Winning a Wife in Australia. A story, etc

Front matter

Uniform __uith this WLoxk. AN AUSTRALIAN MILLIONAIRE: A Story of Colonial Life and Character. By Mrs. A. BLITZ. WARD, LOCK,.* BOWDEN, Ltd. "He strained every nerve in a final effort." Winning a Wist in .Australia.'] [Page 185. WINNING A WIFE IN AUSTRALIA. A Story drawn from Actual Experiences and Illustrative of Life in thc Present Day in thc Antipodes. i;y A. DONNISON. (Page 274.) LONDON: WARD, LOCK & BOWDEN, LIMITED WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C. NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE. PBEFACE. AUSTRALIAN life, full of the activity that belongs to an untrammelled race, seems to be a long succession of personal incidents. Never appears a well-spent day to pass dully to its close, while ever developing energy is tending to fashion a new order of living. One's judgment seems to be ever at fault in seeking to estimate the possibilities of tbe future, while through all the events of daily life influences may be felt causing the young nation to advance by leaps and bounds, surpassing the understanding of those reared in older countries.

Yet the directing circumstances appear to follow each other in natural sequence, leaving their impress upon men and things. The present narration, therefore, seeks to illustrate the many-sidedness of Australian life in its action upon the lives of a group of individuals. From it, too, may be gathered that romance is not absent from its shores, that there is a charm — unique — of a different order to that artistic grace which delights the Australian in Europe, and that thrilling experiences fill up the measure of one's existence with a startling reality quite their own.

Preface

. VI But more than all, it has been sought to faithfully pourtray the vivid country life, so original iu its nature and remarkable in its results. For in a vast continent containing cities of the eighth rank in the Empire, and yet with an entire population from shore to shore, numbering in 1891 but four millions, it cannot but be wondered at that there should be, in addition to all its other undertakings and develop ments, a gigantic wool industry, which depastures no fewer than one hundred millions of sheep, yielding an annual clip of one and a half million bales of wool, worth twenty millions of money. Naturally, therefore, " station-life " should exercise an over-mastering influence upon the fortunes and the future of Australia, and a true picture of the wonderful science, skill, and energy at work, assisting to produce this result, should excite interest.

And yet it will be seen how very human, natural, and heart-moving is " station-life " in Australia. A. DONNISON. CONTENTS. CHAP. PACK I. HOW IMPRESSIONS ARE MADE . . . . 1 II, HOW FIRST IMPRESSIONS GROW 11' III. A MISS-FIRE 28 IV. THE NYMPH ABANDONED . . . .37 V. AFsER-EFFECTS . . ... 59 VI. SELF-EXAMINATION .. . . .82 VII. WEAVING DIFFICULTIES ... . .88 VIII. LOVE-LIGHTS 98 IX. ALL THE TROUBLE .104 X. BLIND CHANCE 116 XI. INVOLVING ONESELF 130 XII. SQUATTERS' TROUBLES 13G XIII. MORNING BRIGHT TO GLOOMY NIGHT . . 149 XIV. THE CLIMAX . . . . • . .159 XV. SUSPENSE 173 XVI. HER RIDE FOR HONOUR - - . . .180 CONTENTS. CHAP. , FADE XVTI. NOTHING SUCCEEDS LIKE SUCCESS . .192 XVIII. A KANGAROO AT BAY ..... 201 XIX. A BAULK ....... 217 XX. A BRISK GALLOP 23C XXI. " NIL DESPERANDUM " .... 250 XXII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END . . 257 XXIII.

ANOTHER STEP . . . ... .265 XXIV. PROSPECTIVE TROUBLE . . .273 XXV. HALF MARRIED 284 XXVI. IN THE HOSPITAL 297 XXVII. RESUMING CONFIDENCES .... 304 XXVIII. STRENGTH IN WEAKNESS . . . .314 XXIX. BAD NEWS 320 XXX. FROM BUSH TO CITY 330 XXXI. " LOVE IN EXTREMIS " . . . . 339 XXXII. THAT WniCH THE FATES WILL, WILL BE . 349 XXXIII. CONCLUSION

