Chapter VI. 'Together we Will Die.'

At last it came; this that they had all seemed to be dreading and expecting. And Philiberta was again first to have knowledge and to bring the news.

It was at the close of a long, hot, breezeless day. On the six preceding ones the north wind had blown its furnace-like breath without ceasing. Now had come a calm, heavy and thunderous, with banks of cloud rising with almost imperceptible progress up the faded-looking sky. The leaves of the trees hung motionless and pendent; the birds had held peace all day; even the locusts had been silent.

John Campbell was pacing the veranda restlessly. Rosamond, collapsed under the sultry heat, lay with closed eyes and aching head upon the broad cane reclining-chair under the vine.

'And I wonder where iss that lass?' said John, in a tone of petulance. 'The storm will not pe so ferry long now, and page 41when it comes it will pe so sudden that there will pe no chance of anypody which will pe out in it whateffer. The lightning too; the trees will split up like kindling wood with the lightning this night.'

Even as he spoke there was the sharp rattle of hoofs, and Philiberta came in view riding at full speed. John Campbell broke out again—

'Well, that was nefer like the lass whateffer, Rosamond, riding the poor beastie on a day like this just as if the ferry teffle wass pehind.'

But Rosamond had not energy enough to even open her eyes.

'Father!' exclaimed Philiberta, in a tone of suppressed excitement, as she sprang to the ground and ran to the veranda, leaving King Lowrie to take care of himself. 'Father, the blacks are out there in the ti-tree, crouching and hiding. And they have all got spears.'

Rosamond sat up quickly. John Campbell's ruddy face changed colour.

'And how many blacks wass there, little Phil?'

'Fifty, at least.'

'Kott! it would hef peen petter if I hed taken you poth to town pefore Christmas, I wass thinking.'

'What will you do, John?' asked his wife, roused very thoroughly from her lethargy.

John's eyes wandered out in perplexed gaze towards the patch of ti-tree where the danger lurked.

'It iss too late to hold parley with them now,' said he, gloomily; 'the first answer from them would pe a spear, and the next would pe a tomahawk. What iss the time now, Rosamond?'

'Seven o'clock,' she replied, returning swiftly from consultation of the huge chronometer that John Campbell kept hanging at his bed-head in preference to carrying it in his pocket.

'Seven; and at nine it will pe dark—sooner if the storm hurries up, Rosamond. And it iss more as twenty miles to Emuville, and the track iss very rough in parts of it, Phil!'

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'Yes, father.'

'You will mount King Lowrie again, my child, and you will ride, as you nefer pefore in your life haf ridden, and you will get to Emuville township in one hour and a quarter, bar accidents. And you will pring efery man which can get a horse in Emuville back with you. And if you are ferry quick, you will pe pack to Morven by ten o'clock.'

'But, father, the men at the out-stations. Hadn't I better fetch them first?'

'There wass but two men at the out-stations, Phil; and five miles of country between the two. That would pe waste of time.'

'So it would. I will be off at once.'

'But, John, why are you sending Phil to the township?' cried Rosamond. 'Can't Jimmy, the half-caste——'

Then she stopped—a quick look of intelligence passing from her husband's eyes to hers.

'Father!' said Philiberta, turning back from the door. 'Why should I have to go alone to Emuville? Let us all go.'

'We should nefer get there, Phil, for the blacks would see us. And besides that, mirofer, there iss Jimmy the half-caste, and the two kitchen lasses, and no more as two horses in from the paddock for all of us. Why, iss little Phil afraid to go py her own self?'

'Afraid, daddy?' with a look of reproach. 'What a wicked thing to say! Of course, I must go now. After all,' said she cheerfully, turning back once more to kiss them both, 'after all, there is nothing to worry about. The blacks are too cowardly to do anything beyond stealing a bit of flour. Good-bye, goodbye.'

'It iss King Lowrie that knows how to spin,' said John Campbell, watching her out of sight,' and will keep up his pace through all the difficulties whateffer. There is a chance for us yet, Rosamond O'Brien.'

'Is the danger great, John? Perhaps they've only come to steal a bit of flour.'

'They will steal no more flour, Rosamond,' he said, setting page 43his mouth sternly. 'The last flour they stole wass enough for them. Tam those murdering teffles!' he burst out with sudden passion; 'if I had only hanged them to a tree that day, I should be glad now. It iss a dear pag of flour that poisoned pag will pe to us. Now, Rosamond, I am going out to the stable to saddle Kangaroo. He iss not a ferry fast horse whateffer, but he will take you safely to meet the lass when she will pe halfway home.'

