CHAPTER XV.

Otago Witness, Issue 2674, 14 June 1905, Page 64

CHAPTER XV.

" Poor, dear < old Tommy, boy ! "- said Westonley to his "wife, as tliay sat at their breakfast table three weeks after the mishap to Gem-aid. The mail had just arrived at Marumbah, and brought a letter from liis brother-in-law, and one from Fraser. His eyes glistened as he laid the letters upon the table and looked at his wife, •whp, he could see, was also visibly affected, whilst little Mary sobbed unrestrainedly.

'"I wish this Mr Fraser had telegraphed to us, Edwai'd. I would have left Marutntoah the same day, and gone to poor Tom to nurse him."

"Would you 1 , old girl?" and the big jnan rose from his seat and kissed her, his •thick, heavy beard spreading out over her shoulders.

" Indeed . I would. And now it is no use rriy going, is it?" "Not a bit, Lizzie. You hear wtat IVaser says — 'Ho is getting on splendidly, and the left eye is saved.' Let me read jt all over again; shall I?" "Do." and her pale, clear-cut features flushed; "it makes me feel as if I were there -and savr the whole dreadful sight. Don't cry any more, Mary, dear. Uncle Tom 'is getting better." '' If" Jim had been ■with him it wouldn't liav© happened," said the child, suppressing Ijer sobs, and wiping d&v streaming eyes. "Jim would have been sure to have seen the alligatoi coming before any on© else, end done soanething. I am quite sure that if lie met a. bunyip he would not be afraid, but would fight it." "I am dead certain of it, Mary," said Woßtonley, as he put his big hand upon the child's head, and than, taking up Fraser's letter, he again read it aloud. It described in simple language Grsrrard'3 flespeiate struggle with the alligator, then

went on aboiyt his courage and fortitude under agonising pain — for the wounds caused by alligators' claws invariably set i.p an intense and poisonous inflammation, and take a long time to heal, — and concluded by saying, "As long as life lasts, I shall never forget that otoly for his heroic conduct I should now be a childless man, and my daughter have died a death too fearful to contemplate 1 ." Gerrard's letter was in his usual laconic st y le: _ „.. . „...,.

" Dear Ted, — I have bought a little station here called Kaburie — good cattle country, with about 4000 head on it. In getting a mob across a creek I was mauled by an alligator, and if it had not been for my friend Fraser — in whoso houss I am now staying for a week or so — shooting tb.9 beast, it would have had me. It is nothing serious, so don't worry over me — some deep cuts on my face, that is all, and Mr Fraser and his daughter (a charming girl) are coddling me up. Jim is with me. I left him with your old friend Lacey at Port Denison. but the young beggar wouldn't stay when he heard that I had had an accident. He is making great running with pretty Miss Fraser. Give my love to Lizzie and Mary, and tell the latter tlhat I trust her bear is now thoroughly convalescent. Jim will write to Mary by next mail. He went out early this morning fishing with Miss F , and did not know that the mailman was calling to-day. — Yours eveiy, Tom."

Mary's face brightened at the prospect of a let lei from her dearly-beloved Jim, and Mrs Westonley smiled. Ever bince Gerrard'b visit to Marumbah Downs her once icy and austere manner to the child had, bit by bit, relaxed, until at last she had thawed altogether, and had been amply repaid by such a warm response of affection that she anade a companion of the iittle one, and found herselt a much happier woman now that the sweet sunlight of childish love had penetrated a.nd melted her former frigid reserve. Westonley had noted the change with unalloyed delight, but, like a wise man, had pretended not to notice; but on© day, soon after Gerrard had left, he could not suppress himseli. He had been away on a business visit to his squatter neighbour Brooke, to whom be had sold his cattle station 'n Central Queensland at a very satisfactory figure, and as ha rode up to tthie slip-rails of the home paddock he saw the cone time "incubus" coming flying towards him, her sun-tanned face wreathed' in smiles.

" Oh,- Uncle Ted, Uncle Ted !" she panted as she took down the slip-rails, and let Westonley pass through. "Just fancy, Uncle Tel !" — and as she spoke she lilted the slip-rails in place again and turned to him with a beaming face, out of breath, and so wildly excited that she could scarcely speak. "What- is thie matter, young 'un?" and the big man bent down and swooped her up into the saddle in front of him.

