahogany and ironbark, apple, blue-gum 
 and stringy bark. It curved and twisted in 
 multitudinous contortions up rocky precipitous 
 rises, down deep misty gullies where tree-ferns 
 fringed the sides, past the clearer sparsely- 
 grassed patches where the bull-dog ants built 
 their nests among tufts of reed grass. 
 
 Agnes spoke little during that first part of the 
 
 55
 
 56 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 homeward drive. Her thoughts were lost in a 
 sweet dreamy unreality. For once, the wood- 
 land so dear to her, passed unnoticed, offering 
 its rare beauty of colour and voice to unseeing 
 eyes, heedless ears. Her eyes, darkened with 
 thought, held a new bright light; on her lips a 
 riper sweetness dwelt. 
 
 Hal, too, seemed preoccupied. Agnes guessed 
 where his thoughts dwelt. Little Mavis White 
 had been too shy to escape from the seat 
 designed to hold two only. Hal, in his turn, 
 recognized the reason of his sister's vagrant 
 dreams, and so both t wrapt in their own ab- 
 sorbing reflections, forgot that a small girl sat 
 silent between them. 
 
 A flash, a rush of scarlet wings, and a parrot 
 had passed. Annette leaned forward, thrusting 
 the frill of her sun-bonnet back from her face. 
 
 "There ^ie is," she said, pointing to a swaying 
 sassafras. 
 
 "Where?" asked Agnes dreamily, turning her 
 head. 
 
 The little girl pointed. "There, on that bush. 
 Can't you see, Agnes?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," murmured Hal, absently flicking 
 the horses with the length of soft plaited leather 
 fastened firmly to a polished hickory stick.
 
 CONFIDENCES 57 
 
 With a spurt the horses bore them to the 
 summit of the hill. Annette glanced back. How 
 had they come over that awful road, notched 
 with small brown boulders, some smooth, others 
 jagged like sharp upraised teeth. On the top 
 Hal rested the horses, their glossy, shining sides 
 panting with exertion, their nostrils dilated with 
 quickened respiration. Overhead, underneath, 
 the forest murmured, vast, primeval, wonderful. 
 Through the tree tops the laggard sun shone, 
 a pale gold disc, his furtive glints setting strange 
 forms dancing up and down the tree trunks like 
 shy goblins playing at hide-and-seek. Around 
 them mingled confusion of sweet melody echoed. 
 The note of the coach bird sounded with the 
 voice of the wild pigeon; above both came the 
 melting ringing notes of a hidden bell-bird; 
 nearer a dove lilted, its soft coo drowned by the 
 merry chatter of a willy wagtail; far in the gully 
 behind, the whisper of water trickling over 
 stones and the singing of the wind in the 
 she-oaks. 
 
 "Here he comes," said Annette suddenly. 
 
 "Who?" questioned Agnes, hurriedly turning 
 her head to see. 
 
 "Arthur." answered the little girl, quite un- 
 conscious of her elder sister's sudden disappoint- 
 ment. "I saw his horse between the trees.
 
 58 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 He'll catch up to us. He told me he would 
 before we started." 
 
 Hal laughed softly and urged his horses 
 forward. "Shall we try and race him?" he 
 asked quizzically. 
 
 "No, no, Hal," said Agnes, smiling. "Poor 
 Arthur would never forgive us." 
 
 "He'd soon catch us, anyhow," said Annette, 
 wriggling in her seat so that she might see 
 Arthur Wilsonholme more plainly. "Yes, 
 there he is, just on the top of that long hill." 
 She waved her hand frantically to the horseman 
 following them, and was delighted to see him 
 wave his straw hat in return. 
 
 As though the advent of another had broken 
 some mysterious spell, Agnes and Hal began to 
 speak. 
 
 "How well Mrs. Marchmont always manages." 
 said Agnes. 
 
 "Yes, she does," answered Hal, lazily. "The 
 music was splendid, wasn't it. Did you dance 
 that schottische, Agnes?" 
 
 "The sixth?" asked his sister, reflectively. 
 She had danced the sixth with Bertram Forbes. 
 Hal nodded. "Yes, the sixth," he said, noticing 
 all at once how particularly pretty Agnes looked. 
 
 "I had it with Mr. Forbes," she said slowly,
 
 CONFIDENCES 59 
 
 "but I'm afraid I did not notice the music in 
 that one." 
 
 Hal laughed again. "Didn't you?" he said, 
 adding "Jolly awkward for me when the curtain 
 collapsed?" 
 
 It was Agnes's turn to laugh. "Wasn't it?" 
 she answered. "I'm sure many a jealous mas- 
 culine eye was turned your way, Hal." 
 
 "Think so?" said Hal in noncommittal tones 
 which did not deceive his sister. 
 
 Behind them sounded the clatter of approach- 
 ing hoof-beats. Agnes turned her head. 
 
 "Well, Arthur," she called. 
 
 "Thought I'd missed you," answered Arthur 
 Wilsonholme breathlessly. "Had to wait a 
 mile back to prise a stone from the mare's hoof. 
 She seems a bit lame since." 
 
 "Really," said Agnes, smiling at the young 
 fellow as he drew abreast with the buggy. 
 
 "Hullo, Arthur," said Annette, suddenly 
 leaning forward. 
 
 "Well Annette, how's the nose?" he asked. 
 
 "Not burned a bit, Arthur," answered the 
 little girl laughing with him. 
 
 Agnes peeped under the frill of the sun- 
 bonnet. "Neither it is," she agreed. "How 
 fortunate we should have a cool day." 
 
 "What did you think of the dance?" questioned
 
 6o THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Arthur. "I think its the best I've ever been 
 at." He gazed at Agnes so eagerly as he spoke 
 that she turned her head only to find Hal's 
 teasing eyes upon her. 
 
 "Think so, Arthur?" said Hal, cheerily. "I do, 
 too. Good music, beautiful supper, enchanting 
 girls, plenty of fun." 
 
 "Ra ther ." assented Arthur heartily. 
 "Awfully jolly affair. Wish there was another 
 to-night, don't you?'' 
 
 "I wouldn't mind at all," replied Hal, putting 
 on the brake as they began a steep descent. 
 
 Arthur Wilsonholme accompanied them for 
 the rest of the way home, sometimes falling be- 
 hind, anon jogging forward, oftener keeping 
 close to the buggy which bore so fair a freight. 
 As the afternoon waned and the miles sped 
 silently under the hoof-beats of "Swagman" and 
 "Cobby," the black horses, the wan sun hid 
 behind a muffler of grey cloud. The wind, 
 leashed for a time, broke loose, rushing up from 
 the rear with an impatient sigh, rattling the 
 dead leaves on the ground, shaking the living 
 ones above. And in its wake crept a misty trail 
 of rain, like fine dew, clinging to Agnes's rain- 
 coat in wreaths of pearls, damping Annette's 
 sun-bonnet so that it drooped tantalizingly over 
 her eyes.
 
 CONFIDENCES 61 
 
 It ran along the hills like a ghost, shrouding 
 the lower trees completely, showing those 
 higher in dim, formless blurs. Birds had 
 winged their way to leafy shelter, and, save 
 for an occasional frightened hare shooting like 
 lightning across their path, they moved through 
 a deserted world. 
 
 Dusk fell as they reached the crest of the hill 
 overlooking the small town of Wilton. Lights 
 twinkled here and there through the thick mist. 
 Rumble of hidden vehicles and the baying of 
 one or two disconsolate dogs seemed the only 
 sound of life. 
 
 "Nearly home," said Agnes, bending to peep 
 beneath the limp sun-bonnet. But the little 
 girl's eyes were closed, and through the small 
 red lips her breath came in soft regular gusts. 
 
 "Asleep?" queried Hal, meeting his sister's 
 eye 
 
 She nodded, and, doing so, the clear pale rain- 
 drops ringing her hat fell, a shower of pearls, 
 into her lap. 
 
 They drove down the main street, between 
 rows of shivering poplars bordering each side, 
 their slender forms like sentinels in the fading 
 light. The brilliant glow of a blacksmith's 
 forge flashed for a moment as they passed; a
 
 62 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 church bell rang out in the misty air, muffled 
 like a hidden flute. 
 
 "Choir practice?" said Hal. 
 
 "Yes," answered Agnes, propping Annette's 
 weary head against her shoulder. 
 
 At a narrow bridge spanning a creek Arthur 
 left them, the double buggy went on alone be- 
 tween fences, grey, spectral uncanny sharp 
 fingers pointing from the earth; over a larger 
 bridge, the river, silent, muddy, far below; and 
 so out again into a country road, stretching wet 
 and muddy before them, until the small village 
 seemed to vanish behind them like a dream. 
 
 Baying of many dogs welcomed their arrival. 
 
 "Down, down, Towser! Down, Gyp!" 
 
 Annette awoke to the sound of Hal's voice 
 ordering the dark battalion off. Agnes jumped 
 out and lifted her down. 
 
 "I'll bring everything in," said Hal, driving 
 on to the stable. 
 
 "Back again?" a stentorian voice bellowed 
 from the house. "Where's my little girl. Is 
 she with you?" 
 
 "Yes, father," Annette answered sleepily. 
 She ran on in front of Agnes, and mounting the 
 steps first, greeted the white bearded figure 
 standing at the top. 
 
 "Where's mother?" she asked, fast waking
 
 CONFIDENCES 63 
 
 and anxious to tell her adventures. Without 
 waiting for an answer she ran into the room lit 
 with softly spluttering candles. 
 
 "Hullo," said someone loudly, "won't you give 
 brother Gilbert a kiss?" 
 
 "I will after," said Annette impatiently. 
 "Where's mother?" 
 
 "In her room, Miss Impatience." 
 
 Annette opened a door. "Mother!" she 
 called, "Mother!" With a happy sigh she 
 nestled close against the slender delicate figure 
 seated in a deep cushioned chair before a log 
 fire. "My little girl," murmured the lady. 
 "My little, little bairn. Is she glad to be home 
 again?" 
 
 Agnes found them there whispering in the 
 firelight. With a sigh, weary, half tremulous 
 with suppressed emotion she seated herself be- 
 side them, leaning forward and kissing the coils 
 of soft dark hair crowning her mother's head. 
 A thin transparent hand drew her closer. 
 
 "You have had a nice time, Agnes?" 
 
 "Beautiful, mother!" 
 
 Something in the girl's voice, a tense under- 
 current, a subtle change of tone, like the sound 
 of a stringed instrument which we have not 
 heard for days, made her mother turn quickly 
 towards her. A shadow of sadness flitted
 
 64 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 across the delicate features, tinted to the colour 
 of a pale pink blossom in the ruddy light of the 
 fire. But she said nothing. 
 
 "Annette is very sleepy, I think." 
 
 Agnes's voice was lower, more controlled as 
 she folded her own hand about her mother's, 
 lying, like a white anemone, across the little 
 girl's dark hair. "You have been lonely?" she 
 said. "We will have a long talk afterwards." 
 
 "Yes. dear," answered her mother, her eyes, 
 blue as her daughter's, fixed steadfastly on the 
 blazing fire. 
 
 Hal came in, followed by his father. 
 
 "Light up, Hal," cried Lewis Wiseman, testily. 
 "We're not all blind yet, I hope. Let me see 
 how you look." 
 
 A spasm of pain crossed his wife's face, and 
 an expression of unutterable patience settled on 
 it She did not turn her head, but sat listening 
 to the conversation around her. 
 
 Hal kissed her affectionately. "Little 
 mother," he whispered low in her ear, then 
 crossed the room and lit the candles standing 
 in their brass candlesticks on the round table 
 of polished cedar. Beside the candlesticks a 
 huge Bible rested; near it was a ball of white 
 wool, the long steel knitting needles thrust care- 
 lessly through it protruding at either end in
 
 CONFIDENCES 65 
 
 glints of silver. From the other room came the 
 sound of a table being set and a meal prepared 
 quickly for the travellers, and presently into the 
 desultory fire of question and answer between 
 Hal and his father, old Katrin's cracked voice 
 found its way. 
 
 "Tea's ready for them as wants it." Her grey 
 hair and gleaming eyes peeped round the corner 
 of the door. "Where's my darlint?" she asked 
 unceremoniously. 
 
 "Here she is, Katrin," answered her mistress. 
 "But she is going to let mother put her to bed 
 to-night." 
 
 "Oh, verra weel, verra weel," muttered Katrin 
 disappointedly, withdrawing her head from the 
 doorway. 
 
 After tea, when Annette was snugly in bed, 
 Agnes and her mother sat before the fire, both 
 thoughtful and rather silent; the mother waiting 
 for the confidence she knew would come, Agnes 
 hesitant, her secret on her lips, the happiness 
 of it brightening her eyes to the brilliance of 
 jewels. In the other room Gilbert practised on 
 a violin, and Hal was singing to himself in a 
 strange minor key, as he absently watched his 
 father read the paper, the candles beside him 
 dripping grease upon the uncovered table. One 
 candle remained in the room where Agnes and
 
 66 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 her mother sat. Its dim light drew shadows high 
 upon the walls, where one or two pictures hung, 
 solitary oblongs against the dead cold white of 
 their background. Silent, the small frail woman 
 waited, listening for the first parting of her 
 daughter's lips, for the indrawing of her quick 
 breath. 
 
 Suddenly Agnes knelt at her mother's feet, 
 drawing her face to hers with young strong 
 hands. "Mother?" she whispered. 
 
 The mother did not answer, only clasped her 
 arms about the slender waist and pressed her 
 lips upon her daughter's hot forehead. "Who 
 is it?" she whispered back, her eyes, lustrous, 
 beautiful, unseeing, striving to pierce the black 
 wall for ever surrounding her. 
 
 "Bertram Forbes." 
 
 "Bertram Forbes?" echoed her mother. 
 "That light-hearted dangerous flirt, who has 
 been in love with every girl in the country, 
 Agnes!" 
 
 "Don't mother!" Agnes's voice was pained 
 as she pressed her fingers to her mother's lips. 
 "He has two sides one for the world, one for 
 me. Ah! do not doubt him, mother, for I love 
 him and he loves me. Do you think I cannot 
 tell the real from the false?" The girl's voice 
 faltered, but it was verv sweet and filled with a
 
 CONFIDENCES 67 
 
 ringing belief in the truth and purity of the man 
 to whom she had given her love. 
 
 "My child," said her mother wistfully. "I 
 only pray that you may find happiness. I do 
 but go by what I hear. I cannot see. You can, 
 and I think no man, however false his nature, 
 could be so before your clear eyes of truth." 
 
 "He is not false," said Agnes dreamily. "I 
 know it mother. I have looked into his eyes, 
 and seen the truth mirrored in them. Believe 
 me, I have not lightly given myself. I have 
 waited, hesitated, a long time." 
 
 Her voice trailed to silence, and in the glow 
 of firelight and candlelight the two clung 
 together. 
 
 The violin sang unevenly, its strings a little 
 out of tune, for Gilbert was a plodding, if not 
 very satisfactory amateur. The rustle of papers 
 and a chair leg scraped the floor noisily. "Play 
 something, can't you?" the loud voice of Lewis 
 Wiseman broke in on the violin's halting notes. 
 It ceased suddenly, then lilted to the strains of 
 "Bonnie Dundee." "That's better," growled 
 the voice. 
 
 Agnes's face had grown hard, the softness 
 smothered in her eyes, as she rose to her feet. 
 "How sweet it sounds to-night, Gilbert?" she 
 called, raising her voice a little.
 
 68 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Gilbert came in, still playing. "Think so," he 
 asked carelessly, glad of her praise. The old 
 violin was very dear to him. 
 
 Afterwards when darkness curtained the 
 house and the lights had gone out one by one, 
 Agnes threw open her window, and, resting her 
 elbows on the sill, gazed into the night. The 
 mist had rolled away, and the pallid outlines of 
 a moon shone wanly behind thin clouds, high 
 and still. Nearer the earth those, dark with 
 rain, fled towards the north. An oppressive 
 silence held the night. Not a curlew called, not 
 a tree stirred. Yet, in the girl's eyes, lifted to 
 the heavens, a great light shone, and her lips 
 moved, as though in prayer. Glimmering like 
 moving grey satin, the waters of a lagoon 
 gleamed at the foot of the hill. Around it stood 
 the white trunks of ti-trees, their black close 
 foliage throwing deep shadows upon the water. 
 
 In her bed, Annette moved restlessly, sat up, 
 and in sleepy tones called, "Agnes! Agnes! 
 
 Why did he say why did he s-a-ay " her 
 
 voice dwindled to a mere murmur. 
 
 "Go to sleep, dear," said Agnes, softly. 
 
 Sitting on the edge of the bed, she unpinned 
 the heavy masses of her golden hair.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Marchmont ventured abroad 
 there were preparations many and 
 varied. The large tin trunk from the 
 attic must be brought out, well dusted and well 
 aired. Benjamin and Thomas were generally 
 given the honour, and their energy and delight 
 were boundless. It was bumped out reckless 
 of dints, and trundled by different methods to 
 their mother's room. Sometimes they pre- 
 tended it was Her Majesty's coach, and they, 
 the horses ; at times Thomas shoved from the 
 rear, making believe that the coach was bogged 
 to the axle in heavy mud. Occasionally Tom 
 popped in, but was promptly tipped out by his 
 brother, and punched for his impertinence. 
 Again, it was a chest filled with buried treasure 
 which they had rescued from pirates bold ; anon, 
 it was wreckage cast up by the sea. By degrees 
 it reached their mother's room. 
 
 Mrs. Marchmont had promised Agnes a visit 
 to Bungay. The excitement of the vintage had 
 
 69
 
 70 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 barely subsided when the boys were ordered to 
 bring the trunk from the attic. After some wild 
 adventures on perilous landing places and in 
 dark spider-haunted corners, it was dragged at 
 last into their mother's bedroom. Mrs. March- 
 mont was stooping over the lower drawer in 
 her cedar chest, sorting clothes. 
 
 "Don't forget my blue necktie," said Benjamin. 
 
 "And my red spotted handkerchief," added 
 Thomas. 
 
 Both had been presents from their idol, Sol. 
 and were kept for high days and holidays. 
 
 "I want you to put some camphor in the 
 bottom of the trunk," answered their mother, 
 as she continued to sort shirts, collars and socks. 
 The boys made a dive for a small pine cupboard 
 in a far corner of the room. 
 
 "I was here first," growled Benjamin, 
 clutching the knob of the drawer in which the 
 camphor was kept. 
 
 "I tell you, I was," muttered Thomas, 
 obstinately clutching the other knob. 
 
 A wordy battle ensued, and the knobs received 
 sundry vicious wrenches, while the cupboard 
 tipped forward as though in trepidation at their 
 contemplated onslaught. Neither saw nor 
 heard their father, who appeared suddenly at 
 the door.
 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 71 
 
 "Louisa," Mr. Marchmont's voice was anxious, 
 and he eyed the grey hat which he carried in 
 some uncertainty. Then he saw the boys. 
 "Boys." His anxiety changed to quick wrath. 
 
 They did not answer, for the drawer jerked 
 open unexpectedly, and both combatants 
 sprawled upon the carpet. 
 
 "They are so excited," said Mrs. Marchmont 
 soothingly. 
 
 "Excited!" Benjamin recognized something 
 in his father's tone that boded punishment. 
 
 "Here's the camphor," he cried, plunging 
 head first into the drawer and bringing out a 
 
 small square tin which he handed to his mother. 
 
 f 
 
 "T wanted to get it ," bawled Thomas, 
 with a shriek of angry annoyance. "I was 
 here first. I should have " 
 
 "Hold your tongue," said his father shortly. 
 
 "Henry!" Mrs. Marchmont's voice was 
 gently admonitory. 
 
 "Excuse me, Louisa," answered her husband, 
 "but Thomas exasperates me." 
 
 "Run down stairs and find me some moth 
 balls," said Mrs. Marchmont, well versed in the 
 art of managing her men folk. The boys made 
 a wild dive for the stairs, disappearing like 
 streaks of lightning. 
 
 Mr. Marchmont approached his wife. "Shall
 
 72 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 I wear this?" he asked, turning the grey hat 
 around in a contemplative manner. 
 
 His wife eyed it dubiously. "Black suits you 
 better/' she answered tentatively. 
 
 "It does," agreed Mr. Marchmont promptly. 
 "I was foolish to buy this hat. I shall give it 
 to Tim." 
 
 "Don't be stupid, Henry," answered Mrs. 
 Marchmont. "I can't imagine Tim rounding up 
 cattle in that hat. It is a very nice hat, but 
 for visiting, your black is better." 
 
 "Your judgment will always guide me, 
 Louisa," returned Mr. Marchmont, turning 
 away with his grey hat tucked under one arm. 
 He met the boys returning with the moth balls. 
 They were climbing the stairs, two steps at a 
 time, and nearly collided with their father. 
 Thomas saved himself by dodging between his 
 legs, almost upsetting him. Benjamin slid past 
 like an eel, and both raced to their mother's 
 room, heedless of their father's impatient 
 reprimands flung after them with an unexpected 
 generosity. 
 
 The packing over, Mrs. Marchmont filled a 
 case for Agnes. To the boys this was even 
 better than the mysteries of the great tin trunk, 
 and they assisted with a right good will in the 
 packing of the huge iced cake and bottles of 
 their mother's preserves and pickles.
 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 73 
 
 "Agnes always brings me something nice," 
 murmured Mrs. Marchmont, as she carefully 
 wrapped soft paper about them all. 
 
 "Will they have fruit in their orchard?" 
 enquired Thomas, with some anxiety. 
 
 "Yes, yes," answered his mother absently. 
 
 "And a vineyard," asked Benjamin. 
 
 Mrs. Marchmont shook her head, but Ben- 
 jamin forgot to feel any disappointment for Sol 
 appeared just then around the corner of the 
 verandah and beckoned to him. He rushed 
 away, followed by Thomas, leaving their mother 
 still engrossed in her packing. She was inter- 
 rupted by Mr. Marchmont, who came down the 
 hall carrying a small vase. 
 
 "I should very much like to take this over to 
 Miss Agnes, Louisa," he said, pausing beside 
 the case. 
 
 "It is so fragile, Henry," she remonstrated, 
 eyeing it with some interest. Her husband had 
 a generous habit of giving away her household 
 goods that sometimes disconcerted her. 
 
 "It is indeed, but Agnes is a favourite of mine 
 and I should like her to have this," returned 
 Mr. Marchmont. "Is there no room in that 
 case?" 
 
 "Just a corner. Yes. It can go here," 
 replied his wife with equal generosity. The 
 vase was a pet of hers, but then poor Agnes had
 
 74 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 few pleasures in life. She would not grudge 
 it to her. Mr. Marchmont left her carefully 
 packing it beside the cake. 
 
 They were to start on their long drive next 
 day. The intervening hours were filled with 
 innumerable duties to Mrs. Marchmont, with 
 boisterous rollicking on the side of the boys 
 whose spirits ran higher with each passing hour. 
 
 When at last they were fairly launched on 
 the trip, the boys leaned over the back of the 
 carriage and waved their handkerchiefs to Sol 
 and Tim. who stood watching them disappear 
 up the long paddock. Tarawingee was left in 
 Sol's charge, and he waved a brisk farewell in 
 company with the rest of the servants. And 
 not until the carriage had disappeared behind a 
 screen of trees would he allow them to depart. 
 
 As the carriage bowled along, drawn by its 
 fine, high stepping chestnuts, the boys began to 
 remember all they had forgotten. 
 
 "I want to go back for my knife," growled 
 Benjamin. 
 
 "And I forgot to bring my new pair of boot- 
 laces," said Thomas tearfully. "These are 
 nearly worn out and I won't have anything to 
 lace my boots." He held up his boots for 
 inspection as he spoke. 
 
 "Put your feet down," ordered his father
 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 75 
 
 irritably. The chestnuts needed careful handling 
 at times. 
 
 "We can easily buy another pair in Wilton," 
 said his mother. 
 
 It was a long tiring day, and before they were 
 half way to Bungay, the boys were asleep in the 
 bottom of the carriage. Mr. Marchmont's nose 
 was severely burnt by the sun, and Mrs. March- 
 mont's bonnet had slipped over one ear, giving 
 her rather a rakish appearance. At mid-day 
 they halted and picnicked by the way. Not 
 many miles remained. Before sunset they would 
 reach Bungay. Benjamin began to think of 
 Annette, and Thomas dreamed of the orchard. 
 Would they have apple trees in it or only 
 oranges? Perhaps he might find a peach tree? 
 Just then they came to a water hole, and Mr. 
 Marchmont pulled up in order to let the 
 chestnuts drink. 
 
 "Be careful, Henry," advised Mrs. March- 
 mont, as the carriage jolted after the chestnuts. 
 
 "It is quite shallow, Louisa. How hot the 
 horses are," he returned. 
 
 "They're sweating," said Benjamin. 
 
 The horses stepped into the water and stooped 
 to drink. It was a pleasant place, cool and 
 shady with wild apples fringing the pool. 
 Thomas found a bird's nest in an overhanging 
 bough, and while he showed it to Benjamin and
 
 76 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 his mother, the chestnuts waded deeper into the 
 water. 
 
 Mr. Marchmont's hand was slack on the reins, 
 his thoughts had flown back to Tarawingee. 
 Would Sol remember to have the large wine keg 
 cleaned out? Would Tim forget those steers 
 in the house paddock? The chestnuts thought 
 only of quenching their thirst. The waterhole 
 was deeper than Mr. Marchmont thought. 
 They stepped forward, inch by inch, when the 
 carriage suddenly rose over a submerged log, 
 swayed, dipped again, and sent Benjamin and 
 Thomas slipping into the water. "Henry." 
 Mrs. Marchmont's voice held fear and alarm, 
 and she grabbed vainly at Benjamin's boots. It 
 was too late. They were already in the water, 
 which had become muddy with the chestnuts 
 continued pawing. 
 
 "God bless my soul." Mr. Marchmont was 
 recalled to the present with a shock, and he 
 tugged at the reins. 
 
 With some difficulty Mrs. Marchmont 
 succeeded in rescuing her sons, who, covered in 
 mud, and dripping with weeds and moisture, 
 spluttered in surprise and anger. 
 
 "Think think you can drive?" Benjamin's 
 question held contempt. 
 
 "I felt a frog," whimpered Thomas. "It 
 touched my hand."
 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 77 
 
 "Dear me, Louisa, what a misfortune." Mr. 
 Marchmont whipped up the chestnuts, anxious 
 to avoid his wife's remonstrances. 
 
 The horses plunged at the unexpected touch 
 on the reins and then drew the carriage in a 
 series of jerks to the opposite side of the water- 
 hole. The annoyance of Benjamin and Thomas 
 was past speech, and their wet clothes were 
 taken off in a sulky silence. 
 
 "What are we going to wear now?" Thomas 
 propounded a question which was troubling his 
 mother exceedingly. 
 
 "These are the only suits they have brought, 
 Henry," she said in some perplexity. "What- 
 ever shall we do?" 
 
 "Haven't they any sleeping garments, 
 Louisa?" enquired Mr. Marchmont, in some 
 slight asperity. The misadventure was certainly 
 annoying. 
 
 "Pyjamas in the day?" growled Benjamin. 
 
 "It is all we can do," said his mother. 
 
 "I won't wear them in the day, I tell you," 
 stormed her son. Thomas was beginning to 
 shiver. 
 
 "We had better go back, Henry," said Mrs. 
 Marchmont. This decided Benjamin, and the 
 pyjamas were donned in a dignified manner that 
 scorned appearances. 
 
 They reached Bungay within the hour. The
 
 78 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 boys stared gloomily from the shelter of their 
 rug. Was Annette on the high stone verandah ? 
 Must she see them arriving thus? For the 
 moment both hated their father for bringing 
 them to such a pass. Benjamin tried to calcu- 
 late the number of years it would be before he 
 would take the reins. 
 
 From Bungay verandah Annette searched 
 vainly for the boys. But the rug hid them, and 
 her eyes began to fill with tears. She had 
 looked forward so to their visit and had made 
 fig jam in medicine bottles to entertain them; 
 also lemon syrup after a recipe of her own. 
 
 "They're not there, Agnes," she murmured, 
 clutching her sister's skirt. 
 
 "Yes, dear, I think they are," said Agnes 
 kindly. "I believe I can see them sitting in the 
 bottom of the carriage." 
 
 Annette's eyes brightened and when finally 
 the boys stepped out. still sharing the rug, her 
 delight was contagious, and so warm was her 
 own and Agnes's welcome that the boys forgot 
 to feel conscious of their foolish appearance. 
 
 There followed a delightful three days. 
 Bungay grew gay with children's laughter. 
 Each day was filled with something new. Hal 
 took them riding on the sledge that bumped 
 perilously down the hill to the river. Here they 
 fished and swam, and caught crickets and grass-
 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 79 
 
 hoppers on the steep banks. On their return 
 to the house they generally found Mrs. March- 
 mont and Agnes in deep conclave over some 
 interesting gossip of the countryside. Once, 
 they discovered a shy-eyed girl seated beside 
 Mrs. Wiseman, and for the rest of that day it 
 was impossible to entice Hal to join in any of 
 their marvellous enterprises. 
 
 "I hate Miss White," muttered Benjamin, as 
 they retreated before the silent hypnotism of 
 her girlish charm. 
 
 But they soon forgot their disappointment in 
 the exhilarating pleasure of descending through 
 a trap door into the underground room where 
 Lewis Wiseman worked at his various hobbies. 
 Annette led the way, confident of her father's 
 welcome. 
 
 The old gentleman was engrossed in con- 
 triving a new fish hook. He found the children's 
 advent stimulating, and Benjamin's suggestions 
 distinctly helpful. While they put their heads 
 together over the fish-hook, Thomas and 
 Annette explored the dark corners of the cellar. 
 It was a delightful place, dusty, untidy and 
 impregnated with various odors of questionable 
 quality. A dim oil lamp lighted the place, and 
 cast weird shadows upon the stone walls which 
 were festooned with clinging cobwebs. 
 
 Thomas discovered an enormous spider, wide
 
 8o THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 spread upon the stones, and an exciting chase 
 ensued. Benjamin was loath to leave the fish- 
 hook, but he could not allow Thomas to outdo 
 him in the eyes of Annette, and for a time Lewis 
 Wiseman was deserted. The spider led them 
 from corner to corner; once it hid behind a 
 stone jar, again it raced frantically towards the 
 ceiling, finally it escaped them by disappearing 
 between the flooring boards of the room over- 
 head. Benjamin returned to the fish-hook, 
 leaving Thomas and Annette gloating over the 
 stone jar which held a vast quantity of buttons, 
 of all sizes and of all descriptions. 
 
 From the cellar they went to the attic, a little 
 musty room set in the roof of the house and 
 overlooking orchard and hills. 
 
 "There's a rat up here," Annette whispered, 
 as they cast curious glances about the room. 
 
 The boy's eyes gleamed, and for a time they 
 searched in high hope. An old disused violin 
 and one of Lewis Wiseman's discarded hats 
 beguiled them from a fruitless hunt. There- 
 after they roamed the orchard as a company of 
 strolling players until the agitated fluttering of 
 a small bird warned them of the vicinity of a 
 nest and, perhaps, some warm mottled eggs. 
 
 Hal rode with them to Wilton one day, and 
 Benjamin saw the great sale yards, built of 
 stout poles, where his father's cattle were sold.
 
 A VISIT TO BUNGAY 81 
 
 Some day he would come across with Sol behind 
 a mob of those lowing agate-eyed bullocks. 
 Some day he would sit astride one of those high 
 round posts. The prospect was thrilling, and 
 his face glowed with the intensity of his desire. 
 
 The yards suggested only dust and dirt to 
 Thomas, and he eyed them with a hint of bore- 
 dom and wondered if the buggy following with 
 Annette. Agnes and his mother was yet in 
 Wilton. 
 
 They found the buggy and its old bay mare 
 drawn up in front of a quaint little shop, kept 
 by an equally quaint old lady. Agnes and 
 Annette were inside shopping. Mrs. Marchmont 
 held the reins and talked to the same shy-eyed 
 girl who had captured Hal from them before. 
 
 Her charm was unimpaired, and the boys 
 presently rode off leaving Hal gazing into two 
 very bright blue eyes. As they rode up the 
 street they looked back and saw that Hal and 
 Mavis White had wheeled their horses and were 
 riding slowly down the street. 
 
 "Hur," growled Benjamin in disgust. 
 
 It was annoying to lose their companion, and 
 both felt that the flavour of the ride had been 
 spoiled, more especially as Hal did not return to 
 Bungay until late that night. But their chagrin 
 was forgotten next day in excited anticipation 
 of their homeward drive.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 THE KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 
 
 IN June, Mr. Wentworth, tutor to Benjamin 
 and Thomas Marchmont, went home for 
 the holidays. A day or two of wild hilarity 
 followed. The schoolroom stood empty and 
 desolate, books lying unheeded on desk and 
 floor, a cap of Benjamin's lying forgotten behind 
 the door, a favourite knife of Thomas's waiting 
 patiently on a seat for remembrance, which 
 would surely come sooner or later. Mr. 
 Wentworth, in his turn, cast Tarawingee from 
 his mind, and put the thought of his late pupils 
 safely away in some far pigeon-hole of his brain. 
 For a week the boys worried their parents, 
 digging the garden in moments of spasmodic 
 industry, and incidently casting many bulbs 
 out as worthless vegetables. They went into 
 the milking yards and pestered the men until 
 they were ordered out with much severity by 
 their father. They raided their mother's pantry, 
 chased the fowls and frightened the turkeys 
 from the home paddocks to pastures further 
 afield. They fixed tins of water over the kitchen 
 
 82
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 83 
 
 door, so that when the maids went in or out 
 they would be deluged with an unexpected 
 shower. In short, they did everything that 
 mischievous boys could think of. At the end 
 of the week Mr. Marchmont said things had 
 gone far enough. They were both to go with 
 Sol and work for a week at an out-station in 
 the mountains. Instead of subduing them, 
 the edict sent the boys into wilder bursts of 
 exhilaration. The rest of the day was spent in 
 ransacking cupboards for old knapsacks, in 
 packing and repacking shirts, trowsers, collars, 
 socks, which, needless to say, had to be re-sorted 
 by their mother. 
 
 The following morning with furtive tears and 
 a stifled unspoken fear, she bade them farewell 
 from the high stone verandah and watched Sol 
 proudly lead the procession up the Jong paddock, 
 past the tall tree blighted and seared in the last 
 storm, to the great white gate at the top. They 
 passed through with a wave of old felt hats and 
 wild hurrahs beating faintly back. 
 
 After they had gone Tim w r ent about his work 
 sourly, and with ill humour in his eye. Why 
 should he be left behind? Already he cast 
 about in his mind for a reason which should 
 call him mountain-wards ; the gate left open, and 
 cattle escaped, if none other offered. 
 
 Meanwhile the boys rode gaily with Sol, their
 
 84 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 quips and jests making the old stockman roll 
 in his saddle with laughter. Moisture dimmed 
 his eye as they described the pranks played on 
 a long suffering tutor; on Mary, the housemaid; 
 and on their own parents. 
 
 On they rode, their ponies bearing them 
 steadily and well, and gradually, as the day wore 
 on, a dim sense of their own importance began 
 to dawn upon their young minds. They were 
 sent to work, not to play. There were calves to 
 be branded and many other duties. Thomas 
 must learn to bake a damper. He felt it im- 
 perative, as it would be an everlasting disgrace 
 if he returned without having accomplished this 
 feat. In Benjamin's lusty heart, the desire to 
 kill a dingo was rampant. By hook or by crook 
 he must do it. Tim had told him of an old gun 
 in the corner of the hut, and had instructed him 
 how to use it, with due regard to its infirmities, 
 should a dingo come near. 
 
 Well was it that Mrs. Marchmont guessed not 
 half of what her sons expected to do. She would 
 have immediately ridden after them on her 
 white mare and brought them back, doubtless, 
 not without a severe battle with Sol and his 
 expectant following. 
 
 On, on, the grey-green trees striding ever 
 backward, the mountains rushing nearer and 
 nearer, until they seemed to glower upon the
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 85 
 
 moving trio, as though resentful of their slow, 
 persistent advance. 
 
 The morning's ardor cooled, and afternoon 
 brought a weary droop to the young shoulders; 
 the long ride, a cruel assuageless thirst. At 
 mid-day they had boiled Sol's billy three times, 
 and still their palates craved. They felt 
 suddenly that their father was a taskmaster of 
 the crudest description. 
 
 It needed all Sol's encouraging remarks as to 
 the journey making men of them to bring them, 
 without spoken complaint, to the shanty built 
 just under the brow of a lofty mountain. They 
 almost fell from the sweating, foam-flecked 
 ponies. 
 
 ''Water, water, where is it?" cried Benjamin 
 impetuously. 
 
 But Sol restrained the headlong rush to the 
 ancient wine cask at the side of the hut. 
 
 "Wait," he said, so sternly, that the boys 
 look askance. Was Sol suddenly transformed 
 into a tyrant. 
 
 "Attend to your horses first," said Sol 
 solemnly, unsaddling his own as he spoke. 
 "Always remember that, my lads. The horse 
 first, yourself after. It is the rule of the bush." 
 
 Silently the boys obeyed, unbuckling girths 
 and buckles, though each felt that his tongue 
 must shrivel and fall out during the process.
 
 86 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 With a gentle whoop, Sol waved the horses 
 farther down the mountain-side. Necks craned 
 forward, and snuffing the clear crisp air with 
 hungry nostrils, they trotted quietly towards the 
 belt of wild apple trees, under which they knew 
 gleamed the waters of a still deep pool. Tin 
 pannikins in their hot dirty hands, the boys 
 watched them bend long graceful necks and 
 drink slow and deeply. 
 
 The sun had not yet risen when Sol woke 
 next morning from his dreamless sleep. He 
 turned on his side and scanned the two lithe 
 forms lying near him. What lads they were ! 
 What fine men he hoped they would be! Old 
 Sol's eyes were almost tender as he gazed. 
 Sentiment however did not play too high a part 
 in his rough life. Yawning, he rose silently, 
 and stepped from the hut into the clear fresh- 
 ness of the morning. He was tinharassed about 
 the matter of dressing, for he had lain down in 
 the garments worn all day. The boys, too, 
 feeling the air more rarefied than in the valley, 
 had followed his example with the fervent wish 
 that it might always be done. 
 
 As Sol stood at the doorway of the hut some 
 twenty or thirty magpies chorused his appear- 
 ance in loud warblings of wonder, hopping 
 nearer and nearer curiously, until they stood in 
 a circle before him.
 
 87 
 
 "Good morning," said Sol, as he deftly 
 manipulated his thick cake of tobacco. At the 
 sound of his voice the birds flew back a yard 
 or so, and presently began to chatter volubly 
 over the matter. Sol gazed past them at the 
 bush track creeping down the mountain-side, 
 lost here and there, reappearing and running 
 faintly under arches of sassafras, geebung, and 
 wattle, under bluegum and woolybutt. 
 
 Beneath the belt of wild apple the pool lay 
 dead white, rimmed with frost, the tall grass 
 fringing its edges standing stiff and straight, 
 like long thin knitting needles. Near and far, 
 tier on tier, the deep blue mountains, mighty 
 sleepless giants, guarded the land, a beautiful 
 wilderness, that for so long had been the home 
 of the kangaroo and wallaroo, of the fierce wild 
 cattle which roved in mobs along the ridges, of 
 the brumbies which rushed up the grassy slopes 
 to stand gazing proudly over this vast demesne 
 which was all their own. 
 
 Now, if one had the courage to penetrate into 
 those mountains fastnesses, here and there, they 
 might find such a hut as stood behind Sol. A 
 small slab shanty, the veritable prison of some 
 lonely stockman, who practically gave life, 
 ambition, and often reason to the guarding of 
 his master's interests. 
 
 Along such rugged tracks how many brave
 
 88 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 men have passed. Burke, Wills, Lawson, 
 Wentworth those intrepid explorers who 
 forced the secrets of the bush from between its 
 very teeth, careless of the danger, striving ever 
 to conquer; those same savage teeth often 
 closing upon such men for ever. Glorious, 
 mysterious, wonderful, a land brilliant and 
 passionate, cradled under a turquoise heaven, 
 crooned to by a sapphire ocean, jealous ever of 
 encroachment. 
 
 Such thoughts as these, however, did not 
 trouble Sol. It was hard to say what lay behind 
 his eyes, as, quietly smoking, he gazed over the 
 landscape with a bushman's keen sense of the 
 beautiful. The first sun rays were heralding 
 the day-god's advance. Far to the pearl-tinted 
 zenith they streamed, flaunting in tender rose 
 and saffron. The mountain crests grew warm, 
 and slowly and sedately, like shy sweet maidens, 
 the white mists of the valley swung into a 
 steady upward motion. With a whoop of 
 delight the boys awoke and bounded to the door. 
 
 "Good morning, Sol," they shouted. 
 
 He turned and surveyed them, his squint 
 showing plainly. 
 
 "Sleep well?" he queried. 
 
 Up shot the sun as though sent from some 
 Gargantuan catapult. The boys edged further 
 out, their bare toes curved inward with the cold.
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 89 
 
 Frost whitened the grass near and far, hung on 
 the leaves of the trees, glistened on the pool, 
 made the bare patch of earth in front of the hut 
 slippery as glass. 
 
 "Gee-whiz," said Thomas. Then, valiantly, 
 "rather chilly up here, Sol." 
 
 "Jest a little," answered Sol, winking. 
 
 "Didn't you light a fire?" asked Benjamin, 
 disdaining to mention how absolutely frozen he 
 felt. 
 
 Sol shook his head. "I thought you wornted 
 to learn all that," he returned, moving his short 
 pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other. 
 
 Benjamin stared. "But I can make a fire," 
 he announced. 
 
 "Let me see yer/' said Sol. 
 
 Busily the boys set to and built the fire 
 within the hut, piling it high with brushwood, 
 mountain oak, stringy bark and ironbark. Soon 
 the blaze roared in a great red column through 
 the hole in the roof. Sol came in and watched, 
 a tiny pucker between his eyes. 
 
 "How's that for a fire?" asked Thomas, 
 admiringly, standing well out of scorching range. 
 
 "Be-eautiful," murmured Sol. "It's like the 
 fire the little pig made," he added reflectively. 
 
 "What pig?" queried Benjamin, anxiously, 
 scenting sarcasm. 
 
 "The little feller as boiled the fox that tell
 
 90 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 down his chimbley in to the kettle of water," 
 answered Sol, 
 
 "Oh, that one!" said Benjamin, carelessly. 
 "Yes. I s'pose it is pretty big, but then we're 
 jolly cold, Sol. Come a little nearer, won't 
 you?" 
 
 "No, thank you," said Sol, dubiously. 
 
 Soon the blaze dwindled, and they were able 
 to rake the logs together and hang the kettle on 
 the rusty hook just over the hottest part of the 
 fire 
 
 "Who wants to make a damper for tea?" 
 asked Sol. 
 
 "I do," cried Thomas, exultantly. 
 
 "Where's the flour, then, and the water?" 
 
 Thomas brought some flour, musty, yellow, 
 and filled with weevils; then got the water. 
 
 "It's all the same when they're cooked," said 
 Sol, eyeing the weevils. Then he instructed 
 Thomas in the method of mixing a damper. 
 
 When the soft spongy mixture was formed 
 into an irregular circle, they thrust it under the 
 coals and thick grey ashes that were the result 
 of Benjamin's fine blaze. 
 
 With eager eyes, the boys watched the 
 damper bake, the slow upheaval here and there 
 under the layer of ash, the gradual permeating 
 smell of cooking flour. They breakfasted on 
 the remnants of yesterday's provisions, with
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 91 
 
 copious draughts of strong black tea from Sol's 
 billy can. Never did a meal taste better. When 
 it was over Benjamin lilted into song: 
 
 "There was an old woman of eighty-two; 
 She gave a great kiss and away it flew; 
 It flew in the crack of a cobbler's door, 
 And smacked the cobbler flat on the jaw. 
 
 Up jumped the cobbler with a rusty gun; 
 He shot that kiss and away he run ; 
 Through Germany, France and Spain, 
 That old woman's kiss will come again." 
 
 Behind him Thomas carefully prodded the 
 new-made damper. 
 
 "That's a fine song," quoth Sol, leaning 
 against the slab wall and fingering his pipe 
 lovingly. A long sinuous move of his body and 
 he drew Thomas from the fire. "That'll do," 
 he said, "let the thing cook itself." Unabashed 
 Thomas took up the refrain of Benjamin's song. 
 
 "Through Germany, France and Spain, 
 That old woman's kiss will come again." 
 
 Then, suddenly struck by a hitherto unasked 
 question, "Sol, where's your old woman?" 
 
 Sol jumped in surprise, gazing hard into the
 
 92 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 boy's inquiring eyes. "What makes you ask?" 
 he queried. 
 
 "Have you got one?" Thomas persisted. 
 
 Sol shook his head in a deep ruminative 
 manner. "I dunno," he answered evasively, 
 standing up and thereby nearly knocking the 
 roof off. 
 
 What a day it was bringing in the calves and 
 their young, frightened mothers! Such a 
 bedlam of bleatings and mooings, baying of 
 dogs and cracking of whips, capable of sending 
 any boy into a frenzy of delight and wild excite- 
 ment. Benjamin's pony took a flying leap 
 across the great rock standing wide and high 
 some hundred yards or so beneath the hut. In 
 the rock was the deep imprint of a kangaroo's 
 foot. In pre-historic days what a mighty bound 
 the animal must have taken? That rock and 
 imprint were an eternal source of question and 
 unanswered groping in remote. ages to Sol, the 
 illiterate stockman. He felt there must surely 
 be some 'bloke' who could explain the whole 
 matter satisfactorily to him. He had asked, 
 but, in their explanations, no one so far had met 
 with Sol's firm and undivided belief. It was 
 inconceivable to him that the rock should have 
 once been in a molten state. No ! In Sol's 
 brain, visions of a weird, awful creature lurked 
 a creature long since vanished from earth, of
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 93 
 
 gigantic proportions, of stupendous weight. 
 Many a time he had paused beside the rock, 
 ejaculating fervently between tobaccoy expec- 
 torations, ''Lor bless me, what could it 'a* been 
 like !" 
 
 When the calves were branded and their 
 small soft ears lacerated by Sol's sharp knife, 
 Thomas, who was robbing a bird's nest built 
 over the pool, accidently fell in, taking with him 
 a good sized apple branch. Sol not being near 
 at the time, he neglected to change his wringing 
 garments, and by night the hut echoed with his 
 hoarse, incessant coughing. Sol was alarmed. 
 The boy had a tendency towards bronchial 
 trouble, and was by no means strong. If 
 morning found him no better, Sol would be in 
 a dilemma. 
 
