The recognition was instantaneous on both sides, and at the same moment that Rainsfield sprang forward and fired at the black the other leaped from the ground and in an instant, poising a spear in his hand, buried it in the body of his antagonist. Rainsfield tore the weapon from his breast, and seeing that the black was not killed by the shot he had fired at him, and it being the last he had, without time to reload, he drew his knife and sprang upon his enemy. The struggle was fierce, though short, for both the athletes were powerful men, and were determined upon each other's death, even if they perished themselves while effecting it. The black caught the right arm of his opponent as it descended with the weapon that was intended to terminate his existence, and with the other hand he seized the throat of Rainsfield, into which he buried his fingers like the talons of an eagle.

Rainsfield taxed his strength to the utmost to disengage the hand from his throat, and save himself from strangulation while he effected the death of the black. Each strained and struggled as they, locked in each other's grasp, panted to eliminate the spirit from each other's bodies.

After some time they stopped to gain breath, while they for a few moments silently eyed one another with looks of vengeance and rage. The conflict, however, was speedily renewed with fearful energy. Every nerve was strained to the utmost tension in both frames; when, in a moment, the black made several rapid lunges, battering with his hard cranium the breast of his foe; at the same time that Rainsfield managed to bury the knife up to its handle in the neck of Barw.a.n.g. The loss of blood arising from the previous wounds, and these excessive strainings and shocks, soon produced their effects. Exhaustion speedily ensued; and the two belligerents, still firmly knitted in a death grasp, sank to the ground never again to rise in life.

In the meantime the work of destruction progressed all around with unabated activity until no living black remained on whom to wreak a vengeance. Nearly the whole tribe had been sacrificed, for few escaped into the bush among the general slaughter. When the members of the Society contemplated the result of their labours they felt perfectly satisfied with the extent of their reparation, and surveyed the scene with a complacency ill befitting the work. How little did they remember that a work similar to this in result had been the cause of the reprisal that had brought desolation to the Rainsfield family! and less did they consider that they were incurring the displeasure of an indignant Maker.

No! they thought not of the judgments of Divine wrath: the victims, in their imaginations, were only blacks, whose extermination was an ordination of Providence, and an advantage to civilisation. Besides which they looked upon the slaughter they had been engaged in as a just punishment to the savages for their perfidious treachery in the murder which they, the Society, were unable to prevent, but which they could, and did avenge. By this sort of reasoning they quieted their consciences, if any had been disturbed, and attempted to justify themselves in the eyes of their G.o.d.

The forensic vision was that which most troubled them, for they knew, in the eye of the law of their country, they were guilty of an act which, if discovered, would cost them an atonement by the surrender of their lives. But they were aware that, with the exception of their own members, none could criminate them; while the probability of such an event occurring was very remote, for all were equally implicated. While, at the same time, the distance they were removed from the seat of government, and the ineffectual means supplied for the protection of the settlers in the border districts, would partly justify them in being armed in the present affray; and the magistrates of the territory being all of their own body, and consequently sympathising with their movements, they experienced very little apprehension of danger.

We may here remark that this is not the only case in the land where similar influences have actuated the settlers to take summary vengeance on the blacks, for reprisals and peccadillos in themselves insignificant. Hundreds, ah! we may say thousands, have been shot with perfect impunity; and we hesitate not to say thousands more will continue to meet the same sad fate, until the last of the race shall have vanished from this terrestrial sphere. Yet we firmly believe their blood will sink into the soil, and at a future age, when the people have long since become extinct, will it cry aloud for vengeance; and woe to the land if the great Governor of the universe should listen to that cry.

