page 270

Chapter XXIX.

It certainly was Hope Bernard, although Jack caught sight of him but for a few seconds, for Bernard appeared unwilling to be seen, and disappeared up the first turning.

Was it possible, Jack thought, that Bernard was watching him? What should bring him close to the house where he had been on what Jack felt his own peculiar interest? Why should Bernard have followed him secretly?

By the time Jack Stanley arrived at his hotel, he had worked himself up into being very angry with his friend; and, when he entered the inn and encountered Bernard, he at once burst upon him with—

“What were you doing at Mr. Tudor's house, where I have been?”

“I had business there as well as yourself,” answered Bernard.

“What business? to watch me? You could not have had business with a man you do not know. You did not even know who lived there.”

page 271

“Don't be rude, Jack, if you please,” said Bernard. “I have told you that I had business there, and it is a fact.”

“I will not be watched, or have my steps dogged by any one! Leave me to go my way, and you go your own! You said you came here to look for your father: look for him; but don't interfere with my pursuit!” said Jack, hotly.

“It must come out some day: as well now as any other time!” exclaimed Bernard, with as much passion as Jack.

Then he paused; and in that pause altered his determination, and said no more.

“What must come out some day? What do you mean?” asked Stanley.

“No matter. I was about to tell you something, but I will not. I see you are determined to quarrel with me, Jack: you will find an occasion before long; and it will be better that we should part. I have a duty in life which will make my actions antagonistic to yours; I will henceforth pursue it alone.”

He held out his hand towards his companion; but Jack pretended not to see it, and Bernard left the room.

For some minutes Jack Stanley sat nursing his wrath, thinking, like Jonah of old, that “he did well to be angry.” But after a short time his anger passed away, and the words that Bernard had used came back to his recollection: “I was about to tell you something. I see page 272 you are determined to quarrel with me, and you will find an occasion before long. I have a duty in life which will make my actions antagonistic to yours.”

From their first meeting there had been something almost approaching to mystery about Bernard. Jack went back in thought to their first meeting, and recalled the image of his half-conscious dying father being treated so tenderly by Bernard; and he started to his feet, exclaiming,

“What an ungrateful brute I am!”

Then all his old affection for Bernard returned. We know that Jack had never had friends in his youth; that his father had been the one love of his boyhood, until the moment that he met Bernard, when he learnt friendship for the first time: such friendships usually last for life.

Jack seized his hat the next moment, and flew to the hall. Upon inquiries, he found that his friend had left the hotel immediately upon parting with him, and for a few moments Jack hesitated what to do.

“He did not say where he was going, I suppose?” he asked.

“No, sir. Paid his bill, and walked out; that is all.”

“At any rate,” thought Jack, “Auckland is not so large but I shall probably run up against him before long.”

And with that intention he walked out upon his search; and in less than half an hour he saw Bernard at a little distance from him on the beach. He was seated, looking page 273 at the water, and Jack immediately went up to him, and, putting his hand upon his shoulder, said,

“Forgive me, old fellow, for my rudeness, and do not let us quarrel. I am very sorry for what I said.”

“All right,” said Bernard, smiling. “What an odd fellow you are, Jack! but I cannot help liking you, somehow.” And then they dropped the subject, and talked of other things.

The harbour of Auckland is peculiarly beautiful, from the fact that the trees grow down to the very edge of the water, so that they reflect upon the sea. The water is remarkably calm and lovely, being, in fact, a bay, the entrance into which does not measure above three-quarters of a mile, after which it stretches out into a broad basin. After some time spent in contemplating the water, and watching the various craft, principally connected with the whale fisheries of the coast, Bernard said,

“Jack, I must tread upon dangerous ground again. It is impossible for us to be friends and yet, as you said, go our different ways. You are aware that my great anxiety is to meet with my father: I shall, as Colonel Bradshaw advised us, call at the missionary station, and try to learn something about him.”

“He is not in Auckland, then?” said Jack.

“I should scarcely be sitting here if he were,” answered Bernard.

“I will go with you to the station; I might hear something of Maitland,” said Jack.

page 274

“I would rather you did not,” replied Bernard, colouring. “Please make your inquiries irrespective of me.”

Jack was ready to flare up again; but remembering their very recent disagreement, he restrained himself, and relieved his feelings by pelting the water savagely with stones.

“Very well,” said he, presently; “have your interview first, and I will call at the station afterwards. There is something almost comic in the way we run our heads against each other in our separate searches.”

In the evening Bernard rejoined him, and Jack greeted him with—

“Well, have you learnt anything?”

“Yes,” said Bernard, “I think I have a clue. I shall follow it.”

“Where is he supposed to be?”