Chapter I. How Impressions Are Made

Go, Messenger of mine, and tell How empty is all life until soft Love Comes gently in the heart to dwell, To calm its yearnings, till it reigns above. For unstill'd longing ever grows, Filling the soul with wishful dream that lives In strange, sweet Hope, which comes and goes, Full of the promise that fulfilment gives. Yet, wake not now her unstirr'd soul, For all too soon Love's kindly touch draws near O'ershadowing womanhood — the goal Of that sweet maidenhood I hold so dear. A. DonnIsON. JUST as the time approached fol' the North Shore steamer to leave the Circular Quay, one of those light evening showers — so common in Sydney — began to fall, and tended to hasten the steps of passengers. Among them was a gentleman, Arthur Ogilvy by name, who had arrived at that age when one begins to lay aside the whimsicalities— shall we say ?— of youth, and to affect the more serious view of life.

As shall be explained more fully later on, he had become engaged to be married, and was now on his way to "report" himself in the manner customary with men so situated. The shower had passed over before Milson's Point Wharf was reached, and Ogilvy, the last but one to step ashore, paused, to allow a young girl to precede him. She slipped on the wet plank, and while endeavouring to recover her balance allowed a parcel to fall from her hand into the water. She gave indications of springing in to its rescue, for it was evidently precious ; but Ogilvy, with a prompti tude that did him credit, opened his umbrella, and, going down upon his knees, leant over the vessel's stanchions and succeeded in scooping up the source of future trouble. Gratitude the lady felt, and showed in the usual way ; and at once having drawn off her gloves, began to examine as to the extent of damnge done.

Ogilvy waited — possibly in the hope he might do something more to earn a recurrence of that " expression of gratitude." The examination appeared to be satisfactory (we need not inquire any more closely into the nature of that parcel), but it occurred to Ogilvy, now that its contents was re wrapped, that it was a very wet and disagreeable thing for a lady to carry. This he suggested, but making no reply, she quietly continued the process of " tying up." " It is for me to carry," he said, putting out his hand with the assured air of one who always has his way. Her face broke into a spontaneous smile. " You are bent upon doing me a service. Oh, there goes the tram ! " It was true, and there being no cab, it was evident they must walk. " Do you live far off ? " " Not very far, just over the hill, above Careening Cove ; but I would rather walk than wait."

Still, as she quietly put on her gloves again, she seemed to feel some hesitation, which Ogilvy perceived, but apparently his gentle, unassuming manner assured her. Then he felt himself undergoing scrutiny — the long, stealthy regard, which a woman is wont, at times, to bestow on another, and which seems to divine so much. The hesitation almost imperceptibly vanished, and was succeeded by a natural frankness. They began to talk, and presently Ogilvy was sur prised to find himself evincing a curious interest. He regarded his companion in the somewhat dim light. She appeared to be some twenty or twenty two years of age ; tall, lithe, and free of movement. The latter was remarkable, being suggestive of bound less vitality. The head was well poised, and the face, though irregular as to feature, was full of a beauty of its own.

Ogilvy found himself thinking thereof, for the expression indicated possession of unusual character. The walk was becoming interesting. He was longing to put all sorts of questions, for she had acquired such an odd acquaintance with thoughts and things in general. Theu, all too soon, they reached the corner of the street that branches off from Alfred Street and leads to Careening Cove. At this point the lady paused. " 1 thank you for having been good enough to relieve me of my wet parcel ; but my home is now close by, and I shall not further trouble you." Ogilvy protested. He could not think of surrendering his charge. " I thank you again," she said, speaking in the quiet, firm tone of one who does not intend to be denied. But Ogilvy was reluctant to depart. She had unaccountably interested him, and naturally he was anxious to learn something more, both as regards herself and her belongings, while his present dismissal assured him that the acquaintance was then and there to come to an end.

" It is quite wet," he said, referring to the parcel. She glanced at it for a moment, and then proceeded to unclasp one glove. Ogilvy intensely desired to ask her name — to express a hope they might happen to meet again — to say anything, in fact, that might betoken his interest and awake some feeling in return. But she composedly drew off her glove, held out the hand for the parcel, and with a somewhat quaint " Good-evening ; please believe I feel myself indebted to you," turned and walked quickly down the street. Ogilvy stood looking after her retreating figure as she passed out of sight in the gathering shades of evening. The good taste that had restrained his asking questions, which would have been deemed impertinent, now also led him to repress the wish to ascertain where she lived. He began, therefore, to retrace his steps toward Kirribilli Point, whither he was about to proceed before this apparently trivial adventure overtook him.