The party when about to leave the ground suddenly missed their companion Rainsfield, and, thinking that he might still be engaged on some operations of retribution in another part of the camp, called him aloud by name; but without meeting with any response. They waited impatiently for his return but after a time finding he did not return they commenced a search in the neighbourhood of the camp, at the same time that they made the bush resound with their cooeys to attract him if he had strayed. Still to no purpose were their calls, for no responsive cry echoed to them; and not until they returned to the camp weary and dispirited as the first coruscations from the solar rays darted their luminous salutations over the eastern horizon did they discover his body with that of his last antagonist. His position, and the spear wound in his body, sufficiently explained his fate; and silently and sorrowfully he was removed, and carried by them to where their horses were secured.

They then recrossed the river on their way back to Strawberry Hill, which had now become dest.i.tute of an owner.

Shortly after their pa.s.sage of the stream the cavalcade was met by John Ferguson, who had heard the firing, and guessing its import had ridden over for the purpose of inspecting the scene and satisfying himself upon the nature and extent of the slaughter he knew must have taken place.

But when he saw the returning party he rode up to them and addressing himself to Doctor Graham, who happened to be riding a little in advance, he said:

"May I be permitted to enquire the nature of the firing which was carried on in the scrub last night?"

"Oh, certainly, sir," replied the Doctor, "you are permitted to ask whatever you like, for this is a free country. If you want to know the cause of the reports you heard last night I may inform you for your satisfaction that our friend Rainsfield had a warrant for the apprehension of Barw.a.n.g, and that he attempted to put it in force, while we volunteered to a.s.sist and protect him. As might have been imagined we were attacked by the villains, and had to fire upon them for our own defence. In the affray we lost our friend Rainsfield, for he was killed by the wretch he was attempting to secure, and who at the same time met with his deserts."

"Rainsfield is dead, did you say?" enquired John in hurried tones; "is life perfectly extinct?"

"Yes, dead!" replied the other, "as any herring. Go look at him yourself;" and he pointed behind him to where followed a horse with the body thrown across the saddle. "You can see there for yourself, where you may keep your eye on the picture."

John silently surveyed the pale, discoloured, and distorted features which he had seen only a few hours before in life and perfect health, and with a deep drawn sigh, as he turned away, he muttered: "Poor fellow! such a terrible doom."

The company then proceeded to the house of the Fergusons, when the melancholy obsequies of the previous day were repeated; after which the Society broke up, having ensured themselves against further interruptions from the blacks by the success of their first onslaught; and, although they arranged to be ready upon any emergency, they had no antic.i.p.ation of any future necessity.

We must now in the course of our narrative precipitate our readers over a period of some six months after the events we have just related, which interval was pa.s.sed with the occurrence of few circ.u.mstances worth detailing. Tom Rainsfield had been hastily recalled from town, but had not arrived until after the final scene of the tragedy had been enacted.

The horrors of the events came upon him with such a shock, and so subdued his spirit, that it was some time before he could school himself to comprehend their full extent; and not until some weeks had elapsed could he bring his mind to the level of mundane matters, and then only with a melancholy feeling did he set to work to put the station in order.

CHAPTER XIV.

"In smoothest terms his speech he wove, Of endless friendship, faith, and love; She listened with a blush and sigh, His suit was warm, his hopes were high."

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

On a beautifully mild afternoon in that loveliest of Australian seasons, the transition between winter and summer, there reclined in an easy chair, on the verandah of the Fern Vale cottage, a young girl whose pale though handsome features seemed to be invested with an angelic air as they were contrasted with the deep mourning in which she was attired. We need hardly explain to the reader that this was Eleanor Rainsfield. At one side of her sat our hero, attempting to relieve the weary hours of the invalid by some light and amusing reading, and on the other side sat his sister, who, while she was listening to her brother, was engaged in some of that description of work which const.i.tutes at the same time young ladies' toil and amus.e.m.e.nt.

During Eleanor's gradual return to convalescence John Ferguson had been a.s.siduous in his endeavours to keep her mind diverted from the contemplation of her grief; and, forgetful of all his past resolutions to think of her only as a seraph exalted above his possession, their constant contiguity, if possible, more than ever made havoc in his heart, immersed him more than ever deeper in the sea of love, and made him yield a willing sacrifice to the ecstatic delirium of his dream.