“Up the country, in the interior,” answered Bernard; “it will not, probably, take me more than a few days; I can return to you here.”

“Then you think I am going to stop here until you come back, do you? Nothing of the sort: I shall act Ruth to your Naomi, my good sir—unless, of course, I have reasons for going in another direction,” added Jack, more gravely.

Bernard made no answer, and Jack thought he looked vexed.

“What is the matter?” resumed he. “May not I go with you?”

page 275

“If you wish it, of course,” answered Bernard; “but you might amuse yourself much better here.”

“However, I may hear something to-morrow which may send me in quite an opposite direction,” said jack.

Next morning Jack called at the missionary station, and saw a gentleman who treated him very courteously, but apparently could give him no information, though, as Jack repeated to his friend when he was once more with him, “There never was such a fellow for not compromising himself: he would not give me a decided answer, although I asked him again and again if he could not guess in which direction Mr. Maitland is gone. I cannot help thinking that he knows something about him, notwithstanding: there was a very demure look about him.”

“He is a very good fellow,” exclaimed Bernard, warmly.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” returned Jack; “a first-rate fellow in your estimation, as you got more out of him than I did. Hope, I don't know what to do. I have half a mind I will remain in Auckland until I learn something. I must find him.”

“I wish I could persuade you to abandon the search,” said Bernard. “Yes, perhaps you had better remain here.”

“In order to make inquiries tending towards my abandoning the search, eh, Master Hope?”

“No, I did not mean that,” said Bernard, confusedly; “only, if you are bent upon it—”

“I am bent upon it. And now may I ask whereabouts page 276 you are going when you leave this? You will not go alone, I suppose?”

“Oh, no: I shall hire a couple of men.”

“What is the name of the place you are going to?” asked Jack.

“Waikato.”

“I never heard the name before, but it is very like Waipata, the son of Taonui, the dear old Colonel told us about. Let us go in search of him at the club this evening. I must let him know that I am going to stay for a while in Auckland.”

Bernard's spirits seemed to have risen to an unusual height. He rivalled Jack himself in his talking and laughing, and was more demonstratively affectionate to his companion than Jack had ever known him.

At the club they found the colonel, who kindly congratulated Bernard upon his success, and advised him as to the best means of reaching the banks of the Waikato.

“The Maoris about there,” he said, “are of a poorer class than those amongst whom we have been hitherto. You must be prepared at times to live on short commons. Let me advise you to lay in a good stock of tobacco before leaving Auckland, for in some parts it is more valued than money. Also take your gun: you will find plenty of use for it; and take a very stout walking-stick. When do you start?”

“To-morrow, sir.”

“Then leave this young scapegrace in my care,” said page 277 the Colonel, laughing. “I'll undertake to keep him in order.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack, impudently; “that will involve more than you anticipate, for I have to keep Marāra in order; and the first thing I am going to do with him,” he added presently, “is to clothe him in clean clothing.”

“A complete fashionable suit?” said Bernard.

“I should say a suit of livery. What are your colours, Jack? I hope something which will be becoming to Marāra's complexion,” said Colonel Bradshaw.

“I think he would look well in buttons,” said Bernard. “I wish I was not going to-morrow: I should enjoy rigging him out.”

“I shall not countenance any such vanity,” Jack answered. “Marāra shall have a bran-new flax mat, and nothing besides. I will try to keep him an unsophisticated savage as long as I can; and I shall insist upon the old mat being made a bonfire of. Only fancy how it will burn and fizzle! I should think Marāra, with his Maori nose, will enjoy the smell of it.”

Jack Stanley was up early on the following morning, to see, as he supposed, the last of his friend Bernard for some time. The Colonel also came to wish Bernard good bye; and the three walked together for some distance beyond the town; then, wishing Bernard farewell and God speed, the Colonel and Jack turned, and left him to pursue his way by himself, accompanied only by his guides.

page 278

The Colonel had an engagement with his friend for the afternoon; and Jack sauntered about, or sat by the sea upon the beach, by himself. Many things in Hope Bernard's conduct and manner of late had surprised him, and his incoherent behaviour was more surprising than ever. Why had Bernard been separated from his father all these years, apparently knowing so little of him? and why did his father seem always to fly before him, just as Maitland escaped from Jack?

“Bernard would say, perhaps, that Maitland is kept beyond my reach to prevent me from carrying out my retributive justice,” mentally said Jack; “but the argument cannot apply to him. Surely it must be a righteous thing to look for one's own father, whether my course of conduct is right or wrong. I wonder what sort of a man this father of his is? If he is anything like Hope he must be a good fellow, excepting for his seeming to care so little for his son.”