" No, I cannot go there to-night; I cannot see her." He stopped, then repassed the street which seemed suddenly to have become possessed of so much interest. At length, with a half-ashamed feeling, he found himself walking toward Careening Cove, wondering in which house might be the centre of his thoughts. " I am a perfect idiot," at last he said to himself, "to let a five-minutes' talk with a girl send me wandering about the street ! But how curiously different from others she appeared to be. I ought to have found out her name. Ah, well, we will see what happens." Thus musing, he turned once more into Alfred Street, and continued on, ascending the hill. Before, however, he had gone many steps he was overtaken by one walking quickly, and felt somewhat surprised as the stranger, recognising him, exclaimed — " Ogilvy, is it not ?

Well, I did not expect to find you here." " Neither did I," responded Ogilvy curtly. " Hello, Edwards, old fellow ! I did not know you at the moment." But as he rather welcomed this interruption to his meditations he quickened his pace, and fell into conversation with his friend — a Mr. Edwards, the manager of one of the Banks at North Shore. They chatted together, for the time had been when an intimacy existed between the pair ; but since the removal of David Edwards to his present position they seemed to have ceased to meet each other. " By-the-bye, Edwards, are you married yet ? " " No," he replied laconically ; " are yon ? " " No ; but " " Going to," he was about to say, but changed it to, "Should like the event to happen." " Have you tried ? " " Yes, often." " Not succeeded ? " " It appears not."

"Just like me," said Edwards. "I thought it would be no trouble at all until I came to essay it. Now, well " "Well?" " I don't know what to do." " Ah ! can't discover a suitable lady, I suppose ? " " No, oh no. I have met her long ago." '• Eh, well ; you are all right then." " No, that is the trouble ; one must not be pre mature, you know. But tell me, are you bound any where in particular to-night ? For if not, you might accompany me to my sister's — Mrs. Elster. I can ask you to her house just as I might to my own." " I will come with very great pleasure," replied Ogilvy, glad of the opportunity to spend the evening somewhere. By this time they had reached the Telegraph Office, and Edwards, passing within, spent a few minutes in despatching a telegram. " Now then," he said, as he rejoined Ogilvy, " we will go straightway."

A walk of a few minutes brought them to their destination — one of those confined dwellings forming part of a " terrace," which seems to be the coming type of architecture destined to disfigure the still very beautiful North Shore. A gate admits to a mere HOW IMPRESSIONS ABE MADE. 7 plot of garden, a few feet in depth, planted with a shrub or two, as though to indicate the intention of screening the verandah from the too close observation of the passer-by. Within the house, however, the two gentlemen are ushered through the hall into an unexpectedly large room, well lighted, and furnished according to the accepted taste of the age. " Come in, Dave ; I know it is your footstep," exclaims a pleasant voice, as the door opening dis closes the room with its three occupants. Mrs. Elster, coming forward, greets her brother with an affectionate kiss.

" I have met Mr. Ogilvy, an old friend, and have given myself the pleasure of bringing him with me," explains Edwards as he introduces him. "At one time we used to share the same lodging, before you came to Sydney." " I am always pleased to meet my brother's friends," Mrs. Elster pleasantly remarks, holding out her hand to Ogilvy, while he is as cordially welcomed by her husband ; " let me introduce you to my aunt," and she addresses an elderly lady, whose vivacious manner evidences the old-fashioned culture which derives its chief delight from the drawing-rooms of society. " I am surprised," she continues, " that David has not permitted us to see you before now, for he always asks his friends to spend an evening here. Perhaps, however, you do not live on this side of the water ? " "No, Mrs. Elster; I have always preferred the neighbourhood of Darlinghurst.