The attention of the trio, at the moment we have visited them, was suddenly attracted by the sounds of an approaching horseman, and looking up they perceived Bob Smithers riding wildly towards the house. Eleanor instantly rose from her chair; and, leaning upon Kate, entered the sitting-room, while she said to John: "I expect the object of Mr.

Smithers' visit is an interview with me, and if he desires it I will see him." Then addressing her friend, she said: "Leave me, dearest Kate, for the few minutes he is here. I don't expect he will stay long."

In another instant Smithers pulled up before the house; and, throwing his bridle over the fence, he strode up to John, who was waiting for him with a welcome and an extended hand.

"How do you do, Mr. Smithers?" he said. "It is some time since you honoured us with a visit. I hope you're well."

"I wish to see Miss Rainsfield," replied Smithers, without heeding the proffered hand or the inquiry after his health.

John felt rather chagrined at the want of civility on the part of his guest; and, pointing to the half-opened window of the room in which Smithers could find the lady he desired to see, he turned upon his heel and walked out of hearing.

What was the nature of John's thoughts that this visit of Smithers gave rise to we will not attempt to divine, though we may safely a.s.sume they were of no pleasing nature from the cloud that came over his countenance as he left the house. And yet a gleam of hope would at intervals attempt to break through the gloom. As he stood leaning over the fence in front of the house, thus ruminating over the circ.u.mstance and its contingencies, he was startled by the precipitate approach of Smithers, who, clenching his fist and shaking it at him in a menacing att.i.tude, exclaimed: "This is your work; but, by G--, you shall repent of ever having interfered in my private affairs." After the delivery of this minatory declaration the infuriated individual mounted his horse and galloped from the station.

John remained for a few minutes musing upon the strange address he had just heard until a faint appreciation of the cause flashed across his mind, and, his heart beating with salient palpitations, he entered the house to solve the mystery. With this intent he walked into the sitting-room, but found it empty. Eleanor had retired, and he was about to leave it again in search of his sister when his eye rested on an open note lying on the floor. The superscription, he perceived, was--"To Mr.

Robert Smithers;" and in its caligraphy he at once detected the tracing of Eleanor's hand, and saw a solution of the mystery even before he glanced at the epistle's contents. If his heart beat quickly with pleasing apprehensions before his curiosity prompted him to pick up and read the note its proper functions were almost destroyed by the violent palpitations as his eyes devoured the following lines:--

DEAR SIR,--I hardly know how to break to you the subject on which I wish to address you. When I say it is with regard to our engagement you will understand what I mean, more especially when I tell you that I think, for both of our sakes, it were wise to annul it. To recount to you all the causes that have actuated me in the establishment of this desire would only be to reiterate all your various acts of contumely to myself and friends, and to relate all my daily sufferings. I will not say that I never loved you. When I was induced to consent to become your wife I would have endeavoured to have placed my whole heart at your disposal; but your conduct has not only been such as to estrange from you the most forgiving nature, but towards me it has been absolutely cruel.

I say this not to stigmatize you for your ill-treatment of me, but to endeavour to show you that you can entertain no regard for me; and, in the absence of all mutual affection, such an union as ours would only entail misery on both of us. You will therefore perceive that it will be better for us to forget the relationship that has existed, and remain independent of one another.

I bear you no ill-will, and desire to maintain a friendship for yourself and your kind relatives; but beyond the light of a friend I never can consent to regard you. So there will be no use of your attempting to alter my determination; it is already fixed.--Yours truly,

ELEANOR RAINSFIELD.

