“I have been enabled to make satisfactory arrangements lately,” said Stamford, shortly. “I have placed my account with the Austral Agency Company and we got on very well.”
“Ah, indeed. Rising man, that Barrington Hope. I wish—but it’s no use wishing. Well, good night again! Nothing like being independent of the banks; that’s always the safest line!”
“Safest indeed,” thought his guest as he walked down the gravel drive, just in time to miss the blazing lamps and chariot wheels of Mrs. Grandison’s equipage, which bore herself and her daughter back from the hall where the maestro had been delighting the crême de la crême of fashionable musical Sydney. “Safest indeed; but how is one to manage it with droughty seasons, and markets practically closed? I think Master Bob might have asked that question before. But his own troubles have been greater than mine, poor fellow—greater, ah, a thousandfold. What bribe, indeed, would tempt me to change places with him? However, we must hope for the best, though I am afraid Carlo will only substitute Baden Baden for Bent Street. Miserable boy!”
The sacrifice at the altar of friendship being duly performed, Mr. Stamford addressed himself to the arrangements necessary for a speedy return to the home which he had quitted under such depressing conditions. How different were the sensations with which he set about preparing for departure from those which he had good reason to fear would have overshadowed his return journey! “The sad companion, ghastly Care,” had retired, indefinitely banished, as far as human foresight could discover.
All difficulties, all doubt as to ways and means, had vanished. The kind hand of Providence had been specially exerted for his benefit. He hardly recognised in himself the sanguine individual that had replaced his boding, desponding entity, tortured by vain regrets and undefined dread; hopeless of succour alike from God and man!
He went about his business with alacrity and a cheerful enjoyment of life that even surprised himself. He seemed to have renewed his youth. Tastes and fancies which had long been relegated to the realm of the impossible reappeared like the wild-wood flowers of his own land after the gracious rainfall of which he had received tidings. He was now enabled to indulge them in moderation with a clear conscience.
And he savoured them with a relish akin to that of the returned traveller after perils by land and sea, of the desert-worn pilgrim who sees again the green fields and rippling brooks of the fatherland which he had despaired of again beholding.
What a novel joy was it to him to awake at midnight—at early dawn—to realise with returning consciousness that safety, comfort, honourable independence were to be the portion of his loved ones henceforward and for ever! What a relief to turn again to his pillow, and sink into untroubled slumber with a heart filled with gratitude—with peace unutterable!
One of his first expeditions in the shopping line was to the chief book mart, an establishment where he previously had been wont to linger but for short intervals, regarding with a melancholy interest the rows of new, enticing works, into the pages of which he hardly dared to look. Now he boldly produced a list of standard authors, magazines, works of travel, science, autobiography, fiction, what not; commanded that they should be packed in a suitable case and forwarded to the railway station to his address. How he relished the actual writing of a cheque for the amount! How the thought of being able to enjoy them with an untroubled mind, in the peaceful evenings at Windāhgil, caused his spirits to rise, his heart to expand!