“Cut the trees down!” said Willoughby, with astonishment. “I never heard of such a thing!”
“You’ll find out everything in time,” said Hubert. “‘The brave old oak’ has an antipodean signification here. I don’t know what we should do without him in a dry time. I’ve known sheep kept in good condition that hadn’t seen grass for eighteen months.”
Before the drive back, which took place after lunch, in the midst of pathetic leave-takings between the Windāhgil girls and Miss Dacre, the latter young lady took an opportunity of expressing to Hubert her sincere gratitude for his organisation of the opportune alliance which was, so to speak, to raise the siege of Wantabalree.
“It has made dearest papa quite young again,” she said. “For weeks he has not been able to sleep at night, but used to get up and go wandering up and down the garden. I really began to fear for his reason. And now he seems quite a different man. I am so happy myself at the change for the better, that I cannot feel properly sorry that dear Willoughby is going away from us.”
“He is going among friends, at any rate, Miss Dacre,” said Hubert, pressing the young lady’s hand warmly in the agitation of the moment. “He will be well looked after, rely upon it. I feel certain it will be for everybody’s benefit in the long run.”
“I shall always think that you and that good genius, Mr. Hope, have stood between us and ruin,” said she, and here her bright, steadfast eyes were somewhat dimmed. “If papa does not say all that is in his heart, believe me that we are not ungrateful.”
“Nothing could ever lead me to think that,” said Hubert meeting her eyes with a glance which expressed more than that simple sentence, if freely translated. “Whatever happens, I am more than repaid by your approval.”
By this time Whalebone and Whipcord, harnessed up and having their heads turned homeward, began to exhibit signs of impatience, which caused Linda to call out to Hubert that she was sure Whipcord would throw himself down and break the pole if they didn’t start at once, which appalling contingency cut short the interview, to Hubert’s secret indignation. This expressed itself in letting them out with a will and quitting Wantabalree at the rate of fourteen miles an hour.
Some people would have felt nervous at proceeding along a winding, narrow bush road, well furnished with stumps, at such an express train rate, but the sure hand and steady eye of Hubert Stamford, in combination with the light mouths and regular if speedy movement of the well-matched horses, engendered the most absolute confidence in his driving.
“What do you think of bush life generally, Mr. Hope?” said Laura—after the first rush of the excitable goers had steadied into a twelve-mile-an-hour trot—“and how do you like Wantabalree?”