As the Utopia made her slow progress up the harbour, those on board were able to catch a breath of the excitement from the land.
The wharves at Woolloomooloo seemed a black mass of humanity; the windows of the warehouses were lined with faces, men and small boys had taken up vantage-points on scaffolding, cranes, the very roofs of the wharf buildings. On the green park-like slopes of the Domain thousands were patiently waiting, white and gay coloured parasols and dresses enlivening the sombre garments of the men.
Challis stood at the side of the boat with trembling knees and rounded eyes. Mrs. Cameron was beside her, very pale, struggling hard for composure, putting her hand to her throat secretly now and again, to smooth the lumps that seemed to be rising there. A warm reception she had had no doubt her child would have; indeed, the Melbourne papers she had seen had said big preparations were to be made for her reception, for was not this the city of her birth, the eager, open-handed city that had made it possible for the world to judge of her genius? But the mother's wildest thoughts had never dreamed of anything like this; royalty itself had never on any of its journeyings been welcomed in more magnificent fashion.
She paled and paled—she slid down her hand, and caught and held tightly in it one of the small thin hands of her gifted child.
Yet, great as the honour undoubtedly seemed, had the power to change things been hers, she would have swept the wharves clear of all that strange-faced crowd, and have had, standing there alone, looking up at her, the husband her heart was throbbing for, the children she yearned for, and yet would hardly know.
The lady who had begged the photograph pressed her way up.
'What does it all mean? Did ever you see such excitement? Is it really as Mrs. Graham says—the welcome for Miss Cameron? I never saw anything to equal it in my life. My dear, my dear, you are the most fortunate girl in the world. I am proud to have shaken hands with you, honoured to have sat at the same table. See, here is my travelling ink-pot and a pen, write me your autograph, darling.'
Mrs. Goodenough bustled up and caught at the mother's arm.
'Such excitement is enough to kill her; give her two of these quinine tablets, and keep these in your pocket, to give if you notice a sign of flagging. It will be a most exhausting day for her. And you are pale—here, I have my flask of tonic—you must, you must indeed take some. You will never bear up through all the congratulations, if you do not. Well, well, I must say I have never seen anything like this in my life.'
Challis stood as white as if carved in marble; sometimes her little soft underlip quivered, sometimes she gave an almost piteous glance round, as if seeking an impossible escape. She had had warm welcomes and even cheers and a little bunting in many towns, but what was this she had fallen upon?