A Little Bush Maid

by Mary Grant Bruce

  CHAPTER XVII. THE END OF THE STRUGGLE

  The long slow journey to Billabong homestead was accomplished.

  The Hermit had never regained consciousness throughout the weary hoursduring which every jolt of the express-wagon over the rough tracks hadsent a throb to the hearts of the watchers. All unconscious he had lainwhile they lifted him from the bunk where he had slept for so manylonely nights. The men packed his few personal belongings quickly.Norah, remembering a hint dropped by the Hermit in other days, hadinstituted a search for buried papers, which resulted in the unearthingof a tin box containing various documents. She had insisted, too, thatthe rough furniture should go, and it was piled in the front of thewagon. Another man had brought out the old pack mare for the baggage ofthe original fishing party, and the whole cavalcade moved off before thesun had got above the horizon.

  But it was a tedious journey. Dr. Anderson sat beside his patient,watching the feeble action of the heart and the flickering pulse, plyinghim with stimulants and nourishment, occasionally calling a halt for afew minutes' complete rest. Close to the wheel Dick Stephenson rode, hiseyes scarcely leaving his father's face. On the other side, Norah andher father rode in silent, miserable anxiety, fretting at their utterhelplessness. Dr. Anderson glanced sharply now and then at the littlegirl's face.

  "This isn't good for her," he said at length quietly to Mr. Linton."She's had too much already. Take her home." He raised his voice. "You'dbetter go on," he said; "let Mrs. Brown know just what is coming; she'llneed you to help her prepare the patient's room, Norah. You, too,Stephenson."

  "I won't leave him, thanks," he said. "I'd rather not--he might becomeconscious."

  "No chance of that," the doctor said, "best not, too, until we have himsafely in bed. However, stay if you like--perhaps it's as well. I think,Linton, you'd better send a wire to Melbourne for a trained nurse."

  "And one to mother," Dick said quickly.

  "That's gone already," Mr. Linton said. "I sent George back with it lastnight when he brought the mare out." He smiled in answer to Dick'sgrateful look. "Well, come on, Norah."

  The remembrance of that helpless form in the bottom of the wagon hauntedNorah's memory all through the remainder of the ride home. She wasthoroughly tired now--excitement that had kept her up the day before hadprevented her from sleeping, and she scarcely could keep upright in thesaddle. However, she set her teeth to show no sign of weakness thatshould alarm her father, and endeavoured to have a smile for himwhenever his anxious gaze swept her white face.

  The relief of seeing the red roof of home! That last mile was thelongest of all--and when at length they were at the gate, and she hadclimbed stiffly off her pony, she could only lean against his shoulderand shake from head to foot. Mr. Linton picked her up bodily and carriedher, feebly protesting, into Mrs. Brown.

  "Only knocked up," he said, in answer to the old woman's terrifiedexclamation. "Bed is all she needs--and hot soup, if you've got it.Norah, dear"--as she begged to be allowed to remain and help--"you cando nothing just now, except get yourself all right. Do as I tell you,girlie;" and in an astonishingly short space of time Norah found herselftucked up in bed in her darkened room, with Daddy's hand fast in hers,and a comforting feeling of everything fading away to darkness andsleep.

  It was twilight when she opened her eyes again, and Brownie sat knittingby her side.

  "Bless your dear heart," she said fervently. "Yes, the old gentleman'scome, an' he's quite comfertable in bed--though he don't know no oneyet. Dr. Anderson's gone to Cunjee, but he's coming back in his steamengine to stay all night; an' your pa's having his dinner, which heneeds it, poor man. An' he don't want you to get up, lovey, for thereain't nothin' you can do. I'll go and get you something to eat."

  But it was Mr. Linton who came presently, bearing a tray with daintychicken and salad, and a glass of clear golden jelly. He sat by Norahwhile she ate.

  "We're pretty anxious, dear," he told her, when she had finished, andwas snugly lying down again, astonishingly glad of her soft bed. "Youwon't mind my not staying. I must be near old Jim. I'll be glad whenAnderson's back. Try to go to sleep quickly." He bent to kiss her. "Youdon't know what a comfort your sleep has been to me, my girlie," hesaid. "Good-night!"

  It was the third day of the struggle with death over the Hermit'sunconscious body, and again twilight was falling upon Billabong.

  The house was hushed and silent. No footfall was allowed to sound wherethe echo might penetrate to the sick-room. Near its precincts Mrs. Brownand the Melbourne trained nurse reigned supreme, and Dr. Anderson cameand went as often as he could manage the fourteen-mile spin out fromCunjee in his motor.

  Norah had a new care--a little fragile old lady, with snowy hair, anddepths of infinite sadness in her eyes, whom Dick Stephenson called"mother." The doctor would not allow either mother or son into thesick-room--the shock of recognition, should the Hermit regainconsciousness suddenly, might be too much. So they waited about,agonisingly anxious, pitifully helpless. Dick rebelled against theidleness at length. It would kill him, he said, and, borrowing a spadefrom the Chinese gardener, he spent his time in heavy digging, withineasy call of the house. But for the wife and mother there was no help.She was gently courteous to all, gently appreciative of Norah's attemptsto occupy her thoughts. But throughout it all--whether she looked at thepets outside, or walked among the autumn roses in the garden, orstruggled to eat at the table--she was listening, ever listening.

