Chapter I.

Otago Witness, Issue 1935, 21 December 1888, Page 9

Chapter I.

ESSIE'S legacy was left to her by an aunt in England, whom she had never seen and from whom she had no expectations ; therefore if she had never received it she would not have been in the least disappointed ; still, when it did come, and so unexpectedly, she felt it a duty to " make the

best'ofit. I? .

Now, making the best of a thing is an expression which may be interpreted in move ways than one; in Bessie's phraseology it meant making the most of it — turning it to the best account, doubling and even trebling the principal if this were possible. Bessie was, as you will perceive, a product ofourrauch-vauntedmoderncivilizationofthe system which is to make New Zealand the envy of all future ages, and which according to Sir It. Stout and Dr Fitchett will show to future generations of what greatness this young colony is capable. Bessie had studied several ologies, two languages, and, more to the purpose, had worked her way steadily through the arithmetic of all the standards until neither Mr 0 , nor Mr P , nor any of the other examiners, could find a flaw in her papers; stock, exchange, percentage, and present value, expressions which represented processes quite beyond the comprehension ot her mother, were perfectly simple to Bessie, who naturally scorned theideaof putting her money out at 3 or even 8 per cent , when so many promising investments were in the mar ket of whose probable results she was so well qualified to form an opinion. " Money is power," she said, "aud I intend to do a great deal with my money."^ " A thousand pounds is not niuob, ' said her mother, doubtfully. 11 No, not if it remains at that ; but there are plenty of ways by whioh it may be doubled in a few months, or even a few weeks. Listen to this," andopening the paper she read:

11 ' Among the lucky speculations of the last few weeks we may mention that of Mr R. It , who, having purohased a block of land in one of the leading thoroughfares of Melbourne, sold it within a week at a rise of £18,000.' There, mother, what do you think of that, and the papers are full of auch stories." " But, Bessie, you are a girl, and " " Well, mother." " Well, my dear, if I must say it, not a bad looking one either," • "Oh bother I* said Bessie. .

What her mother said_was, however, true, Bessie was a pretty girl of our best colonial type, and that means the grafting of W

ditional charm on the original English, Scotch, or Irish stock, the special beauties of each remaining intact with the added impress of health, vigour, and self-reliance, such as may be seen in the faces and carriage of most colonial girls, and which give to them an individuality of character and expression such as is often wanting to their European sisters.

When, ,her mother spoke, Bessie looked in the glass andsaw— but I had better not tell you what she saw. She was a pretty girl, and just twenty-one. You may picture her to yourself, kind reader ; were Ito attempt it you might cot like the description or find her so charming as she really was. Though Bessie said " Oh bother," and meant ifc too, there can be no doubt that she was glad to be young and handsome. " But, Bessie," pursued, Mrs Brown, rather doubtfully, "you can't go to Melbourne by yourself." " Why not, mother ? I have been in Dunedin for the last three winters and no harm happened to me." "But, my dear, you were boarding in a most respectable family, and you went to attend the classes at the University."

"And can't I board with a respectable family in Melbourne ? " " I suppose so, but it would not be quite the came. Dunedin is near — not more . than half a day's journey ; and then you went for a purpose." " And should not I go to Melbourne for a purpose ?" " Yes, perhaps, but it would not be for the same purpose— for so good a one. You went to Dunedin for your education, and that is so very important." " Very true," laughed the B.A. (I think I have forgotten to tell you that Bessie had matriculated, and even taken her 8.A., as a sequel to those studies in the lower mathematics of which I have already spoken) "Very hue ; and now that I want to make some use of my education you are haunted by the fear that it is not proper. Oh dear I how I hate that word. You are fifty years behind the age, mother dear. These are the days of the rightsof women, female franchise, aud higher education. What is the use of all these if we are not to get a little freedom of action too? Don't look so shocked, mother mine," and Bessie kissed her fondly, adding in a soft cooing voice. " You are much handsomer thanl am, mother, or than I shall ever be. Your face is just lovely." " Hush, hush, child ; don't talk such nonsense," and a delicate flush rose to the worn cheek.

" You are lovely to me," persisted Bessie. " Mother, may I go to Melbourne T

"What for?"

" Think what it would be if I could make enough money by lucky speculation to 6et you free from the daily toil and drudgery of this wretched old farm."