 Thomas did his best to stifle the cough, half 
 strangling himself in the process. By dawn he 
 was worse, with a high temperature and un- 
 naturally brilliant eyes. What should Sol do? 
 To take both boys back was the only solution 
 he could arrive at. But Benjamin, imperious, 
 masterful, refused point blank to go. Let Sol 
 go with Thomas, while he waited behind in the 
 hut until the stockman returned. Go home, he 
 would not! Desperately Sol argued, bounced, 
 commanded, cajoled, descending at last to half 
 hearted pleading, for in his heart the man was
 
 94 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 pleased. What a game kid it was! Afraid of 
 nought, neither dingoes nor bushrangers, nor 
 yet the more awful loneliness of the dread 
 implacable bush. After all, he would not be 
 gone long a few hours at most and even now 
 some of the others might be on their way up to 
 see how things were progressing. 
 
 By mid-day, Sol and Thomas were well on 
 their homeward way, leaving Benjamin 
 monarch of all he surveyed, old Dapper, Sol's 
 pet dog, his sole attendant. As the day died 
 down, grim fear began to assail Benjamin. The 
 sun is responsible for a good deal of Dutch 
 courage; with his setting it vanishes. Down 
 the mountain side long shadows fell, inex- 
 pressibly gloomy, filled with unseen terrors to 
 young eyes watching. Benjamin wondered for 
 the hundredth time what foolhardiness had left 
 him stranded here, in a slab hut, in the heart of 
 the bush I For all his twelve wise years, he 
 quaked with inward fear, clutching Dapper more 
 and more affectionately about the neck, putting 
 his head upon the old dog's back, murmuring, 
 "We'll stand together, old boy, won't we?" 
 
 Pale, spectral, the moon rose. Benjamin and 
 Dapper sat before the fire within the hut, 
 shivering now and then as bleak winter air came 
 in through the wide cracks of the walls. 
 
 Once or tw r ice Dapper got up and prowled
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 95 
 
 from corner to corner, sniffing the air furtively, 
 whining now and then in a curious manner. 
 Through the small square aperture, which did 
 duty for a window, Benjamin glanced ever and 
 anon, wishing fervently that Sol's familiar form 
 would appear round the bend of the now in- 
 distinguishable track. As he gazed at the black 
 wall of forest, something slipped silently from 
 the underbrush and stood high upon the indented 
 rock. Benjamin shuddered nervously. Dapper 
 growled. "Quiet, Dapper, quiet," whispered the 
 boy, excitedly. "A dingo and a white one," 
 under his breath, feeling the hair lift slowly on 
 his head. What an adventure ! Could he shoot 
 it and thereby win everlasting renown? His 
 vivid brain took fire. Eagerly he glanced about 
 for the old gun. Yes, there it was hidden in 
 its corner behind the tins. Quick groping 
 fingers closed firmly about it, lifting it gently, 
 very quietly, from its resting place. Tim had 
 told him it was loaded. He looked out again. 
 For a moment he could not see. Some clouds 
 had veiled the moon. Only the crackling of 
 breaking bushes and the soft pit-pat, pit-pat of 
 many feet reached his ears. 
 
 Impatiently the boy waited, Dapper leaping 
 
 at his side wildly excited, but strangely silent, 
 
 When the moon shone clear again, Benjamin 
 
 saw a sight which he never forgot. One after
 
 o6 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 another dark moving blurs, dingoes, slid from 
 the underbrush into the open moonlit space 
 before the hut, and so passed, Indian file, in a 
 swinging gait down the mountain-side. From 
 the rock the great white dingo surveyed his 
 passing comrades as a king or a general would 
 overlook a regiment of soldiers. His ears were 
 flat against his head as though snuffing an 
 elusive scent. 
 
 Benjamin's fingers trembled as he gazed and 
 his keen young eyes blurred with sharply 
 suppressed trepidation. What if he should miss ? 
 
 Click ! His fingers were on the trigger. A 
 flash of white smoke through the moonlight, a 
 loud report, and the boy fell back a space with 
 the recoil of the shot. A howl, weird, dreadful, 
 filled the night, followed instantly by the rustling 
 of bushes hurriedly brushed aside or trampled 
 "underfoot. When the smoke cleared, the white 
 dingo lay stretched at the foot of the great rock. 
 
 Madly exultant, Benjamin rushed to the door, 
 Dapper now barking frantically. As the rough 
 catch lifted under the boy's fingers, all at once 
 the forest awoke with an awful noise. Howling 
 of many dingoes, echoed and re-echoed, smote 
 the side of one mountain and glanced off against 
 another; leaped from chasm to chasm, wound 
 down the valleys in a hideous chorus. Far and 
 near it rose, now singly, in a loud mournful wail ;
 
 KILLING OF THE WHITE DINGO 97 
 
 anon, in unison, a very pandemonium of blood- 
 curdling cries. As though answering the 
 dingoes, the stone-plovers or curlews split the 
 chill frosty air with their shrill "wee-ee-loc, 
 wee-ee-loc, wee-loc, wee-loc, wee-loc." Their 
 wings brushed overhead fanning the air audibly, 
 so swift and low was their aerial passage. 
 
 Benjamin let the catch rattle noisily back into 
 its rusty clasp. "Quiet, Dapper, quiet," he 
 commanded, half in anger, half in fear, lest 
 his prize should escape even yet. Were the 
 dingoes cannibals? He tried to remember what 
 Sol had told him about them. What if the 
 others returned and ate the white king? The 
 boy's eyes blazed in his uncertainty. He 
 handled the gun tenderly. Perhaps another 
 bullet lay snugly within its chambers. If they 
 came he would try again. Through the window 
 he scanned the mountain-side, endeavoring to 
 pierce the heavy shadows of red-gum and wooly- 
 butt. Nothing crept from their blackness, the 
 white dingo lay still in the moonlight. Ages 
 seemed to creep past as the boy continued to 
 stare out, his eyes glued to that moveless shape. 
 Impatiently Dapper whined beside him, emitting 
 every now and then a short sharp bark, leaping 
 to the window, then crouching upon the floor of 
 the hut. 
 
 At length sleep, long held at bay, assailed
 
 98 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Benjamin; the gun slipped from his grip slowly, 
 softly, and beside it the boy sank down until his 
 head rested heavily upon the old dog's shoulder. 
 Motionless the animal lay, his green eyes closing 
 and opening in a fitful canine slumber. The 
 moon set, and the shadow from the rock 
 stretched out and overlapped the dead dog. 
 
 On a small cleared ridge across the deep 
 valley beneath the hut a man on horseback 
 suddenly emerged from blackness into light. 
 An instant he sat fhere, his head held high like 
 the wild dog's had been, while his keen eyes 
 sought every open space, above, around, below, 
 seeming to fathom each lurking shadow. 
 
 A brisk word, and a second horseman, 
 followed by a third and a fourth came from the 
 dark belt of trees, passed slowly, carelessly, 
 along the moonlit space and so disappeared 
 again into the immensity of the sleeping bush.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 
 
 ALL that winter Agnes Wiseman kept her 
 own counsel, her mother alone sharing 
 it. That little bird, however, that Youth 
 so intensely yearns to see, flew about from one 
 to another, dropping here and there a vague 
 surmise, a positive suggestion; so that Agnes 
 had hard work to parry thrust and counter- 
 thrust adroitly delivered by various inquisitive 
 and gossiping friends. Relations were even 
 more dangerous. They considered it their right 
 to hear; they demanded information, and went 
 away ruffled when it was gravely and sweetly 
 withheld. 
 
 Bertram Forbes came once, twice, three times 
 to Bungay. Agnes forbade him come too often. 
 A lover must ever obey his lady. Yet Bertram 
 was reluctant in his obedience. For the first 
 time in his life love enthralled him, cast its tiny 
 meshes about his vagrant senses and held them 
 with witch-like lure. 
 
 Hoary-headed winter, lagging in the valleys, 
 presently fled precipitously, as a vision of rosy- 
 
 99
 
 ioo THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 faced Spring peeped at him across the summits 
 of the bare brown hills. Like a young girl, 
 singing, skipping, smiling, she came, scattering 
 buds and tendrils and fresh green leaves with a 
 generous hand, laughing wickedly at the flight 
 of a dour, sad-faced old man. She came and 
 nestled in the heart of Agnes Wiseman, though, 
 indeed all the winter I think she had slept there, 
 dreaming and crooning her songs, waiting for 
 the signal to leap forth and paint the valley vivid 
 and glorious with colour. 
 
 Agnes woke one morning, the weight of many 
 household cares on her mind. It was she who saw 
 to everything, from the brushing of Annette's 
 brown tangled curls to the ordering of each 
 meal. She did the sewing, too shirts for 
 Gilbert and Hal, dresses for Annette, sheets and 
 pillow slips for the house. As she came out, 
 the noise of squealing pigs filled the air and 
 mingled with the hungry bleating of calves 
 that were frantically butting into the wire fence 
 surrounding the house. It worried Agnes to 
 see the great dents they punched with their hard 
 impatient little heads; yet Gilbert would persist 
 in feeding them just outside the gate. Down 
 the hill, past the barn, Lewis Wiseman worked 
 in his vegetable garden. His bright blue shirt 
 showed plainly against the green of iron-wood 
 and willow lining the banks of the narrow creek
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 101 
 
 skirting the side of the garden. As Agnes 
 paused at the open door she saw him cease 
 digging for a moment, glance complacently at 
 the rows of peas and beans, then take his wide 
 cabbage-tree hat off and wipe his forehead with 
 a red turkey-twill handkerchief that Annette had 
 laboriously hemmed for his last birthday. 
 
 Unknown to himself, Lewis Wiseman made 
 quite a picturesque splash of colour against the 
 intense green of foliage and herbage. The 
 corners of the girl's mouth tilted a little, as she 
 thought 'how her father would scorn the idea of 
 himself adding to the beauty of the scenery. 
 His vegetables might, but not he. 
 
 Annette came out, a long pink ribbon in her 
 hand. 
 
 "Put it back, dear," said Agnes, kindly. "That 
 is your best, you know." 
 
 "Can't I wear it just this morning?" asked 
 Annette, ruefully. "I want to visit Mrs. 
 Pritchard this morning, Agnes." There was 
 deep persuasion in her voice. 
 
 "Then just for this morning you may," said 
 her sister, the smile playing about her lips more 
 openly. 
 
 "Thank you," said Annette, gratefully. 
 "Somehow you always understand me, Agnes. 
 Let me kiss your hair. It is so beautiful and 
 golden; just a mass of spun silk."
 
 102 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Little flatterer," laughed Agnes, tying the 
 pink bow, then stooping to the piquant face up- 
 turned to hers. She watched Annette pick her 
 short skirts up in imitation of herself preparatory 
 to stepping carefully through the dewy grass. 
 "Where are you off to, dear?" she called, when 
 the pink bow was half way down the hill. 
 
 "Just to father." 
 
 "I'll ring the breakfast bell in half an hour." 
 
 Annette nodded violently, half to her father, 
 who was watching her, half in answer to Agnes. 
 She ran the rest of the way, the pink bow 
 flaunting like a cockatoo's crest. 
 
 "Hullo, little woman," Lewis Wiseman's 
 greeting was brisk and cheerful. The beans 
 had grown quite half an inch in the night. 
 
 "Hullo," said Annette, carelessly, scrambling 
 through a hole in the fence, her fingers and 
 knees sinking deep into the chocolate earth. 
 
 "How are the beans, Dad?" she asked, rising 
 and scanning the rows. 
 
 "Splendid! How much do you think they've 
 grown since yesterday?" 
 
 "Two inches." 
 
 Her father laughed. "Come, come," he said, 
 "half an inch, and that is a lot. Get the tape 
 measure and see for yourself." 
 
 "I will presently. Do you want any worms
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 103 
 
 for fishing to-day?" Annette's busy eyes were 
 on the upturned earth. 
 
 "You can look for some. I may go after 
 breakfast." 
 
 Annette worked busily among the worms. 
 There seemed to be an extra supply of fat ones 
 this morning. Every now and then she gave a 
 subdued shriek of delight as she drew forth a 
 wriggling creature and placed it carefully in a 
 treacle tin kept expressly for that purpose in the 
 corner of the garden. Spade in hand, her father 
 watched her, the rim of his cabbage-tree hat 
 standing out from his face, a very esplanade for 
 beetles, flies and spiders. At that moment, a 
 big bronze beetle was rambling around it, intent 
 on finding the end. 
 
 Annette glanced up, pushed a length of ribbon 
 back with a grubby hand, and remarked breath- 
 lessly, "See, what a lot I've got. P'raps you will 
 catch 'grandfather' to-day?" 
 
 This familiar appellation had been given to a 
 large shy fish that roamed in the still pool where 
 Lewis Wiseman loved to dangle a line. Every 
 effort to land him had been thwarted, until it 
 had become quite an exciting quest with Annette 
 and her father. They were determined to catch 
 him some day. So far success had not come, 
 though hope loomed ever on the horizon. 
 Annette sometimes dreamed she had caught him
 
 104 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 and in her sleep she would struggle manfully to 
 land him, until Agnes, sleeping beside her would 
 throw both arms about her and whisper sub- 
 consciously. "Is it nightmare, dear. Those 
 tarts, you know." 
 
 A bell ringing harshly from the house brought 
 Annette and her father to a standstill. Her 
 father waved his red handkerchief to Agnes, 
 while his small daughter wiped dirty fingers 
 across her black stockings. Then they both 
 went up through the wet grass, past the barn 
 and the trough where the pigs were scrambling 
 one over another to get their breakfast of milk 
 and pumpkins. 
 
 Agnes met them at the door. "Well," she 
 said, wiping some flour from the tips of her 
 fingers. 
 
 "I found forty worms this morning," cried 
 Annette, jubilantly. 
 
 "Forty 1 Dear me! Are you going to tempt 
 'grandfather'?" 
 
 "Yes," nodded Annette, decisively. "I told 
 the worms they had a mission in life." 
 
 "Did you?" laughed her mother from the 
 table. 
 
 The meal was a quiet one. Agnes and her 
 mother spoke in low voices about suitable 
 muslins for Annette's summer frocks, the little 
 girl listened ardently.
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 105 
 
 "Mother," she broke in at last. "I don't want 
 another black and white sprig. Do let me have 
 one with a blue flower on it." 
 
 "Blue," said Gilbert, across the table. "You 
 can't wear blue ; pink is your colour." 
 
 Annette's cheeks flushed. It was her greatest 
 ambition to have a blue-sprigged dress like 
 Agnes's. No one guessed how her child's 
 heart yearned for it. Yet she always got a pink, 
 or something equally detestable. She frowned 
 over her porridge plate. "When I grow up I 
 shall always wear blue." she said, shooting a 
 fiery glance towards Gilbert, who teased her by 
 pretending to imitate the small pouting lips. 
 
 "Perhaps we could lengthen her white again," 
 said her mother, gently. 
 
 Agnes saw the crestfallen face and said 
 hurriedly, "Annette and I shall go and see what 
 Miss Hogue has in her shop. She may have 
 something really nice this year." There was 
 brisk hope in her voice as she smiled at her small 
 sister. The child's face brightened and she 
 glanced affectionately at the sister who under- 
 stood her so perfectly. 
 
 A morning spent in the Bungay orchard was 
 always pleasant, more especially when the fruit 
 hung ripe and luscious among the branches; but 
 it reached its zenith of perfection when the pear 
 trees, standing in rows down the side of the hill,
 
 io6 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 were white with blossom; when the peach and 
 the plums, the nectarines, and the apricot trees 
 were gay with honeyed flower and shyly bursting 
 leaves. Here Annette wended her footsteps 
 after helping Agnes wash the breakfast dishes. 
 Katrin was busy this morning. An unmistake- 
 able smell of soapsuds proclaimed it washing- 
 day; therefore in the wash-house Katrin reigned 
 as queen. 
 
 As the child stepped daintily over the carpet 
 of grass, she sang under her breath : 
 
 The orchard is ablaze with bloom 
 Of nectarine, peach and pear tree; 
 
 The spring has chased dull winter's gloom, 
 And birdies sing in joyous glee. 
 
 Annette paused beneath her favourite apricot 
 tree, pushed her sun-bonnet further back, and 
 looking above her at the glory overhead, 
 murmured: "I don't quite like that last line. 
 Perhaps, 'And birds are singing, joyous, free,' 
 would be better." 
 
 Through the white drift of blossom, bees were 
 dawdling, their panniers filled with golden pollen. 
 As they laboured they droned their appreciation 
 of spring, the warm sunlight tinting their wings 
 to rainbows. 
 
 Annette shook her head and the sun-bonnet 
 fell back again.
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 107 
 
 "The spring has chased dull winter's gloom 
 Beyond the sullen, misty sea." 
 
 she murmured softly. "Yes, I like that better. 
 I hope I don't forget it before I see Agnes." A 
 tiny pucker flitted between her eyes and she 
 pursed her small lips in the effort of retaining 
 her composition in her busy brain. 
 
 Presently she came to the peach tree, its wide 
 out-spreading branches radiant and rosy, a 
 veritable heaven. Annette put one foot into a 
 fork of the tree, and lifted herself up, then along 
 the limbs she crawled right out to where they 
 drooped over some figs. With a sigh of deep 
 contentment she untied the strings of her sun- 
 bonnet and let it slip to the ground. 
 
 "I'm so glad to find you at home to-day, Mrs. 
 Pritchard," she said. "Yes, it has been very hot 
 walking here, very hot indeed." Annette smiled 
 at a great clump of blossoms near her and 
 bowed her head, as though in answer to Mrs. 
 Pritchard's reply. "Well, yes," she remarked, 
 languidly, "as you say, this weather is very 
 effervescing. My sister Agnes feels it very 
 much. Is that the right word, I wonder?" she 
 murmured, in a quick aside to the figs. 
 
 While Annette visited her imaginary Mrs. 
 Pritchard, Agnes was deep in the culinary art. 
 She must make scones to-day, for the bread box
 
 io8 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 was low, and perhaps she might find time", as 
 Katrin said to "knock-up" a gingerbread for 
 Gilbert and Hal. Poor boys ! There they were 
 ploughing the flat, toiling behind old Dobbin 
 and Susan, two animals exasperating beyond 
 measure when one wished the furrow to be 
 straight. Down at the river, beside a still black 
 pool, her father fished. The sun had not yet 
 pierced the foliage around him, for the pool 
 where 'grandfather' resided was at the bottom 
 of a steep incline. Lewis Wiseman's place of 
 vantage could only be reached by stepping care- 
 fully along a narrow path winding from the 
 summit in corkscrew curves. Under native 
 nutmeg and silver sassafras it ran, wild grape 
 vines and vividly emerald passion vines growing 
 in a tangle here and there across it, making the 
 descent even more precarious. It was a silent 
 spot; the trees stood high and straight, the 
 earth beneath them strewn thickly with leaves, 
 russet, orange, crimson, and sometimes a fresh 
 bright green one. 
 
 Lewis Wiseman sat with his back to a 
 willorouk, which towered above its fellow trees 
 as a giant above pigmies. Thick at the base, 
 it tapered gradually towards the heavens, dis- 
 daining to branch until its proud head looked 
 over all surrounding it. In its wonderful head- 
 dress the foliage grew dense and beautiful.
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 109 
 
 Among the leaves hung the young fruit, pale 
 green lobes, somewhat similar to the loquat, but 
 in taste very different, being intensely stringent, 
 like the tamarind of India. This tree, the only 
 one of its kind in the brush, was highly prized 
 by its owner. Visitors were taken to see and 
 admire it, and woe betide anyone who even dug 
 a thumbnail into the thick bark. It was a 
 treasured possession well-nigh as dear to Lewis 
 Wiseman as one of his children. 
 
 As usual 'grandfather' refused to be caught, 
 and the ardent sportsman was beginning to feel 
 drowsy, when the sound of footsteps coming 
 down the path roused him. Glancing behind 
 he saw a young man approaching, swinging a 
 thin cane. 
 
 "Good morning, Mr. Wiseman." 
 
 "How do you do, Arthur?" said the fisherman 
 cheerily. With the young man's advent there 
 was promise of a gossip. Lewis Wiseman dearly 
 loved a confab with an appreciative person, 
 which Arthur Wilsonholme certainly appeared 
 to be. 
 
 The young fellow came carefully down the 
 path and presently stood beside him. "What 
 luck?" he queried. 
 
 "Poor, very poor, one mullet and a couple of 
 perch."
 
 i io THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Not too bad at all, Mr. Wiseman. I cannot 
 even entice that many when I wield a rod." 
 
 "It's your own fault, Arthur. You should use 
 worms, not dough. Why, what do you expect 
 to catch with that stuff?" 
 
 Lewis Wiseman glanced over the rims of his 
 horn spectacles at Arthur Wilsonholme. The 
 old gentleman was beginning to wonder what 
 had brought him down here in his best grey 
 suit, blue tie, new boots, and delicate grey felt 
 hat. Certainly not a simple love of the 
 piscatorial art! 
 
 "You are very smart this morning, Arthur," 
 he remarked. "Whither away so elegantly? 
 'Tis spring, you know." 
 
 Arthur Wilsonholme colored slightly, and his 
 small grey eyes wandered to the river. "Yes, 
 spring is here again," he answered, well-assumed 
 diffidence in his voice. He glanced at the in- 
 terested face of his interlocutor, then back again 
 to the river, then laughed in a shy constrained 
 manner. 
 
 "The fact is, Mr. Wiseman, I wish your 
 permission to er ask Miss Agnes to be my 
 wife." The truth was out and the young 
 fellow's face crimsoned with embarrassment. 
 
 "God bless me," ejaculated Lewis Wiseman, 
 turning his attention to the line dangling over 
 the water. "God bless me, Arthur!" and again,
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL in 
 
 "bless me bless me !" in a sort of unconscious 
 refrain. His evident surprise did not allay the 
 young man's nervousness. He flicked the thin 
 cane ruthlessly against the precious willorouk 
 and blinked his small eyes. 
 
 "Arthur!" the old gentleman's tone ad- 
 monished his thoughtlessness. The cane halted 
 in its switching. 
 
 "How well the tree is looking, Mr. Wiseman." 
 
 "Splendid, isn't it? The fruit is fast ripening. 
 In a month or so it will fall." 
 
 Lewis Wiseman's deep voice disturbed a fish 
 that had risen near the surface of the river. 
 With a swift side plunge it stirred the water and 
 disappeared, a silver fin upraised showing the 
 path of its flight. Lewis Wiseman drew in his 
 line with a short sigh. "I shouldn't wonder if 
 that wasn't the big one," he murmured to him- 
 self. Arthur W T ilsonholme stirred impatiently. 
 
 "You haven't answered me yet, sir," he said. 
 
 "Er Arthur, what's that?" 
 
 "I want an answer to my question, sir." 
 There was growing courage in the young man's 
 voice. 
 
 Lewis Wiseman laughed shortly. "Do your 
 best, my boy," he answered, pleasantly. 
 
 Wilsonholme turned quickly. "I shall test 
 my fate at once," he replied, facing the steep 
 ascent.
 
 ii2 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "You have my best wishes at all events," said 
 Lewis Wiseman, noting his sturdy build and the 
 clear, fresh expression in the young fellow's eyes 
 that they were small was not his fault. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said Wilsonholme, simply. 
 Humming a tune, he reached the top of the path 
 whence he could see the house that shrine 
 which harbored his goddess. His heart beat 
 furiously, and his hands were trembling at the 
 prospect of the interview. "Will she have 
 me," seethed through his brain in thunderous 
 repetition. 
 
 Behind him the father of the goddess baited 
 his line afresh, murmuring "bless me ! bless me ! 
 little Agnes, a woman at last." 
 
 Agnes had just popped the gingerbread into 
 the oven when Arthur's knock sounded on 
 the front door. "Whoever can it be," she 
 murmured, dusting the flour from her arms and 
 pulling her sleeves down. A few deft pats to 
 the golden hair, and she crossed the flagged 
 pathway from the kitchen to the house, and 
 opened the door just as Arthur was preparing 
 to repeat his knock. 
 
 "You, Arthur," she cried gaily, offering him 
 her hand. "I wondered who it could be at this 
 early hour." 
 
 The young fellow could not answer for the 
 moment, various emotions making it impossible.
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 113 
 
 He could only clutch the little hand, with its 
 flour-tipped nails and shake it vigorously. 
 
 "How are you, Agnes?" he gasped, at last. 
 
 "Quite well, thank you, Arthur," she 
 answered, scenting danger, as a deer far off 
 scents the hunter. 
 
 "Won't you come in, and presently I shall 
 bring you some fresh gingerbread." There was 
 banter in her voice as he released her fingers and 
 followed her in. 
 
 "I'm not very fond of gingerbread," he began, 
 hurriedly, then blushed furiously. "At least," 
 Miss Agnes, if you have made it, why, that 
 makes all the difference. I shall enjoy it." 
 
 "Indeed," laughed the girl, pink signals 
 stealing to her cheeks. She looked so dear 
 standing before him, the corners of her mouth 
 raised bewitchingly, that Arthur forgot his 
 nervousness in the flood of tenderness that 
 threatened to overwhelm him. 
 
 "Miss Agnes," he faltered. 
 
 The girl affected not to hear. "I am so glad 
 you came to-day," she said, brightly. "Mother's 
 little terrier has been sick, and as we cannot find 
 any ticks in it we do not know what can be 
 wrong. You are so good with animals, Arthur, 
 I'm sure you will know. Shall we go and see it?" 
 Agnes turned swiftly towards the door. But 
 Arthur had not donned his best grey suit merely
 
 114 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 to prescribe for a sick dog, so he did not move. 
 
 "Miss Agnes," he began, once more tightening 
 his hold on his thin cane. How Agnes hated 
 that cane ! 
 
 "Yes, Arthur?" The girl resigned herself 
 to what she guessed would follow. How many 
 times had she warded it off! 
 
 But Arthur was suddenly dumb. The 
 elaborate speech he had prepared so carefully 
 fled from his memory. Agnes moved to the 
 table, the corners of her mouth twitching. 
 
 "Yes, Arthur?" she repeated, kindly. 
 
 "I have loved you very dearly, Agnes," Arthur 
 began hurriedly, struggling with an impro- 
 visation. "For years, in fact" his small eyes 
 blinked with the strength of his devotion. 
 
 The girl did not move, only stood with her 
 eyes downcast and her lips held firmly between 
 her teeth. Arthur came a little nearer. 
 
 "You know I love you, Agnes," he said, his 
 voice shaking like a leaf that quivers in the wind. 
 "Can can you reciprocate my affection ?" 
 A sigh of relief escaped him. How fortunate 
 that he should remember that phrase after 
 studying the dictionary so long in search of the 
 right word. So great was his relief that courage 
 returned, and he ventured to raise his eyes to 
 the goddess. Dear girl, how affected she was. 
 She hid the trembling of her lips behind a hand-
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 115 
 
 kerchief. Arthur longed to kiss those lips, but 
 his courage was of the Netherlands, so he 
 remained where he was. 
 
 Agnes spoke at last. "You surprise me, 
 Arthur," she answered, with intended prevari- 
 cation. "I have not encouraged you, have I?" 
 
 Arthur's hopes sank to zero. He forgot her 
 woman's wiles in the sudden quenching of his 
 anticipations. Did girls then smile sweetly on 
 everyone, whisper soft words in the dusk in such 
 a delightfully intimate manner that every young 
 man's heart thumped like a sledge hammer. 
 Poor Arthur! Agnes was his first love. He 
 had been but one of many who had aspired to 
 her good graces. Can anyone blame a girl in 
 proving her prowess? 
 
 Dejection seized him. "You cannot recip " 
 he began. 
 
 Agnes broke in. If he said that again she 
 would laugh outright. 
 
 "Arthur, we have been good chums," she said, 
 going to him and putting her own white fingers 
 on his nervous brown ones, holding so tightly 
 to the back of the chair. "Can we not always 
 be so?" 
 
 The light fell through the window and fired 
 the golden hair to a brighter radiance. How 
 intensely desirable she was ! He shifted uneasily 
 and gazed beseechingly into the girl's blue eyes.
 
 ii6 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 reading in them the hopelessness of striving for 
 the unattainable. Words were hard to find. 
 
 At last, "I'm sorry, Miss Agnes, very sorry, 
 to have worried you like this. Forgive me and 
 forget it." He imprisoned her fingers in a grip 
 that hurt. 
 
 "Thank you, Arthur," said the girl, her voice 
 very kind and low. He really did love her, poor 
 fellow ! For a few minutes they stood with their 
 fingers linked together; then the sound of a door 
 opening and shutting put an end to the interview. 
 
 "It is mother," said Agnes, quickly. "You 
 will stay, Arthur, and talk to her awhile. She 
 likes you very much. Oh, my gingerbread!" 
 swift fear in her voice. "It will be burnt to a 
 cinder. Arthur, how could you ?" A wonderful 
 smile lurked about her mouth and in her blue 
 eyes. 
 
 With a heavy heart he watched her run from 
 the room across the stone flags to the kitchen. 
 Then Mrs. Wiseman came in, such a slender, 
 fragile woman that Arthur Wilsonholme, 
 smothering his disappointment, crossed the 
 room quickly and guided her to a chair. 
 
 "Good morning, Mrs. Wiseman," he cried. 
 
 "Good morning, Arthur, was Agnes in here 
 just now? I thought I heard her voice." 
 
 "Yes, she was, but has just run over to see 
 to her cooking," he returned.
 
 AGNES RECEIVES A PROPOSAL 117 
 
 Mrs. Wiseman turned to him. "I do wish you 
 would have a look at Merry," she said, anxiously. 
 "I am convinced there is a tick in him though 
 the others cannot find it, and I " with a wistful 
 outward movement of the hand, "I am useless 
 when it comes to looking for anything." 
 
 She led the way to the verandah, shady and 
 cool with grape-vines and climbing roses. In 
 a corner a small terrier lay dozing. At sight of 
 his mistress it wagged its tail, but did not rush 
 forward as it always did when strangers came. 
 
 "Where is he?" asked Mrs. Wiseman, waiting 
 for the sound of his canine footsteps. 
 
 Arthur went to the little dog. "Here he is," 
 he said, "in the far corner. He does seem 
 apathetic. Get up, Merry; let me feel round 
 you." Deft fingers probed the dog's body. 
 Arthur examined all the likely spots a tick would 
 make for, talking to the animal as he inves- 
 tigated, lifting each paw, and prodding the 
 cushioned pads beneath. As he pressed one of 
 the front paws the tiny dog barked suddenly in 
 pain. 
 
 "Aha, here it is," said Arthur. 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Wiseman, eagerly. "It is 
 a tick, Arthur? I was not mistaken?" 
 
 "No, it is not a tick, Mrs. Wiseman. It is a 
 thorn, festering. When did they look at him?" 
 
 "Two days ago," she answered.
 
 ii8 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Ah, it has taken time. You have been in the 
 brush some time? It is a poisonous thorn and 
 has worked into the system slightly." 
 
 "Yes, we were there a few days back. Can 
 you get it out, Arthur?" 
 
 A few quick touches and the thorn was out. 
 Merry licked the hand of his benefactor in 
 gratitude. 
 
 An odour of burnt gingerbread pervaded the 
 air. Rising quickly, Arthur said he must not 
 stay any longer. 
 
 "You will wait dinner, surely?" queried Mrs. 
 Wiseman in surprise. Arthur's visits were 
 generally prolonged to their utmost. 
 
 "Not to-day, thank you, Mrs. Wiseman," he 
 answered, his voice suddenly threatening to fail 
 him, as keen disappointment and shattered 
 dreams flooded his mind, and the mental picture 
 of his own farm homestead rose before him, 
 lonely and desolate, bereft of a girl's dream 
 presence. 
 
 As he rode away on his shining chestnut 
 filly, a pure bred collie trotting at his heels, 
 Lewis Wiseman reached the top of the steep 
 path above the fishing hole. 
 
 "Bless me," he panted, shading his eyes from 
 the sun's glare. "So she's flouted him, the 
 hussy."
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 JEALOUSY 
 
 THOUGHTS are merely birds of passage, 
 coming and going, wheeling, skimming, 
 falling, rising through shadow and sun, 
 o'er land and sea. A few are prisoners hidden 
 deep in the heart's dungeons, locked under, with 
 a heavy stone placed on top so that none might 
 hear the groans and sighs beneath. As Agnes 
 Wiseman walked slowly towards the orchard, 
 her workbag swinging at her side, to and fro, 
 in rhythm with her footsteps, high, tender 
 thoughts filled her mind. The pureness of her 
 love, its richness, completeness, its whole 
 dominion of herself, uplifted the girl to realms 
 as far removed from humdrum everyday life as 
 Elysium from Pluto's dismal realm. Tender 
 mirth edged the sweet lips and dwelt in the dewy 
 eyes. She lived again through that sunny 
 morning when the shadows of the plum trees 
 moved across the earth in a slow caress, when 
 the whisper of the birds in the tree tops stole 
 in liquid song to her ears, and the bubble of the 
 "brook filled the air with running music. The 
 
 119
 
 120 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 world had changed since then, unutterably. She 
 still dwelt on heights of bliss, the sky above 
 unshadowed. Under the trees, her footsteps 
 noiseless in the grass, she passed, petals white, 
 pink, cream and crimson, falling round her in a 
 coloured shower. 
 
 Beneath the peach tree, favoured by Annette, 
 she paused, eyes roving over the landscape. At 
 the foot of the hill a quince hedge straggled, 
 irregular, thickly twisted, one branch within 
 another, the blossoms scenting the air heavily, 
 and mingling with the pear trees, which 
 stretched like a canopy of white above the 
 quince hedge and a little to the left of Agnes. 
 In the orange trees, where fruit still hung like 
 golden lanterns, some noisy rosellas chattered. 
 
 Agnes seated herself leisurely beneath the 
 peach trees and took out her sewing a wisp of 
 ribbon, a yard or two of lace, a snip of buckram 
 shaped in a curve to fit her mother's head that 
 dear gentle mother so patient under her 
 affliction. Agnes loved making these dainty caps, 
 beneath which the pale face looked like some 
 rare cameo, so fragile, it seemed the smallest 
 breath of trouble must shatter and deface it. 
 From above, a small green peach fell lightly to 
 the ground. Agnes glanced up quickly, thinking 
 to see Annette's playful face peeping down at 
 her. But the little girl was not there. Life
 
 JEALOUSY 121 
 
 just then, to Agnes Wiseman, was a dream filled 
 with a very real delight. Earth was an en- 
 chanted palace, the blue dome of heaven, a vast 
 hand, kind, showering gifts in lavish profusion. 
 She could not see how should she? the 
 shadow on the near horizon. She gazed through 
 spectacles as yet rosy. Like a frightened bird, 
 fearful of an unseen enemy, she glanced about 
 her, unbuttoned the neck of her blouse and drew 
 forth a fine gold chain. A slender circle, ringed 
 with small diamonds, hung on the chain. It 
 was the ring that Bertram Forbes had given her 
 on his last visit. Years ago it had been his 
 mother's. Agnes loved the old fashioned 
 setting. The dull gold and the stones in their 
 unbroken circle seemed a token of unending 
 love. Surely, though unseen, she had the love 
 of that dead mother whose son she was to wed. 
 
 Fastening her blouse, Agnes slipped the ring 
 on her finger. Hey, presto! To what realms 
 of imagination did that simple action transport 
 her! A rosy flush spread slowly from forehead 
 to chin, to the tips of two small ears as shyly 
 she pressed the ring to her lips. A wagtail, 
 perched on a limb of the peach tree, cocked his 
 head inquisitively on one side as he eyed her. 
 What strange creatures human beings were ! 
 
 "So here you are?" a gay voice broke in on 
 her reverie. Agnes let her hand fall swiftly to
 
 122 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 her side and turned to find Myrtle Parry 
 regarding her quizzically from under sleepy lids, 
 her eyes gleaming coldly blue between thick 
 fringes of pale lashes. 
 
 "How are you?" said Agnes, brightly, the 
 quick flush ebbing from her cheeks, humour 
 darting to her aid. She recognized veiled 
 enmity in this charming russet-haired girl, whose 
 voice suggested the changing music of the sea. 
 Myrtle Parry touched her lightly on the 
 shoulder. "Don't move," she said, politely. "I 
 shall seat myself beside you. What an idyllic 
 spot to dream!" her gaze fell on the landscape 
 beneath, on the drift of snowy pear-blossom, on 
 the erratic quince hedge, so insistent in distri- 
 buting its sweetness. It came slowly back to 
 Agnes, the white hands falling from the 
 shoulders to the fingers curved about the 
 delicate lace and ribbon. 
 
 "Do you often come here to dream?" she 
 queried. 
 
 "To work," laughed Agnes, her left hand 
 buried in the grass beside her. 
 
 "Ah, but you surely dream sometimes," 
 insisted her visitor. "I caught you at it." Her 
 eyes brooked no denial. 
 
 "Well, I believe I was just then," Agnes 
 conceded, in a frank, clear tone. She would not
 
 JEALOUSY 123 
 
 allow vague doubts of this girl's sincerity to 
 assail her, when all the world seemed so fair. 
 
 Myrtle Parry folded her gloved hands in the 
 lap of her riding habit, which fitted her figure 
 so perfectly. Agnes noted its finish and the 
 softness of its fine blue cloth. How she would 
 have loved to possess one even half as good, 
 and thought with an inward sigh of her own 
 countrified and badly fitting habit. 
 
 "Of whom were you thinking," asked Myrtle 
 Parry, twisting her head so that the sun caught 
 the meshes of her hair and fired it to sparkling 
 glory. Beside it Agnes's hair seemed almost 
 dull and lifeless, and lighter than the pale gold 
 of a daffodil's outer petals. 
 
 Agnes started unconsciously. "Of no one in 
 particular," she answered, striving to keep the 
 colour from her face. 
 
 Her inquisitor leaned forward, unbelief 
 written very plainly in her scrutiny. "Really," 
 she commented in a cold, hard voice, so that the 
 doubts rose up twofold and worried Agnes. 
 
 "Guess who brought me here to-day?" said 
 the visitor, a new light springing to her eyes as 
 she waited. 
 
 Agnes shook her head. "How can I guess," 
 she asked, "when I do not know where you are 
 staying." 
 . "I am at Noorong with the Merryfields.
 
 i2 4 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Surely you can guess?" said Myrtle Parry, 
 assumed shyness in voice and manner. 
 
 "Arthur Wilsonholme," said Agnes, wickedly. 
 
 Myrtle Parry took her revenge instantly. 
 "Bertram Forbes," she answered, a slow gleam 
 of anger burning suddenly in the pupils of her 
 eyes. Agnes did not move. It was a surprise, 
 for she did not know that he was in the district. 
 
 "Doubtless you enjoyed your ride on such a 
 glorious day," she said at last, when the forced 
 smile died from her lips. 
 
 "It was enchanting." 
 
 Agnes turned to her sewing, arranging the 
 lace in folds along the curve of buckram. "You 
 love riding, do you not?" she asked, her thoughts 
 with the little ring buried in the clump of grass 
 beside her. 
 
 "Love it! I adore it! Tell me, are you not 
 jealous?" 
 
 "Why should I be?" parried Agnes steadily. 
 
 "Come now, you should be, and if I read 
 human nature aright you are," said the girl, 
 with the sun-fire in her hair and the coldness of 
 the moon in her eyes. 
 
 Agnes flushed in annoyance. "You are very 
 strange, I think." She spoke evenly and very 
 coldly. She trusted Bertram. With such a girl 
 as Myrtle Parry, the very simplicities of life 
 became complex. How could she guess what
 
 JEALOUSY 125 
 
 stress of circumstances had brought him to her 
 home as the escort of Myrtle Parry? 
 
 "Everyone says you are engaged." 
 
 The visitor's voice, languid, amused, filled her 
 with rising irritation. Had she come merely to 
 annoy her? She could scarcely conceive it 
 possible. In reality it was the reason why 
 Myrtle Parry had come. 
 
 "Mere surmise is harmless," said Agnes, 
 taking a loop of ribbon and fixing it among the 
 lace. 
 
 Miss Parry laughed musically. "Nevertheless, 
 you do not deny it," she remarked. 
 
 "I must beg you to discontinue," said Agnes. 
 "Such subjects deserve only the most delicate 
 handling." 
 
 A rich red died her tormentor's cheeks. 
 "They do, indeed," she answered, with sarcasm, 
 and burning with ill-bred resentment. This 
 country chit dared to lecture her! "You are 
 welcome to your Don Juan." 
 
 Agnes Wiseman rose swiftly to her feet, her 
 blue eyes blazing. "Miss Parry," she said, 
 "your rudeness is unparalleled." 
 
 "I know it is, but why did you annoy me?" 
 
 "I annoy you!" Agnes's sweet voice was 
 incredulous with surprise. 
 
 "You lectured me as to what are proper
 
 126 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 subjects for conversation," Miss Parry's re- 
 sentment was still undiminished. 
 
 Agnes laughed shortly. "Shall we go to the 
 house for tea?" she asked, after a moment's 
 tense silence. 
 
 "If you are anxious. For my part, I rarely 
 drink tea," answered the girl at her feet. 
 
 Disdaining to notice the hidden thrust, Agnes 
 led the way under the cool shadows of the 
 orange trees, her eyes smarting with unshed 
 tears, her lips trembling. As she approached 
 the verandah, the sound of voices speaking 
 earnestly reached her ears. Her heart beat 
 rapidly. Was he telling her mother? She cast 
 a fleeting, backward glance at the girl dawdling 
 behind. She did not see the tolerant amusement 
 in the cold blue-green eyes as they lazily 
 followed her. The ridiculousness of this girl's 
 trust almost made Myrtle Parry laugh aloud. 
 She knew, none better, the variable nature of 
 man, had fathomed the masculine spirit, which 
 is for ever stretching out its hands for novelty 
 and fresh sensation. She had quaffed Life's 
 wine until its taste palled. 
 
 Yet, why should others find happiness when 
 she could not? The memory of that night when 
 she had walked with Bertram Forbes under the 
 pomegranate hedge came suddenly before her. 
 That night her soul had almost felt young again.
 
 JEALOUSY 127 
 
 The moon's witchery and the soft stirring of 
 the leaves in the shadows had exercised their old 
 spell, so that the hidden siren in her had put 
 forth its arms to gather the old fruits of power 
 and adulation. 
 
 She came up just as Forbes rose to greet 
 Agnes. Beside him Mrs. Wiseman sat in her 
 low easy chair, her little dog stretched full 
 length at her feet. 
 
 "Is it Miss Parry, Agnes," she asked, in 
 a nervous manner, subtle intuition warning her 
 of some adverse influence in their midst. 
 
 "Yes, it is Myrtle Parry," answered a clear, 
 flute-like voice. "How are you Mrs. Wiseman? 
 You were not out when Mr. Forbes rode up 
 with me so I found your daughter in the orchard, 
 dreaming." She seated herself beside the frail, 
 blind lady, in a protecting intimate manner, that 
 somehow one did not expect. 
 
 Agnes flushed at her words and turned 
 towards the open door, murmuring inaudibly 
 about the tea. 
 
 Forbes' gaze rested on the lissom form of the 
 girl in the riding habit. He had no idea she 
 could appear so simple. The suggestion of 
 kindness in her attitude softened her whole 
 personality; hitherto he had only seen the 
 coquette. Then he saw Agnes busily setting
 
 128 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the cups on the red covered table and went 
 inside to help. 
 
 Myrtle Parry's conversation grew inter- 
 mittent, her answers vague. What was going 
 on in the dining room? Scarce murmuring an 
 excuse, she went inside to see. She was 
 rewarded by finding two heads very close 
 together peering into a wide, old fashioned 
 cupboard built into the wall. 
 
 "I am really growing thirsty," she exclaimed. 
 
 Two smiling faces gave her their attention. 
 
 "Won't be long now," Forbes assured her. 
 He thought Myrtle Parry recognized life's 
 different values almost as well as he did himself. 
 That she should be consumed with unac- 
 knowledged jealousy never entered his head. 
 
 "What is it that is so hard to find?" asked 
 Miss Parry, with a glance that took in the plain 
 white wall, the photos of dead and gone Wise- 
 mans, the wide old sofa and the stiff dark chairs. 
 A soiled cabbage-tree hat hung on one of these, 
 and the cracked violin case poked its nose from 
 under the sofa. Miss Parry raised her head in 
 a superior manner, and drummed her ringers 
 languidly on the table, so that the cups and 
 saucers broke into disturbed chattering. 
 
 "What is it that is always so hard to find?" 
 asked Forbes, waylaying her wandering eyes. 
 
 "I'm sure I couldn't say."
 
 JEALOUSY 129 
 
 "Why the sugar tongs, of course," as Agnes 
 rose with a brisk, "Here they are!" 
 
 Miss Parry shrugged her shoulders and 
 watched Agnes leave the room, a small brown 
 teapot poised in her hand. "Only one class of 
 people ever bother looking," she said, turning 
 to Forbes. 
 
 "Whom do you credit with such harmless 
 pleasures?" he asked. 
 
 "The fools !" she answered, with a quick side 
 glance, and a soft tattoo of high heels on an 
 uncarpeted floor. 
 
 "I once assisted in a similar hunt," he 
 remarked gaily, recognizing her pet. 
 
 "I have long since passed that crass stage," 
 she observed, turning to study the books in 
 their cedar case. 
 
 "Are you sure?" asked Forbes amiably. 
 
 Myrtle Parry smiled, and bent her head in 
 order to read a title behind the glass more 
 cleariy. Through the blinds a sun-gleam broke 
 into ripples of fire among her hair, but she did 
 not answer him. Nor did she speak much when 
 Agnes returned and led her mother to a chair 
 before beginning to dispense Bungay's hos- 
 pitality to her guests. 
 
 In the midst of the tea drinking a sudden 
 uproar from many canine throats rose without. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Agnes, quickly.
 
 130 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 A childish voice pitched to a high treble of 
 excitement floated up the steps. 
 
 "Mother! Mother! Can't you guess, we've 
 caught 'grandfather.' ' 
 
 A deeper voice sent Myrtle Parry forth to 
 investigate. Arthur Wilsonholme and Annette 
 were there, fishing rods in hand, and between 
 them held affectionately, by head and tail, an 
 enormous shining perch. 
 
 "Hurrah." cried Forbes, coming out, followed 
 by the others. "Where did you get such a 
 monster?" 
 
 "Ugh! the horrid thing," murmured Miss 
 Parry, stepping back. 
 
 "Who caught him ?" queried Agnes anxiously. 
 
 "I did, by myself," cried Annette, showering 
 smiles recklessly around. 
 
 "I felt sure the worm I found this morning 
 under the peach tree would catch him," she 
 continued, wagging the fish tenderly to and fro 
 in a gentle see-saw. "Arthur helped me to 
 land him though," she added, quickly. "Still I 
 caught him, didn't I, Arthur?" 
 
 "Yes, you certainly hooked him," said Wilson- 
 holme, his eyes on Agnes. 
 