  In the evening of the third day Mr. Linton came quickly into thedrawing-room. Tears were falling down his face. He went up to Mrs.Stephenson and put his hand on her shoulder.

  "It's--it's all right, we think," he said brokenly. "He's conscious andknew me, dear old chap! I was sitting by the bed, and suddenly his eyesopened and all the fever had gone. 'Why, Davy!' he said. I told himeverything was all right, and he mustn't talk--and he's taken somenourishment, and gone off into a natural sleep. Anderson's delighted."Then he caught Mrs. Stephenson quickly as she slipped to his feet,unconscious.

  Then there were days of dreary waiting, of slow, harassingconvalescence. The patient did not seem to be alive to any outsidethought. He gained strength very slowly, but he lay always silent,asking no questions, only when Mr. Linton entered the room showing anysign of interest. The doctor was vaguely puzzled, vaguely anxious.

  "Do you think I could go and see him?" Norah was outside the door of thesick-room. The doctor often found her there--a little silent figure,listening vainly for her friend's voice. She looked up pleadingly. "Notif you think I oughtn't to," she said.

  "I don't believe it would hurt him," Dr. Anderson said, looking down ather. "Might wake him up a bit--I know you won't excite him."

  So it was that the Hermit, waking from a restless sleep, found by hisside a small person with brown curls that he remembered.

  "Why, it's my little friend," he murmured, feeling weakly for her hand."This seems a queer world--old friends and new, all mixed up."

  "I'm so glad you're better, dear Mr. Hermit," Norah said. She bent andkissed him. "And we're all friends--everybody."

  "You did that once before," he said feebly. "No one had kissed me forsuch a long, long while. But mustn't let you."

  "Why?" asked Norah blankly.

  "Because--because people don't think much of me, Miss Norah," he said, adeep shade falling on his fine old face. "They say I'm no good. I don'tsuppose I'd be allowed to be here, only I'm an old man, and I'm going todie."

  "But you're not!" Norah cried. "Dr. Anderson says you're not!And--and--oh, you're making a great mistake. Everyone wants you."

  "Me!" said the Hermit, in sudden bitter scorn. "No, only strangers likeyou. Not my own."

  "Oh, you don't know," Norah protested. She was painfully aware of theorder not to excite the patient, but it was awful to let him be sounhappy! "Dad's not a stranger--he always knew you. And see how he wantsyou!"

  "Dad?" the Hermit questioned feebly. "Is David Linton your father?" Shenodded, and for a minute he wa
s silent. "No wonder you and I werefriends!" he said. "But you're not all--not even you and Davy."

  "No, but--"

  He forced a smile, in pity for her perplexity.

  "Dear little girl, you don't understand," he said. "There's somethingeven friendship can't wipe out, though such friendship as your father'scan bridge it over. But it's always there--a black, cruel gulf. Andthat's disgrace!"

  Norah could not bear the misery of his eyes.

  "But if it's all a horrible mistake?" she said. "If everybody knewit--?"

  "If it's a mistake!"

  The Hermit's hand was on her wrist like a vice. For a moment Norahshivered in fear of what her words might have done.

  "What do you mean? For God's sake, tell me?"

  She steadied her voice to answer him bravely.

  "Please, you mustn't get excited, dear Mr. Hermit," she said. "I'll tellyou. Dad told me all about it before we found you. It's all a terriblemistake. Every one knows you were a good man. Everyone wants to befriends with you. Only they thought you were dead."

  "I managed that." His voice was sharp and eager. "I saw the other bodyin the river and the rest was easy." He struggled for calmness and Norahheld a glass of water to his lips.

  "Please don't get excited!" she begged.

  "I won't," he smiled at her. "Tell me--does everyone know?"

  "Everyone," Norah nodded. There was a step behind her and a sudden lightflashed into the Hermit's eyes.

  "Davy! Is it true? I am cleared?"

  "Years ago, old man." David Linton's voice was husky. "All the worldwants to make it up to you."

  "All the world--they're only two!" the sick man said. "Do they know?"

  "Yes."

  "Where are they?"

  For a moment Mr. Linton hesitated, not knowing what risk he might run.

  "Oh! for pity's sake don't be cautious, David," the Hermit begged. "I'llbe calm--anything--only don't refuse a starving man bread! Davy, tellme!"

  "They're here, old man."

  "Here! Can I--will they--?"

  "Ah, we've got to be careful of you, Jim, old chap," Mr. Linton said."You've been a very sick man--and you're not better yet. But they'reonly living on the hope of seeing you--of having you again--of making itup to you."

  "And they believe in me?"

  "The boy--Dick--never believed a word against you," Mr. Linton said."And your wife--ah, if she doubted, she has paid for it again and againin tears. You'll forgive her, Jim?"

