The voyage of the Burrawalla was, on the whole, prosperous, although, towards the end, she was much delayed by adverse winds, so that Sydney harbour was not reached until the end of the fourth month. A further and unexpected delay arose from the illness of a passenger who occupied a berth in Cardo's cabin, and as they were nearing their destination he died of typhoid fever. Consequently the Burrawalla was put into quarantine, of course to the great annoyance and inconvenience of all on board.
"You are not looking well, Mr. Wynne," said the doctor one day.
"Oh, I'm alright," said Cardo, "only impatient to get on shore. I feel perfectly well. Why, my dear doctor, I have never had a day's illness in my life, as far as I can remember."
"I can believe that," said the doctor; "and what a splendid sailor you have been. But still, let me know if you are not feeling well."
It was quite true that Cardo had latterly experienced some sensations to which he had hitherto been a stranger—frequent headaches and loss of appetite; but, being of a very hardy temperament, he tried to ignore the unpleasant symptoms, and waited for the end of the quarantine with feverish impatience.
When at last they were allowed to land, he was amongst the liveliest and most energetic of the passengers.
He drove at once to the Wolfington Hotel, to which he had been recommended by Captain Owen. As he stepped out of the cab, the portico of the hotel seemed strangely at loggerheads with the rest of the building, He managed, however, to get safely inside the hall, and, after engaging a bedroom, followed his conductor up the stairs, though each step seemed to rise to meet his foot in an unaccountable manner.
"A long sea voyage doesn't suit me, that's certain," he soliloquised, as he entered the room and busied himself at once with his luggage. He took off the labels with the intention of substituting fresh ones addressed to his uncle's farm, deciding not to stay a day longer than was necessary in Sydney, but to make inquiries at once as to the best way of getting to Broadstone, Priory Valley. He still fought bravely against the feeling of lassitude and nausea which oppressed him, and went down to his lunch with a bold front, although the place seemed floating around him. But in vain did the odour of the Wallaby soup ascend to his nostrils; in vain was the roast fowl spread before him. He scarcely tasted the viands which the attentive waiter continued to press upon him; and at last, pushing his plate away, he rose from the table.
"I shall want writing materials and some labels on my return," he said, as he left the room with a somewhat unsteady step.
"On the razzle-dazzle last night, I expect," said the waiter, with a wink at his fellow.