The warning bell sounded, the last adieux were said, and, as the train moved off, relentless, irrevocable as fate—the fair summer day gloomed, while the family party drove sadly back to their home, from which the sunshine seemed to have been suddenly withdrawn.
Such are the partings in this world of chequered joy and sorrow—of light and shadow. What prayers were that night offered up to the All-wise Dispenser of events for the safety, the success, the return—ah, me!—of the absent wayfarer—for him might the fervid sunbeams of the inner deserts—be tempered—for him might the fierce denizens of the wild be placated—for him might the terrible uncertainty of flood and field be guided for good! The sisters wept themselves to sleep in each other’s arms, while the mother’s face was sad with unuttered grief, and the father’s brow grave for many a day after this long-remembered parting.
But Time, the healer, brought to them, as to others, the successive stages of calm resignation, of renewed hope. The post brought tidings of a safely concluded voyage, of accomplished land travel. At longer intervals, of promising investment, of successful exploration, of permanent settlement in the land of promise, of the occupation of pastures new in a region richly gifted by nature, and needing but the gradual advance of civilisation to be promoted to a profitable and acknowledged status.
Lastly, a despatch arrived of an eminently satisfactory nature, from Mr. Barrington Hope, confirming the latest advices from “the wandering heir.” “Mr. Hubert Stamford had more than justified all the expectations formed of his energy and business aptitude. He had purchased, at a comparatively small outlay, a lightly-stocked and very extensive station upon the border of the settled country. Leaving Mr. Delamere and a manager of proved ability in charge, he had pushed on, and after a toilsome journey, happily accomplished without accident or loss, had discovered and taken up, under the Queensland regulations, which are most favourable to pioneers, an immense tract of well-watered, pastoral country of the best quality. They had received from their correspondents the highest commendation of the value of the property now secured and registered in the name of Delamere and Stamford. Windāhgil Downs was a proverb in the mouths of the pioneer squatters of the colony, and the Laura and Linda rivers were duly marked upon the official map at the Surveyor-General’s office as permanent and important watercourses.
“The Austral Agency Company had the fullest confidence in the prospects of the firm, and any reasonable amount of capital would be forthcoming for necessary expenses in stocking up and legally occupying the magnificent tract of pastoral country referred to.”
A private letter accompanied this formally-worded official communication, informing Mr. and Mrs. Stamford that the writer proposed to avail himself of their kind invitation to visit Windāhgil at Christmas, when he would be enabled to utilise a long-promised leave of absence for a few weeks.
It may be imagined, but can with difficulty be even sketched faintly, with what feelings of joy and gratitude this precious intelligence was received at Windāhgil; the happiness, too deep for words, of the parents; the wild, ecstatic triumph of the sisters; the elation of the servants and station hands, which communicated itself to the inhabitants of the surrounding sub-district, all of whom were included in the general glory of the event and unfeignedly happy at the news of Hubert’s brilliant success.
“He deserves it all. I never thought but he’d come to good, and show ’em all the way if he got a chance,” was the general comment of the humbler partisans. “He was always the poor man’s friend, was Master Hubert; and now he’s going to be at the top of the tree, and it’s where he ought to be. He’s a good sort, and always was. There wasn’t a young man within a day’s ride of Mooramah as was fit to be named in the same day with him.”
“Oh! Laura, isn’t it splendid, delicious, divine?” exclaimed Linda, dancing round her sister and mother with inexpressible delight. (Mr. Stamford had retired to compose his feelings in the garden.) “Oh! dear, this world’s a splendid place of abode, after all, though I’ve had terrible doubts lately. Wasn’t it fortunate we had strength of mind to let dear, darling Hubert go, though it nearly broke our hearts? I was certain some of my heart-strings cracked—really I was—but now I feel better than ever, quite young, indeed! Oh! how grateful we ought to be!”
“You were not the only one who suffered, were you, dear?” said Laura, looking dreamily into the distance, beyond the gleaming river, now indeed reduced to nearly its old dimensions. “Our prayer has been answered. Some day we shall see our hero returning ‘bringing his sheaves with him.’ Oh! happy day! Mother, what shall we do to relieve our feelings? I feel as if I could not bear it unless we did something.”