Rosamond laughed, leaning her head against her husband's shoulder, and looking up into his face with those loving Irish eyes.

'It was clever of you to get the colleen away, darlin',' she said. 'For a minute I didn't see it, and I was wondering why you didn't send Jimmy the half-caste. And then I saw, and I shut up my lips at once, for fear she would be after seeing too. It was clever of you, John dear,'

'And it will pe still cleverer of my wife,' said John, 'if she, too, will go away on Kangaroo, so that presently I shall pe able to go after her without any pother.'

She laughed again. It was a queer, loving little laugh; but there was no mirth in it, nor any upon the dear face that drew nearer to his for a kiss.

She said, 'If there is trouble for us, we can take it better together. Dear heart, if it is death—why, then, together we will die.'

He folded her fast in his strong arms and kissed her fiercely.

'We will hef no talk about dying yet, my wife. We hef not lived long enough. Kott, not half long enough together yet. We will not die, Rosamond, for then I might lose you. How do I know what is after death—whether there will not pe a place for you and another place for me—apart—ah! efer so far apart?'

'Ah, no,' she said, with a confidence most pathetic. 'God is never so cruel as that.'

'Iss He not? It is not cruel, then, to let those wicked men murder the blacks, and us pe left to pay the penalty?'

Rosamond laid her hand upon his lips.

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'I would hef made you go away with the lass,' he said presently, when she had released him, 'only that Kangaroo iss not so swift as King Lowrie, and the lass would not hef liked to leave you behind on the road, Rosamond. It will pe much petter,' said he anxiously, 'if you will go now, my dear.'

'And why will it not be better for you to go too, John?'

'I could not leave the poor women, dear,' he said simply.

'No, darlin',' said Rosamond.

'And there iss no way of getting them off with us, except to hurry the danger.'

'What is the very worst thing that can happen to us to-night, John?'

'The ferry worst thing would pe that one of us might die pefore the other, Rosamond. But we will hef no talk apont it We hef chances, though we hef got no men at Morven. I could fight the whole fifty scountrels single-handed, if it wass only fair fighting. Fair fighting iss very easy to me. But we will hef chances. The blacks iss not to know that there iss no men at Morven but one. You will get me all the old hats which iss in the house, Rosamond, and I will hang them on the fence by the huts, just as the hands hung them there in the efening time. And you will tell the women to light a fire by the huts, like as when the hands used to boil the billies for tea. And Jimmy and me, we will crack the stockwhips in the yard and shout in the stable at the horses. If we can keep the teffles quiet till the men come from Emuville, then there will pe no more pother. If not, then there iss the two pistols—two shots each—and the rifle, two shots more, to frighten them quiet a little while longer.'

'But sometimes they fire the house.'

'Then we would hef to get out of the house.'

'And give them every chance with the spears.'

'Ah, well, it iss no use making the worst of it now, Rosamond. Get me the hats like a goot lass; and then you will go to the women. And you will not wear a long face to the women, my dear, for frightened women iss the teffle and all to deal with.'

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The storm held off, yet at nine o'clock everything was in darkness, and not a star visible because of the heavy dense clouds. John Campbell and his wife, the servant-maids and Jimmy the half-caste—more terrified than any of the rest—kept together in the kitchen, that being the room affording the best chance of defence, if defence should become necessary. There was but one outer door, and that a solid one of slabs; and one window, a single sash swinging by the middle. The window looked out towards the ti-tree scrub, and would prove a good port-hole for John Campbell's solitary gun. All other windows and all the doors of the house were carefully fastened, and of course there were no lights allowed. The kitchen fire was burning because the cook, a plucky girl, and a countrywoman of Mrs. Campbell's, had a great opinion of the efficacy of hot water in emergencies.

'Nothing like it,' said she, 'for black-beetles, bad cess to them.'

But the fire-place was screened with a blanket, so that no glimmer of the fire might be visible outside.

'Come here, you villain,' whispered John Campbell to Jimmy the half-caste; 'your tam'd blackfellow's eyes are keener in the dark than mine. Keep quiet, and look out over there to the ti-tree. Now, what do you see?'

The terrified lad crept out from the corner where he had been crouching, and peered out into the darkness.

'What do you see?'

'Blackfellow!' gasped Jimmy; 'blackfellow walk along here—quiet—quiet—quick—quick!'

That was just what John Campbell's own sharp eyes had seen, only he had hoped against hope that they were mistaken. One after another the natives reached the house, and then there was a sudden hideous yell.

