Fern Vale; or, the Queensland Squatter. Volume 2

by Colin Munro

"Don't be in such a violent hurry my little Diana; give me time to read the letter," said her brother, "before you act as sponsor for me. There is no necessity, my dear, to be so impatient; I dare say the messenger will wait for a few minutes;" and then, after perusing it, he continued: "For my part I will be delighted to go, though I'll first see what John says. But, my Kitty! you should not run out in the sun with your head uncovered; you will be spoiling your beautiful complexion and getting a coup de soliel. Then your invitations to parties would be at an end; be off now and put on a hat, and we will go look for John, and get his decision on the question."

The affectionate mandate of her brother, was soon obeyed by Kate; and the two went in search of John, to submit the note to his perusal. After reading it, he expressed a disinclination to accept the invitation, excusing himself that as they had determined to shortly start for New England he had no wish to join the festivities; but to enable his brother and sister to go to Brompton, he said he would delay his departure until after their return.

Kate and William endeavoured in vain to dissuade him from this, but he was inexorable; so it was at last arranged that they should join the party without him, and Kate hastened to communicate the intelligence to her friend, while William took the opportunity of eliciting from the Brompton messenger all the information he could obtain respecting the arrangements.

The reader may conjecture the motives that actuated John Ferguson in his desire to keep aloof from Brompton. He was aware the marriage of Bob Smithers and Eleanor Rainsfield was fixed for a period not very remote; and, perceiving the object of the meet was to exhibit the young lady to the admiring gaze, and introduce her to the notice of the friends of the family as the affianced bride of Bob Smithers, he wished to avoid a meeting which, he doubted not, would be irksome to the lady and painful to himself, especially as he would be compelled to witness the triumph of his rival, who, he believed, would take a malicious pleasure in making him feel his defeat. He therefore resolved to absent himself from a society where he was calculated to experience disappointment, rather than pleasure; where for him there would be no enjoyment, except the melancholy satisfaction of gazing on the features of the one he dearly loved, but who so shortly was to be the bride of another. As his brother and sister left him he resumed the occupation at which he had been disturbed on their approach, and continued wrapt in his own gloomy meditations, until he was aroused from his reverie by the cheerful voice of Tom Rainsfield calling him by his name; when turning round he perceived his friend standing at his side.

"Why, what on earth is the matter with you, John?" said Tom, as he gazed upon the sorrowful features of the young man; "you look ill, wretchedly ill; what ails you, man?"

"Nothing," replied John. "I never felt better in my life; I am not ailing." But his looks belied his speech, for his pallid cheek bore the stamp of a mental depression, and his haggard features the evidence of sufferings other than corporeal; for, let the truth be told, the consciousness that Eleanor was lost to him for ever, preyed upon his mind; and, notwithstanding his repeated efforts to rally his drooping spirits, a melancholy gloom had settled upon his brow, there giving indication of the tumult of thought and feeling that had and still was agitating his brain.

His passion for Eleanor Rainsfield, since the fire of love had first entered his soul, had ever been the material of his dreams both by day and night; she was the star of his destiny, the cynosure to which the magnetic needle of his hopes always pointed, and to which his fondest affections continually looked for guidance. He loved her madly, and had half fancied, notwithstanding her avowment of a pre-engagement, that some fortuitous circumstance might have transpired to break off that connexion, and lead her to join her destinies with his. He believed he was not altogether an indifferent object in her eyes, and the fates, even though hitherto unpropitious, he had believed would have ultimately favoured his cause. Thus he continued, even with his heart under a prohibitory decree, to cherish the tender feeling for the lovely girl, although his calmer nature told him there was no hope. He offered up his mind a willing sacrifice to the pleasing though deadly poison, and permitted his soul to be ravished by the wild delirium of his infatuated love. He had, in fact, hoped against hope; but now, that he discovered the creature he adored was irrevocably passing from him to become the wife of another, life appeared to him a blank, and he felt no desire to prolong an existence expatriated from the society of the only one who made it dear to him. These were the feelings that had consumed the spirits of the young man between the interval of his separation from his sister and his meeting with Tom Rainsfield, and which had left such indubitable marks of distress on his countenance that his friend had not failed to detect them.

We say that John Ferguson was aware that the marriage of Bob Smithers and Eleanor was settled. This he had heard some time previously, and the tenor of Mrs. Smithers' note had confirmed it; while in his susceptive imagination he pictured to himself the whole plan, needing no better prompter than his fears. While there had been a shadow of hope, John had borne with commendable fortitude the disappointment of unrequited affection, and sustained the devastation of the consuming fire that was burning within him without the possibility of egress. But now that the barrier of his expectancy had been rudely broken down; that the circumvallation of his breastine citadel had been razed to the ground, and the delicate fabric of his heart exposed to the rough greeting of the unfriendly blast, and the piercing shafts of despair, his spirit sank under the assault, and left him crushed and almost demented.

"Why, man," said Tom, "you look the perfect picture of misery. I know, or can guess, the cause of your grief; but never mind, cheer up, old fellow! You know the old adage: 'The battle is never lost till it's won;' so do not despair. Eleanor is not married yet, and, by Jove! she won't be either; at least to Smithers; you mark my words."

"My dear fellow," said John, "do not destroy her happiness or peace of mind by attempting to separate her from her betrothed. He is her choice, and it is her pleasure to accept him; then what have I to complain of? Pray, don't frustrate her marriage with Smithers out of any regard for me; for I feel convinced any intrigue you may enter into to further such an object would be distasteful to her."