Tears sprang to the elder woman's eyes. "It is not wretched to me, Bessie. It was here I lived with your father, here he died, and here too that you were born; I love every stick and stone upon the place." " That is mere sentiment," said Bessie decidedly. "It is wretched land, and will never pay 5 per cent, on the money we have invested in it ; we should be richer to-day if my father had just put his money in the bank and never done a hand's turn all his life. ■ I wish we could sell the old place; but there is no chance of selling anything just now." Mrs Brown looked and felt shocked ; a word 6poken against the land on which her husband had lived and toiled and died was little less than heresy in her ears. Still, she knew that what Bessie said was true; the land was poor, and not worth what they had given for. it, yet it hurt her to own this, as it 'hurts us all to acknowledge the shortcomings of those we love,

Bessie was far too practical to shut her eyes to obvious facts. She could not sympathise with her mother's prejudices on many suojects, yet she loved her mother and would not willingly have said or done anything to pain her. This did not prevent her being folly determined to have her own way in going to Melbourne to try her luck on the share market ; at. the same time, she did not intend to go without her mother's consent, for to do jo would have deprived her scheme of half its charm. She however anticipated no great difficulty in the task of convincing, cr at least out-arguing, Mrs Brown. There was, however, another factor in the sum of her life with whom some reckoning must be made, and this was her lover, Archie Cameron. A Bturdy, self-reliant colonial, some ten years older than herself, who was as Scotch as if he had been born north of the Tweed, and never quitted the precincts of Auld Reekie ; who was, moreover, a distant connection, and had acted as reeve, or farm bailiff, to Mrs Brown ever since her husband's death, thus aoquiring power and influence in the family, which his determined character helped to strengthen. He had been in love with Bessie all her life, or at least since she was a schoolgirl, but it was hard to say whether or not she returned thia affection. Certainly she had never confessed as much, either to herself or to him, yet his steady devotion had not been quite thrown away : he was more necessary to Bessie's life than she was willing to confess ; but she respected his clear, steady judgment and good common sense even more than his warm heart. The latter she had not learned to appreciate, whereas the formei could not be overlooked.

"Archie is so commonplace," she said; foi Bessie, in spite of her B.A. and higher education, was as romantic as any other girl ot her age Who could not solve a problem in Euolid, or write Latin verses.

So long as the world goes round girls will Gad time to speculate on the coming hero who is to make or mar their lives, and so long as this is the case, woman (in spite of the higher education) will never be, to any great extent, the rival of man. So take courage, my brothers 1 the time is not yet come when you must resign your supremacy. Be men, in the best sense of the word, honest and true, brave and self-denying, and you will have no cause to fear the girl graduates, however many letters they may put after their names. In the scheme of Nature there is room for all, but the balance of power has been a little upset of late, and requires to be re-adjusted.

■ B,essie could not go to Melbourne without telling Arohie of her intended movements, and as she knew beforehand that he. would disapprove of them,' she braced herself to encounter his opposition,

He, however, said very little— much less than she expected. He • was startled and shocked, but she made light of his objections and scoffed at his remonstrances.

"I am notachild, Archie. Othergirlsgoout into the world to study or make their own living, and no one interferes with them or thinks the worse of them for so doing. Why should not be I equally free 1" " The cases are not analogous : ity 'and necessity sanction manycourses win;.- are not of themselves advisable. However, J see that you have made up your mind to go and it is useless for me to oppose you, especially as I have no right." " Certainly you have no right,'- said Bessie, and her heart smote her as she saw the. hurt look in his clear brown eyes. She felt as if she had struck her favourite collie because he fawned upon her too fondly, and she added apologetically, "You must' acknowledge, Archie, that it would be a good thing to be rich. lam so tired of this mean,, narrow, humdrum life. One could do so much if one had plenty of money— so much good, I mean."

" Light come, light go," said Archie. " I question whefcher.you or anyoneelse is likely to make a good use of money so got ; it is like ' fairy gold. 1 " " What do you mean ? "

"I. mean that speculating for a rise in stocks, shares, and land is only, another form of gambling — up to-day and down to-morrow, one man's gain another man's loss or ruin."

" One would think that every speculator was a cheat and swindler," said Bessie indignantly. " la my opinion most of them are." Bessie flared up to a white heat of passion. " How dare you speak to me like that 1 You presume too far on our old friendship." "Do 1 1 If so, I must ask your pardon," he said, hesitated for a moment, and then turned away.

She-let him go.

Yet the time came when his words returned to her with the relentless force of truth, and she was compelled to acknowledge that he had been in the right.

After this there was no more open opposition. Bessie packed her portmanteau and started for Dunedin, where she put herself and her belongings on board the Mararoa, bound for Melbourne.

