break his gun across my shoulders if ever I darken his hut again.”
“It’s a lie!” I had cried before I could refrain: and then, to vindicate the assertion, I read Bessie her father’s note. She wept bitterly.
“Oh, sir, the madness of the first wrong step!” she choked out between her tears.
“It is a madness more curable than the second step: take it in hand at once, Bessie; I am willing to help you.”
“Thank you, sir; but, I assure you, till this moment I’ve refused to see my father because I heard he only wanted to see me to disgrace me, and of course I’ve too much pride for that.”
“There!” injected the living tempest blowing at us from the corner. “There!” The tone seemed to mean, “Are you satisfied now you’ve heard for yourself?” But unheeding its fury, I went on to implore the unhappy girl to go back with me.
She then said: “At any rate, sir, it’s quite true that he hid out in the bush to shoot me if I went along.”
“Yes, that’s as true as Gospel. My maister saw him lying out by Newtown, and says he, ‘Why, Munro, what be doing here this time o’day? there’s no game flying now.’ ‘Old Nick take the game,’ says he, I be out after that girl.’”
I recounted the story of my first interview with Munro, and Bessie again melted to tears. She seemed truly miserable, between a sense of duty and affection on the one side, and indecision and fear on the other. At last she exclaimed: “Do beg her to let me go!”
“Beg her! She can’t detain you: what claim has she on you?”
“Ay, tell him what? But I don’t want you: go and see how clever it is to get back a lost character!”
“Who dares to say I’ve lost my character?” cried Bessie, indignantly.
“We shall see! One doesn’t go into government to learn nothin’, I suppose?” sneered the landlady.
“Come, come, I’m not here to listen to quarrels. Bessie, bethink yourself; will you go with me?”
“It requires resolution,” she said, shrinkingly.
“And for the want of that, will you be guilty of a crime?”
“Give me time, sir, — give me time,” she hurriedly replied; and with that unsatisfactory result I was obliged to depart. Poor foolish young creature, she perceived not the toils thickening about her; and for one wild freak of temper was likely to incur a fearful penalty.
I called several times at the Black Bear, but without success; she was never to be seen, and I had almost given up all hope of a second interview, when one day, in returning through my former route, who should I espy but Bessie sitting on the very trunk where I had first met her father.
“You, Bessie! It looks bad to see you out this time of night.”
“I am waiting for you, sir: I’ve never been able to find out your name, nor where you live, and as I saw you go up along, I tried to run after you, but as I couldn’t overtake you, I rested here till you came back.”
“And what do you want of me, Bessie?” I spoke curtly and somewhat austerely, in order to set a due value on my services and due censure on her obstinacy.
“I want you to tell them, sir, not to be uneasy after me: for there’s no manner of call for it, I’m as respectable as when I left the hut.”
“Bessie, you are both wilful and rebellious; do you call that respectable? If you are saved from destruction it will be in spite of yourself. What does a young woman expect if she stays out to such an hour? look, it is eight o’clock, a fair hour for England, but not for out here.” I showed her my watch by the lamp-light, she glanced at it, and blushed deeply.
“Sir, I will tell you all, and you’ll see I’m not so bad. I don’t wish to go back to father and mother till I can repay them for the trouble I’ve cost ’em, and that 1 hope to do soon, for I’m engaged to Joe Sadlers, a successful digger; I’ve kept honest company with him, and he’ll marry me after a bit; he’s gone up the country now this very evening to see about settling near Longford, and when he comes back ’twill be so pleasant, and I shall go straight to father.”
I knew enough of diggers to make me tremble for her; but to shake her faith in her betrothed was impossible. Joe Sadlers was not a digger of the common order: others might betray her, he never. We walked and talked till we reached the main road; there Bessie discovered that she had left her handkerchief at the tree. I told her it was not worth returning for, but she confessed that she had also left her lover’s last letter there — and that she could not think of losing.
I could neither dissuade her from returning nor accompany her back, as urgent business bade me go forward; but she seemed to have no fear of being left, and cheerily wished me good night.
Two days afterwards, I was passing the court of justice, with a little spare time at command, and being somewhat of a hanger-on at these places, I entered to hear what might be on. I had no sooner set foot in the court, than a female voice screeched out:
“There he is! there he is! He’ll tell where I was at eight o’clock on Tuesday evening;” then stretching her arms towards me, she cried, “Save me! save me, sir!”
When the commotion consequent on this outcry had ceased, it was explained to me that Bessie was apprehended on suspicion of having stolen the cash-box of the Black Bear till, which was safe at eight o’clock, and missing ten minutes after. The suspicion was the greater from the fact of the empty box having been secreted in the trunk of a tree from the direction of which she had been traced. Being duly sworn, I gave evidence, and the result was an alibi too clearly proved for disputation. I led her from the court; and when we got free of the crowd I asked where she meant to go. She turned a bright, tearful look on me, as much as to say, can you ask; so I shook her hand, and departed; for there are
scenes where a stranger should not intermeddle, and such an one I knew would take place in the