Part 3 (1/2)

I can see her now, standing there looking into my face with big tears in her pretty blue eyes. She was a girl of about twenty-one or two years of age--tall, but slenderly built, with a sweet oval face, bright brown hair, and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen in my life. She was dressed in some dark green material, wore a fawn jacket, and, because the afternoon was cold, had a boa of marten fur round her neck. I can remember also that her hat was of some flimsy make, with lace and glittering spear points in it, and that the whole structure was surmounted by two bows, one of black ribbon, the other of salmon pink.

”Oh, how can I thank you?” she began, when I had come up with her. ”But for your appearance I don't know what those men might not have done to me.”

”I was very glad that I _was_ there to help you,” I replied, looking into her face with more admiration for its warm young beauty than perhaps I ought to have shown. ”Here is your purse. I hope you will find its contents safe. At the same time will you let me give you a little piece of advice. From what I have seen this afternoon this is evidently not the sort of place for a young lady to be walking in alone and after dark. I don't think I would risk it again if I were you.”

She looked at me for a moment and then said:

”You are quite right. I have only myself to thank for my misfortune. I met a friend and walked across the green with her; I was on my way back to my carriage--which is waiting for me outside--when I met those men.

However, I can promise you that it will not happen again. I am leaving Sydney in a day or two.”

Somehow, when I heard that, I began to feel glad I was booked to leave the place too. But of course I didn't tell her so.

”May I see you safely to your carriage?” I said at last. ”Those fellows may still be hanging about on the chance of overtaking you.”

Her courage must have come back to her, for she looked up into my face with a smile.

”I don't think they will be rude to me again, after the lesson you have given them. But if you will walk with me I shall be very grateful.”

Side by side we proceeded down the path, through the gates and out into the street. A neat brougham was drawn up alongside the kerb, and towards this she made her way. I opened the door and held it for her to get in.

But before she did so she turned to me and stretched out her little hand.

”Will you tell me your name, that I may know to whom I am indebted?”

”My name is Hatteras. Richard Hatteras, of Thursday Island, Torres Straits. I am staying at the _Quebec_.”

”Thank you, Mr. Hatteras, again and again. I shall always be grateful to you for your gallantry!”

This was attaching too much importance to such a simple action, and I was about to tell her so, when she spoke again: ”I think I ought to let you know who I am. My name is Wetherell, and my father is the Colonial Secretary. I'm sure he will be quite as grateful to you as I am.

Good-bye.”

She seemed to forget that we had already shaken hands, for she extended her own a second time. I took it and tried to say something polite, but she stepped into her carriage and shut the door before I could think of anything, and next moment she was being whirled away up the street.

Now old fogies and disappointed spinsters can say what they please about love at first sight. I'm not a romantic sort of person--far from it--the sort of life I had hitherto led was not of a nature calculated to foster a belief in that sort of thing. But if I wasn't over head and ears in love when I resumed my walk that evening, well, I've never known what the pa.s.sion is.

A daintier, prettier, sweeter little angel surely never walked the earth than the girl I had just been permitted the opportunity of rescuing, and from that moment forward I found my thoughts constantly reverting to her. I seemed to retain the soft pressure of her fingers in mine for hours afterwards, and as a proof of the perturbed state of my feelings I may add that I congratulated myself warmly on having worn that day my new and fas.h.i.+onable Sydney suit, instead of the garments in which I had travelled down from Torres Straits, and which I had hitherto considered quite good enough for even high days and holidays. That she herself would remember me for more than an hour never struck me as being likely.

Next morning I donned my best suit again, gave myself an extra brush up, and sauntered down town to see if I could run across her in the streets.

What reason I had for thinking I should is more than I can tell you, but at any rate I was not destined to be disappointed. Crossing George Street a carriage pa.s.sed me, and in it sat the girl whose fair image had exercised such an effect upon my mind. That she saw and recognized me was evidenced by the gracious bow and smile with which she favoured me.

Then she pa.s.sed out of sight, and it was a wonder that that minute didn't see the end of my career, for I stood like one in a dream looking in the direction in which she had gone, and it was not until two carts and a brewer's wagon had nearly run me down that I realized it would be safer for me to pursue my meditations on the side walk.

I got back to my hotel by lunch-time, and during the progress of that meal a brilliant idea struck me. Supposing I plucked up courage and called? Why not? It would be only a polite action to inquire if she were any the worse for her fright. The thought was no sooner born in my brain than I was eager to be off. But it was too early for such a formal business, so I had to cool my heels in the hall for an hour. Then, hailing a hansom and inquiring the direction of their residence, I drove off to Potts Point. The house was the last in the street--an imposing mansion standing in well-laid-out grounds. The butler answered my ring, and in response to my inquiry dashed my hopes to the ground by informing me that Miss Wetherell was out.

”She's very busy, you see, at present, sir. She and the master leave for England on Friday in the _Orizaba_.”

”What!” I cried, almost forgetting myself in my astonishment. ”You don't mean to say that Miss Wetherell goes to England in the _Orizaba_?”

”I do, sir. And I do hear she's goin' 'ome to be presented at Court, sir!”

”Ah! Thank you. Will you give her my card, and say that I hope she is none the worse for her fright last evening?”