CHAPTER XLVI
The _Albatross_ was in.
Just before midday, carts and carry-alls had clattered along the road tothe Port. Deirdre, riding down from the hills at dawn, had seen theschooner on the dim shining screen of sea and sky. There was no wind,and like a great white bird she hovered outside the bar, waiting for thewind and tide to carry her into the quiet waters of the inlet.
It was not until midday that a breeze sprang up, sending white, curledbreakers high over the bar, and the _Albatross_ on the crest of themcame sailing into the harbour. She rode, furling her sails, to thelog-wood wharf on its further side. A crowd had gathered to meet her,and it was early afternoon before the vehicles began to rattle backalong the road to the hills and Wirreeford. Deirdre stood at the windowof McNab's parlour, behind the curtains that had been hung up in herhonour, watching them.
She saw none of the curious looks and gestures that went her way, thepitiful glances that covered her. For the news of the Port that morningbeat any the boat had brought. Those who saw the dim white face of thegirl at the window, and her shadowy eyes, knew that she was Thad McNab'swife. They knew that McNab had driven Deirdre Farrel into the Portbefore any of them were astir and that a clergyman had married them inthe church there.
"Why did she do it? What could have made her," they asked each other.
"It wasn't for love of his beautiful face, be sure," snarled SaltWatson.
"It's hard on the Schoolmaster. He'll not know of it yet," somebody elsesaid.
Deirdre neither heard nor saw them. She was watching for Davey and Danto pass. She had seen Mrs. Ross and Jessie go by to the Port inCameron's double-seated buggy. She thought they would ride together tothe hills in that, Davey and her father.
If they knew, they would stop at the Black Bull; if no one had told themthey would go on, she had decided. They would wonder why she was not onthe wharf when the boat got in, to meet them. But McNab would not havethat. He would not lose sight of her. Besides she did not want to meetthe eyes of the men and women who would be there, and hear what they hadto say.
She was cut off from the world as she stood at the window of McNab'shouse. Her mind was too utterly weary to reason further. As she watchedand waited a sense of bleak desolation closed in on her. Her eyes achedfor sight of the Schoolmaster's form against the clear sky, although sheknew she would hardly see it above the buggy and among other people.
She asked herself what he would do when he found that she was notwaiting for him at Steve's--what he would think when he found the letterthat was lying for him there.
Steve would have to read it for him. It would break his heart, theletter that she had wept and prayed over; but it was better that hisheart should break than that he should go to the Island again. AndSteve, poor old Steve, would die in peace some day and be put to restwhere they had put Conal. A magistrate--assisted in a fashion byM'Laughlin and a jury--had duly investigated and found that his tragicdeath was an impenetrable mystery. An "open verdict," they called thefinding.
Conal's resting place was on a sunny hillside under a blossoming whitegum in which the bees hummed drowsily in the spring time and throughwhich the green parrots flashed all the year. It was good to think thatSteve would draw his last breath in freedom, and then sleep there underthe blue sky. But for her, there would be no freedom, no open spaces.Life had become a prison from which there was only one gate--Death; andthat she would not be able to open because she was a hostage for otherlives. Dan's, and Steve's--perhaps Davey's.
Cameron's buggy rounded a turn in the road.
Mrs. Ross and Jessie were in it, and there was a man's figure besidetheirs--only one though.
The horse, moving at her slow, steady jog-trot, drew nearer.
Deirdre saw clearly the man who was driving. It was Davey. TheSchoolmaster was not with him.
A panic seized her. She flew out to the road, the horse stoppedautomatically.
"Where's father?" she cried.
Davey stared at her. He scarcely knew her--this wild, white-facedcreature with burning eyes and colourless lips.
"Hasn't he come?" she asked.
"No," he said slowly.
He got down from the buggy. His heart ached at the sight of her. Hehardly knew how to speak. He moved to take her hands.
She shrank from him.
"Why didn't he come?"
"Because ... Oh, Deirdre, it breaks my heart to tell you," he broke out."Don't look at me like that. I did all I could, but it was no good. Somecursed brute gave information--"
"Oh," she whispered. "It was that then!"