'It must pe fighting now, Rosamond,' muttered John Campbell. 'If it had been stealing, as we wass hoping, there would have peen no shout. I must fire now.'

'Hold on a minute, sir,' came from the cook in a loud whisper. 'The wather first, sir, and save the shot,'

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'That iss a goot idea, Mary, and maype it will frighten the teffles off without any need for killing. Give me the pan of water.'

'No, no; it is me to aim the water, you to aim the shot.'

'But it iss not possible to aim anything in this darkness, my lass.'

'Wait a bit, sir. Give me one chance at the window, sir. Saints! how they yell. Let me there one minute, sir, and see if I don't give every blissed cockroach of 'em a dhrop.'

She pushed forcibly in front of him, and immediately afterwards a succession of piercing shrieks outside bore testimony to the comprehensive efficacy of Mary's shot.

'Ah, come on wid ye now!' shouted the girl furiously through the open window; 'it's aiqual to a hundred of yez I am.'

John Campbell dragged her back, with a hot imprecation on her folly, and received the spear that came instantly whizzing through the window full in his side. Rosamond heard the whiz of it as it sped through the air, and felt that he was struck, and a pitiful little wail broke from her.

'It iss nothing, dear,' said John, when he could speak, which was not just at once, because of the pain; and then he tried to pull it out, but the cursed thing snapped off short in his hand.

'It iss all up with me now,' he said, suppressing both voice and agony; then in a moment he spoke aloud and firmly. 'You women will petter pe trying to get away now.'

'How can we?' said Mary.

'Quite easily, by the front door. You will get in among the trees before they will hef time to see you. They will pe too busy at this side of the house. Jimmy, you black coward!'

The boy crept up to him sobbing and gasping in terror.

'You will guide them round by the big she-oak, slily and quietly, and then on to the track. When you get the track, run, all of you, as fast as you can towards the township. You will soon meet people on the road that will gif you protection.'

'And you and the missus,' said Mary. And all this while there were the thuds of things striking the outer wall, and occasional yells from the blacks.

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'Rosamond, you will go with them.'

'Without you, John?'

'My dear, I cannot go—bekass—I am hurt, hurt to the death. O Kott! but it iss a hard thing for a man to hef to die like this!'

'Lift him up, quick,' cried Rosamond, for he was falling against her. 'Lift him up, and help me to carry him.'

'No, leave me,' he said, struggling against them feebly. 'It iss all up with me. I am dying already.'

But they lifted him, Mary and Rosamond, and actually carried him, big and heavy as he was, as far as the door; when they opened that they saw that all was over, for the natives had fired the house. Jimmy and the servant-maids fled; even Mary fled. Let those who would blame them for cowardice try to imagine the din—the awful din; the choking smoke; the flames dancing up with sudden fury in half a dozen different directions. The wonder was that they escaped the spears that were hurled after them; but they did, and with a swift rush gained the track and ran on between the trees.

John Campbell lay dying on the floor. 'Rosamond, for love's sake—for the lass's sake—go and leave me.'

'Here is your pistol,' she said, panting beside him, 'and here is my heart. Quick, love, quick!'

But he raised himself with one last desperate effort, struggled over to the window, and fired both barrels outside. Each shot told; two natives fell, though his aim was that of a dying man.

'It wass goot to have one shot pefore I go,' he said, leaning against the wall, while the hot breath of the flames came nearer and hotter.

'Rosamond!'

She had been groping about for the other pistol and had found it.

'You will not leave me then, Rosamond?'

'Do not waste this one,' she said, falling on her knees beside him and putting the weapon in his hand; 'put the muzzle here, so, and be quick, dear. Do not leave me to those fiends and the fire. We have lived together, dear heart, though not long page 48enough—ah, holy God! not long enough—and now together we will die.'

He did it, looking in her face by the light of the flames as he fired. She fell against him as the bullet pierced her pretty throat, and her life-blood welled out over him. Her weight was upon his wounded side, till he felt her presently slipping down and away from him. Then he put out his weakening arm to keep her, and she, feeling what he wanted, helped, too, so that they did not lose hold of each other. She crept a little higher, till she could feel his beard and his breath on her face, and then she could no more. Speech was impossible to her, because of the wound in her throat. He, striving even in the extremity of agony not to hurt or disturb her with his pain, spoke once more, repeating her words 'Together we will die.' And then he called out loudly her name.

The flames were upon them now, but they were beyond all knowledge of it, thank God! Beyond all vision, too, of the hideous yelling fiends that danced around them, and of the rescue-party one short half-mile distant—the rescue-party which had come too late.