It is so centrally placed, and convenient for one who likes to be ever spending his evenings abroad." "Still, I hope you will not find the North Shore too far off." " No," replies 'Ogilvy with meaning , " the ' Shore ' possesses the magnetism of attraction that defies distance." Mrs. Elster looks frazzled, for she divines in tuitively that, intending no mere empty compliment, Mr. Ogilvy yet refers to some unknown source of interest. The faint curiosity, natural to a lady in such circumstances, is piqued, and with feminine tact she is about to beguile the secret, when her husband interposes. " I suppose you are ready for your game, Aunt Harriet ? " " Gentlemen love to attribute to ladies the taste they themselves approve," replies Miss Edwards, with a smile. "Now confess, Aunt Harriet, you dearly love a rubber of whist?

" " It is always delightful to be one of the chosen spirits that form the small social circle," and again she smiles with an old-time grace that suggests to Ogilvy how striking a figure she must have appeared in society in her younger days. " Mr. Ogilvy will take my place, Claude," Mrs. Elster says, as she proceeds to remove a book or two from off the card-table, which her husband thereupon wheels towards Miss Edwards' chair, and opens the leaf. " Not at all, Lucy," exclaims David ; " the party must be equally balanced. You play now, and I will take a hand by-and-by." " I would prefer your sitting down now. The Quentins will probably be coming, and then I will relieve you." David Edwards slightly flushes as he takes his seat opposite his brother-in-law, Arthur Ogilvy being partner to Miss Edwards, and sitting with his back to the door.

" Shall I deal for you, Miss Edwards ? " asks Mr. Ogilvy, as he places the cards for Mr. Elster to cut. " I thank you, Mr. Ogilvy." " Good luck accompanies the deal." " If married to good play, you should add, Mr. Ogilvy." " The latter always goes without saying." " Alas ! a pleasing fiction." " Hearts are trumps — an auspicious beginning for our side." "Truly so, if the heart were always permitted to conquer." " And does it not so triumph, even though the attainment of the end be not permitted ? " " Then is it but a dubious victory. Now, David, it is your lead." " And I lead a diamond as indicative of the para mount power of wealth." " To be finally trumped by the heart." " Ah ! that remains to be seen." And so throughout the game continues the flow of lively talk, made up of trifles which come and go, leaving no recollection behind them.

Yet several times during the evening, after Ogilvy had, in reality, trumped the diamond with a heart, the words recur to his mind as though they had a prescient meaning. Success seems but to increase the high spirits of Miss Edwards, as point after point she makes upon her whist-marker. The rubber quickly closes, and the game is again commenced, when the door opens, and two ladies enter the room. The ring at the hall door having been unheard, the sudden appearance creates surprise. Edwards betrays himself with a painful flush, and the remarkable play which succeeds tells its own tale. " So, so," says Ogilvy to himself, " this is the lady with whom Edwards has fallen in love, and dreads a confession being premature." Rising from the table he turns to be presented to the new-comers, and becomes, if possible, more con fused than his friend.

The younger of the two ladies is the same lady whom he escorted from the ferry ! So entirely unlooked for is the meeting that Arthur Ogilvy, in startled confusion, almost sinks back into his chair. Miss Quentin bows slightly, while a demure smile evidences her appreciation of the scene. She is perfectly composed. For a few minutes there is a buzz of happy con versation, until the whist party is re-formed, David Edwards surrendering his place to Mrs. Quentin. Ogilvy plays as though in a dream. He hears Edwards and Miss Quentin conversing together. Despite every effort he is unable to concentrate attention either upon the game or the remarks of the others. All the events of the evening seem to tread upon each other's steps, forming a chain of fateful incidences, so apt, so sudden in their quick succession, as well-nigh to bewilder him.

Still the novel situation brings with it an excite ment, creating a pleasurable tumult. The full-lighted room, the presence of a number of people, the incessant interchange of chatty conversation, the interest of the game, the sense of wonderment as to what may be the outcome of the evening's adventure ; all, at length, tend to excite Arthur Ogilvy's spirits, and, reckless of consequences, he plunges with a new zest into the full enjoyment of his present surroundings. Especially does he seem to ingratiate himself with his neighbour Mrs. Quentin, a slight, delicate-looking lady, with a clear, smooth forehead indicative of thoughtfulness and study, quiet grey eyes, and a gentle dignity of manner that commands respect. Ogilvy being gifted with a courteous bearing appears to harmonise with her own disposition.