And after a moment:
"They took him again--for being at large before the expiration of ...sentence!"
"Yes."
His eyes were all tenderness and pity for her.
"When, Davey?"
"Just before we were leaving, four days ago. Don't look like that,Deirdre! I won't leave a stone unturned to get him back. And I promisedhim that we--"
She laughed, a strange, cracking little laugh.
"Deirdre!"
He was perplexed and hurt.
"Don't come near me!"
She turned away from him and ran into the house under the swinging signof the black bull with red-rimmed eyes.
Davey attempted to follow her. He saw McNab in the doorway.
"What the hell's she doing there?" he muttered.
Mrs. Ross and Jessie eyed each other anxiously. They did not speak for aminute. Then the elder woman said nervously, uncertainly:
"P'raps ... p'raps she came down with Steve to meet the Schoolmaster.But we'd better be going on, Davey. Don't risk any trouble with ThadMcNab to-day. Your mother's waiting eagerly for you. You're her onlythought now. All she has got."
Davey climbed into the buggy again. His face was sombre. He had not gotover the shock of his father's death and Deirdre's manner wounded andbewildered him. He thought that she was distraught with agony anddisappointment on the Schoolmaster's account. He had imagined howtenderly he would tell her what had happened, and comfort her. Now tofind her at the Black Bull, not at Steve's, where he had thought shewould be, and Mrs. Ross and Jessie beside him, when he wanted to foldher in his arms and assure her that he would never rest until Dan waswith them again! He swore at every jolt and jar on the road to relievehis impatience.
It was Mrs. Ross who said to Mary Cameron, taking her aside when motherand son had met, and Davey was turning Bess into the paddock again:
"It's true what we heard about Deirdre Farrel going to marry McNab. Shewas married to him this morning. You'd better break the news to Davey.He doesn't know yet. I dursn't tell him for fear he'd go to McNab. Iwanted to bring him safe to you. Jessie and I'll go home now. No doubtyou'll like to have the house to yourself, but if you want anything, orthere's anything we can do for you--"
"We're always glad to do anything for you, Mrs. Cameron, dear," Jessiesaid softly.
"It's a queer, heartless girl Deirdre is, to play fast and loose withthe love of a fine fellow like Davey," Mrs. Ross said, when Jess wasoutside setting their bundles and baskets into the cart.
"Oh, she wouldn't do that--Deirdre," Mrs. Cameron replied. "It'ssomething dreadful that's driven her to it."
"Yes--I suppose it is," Mrs. Ross sighed. "Poor child. Perhaps I'mspiteful about it, Mary. But maybe now that she is out of the way, Daveymay think of my Jessie again."
Davey' s mother smiled sadly.
"I'd be sorry for any woman he married but Deirdre, for she has thewhole of him--heart and soul," she said.
"Oh well, it's a pity!" Mrs. Ross kissed her good-bye. "Jess had bettermake up her mind to have Buddy Morrison, then, and that's what I've beentelling her this long time. He's a good lad, very fond of her, and beenwanting to marry her for the last five years."
When Jess and her mother had gone, driving off in their high, joltingbuggy, Davey and Mrs. Cameron went indoors together.
He had aged considerable since she last saw him. It was a stern, strangeface to her,
this her boy's. There were sorrow, self-repression, abitter realisation of life and what it means in heartache anddisappointment, in his expression; something of power and assurance too.
She was wondering how she could tell him, covering him with tender,pitiful glances, and praying that he would not leave her, that no hurtmight come to him, when he asked suddenly:
"Have you seen anything of Deirdre, mother?"
He had been moving restlessly about the room, lifting things from theirplace on the mantelpiece and putting them back again.
She called him to her and, putting her hands on his head, told him whatMrs. Ross had said.
Davey's face hardened and whitened slowly. He put her hands away fromhim and wheeled unsteadily from the room. She heard him go across theyard, and saw him stumbling up the narrow track to the trees on the farside of the hill.
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