CHAPTER XVII.—BETWEEN DARK AND DAWN.

Waikato Times, Volume IV, Issue 238, 18 November 1873, Page 2

CHAPTER XVII. —BETWEEN DARK AND DAWN.

A DAT or two later the fnendi held a consultation over thei r affaire. Daly was sufficiently recovered to make it safe to do so, and they bad a deal to dn cuss. Walter carefully avoided inspiring Lawrence with the degree of uneasiness which Spoiled Fire's warning had communicated to himself. He told him that he had buried the nugget, for ita greater security, and found Lawrence rather disposed to laugh at hi» caution. As was natural, their talk turned on England, on the possibilities of the future, and on those in whose lifetheir success would make »o mnch difference. There had been »o much of the hard and practical in their life, that they had long left off day-dreaming, and it was now a relief toindulge in it for awhile again It wai pleasant now to talk of how Walter could go home, and claim his wife, and leave his father to make friends with him, or not, as he chose, which they thought he probably would not chooie. Men of his sort of temper chafe more under the knowledge of the independence of others than from any other cause. Florence had told Walter in her letters that Mr Clint wa» civil to her, in her assumed character ; but that was no reason why he should pardon its assumption. No ; be must build no castles on that foundation ; but it did not matter very much; he could not care a great deal now. He had come to think only of pecuniary independence of his father, us the one end to be desired and won. They were talking of the change in their looks since they had left England. • I look rather cut up just now, don't I?' Lawrence asked. ' Indeed you do. Your face is kalf as long again as it was, and as thin as a razor. But you will be all right in a few days.' ' It doesn't much matter,' said Lawrence, with a slight tone of regret in his voice. ' There is no one to fret over tho spoiling of my beauty ; and you will go home with yours improved, Walter. You see, that's the great difference bttween you and me; you have so much to go borne to, and I have so little. Nothing, indeed : except for your sake, and your wife's —l never can forget how the brave little woman trusted me—l might just as well stay here, or anywhere, u go there.' ' I wish you had known my sister?' nid Walter, after d y pause. 1 What put that into your head just now ? Do you think we should have fallen desperately in love with one another, and made things comfortable by two stolen matches in the family instead of one ?' ' Not exactly ; and yet, I don't know. I think you would have hked Miriam. I wonder how she could ever bring herself to do what she has done. It was so unlike her L' • There I think you are wrong,' said Daly; ' if I may say «o, knowing your sister only from your description. I fancy she is ambitious and determined, and that she could not endure the sort of life which, you know, you, with a young man's camparative liberty, could not stand- She gave you much that sort of explanation, did she not ? I think it is satisfactory.' ' I don't. Of course she could not stand the life ; but to get out of it in that wty was unworthy of her, I think. I can see in every lino Florence has written to me about it, how she regards it.' 'No doubt; but you must not expect every woman — not even your sister —to be endowed with such delicacy of mind and simple good sense as your wife's. She is, in addition to all this, a romantic little party, and believes in love to an extent not warranted by human experience. Mrs St Quentin may like her husband well enough, though not so much as your wife would think necessary.' ' Perhaps so ; but she doesn't v»nte like it, and Florence does not write like it. 0f course, it is only by experience that any woman can come to understand what she does in marrying for any motive but love ; but instinct ought to bavo taught a girl like Miriam that it must be a losing game. She neter mentioned his name in her last letters to me: they were full of her trnvrls, nnd acquaintances, and of everything but her husband and her home.* ' Perhaps she is not of a domestic turn. There are such women, though Mrs Clint would not like to behev* or admit the fact.' ' I can't tell whether she is or not. She never bad any home she could love while sho and I were together. But she has a fine nature, with all her self-will and worMhness, and generous and true beyond any woman I ever met.' ' True to you, jou mean—true where she loves ; otherwise, there's an oilence against abstract truth in her marriage, I think.' 1 Yes, there is. I cli<l mean true to me. Perhaps she is not a very frnnk person in general I daresay she would not be altogether scrupulous about the way of doing anything which she or I wanted to ha\e done. But I cannot blame her for that, having profited by it, as I have done. She has behawd splendidly to Florence. Poor girl, it has been a weary timo for her, even with all Miriam's kindness and sunpnthj ! What would it have been without them ?' ' ' Thank Heaven, it is nearly over for her and for you too.' ' For her and for me!' said Walter, looking up in surprise at Daly. ' Why do you say that so distinctly ; as if tho time had not been long for you too, and for you was drawing to an end ?' Daly laughed. ' You are a« sharp as a woman, Walter, and as suspicious. I may as well tell you I have been thinking of sending you homo without mo ; only tbmkiug of it, as

jot. We were t viking, just now, of the very different motives of your life and mine. I have not much there, and I have nothing here ; but Di-ering has been talking to me, and has bitten me, I think, with his rolling stone fancies. This New World is so large, and I have seen so little of it. There's something irresistible to me in the idea of the vast space, and the immense variety of the human species one may see.' Walter was much distressed to find such a purpose had presented itself to Daly's mind, and enfleavored to peroiiarle him to relinquish it bv every means in his power. Daly told him again that he luul not made up his mind, but had merely been set thinking by Deering. 1 A bad lot, he is,' said Walter, 'though he did pull you through tbe /ever. A cunniug, dangerous fellow, I'm sure, who never did any one any good.' 'He does not seem to have done himself much,' said Lawrence, •He does not let out much about himself ; but he has been running about since he was eighteeu ; he did tell me that lruch ; and seems no nearer settling clown than at first. I daresay he has led a queer life, if one could only know it.' ' Which one can't. And yet, what a way of worming things out of other people he has. I didn't like him a bit, and yet he knows as much about me as I should tell to the person I liked best— he knows all aboui me, in fact — except the fact that I am married— and I daresay he has a pretty general notion of your past and present alto.' ' Yes ; I have nothing to hide— certainly not a eweet, pretty, little wife, as you haye — and, as he seemed interested about our friendship and partnership, I told him our Btory — the short and simple annals of the poor — and how that old-rpffian in India had treated me. He said rather a good thing, by-the bye, characteristic of him, I fancy : " Why the devil didn't you go out to India, and make it deuced unpleasant for the old screw 9 You'd have brought him to reason that way, and done it much cheaper than earning out here " It wasn't worth while to explain to him that I did not look at in that H^ht. He would have made himself unpleasant in some way to old Chbborn, no djubL' 4 1 am sure he wohld,' assented Walter. ' 1 wondor Deering hasn't got on better ; he 8 the sort of man that ought to get on, if there is any good in pushing and selfassertion. ' ' I fancy the vagabond strain in him neutralises those undeniably useful qualities.'