The voyage was very pleasant. Bessie was a good sailor, and she had some acquaint tances on board, so that the time passed very quickly. At Hobart they made the usual excursions, and admired the pretty Englishlooking town and its beautiful gardens, though Bessie thought that she had never seen business conducted in such a. far niente manner, both buyers and sellers seeming half asleep, and with no idea of taking advantage of even the most somnolent of their number.

"This is a Utopian style of doing business," wrote the girl graduate in the diary which was to be sent home as a letter.

But the bustle. and life of the Melbourne, streets delighted her— -Jhe constant push and traffic, the outward and visible signs of that race for wealth which is so characteristic of our great centres of modern civilisation. It was a long time before she saw the undercurrent of poverty and misery •■ and abject squalor which underlay all that glitter and glamour of material prosperity and success ; the foul ulcer of pauperism and crime which eats into the very heart of the body politic wherever the extremes of wealth and poverty, reckless expenditure and abject want, are brought side by side, not for mutual help and assistance, but to goad each other to further hatred and crime.

To the new-comer, nowever, none of these drawbacks were visible; naturally enough she saw only what was on the surface, and with this she was charmed. Melbourne fully realised her ideal of life in the older cities of the world. Of course she had never seen London, or New York, or Paris, or Vienna, yet she had read of those cities, and had thought and dreamed of them, forming an ideal in her own mind ; and when she drove through the Victorian capital, through the gay throngs of Swanston, Elizabeth, and Collins streets, and then through miles upon miles of houses and shops, each bo like the other that the imagination was oppressed by the wearisome monotony, she could easily imagine that, she was on the other side of the line.

How could the inmates of those dreary cottages develop any originality of character, or cultivate any love of art 1 she wondered, looking with a kind of pained awe on the long perspective of ever-narrowing lines, every yard of which was swarming with human life— galleries of the ant hill of workers. But Bessie did not let the grass grow under her feet ; she had armed herself with a letter of introduction to a well known firm of brokers, and having forwarded it immediately on her arrival soon found an opportunity of calling on one of the principals. Mr Slye was somewhat amused by his young lady client; he was also,"pleased by her straightforward manner and address.

"If 1 understand rightly, yon wish to place Borne money in our hands for investment," he said.

"Yeßandno," answered Bessie. "1 wish you to invest some money for me, but I do not want it sank in a permanent investment." The broker raised ,his eyebrows.

11 You wish to speculate," be said. " Well, yes, I suppose I do. I want to make money quickly, but of course I do not wish to be reckless and lose all that 1 have got. 1 want your advice." " Quite so. Suppose I buy you some shares in the Mount Morgan gold mine ; that is as safe as the Bank of England— splendid investment, good interest, the shares are at "

•• 1 know," interrupted Bessie," I saw it all In this morning's papers. I also saw' this," and opening the Argus she laid her finger on an advertisment announcing the sale of suburban land on the following day. " Would not that be better ? I drove out to the place this morning. 1b is near the station, and many buildings are going up there already." The broker looked and felt surprised. This pretty girl was not quite such a fool as he had expected.

"It might do," he said reflectively ; " I will make inquiries during the day and let yon know the result."

The inquiries were satisfactory ; and before the next; night Bessie was the possessor of .sundry allotments in the new and rising township of Skeye. Before the deeds of transfer were made out, these seQtioaa wer§

all resold at a considerable advance on the original price.