 Annette went suddenly to her mother's side 
 and a whispered conversation took place. "Shall 
 I put him down father's jug?" she asked. "Think
 
 JEALOUSY 131 
 
 what a surprise it would be, mother darling ; and 
 I'll put a card on its tail saying I caught it." 
 
 "No, no, dear," said Mrs. Wiseman, her hands 
 holding the dear head closer to her. "We will 
 ask Katrin to cook it for to-morrow's breakfast." 
 
 "Whole," said Annette, eagerly. 
 
 "Any way you like," said her mother, laughing, 
 as the small daughter slipped away, seized the 
 fish from Forbes, who was admiring its length, 
 and, racing to the kitchen with an excited 
 whoop, presented it to a much astonished and 
 loudly applauding Katrin, with many instruct- 
 ions to cook it whole for tea. 
 
 "I knew as luck as would come to this house 
 to-day," babbled the old servant, as much excited 
 as Annette. 
 
 ''Why, Katrin?" she asked, as she hunted 
 eagerly for the sharpest knife in the drawer. 
 
 "Because I changed my stockings this morn," 
 said Katrin. "I put the right one on to the left 
 foot and that always brings luck to a house. 
 My dear mither in ould Ireland tould me that, 
 dear wan." Katrin chopped the head off 'grand- 
 father' with a mighty blow. 
 
 Annette shuddered, but felt she must see her 
 wondrous haul safely into the pan. When at 
 length the fat spluttered with blue smoke and 
 'grandfather' lay helplessly in the largest dish
 
 132 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 available she went back to the verandah. But 
 even her mother had disappeared. 
 
 Annette lifted her voice in an exasperated call. 
 "Coo-ee, coo-ee," came floating back. 
 
 With a flutter of short skirts and her long 
 pigtail flying Annette raced down the steps, 
 through the garden to the sliprails leading to 
 the orchard. Spying the group under the 
 peach tree, she remarked in a tone of much 
 satisfaction. "They're all down at Mrs. 
 Pritchard's. How flustered the poor dear will 
 be! I must really go to her assistance. And 
 her legs so bad too." 
 
 She pretended not to hear "Mr. Ho. Ho's" 
 joyous "Hello, Miss Annette Wiseman," as she 
 approached, and twisting her slim body into the 
 lower limb of the tree, drew the thin black legs 
 after her with a dignified jerk. 
 
 Miss Parry eyed her curiously. "Why do you 
 get up there?" she queried, flicking the limb 
 with a short silver-knobbed riding crop. 
 
 "Because Mrs. Pritchard is so nervous," said 
 Annette guardedly. 
 
 "Mrs. Who?" asked Miss Parry, in surprise. 
 
 But Annette affected deafness and climbed to 
 a higher limb, where she began to talk in a low 
 tone to the imaginary lady. Underneath her, 
 voices chatted briskly, discussing local topics 
 gaily and amid much laughter.
 
 JEALOUSY 133 
 
 "Where's Hal?" Miss Parry at length inquired. 
 
 "He's out on his selection to-day," said Agnes. 
 
 "How dreary. Does he often go?" 
 
 "Fairly so. You see, it is compulsory." 
 
 "And Gilbert? I haven't seen him about," 
 her blue-green eyes roving across the cultivated 
 fields. 
 
 "He is in town this afternoon, unfortunately. 
 He will be sorry to have missed you both." 
 
 "I should like to have heard his violin. He 
 plays, does he not?" 
 
 Agnes glanced sharply at her visitor. She 
 knew Gilbert's music was a source of amusement 
 to some, and she was not in a mood to brook 
 Miss Parry's sarcasm. 
 
 "Yes. he plays a little," she answered shortly. 
 
 Sunset gilded the low-lying range of hills in 
 the west. Waning daylight, like a great tired 
 bird, rested vast wings of cloud, crimson, purple, 
 orange over the hill tops, shadowing them in a 
 silent caress. Kookaburras were laughing in 
 the cedars, and from the pig trough stole 
 smothered grunts of satisfaction. Under the 
 pear trees Mrs. Wiseman stood, her beautiful 
 eyes fixed steadily on the blinding glory of the 
 west. Moveless, she stood, hands folded before 
 her, the delicate face illuminated with an inward 
 fire. Seeing her thus, motionless, as some 
 zealous sun worshipper, Agnes Wiseman's eyes
 
 134 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 filled with sudden tears. How well she guessed 
 the prayer filling her mother's heart, the deep 
 abiding patience of her soul ! A short unspoken 
 prayer sprang to the girl's lips that the morrow 
 might dawn as brightly as to-day had set. 
 
 Myrtle Parry and Arthur Wilsonholme were 
 advancing towards the lone figure under the 
 pears, leaving Agnes alive to the fact that 
 Bertram Forbes stood silent beside her, his eyes 
 on her face. 
 
 "How I love you, Agnes," he said, gently. 
 
 A rustle of leaves above and they both glanced 
 up remembering Annette's presence. Eyes met 
 in a smile. "When did you come?" she asked. 
 
 "Last night to find the Merryfield's already 
 had another visitor," with a whimsical shrug of 
 the shoulders, and eyebrows raised in Miss 
 Parry's direction. "May I come to-morrow, 
 Agnes?" 
 
 She hesitated, turning things over swiftly in 
 her mind. Would her father return to-night or 
 would the morrow find them uncertain as to his 
 whereabouts. After all he had gone with 
 Gilbert to the town. Still doubt assailed her. 
 A shadow quenched the light in the blue eyes, 
 as she turned her face to him. "Would it be 
 too long to wait until the day after?" she asked, 
 stooping to pick up her neglected sewing. 
 
 His hand fell over hers quickly in a strong
 
 JEALOUSY 135 
 
 caress. "It will be an eternity, Agnes, but I will 
 come then. Will you be waiting here?" 
 
 The others were coming back towards them. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, breathlessly, for his 
 hand hurt. 
 
 The sun slipped behind the hills as the visitors 
 rode away, Arthur Wilsonholme with them. 
 
 Katrin's voice could be heard calling from the 
 dining room. "Oh sure, and I'll be quite daft, 
 an' you don't come soon. De'il fly away with the 
 gintlemen. Is it the wan with the cheerful 
 smoile or the wan loike an oyster?" 
 
 "Where is Miss Annette, Katrin?" asked 
 Agnes, coming in. 
 
 "De'il knows," answered the old servant, 
 lifting the cover and glancing approvingly at 
 'grandfather' ensconced on his dish. 
 
 "Mr. Hal's home," she remarked, giving the 
 breadknife an extra polish on the sleeve of her 
 dress. 
 
 "Katrin!" Agnes's voice was horrified. 
 
 "Sure and what does it matter, dear wan," 
 remarked Katrin, unabashed. 
 
 Agnes went outside to the orchard fence. 
 "Annette, Annette," she called from the slip-rail. 
 
 "Yes, I'm coming," piped a shrill voice. "I'm 
 just rubbing Mrs. Pritchard's legs with methy- 
 lated spirits like Katrin rubs hers." 
 
 Katrin, half-way to the kitchen, heard, "Oh
 
 136 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the dear choild," she breathed fearfully, "she'll 
 be giving me away yet, with her koind heart." 
 
 When tea was over, Gilbert came in, slowly, 
 his footsteps lagging a little as though tired. 
 
 "Father home?" he asked. 
 
 Agnes looked up quickly, her hair shimmering 
 in the candlelight. "I thought that you were 
 together," she said. 
 
 Annette's small face puckered with dis- 
 appointment and her portion of the fish became 
 suddenly savorless. "I hate fathers," she 
 murmured rebelliously, pushing her plate away. 
 
 "Hush, dear," said Agnes, quietly, pouring out 
 Gilbert's tea. 
 
 "He said he must see old Simson about some 
 cattle?" said Gilbert, helping himself to a second 
 spoonful of sugar. 
 
 "Leave a light in his room to-night." Mrs. 
 Wiseman's gentle lips had hardened to a tight 
 line of suffering. Hal leaned forward and kissed 
 her forehead. 
 
 "Did you feel the glorious sunset, mother 
 mine," he asked with forced cheerfulness. 
 
 "Yes, dear son," she answered. 
 
 Annette recovered sufficiently to pass her 
 plate for another helping, remarking in a heart- 
 less manner, "Let us eat it all and not leave a 
 bit," and so zealously did she make the attempt 
 that Hal was obliged to extract a fish bone
 
 JEALOUSY 137 
 
 from her small throat before many minutes 
 had passed. 
 
 TO the night Agnes woke suddenly, heavy 
 oppression on her heart. She rose, noiselessly, 
 and went to the open window, ears straining to 
 catch the least sound. But only the rattling of 
 the loquat leaves in the orchard could be heard, 
 and the far distant breath of swaying trees. 
 And in the room facing the north, a candle 
 guttered to the socket, flared and went out.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 HEARTACHE 
 
 ANNETTE had a mania for early rising. 
 If she could manage to outdo Katrin in 
 this respect, that day could be counted 
 well spent. Accordingly, the day following 
 Myrtle Parry's visit she awoke when the stars 
 were still shining. Slipping out of bed she 
 stole to the chair where her clothes lay neatly 
 folded, and fumbled for her stockings. Agnes 
 moved uneasily, and Annette sat motionless, one 
 stocking drawn only half way on. Then Agnes 
 breathed evenly again and Annette proceeded 
 sw r iftly with her dressing. 
 
 The light was growing fast outside. Annette 
 feared every star would be gone if she lingered 
 to brush her hair, so hastily tying it back she 
 tiptoed into the dining room. Chairs creaked, 
 cupboards groaned, the very ticking of the tall 
 clock seemed three times as loud as it ordinarily 
 did. At last she stood outside, the dogs fawning 
 delightedly about her; Julius, the tortoise-shell 
 cat. rubbing affectionately against her legs; 
 and, best of all, quite a handful of pale stars 
 
 138
 
 HEARTACHE 139 
 
 glimmering in the sky. A curious rooster came 
 near and crowed lustily, flapping his russet 
 wings in astonishment. Simultaneously, Katrin 
 emerged from her room at the end of the house. 
 
 "Sleepy-head," was Annette's cheery greeting. 
 
 Katrin blinked, and, smiling, showed how few 
 teeth she had left. "The top of the morning to 
 ye," she answered, twisting her grey hair into a 
 tight knot behind one ear, and spearing it with 
 a long villainous-looking hairpin. She opened 
 the creaking door of her domain as Annette 
 slipped round to the side of the house. An open 
 door formed a long black oblong, and into the 
 shadows beyond the little girl peered. All was 
 still. A bed showed dimly, white and undis- 
 turbed, a pair of heavy boots stood waiting like 
 two sentinels, and lying carelessly on the floor 
 were a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. 
 
 Annette went in and picked them up, placing 
 them on a table with fishing tackle, books, and 
 jars filled with many strangely coloured sub- 
 stances. When she came out she drew a deep 
 breath and walked towards the orchard. Mrs. 
 Pritchard was still a-bed, so the little girl went 
 down to the quince hedge to inquire after a 
 partly-built willy-wag's nest. 
 
 Dew diamonds fell from the grass as she 
 passed, and the pear trees stood bravely holding 
 pure cups to the fast rising sun. Somewhere
 
 140 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 among them a thrush sang gaily. The whole 
 earth was waking and lifting her voice in a vast 
 song of praise. Cobby, the brown horse, hung 
 his head over a fence and whinnied as Annette 
 passed by, then bit Swagman playfully on the 
 ear and chased him round the paddock in a mad 
 frolic. Annette found the small nest finished. 
 The feathered householder watched her ner- 
 vously, ruffling his feathers and opening and 
 shutting his black wings. A quince petal fell 
 softly into the nest. Willy immediately flew 
 boldly forward and whisked it indignantly away, 
 then burst into long suppressed chatter, voluble 
 and uproarious. 
 
 The sun had just risen when Agnes woke. 
 She put out her hand to pat her young sister's 
 dark locks and encountered only empty space. 
 "At what unearthly hour did that child rise?" 
 she murmured sleepily, then, at a sudden 
 thought, rose hurriedly and sprang out of bed. 
 Outside she saw the dew-wet grass, sparkling 
 in the sunlight, the thick glossy leaves of the 
 loquats. and the tender green of a mulberry tree. 
 Beneath the window the fragrance of young 
 lemon leaves mingled with the delicate scent of 
 tea-roses, and the soft "cluck, cluck," of a hen 
 escorting her cheeping family in the track of 
 the early worm, sounded in a low monotone 
 among her precious violet plants. Agnes leaned
 
 HEARTACHE 141 
 
 out so that her long hair fell about her in a 
 tangle. "Shoo," she cried, indignantly, waving 
 her hands in quick spasmodic jerks. The 
 chickens, mere fluffy balls of down, scattered to 
 right and left, but their mother stood her ground 
 and eyed this unwelcome apparition with a 
 scornful lengthening of her neck before stalking 
 solemnly away. 
 
 Dressed. Agnes bent her steps towards that 
 open door facing the northern hills. She like- 
 wise found only emptiness and a burnt-out 
 candle. Katrin was busy in the kitchen. 
 Annette was nowhere to be seen. A song half 
 whistled, half sung, proclaimed Gilbert's rising. 
 Hal was already up, Agnes could see him trying 
 to catch the wily Swagman, who every now and 
 then galloped round the paddock, Cobby at his 
 heels. 
 
 The tortoise-shell cat followed Agnes to the 
 orchard, a tiny dead mouse between her teeth. 
 
 Under the orange and loquat trees to the gaily 
 flowering peach she walked, drops of moisture 
 falling from above upon the glory of her golden 
 hair. Stooping, Agnes let her fingers sink 
 among the grass stems, thin and wet; rising a 
 slender circlet glistened in her hand, its stones, 
 clear points of white flame. 
 
 "To think I should have forgotten you," she 
 breathed, self-reproachfully, twisting it gently
 
 142 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 so that the sun hid his laughter in the depths of 
 the diamonds. The mirrored magic opened 
 doors to many unexplored realms. Tender 
 scenes stood shyly forth, new voices spoke, song 
 and mirth stole gladly from secret places, 
 unseen hands played on hidden instruments of 
 wondrous sweetness. "Little ring," whispered 
 the girl, blushing happily, "can you guess how 
 different you have made my life?" Sunlight 
 answered her, and well content, she turned and 
 watched a small form climb slowly up the hill 
 from the shadows of the quince hedge. 
 
 Annette reached her breathless, her dark hair 
 in a wild tangle, filled with fallen blossoms and 
 tiny crumpled leaves. 
 
 "I was up before Katrin this morning," she 
 cried. 
 
 "Were you, dear? Did you race the stars 
 this time?" 
 
 A violent nod of the dark head, and Annette 
 twisted herself into the tree. 
 
 "Why don't you ask after Mrs. Pritchard, 
 Agnes?" she queried, reproachfully. "You 
 know she is very poorly." 
 
 A smile wreathed her sister's lips. "How is 
 she, dear?" she asked, dutifully. 
 
 Among the branches Annette's shrill pipe rose 
 questioningly. filled with sympathy. "She says
 
 HEARTACHE 143 
 
 she is feeling a little better, thank you, Agnes, 
 but thinks that another day in bed will not 
 hurt her." 
 
 Annette peering down between the blossoms 
 caught a glimpse of her sister's hand. "Agnes," 
 she asked, a long unanswered question to the 
 surface. 
 
 "Yes, dear?" 
 
 "Why did " She paused, then studying her 
 sister, "I don't like 'Mr. Ho, Ho!' Agnes, do 
 you?" 
 
 "Mr. who?" asked Agnes, looking up. 
 
 "I call him that, you know," said Annette, 
 "Mr. Forbes, I mean, of course." 
 
 "Why don't you like him?" asked her sister, 
 earnestly, smiles hidden far down the blue eyes. 
 
 "Because," said Annette, enigmatically, 
 chewing a very young peach. 
 
 "Spit that out at once, dear," commanded 
 Agnes. 
 
 "He called Miss Parry 'dear heart/' 1 said 
 Annette, spitting out the peach. "And kissed 
 her too," she added, reflectively. 
 
 The smile in her sister's eyes died suddenly. 
 "Come down," said Agnes, quietly, "and tell me 
 all about it, Annette." 
 
 The child slid down. "Where did you get 
 that ring, Agnes?"
 
 144 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 But Agnes did not answer, only drew the 
 brilliant circlet off her finger and slipped it into 
 the pocket of her apron. "Who has been telling 
 you these things," she asked, when the sudden 
 contraction of her throat had relaxed. 
 
 "No one," said Annette, "I saw him. Ben- 
 jamin and Thomas did too. It was the night of 
 the ball at Tarawingee. We were " Annette 
 paused, remembering she had not yet confessed 
 about that delightful evening under the pome- 
 granate hedge. The noisy gobble of the turkeys 
 rose on the air and the muffled hoofbeats of the 
 exasperating Swagman. 
 
 Agnes's voice was just a little changed when 
 she spoke again. The sunlight had left her 
 heart, had faded from her eyes, leaving them dull 
 like turquoise. Her hair, an aureole of golden 
 mist, blew about her forehead caressingly, 
 hiding the tiny ears with its silken strands. 
 
 "I'm glad you don't like him," said Annette, 
 in a relieved tone as she climbed up the tree 
 again. 
 
 "Are you?" answered her sister dully, slow 
 crimson rising to a white, pained face. How 
 happy she had been in her fool's paradise! 
 How changed the world had been since how 
 changed now! The blackness about her seemed 
 like some awful night, with the wind blowing 
 fierce and cold, filled with a dreary meaning.
 
 HEARTACHE 145 
 
 How she had given her heart, her very soul, 
 scorning the love which gives but half. Yet in 
 the zenith of her happiness he had dared to trifle 
 thus, had made of her love a mockery, a thing 
 to be cast aside lightly, without thought. Agnes 
 trembled with white-hot anger, and her eyes 
 were blind with pain as she stumbled back under 
 the orange trees, through the grey sliprails to 
 the shelter of her own room. 
 
 Unconscious of the mischief she had wrought, 
 Annette remained in deep conversation with 
 Mrs. Pritchard. 
 
 When the sounds of daily life came once more 
 to Agnes's ears, when the fact that a busy 
 morning was passing swiftly by, unheeded and 
 full of neglected duties, the poignant pain in her 
 heart seemed unbearable, as though some cruel 
 hand had thrust into it a two edged sword and 
 left it there. Then slowly on her dulled senses 
 stole the sound of deep persistent sobbing and 
 the murmur of harsh monotonous voice. 
 
 Agnes rose swiftly to her feet, throwing back 
 her dishevelled hair with a quick angry gesture. 
 So this was how her father had returned? 
 
 She found her mother in the dining-room 
 standing before her father, who was seated un- 
 certainly on a chair. The sight of his face 
 sickened the girl. "I hate him. - Oh, how I hate 
 him," a voice cried within her soul, as she
 
 146 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 hastened to her mother's side. Could this really 
 be her father who had given her her own being? 
 She shuddered as she stared at him, sitting there 
 inert and helpless in his chair, pouring forth a 
 vile stream of abuse and invective at the gentle, 
 fragile woman before him. 
 
 "Father!" her voice commanded him. He 
 turned heavy, dull eyes upon her, silenced for 
 the instant. 
 
 "What's the matter, Agnes?" he asked, 
 thickly. 
 
 "You had better go to your own room and 
 lie down," she answered, turning to lead the way. 
 
 "No, no, I won't," he answered, wickedly 
 obstinate, and firing a volley of oaths at his 
 weeping wife. 
 
 Like an avenging angel, Agnes stood over 
 him. "Stop it," she said, so quietly and 
 determinedly, that the coward in every 
 drunkard's soul quailed before her. But only 
 for a second, for the torrent broke out afresh 
 and turned on her. 
 
 "Agnes, dear," cried her mother, aloud in 
 anguish of body and soul. "Leave us, child, 
 and presently I will quieten him." 
 
 "I will not leave you, mother. Come with me 
 and I shall ring the bell and bring Hal in from 
 the fields." 
 
 "Leave Hal alone," stormed Lewis Wiseman,
 
 HEARTACHE 147 
 
 savagely, rising as though to strike the girl. 
 Undaunted she faced him, and presently his arm 
 fell as he began to weep maudlin tears of self 
 pity. "Why will you always take things the 
 wrong way," he blubbered. "You go against 
 your old father in every way you can." 
 
 Agnes did not answer, only a slight trembling 
 shook her from head to foot, and the colour in 
 her face whitened to chalk. 
 
 "Come, Lewis," said his wife, rising and taking 
 him by the hand. "You will feel better when you 
 have had a cup of coffee and a sleep. Tell 
 Katrin to bring it to his room, Agnes, dear," 
 turning to the girl beside her. Shuddering, the 
 girl watched the blind wife lead her husband to 
 the northern room, the sound of his spasmodic 
 sorrow beating into her brain like drops of 
 blood.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 CYNICISM 
 
 FILLED with importance Annette sat 
 perched on the lowest limb of the peach 
 tree awaiting the appearance of "Mr. 
 Ho, Ho." Agnes had entrusted her with a 
 message. Her thin legs dangled vigorously 
 above the green carpet of weeds and grass'. In 
 one hand she clutched a small packet; with the 
 other she held on to the limb above her. She 
 was talking to Mrs. Pritchard when he came. 
 At first sJie was not aware of his presence, for 
 Mrs. Pritchard was an exacting lady and liked 
 people to look straight at her when they spoke 
 to her ; so, of course, Annette could not see who 
 was behind her when she was gazing at such 
 an exacting lady. 
 
 "Hullo, Miss Annette Wiseman." His voice 
 so unexpected just then, nearly sent her off the 
 limb. 
 
 Regaining her equilibrium, Annette bowed 
 solemnly. "Good afternoon," she said, coldly, 
 for Agnes had told her, no matter what 
 happened she must be dignified, because she was 
 
 148
 
 CYNICISM 149 
 
 representing her. Annette's heart swelled at 
 the thought as she held out the packet. 
 
 "My sister wished me to give you this," she 
 said. "Unfortunately she could not stay at 
 home to-day. She had to go visiting." 
 
 Bertram Forbes' face changed curiously. The 
 lips grew sullen, the face lowering, the cheery 
 smile gave way to a cynicism of expression 
 almost repulsive. "Like attracts like," he 
 remarked, fingering the packet carefully. 
 Laughing mirthlessly, he added, "What a poor 
 opinion you have of yourself, old man?" 
 
 Annette coughed. "What's in the packet?" 
 she queried. "P'raps it's something nice !" 
 
 A humorous glint lit his eyes. "Perhaps," he 
 admitted, slowly unwrapping it. 
 
 A thread of gold embedded in green velvet, a 
 sparkle of pure white gems in the sunlight, 
 and Bertram Forbes smiled bitterly at their 
 brilliance, twisting them this way and that, so 
 that the fire broke loose and scintillated into 
 the colours of the wizard opal. 
 
 "I thought she was different to the others," 
 he muttered. A sudden wrenching of hinged 
 covers, a ring of living fire falling through space, 
 and he had placed an angry heel upon its beauty, 
 burying it savagely, deeply into the ground; 
 then with a smothered oath the broken case 
 went whirling high into the now falling blossoms
 
 150 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 of the peach tree. Turning, he surveyed 
 Annette, who had silently watched its flight. 
 
 "What's the matter with him," she wondered. 
 "He is all trembling like old Gyp when he gets 
 the mange. Why did you do that?" she asked, 
 pointing accusingly to where one half of the case 
 hung helplessly on a spike high above them. 
 
 "How the devil jests with us," he answered, 
 "delighting in his own good time to thrust our 
 deficiencies back down our own throats, their 
 taste more bitter than the vilest concoction any 
 witch could make." 
 
 "In my fairy book " began Annette, able to 
 understand the reference to the witch; but 
 Bertram Forbes was striding away from her. 
 Pie neither paused nor glanced back, and 
 presently the little girl heard the sound of 
 galloping hoofbeats grow fainter and fainter 
 down the road. With a sigh she addressed 
 herself to Mrs. Pritchard. "What strange 
 creatures men are," she remarked, with a deeper 
 philosophy than she guessed at. 
 
 After this there followed a disturbing time for 
 Annette. Agnes was ill. In the first place, 
 Annette was moved from her room to a little 
 truckle bed in Katrin's. This on the whole was 
 delightful, even though she had sometimes 
 almost to struggle for breath, Katrin having an
 
 CYNICISM 151 
 
 unwholesome horror of fresh air. Sometimes, 
 too, Katrin's room was pungent with a strange 
 odour. Annette wondered for a long time what 
 it could be, until one night she woke up and 
 found the old servant in the act of emptying a 
 glass of sparkling liquid down her throat. When 
 she saw Annette's eyes fixed wonderingly upon 
 her, she slipped her finger in the glass, and 
 applied some of the lotion to a skinny shank, 
 muttering piously, "Dear howly mither, cure my 
 ould pins with some of this precious fluid." 
 
 Annette fell asleep watching the process, but 
 in the morning all signs of the "precious fluid" 
 had disappeared leaving behind only its pene- 
 trating essence. 
 
 Fvery day she peeped in at Agnes, lying so 
 quietly on her bed, never moving, never smiling, 
 the same dull lethargy in her eyes, day after 
 day, the same cruel pain tearing heart and soul 
 and body. Rheumatic fever, old Dr. McCabe 
 had called it, shaking a shaggy head filled with 
 much assumed knowledge. 
 
 Lewis Wiseman hated doctors, and refused to 
 believe him, until his sister Fanny Marriott drove 
 up one day and rated him soundly on his 
 obstinacy and pig-headedness and want of 
 proper feeling, that he began to modify his 
 opinions somewhat. 
 
 One of Aunt Fanny's nieces, a nurse from the
 
 152 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 city came and nursed Agnes. She was short 
 and stout, and Gilbert promptly fell in love with 
 her. As he rode to town, a list of necessaries 
 for the invalid in his pocket, he would while 
 away the miles by repeating her name. 
 
 "Emily Marriott, Emily Marriott." At each 
 repetition the name seemed to grow more 
 euphonius, until Gilbert felt positive that there 
 had never in history or romance been a dearer 
 or sweeter name. 
 
 About this time too, the district gossips had 
 something over which to wag their tongues. 
 Myrtle Parry and Bertram Forbes were en- 
 gaged. Two flirts combining forces ! Had any- 
 one ever heard of such a preposterous thing? 
 Of course it could not last! Heads were 
 shaken, whispered scraps of gossip floated and 
 circulated mysteriously! How many hearts had 
 he not broken? How many had yielded to her 
 wilful sway? The district held its vast sides and 
 laughed openly, forgetting the trivial fact that 
 Agnes Wiseman lay ill, hardly cognizant of her 
 slow recovery and sudden disappearance to the 
 home of Aunt Fanny, who lived with another 
 daughter in a small fishing village eastward 
 from nowhere.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 
 
 IT was Sunday afternoon. The atmosphere 
 was heavy and oppressive, with a menace 
 of a storm in the north-west. Inside a 
 rough slab cottage sat, or rather lounged, a ring 
 of silent figures. Men with coloured shirts, 
 open at the neck, showing the red burnt skin 
 arms sinewy, superbly strong, bared to the 
 shoulder, for the day was intensely hot, and 
 coats had been discarded with unspoken accord. 
 The women unfastened the collars of their 
 coarse calico dresses, and let the tiny breeze fan 
 their throats, and kept the flies at bay by waving 
 vigorously fronds of tough bracken, gathered 
 from the steep bank of the creek. 
 
 Head propped in his brawny hands, red hair 
 ruffled until it stood belligerently on end, a 
 thin-faced youth read a paper aloud to an 
 audience breathless in its attention. On a 
 roughly constructed lounge Sol's long figure 
 reclined. Smoke wreaths from his short black 
 pipe floated slowly towards the rafters as 
 though loath to hurry from the sound of that 
 
 153
 
 154 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 monotonous voice reading so cautiously, so 
 deeply conscious of its exalted position as dis- 
 tributor and interpreter of the week's news. 
 Each page was read thoroughly, each item 
 digested after due deliberation, commented upon 
 freely, condemned or applauded. 
 
 "I dunno," drawled a voice languidly, "as 'ow 
 that coach driver could 'a' bin sober, all things 
 considerin'." 
 
 "No'm," answered Sol, from his couch, 
 sending an extra puff of smoke ceilingward. 
 
 "The paper says as 'ow 'e was perfectly 
 sober," remarked a buxom wench, with an air 
 of feminine finality. The masculine portion 01 
 the community was discreetly silent. "Any 'ow, 
 the 'orses bolted and threw the women and 
 children down a precipitous ravine," drawled 
 another voice, putting due emphasis on the last 
 syllable of an unfamiliar word. 
 
 "What's a ravine, ma?' 5 asked a youthful 
 aspirant after knowledge. 
 
 "I ain't quite sure on the point meself, young 
 man," answered a florid woman with a baby in 
 her arms. 
 
 "It's a deep gully," explained the red-haired 
 youth, turning the paper and scanning the print 
 on the other side. 
 
 "Go ahead, Bill," admonished Tim, from the
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 155 
 
 seat under the passion vine growing on a trellis 
 over the door. 
 
 "Give 'im breathing time, old man," said the 
 red-haired father of the red-haired youth. 
 
 "Shall I read the romance of 'igh life?" asked 
 the narrator, briskly, as though holding up a 
 choice candy to a child. 
 
 "Forge along," came the chorus. The 
 romance of high life was really a titbit, wherein 
 the hero and heroine filled such pathetic parts 
 that tears came to the eyes of several sensitive 
 souls. 
 
 "And he then shot himself in the stomach 
 with a double-barrelled gun," drawled the red- 
 haired youth with due solemnity, referring to 
 the unnecessary husband of the heroine. 
 
 "Good enough for the villyun," commented 
 Tim. "If I'd a bin in the West Indies, I'd 'a' 
 scolloped 'im." 
 
 "Scalped 'im, I s'pose you mean," said the 
 stont girl of an argumentative turn of mind. 
 
 "Scolloped," insisted Tim, "and alive," vin- 
 dictively. 
 
 "Ugh !" shuddered the girl. 
 
 Tim expectorated to the far side of the trellis 
 and grinned. The collar of his shirt flapped in 
 the hot breeze, revealing anchors, crescents, 
 stars, and other devices in keeping with the 
 gentlemanly profession he had once followed.
 
 156 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Why he had given up his seafaring life no one 
 really knew. Sometimes in a prolonged 
 drinking bout he let fall dark hints, wherein 
 were mentioned a possible gallows and an 
 imaginary prison. But when reason reinstated 
 herself in his brain, these horrors evaporated 
 into thin air. 
 
 "Who's this coming across the paddock?" 
 asked Mick, the hairy chested custodian of the 
 cellars, glancing through the open door at an 
 approaching rider. 
 
 All heads were craned forward. Sol half rose 
 from his couch, and, resting nonchalantly on one 
 elbow, gazed into the steaming, quivering air. 
 "It's the lad," he said, sitting up and knocking 
 the ashes from his pipe. 
 
 "Ay, so 'tis," said Tim, screwing one eye into 
 a fantastic contortion of his own. 
 
 Admiring glances watched the approach of 
 Benjamin on his small taffy pony. As he rode 
 up Tim pulled his long scalp lock by way of 
 greeting, and, "What a sweat she be in," was his 
 sole comment on the pony. 
 
 "She is hot," said Benjamin. "And we didn't 
 come very fast either." 
 
 "No. we seen yer pickin' dainty steps like a 
 lady," remarked the stout girl, smiling broadly, 
 as she fanned herself with a bracken frond.
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 157 
 
 Benjamin slid to the ground. "Sol here?" 
 he queried. 
 
 "Reclinin' at ease," said that gentleman's voice 
 from the sofa. 
 
 Benjamin went in, leaving his pony at liberty 
 to crop the short herbage without. "Going 
 with cattle to-night, Sol?" he asked, seating 
 himself beside the stockman and laying one hand 
 affectionately on his shoulder. 
 
 Sol nodded, blinking through thick clouds of 
 smoke at the boy's eager face. 
 
 "It looks stormy, Sol." 
 
 "Rain or hail, I'm on the road to-night," said 
 Sol. 
 
 "Sol," leaning forward, a world of persuasion 
 in the young eyes, "ask Dad if I may go with 
 you." 
 
 Sol considered for a space, an anxious group 
 awaiting his decision, a boy's eyes dilated with 
 the tension of uncertainty. If Sol said "No," 
 it would be hopeless. Without saying a word 
 the lithe stockman rose and went outside to scan 
 the heavens. 
 
 Huge clouds in the north-west and a coppery 
 tinge lowering along the northern hills pro- 
 claimed the storm track. Tim looked dubious, 
 and spat far beyond the trellis in order to relieve 
 his conflicting reasons for and against the 
 project.
 
 158 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "It might pass," said the stout girl, hopefully. 
 
 Sol shook his head. "Doubtful," he said, 
 tersely, one eye on the boy. 
 
 Instantly Benjamin's face fell, but he said 
 nothing. Sol studied the heavens again. "You 
 want to come?" he queried, a little anxiously. 
 He knew by Tim's quietness that the old sailor 
 was propounding some novelty by way of 
 substitute if he did not take the boy, and 
 unacknowledged jealously reigned between the 
 two. 
 
 Benjamin nodded quickly, eyes widening with 
 anticipation. It would be his first trip to the 
 distant township behind a mob of his father's 
 cattle. 
 
 Sol turned and glanced down at Tim, who, 
 deep in thought, was chewing a grass stem. 
 "I'll ask," he said, moving towards the couch. 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Benjamin. "Dad's sure 
 to say *y es >' ^ vou as k Sol. Do you think my 
 pony is able for the trip?" 
 
 Sol laughed as he refilled his pipe. "Jest the 
 thing," he answered, carelessly, as he watched 
 Tim throw the grass stem away in disgust. 
 Mick, the guardian of the cellar, got up from 
 his seat on an overturned barrel, shook his 
 mighty body with a heave of great arms and 
 prodigious yawns and, slapping Tim on the 
 shoulder, walked him off to see some pups.
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 159 
 
 The eyes of those inside followed them, Sol's a 
 trifle curiously. 
 
 "Fine batch this time, Mick," said Tim, eyeing 
 the pups. He fixed his felt hat with the bullet 
 holes ventilating its eastern and western walls 
 more firmly on his grizzled locks, glanced over 
 his shoulder at the gossiping group behind, 
 winked solemnly at some mutton birds chatter- 
 ing among the branches of a stringy bark, and 
 muttered in a quick subdued voice, "Calm night, 
 Mick?" 
 
 Mick bent over the pups and picking one up, 
 scanned it carefully. "Ay, calm night," he re- 
 turned, casually, returning the struggling pup to 
 its rightful place. 
 
 When they went back, Bella, the stout girl, 
 was pouring strong tea into thick cups, while a 
 youth at her side splashed spoonfuls of brown 
 sugar into each as he passed them on. 
 
 On Tim's deserted seat under the passion vine, 
 the red-haired scholar studied the paper, silently 
 and diligently. 
 
 "Read us some more astoundin' noos," said 
 Mick, sipping his tea in gusty gulps. 
 
 The scholar scanned the pages. "I was only 
 readin' the serial," he murmured, loath to leave 
 it even for a moment. 
 
 "We're listenin'," said Tim, smiling at Bella 
 as she handed him the last cup.
 
 160 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Benjamin sat beside Sol, his cup supported in 
 both hands, his face eager as that of a young 
 pilot scanning an unknown sea. None guessed 
 the force that lay behind those boyish eyes, the 
 thoughts that thronged his brain, as silently he 
 sat among his father's workmen, studying their 
 faces, trying to read beneath the slow drawl of 
 deep voices, behind the veil of inscrutable eyes. 
 What rivers he must cross to reach their vantage 
 ground. So engrossing proved the serial that 
 someone rode up unnoticed. A harsh cry of 
 "Can't you 'ear me ? Can't you 'ear me ?" roused 
 them to the fact that Thomas sat astride his fat 
 taffy pony, the white cockatoo perched on his 
 shoulder, crest ruffled with indignation, strong 
 beak open wide. Bill threw the paper aside and 
 came out. He and Thomas had much in 
 common beside fishing and the love of books. 
 
 "Where's Benjamin?" asked his brother, 
 taking his straw hat oft" and letting the wind fan 
 his hot forehead. 
 
 " 'Ere 'e are," said Mick's wife, putting the 
 baby in a rude cradle made from a hollowed log. 
 
 "You're wanted at home, Ben," said Thomas, 
 running his hand over Cocky's smooth back. 
 
 "What for?" queried Benjamin, reluctantly, 
 and without moving from his seat beside Sol. 
 
 "Don't know," said his brother, flicking his 
 pony and moving away; Bill sauntering beside
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 161 
 
 him, the cockatoo flapping its wings with 
 annoyance at the fact. 
 
 Benjamin did not go at once. He knew it 
 was his mother who had sent Thomas after him. 
 She did not like to see him among the men so 
 often, and Benjamin resented the way in which 
 she strove to keep him from what seemed to him 
 the very quintessence of life. 
 
 "Coin'?" asked Sol presently, regarding him 
 gravely. 
 
 "Not unless you go, too," said Benjamin. 
 
 Sol smoked on, his eyes on the boy; but 
 Benjamin was stubborn. 
 
 After awhile Sol rose slowly and sauntered 
 out into the open. "Looks stormy," he re- 
 marked, "worse than before/' meaningly. 
 
 "What," said Benjamin, anxiously, following 
 him. 
 
 "Don't think you had better come if it 
 storms," said Sol, carelessly. 
 
 "I'm off home," said the boy, suddenly. 
 "When will you be down, Sol?" he asked, as 
 he caught his pony easily and mounted. 
 
 "In an hour," answered Sol, watching him 
 ride away across the yellow grassed paddocks 
 and under the spare shadows of the tall thin 
 gums. "Fine lad," he remarked, to no one 
 in particular, as he seated himself under the 
 passion vine.
 
 162 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 The storm seemed to have passed behind the 
 hills as Sol entered Mr. Marchmont's study. 
 Mr. Marchmont was busily writing, and as his 
 pen moved swiftly over the paper he repeated 
 aloud all that he wrote. 
 
 "Why this unwarrantable decay of a flourish- 
 ing industry, when by upholding it the land was 
 beautified and rendered capable of giving its 
 best utility, comfort, wealth offering with 
 open hands work to many? It is shameful that 
 a land capable of such profitable cultivation 
 should be left to " Mr. Marchmont became 
 aware of the presence of his head stockman. 
 He paused, pen tilted upright between inky 
 fingers. 
 
 "Yes, Spl?" he queried, impatiently. 
 
 "Master Benjamin is anxious to come with 
 me to-night, sir. Don't you think he is old 
 enough to try his mettle?" 
 
 Sol's master eyed him vacantly, brain still 
 busy with his paper. He had hopes of standing 
 for Parliament next election, hence much study 
 and writing of lengthy speeches. 
 
 "Eh. Sol, old enough did you say? Quite 
 old enough, of course. Where are you going?" 
 He bent again to his paper reading over what he 
 had written. 
 
 Sol disappeared. He doubted if "the boss" 
 had even taken in what he had asked, but the
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 163 
 
 permission would hold good providing that "the 
 missus" didn't begin to fuss round and upset 
 things. But having satisfied herself that the 
 storm had really gone, Mrs. Marchmont could 
 raise no serious objection to the plan. Her son 
 must learn the management of cattle and horses, 
 must be able in the years to come to take his 
 place among the men on the land; must not 
 merely be a figure head as, she feared, her own 
 husband was still in spite of his gallant efforts 
 to overcome his inefficiency. The night was 
 brilliant with moonlight, as the cattle were 
 driven from the yards into the track leading 
 towards the great white gate. 
 
 When Benjamin, mounted on his pony, passed 
 the house, he saw the bent figure of his father 
 cast in deep relief against the holland blinds of 
 the study. Cattle and profitable markets had 
 slipped completely from his mind. He did, 
 however, hear the heavy thud of many hoofs, 
 and raising his head for an instant, murmured, 
 "thundering again?" 
 
 On the verandah, her face showing plainly in 
 moonlight, stood Mrs. Marchmont, her eyes, 
 proud and lit with a wonderful mother-love as 
 she watched her young son's slow progress in 
 the wake of the bellowing mob. Thomas stood 
 beside her, a little envy in his soul, but no real 
 desire to emulate his brother. He wished to be
 
 164 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 a doctor and live in the city where a thousand 
 voices arose, where a thousand scenes passed 
 before one, like the never-ending pictures of a 
 marvellous cinematograph. 
 
 Up the long paddock the mob went, Sol and 
 Benjamin guarding the rear, several outriders 
 on either flank, and a dog or two trotting silently 
 at lagging heels. 
 
 Benjamin's soul was high with elation: In 
 the moonlight his quick eye flashed, his lips, 
 clean and boyish, were mobile with a hundred 
 expressions. Was he dreaming or was it really 
 true that he was here behind the deep-breathing 
 mob, the low bellow of an impatient bullock 
 sounding in his ears, the pulsing beauty of the 
 night circling about him in lustrous unreality, 
 far and near its low toned music beating like 
 chords from some mighty organ? , 
 
 As they neared the gate one of the stockmen 
 rode forward, then, turning aside, lowered 
 some slip rails and headed the mob safely out 
 into the dusty highway. Unseen, in the thick 
 shadows of some ti-trees, two or three men 
 watched the cavalcade pass slowly on its way, 
 the sharp barking of an undisciplined pup 
 breaking above the dust muffled tread of heavy 
 bovine feet. 
 
 When all had disappeared one of the men
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 165 
 
 peered from the shadows into the light. "Darn 
 the moon," he muttered. "Say Jacques, can't 
 you conjure them clouds up again and let us 
 get to work?" 
 
 A soft quick voice answered something unin- 
 telligible, and with a short laugh the trio moved 
 guardedly towards the slab cottage standing 
 solitary and silent beside the steep bank of the 
 creek. 
 
 With the departure of the cattle, Tarawingee, 
 like a disturbed child, settled back into the warm 
 arms of mother night, the leaves of the great 
 box trees moving gently like soft uneven breath- 
 ing, the whisper of running water scarcely dis- 
 cernible above the mysterious souffle of the 
 distant she-oaks. 
 
 In the study, Mr. Marchmont wrote until his 
 hand felt cramped and nerveless. Well pleased, 
 however, with his midnight toil, he laid aside 
 his pen and reached out wearily for the decanter 
 standing beside the inkstand. It was empty.. 
 Mr. Marchmont frowned, and fumbling with his 
 left hand among a bunch of keys, which dangled 
 from a chain hanging in front of him, selected 
 one. Taking the lamp, he rose stiffly and passed 
 from the study to the cemented path running 
 straight and white beneath the acacias. His 
 footsteps sounded in quick staccato, the jingling 
 of the keys made queer spasmodic music. Above
 
 166 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 him a window stood wide and 'high, letting the 
 moonlight stream in on the huge four poster, 
 draped voluminously with heavy white valances, 
 a wilderness of fine mosquito net and rose- 
 budded curtains. In the centre of the wooden 
 bedstead slept his wife, weary of waiting for 
 him, dreaming uneasily of Benjamin and his 
 brother Thomas. 
 
 The cellar doors, bolted and barred securely, 
 opened with a loud creak as Mr. Marchmont 
 turned the key and pulled them slightly outward. 
 Entering they swung back into space, almost 
 quenching the light with a sharp gust of air. 
 Mr. Marchmont placed the lamp carefully on a 
 ledge of strong blackw T ood. Above it towered 
 a cask of giant proportions, the great bung pro- 
 truding like an old man's nose. Surveying it 
 complacently he let his gaze wander down a long 
 row of simliar casks. Against the white-washed 
 walls, with only the small light from the study 
 lamp to show them up, they seemed twice as big 
 as in the day time. In this night season, when 
 things take on aspects unreal, and thought 
 values are not always reliable, they represented 
 untold wealth to their owner. Stored within 
 their rotund shapes, guarded and circled with 
 strong iron bands, was a delectable drink made 
 from the finest grapes in the country, purified 
 by his own methods. With this on the market.
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 167 
 
 Tarawingee's fame as a wine growing estate 
 would be assured. 
 
 Picking up the lamp, Mr. Marchmont walked 
 thoughtfully between his wine-casks, shadows 
 falling in grotesque shapes upon the walls as he 
 passed. Something fell as he approached the 
 end of the cellar, where the thick dull window, 
 placed high in the wall, let in a murky cob-web 
 hidden moongleam. In the uncanny hush the 
 small noise was doubly intensified, sending a 
 momentary thrill down Mr. Marchmont's spine. 
 Stepping forward, gingerly, he spied a huge grey 
 rat peering at him from behind a bucket. 
 
 The rat stared uneasily, and as the light drew 
 nearer, turned, and with a quick movement, 
 which rocked the bucket so that a dull maroon 
 liquid splashed upon the floor, disappeared 
 behind the silent casks. 
 
 "H'm, what's this?" said Mr. Marchmont, sur- 
 veying the bucket curiously. A small glass 
 stood beside it. Picking it up, he dipped it 
 into the bucket, and, placing his lips to the edge 
 of the glass, sipped slowly and with deep 
 appreciation. 
 
 "My own brand," he said, aloud. "Who gave 
 orders for it to be left here like this?" He 
 glanced disapprovingly at the bucket. From it 
 his eyes fell to a short black pipe lying on the 
 floor. Stooping, he held it between the tips of 
 
 M
 
 i68 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 his long delicately-shaped fingers, then placed it 
 gently on the floor again. "A clue to the cul- 
 prit," he remarked, "and if I'm not mistaken I 
 can guess to whom it belongs." 
 
 He glanced at his watch. "Half past twelve," 
 he murmured. "He ought to be here soon if I 
 wait." 
 
 Fixing his coat tails he seated himself care- 
 fully on the rough ledge, prepared to wait 
 developments. "Why didn't he ask for it?" he 
 said, as he dipped the glass into the bucket a 
 second time. 
 
 A sound from the entrance of the cellar 
 caused him to sit very erect and still. The 
 doors were being opened gently, with long slow 
 creaks. Outside voices spoke together, quietly 
 and earnestly, then came the sound of approach- 
 ing steps, stealthily tip-toe. 
 
 Mick, caught red-handed in the petty theft, 
 stood like a statue as he turned the corner of 
 the last cask and found his master sitting rigid 
 and quiet on the wooden ledge. But the man 
 recovered his composure quickly. "Lor, sir, I 
 thought yon was a ghost," he said, "I just run 
 across to get my old Black Nance that I forgot 
 this evenin' when he was a-lockin' up! I 
 couldn't make out why them doors weren't 
 locked when I come over. I was sure I locked 
 'em. Ah, well, things is easy when you kin
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 169 
 
 read the riddle !" and as if unconsciously, 
 Mick emitted a low peculiar whistle. "I thought 
 I seed a rat," he said in explanation. 
 
