A week later the eventful voyage was over, and we were back in Sydney again.
Then came our marriage. But, with your kind permission, I will only give you a very bare description of that. It took place at the cathedral, the Primate officiating. The Marquis of Beckenham was kind enough to act as my best man, while the Colonial Secretary, of course, gave his daughter away.
But now I come to think of it, there is one point I must touch upon in connexion with that happy occasion, and that was the arrival of an important present on the evening prior to the event.
We were sitting in the drawing-room when the butler brought in a square parcel on a salver and handed it to Phyllis. "Another present, I expect," she said, and began to untie the string that bound it.
When the first cover was removed a layer of tissue paper revealed itself, and after that a large Russia leather case came into view. On pressing the spring the cover lifted and revealed a superb collet—as I believe it is called—of diamonds, and resting against the lid a small card bearing this inscription:—
"With heartiest congratulations and best wishes to Lady Hatteras, in memory of an unfortunate detention and a voyage to the Southern Seas,
"From her sincere admirer,
"Dr. Nikola."
What do you think of that?
Well, to bring my long story to a close, the Great Event passed off with much éclat. We spent our honeymoon in the Blue Mountains, and a fortnight later sailed once more for England in the Orizaba. Both Mr. Wetherell—who has now resigned office—and the Marquis of Beckenham, who is as manly a fellow as you would meet anywhere in England, accompanied us home, and it was to the latter's seaside residence that we went immediately on our arrival in the mother country. My own New Forest residence is being thoroughly renovated, and will be ready for occupation in the spring.
And now as to the other persons who have figured most prominently in my narrative. Of Nikola, Baxter, Eastover, or Prendergast I have never heard since. What gigantic coup the first-named intends to accomplish with the little Chinese stick, the possession of which proved so fatal to Wetherell, is beyond my power to tell. I am only too thankful, however, that I am able to say that I am not in the least concerned in it. I am afraid of Nikola, and I confess it. And with this honest expression of my feelings, and my thanks for your attention and forbearance, I will beg your permission to ring the curtain down upon the narrative of my Bid for Fortune.