Bessie Was delighted with her first success, and accepted it as an omen, of future triumphs. "What a delightful way to make money," she said, and in order that she might fully 1 realise • her good fortune she proceeded to spend some of it to convince herself that it was not " fairy gold." A second and third venture proved equally salistactory. Mr Slye was astonished at her success, for as a rule she chose her own speculations, subject only to his veto, which he never exercised. " She is lucky," he said to his wife, with that odd superstition which is occasionally found co-existent with the hardest headed business faculties. " She is not so clever as Miss Alice Cornwall, but she is lucky, and ; that is better. You : might call upon her— she j has no friends here — and invite her to the house; she is quite presentable. A little civility will not be thrown away." Accordingly Mrs Slye called that day on Miss Elizabeth Longstaffe Brown, as Bessie now began to be called, and somewhat to her j amazement that young lady soon found her- i self plunged into a whirl of Melbourne gaiety. She did ■ not, however, neglect the serious business of her existence— money, making. She studied the papers and the brokers' share lists. She listened to the talk of people in trams and trains, and proved herself a very Fairy Fine-ear to catch whawasi said at street corners and draw deductions therefrom, so that it was not instinct or luck alone which told her the schemes most likely to take the public fancy ; and guided her in an apparently whimsical choice. All that she touched turned to gold. The broker .no longer advised her. He made a feeble show of maintaining his authority, but in reality he often suffered her suggestions to influence him, and was the follower rather than the guide. Bessie was happy; a sense of success and triumph,' something like a solider's elan, in his first battle, thrilled along her nerves and exhilarated her brain. She was rich, and it was all her own doing ; the result of her skill and courage. She had been right. There was nothing in 4he world like money; glittering omnipotent gold ; the almighty dollar. " See what it has done for me already," she thought, and looked proudly round on the splendid saloon and its gay and brilliant guests, among which she did not feel herself the least in estimation and honour; for in her beautiful and costly dress, enhancing every natural advantage, Bessie was, for that night at least, the centre of all eyes. " The Bonanza Queen " some one called her, and she gloried in the name and- did her best to deserve it, spending with reckless generosity the large sums which came to her so easily. In vain did Mrs Slye represent to her that it was not usual for young ladies to entertain their friends, but rather to accept the hospitality offered them, for which their presence and gracious ways were considered a sufficient return. Bessie laughed the idea to scorn, and inaugurated a series of picnics and other entertainments, which by their delicate perfection of detail and extravagant expenditure, took the fashionable world of Victoria by storm. At thfese festivities Bessie presided, in matchless robes of Parisian design, and won golden opinions from all men, especially those on the look-out for a rich wife. Truly she had many admlreTS— lovers they oalled themselves, but were not, Bessie had a dim appreciation of this fact, and guarded' her heart from theiradvances. 1 " I have already a place and a position in society," she said; " a husband could give me nothing more." " Unless it were a title," suggested her friend, Mrs Slye. Bessie was silent and thoughtful. It would certainly be pleasant to be called " my lady," and yet the proud true heart of the girl revolted from the suggestion ; she had not sunk so low as to sell herself for a title. The opportunity of doing so, however, was nearer than she thought, for there was at that time in Melbourne society the youthful scion of an English ducal house, who, like other meaner moths, was attracted by the golden glitter which played around the Bonanza Queen. " What is she worth ? " he inquired, with a brutal directness which would have done credit to his ancestors in the reign of King John,- when heiresses were sold to the highest bidder. No one could answer his question. For reasons of his own, Mr Slye had greatly exaggerated the successes of his client ; and although Bessie herself did not wilfully deceive anyone, she had a somewhat vague idea as to the exact state of her finances, and how [long they would stand the constant drain made upon them. Every day, without work or trouble of her own, her money grew, and so easy.and natural did the process appear, that she could see no reason why it should cease or change. " The run ot luck must change," some one had told her, but she could see no cause of this. Unlike King Polycrates, of classic fame, she did not seek to propitiate the gods whom her continued good fortune might render jealous. Unnoticed, time had glided on. A summer and a winter had passed, and again it was early summer, a year since Bessie came to Melbourne and that [twelvemonths had I worked wonders ; she was no longer Bessie, ! but Miss Elizabeth Longstaffe Brown, the successful speculator, the heiress, the | Bonanza Queen. People knew her and spoke of her by no other name ; her lucky hits and lavish hospitality were commented on now and again by the public papers. " Can that be my Bessie," said gentle Mrs Brown, " my wee baby, my toddling girlie, my clever schoolgirl, my gentle loving daughter; can she'have chanced to this gay lady, spending thousands in foolish gaiety, spoken of by the public prints with a mixture of envy and contempt as "alucky adventuress— aßonanza Queen." "Light come, light go," groaned Archie, looking over the sunny paddocks, which grew dark before his eyes. " And she is light too, or she would not have left us so easily." "No, lad.no; she is not light; you must not say or think so. She is wrong, foolish, mistaken, what you will, but her heart is in the right place, and she will come back to us." ' .. - • ' ' ' " As the prodigali when her money is gone and, Usr floe friends scorn her."

"It may be so," said the mother, " but even so, she would be welcome. And you know It is not her fault that we are not with her ; she is always urging me to sell the farm and go to her.

" And why don't you do it ?"

'• I cannot. lamin my right place here ; there, I should be like a fish out of water. I should only bring disgrace upon her, as the shabby, old-fashioned, illiterate mother of the great lady. No ; lam better here. When she wants me, she can come to mo; until then I wait."