 "I dare say." murmured his master. "There is 
 one about. Who is Black Nance?" he asked, 
 eyeing his man quietly, 
 
 " 'Ere she is, said Mick, stooping quickly and 
 picking up the pipe lying on the floor. He 
 turned it affectionately in his hand and wiped 
 some dust from the bowl. "Couldn't sleep 
 without having a last draw," he explained. "So 
 I says to the missus; I'll just run across and git 
 my little friend and then to bed." 
 
 "Why was this left here," asked his master, 
 pointing to the bucket. 
 
 Mick eyed it solemnly. "Curious," he said. 
 "Them boys must 'a' left it here. I'll have to 
 blow 'em up in the morn." 
 
 "Never mind, Mick," said his master. "No 
 doubt it was overlooked. If there was another 
 glass, Mick, I'd ask you to have a drink." 
 
 Mick let his small ferret's eyes rest furtively 
 on his master's face, then with a hitch to his 
 baggified trousers, moved rdiffidently between 
 the casks and emerged with a tin pannikin in 
 his hand. "We allus leave this 'ere with a drop 
 o' water in it," he said. 
 
 The effect of Mr. Marchmont's third glass had 
 lent a brilliance to his eyes not always noticeable.
 
 170 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 As Mick stood with the pannikin held depre- 
 catingly between rough fingers, his master 
 winked knowingly. "Water, Mick, is a fair 
 beverage, though the ancient gods of Greece 
 seemed to favour something with a more pro- 
 nounced flavour." Mr. Marchmont paused to 
 take breath. 
 
 "Jest so," remarked his faithful henchman, 
 dipping the pannikin into the bucket. 
 
 "If the ancient gods held the grape in such 
 high esteem," continued Mr. Marchmont, waving 
 his glass solemnly back and forth, and keeping 
 his eyes rivetted on Mick, "we can scarcely do 
 less, can we Mick?" 
 
 "No, that's true," agreed Mick, refilling the 
 tin pannikin. - 
 
 Mr. Marchmont refilled his glass also and 
 silence reigned for a time. 
 
 The grey rat hovered for an instant round the 
 corner of the cask, wondering if the intruders 
 had departed. A long indrawn breath sent him 
 scampering away. 
 
 The moon sailed beyond the box-trees, sending 
 sharper gleams through the dust-dimmed glass, 
 and still master and man drank slowly, glass 
 after glass, of that same delectable drink, refined 
 and purified by the latest and most up-to-date 
 methods. With each potation Mr. Marchmont 
 waxed more loquacious, wandering from imag-
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 171 
 
 inary speeches to imaginary crowds and lengthy 
 dissertations on grape-growing and wine- 
 making. As his master became talkative, Mick 
 fell into a sullen stupor, until worldly things 
 faded so completely away that neither heard 
 advancing steps nor the quick smothered voices 
 of men. Two dark forms were slouching down 
 the cellar, peering in a curious expectant 
 manner into each small aperture between the 
 casks. "Somethin' must 'a' 'appened," muttered 
 the coarse voice of the first stranger to his com- 
 rade following behind. 
 
 "Surely," answered a soft guttural voice. 
 
 "Light ahead," said the first speaker, moving 
 more guardedly and dodging swiftly in and out 
 between the casks. 
 
 With their unexpected advent the rat, which 
 had come out again, scurried to shelter a third 
 time. 
 
 "Gentlemen, listen to me a moment longer. 
 Is there a man who does not agree with me in 
 deriding the forces which have allowed American 
 tobacco to be imported, free of duty, into a 
 country which is fully capable of producing its 
 own tobacco, of a quality too, far superior to 
 that which is imported?" The words were fast 
 growing indistinguishable, but the voice kept on, 
 scarce pausing an instant to take breath. 
 
 From behind their ambuscade the strangers
 
 i;2 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 looked askance at one another. "What the 
 devil," muttered one. then stepped forward as 
 a prolonged snore split the heavy musty atmos- 
 phere. "Good Lord!" he ejaculated. 
 
 His companion emerged also and stood gazing 
 at the unexpected scene. Mr. Marchmont be- 
 came dimly aware of their presence. 
 
 "Good morning," he said, affably. 
 
 Neither of the strangers answered. "Talk 
 about the ridiculous," said one. " 'Ere we've 
 been, Jacques, waitin' for somethin' to wet our 
 whistles while this corrobboree 'as been goin' 
 on, and we a-stewin' and a-wonderin' what was 
 up" 
 
 Eyes fastened on Mr. Marchmont, the man 
 addressed as Jacques smiled slowly, his white 
 teeth gleaming like points of ivory. In the dim 
 light he looked strangely sinister. Bending 
 over the sleeping Mick, he shook him vigorously. 
 "Wake up, wake up," he said, in a soft sibilant 
 voice. "The moon wanes and we must be gone 
 before day dawn." Mick blinked uncannily. 
 "Easy there," he muttered, noisily, "I ain't 
 asleep. What the devil is the matter?'' 
 
 "Michael," said Mr. Marchmont, drowsily, 
 "who are these gentlemen?" 
 
 "I ain't goin' ter interdooce yer," he muttered, 
 stumbling to his feet.
 
 IN TARAWINGEE CELLARS 173 
 
 " 'Ere chaps, let's get 'im up to the study and 
 then we'll go." 
 
 "Excellent," muttered the man called Jacques. 
 
 "Dear me," murmured Mr. Marchmont, as 
 they helped him to his feet, his coat tails 
 dragging unnoticed in the dust of the ledge. "I 
 am quite capable of assisting myself gentlemen. 
 If you will only listen patiently a little longer, 
 while I expound a few more important theories 
 highly necessary to the welfare of the colonies." 
 
 "Jest so," mumbled Mick, lurching forward 
 between the casks, his master supported by the 
 strangers bringing up the rear. 
 
 An hour later a cart was driven quietly from 
 the cellar doors. "Got a pretty decent supply 
 this trip," drawled a rough voice to the man 
 sitting silent on the round fat keg strapped 
 securely to the seat.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 
 
 THERE was a hum of voices in the air like 
 the dull droning of a bumble bee. In 
 Wilton, on a Thursday, one could always 
 count on seeing a crowd. In the estimation of 
 many a man for miles around it was the most 
 important day of the week, for was it not the 
 day when they brought their fattened cattle, 
 their horses well-groomed and glossy, their pigs, 
 fat, dusty and obstreperous, to the market? As 
 each eventful Thursday passed they looked for- 
 ward to the next. Life was measured into 
 drowsy spaces broken only by the exhilarating 
 landmarks of "sale day." 
 
 The high smooth fence which marked the 
 yard into numerous divisions was lined with 
 men. In the centre, on an elevated platform, 
 stood the auctioneer a ponderous man of 
 immense girth, a man of ready wit, with a 
 tongue well-oiled and hung loosely on its hinges. 
 From his place of vantage his eyes roved nimbly 
 among the crowd, well able to see the half raised 
 finger or the bare nod of a head which sent the 
 
 174
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 175 
 
 bids up in leaps and bounds, or, gradually, like 
 the cautious steps of a blind man. 
 
 Wedged somewhere to the right of this plat- 
 form sat Sol and Benjamin the man alert and 
 watchful discerning the likely bidders, nodding 
 lazily to the supporters, sifting out the hoaxers 
 and the untried. Beside him Benjamin sat in 
 the ecstatic trance, sacred only to that intensely 
 impressionable period of early youth. Voices 
 fell unheeded on his ears; he saw only the 
 moving mass of cattle beneath, and the majestic 
 figure of the auctioneer above them, turning 
 now to the right and now to the left, his voice 
 eloquent and fast warming to his work. Dust 
 rose in a fine white haze as an impatient beast 
 stampeded round his railed prison, snuffing fret- 
 fully at the human barricade above, pawing con- 
 temptuously at the ground with his short fore 
 legs. 
 
 "Now then, gentlemen," cried the auctioneer. 
 "Here is a yard of some of the finest cattle you 
 have seen for many a day." 
 
 Sol's face was unmoved as the auctioneer 
 voiced this opinion. The animals belonged to 
 Tarawingee, and without doubt would have 
 been the delight of any breeder of stock. 
 
 "Devon," said the auctioneer, as heads were 
 craned forward to inspect the cattle. "Pure, 
 healthy, and a credit to the land that fattened
 
 176 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 them. Now what will you start these at, 
 gentlemen? Nothing under eleven pounds, 
 surely! Eleven, twelve, twelve-ten, thirteen 
 that's right gentlemen, you know the worth of 
 the real thing when you see it. Fourteen, 
 fifteen surely not stopping at fifteen fifteen- 
 one, two!" and so on. 
 
 Benjamin's soul soared upward with the 
 bidding, until the highest price offered that day 
 was reached, and the cattle were knocked down 
 to a lean, tall buyer for sixteen pounds odd. 
 
 So exciting and close had the bidding become 
 towards the end that an old farmer, who always 
 cornered the round post at the end of the 
 slippery fence, averring that it gave him room 
 to move his lame leg, was inadvertently pushed 
 off. He fell into the dusty yard of the re- 
 doubtable Devons. At first neither men nor 
 cattle noticed him. Then a wild-eyed bullock, 
 annoyed at the unusual sound of so many voices, 
 caught sight of him, lowered his head, glared 
 savagely and, pawing the ground, moved in a 
 short circle in front of the terrified farmer. 
 
 "Lord boys," roared the now thoroughly 
 frightened and irate old man. "D it! Can't 
 you see the animal " 
 
 The "Lame Duck" Duck was the man's 
 name was instantly the cynosure of the yards. 
 Benjamin held his breath in alarm, and Sol
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 177 
 
 was preparing to descend to the rescue when the 
 "Lame Duck" and the bullock, who had been 
 glaring at one another like a couple of bulldogs 
 surprised into action, were enveloped in a whirl 
 of dust. 
 
 "Good heavens !" said Sol, showing some ex- 
 citement, while various shouts rose to "Go it, 
 old boy!" "Never say die." "Tickle his nose for 
 'im!" 
 
 "Come back, Sol," drawled a voice above him. 
 "The old chap's all right. Cured his leg for 
 heaven ! The parson '11 say it's a miracle." 
 
 Sure enough the "Lame Duck" was clam- 
 bering up the high eight-railed fence a lame 
 duck no longer, but a brisk, alert being intent 
 on self preservation. His old seat regained, the 
 "Lame Duck" stared down at the belligerent 
 bullock, stamping and fretting at the foot of the 
 post. "Durn yer," he apostrophized. "What 
 d'yer mean, yer red-coated, agate-eyed crittur." 
 
 Simultaneously a ripple of careless, good- 
 natured mirth swept across the yards. The 
 "Lame Duck" was slapped on the back by 
 friendly hands, while a friendly voice drawled 
 "Good for yer, old man! We haven't no lame 
 duck now, he's a blooming swan. Come across 
 and have a long beer with yer 'fectionate pal." 
 The last request was not to be resisted, and the 
 "Lame Duck" slid gracefully from his precarious
 
 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 position to the solidity of Mother Earth outside 
 the yards, and walked easily and without a limp 
 over to the rough wooden hotel disfiguring the 
 opposite side of the road. 
 
 The sale proceeded. The auctioneer's iron 
 throat became rasped, and a youth was sent hot 
 haste to the hotel for something wherewith to 
 ease it. He returned with a jug foaming at the 
 brim. A ring of envious and equally dry- 
 throated corn-stalks watched him drink long and 
 deeply from the broken lip. 
 
 A couple of draught horses changed hands, a 
 broken down buggy mare, and two or three 
 yards of "stores" ; but while the pigs were being 
 disposed of Sol and Benjamin slipped from the 
 fence and went across to the hotel for dinner. 
 
 "Tired?" asked Sol, gravely, sure of his 
 answer. 
 
 "No," said Benjamin, bravely. 
 
 Sol grinned at a passing acquaintance and 
 pushed a way in between the loud-voiced, 
 boisterous individuals blocking the entrance. 
 They found their way into the greasy, cabbage- 
 scented dining room, and edged into two seats 
 just vacated by a couple of thick-set, hairy-faced 
 giants. A freckle-faced girl came in and served 
 them. Benjamin liked her immensely. She had 
 a brilliant pink bow surmounting her wealth of 
 tousled hair, a smaller one adorned her neck;
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 179 
 
 her apron had long since forgotten the wash tub, 
 and her nails left much to be desired. Yet she 
 smiled kindly and brought the last piece of 
 lemon pudding to Benjamin; also a glass of 
 hot steaming milk. "Can't spare yer much," 
 she remarked, amiably, as she bumped it down 
 beside the lemon pudding. "The cow kicked 
 the bucket over this morn, an' we're a bit short 
 busy day too," she turned away, listening to 
 the jests of a group of young fellows who had 
 just come in. 
 
 "Say, Sarah," called one. "You look charm- 
 ing in pink. Pink's yer colour all right, ain't it? 
 Got any suckin' pig or the leg of a turkey. It 
 don't matter if it's stolen." 
 
 "Stolen indeed," cried Sarah, indignantly. 
 "I'd like to know who the likes o' you are to 
 talk, Aaron Long, wi' yer long nose and yer 
 blinkin' eyes!" 
 
 Aaron Long blushed crimson at this scathing 
 reference to his personal appearance. "Steady, 
 my dear girl!" he returned, hotly, "or you'll be 
 left waitin' to go to the Kilkenny ball a fort- 
 night hence." 
 
 Sarah's pink bow rose aggressively as she 
 bounced from the room. "There's many 
 another only too anxious to take me, Aaron 
 Long," she flung over her shoulder. 
 
 To Benjamin that room was filled with charm.
 
 i8o THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 In one corner sat a little wizened man who ate 
 so steadily and with such continued heartiness 
 that the boy was filled with amazement as to 
 where it all went. Surely he did not carry a 
 leather satchel under his waistcoat, like the 
 hero of childish romance! Beside him a tall, 
 cadaverous stockman lunched lightly on bread 
 and butter and ale; then came a row of hungry 
 youths, who shovelled the food into their 
 mouths on the ends of long unpolished knives 
 with such cold-blooded precision that Benjamin 
 was fascinated. 
 
 In the bar, which was separated from the 
 dining room by a thin wooden partition, con- 
 versation rose and fell in a steady incessant 
 volume of sound. Not a few hot oaths were 
 flying from corner to corner, a scrap of ribald 
 song was sung, the refrain of an old ballad was 
 whistled, feet were stamped loudly, their owners 
 giving vent to some very decided opinions. 
 Now and then one heard the conciliatory voice 
 of the hotel-keeper pouring oil on troubled 
 waters; at other times a peremptory order sent 
 some too outspoken bushman reluctantly out- 
 side to cool his ideas in the heat of a January 
 sun. 
 
 "Sol," said Benjamin, "what's the name of 
 this place?" 
 
 Sol glanced at the eager boyish face upturned
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 181 
 
 to his. "This is the ' 'Are and 'Ounds,' " he said, 
 thoughtfully, wondering if he had done wrong 
 in bringing the boy to such a place. Force of 
 habit had sent his footsteps in the direction of 
 "The Hare and Hounds." 
 
 "What!" said Benjamin, a trifle perplexed. 
 
 "The Hare and 'Ounds," said Sol, pointing to 
 a gaily colored picture on the wall. It depicted 
 a pack of hounds after one small desperate hare. 
 
 "There it is," he said, "writ up there." 
 
 "Oh," said the boy, enlightenment dawning 
 in his eyes. "The Hare and Hounds," Sol. 
 
 "That's her," agreed Sol, tackling a conglom- 
 eration of plum pudding and treacle sauce. 
 
 "I like this place, Sol," said the boy, dreamily. 
 
 "Do yer," said Sol. "It ain't a bad old 
 shanty." His eyes became fixed just then on 
 a figure seated at the extreme end of the long 
 table. 
 
 Benjamin's followed as a matter of course. 
 
 A thin olive-skinned man, unmistakably 
 foreign, was eating his dinner and listening to 
 the conversation around him. 
 
 "Who is it?" queried Benjamin, interested in 
 Sol's scrutiny. 
 
 "Dunno," said the head stockman, doubtfully. 
 "Looks kind o' curious, don't he? We missed 
 a couple of springers a month or so back." Sol
 
 fell to work again on the plum pudding and 
 treacle sauce. 
 
 Apparently unconscious of any undue atten- 
 tion in his direction, the dark thin man continued 
 to enjoy his meal. For a brief instant only did 
 his quiet, intense gaze turn towards Sol and the 
 eager-faced boy. It did not linger on them, 
 however, but roved farther afield as though 
 distinctive interest in any one person was 
 completely lacking. 
 
 The pudding despatched. Sol and Benjamin 
 rose. "You go out that way and wait for me," 
 said Sol, pointing to a door at the side of the 
 room. 
 
 "Where are you going?" questioned Ben- 
 jamin. 
 
 "I'm goin' ter pay for the bill of fare," said 
 Sol, moving towards the bar. 
 
 Benjamin's reluctance to part with Sol 
 vanished as he emerged into the street. 
 
 "Left right, left right left foot first you 
 pumpkin-head!" cried a voice, amid shouts of 
 laughter and rude jest. In the middle of the 
 street, the "Lame Duck," his sails very much to 
 windward, marched and counter-marched, with 
 the energy of an ancient Grenadier. An equally 
 joyous comrade held the position of corporal, 
 shouting his commands in a loud war-like tone,
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 183 
 
 interspersed with many hiccoughs. Around 
 them lounged a group of interested onlookers. 
 
 "Cured his leg for heaven," drawled the same 
 slow voice that had spoken to Sol at the yards. 
 A loud expectoration confirmed the speaker's 
 opinion as he slowly refilled his pipe with strong 
 tobacco. Glancing round he spied Benjamin. 
 
 "Well, little feller, so Sol's makin' a man of 
 yer. is he?" a smile twisting the corners of his 
 mouth westward. 
 
 Embarrassed with such attention from so 
 high a quarter, Benjamin's tongue refused to 
 answer, but he nodded earnest confirmation to 
 the surmise, and smiled genially into the sun- 
 burnt face of his interlocutor. 
 
 "And how old be yer?" queried Tim 
 Flannigan, the famous wild rider of the district. 
 
 Before the boy could answer, a commotion, 
 somewhat resembling an unexpected whirlwind 
 arose in the bar. "Take it or leave it as yer 
 like," roared a voice, perilously like Sol's. 
 
 Interest was instantly diverted from the 
 peregrinations of the "Lame Duck" to the open 
 door of the hotel. Suddenly the oily smug-faced 
 proprietor shot out into the dust of the Queen's 
 highway like a revolving Catherine wheel. He 
 lay there for a second a wheezing, sneezing 
 figure, dust-bespattered, bruised and blas- 
 phemous. Sol's spare form immediately blocked
 
 184 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the door, a battalion of curious eyes behind and 
 in front of him. Intense quiet prevailed while 
 the hotel-keeper got up and shook the dust from 
 his clothes, and wiped a beer-stained face with 
 a dirty red-starred handkerchief. He held his 
 nose as though it were broken, and coughed 
 blood and oaths with generous profusion into 
 the folds of the handkerchief. 
 
 "What's the matter, Sol?" Tim's slow drawl 
 broke the ice. 
 
 Sol withdrew aggrieved eyes from the un- 
 steady figure in the road. 
 
 "Matter!" he growled. "The man had the 
 impidence to say the quid I gave him wasn't the 
 Queen's. God bless her!" 
 
 "Ay, ay," said Tim, lifting his old felt hat 
 with praise-worthy patriotism. "Whose was it 
 then, old man?" 
 
 "If it weren't the Queen's," said Sol, still 
 deeply aggrieved, "I dunno whose it was. It 
 was given to me with the full understanding 
 that it were the Queen's and therefore genuine.' 7 
 
 During this colloquy the hotelkeeper was un- 
 certain whether to force an entrance into his 
 own domain or to go post haste to the police 
 barracks and give Sol in charge. Dutch courage 
 returning, however, coupled with a deep sense of 
 injury, he finally squared his shoulders and
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 185 
 
 faced Sol. "I'll have the law on yer for this, see 
 if I don't," he spluttered vehemently. 
 
 Sol snapped his bony fingers in fine contempt 
 of such threats. 
 
 "The money was counterfeit; hang me if it 
 wasn't," roared the incensed hotelkeeper, 
 moving towards the door, his intentions not 
 very plain. 
 
 "Order, order! Fall into line," shouted the 
 erstwhile self-promoted corporal, lurching for- 
 ward to support the hotelkeeper, thereby seeing 
 a few free drinks in the immediate future. 
 
 "Stand aside, yer dirty skunk !" was the hotel- 
 keeper's flowery rejoinder. 
 
 The corporal was pulled aside, weeping. "He 
 allus said 'e was my fren','' he wailed in the 
 "Lame Duck's" sympathetic ear. 
 
 Across the road the auctioneer's voice rose in 
 its brisk monotone, dispersing the crowd and 
 scattering it in irregular bunches from the hotel 
 door to the high-railed fence. Sol became con- 
 scious of his responsibilities towards Benjamin, 
 and moved from the doorway into the street, a 
 wrangling crew following eagerly at his heels. 
 
 "It rang thrue, me boy," said one gentleman 
 descended from the kings of Ireland. 
 
 "Sure it did that," agreed another. 
 
 "Slit his windpipe for a cackling evil-minded
 
 186 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Jew, but didn't you pay at all, at all?" asked a 
 third, anxiously. 
 
 Sol stalked majestically through the crowd, 
 not deigning to hear anyone. "McPherson's 
 horses are on now," he said to an excited and 
 bewildered Benjamin. "Come, and we'll do a 
 little bidding ourselves." 
 
 Feeling quite six inches taller, the boy 
 followed in the wake of such a hero, a ring of 
 gaping bushmen staring after them. 
 
 "Well, I'm blowed," said the "Lame Duck," 
 wagging a sage head with deep solemnity. 
 
 Rather glum from his recent experience, Sol 
 climbed the fence and then turned to assist his 
 faithful shadow. Save for a few hours' rest 
 snatched before breakfast, the boy had had no 
 sleep. The novelty of unusual scenes was 
 merely propping his eyes open now, but the 
 prospect of a rest at the "Blue Maid" the rival 
 of the "Hare and Hounds" though cautiously 
 propounded by Sol was ruthlessly thrust aside. 
 
 "Here's the real McPherson," boomed the 
 auctioneer, indicating two fine satin-skinned 
 cobs. "Look at these, gentlemen. Can you see 
 a flaw anywhere? Shoulders perfect, neck and 
 head superb, legs built for the bush, stronger 
 than iron, sound as the Bank of England. What's 
 the bid, gentlemen? Come, now; on to it." 
 
 Bids came from right and left. Pepperday,
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 187 
 
 the auctioneer, had his work cut out to catch 
 them all. But he proved equal to the task, and 
 the cobs were knocked down at twenty guineas 
 each. Sol had run them up rather diligently, but 
 withdrew at the end and left them to the lean 
 cadaverous diner on bread and ale. 
 
 A beautiful chestnut colt was going now. The 
 price started too hot for the majority, and the 
 bidding was confined for the most part to a few 
 well-known buyers. 
 
 "Thirty guineas," called Pepperday, cheerily. 
 Sol's little finger went up. "Thirty-one," cried 
 the auctioneer, lustily. "Thirty-one guineas, 
 gentlemen." A nod from afar and the colt's 
 value bounded to thirty-five. Then Sol's 
 finger moved again, and thirty-five changed 
 to thirty-seven. Then a new factor entered 
 the lists and thirty-seven soon rose to forty- 
 five. Sol, quiet for the nonce, scanned the 
 ring of earnest faces, and presently dis- 
 covered the unknown buyer as the thin olive- 
 skinned man who had interested him at dinner. 
 The bidding was fast becoming hotter. Figures 
 leaped ; soon, two or three dropped out of it 
 altogether, and after a while Sol found that it 
 lay between himself and the unknown. 
 
 "Why so keen?" asked a steady buyer near 
 him. "You've got your fighting blood up I kin 
 see."
 
 Sol did not reply, but the little finger worked 
 rapidly, and soon the colt stood at fifty guineas. 
 
 Pepperday beamed with the zest of the con- 
 quest. "Only fifty guineas, gentlemen," he 
 lamented, in a voice that had taken new life. 
 "Fifty-one, going at fifty-one fifty-two fifty- 
 three fifty-four." The olive-skinned gentle- 
 man was obstinate. Sol's face was set like a 
 bronzed mask. The onlookers held their breath 
 and watched to see who would give in first. At 
 sixty-five, Sol's opponent ceased bidding, and 
 amid cheers and shouts, the chestnut was 
 knocked down to Sol. 
 
 McPherson, the owner, rode up behind him. 
 "He's worth every cent of it," he said, genially, 
 "I'm glad you got him. Is he for yourself or the 
 boss?" 
 
 "Myself," answered Sol, shortly, his spleen 
 even yet not quite dissipated. 
 
 The colt secured, Sol and Benjamin slid to the 
 ground, clouds of white dust rising from the im- 
 pact of their feet. 
 
 "Who was your opposer, Sol ?" drawled Tam r 
 lazily, smoke oozing from his mouth and nostrils 
 in such quantities that one might well be afraid 
 of his disappearing in the uncanny manner of 
 the Eastern magicians. 
 
 Sol shook his head. "Dunno," he answered,
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 189 
 
 looking round for the man. But the foreigner 
 had disappeared unnoticed. 
 
 Under the limp gums the shadows were grow- 
 ing longer as Sol led the chestnut colt down the 
 streets towards the "Blue Maid," which jutted 
 boldly on a corner block of the main street ot 
 Wilton. While the colt was being stabled and 
 attended to. Sol and Benjamin strolled up the 
 town, not without attracting a fair share of 
 notice and not a few friendly nods. 
 
 "I wonder how them boys are keeping?" 
 soliloquized Sol, as a trio of gay young larrikins 
 sauntered past, reminding him of his own staff. 
 "I wouldn't mind betting a dollar that not one 
 of them turn up to-morrow mornin' to help me 
 get them steers home." For Sol had invested 
 in some young cattle for Tarawingee. 
 
 "I saw Bill sitting on the fence," said Benja- 
 min. 
 
 "P'raps he's over it now," said Sol drily. 
 
 Wilton streets were narrow and dirty. Slat- 
 ternly women lounged in the doorways, ex- 
 changing gossip with some friendly crony, while 
 their children, unkempt and uncared for, played 
 in the gutter. 
 
 As Sol and Benjamin passed the gauntlet of 
 curious eyes, remarks none too low followed 
 them. 
 
 "Grass seeds come ter see the city," said one.
 
 190 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "I think 'e must be a giant o' the north," said 
 another. 
 
 "Lor, what a bonnet," cried another, derision 
 in her strident tone. 
 
 "It's to keep the sun off, my dear, so's he 
 won't burn his complexion," cried a fourth. 
 
 Sol's hand flew to the brim of his wide 
 cabbage-tree hat. Instantly a fusillade of foolish 
 mirth went echoing down the street. 
 
 "You're makin' 'im nervous," was the last 
 they heard as they turned the street corner. 
 
 Safely screened by a stout brick wall, Sol 
 
 stopped short, and "D women," escaped 
 
 between savage teeth. 
 
 They went back to the "Blue Maid" by 
 another route. Past trim cottages with gardens 
 and lawns in front one even had a couple of 
 strange statues standing beside the white- 
 washed steps. At the "Blue Maid" they had tea 
 in a private parlor. Sol had seen to things 
 before going out. Mine host was there when 
 they went in; a short, fair man, with black eyes 
 and a straw-coloured moustache. 
 
 "I hope you will like your tea, Mr. Gosling," 
 he said, with a beaming smile. 
 
 Sol, somewhat unaccustomed to the sound of 
 his own surname, nearly tied his feet in a knot 
 as he subsided on to one of the stiff chairs. 
 
 "Yes, yes ; I hope so," he answered foolishly.
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 191 
 
 "And is this the heir of Tarawingee ?" queried 
 the owner of the "Blue Maid," smiling in turn on 
 Benjamin. 
 
 Sol frowned. "This is Mr. Marchmont's 
 eldest son," he said shortly. "What have you 
 for tea?" 
 
 Mine host affected not to hear just at first; 
 then "Oh. steak and eggs, I believe, Mr. Gosling. 
 I'll send my daughter Marjory in with it. She's 
 a great help, now, is Marjory, especially when 
 I'm rushed on a busy day like this." 
 
 Sol grunted something unintelligible, and, 
 drawing his chair up, propped his elbows on the 
 table, refusing to say another word. With a 
 beaming smile at Benjamin "Old Broomsticks" 
 (as Sol mentally designated him) went out, call- 
 ing loudly for Marjory to bring "the private 
 parlor's supper." Though nearly asleep Benja- 
 min kept his eyes open so that he might see 
 Marjory. 
 
 A tall, slender child, with her father's fair hair 
 and eyes of the same colour, only softer and 
 larger, the innkeeper's daughter seemed to be- 
 long to some other world than the one in which 
 she moved. With firm little fingers she placed 
 the dish before Sol, then ringing a small bell, 
 went out. forgetting to shut the door after her. 
 Benjamin saw her tripping down the wide hall, 
 her little white-shod feet moving like two mice
 
 192 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 playing at hide and seek beneath her long Kate 
 Greenaway frock. Someone called her, and she 
 disappeared under a wonderful bead curtain 
 screening one of the doors. Then Benjamin, 
 spite of supper staring him in the face, fell asleep 
 and dreamed that the bead curtain was the en- 
 trance of a wonderful tent. As he, too, lifted it 
 and followed Marjory, there was a burst of music 
 and the loud neighing of many horses. When 
 he looked there was Marjory seated on a black 
 pony, waving her hand to him and smiling gaily, 
 and then he jumped on a pony and rode round 
 and round the tent in a never-ending gallop, 
 while the music grew louder and more piercing 
 as they rode. It seemed only a moment to Ben- 
 jamin before he opened heavy eyes and blinked 
 up into Sol's face. "What's the matter?" he 
 grumbled, trying to turn over and sleep again. 
 
 But Sol was inexorable. "Wake up," he 
 whispered in a voice unaccustomed to such a 
 low pitch. "I must get the boys away before 
 they start drinking again, or I'll never get them 
 steers home." 
 
 Very ill-naturedly Benjamin got up, feeling 
 ravenously hungry and extremely cross. "I 
 don't think I'll be a stockman, after all," he re- 
 marked, as he scamped the lacing of his boots 
 and promised his face a better wash to-morrow. 
 
 The ''boys'' were all there, waiting orders,
 
 THE CATTLE SALE AT WILTON 193 
 
 and presently when the thick brown bread and 
 the dish of bacon and eggs had been disposed 
 of, everyone went out into the cobble-paved 
 yard and yawned and blinked sleep out of bleary 
 eyes as the fancy took them. 
 
 "The steers are waitin' in a corner of Finni- 
 gan's paddock," said Sol, addressing his staff. 
 "You boys git along and have them well on the 
 way by the time we ketch up to you. No loafin', 
 now !" 
 
 The staff went off in a body Bill, the red- 
 headed youth, in the lead. 
 
 Sol watched them, the squint in his eye more 
 pronounced than ever. "Just got 'em in time," 
 he chuckled. "Another half hour and they'd a' 
 bin gone." 
 
 The sun was barely peeping across the hills 
 when Sol turned his steps in the direction of the 
 stables. In an empty stall beside that which 
 housed the chestnut colt, a groom slept noisily, 
 his snoring vicing with the grunting and growl- 
 ing of a well-filled pig-sty. 
 
 Sol surveyed him with disgust. "I wonder 
 where the crittur keeps his corn?" he said, sneez- 
 ing violently and opening the door of the stall. 
 
 "Whafs up, Sol?" called Benjamin, from the 
 back steps of the hotel. But Sol was speechless. 
 Benjamin ran across to see, and, as though
 
 194 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 aware of some catastrophe, the groom woke up 
 with an oath. 
 
 "They put it there, last night," said the boy. 
 "I saw them." 
 
 Sol turned to the groom, who was sneezing 
 loudly by this. "Where's the colt?" he asked in 
 a dead calm voice. 
 
 "Up yer sleeve, I s'pose," said the groom 
 swearing violently. 
 
 "Stop that," bellowed Sol, standing over him, 
 one arm upraised. 
 
 "Why, blow me," said the groom, frightened 
 out of his wits, "ain't it in the stable ?" 
 
 "No, it ain't," said Sol, dourly.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 
 
 A NARROW white road hugging the flat 
 shores of a grey lake. Along this road a 
 tilted white-hooded cart jolting and 
 swaying behind a venerable piebald horse. A 
 little wind flapped the side wings of the cart and, 
 passing on, ruffled the waters of the lake ; then, 
 catching the drab line of distant forest, went 
 murmuring on until some fiercer wind caught it 
 between strong teeth and whisked it away to 
 realms hitherto undreamed of. 
 
 On the verandah of the high, bare house 
 standing on the hill facing the lake, sat an old 
 lady busily shelling peas. Her cap was a trifle 
 awry from constant darting after unruly peas 
 that persisted in popping unexpectedly from 
 their pods and rolling excitedly away under 
 chairs or jamming themselves between the 
 cracks of the flooring boards. She had just 
 seated herself after one of these escapades when 
 her keen eyes caught sight of the approaching 
 cart. "Here comes that old rascal again, I de- 
 clare," she exclaimed, impatiently opening a 
 
 195
 
 196 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 pod so hard that the entire row of peas, flying 
 like small shot from a pea-rifle, scattered in all 
 directions, some even slipped under the wooden 
 balustrade enclosing the verandah. 
 
 The tilted cart climbed lazily up the hill, the 
 piebald horse pausing now and again to draw 
 breath, while her master angrily urged her for- 
 ward with the handle of a stout whip. 
 
 "I won't take a thing," said the old lady, with 
 firm determination, as she watched their ap- 
 proach. "I've just got an autumn dress from the 
 city; besides, I bought a whole bundle of rub- 
 bish from the old rapscallion a month ago. It 
 serves me right for encouraging him and listen- 
 ing to his family history, be he count or hawker. 
 I'll let him scrape and bow to Agnes for a while ; 
 'twill cheer her and he'll be as curious as a brown 
 beetle wondering who she is, where she came 
 from, and how long she is Staying." 
 
 With her good ear to windward, the old lady 
 listened intently, an empty pod sitting triumph- 
 antly on her thumb. 
 
 "Whoa, there, Belle Mahone!" cried a nasal 
 voice from the rear of the house. 
 
 "Good day, lady," a perceptible note of in- 
 gratiation crept into the voice. No one answer- 
 ing, the sound of something harder than 
 knuckles rapped vigorously at the back door. 
 
 The old lady got up reluctantly and went
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 197 
 
 down the hall, the pea-pod still stuck on her 
 thumb. "Where is Agnes, I wonder," she 
 grumbled as she went. She reached the door 
 just in time to interrupt a second series of loud 
 staccato raps from the handle of the hawker's 
 whip. 
 
 "Well. Andrew ; back again !" she cried. 
 
 "Ay, ay, ma'am. Just got in a gorgeous new 
 stock and I says to myself, Til let Mrs. Marriott 
 have first choice,' so I came straight on, and here 
 it is outside in your backyard, simply praying 
 to be looked at." 
 
 "T haven't much time, Andrew," said Mrs. 
 Marriott, fast succumbing to anything that 
 promised to break the monotony of life, yet 
 holding weakly to the remnants of her first 
 determination. "Mind, I don't intend to buy 
 anything/'she said, as she followed him to the 
 cart stored with silks and ribbons, lace and 
 linen so necessary to every woman's existence, 
 be she in city or country. To many isolated 
 homes where shops were inaccessible luxuries, 
 old Andrew du Longueville's cart was a veri- 
 table storehouse of delight. Workworn women 
 would throng about it with eyes glistening in 
 anticipation, while "Belle Mahone" would re- 
 ceive affectionate rubs along her white nose and 
 perhaps a lump of brown sugar or a chunk of 
 sweet gramma to nibble. On such occasions.
 
 198 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 when in the midst of some half dozen or so of 
 these appreciative, hard-worked mothers and 
 daughters of the soil, old Andrew would feel 
 himself a king surrounded by an admiring court. 
 The immediate prospect of ready cash and a 
 comfortable profit on his merchandise lent a 
 nimbleness to otherwise stiff fingers, and the 
 "Ohs" and the "Ahs" that greeted each fresh 
 roll were balm to a weary soul. For Andrew 
 felt that fortune had treated him hardly. Was 
 he not, by right of birth, Count of Longueville, 
 in the country of Bordeaux? His ancestors had 
 supped with kings, yet he, Andrew du Longue- 
 ville, the last of a noble race, drove a tilted cart 
 and sold cloth and ribbon. Peste ! After such 
 reflections the old man would swear softly in his 
 mother tongue until "Belle Mahone," oblivious 
 of her master's fallen estate, would stop to 
 nibble at a wayside bush topped with young 
 sweet leaves. 
 
 Not wishing to monopolize the pleasure of 
 ransacking Andrew's cart, Mrs. Marriott glanced 
 about her for her neice. Marion, her daughter, 
 she knew would not come, for Marion, scorning 
 her woman's form sought to model herself the 
 best way she could after the sterner sex, whom 
 she yet inconsistently affected to despise. 
 
 "Agnes," Mrs. Marriott's high, clear voice was 
 slightly raised.
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 199 
 
 A dish of yellow, spice-scented quinces, half- 
 peeled and standing on a rough table beneath a 
 grape trellis, showed where Angnes had lately 
 been. But as her aunt's voice rang through the 
 kitchen garden and circled up the bare hill, no 
 one answered her. 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know where she is," she said, 
 turning to inspect Andrew's goods. 
 
 Lengths of fine material sprigged with deli- 
 cate blossoms were spread out for her edification; 
 one, a lawn, dotted here and there with a pale 
 blue rose, seemed specially charming. 
 
 "This is very pretty, Andrew," she said, 
 fingering it carefully and thinking it would suit 
 Agnes, 
 
 "It's fit for a queen," answered Andrew, mind- 
 ful of his true estate. "When my grandmother 
 was forced to fly from France because she was 
 a Huguenot," he began pompously, "she wore a 
 gown similar in design to that. It is a beautiful 
 material, madam." 
 
 "Did your grandmother keep the dress?" 
 asked the old lady, curiously. 
 
 "Madam, I have it yet, locked in the very 
 bottom of an iron chest, which also came with 
 her. Le bon Dieu rest her soul!" Andrew was 
 ready to launch forth into his family history 
 again, but the sound of voices floating over the 
 hill diverted his rambling reflections
 
 200 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Quickly, Agnes ; now stand here and hold out 
 your skirts while I shoo him down." 
 
 It was Marion speaking, and glancing up, her 
 mother saw she and Agnes running as though 
 something abnormal was in full chase after them. 
 
 "There he goes," Agnes's voice stole faintly 
 kitchenwards. 
 
 "Dear, dear!" cried her aunt, aghast. "What 
 is the child doing? She will kill herself. I 
 wonder she can run at all. Agnes, Agnes! I 
 want you," she called shrilly. 
 
 Anges heard and came panting through the 
 garden. 
 
 "He's gone," she gasped. 
 
 "Who's gone?" queried her aunt truculently. 
 
 "Peter," said Agnes, smiling suddenly as she 
 recognized Andrew, and sinking into the stiff 
 rocking chair beside the table. 
 
 "How do you do, Andrew?" she said, feeling 
 all at once hot and tired. Her aunt had dis- 
 appeared inside. "I didn't know you travelled 
 this way, too, Andrew," she continued, the 
 colour ebbing from her cheeks in the reaction 
 after her violent exertions. 
 
 The old man regarded her approvingly, his 
 black, sparkling eyes noting the delicate profile, 
 the fine pencilled brows, and the wealth of sun- 
 lit hair. But before he could answer, Mrs. 
 Marriott came hurrying out with a huge cream
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 201 
 
 shawl. She threw it round the girl's shoulders 
 and tucked it about her feet. 
 
 "Don't ever go after Peter again," she scolded 
 kindly. "Marion must be mad. You can't be 
 too careful, child, after the sickness you have 
 had." 
 
 "You have been ill?" said Andrew quickly. 
 
 The girl nodded, a tremulous smile about her 
 lips. How ill, none but she herself knew. 
 
 "Thank you, Aunt Fanny," she murmured, 
 leaning back against the hard old rocking chair. 
 
 "Have you met Andrew before?" asked her 
 aunt, surprised. 
 
 "Why, yes," said Agnes. "I have often seen 
 Andrew at Tarawingee and at home, haven't I, 
 Andrew?" 
 
 "She speaks the truth," said Andrew, with be- 
 coming gravity. 
 
 "Well, well; to be sure," said Mrs. Marriott. 
 "You must know half the countryside, Andrew. 
 Here, show me that sprigged lawn again the 
 one with the blue flower. Now, how do you like 
 that, Agnes?" holding it up. 
 
 "Aunt, it is beautiful," cried the girl. "And so 
 delicate, isn't it?" 
 
 "Well, well ; cut me off a dress length," said 
 her aunt to Andrew. "There, it is for you," as 
 Andrew unrolled the material and snipped off 
 the requisite number of yards.
 
 202 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "For me, aunt! You are too good. But, 
 thank you, dear. I do appreciate it. I have 
 never had so fine a material in my life." 
 
 Aunt Fanny's eyes snapped with pleasure. 
 She dearly loved to give a present and she 
 dearly loved to receive due appreciation for the 
 gift, whatsoever it might be. Knowing this, 
 Agnes pulled her down beside her and kissed the 
 silvered hair, once, twice, thrice. "What an old 
 dear you are," she said, softly. 
 
 A tall, thin figure came slowly through the 
 kitchen garden, a great Persian cat pinioned 
 firmly under one arm. 
 
 "Marion, is that you?" cried Mrs. Marriott. 
 
 "I believe so," answered her daughter 
 abruptly, pushing a man's felt cap back from her 
 forehead. 
 
 "What have you been doing to Agnes?" said 
 her mother, exasperation in her voice. 
 
 "Nothing," said Marion shortly. 
 
 "Oh, did you catch him ?" cried Agnes, gazing 
 at the great black cat. "Peter," she called, 
 "What a dance you led us ! How did you catch 
 him, Marion?" 
 
 "He got caught in the wire fence," said 
 Marion, rubbing her pet's ears and looking with 
 amused tolerance at Andrew du Longueville. 
 "Have you brought fine silks for me, Andrew?" 
 she asked, mockingly.
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 203 
 
 But the old man pretended to be searching in 
 his cart. "Ah, here it is," he exclaimed, drawing 
 forth a fat roll of rich purple silk. "Is it not 
 gorgeous, madam?" turning to Mrs. Marriott. 
 
 "It is indeed/' said Marion, moving towards 
 the house. "Mother, be sure and buy me a 
 length." There was a faint sneer about her lips 
 as she went. 
 
 Agnes glanced reproachfully at her, but her 
 mother did not notice anything unusual. Marion 
 was always like that; her cats and her vegetable 
 garden were the only things she appeared to 
 have any affection for; her mother received but 
 a scanty pittance. 
 
 The purple silk unfolded, Mrs. Marriott bent 
 over it delightedly, feeling its quality, testing its 
 stoutness. 
 
 "Andrew," she said presently, "this is the best 
 roll of silk you have ever brought round." 
 
 "It is," agreed the old man, "and it would suit 
 you, madam, to perfection. You would appear 
 charming in it. You would make eyes to 
 glisten." 
 
 Andrew had certainly inherited his forbears' 
 gift of compliment. 
 
 "Fie ! Fie ! Andrew. An old lady like me !" 
 
 Agnes laughed merrily at her aunt's confusion. 
 
 "I've a great weakness for purple," said Aunt 
 Fanny. "Yet, you know, Agnes, that other silk
 
 204 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 is fairly good yet," her eyebrows raised question- 
 ingly at her niece. 
 
 "But, as Andrew says, purple would suit you 
 perfectly," said Agnes, helping to weaken her 
 aunt's firm resolution. "And then it would be 
 so appropriate to wear on the Queen's birthday," 
 continued Agnes, touching a vulnerable spot. 
 Her aunt's loyalty was very great and this 
 allusion to the Queen proved her further un- 
 doing. 
 
 "I'll take it," she said. 
 
 "What! the roll?" said Andrew quickly, seeing 
 business ahead. 
 
 "No, no man; what do you take me for a 
 giantess ? Twenty yards will do. I shall have it 
 very full,"_she confided in an aside to her niece, 
 "with a fluting of good lace about the collar and 
 cuffs and a panel of fine black lace up the side. 
 What do you think, Agnes ?" 
 
 "Charming," said the girl, drawing the dish of 
 quinces nearer and commencing to peel one. 
 
 The sight of Andrew and his tilted cart 
 awakened memories. One short year and her 
 dreams to vanish so. Were the pomegranates 
 budding along the old grey fence, and the roses, 
 pink and red, flowering gaily? Did the leaves of 
 the plum trees whisper ever so softly beside the 
 babbling creek, and the doves still murmur in the 
 pines? Ah! the ache of it all; the dull pain for
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 205 
 
 ever gnawing at her heart, waking her even in 
 the night when the stars were peeping coldly in 
 at her window and the water sang sleepily on the 
 flat mud shores of the lake. Would they dance 
 again this year at Tarawingee ? Would the long 
 room be garnished and polished for the guests? 
 Would they have the same musician? Would 
 they Agnes broke away from her memories, 
 peeling the quinces so hurriedly and nervously 
 that the knife slipped and cut her finger. But 
 she wrapped her handkerchief about it and went 
 inside to the kitchen. 
 
 As usual, Andrew would stay for dinner. 
 "Belle Mahone," impatiently jingling her bit, 
 was unmistakably begging a lump of sugar. 
 Agnes went to a round black tin, selected a lump 
 and took it out. "Belle Mahone" swallowed it 
 greedily, soft oozy drops falling from her mouth 
 to the ground. 
 
 While Andrew packed his disordered cart and 
 liberated his faithful "Belle," Agnes set the cloth 
 on the kitchen table, took down the large glass 
 cruet from the shelf behind the door, and filled a 
 jug with ale from the stone jar in the corner. 
 
 Hat in hand, Andrew came and stood awk- 
 wardly at the door. 
 
 "Come in," said Aunt Fanny, hospitably. 
 "There's only stew and pumpkin pie to-day, 
 Andrew, and a roly-poly for pudding."
 
 206 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Andrew slipped into the chair awaiting him. 
 
 Mrs. Marriott went in search of her forgotten 
 dish of peas, but Agnes stayed in the warm 
 kitchen. Perchance Andrew would give her 
 some news. 
 
 "It's wonderful the people I see in my travels," 
 he began as though in answer to her thought. 
 "Now, only last week I was over Wilton way 
 went up past Tarawingee right to the mountains. 
 Sold everything clean out." 
 
 "And how were they at Tarawingee?" asked 
 Agnes from her seat on the old-fashioned settee. 
 
 "Madam was preserving fruit," said Andrew. 
 "Plums, peaches, apricots everything in the 
 orchard. They say the vintage this year will be 
 the heaviest ever known." 
 
