“We met by mere chance—on the diggings of Victoria; and, hearing me called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then recognised one another. Little Willie—as you call him—is now a tall, fine-looking young man. Next week he is going to be married to a beautiful girl. I have come to take you to the wedding. Will you go, Martha?”
“I don’t know. I must see brother William. What shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot leave Sydney.”
“Martha,” said I, “I am your brother; and am willing to assist you in any manner possible. I am older than you; and we have no parents. I have the right to some authority over you; and now demand the reason, why you are not willing to go with me to Melbourne?”
My sister remained silent.
“Give me a straightforward answer,” I cried in a tone that partook of command. “Tell me why you will not go?”
“Oh, brother!—because—because I am waiting here for some one—one who has promised—to return to me.”
“A man, of course?”
“Yes, yes—a man—a true man, Rowland.”
“Where has he gone; and how long is it, since you have seen him?” I asked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow.
“He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two years ago. Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come back; and then he would marry me.”