How different were all things in this strange, far land!
Such soft airs, such fresh, unclouded morns, such far-reaching views across the purple mountains, such breeze-tossed masses of forest greenery, such long, unclouded days were theirs, in this the first midsummer of what Annabel chose to call ‘Australia Felix.’
‘I should have just the same feeling,’ she said, ‘if I lived in the desert under favourable circumstances. Not the horrid sandy, simoomy part of it, of course. But some of those lovely green spots, where there is a grey walled-in town, an old, old well, thousands of years old, and such lovely horses standing at the doors of the tents. Why can’t we have our horses broken in to stand like that, instead of having to send Duncan for them, who takes hours? And then we could ride out by moonlight and feel the grand silence of the desert; and at sunset the grey old chiefs and the maidens and the camels and the dear little children would come to the village well, like Rebekah or Rachel—which was it? I shall go to Palestine some day, and be a Princess, like Lady Hester Stanhope. This is only the first stage.’
CHAPTER VIII
MR. WILLIAM ROCKLEY OF YASS
Upon his next visit to The Chase, which took place shortly after this conversation, the Reverend Harley Sternworth was accompanied by a pleasant-looking, alert, middle-aged personage, who, descending from the dog-cart with alacrity, was introduced as Mr. William Rockley of Yass.
‘Bless my soul!’ said this gentleman, looking eagerly around, ‘what a fine property! Never saw it look so well before. I’m delighted to find it has got into such good hands; neglected in Colonel Warleigh’s time, even worse since by rascally tenants. Nearly bought it myself, but couldn’t spare the money. Splendid investment; finest land in the whole district, finest water, finest grass. I ought to know.’
‘It is most gratifying to hear a gentleman of your experience speak so highly of Warbrok,’ said Mr. Effingham. ‘Our good friend here has been the making of our fortunes.’
‘Just like him! just like him!’ said the new-comer, lighting a cigar and puffing out smoke and sentences with equal impetuosity. ‘Always attending to other people’s business; might have made his own fortune, two or three times over, if he’d taken my advice.’
‘I know some one else who is tarred with the same brush,’ returned the parson. ‘Who bought in young Harding’s place the other day, when his mortgagee sold him up, and re-sold it to him on the most Utopian terms? But shouldn’t you like to walk round while you smoke your cigar this morning? We can pay our respects to the ladies afterwards.’
‘Just the very thing. Many a time I’ve been here in the old days. What a change! What a change! Bless my soul, how well the garden looks; never expected to see it bloom again! And the old house!—one would almost think Mrs. Warleigh was alive.’