Australia Revenged Part 21

GOODCHILD'S.

The North-Western express pulled up for a few moments at the Lewisham siding, and Hal alighted with a "Thank you, sir; that's the house, over there," from the guard; and the train proceeded on its way.

The house referred to was a mansion in size. It was surrounded by beautiful trees, and stood in well-kept grounds, in the midst of which a lake could be discerned glistening in the sun. The country round was the pick of the land, for Goodchild's father had taken it up in the early days, when every pound in cash that a man could show ent.i.tled him to an acre of land. No check being put on this rough-and-ready mode of procedure, the sovereign was frequently pa.s.sed on to a friend to show, who would secure another portion and hand over the t.i.tle to his princ.i.p.al, receiving something for his trouble. Most of the rich estates in Tasmania were originally obtained in this manner. Hal walked along the path leading to the house, lost in admiration of its beautiful, natural surroundings. His arrival was apparently noted, for an elderly man came out to meet him.

"Mr. Goodchild, I believe?"

"Yes, that's my name," and he gave his visitor a close scrutiny, wondering what his errand could be.

"My name is Winter, sir, and I have called for the purpose of having some conversation with you."

"What is your business, sir?"

"If we could go inside we could talk it over."

"Are you a book-traveller, or anything of that kind?" asked he, snappishly, "for if you are I cannot see you."

"No, sir, I am not. I have called on business too important to be discussed out here."

"Then you had better come inside and tell it," he answered, leading the way into the house.

"I called to see you about that fellow Wyckliffe," said Hal, as he sat down in the library.

"What about him? Are you a friend of his?" snarled the old man.

"No, I am not; and that is my reason for calling on you."

"Curse him, I say. Curse him," added the old man, emphatically.

"You're not the first who has had cause to do that," said Hal, solemnly, wis.h.i.+ng to gain his host's confidence.

"Do you know him then?"

"By reputation, yes; otherwise, no."

"Then why do you call on me?"

"Mr. Goodchild, my errand may seem a strange one, but I have had a detailed account given me of his blackguardly behaviour to you and your daughter."

"But what has that to do with you?" he asked, excitedly.

"Stay, Mr. Goodchild. I will tell you all. My friend Morris and I are on his tracks to revenge a cruel wrong he did." And Hal thereupon told him the whole story from the beginning. "Now, sir, I come to offer you my a.s.sistance to shew him to your daughter in his true light."

"But she's gone," he burst out.

"Where?" cried Hal, "not with him?"

"G.o.d knows, I don't," and the poor old fellow hid his face in his hands, and sobbed.

"You must tell me all, sir. Tell me all: there is no time to be lost,"

said Hal, excitedly.

"There's not much to tell, sir. He will be able to add another notch to his stick, for he has literally broken my heart. I never have discussed my private affairs with anyone, sir, but I will tell you my story, for I feel you are to be trusted.

"She is my only child. I loved her mother dearly for sixteen years, and all that time it was our great sorrow that we were childless, and I fervently thanked G.o.d on the day she told me our hopes were to be realized. Had I known the trouble that child was to cost me, I would have been less fervent. A little girl was born to us, and a week later she was motherless."

"Go on," said Hal, encouragingly, as Goody stopped and hesitated.

"Well, it took me a long time to console myself with a little bundle of flesh like that. But as she grew up I found all my love returning, and then I had only one thing to live for--my daughter May. I loved her with a jealous love, and I guarded and watched over her as one might a precious jewel. She has had the best teachers. She can ride, drive, play on half-a-dozen instruments. Our one great joy and happiness was to be together, and I dreaded the day when her hand would be asked in marriage. We had never been separated, and when we started on our return journey from Melbourne, where we had been on a visit, I little thought what was before me." Here the heart-broken old man again broke down.

"Come, come, bear up, sir. Don't give way," said Hal, comforting him.

"My dear lad. I am a rich man, and would willingly lay down twenty thousand pounds to have my girl back in her old place beside me."

"And so you shall, sir," said Hal, rea.s.suringly.

"How?" asked he.

"First tell me all that occurred after your arrival."

"Well I took good care that that scoundrel should not see her again after breakfast, and when we got ash.o.r.e we drove in a closed carriage to the station, and came on here."

"Well, what then?"

"She became very sulky, would not talk, and shut herself up; neglected her pets, and all her favourite occupations; avoided me as much as she could. I tried to coax her. I tried everything I knew, but to no avail.

She seemed to have forgotten me, and to think of no one but that fellow, and I have since found out that he followed her here and twice met her clandestinely."

"I can quite understand that. It's his infernal mesmeric business."

"Yes, I guessed things were not all straight, but I was completely powerless, and yesterday she had a letter from him, from Hobart."

"Hobart! How did you know it was from him?" asked Hal, with excitement.

"She told me so, and she said she was going to meet him."

"What did you say?"

"What could I? When I offered to go with her, she told me straight out, in a manner she had never used to me before, that she was going alone.

At that I lost my temper, and I said--go. And she left by last night's express."

"Do you know what time the next train pa.s.ses?" asked Hal.

"Yes, there will be one in half-an-hour. Why?"

"Never mind why, but get a few things together, and be ready to go by it."

"What do you mean?"