 Agnes did not answer. 
 
 Andrew continued: "Madam's husband will 
 be standing for Parliament soon." 
 
 "Indeed," said the girl. "How does he find 
 time for that?" 
 
 "A rich man has plenty of time," quoth 
 Andrew, wisely. 
 
 "But he is such a busy one, Andrew." 
 
 "You speak the truth," agreed the old man, 
 bending his black eyes in the direction of the 
 settee, and noting the flushed cheeks and busy 
 fingers. "There was a young lady staying 
 there," he said, mentally noting the fact for the
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 207 
 
 thousandth time that the person was yet to be 
 discovered who could excel his wife in making 
 stews. 
 
 "Was she short or fair?" asked Agnes, think- 
 ing of little Mavis White. 
 
 "No," said Andrew, "she was tall and had hair 
 bright as the sun." 
 
 "Oh!" said Agnes, a queer numbness stealing 
 through her fingers so that the quince she peeled 
 carefully, on account of her cut finger, fell 
 clumsily to the floor and rolled under Andrew's 
 chair. He stooped stiffly and handed it back to 
 her. 
 
 "It must have been Miss Parry," she said 
 bravely, taking the quince again. 
 
 "That's so," said the old man, in his raspy 
 nasal voice. "That's her very name hair like 
 the sun she had, but eyes" Andrew paused, 
 seeking a fitting simile "green as a shallow 
 sea." 
 
 His spoon sank into the roly-poly, and Agnes 
 peeled the quince silently. 
 
 Someone stood suddenly at the door, his long, 
 meagre shadow slanting across the kitchen floor. 
 
 For an instant Agnes thought she dreamed. 
 Did anyone but Sol Gosling possess such a long 
 crooked nose veering in a south-easterly direc- 
 tion, above a wide thin mouth which smiled in a 
 queer twisted fashion of its own, while one eye
 
 208 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 squinted furtively as though winking at some 
 mysterious joke. 
 
 "D'you do,' said Sol, gravely doffing his wide- 
 brimmed hat. 
 
 Agnes left her quinces. ''Why Sol," she said, 
 pleasure at the unexpected sight of a familiar 
 figure brightening her eyes. "How come you 
 this way? You are about the last person I 
 should have thought to see." 
 
 "Test what I was thinkin' of yerself, miss," 
 said Sol. "Had no idee who I'd see when I come 
 to the door. I be jest come to beg a can o' hot 
 water for a pot o' tea. I'm sort o' scourin' the 
 country for a white-faced chestnut colt." 
 
 Andrew gazed long at Sol. "I've seen you 
 afore." he remarked, burying his nose in the jug 
 of ale. 
 
 Sol transferred his attention to him. "I 
 guessed I knowed the old forelegs in the yard," 
 he answered, squinting hard. "All the lydies are 
 dyin' to see yer agin clo'es all wore out since 
 yer last trip." 
 
 Andrew scented sarcasm, and a cunning smile 
 played beneath his long white beard. "That so?" 
 he queried guardedly. "I must jog along, then. 
 Time flies, and 'Belle Mahone' has finished her 
 corn. Good day, miss." 
 
 He pulled his forelock by way of farewell to 
 Agnes, and bowed low as he did so.
 
 AGNES MEETS OLD FRIENDS 209 
 
 "Come in, Sol," said Agnes, amused at 
 Andrew's adieu. "I'll run and ask Aunt Fanny 
 to let you have your dinner here." 
 
 Protesting sheepishly, Sol came in, while 
 Andrew hitched the piebald nag to the cart, and, 
 with a backward glance towards the figure 
 seated on the settee, rumbled out of the yard and 
 disappeared round the corner of the house. He 
 kept his gravity until the bottom of the hill was 
 reached, then "Belle Mahone" was surprised to 
 hear a series of wicked chuckles rising in rapid 
 crescendo until they broke into loud guffaws of 
 unsuppressed mirth. 
 
 "To think on it," murmured Andrew to him- 
 self, as his keen eyes roved to the distant line of 
 forest. "A fool travels far," he told "Belle 
 Mahone" as they jogged along the road circling 
 the mud shores of the lake.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 
 
 IN the afternoon, with the sunlight falling in 
 great shafts over its wide heaving breast, 
 the lake seemed very beautiful. Gulls 
 skimmed across it ; sometimes a black shag rose 
 and dipped between the smooth long rollers; 
 often a flock of divers went sailing two by two, 
 in their measured stately manner, low against 
 the water. 
 
 Agnes put her hat on and went down the hill. 
 Aunt Fanny was busy making up her newly- 
 acquired purple silk. Marion was working in 
 her vegetable garden. There was nothing at all 
 for Agnes to do, and the outside world was call- 
 ing calling. Waves were lisping to the trees ; 
 gulls were screaming with delight; across the 
 lake came the low murmur of the wind; even the 
 old cockatoo in front of Dark Ben's cottage 
 flapped his wings and lifted his voice in a strange 
 sing-song. Smoke from numberless fisher 
 folks' cottages went up in a straight, blue 
 column heavenward; the walls of the low build- 
 ings were dark blots of amber against the pale 
 
 210
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 211 
 
 ochre of the mud shores. Some stood higher, 
 wild honeysuckle screening their doors; a 
 stunted gum or two for the background. 
 
 Towards one of these Agnes bent her steps. 
 Zillah, Dark Ben's daughter, would perhaps bake 
 to-day, and would only be too glad for a visitor 
 to drop in to taste and praise her wonderful 
 home-made biscuits. 
 
 The cockatoo greeted her appearance with a 
 loud screech. "You'll soon be in Davy's locker," 
 he told her, his head on one side. 
 
 "I hope not," said the girl, laughing and 
 knocking at the open door. 
 
 Seeing Agnes, Ben called in a deep rumbling 
 voice, "Walk in, miss ; walk in. Zillah'll be right 
 glad to see yer. She's been bakin' to-day." 
 
 Agnes entered the low-ceiled cottage. Cocky 
 murmuring persistently in a chuckling monotone, 
 "" You'll soon be in Davy's locker!" 
 
 "Hold your tongue," scolded the old man. 
 
 "Soon be in Davy's locker," whispered the 
 bird. 
 
 "I'll wring yer neck yet," said Dark Ben, 
 shaking a threatening fist. Cocky subsided at 
 this dire threat of vengeance, and the old man 
 poked the fire with a short shovel and called: 
 "Zillah ! Here be a visitor to see yer." 
 
 A door opened, and an angular, grey-haired
 
 212 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 woman came in. Seeing Agnes sitting in the 
 rocker, which was adorned with a woollen 
 antimacassar of hideous design, she smiled in a 
 strange set manner, and remarked in a 
 peculiarly soft voice: "I be real glad to see you. 
 The biscuits is extry nice to-day." 
 
 "I'm dreadfully hungry too," said Agnes, 
 speaking gaily. "How fortunate I should come 
 to-day." 
 
 "I'll lay the tea," said Zillah, taking the 
 wondrous ornamental ship from the centre of 
 the table and setting it carefully on the wooden 
 safe. That ship was the pride of Dark Ben's 
 heart. When in an unusually felicitious frame of 
 mind he would gaze at it and murmur to him- 
 self: "Ain't she a booty! She be a real lady 
 now." He watched his daughter's handling of 
 it with jealous eyes. When it was safely de- 
 posited on the safe between the soapstone 
 monkey and the quaint china vase modelled to 
 the semblance of a fish, he heaved a sigh of re- 
 lief, and turning to Agnes, said: "Heard ye the 
 souls speaking last night?" 
 
 "The souls?" questioned the girl, wonderingly. 
 
 "Ay, the souls of those that are gone, come 
 back on the wind," muttered Dark Ben, brood- 
 ingly, his fierce eyes on the scarlet embers of the 
 fire. 
 
 "There, there, father," said his daughter sooth-
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 213 
 
 ingly, as she opened the safe and lifted a delicate 
 china tea service to the table. 
 
 Dark Ben bent a glance half menacing upon 
 her. "You be a silent woman," he mumbled in- 
 audibly. "There baint many o' your sort i' the 
 world, Zillah." 
 
 "What's that, father?" questioned Zillah, 
 catching the latter part of the sentence. 
 
 "Naught, Zillah, naught," he answered. 
 "Where's my glass, Zillah?" irascibility upper- 
 most in his voice. 
 
 Zillah went out to get it. For her own peace 
 of mind she kept the keg of rum in a back room. 
 The door blew to as she went out. With a 
 chuckle Dark Ben glowered on Agnes. "There 
 ain't many like my darter, miss," he remarked, 
 removing the pipe from his mouth and spitting 
 vehemently into the fire. 
 
 Agnes did not answer. The old man's visage, 
 swarthy and repulsive, his red eyes glinting like 
 two fierce sparks, fascinated, yet repelled her. 
 
 "Last night the souls spoke to me," said Dark 
 Ben impressively, a stained finger on the bowl 
 of his pipe as he pressed the tobacco. 
 
 An uncanny feeling stole over Agnes. Was 
 the old man quite sane? She had heard strange 
 tales in the village. 
 
 Dark Ben leaned confidentially across the arm 
 of his chair. "They talked to me," he said, "and
 
 214 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 told me all about it. Three years gone they did 
 the same, and I listened," muttered Dark Ben. 
 "Ay, I listened." 
 
 Zillah reappeared, a tumbler in her hand, and 
 her father's gloomy thoughts gave way to the 
 pleasure of anticipating his afternoon's snack. 
 "You be a good girl, Zillah," he mumbled as he 
 took the glass from her. 
 
 While Zillah and Agnes drank tea, the old 
 man sipped his rum, glancing ever and anon at 
 his daughter, a leer, strange and sinister, in his 
 red, bleared eyes, a strangled chuckle half 
 throttling him as he drank. "Ay, ay, she be a 
 fine gal." he mumbled. 
 
 "Your father seems quite bright to-day," said 
 Agnes, watching the old man curiously. 
 
 "He often gets like that at this time o' the 
 year," answered Zillah, in her soft, slow voice. 
 
 "Ay, I be very skittish this time o' the year," 
 agreed Dark Ben from his corner. 
 
 Agnes rose soon, saying she would stroll 
 along the beach as far as the Dutchman's Nose, 
 and see the sunset. 
 
 "You be able to see the 'Devil's rocks' from 
 there," said Dark Ben, as she went out. "It's 
 midway in the bay beyond. Mark how the 
 water licks the sides, jest like a savage monster 
 a-hungerin' for blood. 'Tis always like that," 
 said the old man, gloomily. "Ay, but to hear the
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 215 
 
 wind talk round them rocks at night would make 
 your hair stand on end and your flesh creep from 
 its bones. I heard it once," he added thought- 
 fully. "But Dark Ben was never afeard, no, he 
 wasn't afeard; he listened, Zillah, didn't he?" 
 turning to his daughter, who stood at the open 
 door bidding good-bye to her visitor. 
 
 "Come, come; you be ower talkative to-day, 
 father," said Zillah shortly, and shading her eyes 
 from the sun so that she might see the slim 
 white-clad figure moving quickly along the 
 beach. 
 
 The "Dutchman's Nose" was a good half mile 
 from Dark Ben's cottage. It stood out boldly 
 from the shore, a narrow promontory of rocky 
 soil, amber-tinted, but lighted here and there 
 with straggling belts of wild honeysuckle. It 
 guarded the mouth of the so-called lake. Be- 
 yond it one saw the deeper blue of the bay; 
 beyond that the dull purple of the distant ocean. 
 The sunlight struck the waters of the lake 
 broadly, so that they shimmered like silk, caught 
 the leaves of the honeysuckle edging the shore 
 and burnished them to points of silver, fell back 
 and kissed the sands so that each fine grain 
 glistened and scintillated like white flame. 
 
 Agnes walked quickly, for the afternoon 
 waned and the sun was fast whirling towards 
 the west. The shadows were lengthening along
 
 216 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the shore as she reached the "Dutchman's Nose" 
 and. walking to the other side, seated herself on 
 the shelf of dried sea-weed that the tides had 
 plundered from the ocean and carried hither. 
 The sea-weed was soft and springy and pungent, 
 with a salt tang. Tired after her walk, Agnes 
 leaned against the ledge of rock and let her gaze 
 wander across the bay to that distant line of 
 deep purple. She was upset to-day. The unex- 
 pected appearance of Sol Gosling, perhaps, 
 accounted for it. He had brought with him the 
 atmosphere of Tarawingee. In her mind's eye 
 Agnes saw the tall box trees behind the house, 
 the acacias moving slowly in the afternoon sun- 
 light. She could hear the chirping of birds in the 
 aviary, the weird cries of the peacocks from the 
 garden, the angry hiss of Cocky, and the bark of 
 a tormenting pup. It seemed to stand before 
 her more clearly even than her own home. 
 Every nook and corner of Tarawingee was preg- 
 nant with memory. There was the narrow path 
 winding beside the creek where the she-oaks 
 whispered; there was the road sheltered with 
 mahogany, wild apple and gum, where the moon- 
 light filtered through moving leaves, falling in 
 tiny silver patches upon the moist red earth, 
 winging the horses' feet with magic, stirring the 
 dreams and hopes of a hundred years into the 
 space of one short hour.
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 217 
 
 Above all, there was the garden where the 
 bees droned and the birds sang, where flowers 
 bloomed and the blossoming plum trees 
 screened a small vine-covered fernery. Here it 
 was that her thoughts centred, and for the 
 moment the sweetness of that dear morning 
 came back to her, tinting the fair cheeks with 
 delicate colour, widening the blue eyes, with a 
 quick pulsing tenderness. After all, she would 
 always have that memory. She must strive to 
 keep it free from bitterness. There was another, 
 too, wherein moonlight bathed the earth with 
 pearl-blue lustre and stars winked curiously 
 above a pomegranate hedge, where the strains of 
 a waltz dreamed upon the night, and the soft 
 sound of dancing feet gliding rhythmically upon 
 a polished floor. 
 
 A sigh escaped the sweet lips. Was this a 
 fisherman's boat stealing along the outer beach 
 towards the lake? Midway in the bay the 
 "Devil's Rocks" reared ugly, jagged fangs, for 
 ever keeping the waves at bay, so that they 
 leaped high in a fierce, white anger, growling in 
 their futile efforts, but returning to the siege 
 with a cruel insistence. 
 
 The small boat hugging the outer beach was 
 fast drawing nearer. Agnes could see the fisher- 
 man rowing. She could even see the water 
 feathering his blade and the name painted on the
 
 218 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 bow. "The Sea Swallow," she murmured. "I 
 don't remember seeing that name before. Per- 
 haps it is a new boat." 
 
 The fisherman came towards the "Dutchman's 
 Nose." A faint, sick feeling stole over the girl 
 as she watched, her eyes dilated, and her breath 
 came unevenly. She heard the grinding of the 
 boat as it touched the bottom, saw the fisherman 
 jump out and push it further up ; then, fascinated, 
 watched him come slowly across the shingle. A 
 bush of honeysuckle hid Agnes from view. The 
 girl scarcely recognised him. Face set and 
 marred with an ugly sneer, it was Bertram 
 Forbes coming towards her. 
 
 A mist fell across the sea as she waited. It 
 was notTintil he rounded the intervening bush 
 that he became aware of another's presence. 
 Sw,ift annoyance swept his features clear of 
 other emotion. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," he began, then a great 
 stillness settled upon him. The lapping of the 
 tide upon the beach grew into a dull thunder, 
 and the scream of a passing gull into a shrill un- 
 earthly shriek. 
 
 "Every day," said the man slowly, "I have 
 come here and looked at the bare house on the 
 hill where they told me you were staying. I 
 have tried to imagine you coquette, flirt, wanton 
 trifler of all the deep true things in a man's soul:
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 219 
 
 but I could not really make myself believe it. 
 Tell me yourself, Agnes." 
 
 The lump in the girl's throat melted suddenly 
 and a great anger possessed her. She laughed, 
 and the sweetness of her voice had vanished, so 
 that her mirth sounded hard and harsh. 
 
 "How conveniently some cast the blame of 
 their own actions on others," she said, her lips 
 curved to a cruel smile. 
 
 "I never trifled with you," said Forbes gently, 
 coming nearer, the bronze of his face whitening 
 with the effort of self-control. To snatch her in 
 his arms and bear her away in his boat rose to 
 an almost overmastering impulse. If she would 
 but let him be tender with her, so that this 
 wretched misunderstanding might vanish. 
 "Agnes," he pleaded," tell me what I have done, 
 so that I may make amends. 
 
 "You cannot do that," said the girl, coldly, 
 "without still hurting another as you hurt me." 
 
 "God knows I never meant to hurt you, 
 Agnes," he answered. "Why will you not tell 
 me?" 
 
 Her eyes blazed. "Do you imagine, sir, that 
 you can trifle with the affection of every girl you 
 meet and go unscathed? To how many have 
 you told your love? Yes, even when I held my- 
 self betrothed to you? Go back to her whom you 
 love for the moment. I despise you unutterably.
 
 220 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Have you no sense of honour, that you speak to 
 me thus when you are not even free to do so?" 
 
 The scorn of her words seared like a dull fire, 
 but the scorn in her eyes was unbearable. 
 Under it Forbes' face grew scarlet, and his 
 hands trembled as with ague. 
 
 She knew then about Myrtle Parry ; knew too, 
 that he was engaged to her. He had hoped that 
 she might not. In his heart he had hoped that 
 time would turn a little way and take him back 
 to that day when he stood beneath a pink-capped 
 peach tree and watched the sunset through the 
 shining leaves of the oranges, with a dear girl's 
 trusting hand in his, the glory of the sun in her 
 eyes and on her hair. He was a man could she 
 not understand? 
 
 Agnes watched him go saw the boat shoot 
 out into the water saw him jump in and lift his 
 oars ; but she refused to see his hat raised in 
 farewell or the love battling with anger in his 
 eyes. "I hate him, hate him," she whispered to 
 the honeysuckle. "In a year he would have 
 tired of me; would have flung me aside to eat 
 out my heart with neglect." Her voice broke 
 suddenly, tears wetting the lashes resting on her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Across the bay the sun slipped nearer the 
 horizon, his rays mounting to the zenith on 
 mighty ladders. The boat edging along the
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 221 
 
 outer beach, grew fainter and smaller with every 
 second until it seemed to disappear in the molten 
 glory of the setting- sun. 
 
 A chill wind fanned through the honeysuckles 
 as she hurried back. How long the way seemed, 
 and how tired she was. No, she must not cry. 
 Her pride and strength of will must help her 
 bear this burden. How ill he had looked. But, 
 ah ! how she despised him. She would not give 
 her children a father with so little sense of 
 honour. 
 
 The visitor sitting near the doorway of Dark 
 Ben's cottage saw her pass; saw the white 
 strained face, the set lips, and nervous limbs, 
 and, turning to Dark Ben, he asked: "Did you 
 say Miss Wiseman went on to the "Dutchman's 
 Nose?" 
 
 "Ay, Zillah did," said Dark Ben, cheerfully. 
 
 As Agnes went up the steps to the verandah 
 her aunt met her at the top. 
 
 "I never guessed he would come," she said. 
 "How should I, when he didn't even send word 
 and hasn't written for years." 
 
 "Who do you mean?" asked the girl hurriedly. 
 She hoped her aunt would not notice anything 
 unusual in her appearance, but it was hard to 
 appear just the same.
 
 222 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "He went down to the beach," continued 
 Aunt Fanny. "Didn't you see him, Agnes? He 
 and Dark Ben are great friends. I thought he 
 would find you there in fact, I told him he 
 would." 
 
 "Whoever do you mean, Aunt Fanny?" said 
 Agnes, sinking into a chair. 
 
 "Why, Guy Antrobus, of course," answered 
 her aunt in surprise. "Who else should I mean. 
 Have you never seen him, Agnes?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Agnes, hurriedly. "Of 
 course, I remember now." 
 
 Guy Antrobus had married Aunt Fanny's 
 eldest daughter, but she had died soon after. 
 
 She went wearily upstairs, hoping that he 
 would not stay long. The burden of entertain- 
 ing would probably fall to her lot, as Marion had 
 never made any pretence of liking her brother- 
 in-law. But though they waited tea for him, 
 Guy Antrobus did not come. 
 
 "No doubt he has stayed down at Dark Ben's," 
 said Aunt Fanny, disappointedly. "I told him 
 we had nothing here for tea, but I forgot about 
 the white rooster, and I killed and roasted it as 
 a surprise after he had gone out. Never mind, 
 it will be just as nice cold." 
 
 Marion sniffed. "Trust Guy Antrobus to look 
 after his stomach," she said, caustically, placing a 
 saucer of milk on the floor for one of her pets.
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 223 
 
 "Marion," said her mother, "how often have I 
 told you not to feed those wretched cats in. 
 here?" 
 
 Marion took no notice. "If Guy Antrobus 
 did it,' she remarked presently, picking up the 
 empty saucer, "you wouldn't say a word; why 
 worry me over it?" 
 
 Her mother did not answer and tea ended 
 rather abruptly. 
 
 Down at Dark Ben's the visitor was safely 
 ensconced in a corner of the fireplace opposite 
 the old man. Zillah was crochetting an antima- 
 cassar. The stiff rocking chair rocked to the 
 tune of her thoughts. Sometimes it creaked 
 back and forth, slowly, as if languid with old 
 age, then it would move faster and faster, until 
 Zillah's steel needles caught the glow of the 
 embers and shone with a lustrous brilliance. 
 Guy Antrobus glanced round the room. In the 
 ruddy firelight it looked grotesque yet 
 picturesque. The ship sailed gallantly over the 
 table, the soapstone monkey grinned on the safe, 
 a white rose hung its weary head from the wide 
 mouth of the china fish, and over the safe a 
 great albatross stretched its wings from corner 
 to corner of the room. 
 
 "Where did you say you shot that albatross, 
 Ben?" asked the visitor, his eyes on the glass 
 eyes of the dead bird.
 
 224 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Ben glanced proudly at his trophy. "I nigh 
 forget, myself," he said, "but I think 'twas mid- 
 way in the Indian Ocean on the frigate 'Des- 
 pair.' " 
 
 "What was the frigate's proper name?" 
 asked Antrobus, willing to hear all Ben's old 
 yarns over again. 
 
 "She'd bin christianed The Lady Charlotte,' " 
 said Ben, launching forth, "but when the main- 
 mast played us false by snapping off and the 
 rudder run away in the storm, why, we 
 christianed her the 'Despair.' And there we was 
 adriftin' for days and weeks with our tongues 
 ashrivellin' up for a drop o' water, and when we 
 seen that albatross circling overhead we thirsted 
 for his blood, just even one drop," continued 
 Ben, warming to his subject. "They all tried, 
 but I shot him, that's why his carcase is here," 
 pointing towards the bird with a grimy, tobacco- 
 stained thumb. "Zillah, she be sooperstitious 
 about it; but only for that bird, I tell her, she 
 wouldn't 'a' had a father." 
 
 "What is it's length from wing to wing?" 
 questioned the visitor. 
 
 "It be nine feet across from the tip of one 
 wing to t'other," said Dark Ben, proudly. "But 
 we didn't wait to weigh it; we sucked it there 
 and then where it fell on the deck, and that night 
 we sighted the Frenchies."
 
 INTRODUCES DARK BEN 225 
 
 The old man almost quenched the fire with a 
 mighty sneeze. He poked it up again with the 
 toe of his boot. "And on French soil I met 
 Zillah's mother, and here Zillah be, and here I 
 be; but poor Louise be in her grave over the hill 
 yonder," pointing uncertainly towards the east. 
 
 "And poor George " Dark Ben broke off 
 
 abruptly. 
 
 "How did George come to get drowned?" 
 asked Antrobus presently, the smoke from his 
 pipe curling up the chimney. 
 
 There was silence in the room. Zillah 
 crochetted industriously, one eye on her father, 
 the other on her needle. Dark Ben spat into 
 the fire. 
 
 "It was a haccident," he muttered. 
 
 "Poor George," said the visitor, reminiscently. 
 "He was a good son to you, but it is always the 
 best swimmers that go, strange to say." 
 
 "It was this way," muttered the old man, 
 moving restlessly in his chair. "George and a 
 pal went to fish off 'Devil's Rocks.' Ay, I'll be 
 keerful," motioning his daughter back as she 
 rose suddenly and walked across the room. 
 "And they fished there all night," said Dark Ben, 
 gloomily, "and in the mornin' they never come 
 back." He bent his small red eyes on the 
 visitor. "But the Portuguese come back," he
 
 226 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 said slowly, his voice changing to a soft, quiet 
 drawl like his daughter's. 
 
 "Who was the Portuguese, Ben?" Interest 
 deepened the visitor's voice. 
 
 Why did Zillah seem perturbed and Dark Ben 
 look so strange? 
 
 "Why, a friend, o' course," said Dark Ben. 
 "A friend who, it seems, was a-fishin' off the 
 other side o' the Rocks. And in the morning 
 the Portuguese come back in his boat and said as 
 how George and his pal was drownded." 
 
 The old man paused, and the falling of the 
 cinders and soft disintegrating of hot embers 
 became the only sound in the room. 
 
 "And after that?" said Antrobus, quickly. 
 
 "Why?" drawled Dark Ben, "after that the 
 curious thing was that the Portuguese was 
 drownded too." 
 
 In spite of the fire, the room suddenly grew 
 cold to Guy Antrobus. 
 
 Zillah moved restlessly in her chair, and the 
 glass eyes of the dead albatross seemed almost 
 life-like where the firelight caught and gleamed 
 in them. 
 
 When Antrobus had gone, a third visitor 
 knocked at the door of Dark Ben's cottage. 
 Before she opened it, Zillah hastily blew the 
 candles out.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 WHEREIN AGNES FINDS COMFORT 
 
 THE lake seemed a great hollowed bowl of 
 beaten silver. Each boat rocking near the 
 long, low jetties was touched with the 
 magic finger of the moon. The same magic 
 caressed the mud shores, and, stealing further, 
 glistened on the sand, fell here and there in 
 patches among the stunted trees and bathed the 
 bare hill where Aunt Fanny's house stood. It 
 was late. The tall grandfather clock in the hall 
 downstairs had proclaimed it eleven o'clock 
 some time ago, yet Agnes could not sleep. In 
 desperation she had thrown her woollen 
 wrapper about her, and winding a scarf of silver 
 tissue about her head had stolen on to the bal- 
 cony. Her eyes were wide and unmistakably 
 brilliant, and as she stared across the lake all the 
 glory of the moon seemed to centre in them, 
 until they changed to gleaming sapphires. Why 
 was the night so long and dreary? Was that 
 the wind pulsing through the distant forest? 
 She bent her head and listened. What a horrid 
 ghostly sound it was. How often she had 
 
 227
 
 228 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 heard it murmur in the same deep, slow hush 
 through the willows and ironwoods at home. 
 The rising tide was breaking fitfully on shining 
 mud and gleaming sand, and far, far away, the 
 call of a lonely bittern mingled with the scream 
 of the curlews. Would the world ever grow 
 sweet again? she wondered. Would the sparkle 
 return to the sun and dear dreams people the 
 moonlight ? Would song echo on the wind, and 
 the flowers and the woodland sing? 
 
 From the hammock at the other end of the 
 verandah, half screened by the bamboo blind, 
 someone watched unseen. Guy Antrobus, too, 
 had been unable to sleep. This old house, the 
 grey lake filling the night with its insistent mur- 
 mur, the boats rocking carelessly beside the 
 jetties; all, all took him back to the days of his 
 young manhood. Nothing had changed much, 
 except that Dark Ben had grown more gruesome 
 with old age. 
 
 In this forgotten spot the arm of the law held 
 but poor sway. Folk did as they liked, taking 
 revenge, righting wrongs as the mood seized 
 them, while beyond the hills the outer world 
 stepped by unheeded. And over it all the spirit 
 of his dead wife hovered. As of old her voice 
 echoed through the house, her face smiled from 
 the corners, her photograph still hung on the 
 walls, and in the room downstairs, a little cabinet
 
 AGNES FINDS COMFORT 229 
 
 stood holding some of her books and music. And, 
 as when she had gone, the same dull pain came 
 back to the man's heart, tightening his lips, fill- 
 ing the kind, grey eyes with deep, unspoken sad- 
 ness. The girl brooding so silently in the 
 moonlight seemed too young to have tasted sad- 
 ness, yet the man watching, read the signs, for 
 had he not passed that way? 
 
 Mrs. Marriott had said she had been ill. Had 
 she meant ill in mind or body? Generally they 
 went hand in hand, but the body mended far 
 more quickly than the mind. Time only could 
 re-tune the unstrung jangled soul to perfect har- 
 mony : sometimes a little discord lingered to the 
 end of time. 
 
 Should he go and comfort? If his own wee 
 daughter had lived would she not have been as 
 old as this, perchance in trouble too, needing 
 help, comfort, strength to ease the burden. Guy 
 Antrobus rose quietly and drew aside the bam- 
 boo screen. As he came down the balcony 
 Agnes recognized him, yet she did not move or 
 speak. She saw only a grey-haired man clad in 
 a silver-grey suit, and in the plain black tie a 
 small pearl-pin twinkled where the moon shone 
 on it. 
 
 He took her hand gently, holding it in his own. 
 then "This moonlight banishes sleep, doesn't it?"
 
 230 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 he said, looking earnestly into the wide blue 
 eyes. 
 
 "Yes," she answered, drawing the silver 
 tissue closer about her head. Beneath it he saw 
 the glint of her golden hair. 
 
 It did not seem strange to Agnes that he 
 should come to her like this. She had always 
 known what he must be like ; no eyes could be 
 kinder, no voice more gentle or filled with such 
 a deep undercurrent of music. 
 
 Suddenly long suppressed tears refused to be 
 quenched; they rose and rimmed her eyes, edging 
 her lashes with a row of glinting diamonds, fall- 
 ing slowly one by one to the delicately-veined 
 hand holding so bravely to the balustrade. 
 
 With ^. quick, warm pressure his hand closed 
 over hers. "Little girl," he whispered, "long 
 ago I travelled the same hard road that you are 
 passing down. Will you not tell a friend, who is 
 old enough to be your father, what the trouble 
 is?" 
 
 She could not see him for the tremulous mist 
 before her eyes ; but, as though instinctively, her 
 hands nestled back into the warm hollow of his 
 and stayed there. 
 
 "Many years go," said Guy Antrobus, gently, 
 "a maid and a boy found life's happiness in this 
 old house, and the beach and the lake became 
 enchanted places. All life stretched before
 
 231 
 
 them, joyous and filled with love. They gazed 
 into the future blindly, not knowing what 
 awaited them. And the maid went away with 
 the boy to the dear new home, where the forest 
 rose behind in a dark green wall, and in front a 
 vast sea of grain waved." 
 
 Guy Antrobus paused, and Agnes thought his 
 voice shook a little as he continued: "A year 
 after, the little maid lay dead in the white room 
 overlooking the sea of wheat, and in her arms 
 she held a wee miniature of herself. That 
 night," said the man gently, for the telling of it 
 still hurt, "as the boy knelt by their side, a great 
 fire suddenly lit the sky and shone upon those 
 silent sleepers. In the morning, the wheat, too, 
 had gone the world was a blackened waste, 
 dreary and desolate. Love and fortune had 
 flo\vn on the silent wings of the night, leaving 
 the man stricken to the soul." 
 
 The weird cries of the curlews sounded harsh 
 and far away, and still Agnes could not speak. 
 
 He bent nearer to her. "Does your trouble 
 hurt like the boy's hurt?" he asked, his eyes 
 probing the white strained face. 
 
 "Nearly," she whispered at last, the comfort 
 of his caressing fingers bringing back her self- 
 control. 
 
 "Life seems so cruel and relentless, doesn't 
 it?" he said. "And all its wonderful magic can 
 Q
 
 232 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 die on one short second. But, little girl, be 
 brave and you will find that fairy fingers can 
 paint again, that the old songs will fill your 
 heart, and dreams, just as dear, take the place of 
 those that have vanished." 
 
 Like lustrous moon-jewels her eyes wandered 
 across the lake, and gradually the comfort of his 
 understanding filled her heart so that the dull 
 ache lessened unconsciously and the cries of the 
 distant curlews grew less harsh.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 THE BUSH FIRE 
 
 ANNETTE ate her porridge quickly. Mrs. 
 Pritchard had had a bad turn the 
 previous day, and Annette was anxious 
 to go and inquire if she were any better. Only 
 her father and Gilbert were at the breakfast 
 table. Her mother was not yet up. Gilbert 
 was grumbling at Katrin for having cooked the 
 eggs too hard and frizzled the meat to a cinder. 
 Lewis Wiseman was reading a letter. When 
 he had finished it he got up from his chair and 
 shouted at Gilbert: "Why wasn't this letter 
 given to me last night? Where's your mother,' 
 Annette? Not up?" 
 
 "She's got a headache," said the little girl, 
 soberly. "You mustn't disturb her." 
 
 "This letter is most important,' stormed 
 Lewis Wiseman, directing his ire at his second 
 son. "The mail came last night. You brought 
 it yourself, yet you didn't bother to give me this 
 letter." His voice somewhat resembled the 
 bellow of an angry bull, and as he stamped about 
 the room his face grew heated with excitement. 
 
 233
 
 234 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "Run and tell your mother I must see her," he 
 told Annette, who was frowning at her empty 
 porridge plate. 
 
 Gilbert's grumbling had given way to an 
 angry silence. 
 
 "Why didn't you bring me this letter, sir?" 
 cried his irate parent. 
 
 "You were down in the cellar when I came 
 home," mumbled Gilbert, "and you told us not 
 to disturb you when you were there." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks! I was only making an oint- 
 ment guaranteed to kill any kind of mosquito. I 
 could have left it half a second if you'd only 
 dropped the letter down. Yet you were too lazy 
 to do that ! And why isn't the four-acre paddock 
 ploughed?" a fresh grievance rising to life as 
 his gaze wandered out the open door to the 
 flats. "The place is overgrown with thistles and 
 cape-weed. Why in the name of all the saints 
 don't you do something, instead of falling in love 
 with every girl in the countryside?" 
 
 Gilbert rose awkwardly and left the room, 
 Outside, his face whitened and a tense, hard ex- 
 pression grew about the young fellow's mouth. 
 How much longer could he hold out? To break 
 stones on the road would be a far happier 
 existence than the one dragged out here. Hang 
 the letter! He wished he had burnt it. As he 
 walked towards the stable where Hal was fasten-
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 235 
 
 ing a knapsack to the pommel of Swagman's 
 saddle, preparatory to a week's hard graft on his 
 selection, he muttered, still fiercely rebellious. 
 "Remember the little mother." But sometimes 
 it required a lot of remembering when deep 
 resentment burned heart and mind, when all 
 around him life and opportunity were passing by 
 without even allowing him to grasp his rightful 
 share. Some day the chain would chafe too 
 much, and then Gilbert's eyes unconsciously 
 brightened, and he was even whistling when he 
 reached Hal. 
 
 "What's the row about?" enquired Hal, 
 genially, as he tightened a buckle. 
 
 Gilbert shrugged his shoulders. "A letter," 
 he said. "Lord knows what's in it, but it seems 
 to have disturbed the elements considerably." 
 
 Hal laughed. "You take things too seriously, 
 old chap," his eyes on Gilbert's face. 
 
 "I'm the scapegoat," blurted Gilbert fiercely, 
 "but I shan't put up with it much longer, Hal. 
 It's past bearing." 
 
 Hal was silent. He knew too well all that his 
 brother went through. But for the sake of the 
 little mother, the brothers had agreed to give up 
 their youthful hopes and plans of leaving the old 
 home and starting life together in some other 
 part of the country. 
 
 Always their eyes turned longingly to the
 
 236 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 north, to Queensland that land of delight, 
 where wealth and prosperity seemed to emanate 
 from the soil like magic mist evoked by some 
 witch's wand. 
 
 "I'm desperate," said Gilbert. "I'll find a way 
 out even if I have to take to bushranging Hang 
 the four-acre paddock! I wish it would sink to 
 the bottom of the sea." His eyes rested resent- 
 fully on the flats. 
 
 "By the way, did you hear that some despera- 
 does have burnt old Bill Dolphin's barn and hay- 
 shed?" said Hal adroitly. 
 
 "No," said Gilbert, forgetting his own woes. 
 "When was it done and who is suspected?" 
 
 "The police are sure that there is some band 
 of lawless-fellows in the hills. This is not the 
 first offence of the kind, and it seems that people 
 in that district have been losing cattle and 
 horses quite frequently the last ten months or so. 
 I only hope they don't cross the range and rob 
 these parts," he added, anxiously. "If they 
 came and bailed me up in my shanty, I'd have a 
 poor show Hullo, here's the news," as a voice 
 bellowed from the verandah. 
 
 Lewis Wiseman was waving imperiously with 
 his wide cabbage-tree hat. "What do you 
 think?" he shouted. "Come down, I don't want 
 the whole country-side to hear. Not just yet, 
 at all events."
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 237 
 
 The old gentleman scanned the distant pad- 
 docks, the river flats, and the rounded Sugar- 
 loaf not far away. Certainly only the birds of 
 the air, and the cattle grazing in the paddocks 
 would be able to hear; but there was no know- 
 ing who might be lurking in the willows along 
 the river's bank, surreptitiously fishing, or per- 
 haps someone might be stealthily hunting 
 within range of his stentorian voice. 
 
 Gilbert slipped into the stable. "You go," he 
 said to Hal. 
 
 As Hal approached the verandah he could see 
 that some exciting news was seething for 
 utterance. 
 
 "What d'you think," said his father, ramming 
 the cabbage-tree hat farther over one ear. 
 
 "No idea," said Hal, hitching Swagman to a 
 post. 
 
 "God bless me! Can't you give a guess?" 
 said his father impatiently. 
 
 "Marion is to be married," said Hal, laughing. 
 
 "Not far out," said his father. "Only it's 
 Agnes, the hussy, instead of Marion." 
 
 "Agnes!" said Hal abruptly, then "Who is it?" 
 
 "Guy Antrobus,'' replied his father, showing 
 the letter and offering it to Hal for perusal. 
 
 Guy Antrobus' letter was brief, but to the 
 point, and as Hal read it a certain wistfulness
 
 238 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 came into his eyes. He handed it back without 
 speaking. 
 
 "Well," said his father, "what do you think 
 of it? Certainly he's old enough, and he's 
 been married before ; but if Agnes don't mind, 
 it's all right, I suppose, and he's got a fine place 
 in Queensland." He mopped his face thought- 
 fully with the handkerchief Annette had 
 hemmed for him. "You know, he's done well 
 since he gave up trying to grow wheat down 
 south." 
 
 "I think Agnes will be happy," said Hal. 
 slowly. "What does mother say?" 
 
 "Like all women she's worrying over the 
 wedding and what she'll do when Agnes has 
 gone. But I tell her time will show, and not to 
 fidget over it now." 
 
 Lewis Wiseman tucked the letter into his 
 waistcoat pocket and sneezed into the red cotton 
 handkerchief. "How long will you be at the 
 selection ?" he asked, as Hal went in to bid good- 
 bye to his mother. 
 
 "A week," he answered. "I must keep a look- 
 out for the fire heading from the Blacksoil, and 
 there's some ring-barking to do too." 
 
 In the plain little room with its wooden 
 chintz-canopied bed, he found his mother sitting 
 in front of the window, her beautiful eyes on the 
 landscape without. Was it possible she could
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 239 
 
 see with some inner power? Hal often 
 wondered. Turning- to him, she said: "I know 
 how glorious it is with the hills dipping to the 
 south, the clean sweep of forest towards the 
 west, the great clouds like giants in the sky and 
 the glory of the colour and sunshine over it all. 
 Is it not so, dear son?" holding his hand within 
 her own. 
 
 "You have described it exactly, dear mother," 
 he answered cheerily. "I think you must have 
 some wizardry about you. It looks just as 
 though the gods were playing football up there 
 with the clouds." 
 
 "I knew, I knew/ said his mother, happily. 
 "And what do you think about Agnes, Hal? 
 Are you not a little surprised?" 
 
 "Just a little," said Hal. "I thought it would 
 be someone else." 
 
 "That was broken off, dear; but don't tell 
 your father. It would annoy him so," said Mrs. 
 Wiseman gently, wondering whether or not Hal 
 had ever guessed. 
 
 "I am glad," he answered quickly. "Agnes 
 did not tell me, but I had my suspicions, you 
 know. I am glad she discovered his shallowness 
 in time." 
 
 "Yes, my son; but the awakening is always 
 cruel," said his mother, gently. 
 
 It was an exceptionally cool day for February
 
 240 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 as Hal left the home paddocks and, slipping the 
 rails back into their sockets, mounted Swagman 
 and rode towards the broken circle of hills 
 standing like deep blue jewels beyond the barren 
 Sugarloaf, which guarded the northern portion 
 of Bungay. Along the edge of the range a thin 
 haze of smoke crept stealthily, held in leash by 
 a contrary wind. In the valleys blue melted into 
 a deeper tinge, so that amethyst mingled with 
 turquoise, sapphire and indigo; all blended with 
 that soft mysterious film Nature so defty draws 
 over her fairest pictures, shielding them, as it 
 were, from the too garish light of the sun. The 
 roads were white with dust. It rose thickly, 
 whitening Hal's boots and dulling Swagman's 
 glossy coat. Just ahead a teamster drove his 
 waggon, his great whip whirling cruelly over his 
 bullocks' patient heads, the air sulphurous with 
 threats and doubtful encouragement. So en- 
 grossed was the man with his team that he had 
 no time to return Hal's roadside greeting, and 
 with a spurt, Swagman shot quickly ahead, glad 
 to leave the slow, awkward cavalcade in the rear. 
 Past small wayside homes poverty-stricken 
 and bare Hal rode. As he passed there was 
 always a shout of approval from the children 
 swarming on the fences. Urchins, dirty-faced 
 but cheerful, waved decrepit hats or called after 
 him, their mothers hovering somewhere in tne
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 241 
 
 background ready to bid the young fellow 
 "good-day" should he glance past the children 
 and see them standing there in the dimness of 
 the doorways. 
 
 As each mile drew Hal nearer those silent 
 hills the farther away from them travelled his 
 thoughts. In how many years could he honour- 
 ably ask any girl to be his wife? Drudgery, 
 elemental and stern, stared him in the face, 
 baffling and heart-sickening. He must wrestle 
 with the piece of land allotted to him out of all 
 the acres and acres of well-nigh impenetrable 
 bush, and even when this was done, what lay 
 before him? Nothing nothing that he could 
 ask any girl to share with him at least, not the 
 little frail golden-haired girl whose portrait rose 
 so vividly before him. It would kill her, crush 
 the very life from the slender body and leave him 
 with only the ghost of a memory and dull heart- 
 ache. Hal roused himself and laughed, but the 
 laugh was not very mirthful. It was not even 
 safe to contemplate such things. It had required 
 great self-control to refuse Tarawingee's invi- 
 tation to the vintage ball that year. He must 
 guard his tongue well lest it grew treacherous. 
 
 The hills watching him hid their smiles in the 
 depths of the valleys, and schemed to further 
 block this interfering mortal from forcing them 
 to yield the secrets of their garnered wealth.
 
 242 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Along the edge of the range the blue haze 
 wandered restlessly and, seeing it, the Spirit of 
 the Hills laughed aloud, its wicked glee frighten- 
 ing the shy animals screened in the underbrush, 
 waking sleepy opossums, scattering the birds 
 along the mountain side, the sheen of their 
 wings making splashes of colour among the 
 emerald of forest leaves, the music of their 
 sudden song the wonder of some mighty organ. 
 The song of the birds floated across the lesser 
 hills, passed on, and circled above the crest of 
 the Sugarloaf, sank lower and reached the ears 
 of Hal Wiseman, so that bleak care shrank 
 back afraid and vanished altogether when a 
 sweet uneven tenor suddenly joined the birds in 
 their roundelay. It was only the last verse of an 
 old song that the same golden-haired little girl 
 had sung in the twilight a year ago. Yet how 
 powerful the small things of life are! It sent 
 hope and courage to a man's heart, and with its 
 delicate harmony made beautiful the years to 
 come, so that they stepped forth like shy 
 maidens dancing a sweet old-fashioned minuet. 
 
 That day the ring of an axe, echoing from 
 valley to valley, across one spur to another 
 proved how busily Hal Wiseman worked. 
 Giants of the forest were pushed aside, some 
 fell, others were left to bleed and wither, their 
 mighty arms stretched out in mute protest
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 243 
 
 against the law of man. Saplings, young, 
 slender, obstreperous, were likewise treated; 
 great vines were cut asunder, their severed parts 
 swinging back in helpless anger, their leaves 
 already beginning to wilt under the sun's fierce 
 glare. And ever the hills watched, a laugh 
 hidden in their depths. Now and again a grey 
 kangaroo came and stared solemnly at this man 
 creature but the least movement sent it hop- 
 ping quickly away. The wallaroos and the rock 
 wallabies also came, and often a disturbed bear 
 cried hideously from the branches of a thick box 
 or leafy redgum. The pines and the mountain 
 oaks held whispering dialogues and in their 
 branches the bronze-wing pigeons, the parrots 
 and the leather-heads listened and chattered 
 louder and more volubly than before. Bandi- 
 coots and paddymelons hid behind lichen- 
 covered rocks, bright eyes popping out of their 
 heads with fear, sometimes a startled hare ran 
 blindly from tree to tree scarce knowing what 
 the danger was, while far beneath in the gully a 
 crow cawed hoarsely, sounding its evil notes 
 above the sweet chatter of the other birds. 
 
 Hal shouldered his axe and moved up the 
 mountain-side. Rocks slid beneath his feet and 
 rolled down the slope, gaining speed in their 
 descent, twigs snapped and dead leaves rustled, 
 lizards crept away between the boulders, and
 
 244 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 soldier ants paused to investigate. Surprised, a 
 bower-bird disappeared in a flurry, uttering low 
 notes of disapproval. The wind was changing 
 and a faint, hardly perceptible smell of smoke 
 stole through the forest. Hal paused beneath an 
 overhanging boulder. "I scarcely think that fire 
 will spread much," he mused, listening to the 
 harsh cry of a distant crow, yet sniffing the air 
 with a bushman's keen knowledge. "The wind 
 has certainly veered more this way," he added r 
 moving on until the boulder lay beneath him, a 
 flat broad spot of vandyke brown, flanked with 
 the green leaves of creeping ferns and mosses. 
 But before sunset the wind changed again and 
 the smoke drifted to the west. 
 
 Alone in his rough slab hut Hal read a 
 battered volume of "Don Quixote" until his 
 candle guttered to the socket. Wearily he blew 
 it out, and turning to his couch of chaff and corn 
 bags, fell asleep. Outside, the soft footfall of 
 nocturnal feet and the deep inquiring breath of 
 unseen creatures proclaimed the vigilance of 
 that vast mysterious bushland flanking the old 
 slab hut on every side. 
 
