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The Story of Wild Will Enderby

Chapter VII. Under the Wattles

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Chapter VII. Under the Wattles.

The mid-day repast, with, its fun and frolic, was over; the dance on the grass had ended, and each and all had betaken themselves to such amusements as most attracted them:—the youngsters to bobbing for cray-fish, the young men to cricket, the oldsters to the enjoyment of the dolce far niente.90 The ladies, with some gallant attendants, either walked and talked, and fiirted, as ladies can and will do in Australia, quite as pleasantly, and as gracefully as their sisters in Europe; or sought refuge from the burning heat in the grateful shade of a huge granite cliff, whereunder they were able to appreciate the Oriental metaphor which likens a righteous man to "the shadow of a rock in a weary land."

It was truly an enjoyable day. Summer had not yet so far advanced as to embrown the herbage, or parch the earth. The sky was embroidered with a few fleecy clouds, and a soft balmy breeze faintly fanned the cheek—no more. It was a day for love, and loving thoughts, and kindly recollections; and good honest John Grey smoked his cigar with a time-honoured old crony, and talked of days gone by, with page 107a mind at case as to the days yet to come; and all the while his daughter's peace was being wrecked, and he wist not of it.

Brilliant-hued parrots and golden-crested cockatoos hovered in the tall trees, and flocks of green paroquets flew screaming overhead. Underneath a group of feathery acacias, "Wild Will" lay on the ground, gazing upwards on the fair face of his bewitcher with the intense adoration characteristic of his ardent nature. And Florence, bending low, listened to his passionate rhapsody of love and devotion, with a half-dreamy smile and many tender glances; and the fragrance of her breath stole over him, and the soft murmur of her voice thrilled him, and her silken hair, wafted by the zephyrs, played upon his forehead, and his ecstacy was complete.91 For the time the poor boy dwelt in a Fool's Paradise,—fleeting and unreal as the visions of the night.

It is not my intention to weary you, oh reader! with the soft nothings uttered by this amorous pair. If you have ever been "in love," you can easily imagine them. If you have not, pray extend your practical knowledge. 'Tis a delicious fever—while it lasts.

Unseen by the lovers, a laughing kingfisher* sat perched on a branch above them—quiet and motionless, but regarding with its keen eye the scene below. Nor was he the only watcher.

One of Will's hands was linked in the hand of Florence—the other, unrepulsed, encircled her waist.

"Tell me, darling, tell me that you love me!" entreated the boy.

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"I do love you!" responded the woman. "I love you dearly."

Her disengaged hand caressed his hair; their eyes met in loving dalliance; and, moved by irresistible impulse, Will pressed her—nothing loath—to his bosom, and their lips met in a long, passionate, lingering kiss.

"Ha—ha—ha—ha—ha! Ho—ho—ho—ho—ho!" laughed the bird overhead, and scores of his fellows took up the cry till the forest re-echoed with sounds of demoniacal mirth.

The lovers started apart in confusion. There was a slight rustle in the grass—a gleam as of a white skirt, and Mabel Grey stood before them.

No longer a child, but a woman, stood the maiden there—scorn flashing from her eyes, and wrath convulsing her bosom. Will shrank, abashed, from her gaze; and even the imperial Melmoth was, for the instant, reduced to the submission of silence.

"You have stolen him from me!" cried Mabel. "You have robbed me of my love! Before you came between us he had no other thought than of me. How dare you do this? You have M'Carthy and a dozen others in your train. Are not these enough? I had but one—you, Will, only you. And she has taken you from me now. She love you, indeed! She doesn't know what it is to love. She is playing with you as she plays with all the rest—as the cat plays with the mice. Woman! how dare you do this? My father gave you a home in his house when there was no other roof to shelter you—when you had not a friend in the world. And this is the way that you repay him. Will, page 109she is deceiving you! Leave her and come to me, dear Will, come!"

The widow got up and shook out the folds of her dress with an air of superb disdain.

"Dear me, Miss Grey! I am sorry to see you so excited. Don't you think you had better go to your mother?"

To which insolent speech the maiden replied nothing; but, laying her hand on the arm of half-repentant and wholly-perplexed Will Enderby, she said in soft, pleading tones—

"Dear Will!"—and the moisture welled up, without o'er-brimming the beautiful bright blue eyes—"Dear Will, I know how that wretched woman has befooled you to pleasure herself. She cannot love you as I love you—as I have always loved you. Say you don't mean it, Will, and I will forgive you everything!"

Ah! Will; had you listened to that gentle pleader, how much trouble and vexation of spirit would you have saved yourself and others! But not so is the soul of man purified. It is only in the crucible of affliction that the true metal is purged from the dross.

His evil genius prevailed—"I cannot, Mabel!" he cried, "I cannot do it. I do love her—God help me! and sorry though I am for your sake, I cannot give her up. No! not even for you Mabel!"

"Sorry for me, Will! Is that all you feel? Then I am sorry for you. You will as surely repent this day at the sun shines in heaven above us. In future we are only cousins! As for you, Madam!—for you, I have no feeling, but that of unmitigated contempt."

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With which Parthian shot, Mabel turned her back upon the scene, and walked away.92

"Silly child!"—sneered Mrs Melmoth. But the sneer was unheeded. And again the king-fishers shrieked devilish discord, and the bull-frogs in the adjacent lagoon barked hoarsely in chorus, and tree-locusts lustily chirped, "O-hoe! ohoe! alrite! alrite! ziz! ziz! ziz! ziz!

That night Mabel threw herself into her mother's arms; and with many tearful sobs told the story of her young life's misery. And the mother soothed her, as only a mother could. But none the less did she resent the wrong that had been done to her child.

90 Dolce far niente - Pleasant relaxation and carefree idleness.

91 Zephyrs - Light winds from the West, gentle breeze.

92 Parthian shot - A sharp remark in departing, getting the last word.

* The "Laughing Jackass," or "Settler's Clock," of the Colonists.