CHAPTER VII
About five o'clock the next day the rumble of a cab was heard by Mrs. Blenners, who was lying in wait.
"It is Mr. Marlock!" she shouted, with two concave hands at her mouth; "show him into the best bedroom."
Bill was ushered in by the servant who had opened the door the day before, and was swept up the stairs with his portmanteaux. When the bell rang for tea he went down to the front parlour, where twelve lodgers were already seated at table. Mrs. Blenners tossed her head towards Bill, and said, "Mr. Marlock"; then made her forefinger travel round the table, like the hour hand of a clock, while she ticked off the boarders, one by one, and repeated their names.
Introductions over, they all fell to on the viands with the energy of the feeder of a sewing-machine going at full speed.
Bill was on the watch, but the girl he was in search of did not appear. He heard Mrs. Blenners say to Annie the waiting maid, "Tell Mary to make more toast."
"This is hopeful," thought Bill; "but Mary is such a common name."
A week passed away, but he had not seen Mary. He was beginning to get impatient, and meditated a walk into the kitchen when Mrs. Blenners was upstairs. Just when this thought came into his mind he heard her say, in a stage whisper, "Mary, you have forgotten the slops."
The rattle of an iron pail was heard, and a light footstep ascended the stair. He waited, and watched for Mary to come down. When she was coming down he was going up. They met halfway. She looked scared, as she was caught carrying the slops, which should only be removed when no man person was near.
She would not look him in the face, so he could not see her eyes, and the light was bad. She was certainly something like his Mary, but not altogether. His Mary had a bright face; this one was sad. Sorrow had limned it, and grief had sculptured it.
He went into his room, and found that the washstand was in disorder, so he knew the girl would come up again as soon as he was out of the way. In the impulse of the moment he took the photograph of Mary, and the letter she had written to her father, and placed them prominently on the washstand; then he ostentatiously went downstairs to the parlour, and shut the door.
As he expected, the girl went to his room, which was just overhead. In a short time he heard a scream, and a heavy body falling. Instinctively he understood, and ascended the stair like a flying shadow. The girl lay white and motionless, with the letter in her hand. The scene required no explanation. It told its own tale. She reminded him of the old man, lying stiff and stark, by the side of the creek. He ran to the door, and, with a voice of urgency, shouted, "Mrs. Blenners!"
"Mercy! that's the new lodger," said Mrs. Blenners to Annie; "do you think he's mad, or dr——, I mean elevated?"
She dropped the rolling-pin on the paste-board with a clatter, and dashed her face with flour in her excitement, then fled upstairs as fast as her tottering legs would carry her. From the top of the landing she looked into the best bedroom, and there, to her horror, she saw Mary lying on the floor, apparently dead.
"Murder!" she screamed.
Annie, hearing this blood-curdling word, rushed out of the front door, and fell into the arms of a policeman, whispering "Murder."
The policeman, seeing the open door, went into the hall, and saw Mrs. Blenners wringing her hands, like wet cloths, over the banisters.
He took four flying leaps, and stood beside her.
"What's the matter?" he said.
She silently pointed at the best bedroom.
At that moment Bill put his head out at the door, and said, "She'll be all right soon!"
He had dashed water in her face, and had put a pillow under her head. Mrs. Blenners and the policeman bent over her as she was opening her eyes.
"She fainted," said Bill.
A doctor was sent for. He bustled up the stairs in a few minutes, and said to Mary, "How are you now?"
She gave him no answer.
"Ah, ah! I see," he said, "we must exhibit a little sal-volatile."
"Oh, indeed!" said Mrs. Blenners. "We don't want to exhibit her any more. She's made an exhibition of herself enough already. Such a thing never happened in my house before. Mr. Marlock, I'm sorry this has occurred in your room."
"I'm not," said Bill; "I've been hoping and praying to find her for a long time. Look at that photograph, and tell me if it is Mary's portrait."
"Yes! it's the very moral of her."
"Well! I've found her."
"Found her out, do you mean?" said Mrs. Blenners. "Are you a detective? A wolf in sheep's clothing—which devour widows' houses! I thought you was a respectable single gentleman. I'm ashamed of you! Mary's as good a girl as you'll find in a summer day's march."