 It was not until the fourth day that Hal 
 passed the tiny log hut built on the cap of the 
 mountain. Keeping time to a blithe whistle 
 young Tim was wielding a dangerous-looking 
 tomahawk, while Camelia Violet, his baby sister,
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 245 
 
 played with her doll a short, smooth block of 
 tallow-wood, tied about the middle with a length 
 of scarlet flannel. At the side of the house a 
 woman was washing, and as Hal came up the 
 sound of her voice floated down in a sort of 
 raspy sing-song. It was an old, old nursery 
 rhyme that she sang, and the baby dropped her 
 improvised doll and listened happily, trying to 
 imitate her mother's vocal efforts. Tim was the 
 first to spy Hal, w r hereupon the woodland echoed 
 with a glad "Hurrah! Here's Mr. Wiseman, 
 mum." 
 
 "Mum" lifted a heated face from the steaming 
 tubs, wrung her soap-sudded hands vigorously, 
 and smiled at the young man as genially as her 
 eldest-born Timothy. 
 
 "You be* a sight for sore eyes," she said. 
 
 Hal laughed heartily, and stooping, swung 
 baby Camelia high into the air. Perhaps it was 
 his genuine love for little children that endeared 
 Hal Wiseman to the hearts of all women. 
 Rough, bush mothers adored him, society 
 matrons regarded him approvingly, old ladies, 
 high and low, looked upon him as a kind of 
 Adonis, but more for his courtesy and kindly 
 sympathy than for any special beauty. Nature 
 had fashioned him rather ruggedly with a broad, 
 high forehead, a pair of kind brown eyes, rather 
 small than otherwise, a short snubbed nose, and
 
 246 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 a wide, generous mouth set above an obstinate 
 chin. To all children he was a demi-god, ana a 
 smile and a nod from him were treasured for 
 years in many a bush-child's heart. 
 
 "Washing-day again, Mrs. Heineman?" he 
 asked, gaily, as he duly admired Tim's new 
 tomahawk. 
 
 "Seems to me it's always washin'-day for us 
 women/' answered Mrs. Heineman resignedly, 
 plunging her arms into the tubs again. "Joe's 
 gone to the settlement t'other side of the. brush. 
 We be out of everything almost. Weevils are 
 in the flour something awful, and the sugar's 
 that black and hard not even a bull-dog ant can 
 nibble at it." 
 
 "Baby looks well on it all the same," said Hal, 
 laughing. 
 
 "Oh, yes, she does well," said the mother, 
 soberly. "The father and the boy fair worship 
 her. But I'm troubled about Tim. He coughs 
 something cruel in the night." 
 
 Tim, a lithe, thin ragamuffin, narrow-chested 
 and somewhat rheumy-eyed, smiled sheepishly 
 at his hero and murmured with a boy's noncha- 
 lance, "I be all right, it's only the hiccough." 
 
 "Hiccough, indeed !" said his mother. "It's a 
 regular bark, sir, and no less." 
 
 Tim laughed. "I heerd a native dawg bark in 
 the night. He was answerin' me, I think."
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 247 
 
 "There, there, doan't you be foolish," said his 
 mother impatiently, an anxious furrow lining 
 her forehead. 
 
 "Have you any idea how that fire started on 
 the Razorback?" asked Hal, as he put baby 
 Camelia down and gazed thoughtfully over the 
 valley to that misty, violet-tinted range a little 
 westward, which seemed to be hidden with a 
 thicker haze than yesterday. 
 
 It was hot with the heat of February and a 
 tiny mischievous wind was curling the leaves of 
 the gums and turpentines. 
 
 "No idea," answered Mrs. Heineman, shaking 
 her head. "Joe fancied it must a' started itself; 
 that's the only solution he had. But " diverg- 
 ing with a womanly inconsequence from the 
 sterner probabilities of life "come along and 
 I'll show you what Joe calls my 'obby." 
 
 Mrs. Heineman once more wrung her hands 
 and led the way to the front room, Timothy and 
 the baby following. "You'd -never guess what 
 it be," she said, her face wreathed in smiles. 
 
 "I'm afraid I'm not good at guessing, Mrs. 
 Heineman," he answered. 
 
 Mrs. Heineman lifted a thick exercise book 
 from the middle table and opened it carefully. 
 "Keep back, Tim," she scolded, as Tim showed 
 signs of boyish curiosity. "Considerin' how few 
 papers we see and how far away from civiliza-
 
 248 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 tion we be, I think I've done remarkably well, 
 seein' I only started twelve months ago," said 
 Mrs Heineman, opening the book, mingled 
 pride and pleasure in the simple act. A warm, 
 steamy hand cleft the air in Timothy's direction. 
 "Keep back," said his mother again, and "La! 
 stop your whimperin', child," as baby Camelia 
 pulled at her skirts. 
 
 Mrs. Heineman delivered the book into Hal's 
 care. "What do you think of it?" she asked, 
 picking the baby up in her arms. 
 
 Hal was too overcome to answer just at once. 
 Broad, black bands of ink decorated each page. 
 In this ebony stronghold were pasted the 
 various "In Memoriam" notices culled from the 
 "Gazette," that found its way monthly, after 
 tedious journeying, into the small settlement, 
 twelve or fourteen miles from the Cap. 
 
 "You have put them in very neatly, Mrs. 
 Heineman," said Hal, gravely, his eye running 
 over the dozen or so notices. 
 
 Mrs. Heineman beamed with delight. "You 
 wouldn't believe what a time it took me," she 
 said. "But, then, you see what a deal of pleasure 
 I kin get from readin' them over. Joe can't 
 read, so I read them out to him, and it passes the 
 time wonderful, jest a-thinkin' who and what all 
 these people were." 
 
 Hal put the book gently on the table. What
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 249 
 
 a world of pleasure those gruesome notices had 
 given, were giving, were destined still to give. 
 To be able to read showed that Mrs. Heineman 
 was a woman of culture. In those days of few 
 schools and meagre learning, to find a bush- 
 woman who could read was almost an event. 
 But then, as Mrs. Heineman had told Hal more 
 than once, "she had come out of a two-story 
 house to marry Joe Heineman." The two- 
 story house had been the only hotel in the 
 settlement t'other side of the brush, yet the 
 glory of that voluntary flitting was still reflected 
 on the magnitude and honesty of Mrs. Heine- 
 man's girlish affection. 
 
 Joe, it must be said, fully appreciated the 
 sacrifice, and the love which so often gives way 
 to hurtful bickerings and repining continued to 
 rule the little isolated bush homestead, and to 
 make the many lonely hours enhance those of 
 dearer, closer companionship. 
 
 It was still early when Hal left the log hut 
 beneath him, and waving to Timothy, who sat 
 perched disconsolately on the roof, disappeared 
 into the tangle of underbrush netting the whole 
 side of the mountain. Native box barred his 
 way, wild raspberry vines proved a pitfall to 
 unwary steps. Smilax and the deadly night- 
 shade smothered the ground, killing the grass, 
 or turning it to a sickly yellowish tint; only
 
 250 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 here and there the coarser kangaroo and blady 
 grass shot up underneath, defying annihilation. 
 Towards the summit of the mountain the under- 
 brush thinned, allowing the grass to predomin- 
 ate; the timber too, was sparse and more 
 stunted, geebungs abounded, and cotton plants 
 grew thickly between ash and mahogany. In a 
 thin curling line of blue the smoke of Mrs. 
 Heineman's chimney rose far below, and the 
 silence was shattered with the loud voices of the 
 magpies at variance with the peewits. 
 
 Only for a moment Hal Wiseman rested. He 
 was making for the brush on the other side. If 
 only that fire had been near the brush it might 
 have saved him much hard work. As it was, he 
 did not think it would veer this way at all. The 
 mouth of the brush was yellow with the blossom 
 of the English laburnum. It had sown itself 
 broadcast, and now the honeysuckers and the 
 bees were picknicking to their heart's content. 
 Beyond this plantation rose the brush, black, 
 dense, forbidding, and, according to the blacks 
 for miles around, haunted by evil spirits and 
 debbil-debbils. Superstition did not worry Hal. 
 He meant to ring-bark many of these gigantic 
 trees blocking the way. Great willorouks waved 
 wide, fan-like leaves high overhead. Red, blue, 
 and spotted gums stood in solid walls. Hoary 
 mountain oaks locked branches with the tallow
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 251 
 
 woods, kurrajongs, and turpentines, and at their 
 feet, among the slimy boulders and rotting 
 wood, ferns grew and creeping plants, grey- 
 green lichens, emerald mosses, and scarlet fungi. 
 
 Undaunted Hal slipped into the depths, 
 measuring the trees with a practised eye, 
 singling out those that would be better left. In 
 this dim palace of nature the air was cool, and 
 a damp vapour oozed from the spongy earth. 
 Hal paused and mopped his forehead, and 
 presently the ring of his axe rang clear and 
 resonant, vieing in its music with the voice of 
 the water singing in some secluded gully. And 
 while he worked the haze on the Razorback grew 
 thicker, denser, curling and writhing through 
 glen and valley and along the range, shrouding 
 its blue with a greyish-dun coloured veil that 
 gradually stole higher into the sky, to hang 
 there like a lowering war-cloud. 
 
 In the settlement men grew uneasy and 
 women %>od in their doorways straining their 
 eyes towards that grey snake creeping along the 
 mountain. While Hal worked in the bush he 
 did not feel the hot fierce wind that sprang to 
 life, shrivelling the young leaves of the taller 
 trees and scattering the yellow blossoms of the 
 laburnams. Instead he boiled his billy and ate 
 some thick sandwiches well lined with dry 
 corned beef, and listened meanwhile to the songs
 
 252 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 of the bell-bird and the rich sweet note of the 
 rarer organ-bird, and once he spied a rose- 
 breasted robin peeping at him from a small 
 thick shrub. 
 
 And ever the hills laughed, holding their sleek 
 sides in glee as they urged the grey snake 
 forward with the lash of a stinging wind. Soon 
 the settlement turned out to a man and burned 
 a ring about the homes, the little church, the 
 school, and the two-story public house ; and 
 the women put great cans on their fires, and 
 brewed deep pots of tea, while the children cut 
 green branches from the tender saplings in 
 readiness for any emergency, and the smaller 
 children huddled together and whispered tales 
 their parents and grandparents had told them of 
 how whole settlements had been burned out and 
 precious lives saved only by a miracle. 
 
 Joe Heineman drove out of the village in 
 company with his wife's brother, and as they 
 drove their voices were anxious and their eyes 
 were ever scanning the smoke blotted ranges. 
 
 "If it keeps like this, Bill," said Joe, "it might 
 do good and not much harm; but if it gets to 
 the north-west of that brush with this wind 
 blowin' my little caboose will be done for, and 
 Wiseman's selection swept clean as a slate. The 
 settlement's pretty safe now, but this wind will
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 253 
 
 blow the sparks for miles. Git up, Bally! Trot 
 out like a good old gal the fate of nations 
 hangs in the balance." 
 
 So he strove to jest with his own fears as he 
 urged the mare forward. Being a taciturn 
 young man Bill did not answer, and to Joe 
 Heineman, the miles between him and his home 
 grew into an interminable barrier. 
 
 It was Timothy who first saw the fire striding 
 up the Saddlehorn. He had climbed a straight 
 thin gum to see if there were any eggs in the 
 magpie's nest at the top, and from this vantage 
 point he was able to view a fair portion of the 
 surrounding country. 
 
 The Saddlehorn was a short abrupt peak 
 standing out clearly in the centre of a range a 
 little to the west of the brush. Timothy knew 
 that a fire in that direction meant danger to the 
 settlement and possibly his own home. He slid 
 from the tree in less than a second and ran to 
 find his mother and baby Camelia. 
 
 About the same time that Timothy discovered 
 the fire's new path some subtle instinct sent Hal 
 to the mouth of the brush. The heat of the 
 outer world struck him like a blast from some 
 awful furnace, and the wind blowing hot and 
 strong from the west, scorched his already sun- 
 burnt skin to a brighter red. Along the side of 
 the mountain the trees seemed to be shrinking
 
 254 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 and changing from their usual green and red- 
 brown tones to a dull dirty hue. The bush had 
 grown strangely silent ; not even a minah called, 
 and the bees had left the laburnums. 
 
 Hal glanced at his watch. It was just three 
 o'clock. He was ready for tea again, but put 
 the desire aside and strode farther up the side 
 of the mountain. The atmosphere was heavy 
 with smoke. He had noticed a moist blue 
 vapour growing denser in the brush, but had 
 been too busy with his ring-barking to give it 
 much attention. That fire on the Razorback 
 must have spread considerably, and with this 
 wind blowing anything was possible. It was 
 just as well to go and see if Joe Heineman had 
 returned home. If the fire was coming this 
 way things looked serious. 
 
 As he reached the summit he saw that the 
 fire was heading straight for the settlement. 
 The least swerve of the wind to the north and it 
 would veer towards the tiny log cabin and his 
 own rough hut. Hal's progress over the 
 slippery wind-scorched grass, and through the 
 baffling belt of undergrowth, seemed to him a 
 snail's pace. 
 
 Watching anxiously in the opposite direction 
 for her husband's return, Mrs. Heineman did 
 not see Hal's approach, and at the unexpected 
 sound of his voice she turned a startled strained
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 255 
 
 face to him. A swift flash of relief swept across 
 it. Both realized the danger and the need of 
 instant action. 
 
 "Joe's got the horse and cart," said the 
 woman, quietly. "I .guess we must trust to 
 Shank's pony and make for the creek below 
 your place." 
 
 "At once," said Hal, abruptly. 
 
 It remained to be seen whether the creek 
 could be reached in time. The wind was 
 blowing straight from the west. 
 
 Mrs. Heineman darted into the house, cast a 
 hurried glance around, relinquishing with a 
 sharp pang all those humble household goods 
 that had been won so hardly through the years 
 of her married life. "Come, children," she said, 
 snatching up baby Camelia and going out again. 
 
 A silent little party stumbled down the slope 
 to the rough track leading towards the creek, 
 and in a round-about way to the settlement. 
 Perspiration dripped off Hal's burnt face, hung 
 in moist drops across Timothy's forehead, rolled 
 slowly down his mother's care-worn cheeks. 
 
 "I wants my dolly," whimpered baby Camelia. 
 
 "Hush dear, hush," breathed her mother, her 
 arm straining close to her side, so that some- 
 thing hard and square should not slip to the 
 ground. 
 
 "I've got my tommyhawk," said Tim.
 
 256 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 "If we have to run throw it away," said his 
 mother, guiltily. 
 
 Tim's small heart sank, and he clutched the 
 handle of his beloved tommyhawk more firmly 
 and determinedly. 
 
 "Let me carry her," said Hal, turning to the 
 woman and her baby. 
 
 "No, not yet," said Mrs. Heineman. "She's 
 best with me. If we have to run, you'd best 
 take her then." 
 
 Baby Camelia snuggled closer against her 
 mother, and the small cavalcade fled as quickly 
 as they could towards the creek. Behind them 
 the smoke seemed to close like a great gate, 
 shutting off old familiar landmarks, trees, 
 boulders, stumps. It got into their eyes so that 
 it smarted horribly, and the wind sent the dust 
 from the track swirling up into their nostrils 
 until they felt suffocated. 
 
 "It can't be far behind," said Hal, quietly, 
 picking Timothy up in his strong young arms. 
 The child was gasping for breath, and once or 
 twice a deep cough had racked his thin body. 
 
 "If Joe had only bin here with the cart," 
 breathed Mrs. Heineman, unhappily. She was 
 not strong and fear and nervous dread were 
 beginning to tell on her. Unaware of danger 
 baby Camelia had fallen asleep, and had become 
 a dead weight on her mother's stiff arms.
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 257 
 
 Suddenly a great crackling rose behind them, 
 and the day grew unbearably hot. 
 
 "Run!" screamed the woman. 
 
 In his fright the tommyhawk slipped from 
 Tim's fingers, and Hal's burnt face became tense 
 and strained. 
 
 An immense tree which had been ring-barked 
 some weeks before had become a vast mass of 
 writhing flame. At the same time that the tree 
 caught fire, the welcome vision of an old bay 
 horse and two anxious men was seen pushing 
 doggedly through the mantle of enveloping 
 smoke. 
 
 "Thank God!" whispered the woman, to her 
 sleeping child. "We may reach it yet." 
 
 It did not take long to put the woman and 
 children in. Bill and Hal would make a dash 
 for it. The cart turned on a pivot and old Bally 
 leaped forward on the return journey, even 
 more cognizant of the danger than her masters. 
 There was only one fence in the way. Fortun- 
 ately Bill and Hal were there in time to let the 
 rails down, and with a snort of fear Bally rushed 
 over them and on through the crackling grass. 
 The thick shrubs of the creek were in view. 
 Here and there along the banks an ironbark or 
 she-oak stood stoically, their branches a mass 
 of grey curling leaves tossing restlessly in the 
 fierce wind.
 
 258 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Down the mountain side little red and yellow 
 flames were licking the ground hungrily; other 
 trees had caught alight, sparks and smoking 
 twigs were flying on the wings of the gale. All 
 knew that by this time the log cabin must be a 
 wide sheet of flame. 
 
 The cart slipped down the steep bank, and 
 the water washed the wheels, and cooled the 
 heated heaving body of the snorting horse. 
 Deeper still sank the cart, until the water crept 
 through the cracks of the floor and lapped 
 Timothy's bare feet. 
 
 Joe stood up and broke branches from the 
 ironwoods and sassafras. Bill and Hal were 
 shoulder-deep near Bally's head. 
 
 So thick was the smoke that the whole land- 
 scape was blurred and hidden, only now and 
 then one saw a bluish light creeping through 
 the grass or heard a loud rattling in the tree- 
 tops or smelt the peculiar odor of green leaves 
 scorching. 
 
 "It's makin' for your shanty, Wiseman," said 
 Joe Heineman, soberly. "Straight as a dart it's 
 goin'. It's jest singin' this corner of the creek. 
 Lie low Tim, it ain't gawn yet," as Tim's 
 dominant curiosity awoke. 
 
 "I guess the settlement escaped by a hair's 
 breadth," said Bill, soberly. "They didn't burn
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 259 
 
 that there ring none too soon, Joe, I'm 
 thinkin'." 
 
 "No," said Joe. 
 
 Tim suddenly made a discovery. "Look at 
 the birds, mum," he cried, pointing excitedly to 
 the trees. 
 
 "Where?" asked his mother, wearily, moving 
 baby Camelia gently in her lap. At her side- 
 lay the beloved book, the only thing saved from 
 her home. 
 
 Among the thick fringe of ironwoods, sitting 
 silent and watchful, were numbers of small 
 birds swallows, sparrows, soldier-birds, pee- 
 wits, tiny wood doves, shy pigeons, brilliant 
 parrots, blue-black mutton-birds, and even a 
 mottled sparrow-hawk. A common danger had 
 sent them flocking to this place of comparative 
 safety. Fear seemed to have paralyzed them, 
 for as human eyes were focussed an them, not a 
 tiny feather moved or a small head turned. 
 
 As they watched the birds, something slid into 
 the creek with a low splash. Bally backed rest- 
 lessly, rolling terrified eyes to and fro, and 
 presently the head of a black snake appeared 
 above the surface of the water as it swam further 
 up the creek and disappeared behind the veil 
 of smoke. 
 
 As the sun sank, lurid and awful, the hearts 
 of Hal Wiseman and Joe Heineman were heavy
 
 260 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 with the sense of disaster. In their mind's eye 
 both saw the charred remnants of what had, at 
 least, been a shelter, both guessed that fences 
 put up with much labor had been destroyed, that 
 the work of months had been demolished utterly. 
 The fire had swept on down the mountain side, 
 leaving only burning trees and smoking logs in 
 its wake. The creek had proved a sort of brake, 
 the fire running along its western bank for a 
 time, then as the creek bent abruptly north, the 
 fire had shot ahead in a straight line for Hal 
 Wiseman's hut. 
 
 When the writhing, curling flames had gone 
 past, Joe Heineman drove Bally up the opposite 
 bank, reaching the top with a jerk and a 
 straining of sodden harness. Bill and Hal made 
 their way over some time before. 
 
 "Git in," said Joe, "we must make tracks for 
 the settlement, providin' it's left standin'." 
 
 Darkness fell as they went. Since sunset the 
 wind had veered again, and now came from the 
 east, blowing the smoke back and revealing the 
 hills twinkling and brilliant with a million 
 lights. W r here before wild bush had reigned 
 supreme, great cities now seemed to stand. On 
 prominent heights lurid searchlights appeared 
 to flash for a moment and die away, and now 
 and then a great beacon blazed high, throwing 
 the lesser lights into insignificance.
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 261 
 
 In the jolting cart a woman watched, wide- 
 eyed, motionless, her eyes on the gleaming 
 cities, her heart crying pitifully for the little 
 log cabin left desolate on the hills. In her arms 
 a baby slept, fitfully; at her feet a boy's tired 
 head bumped against her knees. The fire 
 would burn for weeks. How long would it be 
 before another home was ready to receive her? 
 Seated beside her, a man mentally calculated 
 his limited resources, and, as night settled down, 
 the tight lines about his mouth became thinner 
 and straighter beneath the heavy moustache. 
 Only years would make up arrears of work; 
 perhaps if he could not borrow a little they 
 would have to let the selection go. 
 
 Joe gritted his teeth together. If he worked 
 his hands to the bone, that should not happen; 
 but corn was dirt cheap, and it took weeks to 
 get timber to any kind of a market. 
 
 "Wee-ee-loc ! wee-ee-loc! wee-loc! wee-loc! 
 wee-loc!" Even the fire had not silenced the 
 curlews, and their weird cries rang shrilly 
 through the night. Under his breath Joe 
 Heineman cursed them, and Hal Wiseman 
 listened to them as in a dream. 
 
 To-morrow! What would to-morrow bring 
 forth? His eyes were staring at a dun coloured 
 sky, where a few pale stars were striving to 
 shine. The vears ahead, indeed, stood ranged
 
 262 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 one upon another in a long unbroken vista of 
 loneliness and desolation. Only to-morrow 
 glared hideously near, tramping underfoot his 
 dreams and desires, his ambitions and tender 
 hopes. 
 
 It was late when they reached the settlement, 
 but men and women were talking eagerly at 
 their doors; the children were wide awake; the 
 babies slept restlessly on their hot little beds. 
 A red glare lit the settlement, doing away with 
 all need of artificial light. In the strange 
 brilliance men looked uncanny, and women lost 
 the hard angularity of face and form, and a 
 strange softness touched work-worn features, 
 so that their husbands wondered vaguely at the 
 change 
 
 Morning was winging her way across the 
 hills when the settlement sank to slumber. In 
 one hut alone a low voice broke the stillness. 
 Someone was speaking persuasively, earnestly. 
 
 "He'll make it worth yer while, old man," 
 said the voice, which strove to mitigate its 
 natural harshness by whispering hoarsely. 
 
 The answer was slow in coming. "Then I'll 
 think on it," came in low guarded tones. 
 
 On the opposite side of the thin calico 
 partition Hal Wiseman moved restlessly in his 
 sleep. "The long years," he muttered, and 
 even in unconsciousness the pain of it rang
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 263 
 
 through his voice. Suddenly he sat up, and 
 pushing roughly at the calico wall, called out, 
 "Joe! Thank Heaven is that you?" 
 
 The silence of the bush answered him; then 
 "wee-ee-loc! wee-ee-loc! wee-loc! wee-loc! wee- 
 loc!" rang mockingly through the night. 
 
 "He's only talkin' in his sleep, man," 
 murmured a voice near by. 
 
 Two days later Hal rode home. It had taken 
 most of the time to find Swagrnan and then 
 to round up his scattered cattle. When he left 
 the blackened, desolate paddock, with its 
 charred remains of the hut and its still burning 
 trees and stumps, life had seemed an impossible 
 nightmare. As he drew nearer the lowlands, the 
 blackened track still followed him, until in des- 
 peration and to rid himself of the queer twisted 
 feeling in his throat, he broke into song. But 
 the words were jumbled and the tune went 
 wrong, and when the humble wayside homes 
 hovered in sight, he gave up the attempt and 
 stopped at each in turn to tell them of the havoc 
 which the fire had wrought up there among the 
 hills. Except for the wind veering again, these 
 homes would have been swept aside, in spite of 
 the ring burnt about one and all. Instead the 
 fire had come to a standstill in a belt of scrub- 
 land a mile or so before reaching: them. As Hal
 
 264 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 had passed it he saw it sulking there, still grimly 
 menacing. Fortunately, however, the skies 
 were heavy with clouds, their jagged black 
 edges threatening a deluge any moment. 
 
 Before he reached home it had begun, and the 
 parched earth was greedily drinking in the great, 
 clear drops beating against its scorched face. 
 Up in the hills the smoke died down, leaving 
 them still gloriously blue, though seared with a 
 wide black scar, that only time would heal. 
 
 He found the little mother sobbing quietly in 
 her small bare bedroom, a tear-stained Annette 
 beside her. 
 
 From the north room came the sound of a 
 deep monotonous voice which sometimes rose 
 to a roar of rage or died away in uncanny 
 silence. Hal's advent brought cheer and com- 
 fort, and gradually Annette's woebegone face 
 broke into smiles, and the tears from his 
 mother's eyes dried as she listened to his week's 
 adventures. 
 
 That evening Gilbert drove home with Agnes. 
 When she came in, a tiny blaze of light circling 
 one ringer, there was subdued laughter in the 
 room where the fat tallow candles burnt dimly 
 in their high brass candle-sticks. Afterwards 
 Katrin came in and told them she had hot pan- 
 cakes and gramma tarts and a shepherd's pie 
 for tea if anyone wanted it.
 
 THE BUSH FIRE 265 
 
 As Gilbert opened the door and joined them, 
 a rush of cold air blew one of the candles out. 
 "I've got news," he said. "I kept it until we got 
 back, Agnes," glancing at his sister. 
 
 "What is it?" asked Hal, his cheerfulness 
 somewhat forced. 
 
 Gilbert flung his wet hat on the floor and 
 began to unlace soaking boots. "Bertram 
 Forbes had his back broken while breaking in 
 a young filly. It seems he had only just got 
 home from a fishing expedition somewhere near 
 Aunt Fanny's. See anything of him, Agnes? 
 And the day after he returned home he was 
 killed. Unfortunate, isn't it! I wonder how 
 Miss Parry will console herself. And the other," 
 continued Gilbert, not noticing the silence of 
 the room as he looked at Hal, "is that some rich 
 old uncle in Scotland has left Mavis White 
 50,000." 
 
 The candles flared brightly for a moment, 
 then dimmed again. Annette surreptitiously 
 helped herself to butter and jam, and ate as fast 
 as she could, 
 
 Two beautiful blind eyes were fixed on the 
 place where Agnes sat tense and rigid, gazing 
 at her brother Hal's dismayed face staring 
 back at her from the opposite end of the table. 
 
 "Thought it would give you something to 
 think about," said Gilbert, as he went to his
 
 266 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 room, quite unconscious of the torture in two 
 hearts. 
 
 Suddenly a door opened again and a dis- 
 hevelled figure strode into the room. "While 
 you eat, I'm to starve, am I?" roared Lewis 
 Wiseman, going towards his wife, drunken rage 
 in his wild blurred eyes. 
 
 With a quick movement Hal was upon him, 
 pushing him with all his young strength out 
 into the rain and blackness of the night.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE CHESTNUT COLT 
 
 AT Tarawingee the vintage had been a busy 
 one. The care and thought expended 
 by Mr. Marchmont on his vines had 
 fully repaid him. As there seemed twice as 
 many grapes to be picked, more hands were put 
 on, and for a week or so the vineyards were 
 swarming with men and boys, rosy-cheeked 
 maids and wrinkled women. Even the birds 
 had got wind of the extra crop, and came in 
 squadrons cockatoos, parrots, honeysuckers, 
 and sparrows by the thousand. At each corner 
 of the vineyard men were kept busy loading 
 and reloading their guns with small shot. In the 
 cellars they hurried to and fro, emptying huge 
 baskets of fruit into the wide deep vats, while 
 the great hammers worked ceaselessly, their 
 dull thud-thud filling the day, and the sound of 
 bursting lobes and squirting juice formed a 
 minor accompaniment. 
 
 In the kitchen the maids were beginning to 
 prepare for the dance. Mince pies and fruit 
 turn-overs, sweetbreads, cakes, and large trays 
 
 267
 
 268 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 of tarts were stored in the depths of the pantry. 
 At odd intervals, if anyone chanced behind the 
 buggy shed, they heard a violin in the weird 
 process of tuning-up, and perhaps the grizzled 
 head of Timothy would appear suddenly from a 
 secluded corner. 
 
 Thomas discovered him there one day, his 
 body swaying with the pathos of "The Valley 
 Lay Smiling Before Me." Thomas viewed him 
 through a crack in the shed, and the sight of 
 Tim's face with his mouth screwed in an 
 agonized fashion over the bridge of his instru- 
 ment, his eyes half-shut and blinking with the 
 fervour of his art, sent Thomas into a fit of 
 silent laughter. Picking up a whip handle he 
 tipped Timothy's bullet-ventilated hat over on 
 to his precious instrument. 
 
 "Blood and thunder!" spluttered Tim, violent- 
 ly. "Who the devil is it?" The music stopped 
 abruptly as he gazed about. 
 
 Thomas's bright eyes mocked at him through 
 the crack. 
 
 "Durn yer," said Tim, jamming his hat on 
 again and twanging one string with a horny 
 thumb. 
 
 "Tim," said the boy. confidentially, through 
 the crack. 
 
 "I ain't deaf yet," answered Tim, still jerking 
 the thumb vigorously.
 
 SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE COLT 269 
 
 Thomas slipped round to the back of the shed. 
 "I'm going to the hut with you next month," he 
 announced. 
 
 "Really," said Tim. "Who said so, may I 
 ask?" 
 
 "I'm going, Tim, so don't pretend to make a 
 fuss," said the boy, doggedly. "I'm going to 
 have a week's fishing in the Dingo Creek 
 there's no end of fine perch there, and eels yards 
 long." 
 
 "H'm," said Tim, thoughtfully. " 'Orsehair?" 
 
 "If there's any fuss made, Tim, you can side 
 with me," said Thomas. 
 
 "H'm," repeated Tim, the tail of his eye in 
 Thomas's direction. 
 
 Thomas got up in a huff. "I'm going," he 
 flung over his shoulder, as he went round a 
 corner of the shed. 
 
 "The Valley Lay Smiling Before Me," lilted 
 for awhile after he had gone, then died away 
 altogether, and Timothy did some deep thinking 
 as he put away his fiddle and went across to the 
 cellar. 
 
 That year the great drawing room was even 
 more crowded than the previous year. Many 
 districts \vere represented, for, in view of his 
 coming contest for parliamentary honours, Mr. 
 Marchmont had issued invitations broadcast. 
 Many from Wilton, Rosenthal, and Glenoak
 
 270 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 were there, every settlement east and west of 
 dividing streams and mountain was repre- 
 sented. Lone bachelors from secluded haunts 
 turned up, their rusty dress suits brushed and 
 in order for such an occasion. Maidens visiting 
 surrounding districts came in their girlish charm 
 of dainty gown and manner, thereby adding 
 much zest and competition among the bachelors, 
 and not a little smothered jealousy among the 
 maidens of the districts. 
 
 But gazing through the crowded rooms filled 
 with young smiling faces and blithely moving 
 forms, Mrs. Marchmont missed more than one 
 face. Myrtle Parry had not been able to stay. 
 Mrs. Matchmont had vague suspicions that the 
 fact of not being able to appear with her de- 
 bonair, if somewhat volatile fiance, had been the 
 cause of her hastened departure. Forbes had 
 written from some outlandish part of the 
 country politely regretting his inability to accept 
 Tarawingee's hospitality this year. Mrs. 
 Marchmont further suspected that Miss Parry 
 had only learned of his decision from that un- 
 accepted invitation, though to do her justice, 
 her spirits did not seem to languish under the 
 neglect, neither did her capacity for coquetry 
 with anyone who chanced within her immediate 
 circle flag one iota. 
 
 Like a moth, Mr. Wentworth, the tutor.
 
 SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE COLT 271 
 
 hovered about the luring flame, regardless of fre- 
 quent singeings, returning over and again to the 
 glamour of that magic brilliance that perchance 
 deigned for a moment to turn its warmth and 
 glory in his adoring direction. When it de- 
 parted, his singed wings fluttered rebelliously 
 for a week or two round dear familiar spots, 
 then were packed carefully away in a shabby 
 suitcase, and Tara\vingee knew Mr. Wentworth 
 no more. 
 
 Naturally joy reigned in the schoolroom. 
 Lessons had scarcely commenced when, lo! a 
 second period of blissful freedom descended from 
 the gods. When informed of the fact by two 
 delighted sons, Mr. Marchinont glanced vaguely 
 from his books and memoranda and murmured, 
 "Schools, schools, I suppose. I must remember 
 to look up a good one." And the boys had dis- 
 appeared precipitately. 
 
 In her pantry, Mrs. Marchmont said aloud 
 once or twice in an exasperated tone : "The 
 fool! The fool!" and in the cellars and 
 cottages of the workmen the tutor's too evident 
 infatuation was discussed with a liberality of 
 view peculiar to such circles. 
 
 The Wiseman's were not at the ball either. 
 Mrs. Marchmont perhaps missed Agnes more 
 than any of the others. She could not help 
 wondering what had nipped a certain little
 
 272 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 romance of last year so completely in the bud. 
 Mr. Marchmont felt that something had been 
 wanting when Agnes had not been there to pass 
 judgment on his decorative efforts, and Ben- 
 jamin, wandering round the big room the 
 evening before, wished vaguely to hear a certain 
 rollicking galop that a brown-haired child had 
 played last year, but not for the world would he 
 have owned to the wish, not even to himself. 
 
 Mavis White was there, a slender white-clad 
 figure, weighed down under the responsibility 
 of a fortune so unexpectedly thrust upon her. 
 During her week's stay she laughed with the rest 
 in the daytime, but at night the stars alone saw 
 slow tears dripping down the delicate cheeks to 
 the window sill. Why had he not come? Had 
 he forgotten her already? Mavis shivered at 
 the thought. Even if he were poor she loved 
 him, and hadn't she enough now for two? 
 Perhaps it was that which kept him away, and 
 in the dark she would creep to her little bed 
 and bury her golden head among Mrs. March- 
 mont's feather pillows, and sob until her young 
 heart felt it must burst with this new. strange 
 feeling that had taken possession of it. 
 
 On the Sunday after the dance the usual 
 conclave was held in the front room of Mick's 
 cottage. The red-haired youth had finished 
 reading the serial and the spicy bits from the
 
 SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE COLT 273 
 
 two-sheet paper. The markets were up in 
 Wilton and there was a flattering notice of 
 Tarawingee's stock, consequently everyone felt 
 the reflected glory of such public eulogy and 
 congratulated themselves on living under such 
 an easy "boss" as Mr. Marchmont. Outside, 
 over an open fire, and suspended by a rusty 
 chain hanging to an iron tripod, a kettle was 
 gaily singing. Every now and then Timothy 
 leaned forward from his log stool, under the 
 passion vine, and deftly encouraged it to boil, 
 by feeding the fire with dried bracken and twigs. 
 Mick, lounging on the hard board couch just 
 within the doorway, smoked a brand new pipe, 
 alternately vowing it would prove the best he'd 
 ever had or swearing profanely at its numerous 
 shortcomings. But always as he spat beyond 
 the doorway he cast a ruminative glance in 
 Timothy's direction and blew heavy smoke 
 wreaths from his nose and throat. 
 
 "Anyone 'ud think you was a chimbley on 
 fire," remarked his wife, with wife-like freedom. 
 
 " 'Urn," grunted Mick. 
 
 In a corner of the room a thin white-faced 
 youth shuffled a dirty pack of cards, Bella, as 
 buxom as ever, a carelessly amused onlooker. 
 "D'yer reckon yer can play, Sam ?" she queried, 
 sceptically. 
 
 Sam ?azed at her with hurt washed-out blue
 
 274 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 eyes. "Don't I just," he answered. "There 
 ain't no one on this place kin get the better 'o 
 me." 
 
 "Garn," said the girl, smiling broadly. 
 
 "Bet yer," said Sam, handling the cards with 
 a facility which betokened frequent practice. 
 
 Suddenly Mick's huge body was heaved to a 
 sitting position. "Hang me for a short-sighted 
 fool," he cried. "If that ain't Solomon Gosling 
 ridin' back! He ain't got the colt though." 
 
 An interested group formed about the door- 
 way and Timothy transferred his attention from 
 the fire to the top gate. Two or three young 
 fellows who had been sitting or lolling around, 
 hung over- the back of the couch and vied with 
 each other in wild surmise as to what had 
 befallen Solomon, whither and how far his 
 apparently unsuccessful quest had extended. 
 Sam alone remained in his corner, shuffling the 
 cards, stacking them, cutting scientifically, per- 
 forming strange tricks. He was a new hand on 
 the place, consequently Solomon Gosling's 
 advent did not interest him. 
 
 "Th' ol' mare looks done," murmured Mick, 
 as Sol drew near. 
 
 The head stockman's mount certainly showed 
 signs of hard use. Sol's moleskins and coat 
 were none of the cleanest, and the handkerchief 
 knotted about his throat seemed yearning for
 
 SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE COLT 275 
 
 the tub. The mare ambled with a slight limp, 
 and her usually glossy coat was rough, mud 
 spattered in places, in others white with sweat 
 from her long day's journey. 
 
 Sol was greeted by a sympathetic silence. 
 Only in Timothy's eyes a gleam of wickedness 
 lurked. 
 
 "Hot, ain't it?" said Mick at last, as he 
 thoughtfully refilled his pipe. 
 
 "Pretty considerable," answered Sol, tersely, 
 dismounting. 
 
 For a whole six weeks he had been after 
 that colt, following one clue upon another, each 
 in turn to end in nothing. His wrath, which had 
 been of no mild order at the commencement of 
 the campaign, had gradually assumed gigantic 
 proportions. His thoughts positively reeked 
 with revenge, his nightly dreams were lurid and 
 startling. His suspicions migrated along two 
 paths. One began from "The Hare and 
 Hounds," the other centred about the dark- 
 faced buyer at the yards. The uncertainty 
 emanating from these two probable sources of 
 his loss seemed to have made the squint in Sol's 
 eyes more pronounced than ever, and his nose 
 to travel in a more southerly direction. The 
 uncertainty, likewise, of those two sources 
 having joined forces had not improved his out- 
 look on life. His ambition had dwindled to one
 
 276 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 point if he were to hang for it, he would find 
 the colt and take his revenge. The turning of 
 the other cheek was not conceivable in Sol's 
 philosophy. That morning when the empty stall 
 had confronted him, his decision had been made. 
 "The boys" had taken the cattle home, and 
 Benjamin had travelled under the safe escort of 
 Tim Flannigan. Since then Tarawingee had 
 not known Sol. 
 
 Mr. Marchmont, fuming at his henchman's 
 lofty disregard of the position of master and 
 man, waited his return with what patience he 
 could muster. At such a critical time, when all 
 his thoughts should be centred on his coming 
 election, this unfortunate incident had occurred, 
 and he had been forced to turn his attention 
 to such mundane matters as stock and the best 
 disposal of his valuable liquors. It was the first 
 time that Sol had failed him. 
 
 As Sol unsaddled his mare he was conscious 
 of many a curious glance, but grim taciturnity 
 held his tongue. "Curious critturs," he thought, 
 bitterly. "Let 'em wait. How's the caboose 
 bin swiminin' along the last week or so?" he 
 inquired, as he lounged against the wall after 
 turning the mare loose. 
 
 "Much the same as usual," said a young 
 fellow, anxious to hear the news. "Say, Sol," 
 he said impatiently, "roll it out."
 
 SOL'S PURSUIT OF THE COLT 277 
 
 Sol took his measure scornfully and relapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 "Kittle's bilin'," called Timothy, exultantly, 
 as a stream of hissing water from the kettle's 
 spout threatened to quench the fire. 
 
 Bella came out and filled the teapot. "My, 
 I'm like a drought," she remarked, amiably. 
 
 Sol accepted a cup of tea, and it soothed him 
 somewhat. After a time he began to feel the 
 exquisite sense of importance which occasionally 
 assails one on the journey through life. Uncon- 
 sciously he expanded under its subtle influence 
 until his tongue felt the oil tickling its hinges, 
 and he launched forth into a lengthy and de- 
 tailed account of his rambles. His audience 
 listened appreciatively. The smoke-wreaths 
 from Mick's pipe rose higher in the air, and at 
 last the narrative claimed even the baby's 
 attention, and he gazed from his mother's arms 
 in round-eyed astonishment at this eloquent 
 teller of tales. 
 
 "Reckon I've seen most of the country this 
 side of the range," said Sol at last, wearying of 
 his exalted position. 
 
 "Guess yer have," said a young fellow, 
 enviously, 
 
 "Mebbe," said Mick at last, "that there colt, 
 Sol. is browsin' somewhere quite near his 
 startin' point."
 
 278 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 
 "I figured that for a good bit," said Sol, "and 
 
 kept a guard on the lookout; but 'tain't no good. 
 All the colts ever seen now-a-days is either black 
 or brown ; the chestnut breed seems to have 
 died out o' the colony." 
 
 "P'raps them with a white face will now be 
 considered a hextinct species," soliloquished 
 Tim, thoughtfully. 
 
 Sol surveyed him casually. Tim poked the 
 hot ashes with the hardened toe of his boot, 
 keeping his eyes well out of the range of Sol's.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 TOM MARCHMONT MAKES A DISCOVERY 
 
 THE head stockman's return was an event 
 to rejoice over. The furrow of worry 
 across his master's forehead disappeared 
 as soon as his tall form loomed at the study 
 door. The boys greeted him boisterously, and 
 for a time Tim's rising popularity suffered a 
 relapse, a fact which by no means sweetened 
 that gentleman's temper. He was even heard 
 to doubt Sol's purchase of the colt, and put his 
 tongue in his cheek when indignantly asked 
 what other reason Sol would have for roaming 
 the country like a wandering Jew. 
 
 A week after Sol's return, Tim, Sol, and the 
 boys rode out of the home paddock followed by 
 a numerous bodyguard of dogs, sleek-haired 
 kangaroos, rough cattle pups, knowing kelpies, 
 and a stealthy half-bred dingo. The rest of the 
 men picked for the fortnight's rounding-up and 
 branding were to follow later in the day. 
 
 It was early March, the tops of the mahog- 
 anies and ironbarks were flushed with a 
 warm tinge, and the leaves of begonia and 
 
 T 279
 
 28o THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 kennedia were falling gently as though loathe 
 to leave their vines half-nude to the cold of 
 winter. 
 
 As they went Benjamin discoursed freely on 
 the expedition of the previous year. Since his 
 killing of the white dingo he had been regarded 
 as a hero by the smaller fry among the cottages ; 
 even Thomas acknowledged his supremacy with 
 more grace than before. The skin of that white 
 dingo reposed in an honorable and conspicuous 
 position in his father's study. No one ever 
 ventured to stand on it. It was to be gazed at 
 and admired from a respectable distance, and 
 each time a stranger appeared within the portals 
 of Tarawingee the whole story w r as recounted 
 and enlarged upon with much parental pride. 
 
 To Benjamin's delight, Sol had treated him 
 as a man ever since, and had so trained him in 
 the use of firearms that the boy gave promise 
 of being an extraordinary marksman. Thomas 
 meanwhile had dreamed dreams and fished 
 diligently in company with Bill, the scholar. 
 
 At sunset the hut on the mountain stood 
 before them, the glory of the west changing its 
 rough slab walls to gilded beauty. As they drew 
 near an old w r allaroo hopped away, casting as he 
 went many curious glances at these disturbers 
 of his peace, and mingling with them a haughty 
 contempt for anything in the shape of dog.
 
 TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY 281 
 
 Benjamin and Thomas had all they could do to 
 keep them back, and only by oft repeated 
 promises of a 'possum hunt that night could 
 they keep the whining, whimpering creatures 
 at heel. 
 
 When the moon rose, round and full, above 
 the vastness of the forest, a silent quartette 
 left the hut, and gun in hand proceeded up the 
 mountain side, a dozen or so keenly exhilarated 
 dogs in attendance, nosing the air, growling 
 ominously at the crackling of a twig or the 
 falling of ripened berries. 
 
 Every leaf where the light caught it turned 
 to silver, each grass stem stood out like a 
 polished knitting needle; the valleys were 
 swathed in scarfs of blue mist, and the eastern 
 side of each peak glowed boldly in the still, clear 
 atmosphere. Wherever they looked a grim 
 escarpment of rugged mountains reared its solid 
 bulk above lowland and valley, standing like 
 colossal giants, serene and calm, in their utter 
 impregnability. 
 
 In some far distant age the mountains of 
 Australia may have possessed height in pro- 
 portion to their gigantic bulk ; perhaps, too, in 
 the dim vistas of the future they may echo with 
 history and romance, as soul stirring and 
 brilliant as any which song and legend wrap so
 
 282 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 enchantingly about every peak and ravine of 
 the older continents. 
 
 Meanwhile, beneath the weight of their 
 tremendous geological age and comparative 
 babyhood of human interest, nature rules as 
 queen, clothing them in raiment of trans- 
 cendent beauty, weaving robes imperial in 
 colour gold, purple, crimson, scarlet, pale 
 violet, delicate azure, dream-like amethyst 
 softening their barren parts with falling scin- 
 tillating diamonds, flooding each salient peak, 
 almost fierce in its boldness, with fiery light, 
 until bare crags glow with the transmutation of 
 the most ancient necromancy. 
 
 "Hist!" Among the branches of a stringy- 
 bark a black form crouched motionless The 
 dogs broke into furious barking, leaping and 
 fretting beneath the limb. Still the shadow 
 crouched motionless, fearful of further self- 
 betrayal. When a moonbeam filtered through 
 the leaves, Thomas could see its head clearly 
 outlined against the light. Suddenly a great 
 kangaroo dog leaped high in the air, and the 
 little shadow fell among hungry snapping teeth. 
 
 Thomas hurried on, he hated the end; but 
 Benjamin wanted to see fair play. As they went 
 up the slope, furry-coated creatures scuttled to 
 shelter, dread terror in their wee thumping 
 hearts. Now and then one, lazier than the rest,
 
 TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY 283 
 
 or ignorant of its danger, betrayed its where- 
 abouts, and the barking of the dogs echoed 
 from ridge to ridge like the sharp report of 
 artillery. With each capture the dogs went mad 
 with -delirious joy. For months they had not 
 experienced such a night's sport. When the 
 home call came they frankly rebelled, until their 
 various masters were forced to threaten dire 
 punishment for such rank disobedience. 
 