  "Yes," he said simply. "I've been bitter enough God knows, but it allseems gone. You'll bring her, Davy?"

  But at the word Norah was out of the room, racing along the hall.

  Out in the gardens Dick Stephenson dug mightily in the hard soil, andhis mother watched him, listening always. She heard the flying footstepson the gravel and turned quickly to meet Norah.

  "Mr. Stephenson, he wants you!"

  "Is he worse?" Dick gasped.

  "No--I think he's all right. But he knows everything and he wants youboth!"

  In his room the Hermit heard the steps in the hall--the light, slowfeet, and the man's tread, that curbed its impatience, lingering tosupport them. His breath came quickly as he stared at the door.

  Then for a moment they faced each other, after the weary years; eachgaunt and wan and old, but in their eyes the light and the love of longago. The hermit's eyes wandered an instant to his son's face, seeking inthe stalwart man the little lad he knew. Then they came back to hiswife.

  "Mary!"

  "Jim!" She tottered to the bed.

  "Jim--can you forgive me?"

  "Forgive--oh, my girl!" The two grey heads were close together. DavidLinton slipped from the room.

  CHAPTER XVIII. EVENING

  They were all sitting on the lawn in the twilight.

  Norah had dispensed afternoon tea with laborious energy, ably secondedby Dick, who carried cups and cake, and made himself generally useful.Then they had talked until the sun slipped over the edge of the plain.There was so much to talk of in those days.

  The Hermit had been allowed to leave his room a fortnight since. He wasstill weak, but strength was coming every day--strength that follows onhappiness. Norah declared he grew better every day and no onecontradicted her.

  He and his wife sat hand in hand. They were rarely seen any otherway--perfect content on each placid face. Dick lay on the grass at theirfeet and smoked, and threw stems of buffalo grass at Norah, who returnedthem honourably. Mr. Linton, also smoking, surveyed the group withsatisfaction.

  They had been talking over plans for the future, plans which Mr.Linton's masterfulness modified very considerably.

  "Go away?" he said. "Certainly not! I've engaged your son as tutor to mydaughter, and I really can't spare him from the poor neglected child!Then, as you, curiously enough, don't wish to leave your son, the courseis quite clear--you must stay here."

  "I'm not going to live on you, Davy."

  "You needn't. I'm bitterly in need of someone with a head for figures--athing I never possessed. You can help me tremendously. And, good as dearold Brownie is, I know Norah ought to be with a gentlewoman--to learnthe things that aren't in school books. It's the best chance you and Ihave ever had, isn't it, Norah? We aren't going to let it--or you--slipthrough our hands."

  "It's--it's all very well, Davy, old man--"

  "I know it is. Now, can't you let well alone, Jim? Talk of it again infive years' time--you may have better luck then. I don't say youwill--but you may! Hang it all, man, you're not going to thwart me whenI've just got my family together!"

  "Well, I won't for a while," the Hermit said-and immediately received akiss on the top of his head.

  "Thank you, Norah," he said meekly.

  "Don't mention it," Norah answered politely. "Oh, I'm so glad you'regoing to stay with us, Mr. Hermit!"

  Norah had flatly declined to call her friend anything but the name shehad given him in the bush. As for the Hermit, he was perfectly contentwith anything Norah did and had no idea of objecting.

  "You heard, didn't you, Norah, that they'd found your friend, theWinfield murderer?" Mr. Linton asked.

  "Daddy!--no!"

  "Found his body in an old shaft--not far from Winfield. He had thestolen property on him, so there's no doubt of his guilt. So that clearsyour Hermit, even in your suspicious mind!"

  "Ah, don't, Daddy," Norah said, flushing. "I wasn't suspicious. I was aduffer."

  "I don't think you were," the Hermit said decidedly. "A very sensibleduffer, anyhow."

  Dick laughed.

  "No use trying to come between those two," he said.

  "Not a bit," said the Hermit with great cheerfulness. He smiled atNorah. "You brought me back to life--twice."

  "When I think--but for Norah," Mrs. Stephenson murmured brokenly, "noone would have known you were dying in that dreadful tent."

  "Yes," said the Hermit, "but I didn't know anything about it. My bestmemory is of my little friend who brought me good news when I waswishing with all my soul that I'd died in the tent!"

  "Don't, Jim!" said Mr. Linton.

  "Well, between one and another there's a fair chance of spoiling mypupil," laughed Dick, stretching himself. "I'll have to be doubly sternto counteract the evil influences, Norah. You can prepare for awfultimes. When next Monday comes, Mr. Linton--may it be soon!--you can saygood-bye to your pickle of a daughter. She will come out from my millground into the most approved type of young lady--accomplishments,prunes and prisms personified!"

  Mr. Linton laughed.

  "Will she?" he said, pulling Norah's hair gently. "I wonder! Well, youcan do your worst, Dick. Somehow, I fancy that under all the varnishI'll find my little bush maid."

  The End

 
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