But Bessie had no thought of returning home; indeed.it was only in her dreams that the little farm was home to her, with all its homely details. It gave her nj> pleasure to remember them, but she was too proud to deny their existence had any questioned her of the past. Still the picture receded farther and farther into the distance, and its outlines became more and more indiatinot as the days and weeks and months rolled on. She wrote to her mother with great regularity, sending money and urging her to come to Melbourne, but the letters grew shorter and more formal, and were poor food for a loving heart to feed on ; and yet they were always something. Once a month at least she wrote "my dear mother," and signed herself, "your loving daughter," and so long as she did that the mother was content to hope and wait and pray, for her return. But Archie Cameron had no such trust ; his heart was full of bitter and angry thoughts, and bitter words rose to his lips, in no way restrained by the fact that Bessie was nothing to him in the ordinary acceptation of the word — neither his sweetheart nor his promised wife, only the friend of years, the one love of his boyhood and of his maturer life, the one hope and passion of his sonl which might raise his nature to the highest level of which it was capable, or sink it forever into a.elough of bitterness and discord. Surely it is not true that love is blind. Archie saw Bessie's faults as plainly as she had seen his. She was by no means a perfect woman, any more than he was a perfect man; and yet he loved her,, not because of her faults, but in spite of them, just as you or I love, or shall love, the one human being who is our fate.

He thought of her always, and one day he saw her, saw her as distinctly as he had ever seen her in the old days when she was part of his daily life. He was ploughing and taking a just pridin his straight furrows, when lifting his eye from the brown sweet earth, he saw he» coming towards him. It was, so natural **> see her there, that at first he had no thougot of strangeness, merely drawing himself up and checking his team with an unconscum movement of greeting. She came towards him—the same, yet not the same ; not the bright imperious little tyrant of old days ; not the brilliant queen oi Melbourne society ; but a worn and weary woman, with defeat [and pain in every feature and the anguish of death in her eyes. Nearer and nearer she came.

He stood like one in a trance, without speech or motion. The rays of the western sun were in his eyes. She passed between it and him, and then the burning rays seemed to blose round her like a halo of fire, and he saw her no more.

He started forward and looked found, but his sight was dazed and uncertain. Had she passed him and gone on 1 if so.'where was uhe?

From end to end of the long paddock stretched the straight furrows ; on one side the ridges of rich brown earth, and on the other the sward of mingled grass and weeds . Beyond these again, on one side the bush, and on the other the soft grey-blue line of the distant ocean. No human creature was in sight; no place where one could be hidden; no animals save the patient horses of his team, who stood still, flecking the flies from their haunches, and wondering what this unusual rest could mean.

Then Archie knew that he had seen a vision, and then, strong man as he was, a shudder ran through him from head to foot, and in the fierce rays of the hot November sun he grew cold as death. He came of an old Highland race, and had heard many stories of the Second Sight which, was supposed to be the birthright of the eldest son or daughter of each generation. Hitherto he had thought little of this strange gift, or thought of it with derision ; or at best, with the half contemptuous pity with which we regard the fables whioh amused the childhood of our race. Now, without formulating any distinct opinion, he unyoked his team, leaving the plough overturned in the furrow, and drove them slowly home, a full hour before his usual time. In the house he looked keenly round fo? any work or sign of Bessie, but saw none. During tea, Mrs Brown said : " The mail is in, but I have received no letter." " Did you send to the office V "I went myself, I was so anxious, but there was nothing. I wonder why she does not write. This is the first month that has passed without a line." "I think the wonder is that she should write at all, she must have so many pleasanter things to do." In spite of the bitterness of the words, there was a ring of anxiety and pain in the voice which belied them. Mrs Brown looked quickly up. " Have you heard anything 1 " " Good gracious I No ! I'm the last person she'd write to. Don't worry about it, there's a good soul, you'll get two letters next week, or an extra long one to make up. And now I may as well say good night ; I'm going to look after the beasts, and you will likely be in bed when I come back. I'll not disturb you." It took a long time to fodder the cattle that night. Mrs Brown lay awake listening for the well-known step which brought with it a sense of protection and support, but before it came she had sunk into a short uneagy slumber, from which she woke trembling from the effects of a bad dream which she could not remember. Archie layjtossing on his pillow, trying to make himself believe that what be had seen that day was nothing but the effect ol the hot sun-rays dazzling his eyes, and clothing his thoughts with a body. 41 11 We d.QU'6 hew 062$ we^," h.Q j»u^

mured, "I shall go to Melbourne;" aud so t.l, inking fell asleep.