"You mistake my meaning, Mrs. Blenners; Mary has been left some money, and I have been looking for her, and have found her here, like a diamond in a—a—gutter," he said, for want of a better word at the moment.
"Gutter! forsooth," she said. "Do you liken my house to a gutter?"
"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Blenners; I meant to say like a diamond glittering in the golden setting of your most respectable house. Besides, I have to thank you for giving me the opportunity of finding her here. I'm sure you've been kind to her."
"Kind! I've been a mother to that girl."
"Where is my father?" said Mary, looking wildly around.
"Poor girl!" said Mrs. Blenners; "she hasn't heard from her father for months, and she thinks he's dead."
"He is dead," Bill whispered to Mrs. Blenners.
"Then she might have seen his ghost."
Mary now sat up, and pointed to the letter which was still in her hand.
"Where did you get that?" she said to Bill, "and that?" pointing to the photograph.
Bill told as much as he thought necessary, while the girl rose to her feet. Gradually, and as gently as possible, he told her of her father's death, also that he had advertised for her, and now, after a long time, had found her, and that she was the owner of thousands of pounds.
Mary could hardly believe her ears. She seemed to hear the words in a dream, and did not understand the meaning of them. They appeared to be the echo of something she had heard long ago.
In a short time she had recovered her usual composure, and was told, in the privacy of Mrs. Blenners' own room, the sad particulars of the finding of her father's body. She wept as if her heart would break. Then, bit by bit, he told the rest of the story—about the inquest, the funeral, the gold-reef, its great richness, and that the wealth obtained from it, amounting to thousands of pounds, was hers. At the same time he handed her the bank deposit receipt, and said, "It is all yours."
"No!" she said, "you are too generous."
She positively declined to take it till she had time to think the matter over.
"This is all high falutin!" said Mrs. Blenners.
She took the practical view of the question, and hurried away, with Mary under her wing, to one of the best shops in Bourke Street, where she bought, greatly to her delight, the best black materials for many dresses, besides bonnets, hats, gloves, etc. Mary was a passive instrument to be played on for her delectation. Mrs. Blenners spent a few happy hours. Shopping was a fine art which thrilled her soul. Money was of no consequence. It was like the "Old Man" plain of Riverina—there was no end to it.
Bill Marlock had told her to spend as much as she liked.
"That's a large order!" she said.
"Cut and come again; she's rolling in riches," said Bill.
So Mrs. Blenners had set off on the shopping campaign with a light heart.
For the next few weeks Mary and Bill were much together, she questioning, he informing her of everything she wished to know about her father, and of all that he himself had done on her father's behalf.
She thought Bill was one of the kindest and most disinterested of men.
When she was suitably attired in deep mourning, she was allowed to accompany Bill to the bank, to draw such moneys as were required, but Mrs. Blenners insisted on going with them for propriety's sake. They often, however, managed to get away when she was busy with her household duties, and had many pleasant excursions into the city and suburbs. They were both happy in each other's company.
On one of these excursions, Bill advised her to apply for a lease of the land comprised in the Devil's Punch Bowl, and have it thoroughly worked for the rich gold which was there.
"There is a great fortune lying there, and it's all yours, Mary," he said.
"And what will you do if I apply for the lease?"
"You might make me manager of the mine, if you can trust me," he said.
"Trust you! I would trust you with all I have got."
"If you will trust me with yourself, Mary, that is all I ask. I have loved you ever since I saw your photograph in the tent."
They looked at each other, and saw the honest light of love shining in each other's eyes.
She trusted him with herself, and has never regretted doing so.
The lease was applied for, and granted. The Devil's Punch Bowl became a scene of activity. A house was built on its rim for Bill and Mary. Men were employed to work the mine. Machinery was erected, and the stampers were soon playing merrily to the tune of five hundred ounces of gold a week.
Many years have passed away, but the mine is still worked with fair results. Bill and Mary have every reason to rejoice at the good fortune brewed for them in the Devil's Punch Bowl.
Bill has not forgotten his old friends of Yantala woolshed; for Norman Campbell, Jack Jewell, Tom Wren, Peter Amos, Sandy McKerrow, the stalwart giant with the shock of red hair, and others, are in positions of trust at the mine, and swear by him. Their children grow up and call him blessed.