Quickly passes the evening until refreshments appear, and shortly afterwards the visitors depart. Gallantly offering his arm to Mrs. Quentin, Ogilvy leads the way. once more in the direction of Careening Cove. A few steps behind them walk Edwards and Claire Quentin. Once more the now well-known corner is reached, and presently they pause at the gate of a cottage standing in the midst of a small garden. " Good-night " is said, and Ogilvy departs with Edwards, but he bears with him the invitation of Mrs. Quentin to call and see them.

Chapter II. How First Impressions Grow

" A feeling that takes root in the heart, and is only made perfect when it enters the soul." AS Arthur Ogilvy recrossed the harbour in the steamer, after leaving his friend at the Bank, he was assailed with an array of thoughts and specu lations as to the future of a nature that had hitherto never troubled him. He stood in the bow of the steamer, watching the stem as it cut the dark waters, while the great globes of electric light, spread around the bay in a curve, threw a radiance upon the waves, as the steamer drew nearer and nearer within the circle of their rays ; and behind the great warehouses and piles of offices stood out from the darkness in the illumination of a stream of light. Afar into the city stretched long lines of lighted lamps, intermingling with other lights that studded the vast mass of buildings ; above, a luminous atmosphere threw back the darkness.

The greatness of the mystery that was concealed within this laby rinth, full of the fate of thousands of men and women, seemed instantly to strike home to Ogilvy's mind. Of what import to the world was this trouble that seemed now to threaten him ? Why seek to solve what time is sure to bring to light ? The following day some business matter in connection with the Institution to which Ogilvy was attached required his presence in a country town some few hours' distance by rail. He penned a few lines to his betrothed, stating he anticipated returning in a fortnight. Rather earlier, however, than expected, he came back to town. Arriving by the evening train, he drove in a cab to his lodgings, and having changed his dress and dined, he set out for the North Shore. The busy period which he had spent in the country had served to dispel the influence occasioned by his previous adventure, and in a happy frame of mind he was proceeding towards Kirribilli Point, intending to " give a surprise."

Yet, as he strolled along, the recollection of the former evening came back to him ; incident after incident seemed to re-tell itself, until he paused in his walk, and looked down upon the light-studded scene stretched out before his vision. He remembered the invitation to call, which he had accepted. After some hesitation he paused, then retraced his steps to Alfred Street, and thence continued to Careening Cove. The irresolute feeling had passed away, and, opening the gate, he advanced to the door. " Is Mrs. Quentin at home ? " " Yes. What name, if you please ? " " Mr. Arthur Ogilvy." Through an open door the light streamed into the hall, and from the room within, immediately after Ogilvy had pronounced his name, was heard Mrs. Quentin's welcoming voice. " Ask Mr. Ogilvy to step into the dining-room."

Without more ado the gentleman deposited his hat, gloves, and walking-stick upon the hall table, and entered the room, where he found both ladies busily at work, and the table littered with all the nondescript collection with which, on such occasions, it is usual for the gentler sex to surround them selves. Ogilvy's reception was a very cordial one, their warmth of manner betokening the welcome of an old friend rather than a new acquaintance. " Will you draw up an armchair for yourself, and come near the fire ? " " Thank you ; although it is hardly cold enough to constitute a fire a necessity." " No ; but it is a weakness I have brought with me from the old country. It makes the room so much the more cheerful." " Hardly necessary on that score," thought Ogilvy, as he glanced around the apartment, furnished with a simplicity and quietness of taste that appeared almost peculiar in its novelty.

There was an absence of useless bric-a-brac and ornaments, while the harmony observed in the choice and placement of the furniture, even to the picture-frames, suggested their having been all fashioned by the same artificer. The pictures, in plain gilt frames, were very numerous, and with some difficulty he repressed an inclination to inspect them. " I wonder where these came from," was his mental observation. " Miss Quentin has been the active soul in all this arrangement. I thought she was odd." " My daughter, Mr. Ogilvy, has told me how you befriended her, but I did not know when we met at the Elster's that it was yourself that I should have the pleasure of thanking." " It was a fortunate circumstance, to which I owe very much pleasure ; but by reason of all that has since occurred, I feel myself to be the real debtor."