 Sunset saw the rest of the men on the field, 
 Sam, the card player, among them. He was to 
 prove the stoutness of his calibre at this round. 
 Thin and seedy-looking, his appearance was 
 found, before many days had passed, to belie his 
 real strength. In the branding yard none could 
 throw the untamed frightened beasts so easily 
 or so well as he ; few could manipulate the irons 
 quicker or more dexterously, and for rounding- 
 up he was a treasure. 
 
 At night he sat in the centre of a circle of 
 silent admirers, while the cards disappeared, re- 
 appeared, were shuffled, stacked, and cut under 
 the guidance of a past master in the art. Before 
 a week had gone every man who was bold enough 
 to play with him was in his debt to an amount 
 which made some of them become, in imagina- 
 tion, spinners of the most subtle romances, 
 warranted at the month's end to gull innocently 
 inquiring wives.
 
 284 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 To Benjamin, the boy became a hero. He 
 dogged his every footstep, hung on his words, 
 imitated his whistle, learnt surreptitiously, and 
 only when Sol was lost in gloomy meditation on 
 his mighty wrongs, to handle the greasy pack 
 of cards. Timothy merely laughed at his clumsi- 
 ness, thereby spurring the boy to prove himself 
 a master, like his newly-discovered hero. 
 
 At night, too, some of the men drank from 
 bottles which they had taken care to fill before 
 leaving the land of plenty. Sam proved himself 
 well versed in this art also; Benjamin grew sick 
 with the smell of it, and though he tried, he 
 could not swallow the nauseating liquid which 
 the bottles held. Only once did Sam jeer at 
 him for it, and then just as Benjamin was lifting 
 the bottle to his lips, Sol's reverie forsook him, 
 and he stood over Sam until that individual's 
 washed-out eyes seemed to fade to a dirty w r hite 
 as a deluge of abuse descended upon him, 
 threatening to wither his thin body and to send 
 his soul to the very depths of oblivion and scorn. 
 Before Sol had finished, the bottle lay broken in 
 a thousand pieces, and the precious pack of 
 cards was scattered to the four winds of heaven. 
 
 Thomas, it must be confessed, troubled the 
 yards but little. During the clay he either helped 
 to bring in the scrub cattle, or that amusement 
 palling, shouldered his fishing rod, and, following
 
 TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY 285 
 
 a little track beginning at the base of Kangaroo 
 Rock, went down into the gully below, where 
 the fallen leaves were always damp and the 
 warm black earth felt springy and moisture- 
 sodden. The path meandered through the gully, 
 round rocks, beneath fallen trees, up steep 
 pinches, along slippery grassed places. It had 
 been formed by the forest creatures more than 
 by anything else. Unknown to anyone, 
 Thomas had explored it on his last trip, 
 and many times since he had ached to 
 explore it still further. After proceeding 
 along the faintly marked path for a good 
 distance one came to Ranger's Pool, a deep 
 natural well of clear, cold water. To the blacks 
 of the district it was a debbil hole, bottomless, 
 haunted by the dread bunyip, a place to be 
 avoided, scarcely alluded to in ordinary conver- 
 sation. But Thomas had no fear of such things. 
 The pool was filled with fish and eels; the men 
 welcomed his love of a pastime which provided 
 them with such pleasant food, and Timothy took 
 pains to do justice to the cooking of it, so that 
 Thomas felt the long, glorious clays were not 
 entirely idle ones. 
 
 Three or four miles beyond the pool Thomas 
 knew the forest held a secret. He thought he 
 was the only one who knew that the old dilapi- 
 dated house, built years and years before by
 
 286 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Henry Willoughby's convicts, was inhabited. 
 As a matter of fact there were others who knew ; 
 but it pleased Thomas and inflated his boyish 
 self importance to believe that he was the only 
 person cognizant of the fact. 
 
 On one of his explorations, the previous trip, 
 he had pushed his way through the underbrush 
 far beyond the pool, when suddenly, where the 
 ground had been damp from recent rains, he 
 saw quite plainly the print of two small shoes. 
 At first fear had entered his heart, and in a flash 
 all the wild stories he had ever heard ran 
 through his mind. Then courage returned and 
 the boy felt that perhaps he was in time to 
 rescue a tost child from one of the scattered 
 mountain homes. 
 
 Coming into the open he was in time to see 
 a child walking sedately through the trees. She 
 lifted her little feet high as she walked through 
 the wet grass. Her head was a tangle of flaxen 
 curls, and hanging down her back a tiny scarlet 
 hood dangled by its ribbons. 
 
 Thomas was in a dilemma. Where could she 
 have come from? To whom did she belong? 
 Highly perplexed he followed her, dodging be- 
 hind trees whenever she paused to pick a wild 
 flower or to listen to a bird singing in the trees 
 overhead. They had reached the house before 
 he was aware of it.
 
 TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY 287 
 
 Everyone had heard of Henry Willoughby's 
 mad notion of erecting a so-called hunting lodge 
 in these well-nigh inaccessible regions. In years 
 gone by he had acted as police magistrate for 
 the district, and had delivered justice from the 
 Bench upon as varied and mischievous a set of 
 men as could have been unwillingly herded 
 together in any community. 
 
 In time it played upon his nerves, and his 
 own grey head bobbed uncertainly, and his 
 tongue often refused its office as he meted out 
 "three days hard labour" for drunkenness, or 
 inflicted a heavy fine for insubordination to 
 unruly convicts and freemen when his own 
 state of health called for a like chastisement. 
 Still the district acknowledged that Henry 
 Willoughby had been a fine man. He had kept 
 a tight thumb over the convicts, and the few 
 desperate characters who had escaped during his 
 reign had been captured and summarily dealt 
 with. 
 
 To please himself he had had this house built. 
 Strong virgin timber formed its walls, beams, 
 and supports; the roof and verandah were 
 shingled, and the walls within plastered. Its 
 strength had assuredly been proven, for after 
 many years it still stood erect, defying alike 
 time and weather. Here and there the shingles 
 had been torn off in heavy gales; in places the
 
 288 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 pillars of the verandah were worm-eaten, the 
 flooring boards had long since rotted. Inside 
 too, plaster had fallen from the walls, exposing 
 the bare laths, and the joists beneath the floor 
 were slowly giving, leaving the boards loose and 
 liable to sink down or spring unexpectedly up- 
 wards as one walked across them. 
 
 Here, old Henry Willoughby would retire 
 periodically with some boon companion to 
 recoup his shattered nerves, returning to 
 civilization a month afterwards with his voice 
 louder and more bombastic than ever, his old 
 eyes bulging with the increased importance of 
 his neglected duties All the district would be 
 on the qui vive to receive him, for, with his 
 nerves regained, their police magistrate was a 
 veritable tower of strength to the community. 
 
 Perhaps only when he had seen the last rough 
 mile peg fade into the distance would Henry 
 Willoughby regret those empty bottles left 
 behind, and think with a sharp pang of the 
 hilarious nights when the bush resounded with 
 the stentorian roar of his lungs, and the days 
 glided by to an accompaniment of weird snores. 
 There were other things too that he fled from. 
 Sometimes the spiders up there in the hills grew 
 so large that his eyes stuck out with fright at 
 the thought of them. He knew, too, w r here the 
 blue snakes lived, and the ugly scarlet toads.
 
 TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY 289 
 
 Yet Henry Willoughby was a fine man, and he 
 never spoke of these things to anyone, except 
 perhaps to the friends who went with him. 
 
 It was towards the dilapidated shell of the 
 erstwhile police magistrate's house that Thomas 
 followed the flaxen-haired child. Just as she 
 reached the door, she turned unexpectedly and 
 saw him. 
 
 "I felt someone was behind me," she said, 
 quite clearly, and without the least semblance 
 of fear. Then she went in and shut the door, 
 leaving Thomas spellbound outside. 
 
 After a while he ventured as far as the window 
 and peeped in. 
 
 "Go away," said the child, beating her fingers 
 against the broken panes. "They'll be coming 
 back soon. Go away." 
 
 So Thomas very reluctantly retraced his foot- 
 steps through the forest until he struck the path, 
 following it in a dream, through the gully, up the 
 mountain side, and so on to the hut, where the 
 men were gathering for the evening meal. 
 
 Thomas had often in fancy visited the place 
 again, had acted a hundred different scenes. 
 Sometimes he carried the child away in his 
 arms, again he would slay the cruel creatures 
 who kept her there ; but always he saw the little 
 face gazing at him through the window, heard
 
 290 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the soft tattoo of her fingers against the 
 pane. 
 
 It had required herculean efforts to keep his 
 secret from Benjamin, who, Thomas felt sure, 
 would have wished to organize a rescue party 
 and start at once to bombard the house. 
 
 Thomas felt that such proceedings would be 
 drastic. He cherished vague dreams of some 
 day riding up to that closed door, and in a fierce 
 voice that would strike terror to the wicked 
 keepers, demand the maid. He thought often 
 of his great secret as he fished in Ranger's Pool. 
 After a year's cogitation on the subject, the 
 glamour of it had increased twenty-fold, but the 
 impetus to investigate more fully into the 
 matter seemed tardy in coming. 
 
 He began to ache for a confidant, and at last 
 determined to sound Tim on the subject of the 
 old house. Tim was a source of much know- 
 ledge, and it was quite possible that he might 
 have heard something of it. Tim slept near 
 Thomas in the hut, and one night, when the 
 moon had swung to the zenith, almost wiping 
 the stars from the sky in her brilliance, he awoke 
 suddenly, fired with a desire to question the old 
 sailor. His hand groping gently out towards 
 Tim felt only space. Thomas turned sleepily 
 and saw that Tim's place was vacant. He sat 
 up quickly. Had Tim gone possum hunting
 
 TOM MAKES A DISCOVERY 291 
 
 without him? Through the open door he saw 
 Tim's squat figure disappearing behind Kanga- 
 roo Rock. 
 
 "Tim," yelled the boy, "wait for me." 
 
 "Steady youngster." breathed a sleepy voice. 
 "Yer ridin' the nightmare, are yer? Pull up 
 sharp lad, or she'll throw yer." 
 
 Thomas struggled against the strong hand 
 gently pulling him down, but as he struggled, 
 sleep overpowered him and presently his snores 
 mingled in the chorus of the rest. 
 
 On the opposite side of the hut, where the 
 shade was blackest, someone else had been 
 wakened by the sailor's stealthy movements, 
 and Sol's eyes glinted strangely in the gloom as 
 he, too, watched Tim disappear over the brow 
 of the hill.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 THE ELECTION 
 
 AFTER a time Sol rose leisurely, and 
 stepping guardedly over sleeping forms 
 went forth into the moonlight. It was 
 long since he had traversed the path through 
 the gully. Mr. Marchmont's run extended in 
 the opposite direction, and comprised most of 
 the suitable grazing lands on the summits and 
 sides oLtwo or three short spurs. Towards the 
 west the land was scrubby, and covered in a 
 tangle of native box, raspberry and hawthorn, 
 the grass growing thin and sour. 
 
 Sol moved circumspectly, his brain striving to 
 regain its old knowledge of the path's various 
 twists. Around and above him opposums were 
 calling to one another in raucus grunts, and now 
 and again one swung from an overhanging 
 limb or scuttled frantically to higher branches. 
 From ridge to ridge the boobook owls were 
 droning their solemn "boobook ! boobook !", the 
 feebler call of the tawny frogmouth sometimes 
 sounding its "'oom, oom, oom !" when the 
 boobooks paused for breath; while almost under 
 
 292
 
 THE ELECTION 293 
 
 Sol's feet the quail were booming in their 
 peculiar monotone, and the curlews were 
 uttering shrill ear-splitting cries. Down into the 
 darkness of the gully, where a white fog rose 
 in a filmy veil between the trees, Sol plunged, 
 his mind on fire. What was it Tim sought? 
 Sol scarcely conceived it possible that he should 
 have anything to do with the unruly characters 
 that but lately had been burning crops and 
 sheds. 
 
 Certainly, no one quite knew who they were 
 or where they came from. Cattle and horse 
 stealing was rife, too. Sol ground his teeth at 
 the thought. 
 
 He had given Tim plenty of time to go ahead, 
 yet Sol had small difficulty in following, for at 
 frequent intervals the moon betrayed Tim's 
 heavy footsteps. 
 
 Where the underbrush thinned the moon fell 
 upon the ground in still white patches, pure and 
 glistening as snow, for a heavy dew was falling, 
 spangling the hairy leaves of the raspberries 
 and the tender spikes of the budding hawthorn. 
 
 Sol's well-tried nerves began to beat fiercely. 
 Just ahead, the undergrowth was being brushed 
 rudely aside, and echoing sharply through the 
 clear atmosphere came the occasional sound of 
 a dead twig snapping. Some sixth sense told 
 Sol that the man ahead was running now, for
 
 294 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the moon had crossed the zenith and he must 
 be back at the camp by daybreak. The water 
 in Ranger's Pool flashed like a dull emerald as 
 they passed, the moonbeams falling across its 
 ruffled surface in long thin shafts of light. At 
 last both men emerged into a natural avenue of 
 bluegum. When this had fallen behind, Sol saw 
 the ancient and decrepit house standing a little 
 way ahead, guarded at both ends by gigantic 
 figs, which cast heavy shadows across roof and 
 verandah. A light glimmered in one of the 
 windows, and towards this Timothy bent his 
 steps. 
 
 Sol saw him rap upon the panes, saw the light 
 disappear a moment from the window as the 
 door opened to admit him; then the light 
 gleamed once more from the window, and Sol 
 was left in a high state of righteous indignation 
 on the edge of the thick belt of scrub in front 
 of the house. 
 
 What could he do? He felt positive that Tim 
 must be a spy and catspaw for this suspected 
 gang of men. The instinctive dislike he 
 always had for the sailor seemed now to have 
 some tangible foundation. He pondered the 
 advisability of waiting until Tim reappeared, 
 and on the way back, forcing him to divulge his 
 intentions and knowledge of the gang, against 
 the plan of investigating into the matter him-
 
 THE ELECTION 295 
 
 self, and discovering what that lighted room 
 contained before returning to the hut to lay 
 plans for the self-betrayal of Timothy. In the 
 end he chose the latter idea. 
 
 Except for that red glow in the window there 
 was no sign of life about the place, yet Sol was 
 wary. This was probably the head-quarters of 
 the gang. They would all be gathered in that 
 room; perchance one even now peered from the 
 window upon the wonder of the moonlit forest. 
 No, it was more likely that they would be 
 staring at Tim, listening to what he had to say. 
 
 "The infernal blackguard," muttered Sol, 
 between set teeth. 
 
 Keeping along the edge of the scrub, he at 
 length came in line with one of the fig trees. 
 Between the scrub and it was a clear space of 
 about fifty yards. To cross this circumspectly, 
 and with due regard to self effacement, threw 
 the head stockman into a deep reverie. If he 
 were seen, the future was indeed uncertain. He 
 gazed vainly for a cloud in which the moon 
 might lose herself for a short space, but the 
 heavens were luminous with a clear brilliance 
 that scorned all subterfuge. His ears, strained 
 to catch the slightest sound, listened intently 
 for voices, but only the murmur of the forest 
 broke the intense stillness, though once he 
 fancied he heard the complacent snuffle of a
 
 296 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 horse as it fed. The moon swung over a mag- 
 nificent red-gum. Before it had slipped to the 
 west of its mighty limbs Sol had crossed the 
 clear space and was standing in the thick shadow 
 of the figs, peering into the window. 
 
 What he saw made his deep-set eyes bulge 
 with astonishment. A fine ebony chessboard 
 inlaid with glinting mother o' pearl, ranged upon 
 it the various kings, queens, knights and pawns, 
 and seated solemnly at either side, Timothy and 
 a white-bearded refined looking man, whose re- 
 markable similarity to Mr. Marchmont about the 
 upper portion of the face, caused Sol's eyes to 
 stick out like a bewildered frog. The forehead, 
 broad, unmistakably intellectual, the eyes set 
 wide and slanting slightly upward, thus giving 
 the face rather a peculiar aspect, were identical; 
 the nose, however, was broad, and the lips were 
 completely hidden beneath the heavy white 
 beard. So strong was the likeness that, except 
 for the beard, Sol could have sworn it was his 
 master sitting there playing chess with the 
 evident delight of a connoisseur in the subject. 
 Sol played a little himself Timothy had taught 
 him but the game under way lacked interest 
 to the uninvited onlooker. 
 
 Suddenly Sol saw that along the rough 
 erection of slabs a third person sprawled. His 
 head and face were hidden behind Timothy,
 
 THE ELECTION 297 
 
 bnt as Sol gazed he saw him take two coins 
 from his pocket and toss them into the air, so 
 quickly and deftly that Sol could have sworn 
 there were a dozen. Various emotions were 
 surging through Sol's brain, astonishment 
 perhaps being uppermost. 
 
 The players had not as yet moved a piece. 
 Both bent earnestly over the board, entirely 
 oblivious of the third person in the room. At 
 last Timothy moved a king, and, as though fore- 
 seeing his opponent's capitulation, leaned back 
 against the wall and but Sol did not wait for 
 him to lift his eyes. The shadows of the figs 
 were thick and black, and Sol disappeared for a 
 time from the window. When he looked again, 
 after a suitable lapse of time, both players bent 
 over the board, and the occupant of the rough 
 couch had disappeared. 
 
 Quite suddenly, and without any previous 
 warning, Sol heard a horse picking its way 
 through the thistles growing in a wilderness 
 about the house. Flattening himself against the 
 wide trunk of the fig he waited expectantly, and 
 only by a stupendous mental effort stifled the 
 exclamation which threatened to leap from 
 between his clenched teeth. 
 
 Riding away from the house was the buyer 
 of the saleyards, his profile sharply outlined in 
 the moonlight, so that Sol could not mistake it.
 
 298 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 But that which took his breath away was the 
 fact that he rode the chestnut colt, still sleek 
 and beautiful, and seemingly in no wise averse 
 to the unlawful ownership of his present master. 
 
 With a self control, scarcely conceivable even 
 to himself, Sol waited until the rider entered 
 the belt of scrub; then, without even a thought 
 to the engrossed chess-players, sped after his 
 long-lost colt, his fingers gently feeling the 
 muzzle of his small revolver suspended to his 
 belt. The rider had forged ahead while Sol 
 waited. As he sped under the silent bluegums, 
 save for himself and the flying squirrels leaping 
 from tree to tree, there seemed to be no sound 
 of life. Then, breaking back through the forest, 
 came a horse's clear neigh. 
 
 Revenge winged Sol's footsteps. Underbrush 
 bent and swayed before him. Impeding logs 
 and fallen limbs crouched close to the ground in 
 fear of this pursuing Nemesis; screeching 
 plovers fled before him and dodging quail 
 boomed on either side in desperate fear. 
 
 Sol caught him watering the colt at Ranger's 
 Pool. The horse drank in long thirsty sups, 
 raising his splendid head at intervals and letting 
 the water slip slowly down his well-bred throat. 
 The man sat loosely in his saddle, his lithe body 
 silhouetted against a clear space between the 
 trees. As Sol drew near, hidden by the haw-
 
 THE ELECTION 299 
 
 thorn and tangle of box and raspberry, the 
 horse's ears pricked slightly and he snuffed the 
 air guardedly and in deep breaths, pausing 
 longer between his sups of water. The muzzle 
 of Sol's revolver felt a firm hand slip tenderly 
 over its sold cold surface and the trigger moved 
 easily as a iinger fell upon it. 
 
 The man on the horse turned swiftly in his 
 saddle as the underbrush fell aside and a lank 
 figure stepped into view. But as his eyes struck 
 fire and his whole body became tense with 
 resistance, he suddenly fell limply to one side, 
 frightening the colt so that it reared, and in its 
 downward plunge struck its rider's head with 
 a horrid sound of heavy iron falling on some- 
 thing softer than itself. Waking the sleeping 
 hills into unearthly commotion, the report of 
 Sol's revolver echoed sharply until it died away 
 gradually and was locked in the fastnesses of 
 the fog-wrapped valleys. 
 
 In the months that followed Tarawingee 
 seethed with a strong undercurrent of sup- 
 pressed excitement. Even the dogs became 
 imbued with the prevailing sentiment. At night 
 when the ?nen held heated conversation in the 
 buggy shed, discoursing at length on their varied 
 political views, the dogs would congregate with- 
 out, as though aware of the momentous themes
 
 300 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 under discussion. Presently, as the men's voices 
 rose high under the stimulus of argument, the 
 old dogs would begin to howl mournfully, 
 mysteriously, as though realizing in their dumb 
 intelligence the seriousness of their master's 
 political campaign. Inspired by their elders, 
 the pups would break into staccato yelps of in- 
 comprehension ; soon the yard would echo with 
 their expressed and long-drawn-out sympathy. 
 
 Naturally, the men's voices rose higher, until 
 Tim's roar could be heard above the dogs as he 
 harangued a cantankerous and unruly audience. 
 
 "American terbaccer," would be hurled voci- 
 ferously at the heads of the boys until the 
 smoke-hidden rafters rang with it. 
 
 Land Acts, the Status of each Colony, the 
 Right of Selection on Leased Runs all this and 
 much more received due attention. 
 
 Sol weighed the various questions deeply, 
 with much sagacious head-shaking and expostu- 
 lating with Mick and Tim. On Sunday Bella 
 argued with the men until the air became 
 sulphurous. As she poured tea into the thick 
 white cups she would cry belligerently : "I want 
 ter know why America can't send her tobacco 
 in; saves time and labour and the sweat of the 
 honest hard-working man's brow." Bella would 
 beam at her own eloquence. 
 
 Furtive winks between the men would egg
 
 THE ELECTION 301 
 
 her on. "Why, if them fool Americans want 
 to slave themselves to death over the sticky, 
 dirty stuff, why don't you let 'em boys? Peace 
 is my motter! Let 'em do it in peace." 
 
 A decided "No'm" from Sol here would pre- 
 cipitate matters. One or two of the others 
 would begin to voice their opinions question, 
 answer, surmise would become lost in a hopeless 
 jumble of words. 
 
 Bella would first frown, then slop the tea over 
 the cups, and finally succumb beneath the weight 
 of masculine verbosity. Meanwhile Tim would 
 argue with himself until he was almost black in 
 the face. Mick would alternately listen or 
 shout his long-thought-out and much-smoked-on 
 opinions, while Sol would continue to speak to 
 all and sundry in a loud even monotone until 
 gradually the others would give away, and he 
 remained master of the field. 
 
 Occasionally Mr. Marchmont would issue 
 from his study, and, a sheaf of papers and 
 memoranda in his hands, would mount the 
 empty cask standing under the box-trees. In 
 an instant the men would be around him; the 
 dogs, too, would slink between their legs and 
 crouch in a circle before the cask. With an 
 uplift of eyebrows and a short "H'm," Mr. 
 Marchmont would clear his throat, wave his 
 right hand and begin, "Gentlemen, the colony
 
 302 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 needs just such men as you men of decided 
 opinions, men with ideas in their heads, men 
 whom money will not buy, nor undue influence 
 cause to falter in their deeply-seated opinions." 
 
 From his perch beside the orator, cocky would 
 murmur. "Can't you 'ear me? Can't you 'ear 
 me?" while the men would grin at their master's 
 perspicuity. 
 
 With eyes on the moving leaves of the box 
 trees Mr. Marchmont would continue his 
 address. "We must uphold our industries, 
 gentlemen. A young nation must ever be 
 watchful over the encroachments of older 
 nations. They will assail her in unexpected 
 places, will undermine her determinations, will 
 endeavour to steal her beauties from her ere she 
 awakes to the fact. Tobacco growing! That 
 industry, which flourished so marvellously a few 
 years ago! What of it now! Dying, gentlemen, 
 dying, in its death throes. But," becoming 
 persuasive "you may rescue it, gentlemen ; you 
 may again place our home-grown tobacco first 
 on the markets of the world. You, and you 
 alone! Who flinches at the work ahead?" 
 
 Cocky would ruffle his feathers here, and eye 
 the men with profound solemnity, while the 
 dogs would cease their endless search after the 
 flies and await the answer. 
 
 Stolid, unblinking, the ring of men would
 
 THE ELECTION 303 
 
 stand silent, scarce knowing whether their 
 master wished them to speak or awaited his 
 answer from unseen crowds. The pause 
 lengthening, Mick, perhaps would splutter 
 vehemently, "Give us 'ome industries, the 'ome 
 industries, I says, boys. Out with the Yankee 
 stuff!" Or Sol would respond with a grave and 
 majestic "Them's my hopinions to a 'TV Never 
 did Tim venture an open dissent. 
 
 His audience presumably with him, Mr. 
 Marchmont would grow doubly eloquent. The 
 memoranda would be consulted, and much 
 wisdom hurled at the moving box leaves. After 
 this Cocky would be unable to slumber, and 
 some of the dogs would growl savagely at the 
 war-like note which would creep into Mr. 
 Marchmont's voice. 
 
 For weeks past, attended by Sol or Tim, Mr. 
 Marchmont had ridden from settlement to 
 settlement enlightening the slow-thinking in- 
 habitants as to which way they should vote. 
 The journeys were arduous and long, and much 
 refreshment was needed to accomplish them. 
 
 At every way-side tavern Mr. Marchmont 
 would alight from his horse and wash his dry 
 and dust-grimed throat with vile concoctions. 
 He would also wink knowingly at the proprietor, 
 and sound him deftly on his attitude towards the 
 elections. Mr. Marchmont imagined he was a
 
 304 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 pastmaster in the gentle art of "tapping." 
 Usually, as he rode away he was followed by a 
 broad grin and a contemptuous snap of tobacco- 
 stained fingers. 
 
 Moss, his opponent, was a Wilton man, witty, 
 pleasant-spoken, popular on all sides. Few 
 entertained any doubts as to whom the honours 
 would fall. Mr. Marchmont was not of the 
 district; the other was, likewise his people had 
 lived in Wilton many years and were well 
 respected. Still Mr. Marchmont was hopeful, 
 even cheerful. He read long speeches to 
 "Louisa.'' He practised bowing to her; he 
 even recited what he should say in the event of 
 winning. 
 
 To all "Louisa" listened attentively and 
 praised dutifully. "Henry" was a positive 
 marvel. The district needed such a man; under 
 his care it would forge ahead. She looked for- 
 ward with pleasure to his ultimate success. For 
 some time past the boys had been at school, so 
 that the toiling candidate was able to work in 
 an unwonted but highly appreciated atmosphere 
 of calm. 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Marchmont would not feel quite 
 so secure could he have seen a slouch-hatted 
 individual canvassing the various settlements. 
 in the interest of his opponent. Joe Heineman 
 found his present occupation vastly more enter-
 
 THE ELECTION 305 
 
 taining and remunerative than working on his 
 selection. His employer was evidently of a 
 generous disposition, even if eccentric. 
 
 On the night after the burning of his home, 
 when the stranger had so mysteriously des- 
 cended upon him as he brooded in the strange 
 glare cast by the bush fire, Joe had had his 
 doubts as to this new walk of life. They had 
 vanished since. Not being able to borrow 
 money, he had lost the selection. A poignant 
 heart-burn will cause a man to grasp at anything 
 which promises forgetfulness. So Joe placed 
 his family with his wife's people and closed with 
 the stranger's offer. At first, he found the con- 
 stant riding tiring, the unaccustomed use of his 
 tongue irksome. "Old Whitebeard," as he 
 designated his employer, was a man of keen in- 
 telligence, of wide reading, possessed of an 
 extraordinary power over his fellow men. He 
 knew their innermost doubtings, their secret 
 "ayes" and "noes." Once a man served under him 
 he seldom wished to break away. There was a 
 subtle charm in his high-handed taking for 
 granted that they were with him heart and soul 
 
 As Joe flitted between the settlements on 
 either side of the hills he was filled with a sense 
 of his own importance. 
 
 Many unseen currents were running under the 
 peaceful surface of the mountain settlements.
 
 306 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 These cross-currents emanated from 'The Blue 
 Maid" in Wilton, and from that other source so 
 secret and baffling to many. Those from "The 
 Blue Maid" were slower, more sluggish, seem- 
 ingly content to let the more turbulent catch 
 up and sweep them on in its brisk course. 
 
 Joe became an adept in many things. He 
 learned to circulate spurious coins, to present an 
 imitation bank note; he learned also to take a 
 pleasure in these things. He was annoyed if 
 the wine supply ran out sooner than was antici- 
 pated; if the farmers were more careful of their 
 belongings ; if Sol Gosling turned the yearlings 
 and springers into a new paddock. Sometimes a 
 long forgotten conscience smote Joe. But he 
 quickly smothered it. Joe had received his 
 instructions and for weeks past he had been 
 working hard. 
 
 In the various settlements which had bene- 
 fitted by Mr. Marchmont's open-hearted philan- 
 thropy there were many inclined to support him. 
 To these Joe turned his attention. He worked 
 well; so, also did his confederates. The hand of 
 that eagle-eyed recluse reached far. 
 
 Polling day came, and excitement in Wilton 
 reached its zenith. Long throttled opinions 
 burst bounds, and were poured forth tu- 
 multously, heatedly, vociferously. In solid 
 companies the men descended from the hills to
 
 THE ELECTION 307 
 
 register their votes. Mr. Marchmont and his 
 opponent were here, there, and everywhere, 
 haranguing for the last time, these steady-eyed, 
 mahogany-handed men of the soil. Gradually, 
 as the day sped, Mr. Marchmont's voice waxed 
 slower and thicker. A certain drowsiness came 
 to his eyes; a languidness took the place of his 
 usual briskness. All took a delight in drinking 
 with him; all laughed behind his back, some 
 openly jeered. 
 
 His opponent, alert, watchful, kept his head 
 level, his voice suave, striving well and eagerly 
 to steer his political ship into safe waters. 
 
 The men, save a few faithful spirits such as 
 Sol Gosling, Tim Flannigan, and three or four 
 others, Mick included, turned to the Wilton 
 candidate. Here was a man who could hold his 
 own, could drink a glass without losing his 
 senses, could rap out a jest with the best of 
 them. . 
 
 The polling was heavy. The men registering 
 each vote were fagged out; and horsemen and 
 vehicles approached with red-faced, keen-eyed 
 voters. Many knowing winks were exchanged, 
 many low asides, much loud slapping on the 
 back, sometimes an open opinion winged a lurid 
 way overhead. 
 
 And as the day waned Sol's face grew long 
 with anxiety, and he went often to the little
 
 308 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 back room in the tavern, where his master sat, 
 alternately beaming at a china dog sitting on 
 the mantelshelf and quaffing deeply from a 
 cracked jug. 
 
 The last vote had been registered; many of 
 the voters had returned home; more had re- 
 mained to drink, play cards, and exchange 
 reminiscences of other elections. The atmos- 
 phere of the town was electric. Every man 
 scented blood and was out for battle. 
 
 It was late when the first faint cheer rose. 
 Mr. Marchmont stirred sleepily in his rickety 
 chair. Sol puffed a little harder at his pipe as 
 he listened to the cheer and watched his master. 
 Presently as another came, he rose and went 
 out. A little man was standing high up on a 
 balcony trying to speak. Every now and then 
 a cheer rumbled in the throat of the crowd 
 congregated beneath, but the little man's voice 
 held it as yet in leash. Once Sol started and 
 stared. For a second a face had showed in the 
 crowd a face familiar in some way to Sol. As 
 he pondered, striving to place it, Tim brushed 
 past, swung his old hat high over his head, and 
 roared, "Freetrade for ever, boys !" 
 
 At once the crowd took it up. Cheer after 
 cheer rose, swelled and sank to silence. The 
 little man gave up trying to gain a hearing and 
 stood watching. Moss came out and stood
 
 THE ELECTION 309 
 
 bowing left and right. All the returns were not 
 yet in. but the majority of votes in his favour 
 was so far in advance of his opponent that he 
 might safely consider the day won. 
 
 Sol found himself suddenly and unaccountably 
 in a mighty rage. First of all, he knocked the 
 heads of two shouting lunatics together; he then 
 deliberately proceeded to pull the hair from the 
 heads of several yelling fanatics; finally he found 
 himself pummelling the leading blacksmith of 
 the town. Here, however, he met his match, 
 and the blacksmith landed a brawny fist full on 
 the side of Sol's head. 
 
 "Thank yer," said Sol, politely, "and take 
 that fer your pains," returning the compliment 
 with interest. 
 
 The crowd had become all at once a mass of 
 seething men and boys. Dogs barked on its 
 outskirts; a woman's high laugh fell from an 
 overhead window, and was promptly swallowed 
 up in the din and babel of many masculine voices 
 raised to their loudest pitch. 
 
 Moss, the new member, had quickly ordered 
 every tavern to serve free drinks at his expense. 
 He was eventually chaired through the town. 
 
 Extricating himself from the excited crowd, 
 Sol made his way slowly through the streets to 
 that small room where his master slept. Mr.
 
 310 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Marchmont was snoring loudly as he entered. 
 Sol's entrance awakened him. 
 
 "Eh, Sol," he queried, drowsily, "so I am 
 triumphant?" His eyes were on the man's, his 
 fingers fumbling helplessly among a small bunch 
 of keys suspended to his watch-chain. 
 
 "We'd best go back," said Sol, gruffly. 
 
 "Eh, Sol, go back? Why I shall probably 
 leave Tarawingee in your hands now. Kindly 
 find my hat, Sol." 
 
 The old gentleman glanced about the room a 
 trifle uncertainly. Sol very decidedly rammed 
 the hat on his master's head, guided him out to 
 the waiting buggy, and drove away unnoticed 
 and in dead silence.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES 
 
 IT was December when word came that a 
 returning digger had been held up and 
 robbed of 200. 
 
 Sol and Timothy heard the news in the midst 
 of a long-drawn-out game of chess. Relations 
 were much the same between the two men. 
 Perhaps a little more sly malice on Timothy's 
 part, and a graver, deeper watchfulness on Sol's, 
 which had become even more intensified since 
 the elections. The change had been since that 
 night when Sol had left, as he thought, a dead 
 man lying near Ranger's Pool, whom Tim, on 
 passing an hour later, had found with still a 
 flicker of life beating in the almost numbed pulse. 
 Tim still breathed hard when he remembered 
 the trip back to the old house, a dead-weight 
 in his arms and not a little fear thumping in his 
 heart; then the hurried return to the camp, 
 which must be reached before the others dis- 
 covered his absence. Then the knowledge that 
 Sol knew something Tim could never dis- 
 cover how much. 
 
 V 311
 
 312 THE. MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Sol was in a similar dilemma, hence an armed 
 neutrality. 
 
 The boys had not ceased telling new-comers 
 how Sol had regained his chestnut colt; how for 
 weeks he had roamed the country without 
 success; how in the middle of the night he had 
 been awakened in the hut by the low whinnying 
 of a horse, which, on rising, he had found to be 
 his own chestnut colt, bridled and saddled, and 
 standing beside the branding yards. A feather 
 could have knocked the boys down in the 
 morning when Sol told them the wonderful 
 news. 
 
 The chestnut colt ever since had been an 
 object of attention at Tarawingee. It was 
 stabled at night, and Sol slept beside it. It was 
 rugged and groomed and rubbed with rags 
 dipped in soft lard which Sol stole from the 
 pantry, where it was kept for cooking purposes. 
 The probability of having committed a crime 
 affected Sol's conscience but little. "Them 
 furriners" were meant to be exterminated like 
 the wallabies and bandicoots, and Sol felt that 
 Tim's record had not been so clean that he could 
 afford to bring to light anything that he might 
 have discovered. Still it puzzled Sol sometimes 
 to know what Tim had done with "the furriner." 
 As the "boys" delivered the news of the 
 robbery, Sol and Tim bent more intently over
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES 313 
 
 their game, and it was quite three-quarters of an 
 hour after that they put it aside still unfinished, 
 and turned to discuss matters with the circle of 
 excited and gesticulating men about them. 
 
 "Who'd yer say it was?" queried Tim, non- 
 chalantly drawing forth his quid of tobacco and 
 biting off a piece. 
 
 "Joe Simson's 'is name," drawled Tarn Flanni- 
 gan, who had lately appeared at Tarawingee. 
 
 "From way up past Hell Hole," volunteered 
 someone else. 
 
 Tim spat violently, and took a second chew of 
 tobacco. "Wot's goin' to 'appen?" he queried, 
 scanning the ring of faces half hidden behind 
 smoke wreaths. 
 
 "Things is goin' ter look lively soon, I reckon," 
 drawled Tim, wagging a sagacious head, and 
 watching Sol slouch slowly from the rough bare 
 room behind the kitchen out into the starlight. 
 Tim's eyes followed the tall, lank figure. 
 
 "200 is a goodish bit," sighed a lad near the 
 door. 
 
 "Specially when you've dug it up by the sweat 
 of your brow," soliloquized another. 
 
 "The country's goin' ter the dawgs," com- 
 mented a third. 
 
 Yet Sol felt certain, as he stood outside and 
 listened, that one or two near relatives of those
 
 314 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 within would assuredly have a say in the 
 disposal of that 200. 
 
 The gold fever had swept over the country, 
 upsetting and disturbing it. Rioting, gambling, 
 and drunkenness were rampant ills not easily 
 kept under. The fever was infectious, spreading 
 like a fire let loose in the bush. Farms were 
 deserted, shops shut, ships left idly rocking at 
 anchor. Master and man, seized with a like 
 contagion, left saner pursuits to follow the 
 golden phantom. 
 
 Shearing time passed, but of shearers, a mere 
 handful; harvest time, and a woeful scarcity 
 of reapers. 
 
 Everf at Tarawingee only a few of the old 
 hands remained. Restlessness had sent the 
 others in the wake of a beckoning will o' the 
 wisp. Naturally the country swarmed with 
 criminals of every nationality. Many were 
 escaped or recently-pardoned convicts from 
 Tasmania and the other colonies. From every- 
 where came rumours of murder or of robbery. 
 In some parts bushranging was very actively 
 revived; but, unlike the outlaws of old times, 
 who had nearly all been escaped convicts and 
 had taken to bushranging in lieu of any other 
 means of livelihood, these were a new kind 
 men of the free settler class, who took to the 
 bush actuated by false ideas of romance and the
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES 315 
 
 base hopes of enriching themselves at the ex- 
 pense of those who had honestly earned their 
 wealth men who hunted in gangs, and had 
 many relatives and friends scattered about the 
 various settlements anxious and only too willing 
 to shelter and protect them so that their own 
 interests might not suffer. 
 
 About Tarawingee and the mountain settle- 
 ments above it, Sol knew that for a long time 
 there had been an organized gang of horse- 
 stealers and cattle-duffers. 
 
 He knew also, that it was quite possible some 
 of the workmen belonged to it. But the depre- 
 dations were so well carried out that it was 
 generally months after they had occurred that 
 the losses were recognized, and never except in 
 one instance, when Sol had been riding home 
 alone from the mountain hut, and had inter- 
 cepted a stranger in his friendly appropriation 
 of some of the Tarawingee yearlings, had any of 
 the culprits been caught red-handed. 
 
 The police had been on the watch some time 
 before this, and on receiving Sol's description of 
 a full black-bearded marauder, had been doubly 
 watchful, with the result that a month or two 
 afterwards the delinquent had narrowly escaped 
 a severe sentence at a district court. Not 
 wishing to take any risks, he had decamped, 
 leaving a short-sighted friend to forfeit the
 
 316 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 money rashly promised for bail. Sol was un- 
 certain whether this enterprising individual 
 belonged to a gang or worked alone. 
 
 The last episode, however, was of a bolder 
 description. The man who had been robbed of 
 his earnings had also been roughly handled. He 
 had been one against three or four, and though 
 he had been returning home unexpectedly, as he 
 thought, wind of his intentions had evidently 
 flown ahead of him. 
 
 The memory of that night when he had 
 stood in the shadow of the figs in front of 
 Willoughby's old house, had impressed itself 
 indelibly on Sol's mind. It rose up and worried 
 him now. Who and what that stranger could 
 have been remained for ever a subject of burning 
 curiosity in his slow-moving brain. But 
 throughout the colony there were many who 
 lived in a strange isolation, incomprehensible to 
 their fellow men. Wasn't there old Jep West, 
 a crank of the highest description, living in a 
 small cave between Wilton and Rosenthal? As 
 far as Sol knew he was absolutely harmless, and 
 for existence cultivated vegetables and bitter 
 oranges. If anyone chanced upon him, he in- 
 variably replied to all questions in scraps of 
 poetry or in language difficult for stray travellers 
 to follow; at other times he maintained a grim 
 silence
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES 317 
 
 As Sol approached, the old man laid aside his 
 spade and, saluting gravely, queried in a distant 
 manner rather disconcerting when one has 
 travelled far on an empty stomach. "What time 
 o' day, is it, Apemantns?" 
 
 Glancing at the sun, Sol had answered. "Jest 
 arter nine if I ain't mistook." 
 
 Jep had replied, still distantly: "That time 
 serves still." Then, launching forth into a 
 lengthy monologue, ended with : 
 
 "Ceremony was but devised at first 
 To set a gloss on faint deeds, hollow welcomes, 
 Recanting goodness, sorry ere 'tis shown; 
 But where there is true friendship, there needs 
 
 none. 
 
 Pray, sit; more welcome are ye to my fortunes 
 Than my fortunes to me." 
 
 Sol's amazed face had not disconcerted Jep 
 in the least. He continued to pour forth his 
 wisdom in seemingly boundless generosity. 
 
 Sol made spasmodic efforts to stem the swift 
 current without avail, until he reluctantly gave 
 up the attempt, and, keeping his fascinated gaze 
 on the old man's emotionless face, had retired 
 from the field backwards, to where his horse 
 stood tethered to a stump, a short distance from
 
 318 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 the vegetable garden. The last he heard was : 
 
 "If I could sell my horse, and buy ten more 
 Better than he, why, give my horse to Timon ; 
 Ask nothing, give it him; it foals me straight 
 Ten able horses." 
 
 "Lor. lor," muttered Sol, hungrily, as he rode 
 away beneath the dew-wet forest trees standing 
 like a blank wall on every side of Jep's small 
 clearing. 
 
 There was also old Simon, who lived in a 
 tent near the ancient convict prison, who had 
 never been known to say anything but "Quoth 
 the raven, never more." 
 
 Still the mystery of the white-bearded chess- 
 player baffled Sol to desperation. It seemed as 
 though the earth had swallowed him, so com- 
 pletely had he vanished. Even rumour, roused 
 for a time, had died a natural death. For after 
 much cogitation, Thomas had told his immense 
 secret to Bill, who in turn, finding it too over- 
 powering for his peace of mind, had retailed it 
 to Mick. 
 
 Mick had professed to be vastly amused, and 
 after due reflection and a surreptitious visit to 
 Henry Willoughby's old house, had spread the 
 news far and wide. Much excitement had been 
 the result. A search party had been promptly
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS ROBBERIES 319 
 
 organized, Sol constituting himself as leader, 
 Mick and Tim lagging in the rear, a laugh up 
 their sleeves. 
 
 A small wooden chess pawn proved the 
 reward of much energy. 
 
 Sol was disgusted, baffled; Mick was loud in 
 vague surmises. In Sol's company Tim was 
 discreetly silent, but voiced diverse opinions 
 abroad. 
 
 Thomas was laughed at by the men, much to 
 his boyish indignation. 
 
 "Dreamt it, yer did," said Sam, the card 
 player. 
 
 He was nonplussed by a fierce blow in the 
 eye, so that his tolerant and superior amuse- 
 ment gave way to spleen. Sol passing at the 
 time, he perforce allowed Thomas to retreat 
 triumphantly. Behind Sol's back, however, he 
 made various malevolent signs. In pantomime 
 he knocked Thomas's head off, broke his nose, 
 cut his ears off, besides other doughty and 
 blood-thirsty deeds, the accomplishment of 
 which Thomas frustrated by glueing himself to 
 the heels of Sol or Timothy. 
 
 Yet Sol was ever on the watch, and had made 
 several surreptitious visits to the old house, 
 more tumble-down and dilapidated than ever. 
 On one occasion he had fancied someone 
 followed him not a very pleasant imagination
 
 320 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 when one is alone in the depths of the bush 
 but in the end he had believed himself to be 
 under an hallucination. He might not have 
 felt so secure had he seen Tim's malicious face 
 peering at him from the hollow of a burnt-out 
 wild apple. 
 
 Filled with inward query Sol left the men to 
 thrash out the matter of the robbery to their 
 own satisfaction, while he walked to and fro in 
 the shadow of the trees, the fire of his pipe 
 glowing like some aimless firefly.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 REVENGE 
 
 CHRISTMAS came and went. Tarawingee 
 was garnished with boughs of wild cherry 
 and lilli-pilli, sassafras, and ironwood, 
 and long bulrushes from the creek. Merry 
 voices floated from room to room, for the boys 
 had returned from school, each with a boon 
 companion. The plum trees rustled with 
 delight, and the pomegranate hedge stretched 
 mute arms wide in welcome. 
 
 The rush and onslaught of youth stirred Tara- 
 wingee to life again. It had grown strangely 
 stagnant since the elections. Trouble dwelt in 
 Mrs. Marchmont's anxious eyes, and as she 
 watched her husband sink from bitter dis- 
 appointment into silent, dull apathy, the trouble 
 deepened and became abiding. 
 
 The holidays brought home to her the fact 
 that to her sons she must take the place of both 
 parents. As a matter of fact, she always had, 
 but until now she had been unconscious of it. 
 
 His chosen aim in life frustrated so dis- 
 astrously, Mr. Marchmont allowed the in- 
 
 321
 
 322 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 fluences which for years had been undermining 
 his character to gain upon him. He lost interest 
 in decorating his house; unnoticed, vases became 
 cracked and broken; gilt pictures grew 
 tarnished; a cuckoo clock ceased to work; the 
 piano stood locked. 
 
 His sons did not notice the difference in any 
 great degree. In a way he had always lived 
 apart, had always been wrapped in some vague 
 dream unintelligible to the busy brain of youth. 
 Only Benjamin noticed that Sol seemed more 
 careful over what they did and checked them 
 oftener than of yore in their mad escapades; 
 saw, too, that his mother turned to Sol for in- 
 formation, seeking the old stockman's help in 
 many things. 
 
 The, vintage came and passed. Feeling un- 
 equal to th'e strain of carrying the usual fes- 
 tivities through, Mrs. Marchmont issued no 
 invitations, and the passing of the vintage saw 
 only the grape-pickers departing wearily. 
 
 A little late, however, Mrs. Marchmont sent 
 one invitation. It was to Agnes Wiseman. 
 Agnes was to be married in the spring. Mrs. 
 Marchmont wished her to stay a while at Tara- 
 wingee before she went to the new home so far 
 away. The girl's presence rested her. In that 
 quiet happiness dwelling in the blue eyes she 
 read again her own girlish dreams, hopes,
 
 REVENGE 323 
 
 aspirations. Sincerely she hoped that Agnes's 
 might be fulfilled, might abide with her for 
 ever. Her own proud heart, yearning over that 
 wreck of manhood for ever brooding in his 
 study, thrust her dreams aside, and buried them, 
 sealing them bravely with unshed tears. She 
 must face the future courageously, must guide 
 her sons through life above all things, must 
 teach them to be master of themselves. Some- 
 times, watching a thin bent figure wandering 
 aimlessly up and down the cemented pathway, 
 her eyes would suddenly blur, and the ache in 
 her soul become too great to be borne. Her 
 pride in him lay shattered; her love remained; 
 on that what a strain was put! But to it she 
 clung, knowing that without it life were indeed 
 worthless, a place of sand and ashes. 
 
 The June holidays were almost upon them 
 before Agnes left. 
 
 This time Benjamin returned with a prize for 
 mathematics and a determination to accompany 
 Sol on another trip to Wilton. Thomas was to 
 spend a portion of his holidays at the home of 
 a friend. 
 
 The night was keen with frost as Benjamin 
 again rode forth with Sol in the wake of a 
 lowing mob of cattle. They were taking them 
 to the sale next day, a sale which was bringing 
 buyers from many distant parts.
 
 324 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 A fairly prosperous season along the coast 
 had set many a struggling farmer more securely 
 on his feet, and everyone seemed to want to 
 stock their paddocks as fast and as soon as 
 possible. This was the biggest mob of fats 
 Sol had brought down for many a day, hence his 
 spirits were somewhat effervescent, and his 
 talk referred to the mighty deeds of his youth. 
 
 Benjamin, idly listening, the sense of slow 
 movement perhaps winging his thoughts the 
 faster, remembered that first glorious trip, its 
 wonder, its breathless glamour. Through what 
 fairy spectacles he had gazed, and was still 
 gazing! Perhaps now the stars blinked more 
 knowingly, yet the trees, dark blurs, still seemed 
 like grotesque figures slipping silently away 
 into the darkness, the call of mopoke and cur- 
 lews still heard with ghostly mysteriousness. 
 
 To-night great clouds were fast obscuring the 
 moon, but as fast as they rose to the zenith a 
 high overhead wind whisked them away in a 
 south-easterly direction, revealing now and then 
 a glimpse of star-studded sky or a thin wedge of 
 the moon's cold disc. Once a koala, or native 
 bear, called suddenly from a tree. So unex- 
 pected was it that Benjamin was startled, but 
 the horses and cattle took not the least notice 
 of it, though the sound was curiously weird and 
 strange. Once, too, the air was fanned with the
 
 REVENGE 325 
 
 long flight of flying-foxes, and occasionally a 
 heavier bird flew by, its wings flapping loudly 
 in a slow and dignified manner. 
 
 In the small hours of the morning the mob 
 was turned into the cattle reserve, a mile or so 
 out of Wilton. 
 
 Feeling thirsty, Sol lit a fire and untied the 
 billy from his saddle, and through the shadows 
 sought the creek gurgling a short distance away. 
 The fire's glow cast his long form into black 
 relief as he disappeared under the trees. As he 
 went tw r o or three horsemen rode past. They 
 were mounted police returning home after a 
 protracted patrolling of the mountain settle- 
 ments. Since the robbery the police had been 
 on the alert. One man suspected of being the 
 ringleader had been brought to account, but 
 nothing being proved against him, he had been 
 set at large again. As the troops rode past they 
 saw Benjamin stooping over the fire, hailed him 
 and rode on, the ring of their horses' iron-shod 
 feet echoing back in faint music, their swiftly 
 moving forms quickly swallowed in the gloom. 
 
 Then Sol reappeared, the billy was boiled, tea, 
 black and fragrant, was quaffed. The dogs 
 came and crouched in the warm ring of the fire, 
 their eyes, green and glassy, closing and un- 
 closing in intense enjoyment of its comfort. 
 Sol, too, stretched his long limbs and smoked the
 
 326 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 pipe of content, while Benjamin sat over the fire 
 like a blackfellow, letting the warmth permeate 
 through his numbed limbs and stir the chilled 
 blood to better circulation. 
 
 The yellow flames leaped high, throwing a 
 fluctuating, flickering light upon the shrubs 
 close by; old logs fell apart, and ashes dropped 
 with infinitesimal sounds, like a maiden's faint 
 sighs. Sol's deep set eyes were fixed broodingly 
 upon the fire. 
 
 Benjamin yawned mightily as he looked at 
 him. "Doing some deep thinking Sol?" he 
 asked, rubbing the shaggy coat of his favourite 
 dog. 
 
 "Urn,- 4 * drawled Sol, moodily. "I was jest 
 thinkin'." 
 
 Benjamin laughed softly, boyishly. "Of 
 what, Sol?" he asked. 
 
 " 'O the time I was merried," said Sol. 
 
 "Married! You never told me you were 
 married!" expostulated Benjamin, in amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 "I'm perty deep," muttered Sol, testily. He 
 hated explanations. But, as Benjamin evidently 
 waited for some, he began. 
 
 "Yer see, 'twas this way. Afore yer father 
 come to Tarawingee old Jack Gibb had the 
 place, an' he had a cook. My! but she could 
 cook!" murmured Sol, reminiscently.
 
 REVENGE 327 
 
 "Yes," said Benjamin, quickly. 
 
 "Me an' Mick," said Sol, "were 'er sweet- 
 'earts, as they loviers call one another." In 
 the firelight Sol grinned sheepishly. A long 
 pause, as he mentally reviewed his prowess in 
 the gentle art of love. "An' I won," he said, 
 suddenly. 
 
 "But where is she?" queried Benjamin. 
 
 Sol shook his head. "I dunno," he grumbled. 
 "She was older'n I, and when I up and spoke to 
 her one day for some fool thing she'd done, why, 
 she went bag and baggage, and I arn't heard of 
 her from that day ter this. Conies a' gittin' 
 merried I s'pose. Men is fools, no doubt; but 
 sometimes I b'lieve I'd give the chestnut colt for 
 a plate o' her doughnuts. She be a rare cook 
 in 'er day. P'raps she arn't dead yet," he added, 
 thereby showing that he entertained hopes of 
 finding his long-lost spouse. 
 
 "Where did she live?" asked Benjamin, who 
 was just as serious as Sol. 
 
 "She said she come from Kilkenny," said Sol; 
 "but when I went there ter fetch 'er back, no 
 one knew nothink about 'er." 
 
 "Strange," said Benjamin, thoughtfully. 
 
 "I've had some coorious experiences in my 
 life," agreed Sol, relapsing into determined 
 silence. 
 
 Benjamin respected it. Sol's confidence
 
 328 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 proved that the man had at last admitted him 
 to that high plane on which he moved that 
 mighty plane of manhood. The boy's face 
 glowed with pride and a great tenderness for 
 the old stockman. 
 
 The fire was dwindling to red coal when 
 suddenly, and without warning, a stranger 
 appeared out of the darkness and stood in the 
 circle of light. He was enveloped in a heavy 
 oil coat, with a soft felt hat pulled over his face, 
 while about the lips a particularly long 
 moustache drooped. Roused from reverie Sol 
 eyed this apparition doubtfully and with due 
 suspicion. Benjamin too stared curiously. 
 
 "It's cold," said the stranger, casually. 
 
 "So 'tis," grunted Sol, inhospitably. 
 
 Benjamin threw more wood on the fire. 
 "Come and warm yourself," he invited. "It's 
 the coldest night we've had yet. Are you 
 making for the sale?" 
 
 The stranger needed no second invitation, but 
 came close to the fire, keeping his face turned 
 from Sol's. 
 
 "To-morrow, ain't it?" he questioned, in a 
 soft slow voice that somehow struck a vibrant 
 chord of memory in Sol's brain. 
 
 While he rummaged in the lumber chamber 
 of forgotten things, the stranger warmed him-
 
 REVENGE 329 
 
 self and spoke in a slow drawl to Benjamin, still 
 keeping his face out of Sol's range of vision. 
 
 Such persistency aggravated the head stock- 
 man. He shifted his position, but as he moved, 
 the stranger moved. 
 
 Presently, with a swift shrug of the shoulders, 
 the man rose, and, with an abrupt "Good night," 
 disappeared into the gloom as strangely and 
 unexpectedly as he had appeared. 
 
 "Rum chap," said Benjamin, staring after him. 
 
 Sol was silent. Memory was stirring and 
 seething within him. 
 
 Suddenly a curious blood-curdling cry broke 
 upon the night. Like lightning Sol bounded 
 to the corner where the horses were tethered. 
 Surprised, Benjamin followed. In the darkness 
 he heard Sol moving about, cursing savagely, a 
 note of fear in his voice. As Benjamin groped 
 after him a chill wind sprang to life, and the 
 thick blackness changed to a vague grey. 
 Salient landmarks became visible, the dim blur 
 of trees edging the creek showed faintly, the 
 cattle scattered about the reserve became huge, 
 hardly perceptible blots. Benjamin's horse was 
 cropping the herbage just near him, and a little 
 to the left was a strangely shapen blur, silent 
 and very still. 
 
 "What is it, Sol?" called Benjamin, waking 
 to the fact that something unusual had taken
 
 330 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 place. He struck a match, and by its lurid flare 
 caught sight of Sol's face. 
 
 The match out, Benjamin stood speechless. 
 He had surprised great tears rolling down Sol's 
 rugged face. Beside him the chestnut colt lay 
 motionless, its eyes white and horrid. 
 
 Gradually the light grew. Benjamin touched 
 Sol gently on the shoulder. Stiffly the man rose, 
 curses in his throat, murder in his eye. "A 
 course he knowed he liked it," he muttered. 
 "The hell brute has poisoned him with a bit o' 
 bread."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 THE SKELETON IN THE MARCHMONT CUPBOARD 
 
 AS Benjamin and Sol had been moving 
 slowly in the direction of Wilton, a 
 horseman had been riding hard towards 
 Tarawingee. He came from the mountains; the 
 wind blew his thick white beard about his face 
 and curled the ends of his thin fine hair. 
 
 Henry Marchmont, brooding and listless in 
 his study, little guessed what the night would 
 bring him. Inert he sat in his arm chair. In 
 the fireplace the fire had died down until only 
 a few coals remained glowing beneath their 
 layer of ash. On the fender the old cockatoo 
 slept motionless as a carven image. 
 
 It was surely an unsound nature, a nature 
 unaware of its own depths and resources that 
 should allow circumstances to so kill the life 
 forces. A blighting wind had seemingly swept 
 across Henry Marchmont while life was yet full 
 and ripe, shrivelling ambition, changing the 
 whole outward man. That the inner man was 
 not at peace with the change was plainly 
 discernible in the restless eyes and hands. 
 
 331
 
 332 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Following upon his ignominious defeat, slowly 
 but very surely that terrible apathy settled upon 
 him. 
 
 The blow had found him unprepared; its 
 unexpectedness, its utterness had been cruel, 
 biting. He could not understand that from 
 those to whom he had given of his best he 
 should receive this. Each little school helped 
 forward now mocked him; each small wooden 
 church, erected mainly through his efforts, 
 pointed accusingly. From every man whom he 
 had assisted he shrank back afraid. What else 
 would they do? In what other way did they 
 mean to hurt him? 
 
 Always his mind groped pitifully about the 
 one thing. Never did he recognize that in him- 
 self lay the answer. So he read and drank, and 
 drank and read, wearily, as though life had 
 grown almost too insupportable for this. Some- 
 times Mick came and played cribbage with him, 
 sometimes Tim played chess, more often he 
 passed the evening in a semi-stupor. Occasion- 
 ally Sol came and smoked with him. But to 
 the head stockman the change was inexplicable 
 and totally incomprehensible ; always he de- 
 parted swearing violently under his breath. 
 
 The wind was sighing mournfully in the pines 
 when the door of the study opened and Mrs. 
 Marchmont came in. She crossed the room
 
 SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 333 
 
 swiftly and bent over that listless figure sitting 
 huddled in the chair. 
 
 "Henry," she said, softly. 
 
 Henry Marchmont moved wearily. "Yes, 
 Louisa?" he asked, querulously. 
 
 "It is late. Do you wish to retire?" 
 
 He did not answer her. Only the long fingers 
 plucked nervously at the arm of the chair, his 
 staring eyes still fixed on the dying coals. 
 
 "Henry." His wife sought again to rouse 
 him. "Benjamin and Sol have gone to Wilton 
 to-night." 
 
 The restless fingers pulled a cane from the 
 chair and let it drop to the floor. On the fender 
 Cocky stirred and muttered, "Grapes, grapes! 
 Can't you 'ear me?" 
 
 The wind went sobbing past the windows, and 
 still Henry Marchmont was dumb. 
 
 Tears were rising fast to Louisa Marchmont's 
 eyes; the kind mouth trembled with her emotion. 
 
 "Ah, Henry, Henry." Her yearning whisper 
 filled with pathos, tenderness, love, echoed 
 through the silent room, as bending low, her lips 
 brushed his hot forehead. 
 
 She had gone and the baffled wind murmured 
 harshly without the door. A tiny clock ticked 
 the hours. Slowly time slipped away, and the 
 hands pointed to twelve. Suddenly a low 
 tapping sounded above the wind. It roused the
 
 334 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 man in front of the dead fire. Rising unsteadily 
 he opened the door, and the man without came 
 in and stood in the dim glow of the lamp. The 
 wind blew the door to, for Henry Marchmont's 
 hand had fallen from the handle, nerveless, 
 shaking as he stared at the stranger. 
 
 The man in the centre of the room stared back 
 at him, a curious smile raising his prominent 
 cheekbones, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. 
 
 "Who am I?" he queried, tossing his hat aside. 
 
 Shaking from head to foot, Marchmont 
 stumbled to a chair. "Who are you?" he 
 repeated vaguely. 
 
 The stranger laughed, a careless mocking 
 laugh that grated insensibly on the wreck of 
 manhood watching. He sat down, pulled the 
 decanter towards him, filled a glass and drank 
 slowly. 
 
 "Your wine has deteriorated somewhat, 
 Henry," he remarked, pleasantly. "It used to 
 be excellent stuff; but," shaking his head 
 thoughtfully, "it will go to the wall like your- 
 self, Henry." 
 
 Still Marchmont was silent. 
 
 "Come, come, you surely know me," said the 
 stranger. 
 
 "I know you," said Henry Marchmont, dully. 
 
 "Doubtless you wonder how I came to be 
 here," said his visitor, lazily pulling out pipe and
 
 SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 335 
 
 tobacco. "I'll tell you, Henry, in my own good 
 time. Meanwhile, let's smoke the pipe of peace." 
 
 The jumbled brain of Henry Marchmont 
 groped pitifully for its old clearness, and 
 presently, he too, fumbled for his pipe. 
 
 "The wheel of time has turned often since I 
 saw you, Henry. Then you were young, eager, 
 full of spirit, though not quite such a dare-devil 
 as your brother eh, Henry? Ah, well, we were 
 wild dogs, and I never got beyond those mad 
 student days, and perhaps you do not care to 
 be reminded of your villainous twin brother 
 felon, forger, etc.. etc. What a long list, 
 Henry?" 
 
 "Tell me all, Arthur," said Henry March- 
 mont, huskily, resolutely restraining from re- 
 filling his own glass. 
 
 "My time is short," said Arthur Marchmont, 
 "very short," glancing at his watch. 
 
 "The pater's?" said his brother, quickly, 
 glancing almost eagerly at it. 
 
 "Same old ticker, Henry. That and the chess- 
 board have been my constant friends since I 
 broke the gaoler's head and decamped with his 
 daughter. She never knew, poor girl. She 
 thought it was the other one. It didn't matter 
 much, Henry. She died a year after the little 
 girl came. It's about her that I'm here to-night." 
 
 "Where is she ?" queried his brother, earnestly.
 
 336 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 Arthur Marchmont laughed again. "Waking 
 up, Henry? What do you do with yourself 
 since " 
 
 Henry Marchmont winced, then suddenly sat 
 upright in his chair. "Stop," he said, so abruptly 
 and with such unexpected force that Arthur 
 Marchmont paused. 
 
 "Sore point, Henry," he remarked, after a 
 while. "Couldn't be helped. Your opinions 
 were against mine." 
 
 "Yours?" echoed Henry Marchmont, vaguely. 
 
 "Yes, mine, Henry. I have big interests in 
 this American tobacco industry. You don't 
 credit it, eh? True, nevertheless; but I didn't 
 come here to talk business, but to speak of my 
 girl your niece, Henry." 
 
 "Where is she ?" queried his brother, still more 
 earnestly. 
 
 Arthur Marchmont laughed again, then 
 frowned suddenly as he studied the man before 
 him 
 
 "The same sickness that I succumbed to has 
 seized you, Henry rather late in life, creeping 
 on for years, I expect. Queer, isn't it? That 
 deadly apathy that assails one, that pessimism 
 that makes the whole world stagnant, the listless- 
 ness that at last goads one to desperation, so 
 that the bizarre and incomprehensible happen 
 to astonish the more evenly balanced folk. I
 
 SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 337 
 
 don't think you're dangerous, Henry, still one 
 never knows." He stopped thoughtfully, puffing 
 at his pipe and watching his brother curiously. 
 
 From slow scrutiny of his brother's face his 
 gaze wandered to the handsome vases on the 
 mantelpiece, the delicate pictures on the walls, 
 to a strange carven cabinet of rosewood with 
 its ornaments of polished ivory and mother o' 
 pearl. 
 
 "Tell me all, Arthur," said Henry Marchmont 
 again. 
 
 "Timothy is still with you?" asked his brother, 
 irrelevantly. 
 
 Marchmont nodded. 
 
 "A sad rogue, Henry, but a faithful friend. 
 For years now I have lived in the mountains, 
 shifting from corner to corner. Once I resided 
 in Old Willoughby's mansion until you in your 
 zeal sent me flying. Just got away in time; but 
 I lost a pawn in the hurried exit too bad for 
 you, Henry. You've heard of Longbeard of the 
 Hills" mentioning a bushranger who at various 
 times had figured prominently in melees with 
 the police. "How should you guess it was your 
 own brother?" 
 
 Henry Marchmont stared at him in a strained, 
 fascinated way. Longbeard, that reckless out- 
 cast, was his brother Arthur the wild head- 
 strong boy who, as a medical student had
 
 338 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 forged his father's name, had escaped his gaoler, 
 at the same time brazenly eloping with the 
 gaoler's pretty daughter. The whole affair had 
 been hushed up as much as possible. It had 
 broken his parents' hearts, for, though wild and 
 wayward, his was an intensely lovable nature. 
 Some inborn gift secured him friends, whether 
 he would or no, nor did he hesitate to make use 
 of them. With the rest of his family Henry 
 Marchmont had believed him long since dead. 
 
 Arthur Marchmont moved slightly in his chair 
 and leaned almost affectionately towards his 
 brother. "Naturally I did not confine myself 
 to one particular spot. A person of my temper- 
 ament needs constant change. Life grows in- 
 sufferable without a fillip now and then. When 
 Tim and I sailed for San Francisco in the 
 American schooner 'Pegasus' we had plenty. 
 First the crew mutinied a bad lot, Henry, fit 
 only for hell. Tim was steward. I and the child 
 and two old coves were the only passengers. 
 Tim warned me of the fun brewing. The 
 Japanese cook murdered the captain on the high 
 seas, and the ship for a few hours became 
 Bedlam. You see, everyone wanted to be 
 captain then. Things were pretty hot until one 
 of them discovered that the old tub was on fire 
 from Bedlam to Pandemonium, Henry. They 
 blamed Tim and me for starting the fire, and in
 
 SKELETON IN THE CUPBOARD 339 
 
 the excitement we got away in a cockle shell of 
 a boat. Don't know what became of the two 
 old coves or the rest of them. Tired, Henry?" 
 as his brother sighed deeply in his astonish- 
 ment, his hands moving restlessly in the 
 direction of the deranter. 
 
 "It was two days before the French trader 
 picked us up. But our troubles were not over 
 then. She was making out here, and in the 
 middle of a foggy night she split on the Devil's 
 Rocks, in Stephen's Bay. Dark Ben found Tim, 
 the child, the Portuguese, who was one of the 
 crew, and me floating on the mizzenmast hours 
 after wonderful what that child has pulled 
 through, Henry, but it was a sorry day for Ben 
 when he rescued the Portuguese. Lost sight of 
 you, Henry, until one day I saw your name 
 figuring in some big case. Then a year or two 
 later Tim tells me he is going to throw up out- 
 door life and take a position under Henry March- 
 mont of Tarawingee. I knew it must be you, 
 Henry, so I came to investigate, and then went 
 to the hills with a few of my friends for I have 
 many scattered in various parts of different 
 countries. We often sampled your wine, Henry. 
 As Mick said, it was excellent stuff some time 
 ago." 
 
 "Mick, too!" gasped Henry Marchmont. 
 
 His brother took no notice, but glanced at his
 
 340 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 watch. "I must be gone in a quarter of an 
 hour," he said. "Troopers disturbed us to-night. 
 I am weary of life, Henry, so I make preparation 
 for the end. My little Eunice lives with a Zillah 
 Mann, near the Dutchman's Nose, thirty miles 
 from Wilton. Dark Ben, her father, and I are 
 old friends. I am on my way to see him now. 
 You will care for her, Henry?" a half dubious 
 look coming into his eyes. 
 
 "I cannot go for her," said Henry Marchmont. 
 "If the woman brings her here, she will not 
 want; or I will send Sol." 
 
 "Thank you, Henry, thank you. A week from 
 to-day she will be ready. And now I must be 
 gone. The troopers have been on my heels half 
 an hour back. Because of a row in his miserable 
 tavern a dirty skunk named Bean has turned 
 Queen's evidence and divulged our camping 
 places, denounced me, and claimed the long 
 standing reward upon my head. It is sometimes 
 embarrassing to be renowned, eh, Henry?" 
 
 A sudden, swift shower of rain beat upon the 
 roof, the wind rattled doors and windows; in 
 the garden the eerie sough of the pines rose and 
 fell and rose again, until the voices of the night 
 seemed to mingle in one long-drawn-out screech. 
 
 It was morning before Henry Marchmont 
 woke from his stupor, and searching earnestly 
 about the room knew that his brother had gone.
 
 ARTHUR MARCHMONT'S LAST ADVENTURE 
 
 ZILLAH, there be some'un at the door." 
 Dark Ben's voice was husky, for the 
 morning moisture had crept into his 
 lungs as he crouched in his chair over the 
 glowing embers, mumbling and spitting, spitting 
 and mumbling. "The souls," he muttered, 
 "they're callin' me I tell you. I heerd 'em in 
 the night and early this morn. Hark to them 
 now, Zillah," as a furious blast of wind shook 
 the little cottage and rattled a loose sheet of 
 zinc on the roof. "Ay, but I be old now," 
 grumbled the old man, peering round for his 
 daughter. He had crept from his bed to crouch 
 over the fire much earlier than usual. 
 
 Zillah was not yet awake, the outer door was 
 locked, and the knocking on it was continuous. 
 
 "P'raps 'tis the souls," he mumbled, and rising 
 stiffly, lifted a corner of the window-blind and 
 peeped out. What he saw sent him groping to 
 the door. "Ay, ay, 'twas the souls, I heerd sure 
 enough/' he muttered. The door slipped from 
 
 341
 
 342 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 his gnarled fingers and Arthur Marchmont 
 entered. 
 
 "Are you ready Ben?" he asked abruptly. 
 
 "Ay, I be ready, boy," said the old man. "I 
 heerd 'em calling in the night an' I says to the 
 Portuguese, 'I'm coming soon-soon,' an' to 
 George, I says, 'Keep quiet an' still till I'm 
 done.' " 
 
 "Eunice?" said Marchmont. "I must see her 
 before we go." He went to a low door, opened 
 it gently and looked in at the slim young form 
 lying beneath the bed clothes. "She is well 
 provided for," he muttered. "Better she should 
 stay here than come with me to America." 
 
 "Bean't you goin' to kiss her?" mumbled Dark 
 Ben, peering in also. "I will not waken her Ben. 
 Come, the boat is ready. It is well Zillah sleeps 
 heavily. We should reach the point in less than 
 three hours. Can we make it in this wind?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, lad; we'll make it," answered the old 
 man with a chuckle of excitement. He opened 
 the outer door as he spoke. 
 
 Out into the thick mist of rain they went. 
 Like a dense grey blanket it swept over the 
 tumbling waters of the lake and the bay, shut 
 off the trees and low-lying hills, smothered the 
 Dutchman's Nose and almost hid the shore, the 
 long black jetties and the rocking boats of the
 
 MARCHMONT'S LAST ADVENTURE 343 
 
 fisher folk. They found the boat straining at its 
 moorings. 
 
 "Are you ready Ben?" repeated Marchmont 
 earnestly. "We may never make the Point." 
 
 The eyes of the two men met in a strange 
 smile of understanding. 
 
 "Ay, ay, I be ready," replied Dark Ben cheer- 
 ily. "I be very skittish this mornin'. Pull 
 away, lad." 
 
 The boat shot out into the seething waters, 
 the wind caught the light sail and the rain 
 blurred them almost immediately from sight. 
 
 When Zillah rose an hour later, the storm of 
 wind and rain was rising into a screech of rage 
 that boded ill for the little boat tossing some- 
 where on the face of that green surging water. 
 Lifting the debris strewn upon the shore, the 
 wind caught it high and carried it pell-mell 
 across the sand, flinging it among the low shrubs 
 of honeysuckle and broom with savage fury. 
 Wide grey sheets of sand came swirling up and 
 dashed themselves in baffled frenzy against the 
 windows and walls of the cottage which shook 
 to its foundations. Even Mrs. Marriott's house, 
 standing on its hill above the shore, rocked and 
 trembled, and the old lady stared anxiously from 
 an upper window upon the torment of the out- 
 side world. Now and again she caught sight of 
 Dark Ben's chimney; then it would be smothered
 
 344 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 in mist and sand, and the fury of the storm 
 would come hurtling up the hill to fall, like a 
 thousand furies upon her own home. 
 
 From her cottage window, Zillah stared at the 
 tumbling seething water which came crawling, 
 running, leaping up to her very door. Her lips 
 were drawn in a long thin line, her dark eyes 
 blazed in a set white face. Behind her, in the 
 fireplace, the fire spluttered and struggled to 
 burn, but the spume from the sea, sinking down 
 the chimney, dampened and choked it. She 
 shivered, and a cold sweat broke out upon her 
 forehead and hands. 
 
 "Curse him," she muttered. 
 
 Drawing a chair to the window, she sat down 
 and rested her elbows upon the sill, staring, 
 staring out at the sea and sky and sand until 
 something of her innerself seemed to pass from 
 the cottage and rush out into the heart of the 
 storm. Always she sought that old man with 
 the red bleared eyes and the cunning smile 
 hovering about his lips. What mattered the 
 other? Why had she slept so heavily this 
 morning of all mornings? With a strange 
 savage cry, she rose, and knocking over the 
 chair in her fury of mind and soul, flung the hat, 
 which Arthur Marchmont had left on the table 
 upon the fire. A thick smoke filled the little 
 room and the smell of burning felt. Like a
 
 MARCHMONT'S LAST ADVENTURE 345 
 
 wild thing caged against it will, the woman 
 walked about the room tearing her hair and 
 clothes in her frenzy of heart breaking inaction. 
 
 Timidly the child opened the inner door and 
 called her. But Zillah was once more seated 
 before the window with her staring eyes fixed 
 upon that mass of seething water raging with- 
 out. Shivering with fear and cold the child 
 crept back to bed. 
 
 Towards mid-day Zillah moved from her 
 chair at the window and crouched over the 
 smoking fire. The child came out and searching 
 in the cupboard found some food. Zillah did 
 not heed her, and presently she tip-toed back into 
 the inner room and shut the door. 
 
 The tide crawled up to the door of the 
 cottage and crept in over the floor. Sometimes 
 the sound of knocking sounded upon the door. 
 Zillah did not move. It was but the drifting 
 wood flung up by the tide. She heard only the 
 moan of wind, rain and water, saw only the 
 figure of an old man being dashed against the 
 jagged points of the Devil's Rocks, flung high 
 and sucked down, down into that boiling cauld- 
 ron of green, leaping water and frothing foam. 
 How many years had she lived in this wild sea- 
 side spot to save him from this. Only to be 
 foiled at last. Would to God she had betrayed 
 Arthur Marchmont years ago.
 
 346 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 And still the knocking sounded on the door. 
 Once only she rose and stood listening. But it 
 seemed to have gone again and she sat staring 
 once more at the embers of the fire. When 
 night fell she still sat there. The wind had 
 fallen, the rain had gone, the sea growled in its 
 sullen anger. Far off against the Devil's Rocks 
 the waves leaped high and fierce, and the boom 
 of the outer ocean sounded in a savage under- 
 tone. The rising moon cast an uncanny glow 
 over everything. Zillah rose and, unbarring the 
 door, stood upon her threshold. There, a little 
 to the left of the cottage door, lay the shattered 
 remains of an open boat. The name still glistened 
 on its prow. ... So this was what had knocked 
 against her door. She shuddered and flung 
 both hands across her eyes which seemed to 
 burn like balls of fire in her head. The sob of 
 the receding tide became a living voice that 
 spoke and told her the whole story of that small 
 broken boat and the fate of those who had gone 
 forth into the storm. 
 
 So had The souls' called and taken Dark Ben 
 to themselves. So had Arthur Marchmont cut 
 himself adrift from life. 
 
 When Sol came a week later to the cottage, 
 he found it deserted, the door blown open, grey 
 ashes, cold and dead upon the hearth.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 THE MYSTERY GROWS CLEARER 
 
 THE troopers did indeed discover much 
 when they followed Bean into the hills. 
 They found two small deserted caves 
 filled with empty kegs, cooking utensils and 
 debris. They found a sequestered coining 
 plant, they discovered private gallows for the 
 slaughtering of stolen stock, they accidentally 
 came across a mother-o'-pearl chessboard 
 wedged securely in a crevice between two 
 rocks in short they had come upon the lair of 
 a noted bushranger of years past. His prom- 
 inent exploits had been of erratic occurrence, 
 long periods elapsing between each, and always 
 many miles between each foray. 
 
 Of late years most people had believed "Long- 
 beard of the Hills" to be dead. Since Bean had 
 so unexpectedly turned traitor to that wide ring 
 which had so successfully baffled justice for 
 many years, numerous families in the different 
 settlements had dwindled unaccountably. "Dad" 
 or "Brother Bill" had gone to some distant 
 
 347
 
 348 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 diggings in the night, so that their going might 
 not be commented upon. 
 
 Mrs. Heineman was loud in her lamentation 
 when Hal, chancing upon the settlement, "t'other 
 side of the brush," found her in that two-story 
 public house, the historic home of her girlhood. 
 He heard that Joe had got up in the night and 
 gone to Victoria. 
 
 "To the diggings, sir, and no less; an' he as 
 always said people was mad to go runnin' after 
 the root of all evil them's his own words, sir. 
 Gold, a course 'e meant. An' now he's gone too, 
 along with Andrew Shilling and Tom Hooligan 
 went without sayin' a word to anyone. Least- 
 ways, Joe never said nothing to me, his own 
 wife, sir. I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' Joe 
 that I wouldn't." 
 
 Mrs. Heineman was not the only one who was 
 left lamenting. Mick's wife was likewise 
 deserted for a period; but Mick, being fond of 
 good cooking, soon slouched back into his own 
 warm kitchen, where the bacon hung to the 
 smoke-blackened rafters, and the pumpkins and 
 golden gammas were stacked in the corner near 
 the settle. 
 
 Tim, too, had taken French leave and had de- 
 camped from Tarawingee. Sol grinned sourly 
 as he listened to the "boys' " vague surmises as 
 to where Tim had gone. Few were taken into
 
 THE MYSTERY GROWS CLEARER 349 
 
 custody, very few; and those were eventually 
 let off with a slight sentence. 
 
 Where "Longbeard," the leader, had dis- 
 appeared to was a mystery to many. But 
 gradually his name died out and the hills knew 
 him no more. Tim knew, and he felt that 
 life had become strangely lonely, hence his 
 surreptitious disappearance from Tarawingee. 
 Ere long the news filtered back through various 
 channels that Tim was cook on a small boat on 
 the Darling.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 THE FIGHT ON THE PLATEAU 
 
 SEATED in the back parlor of the "Blue 
 Maid," Bean laboriously deciphered the 
 letter he had received that morning. He 
 looked anything but happy. His education had 
 suffered in early youth, and the arts of reading 
 and writing had not been studied since. 
 
 Yet the letter was not long. It briefly stated 
 that Sergeant Biggs, who had lately been 
 appointed to Wilton, would call on him that 
 night seeking his aid and advice on a matter 
 of importance. 
 
 After due time, having spelt out and assimi- 
 lated the news, Bean indulged in mental retro- 
 spection. A cunning smile played about his lips, 
 yet his eyes were shiftless and uneasy as he 
 glanced ever and anon about the room. Since 
 he had cut himself adrift so completely from old 
 friends and acquaintances, his hold on life had 
 been no sinecure. Several times incensed men 
 had aimed revolvers in his direction; one did 
 indeed shoot, but, courage failing at the last, the 
 bullet went into the air. Yet Bean felt that he 
 
 350
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE PLATEAU 351 
 
 had performed an act almost of heroism in de- 
 nouncing his old comrades. 
 
 Why had they crossed him? He had his own 
 opinions; he meant to keep them. 
 
 Bean rambled nervously about the room, 
 listening to every sound, every voice raised out- 
 side. He practically spent his life in this close- 
 smelling back parlor, stiff with its horsehair 
 chairs and buttoned sofa. The window looking 
 on to the street was perforce kept closed. 
 Consequently his temper had not improved by 
 having only a couple of painted dead birds to 
 gaze at. This visit of Biggs promised recreation. 
 Bean found himself looking forward to it almost 
 eagerly. In time the hour specified by Biggs 
 drew near. When at length he came, the back 
 parlor was brilliant with two oil lamps and a 
 couple of candles. Bean had grown strangely 
 afraid of the dark. 
 
 Soon Bean learned that the Government had 
 reason to suspect much of Andrew du Longue- 
 ville, who had lately planted himself an orchard 
 on top of a great plateau between Kilkenny and 
 Wilton. The Government sought his assistance. 
 Bean swelled with pride at the thought, and with 
 Biggs went to the stable, where he saddled his 
 horse in feverish haste to prove his loyalty at 
 least to someone. 
 
 As they rode into the night Sergeant Biggs
 
 352 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 spoke little, but Bean was garrulous with the 
 sense of his own importance. The night was 
 dark, but the heavens were lit with a labyrinth 
 of stars, and from north to south the Milky Way 
 trailed resplendent. 
 
 Soon the riders left the high road to plunge 
 into a bush track leading between dense walls 
 of forest. Black, impenetrable it rose on every 
 side, a faint strip of starlit sky showing above. 
 On, on. the forest breaking sometimes, closing 
 again denser and blacker than before. 
 
 The horses went more slowly now, picking 
 their way carefully. Once Sergeant Bigg's 
 horse caught its foot and tripped, but, with a 
 quick soft call, its rider pulled it back in time 
 and plunged after Bean. Had the latter seen 
 the curious smile with played beneath the false 
 moustache of the man behind him, he might have 
 faltered in his course. As it was, he went on 
 unconscious of the identity of the 'Sergeant 
 Biggs.' 
 
 In time they came to the foot of the plateau, 
 found the narrow winding path leading to the 
 top and began the steep ascent. Half way up 
 they tethered the horses and went the rest of 
 the way on foot. 
 
 It was near midnight, but a light glowered 
 from the window, and from under the doorway 
 of the new log cabin, built on the very edge of
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE PLATEAU 353 
 
 the plateau. Creeping cautiously near, Bean 
 looked in at the window, while Biggs recon- 
 noitred at the rear of the house. 
 
 Old Andrew du Longueville was bending over 
 the table studying a map, his pipe between his 
 teeth, his hands caressing the long beard 
 reaching to his chest. Bean looked closer. In 
 another corner of the room a woman sat 
 crochetting, the light falling across her silvery 
 hair in ripples of dull gold. It was the old man's 
 wife. 
 
 As Bean gazed, striving to make out the map, 
 he saw another woman open a door and stand 
 on the threshold. Younger than the other she 
 also was grey-haired, but taller, gaunter, and 
 restless-eyed. Bean became uneasy as he 
 watched her. A slight noise behind him sent 
 him from the window. Sergeant Biggs, minus 
 coat and hat and false moustache, stood behind 
 him with a great log of wood poised above his 
 head. 
 
 "Judas !" he hissed at the gaping hotel-keeper. 
 
 With a snarl like that of a wild beast trapped 
 Bean was upon him. The wood rolled to the edge 
 of the plateau and fell. Both men heard it go 
 bumping down, down, down, the sound of its 
 fall becoming fainter and fainter, the farther and 
 faster it went. And as the log fell they grappled 
 together more like fiends than men. Now one
 
 354 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 had the upper hand, now the other. As they 
 struggled there on the edge of the precipice the 
 door of the cabin opened, and shutting it behind 
 him, Andrew du Longueville stood watching. 
 
 "Remember the grip I taught you, Jacques," 
 he whispered, in a deep tense undertone as the 
 men writhed before him. 
 
 Eager, excited, bloodthirsty, the old man 
 watched them. Ha! Jacques would revenge 
 them all. Jacques was a man, not a miserable 
 crawling traitor. Jacques, his son, would kill the 
 vermin. 
 
 To and fro, sinuous and strong, knowing that 
 it was for life or death, the writhing combatants 
 struggled. Both were strong active men. If 
 any held the advantage it was Bean. 
 
 Cautiously old Andrew crept near them, a thin 
 pole in his hands. If he could but trip the inn- 
 keeper? It was risky, but Jacques was 
 weakening a little. Andrew's eyes were quick, 
 and Bean must not triumph. 
 
 The pole shot out, there was a wild blood- 
 curdling yell of awful fear and rage, and 
 suddenly both men rolled backwards, over the 
 edge of the precipice, clawing the air desperately 
 with frantic outstretched arms, uttering lan- 
 guage that scorched the blackness of the night 
 to horrid luridness. 
 
 Andrew fell to the ground, deathly still, as the
 
 THE FIGHT ON THE PLATEAU 355 
 
 door of the hut opened timidly and a woman's 
 head showed darkly against the light. Over all 
 the terrible silence of the bush fell, broken soon 
 by a woman's wild shrieks of horror. 
 
 In the morning the gaunt, grey-haired woman 
 woke the young girl sleeping in the inner room, 
 whispering in her ear, "Awake, awake, child ; 
 the sun rides high, and we have far to go." 
 Turning aw r ay she muttered to herself, "It is the 
 devil's world." 
 
 Unknown to him, Sol was at last avenged, 
 likewise his star was slowly rising.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 ZILLAH'S RETURN 
 
 SOL had come to render account of his 
 management to Mrs. Marchmont, who 
 was sewing on the wide stone verandah. 
 Cattle were selling well, the price of Tarawingee 
 wines had not yet fallen. Sol thought more 
 cultivation might prove profitable. 
 
 Beneath them, sitting astride his fat taffy 
 pony, Thomas listened lazily. He had come 
 home a day or two before. Next week he would 
 return with Benjamin to school. Lazy non- 
 chalance and carelessness of all Life's seriousness 
 as yet dwelt in his boyish, dreamy eyes. As 
 each day passed he drank its fullness to the dregs 
 with deep unconscious delight. The world was 
 a great haunted palace of unconquered things. 
 Some day he would wake from his dreams and 
 put on his armour to go forth to conquer. 
 Unlike Benjamin he was not fully aware of his 
 own capabilities, had not quite determined which 
 course he meant to take, hence a certain 
 hesitancy in his manner, a wistfulness in his 
 young inscrutable eyes. 
 
 356
 
 ZILLAH'S RETURN 357 
 
 As he gazed over the paddocks, he was aware 
 of the approach of strangers. They drew nearer, 
 and he saw one was a woman, the other a young 
 girl. Thomas became interested. He flicked 
 his pony so that he faced them more squarely. 
 
 The girl showed signs of fatigue, drooping in 
 her saddle as a tender flower wilts beneath the 
 sun. The woman sat erect, her eyes straining 
 forward as though searching for something. 
 Curiosity leapt to the boy's eyes. Sol and his 
 mother had not noticed their approach. Pricking 
 his pony he went forward to meet them. 
 
 Zillah did not stop as he drew near. "This is 
 Tarawingee?" she asked, in her slow soft drawl. 
 "This is where Mr. Marchmont still lives?" 
 
 "Yes, this is Tarawingee," answered Thomas, 
 wondering a little. 
 
 "It is well," said Zillah. "We have travelled 
 far. the future still holds our welcome. Courage, 
 Eunice," turning to the girl. "We have reached 
 our journey's end. Take comfort." 
 
 The girl raised her head and Thomas knew 
 her again. 
 
 He saw a sweet flushed face, oval and very 
 fair, made beautiful by eyes sparkling and grey. 
 Even her weariness had not quenched their 
 brilliance. As he gazed some inner door within 
 his soul swung slowly open, revealing to him 
 many things. Life received a sudden im-
 
 358 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 petus. voices hitherto unfamiliar called softly, 
 mysteriously; unseen hands beckoned, the future 
 clamored for remembrance. 
 
 Unconsciously they had approached the high 
 verandah. Suddenly Thomas saw that his 
 mother had dropped her sewing and was standing 
 waiting: that Sol was staring most strangely at 
 the gaunt woman on the grey big-boned horse. 
 
 "Zillah!" 
 
 Sol's voice was harsh and unfamiliar even to 
 himself. 
 
 The woman dismounted slowly, her eyes fixed 
 almost rebelliously on Sol, who seemed power- 
 less to move. 
 
 "I've come back again," she said at last, in her 
 lazy liquid drawl. 
 
 Sol woke to life. "I'm merried to 'er all 
 right," he told his mistress, as he slipped past 
 her and vaulted the iron railing. 
 
 The young girl alone appeared forgotten. 
 Thomas flung himself from his pony and edging 
 near her said diffidently, "I'll help you down." 
 
 With a sigh of relief the girl took her foot 
 from the stirrup, and, placing it within his open 
 palm, slipped to the ground. 
 
 Thomas caught her as she stumbled and 
 swayed on stiff tired limbs. 
 
 As he helped her up the steps he heard Zillah's
 
 ZILLAH'S RETURN 359 
 
 hurried explanations, Sol's deep voice of glad- 
 ness, his mother's perplexity gave way to 
 decided pleasure. Her husband had told her all, 
 and for some time past the added worry had 
 robbed her of sleep. 
 
 Now the girl was here. The future might at 
 least hold some comfort. She would love her 
 as a daughter; perhaps in time the child would 
 return that affection and care for her as a mother. 
 
 Two big tears were very near Louisa March- 
 mont's eyes as she gathered the girl in her arms 
 and took her into her heart. 
 
 As Thomas went slowly away to tell Ben- 
 jamin, he heard Sol's voice raised in query: 
 "Them doughnuts, Zillah? Kin yer still make 
 them?"
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 HAPPINESS 
 
 AMONG the hills, winter passed and spring 
 came. The anemones and the white 
 cosmos were blooming in Annette's little 
 garden when Guy Antrobus came and took 
 Agnes away. Myrtle Parry, who had been 
 staying with the Merryfields had ridden out the 
 day before to see her store of pretty things and 
 to say good-bye. And when they went to the 
 orchard to gather some spicy-smelling quinces 
 as a small present for Mrs. Merryfield, there was 
 no one but a tender-hearted Agnes to see the 
 beautiful wayward creature break suddenly into 
 wild tears of bitter self reproach. 
 
 She had schemed to hurt Agnes and God 
 had taken his revenge. 
 
 Agnes folded her arms about her, trying to 
 hush wild incoherent words, and shuddering as 
 she learned of the black days and nights passed 
 by the wretched, remorseful girl, whom all her 
 world imagined heartlessly callous. Of her own 
 black time she spoke not at all. The worst of 
 that had passed, and she blamed no one ; such 
 
 360
 
 HAPPINESS 361 
 
 things must be the light and shade of existence, 
 and a very real happiness seemed to be looming 
 on her near horizon, curving the sweet lips to 
 tiny fleeting smiles, deepening the dear blue eyes 
 to the rich softness of a pansy. 
 
 Myrtle Parry had gone back to town with the 
 little photo that had been carefully locked away 
 in Agnes's desk in her possession. She needed 
 it more than Agnes, for her grief and remorse 
 was real and deep, and she had not the smallest 
 remembrance to comfort her. 
 
 Next day when the last flutter of Agnes's 
 handkerchief had disappeared behind the trees 
 lining the road, Annette subsided in a tempest 
 of tears into her mother's lap, and so taken up 
 was she with her own violent and childish grief 
 that the gentle tears raining upon her tangle of 
 curls fell unheeded and unfelt. 
 
 Gilbert had retired to his room to calculate 
 carefully when it might be possible for him to 
 take unto himself a wife he had several in his 
 mind as he did it and in the cellar beneath him, 
 Lewis Wiseman busied himself for the rest of 
 the day in concocting some hideous and vile- 
 smelling preparation that he was sure, if put on 
 the market, would make his fortune and kill all 
 vicious insects that delighted in rambling about 
 houses at night. He also speculated on the
 
 362 THE MYSTERY OF THE HILLS 
 
 possible length of time it would take his 
 conscience to break through the many promises 
 he had made his eldest daughter. 
 
 And while his courage was yet high, Hal 
 caught Swagman and rode bravely to the white 
 house standing in its flower-bright garden mid- 
 way up the main street of Wilton. Having 
 come so far, he would have turned back, over- 
 come with conflicting emotions. But the glimpse 
 of a slim, white-clad figure moving between the 
 flowering shrubs decided him, and he entered 
 the garden, with the love that would not be re- 
 strained, leaping in his pulses. 
 
 But swift fear, coupled with a great joy had 
 sent that white-clad figure almost running into 
 the house. Hurriedly Mavis mounted the wide, 
 shallow stairs leading to that upper room where 
 she so often sat sewing, weaving dreams between 
 her stitches. 
 
 There he found her. Together! Ah! the 
 dearness of the thought! What barriers could 
 hold them apart? Mavis pricked her finger as 
 she blindly strove to thread her needle. Above 
 her she felt his eyes glow with all the fire and 
 depth of that pent-up love to which he had 
 refused utterance. 
 
 And Hal ! Tender pictures, suddenly life-like, 
 stepped one by one from the hidden galleries of
 
 HAPPINESS 363 
 
 his mind, passing slowly and softly before his 
 inner vision, so that he bent swiftly, and 
 trembling with all the force of his love, drew 
 her up to him until their lips met.
 
 W. C. Penfold & Co. Ltd., Printers, Sydney
 
 A 000135260 8