I had been some little time in my sister’s company, before telling her of my intentions regarding her. I had allowed her to indulge in such conjectures about my designs, as the circumstances might suggest.
“I am very glad, Rowland,” said she, “that you have made up your mind to stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. Oh! we would be so happy! You have come to stay here, have you not? Say yes, brother; and make me happy! Say you will not leave me any more?”
“I do not wish to leave you, dear sister,” said I; “and I hope that you have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to accept the offer I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to take you with me to Melbourne.”
“What reason can you have, for wishing me to go to Melbourne? It cannot be a better place than Sydney?”
“Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney?” I asked, with a painful presentiment, that I was once more to be baulked in my design of making my poor sister happy.
“Brother,” she replied, “I am not willing to go to Melbourne. I don’t wish to leave Sydney—at least, not yet.”
“Would you not like to see your brother William?” I asked.
“What! William! dear little Willie! Have you heard of him, Rowland? Do you know where he is?”
“Yes. He is in Melbourne; and very anxious to see you. I have come to take you to him. Will you go?”
“I must see William—my long-lost brother William! I must see him. How came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all about it. Why did he not come here along with you?”