This was not an unpleasing beginning, as Mrs. Quentin construed his meaning into an implied com pliment to herself. Whether such were really so will doubtless appear as Mrs. Quentin becomes better informed as to the complex nature of Arthur Ogilvy. Meanwhile Miss Quentin was quietly folding up aud putting away their work, interposing an occasional remark in the conversation that was being carried on by her mother, for a casual observation had led Mrs. Quentin to speak of the causes of their coming to Australia ; and from her narration Ogilvy gathered that Mrs. Quentin was the widow of Captain Quentin, formerly in command of one of the great ocean liners ; and who, having succeeded in securing a competency, intended retiring from his sea-life. But Mrs. Quentin, not having been able to prepare for the voyage in time to sail in his vessel, took passage, with her daughter, in a steamer leaving a fortnight later.

" When we touched at Adelaide a telegram was handed me, announcing the sudden death of my husband. It happened two years ago, and but for Claire I do not think I should have lived. My husband loved Australia, and meant to settle at Sydney ; we were to have chosen our home together — and then to come here, a stranger in a strange land " Mrs. Quentin suddenly paused as the recollection of the days of dreary sorrow came to her mind. Claire drew a chair near to her mother, and sym pathetically took her hand between hers, but saying not a word. After a few moments she continued — " We desired, of course, to return as soon as possible to England, but it was first necessary to take out letters of administration, my husband having left no will ; and before this matter was settled some four or five months had passed by.

In the meantime, people had been so kind and sympathetic, and we had made so many friends, that we had now become somewhat reluctant to return, and so it ended in our staying in Sydney ; for we had completely broken up our home in England." " And I hope, Mrs. Quentin, you will never regret having done so." " I hope not," she replied with sudden energy, and a quick glance upward, which in after days was often recalled to Ogilvy. Was it premonitory inspiration ? They talked freely of the ease with which they had accommodated themselves to their new life, which "in so many respects resembled life in England," but made no reference to the fact of their remaining in Australia having been chiefly due to their humble means, which, after the payment of all expenses, amounted to the small income derivable from some house property in Woolloomooloo, together with a few hundreds of pounds resulting from a life-insurance policy.

The strictest search had failed to discover the existence of any other possessions, although Mrs. Quentin was assured her husband had invested, in some form or other, several thousands of pounds. " However," Claire remarked, " we have made our home here, and the sun looks more kindly upon us now than he was wont to do in England — at all events, he comes to visit us more often, and I suppose that indicates friendship." "If you regard that as a criterion, you are likely to be overburdened with friendship." " How so ? " " Because the example of a great luminary is apt to be contagious." " And lead to our being frequently visited, you mean ? " " Yes ; because ladies seem hardly to understand how great attraction a homelike home possesses for the homeless bachelor." " A glimpse of Eden to him, is it not ?

" said Mrs. Quentin. " Aye, and the puzzling part is that bachelors are content to marry when homelike affection, the very essence of ' home ' itself, is known to be wanting," said Ogilvy. " But every man associates ' home ' with ' matri mony' as a thing of course," said Mrs. Quentin. Ogilvy was drawing mental comparisons between two homes, which became more concentrated as his eyes rested upon Claire — as, probably after the manner of women, she intended they should — for she looked very well. The abundant wavy hair was drawn back from the forehead, and wound round above like a crown, displaying a beautifully formed head. The beauty was so noticeable that there seemed to be an unconscious grace added to every movement. She was placidly knitting, but listening to the conversation, and drawing therefrom those deductions as to character which chance expressions and opinions tend to reveal.

" Presumably," continued Ogilvy, " it is that ex pectation which prompts every marriage." "Possibly," said Claire, "there may be stronger reasons." " Hardly so with a true man, for the feeling seems to have been implanted in man from the earliest times, as shown by society having been formed by an aggregation of families, each, as it were, complete in itself. The desire, therefore, to form a separate family, with himself the head, would appear to have always been the originating motive of marriage in the mind of man." " It might have been well if modern ideas had not been suffered to displace the good old notions of patriarchal times." "But love," said Ogilvy, "has been unchanged throughout all time ; although, perhaps, half the world doubts its strength ; for there are so many who, like yourself, have never loved."