John's astonishment when he read this was only equalled by his raptures; and it was not until he had twice re-read the note that he could withdraw his eyes from feasting on the blissful lines. "She has then discarded Smithers," he said to himself, "and there is hope for me." If there needed but one rivet to clench the fetters that bound the captive heart of our hero it was now fastened. He gave himself up like a voluptuary to the indulgence of his greatest earthly pleasure, the dissipation of love's charm, and the realization of his fondest hopes and wildest dreams; and, in the delirium of delight, his spirit ascended in imagination into the seventh heaven. He was, however, speedily brought to a recollection of his existence in this terraqueous globe by his sister shaking his arm while she exclaimed:

"Why, what is making you so absent, John? I have spoken to you four times, and you have taken no notice of me."

"Have you, Kate?" replied John. "Well, I did not hear you, for I was thinking when you addressed me."

"That was evident," replied the girl. "But tell me, John, what could have brought that man Smithers here? He has terribly upset poor Eleanor, and she has been obliged to go and lie down. I quite hate that horrid fellow, and wish he would never show his face here again."

"I don't think it is very probable he ever will again, Kate," replied her brother.

"Well, I hope not. But what letter is that you have got in your hand?"

said the girl as she glanced over the epistle that hung listlessly in the hand of her musing brother, who had attempted to conceal it, but not before Kate had spied the address. "Oh, show me the letter, John, dear John!" she continued. "I see it is addressed to that man, and from Eleanor I am sure; so it will explain all about it. Do show it to me."

Her brother put it into her hands, and she read it with unqualified delight. Then looking up into his face, she exclaimed: "I am so delighted, John;" and, throwing her arms around her brother's neck, she kissed him in the exuberance of her joy, after which she bounded from the room, retaining possession of the cherished note.

For the remainder of that day Eleanor confined herself to her room, but on the following forenoon she came out, with her pale, marble features, looking in John's eyes more lovely than ever. They were presently seated together, as was their wont, in the shade of the verandah; but somehow, on this occasion, the reading was not prosecuted with such spirit as usual, nor listened to with the accustomed interest, while the conversation was equally vapid. Eleanor and John thus sat for some time alone, Kate being absent on her household duties, and William out on the station, without hardly uttering a word, until John, mustering sufficient courage to enter upon the subject that wholly engrossed his mind, without any preface, said:

"I picked up a letter of yours in the room yesterday, Eleanor, after Mr.

Smithers' departure."

A deep crimson mantled the cheek of his pale companion as she replied: "I know it John; Kate has told me all."

John gazed upon the features of the dear girl at his side, and met her eyes as they were raised from her lap to rest upon his face. He rapturously exclaimed: "Dear Eleanor if I could but tell you how dearly I love you I--" But he proceeded no further; a glance from the l.u.s.trous...o...b.. of his companion had penetrated his heart, and he was silenced. Was it in fear? No! he had understood the glance, and comprehended its hidden secret. He was silenced, but it was to impress a virgin kiss upon the lips of his fair enslaver; and there for a little let us leave them in the full enjoyment of inamoratos' bliss.

We have said that John interpreted by a look the secret of Eleanor's heart; and let not loves' sceptics think such is only a figure of our imagination. Such glances have been read from the earliest eras of the world, and will continue to be so to the latest. Lovers' eyes are to each other like telegraph-dials, and reflect in their own mysterious characters the messages from the heart as the electric needle indicates the wishes of some unforeseen communicant. Their flashes are instantaneous, and they impress upon the hearts' tablets of their correspondents, with unmistakeable accuracy, the sentiments of the inosculated spirits. Theirs is a language secret and unknown but to the souls communicating, and unmeaning and unnoticeable to mortals, until made neophytes to the creed of Cupid.

John and Eleanor for some time enjoyed uninterruptedly the commune of their plighted hearts, each discovering in the other a reciprocity which heightened the ardour and enhanced the raptures of their own loves.

Their tongues were no longer tied. John was all volubility and animation; while the colour that the excitement of her affection called forth irradiated the cheeks of Eleanor, and imparted to her features a loveliness that John gazed upon with ecstacy. Their privacy, however, was at length broken in upon by William, who bounded into their presence in a state of high glee, while he exclaimed: