Chapter VIII. A FRIEND IN NEED.

Otago Witness, Issue 1727, 27 December 1884, Page 10

Chapter VIII. A FRIEND IN NEED.

<O "blessings on his kindly heart and on his silver head. .A thousand times 1 bless him.

In the midst of her troubles Faith had one <consolatioa — Mr Jones left her very much alone. He was a ' laggard in love.' Truth to *ay he was not greatly enamoured of Faith ; «he was not his style, not brilliant and showy •enough for him. But for her birth he had never looked at her ; he certainly did covet

the baronet's daughter for his wife. Then he would settle in England, assume the name and arms of his wife's family, and by hook or by crook get what he called a 'handle' to his name. This was Mr Jonea' castle in Spain, and he never quesbioned its stability. Only keep Faith in that lonely place long enough and she •would jump at any prospect of escape. Meantime she was splendidly hidden. Feeling so secure of her Mr Jones had let some months slip by without paying Bunda-Bunda a visit. He arrived there about noon one hot February day, to find the hous9 iv confusion. Mrs Blake had been taken seriously ill the previous night, and Faith was at her wits' end, She had had absolutely no experience in sickness, and the woman on the Btation could not afford her much help. The cook suggested gin— her favourite remedy— and the patient in a high fever ! There was a doctor somewhere within a radius of ten miles ; one of the hands had ridden off for him, but when fouud it: was exceedingly doubtful if he would be in a state to come. Under these circumstances Mr Jones got the warmest welcome he had ever had from Faith. This gave him an advantage he was quick to seize. They were alone in the sittingroom.

' Look here,' said he, ' I'm a business man, and I like to do things in a business-like way. You know I want to marry you ; now give me your written promise to be my wife within three months and I'll send off to B at once for a doctor. You can't get M'lvor, he's roaring drunk ; I met him coming hero.' 'Are you a man?' cried Faith indignantly; 'to propose such terms ! My aunt may be dying. I will send David at once to B .' But Mr Jones placed himself in front of her.

' Not a horse shall be taken out of my stables except on this condition, David will not dare to disobey me.' Faith 'wrung her hands. David, a halfwitted shepherd, was the only man about the place that day, all the others having ridden off stock-driving. 'If you persist,' she said, ' and my aunt dies I will have you arrested for manslaughter. Every one shall know of your infamy.' Mr Jones laughed. ' I'm not afraid of your threats, my dear. Come, which is it to beyes or no ?' •No.' And Faith escaped from the room. But when she stood by her aunt's bed and heard her delirious cries and moans of pain Faith was tortured. What if her aunt died? She had no reason to suppose Mr Jonea would relent ; he looked like a man who would bave hi<j own way, regardless of consequences. How could she stand by and let her aunt die whan a word might save her ? But Aleck,— how could she break her promise to him ? 'Is it ever right to do wrong ?' she moaned, and then falling on her knees at the bedside she cried : ' Oh, Father in Heaven, send me help ; show me what to do.' A tap on the casement caused her to spring up. On the verandah without stood her messenger. She opened the casement eagerly. ' Have you brought Dr M'lvor.Johnny ?' 1 No, I ain't ; he's on the burst ; he's alters on the burst,' said Johnny, in an aggrieved tone. ' But I met Father Jackson, and he's follerin' as fast as his old hoss can go. He's a good feller if he is a parson, and knows as much as a sawbones ; he cured me o' the measles once. 1 And Johnny shambled off, while Faith stood with clasped hands and eyes raised to heaven in thankful acknowledgment of this speedy answer to her prayer. Father Jackson presently appeared ; not a priest, as Faith had supposed, but a Methodist local preacher, a little frail old man, with long white hair and a brown wrinkled face, so cheerful and benevolent in expression that the mere sight of it was as good as a cordial. Faith felt at once that she and her aunt had fallen into good hands. In the course of a long Colonial experience Father Jackson had learned bow to minister to the body as well aa to the soul. He knew the proper remedies to apply in Mrs Blake's case, told Faith what to do, and helped her to do it. But the disease was beyond cure; spite of all that could be done Mrs Blake grew worse and worse, and on Saturday morning she died. It is a trite saying that we never know what we may come to. Sophia Blake, living in comfort till past middle life in her luxurious English home, little thought she was destined to end her days in the Australian bush, and be laid to rest in the shadow of the primeval forest. That good Samaritan, Father Jackson, gave her Christian burial ; then he led Faith, exhausted with weeping, back to the cottage. She and the two servants had it to themselves now. Mr Jones bad taken himself off again, as soon as Father Jackson appeared on the scene.

' Have you no friends ?' oaid the old man j ( are you related to Mrs Jones ?' Faith shook her head.

' I am schoolmistress here. I have neither friends nor relatives in the colony, and no home, and I must not stay here for another day.' 'The Lord will provide,' said Father Jackson. .

' Ob, I know he will. I can never doubt him again. I will get Johnny to drive me to the cross-roads to-morrow morniutf. There I will take the coach to Melbourne, where I shall no doubt soon find employment.' ' No, no, that plan will not do.- You are too young, and, forgive an old man, too pretty, my dear, to travel so far alone, with no one to meet you at the journey's end too. Now I tell you what. I'll ride home to-night and tomorrow morning I'll meet you at the crossroads with a trap, and take you home to my old missus. You want a rest, and Bhe is never happy without some one to cosßet.' 'Oh, but I am a stranger,' remonstrated Faith.

' Why, there now ! I'm only obeying orders you see,' and Father Jackßon opened his Bible (which book seemed to have a miraculous knack of opening precisely at whatever chapter its owner wanted), and pointed to the injunction : ' Be not forgetful to entertain strangers,' &c. 'But I am no angel,' said Faith, smiling and crying together. 'Is your wife like you ?' ' Why, there now ! We're as like as two peas ; and, if Ido say it, there is not a better nurse in Australia. She'll make you right welcome, my dear. So come, and don't be This invitation lifted a load off Faith's heart. The thought of making her own way to Melbourne, and living there in loneliness, perhaps waafc, was terrible. Yet that had seemed the only course open to her. Her one fear now was that Mr Jones might return before she could quit Bunda-Bunda. Father Jackson rode off that Sunday afternoon. Faith watched him away with filling eyes. 'My Father sent him,' she murmured. c There was I imagining myself forsaken, and all the time He was thinking of me— caring for me. Is He not caring for Aleck too? Can't I trust Him, and wait for Him to bring us together again in His own good time and way ?' Well was it for Faith at this time that she knew where to look for comfort. As she went about that night gathering up and packing away her aunt's things a terrible sense of the

loneliness of her position overwhelmed her, and Hhe felt her loss with redoubled kaenneaa. There wa3 the dress her aunt had last worn, all the little trinkets she had valued. lAh ! the locking away of these things, knowing that their owner will never want them more — how it wrings the heart ! Mrs Blake had not been one to inspire deep love, but she was the only mother Faith had ever known, her last remaining relative (for Sir Joshua and bis family, far away in England, and hostile to her, could not be aaid to count). Faith only remembered her kindness now, and bitterly regretted that, through Mr Jones, it had ever been disturbed. That night was one never to be forgotten. Faith's sad task wns not completed till past midnight. At last she sat down, ready dressed for her journey, to wait for the dawn. She imagined it impossible to sleep, yet sleep surprised ber, and she awoke only just in time to swallow the cup of tea the friendly cook had provided for her. Then taking her place on the dray on which her luggaga was already piled, Faith said farewell to Bunda-Bunda.