" Oh, Uncle Ted, this is the very, very first time in my life that I was glad, you were away 1 v "How's that?" "Aunt Lizzie let me sleep with, her last 'night ! " A great joy came into Westonley's heart. " Did she? Really and truly? "

"Really and truly! And, oh, Uncle Ted, it was lovely ! We talkedi and talked and talked for such a ot me. and "tie told mo such a lot of things about the school she was at in England and about the girls there — some were very nice, but there were some horrid ones. Oh, she told me heaps 01 t-hinss. \v-«. ov c had Bunny in the room, too" — here she paused to catch her breath — "he tried to get in through the mosquito curtainSi and got all tangled up, and tore a most enormous hole in them; and Aunt Lizzie only laughed, and said it didn't matter ! "

" You must have had a bully time.

" Splendid ! And Aunt Lizzie and I are going to the bsach together one day next week to get pippies, and she says she won't nrrnd if she gets sopping wet right up to her face."

When they reached the hopse they found Mrs Westonley awaiting them on the verandah, and when her husband put his arms around her and kissed her repeated . she blushed like a, young sir 1 . And as the days went on he saw, with delight f she had at last taken the child to her heart.

Breakfast 'was over, arid Westonley in his study was talking to Ms head stockman when he saw Brooke riding up. • r

,i/.z c i m lie. here is Broofce. I expect ha ■will have som© breakfast, so tell Mrs Patton."

Brooke, a tall, powerfully-built man, and usually as boisterous as a sebodboy m his manner, seemed very quiet as he dismounted, shook hands with Westonley and his wife, and patted Mary's head. "Just in time for breakfast, Mi oke." "No, thank you, Mrs Westonlej. I l'i,d mine at 5 o'clock — I made an early start, as I wanted to get here as soon as possible, thinking that very likely Westonley might be going out on the run somewhere and that I might miss him. I want to have a talk with you, old man." Mrs Westonley and Mary at once left the room, both wondering what was the matter with Brooke — he looked so worried and depressed. " Westonley, old fellow," he said, as ho sat down, "give m© a bier brandy and soda. I've ridden hard all the way fr >m my jlace.*' Then he looked at the letters and newspapers si ill lying upon the breakfast tfibV The '•"■'•N'T he saw. \rpr" TmnnP'-"=-d Drinking off the brandy and soda, he said : * youv ou haven't opened your Argus yefe,

No; we had some bad news about Tonl (rerrard — 'he's been mauled by an alligator— and we haven't bothered about newspaper this mornipg-."

"Not seriousl* hurt, J trust" anxiousV asked the snuatwr, who had * sincere regard for Gerrard. "23-q, lam glad to say. I'll show you

his letter presently. But what is the matter, Brooke? You look worried."

"I am — most infernally worried Tell me, old man, what did you do with that cheque of mine for eight "thousand?" (The cheque to which he alluded was the price of the station in Central Queensland which he had bought from Westonley a few weeks previously.)

"Paid it into my bank," replied Westonley. instantly surmising that Brooke's financial affairs had gone wrong. "The Agra?" "Yes." "Westonley, old chap, I have bad news for you. I got a telegram from Melbourne last night — the Agra Bank has smashed, and smashed badly — hopelessly, in fact." Westonley's florid face paled. "Smashed !" "Utterly smashed. Will it hit you hard?"

"Break me. I had thirty thousand pounds on fixed deposit, a current account of about fifteen thousand — including the eight thousand you paid me, — and every penny of my wife's money, little Maiy'b, and Jim's were in the Agra," and, man as he was, his voice trembled. "It won't break you — by heavens, it shall not break you, Westonley! I bought Comet Vale from you for my boys, but I'l 1 give it back to you for three — for fh -yeprs to help you to pull up."

"Thanks, Brooke," and the big man grasped his friend's hand mechanically. "This has dazed me a bit. Come outside, and we'll talk it over."

He rose unsteadily, placing his hand on the edge of the table, and then fell forward upon his face, and lay still — his big generous heart had ceased to beat.

When Brooke rod-e away late that night on his way home, thinking of his dead friend, he reproached himself for so often having spoken of Elizabeth Westonley as "a pretty automaton, with as much heart in her as a doll." For her silent grief had shown him that she had loved her husband.

(To be continued. )

— Kate: "She asked that question lust out ot idle curiosity, don't you think?" Laura: "No, busy curiosity. Her curiosity is never idle."