CHAPTER SEVEN.
Some time had passed since the events just mentioned. It was winter,not Christmas, however, but the period which in England is consideredthe warmest and sunniest in the year. Frost and snow are not lookedfor, but the wind blows from the cold south, and rain comes down inplentiful showers, filling the water-holes, and turning the sluggishstreams into roaring torrents.
One evening, as Arthur and Willie were riding homewards from a distantstation, their course not far from the Warragong river, a cry reachedtheir ears.
"It is some one shouting for help!" exclaimed Arthur. "From whatdirection does it come? Listen!"
"From up the stream!" cried Willie, spurring on his horse.
"Stay! there's a man in the river," said Arthur; "he is floating down.We may pass him if we don't take care."
They rode directly down to the bank of the now rapid river. Everystockman rides with a rope attached to his saddle. They looked outanxiously as they now rode up the stream. Again the cry was heard, butfainter though near; and through the thickening gloom of evening a manwas seen clinging to a log, which was borne swiftly down the current.He had lost all power of guiding it, and from the way his head hungdown, it was evident that his strength was exhausted, and that he mustsoon drop off and sink. To leap from their horses and to secure them toa tree was the work of a moment.
"Here, hold one end, Willie! I think I can reach him!" cried Arthur,binding the two ropes together, and fastening one end round his ownwaist.
Throwing off his coat, and without waiting for any expostulation fromWillie, he plunged into the stream, and swam boldly out towards thedrowning man. The whirling eddies of the torrent bore the log along,now carrying it towards one side of the river, now towards the other.This much increased the difficulty of reaching it. The man clinging toit had still sufficient consciousness to be aware of the effort made tosave him, but had no strength to help himself. Arthur had swum out verynearly to the extent of which the rope would allow, and yet he fearedthat he should not reach the man. He doubted whether he should bestrong enough to return to the shore without the aid of the rope.
"Stretch out your arms, Willie; give me all the rope you can, but don'tfall in. In mercy take care!" he shouted.
Willie stood on the very edge of the bank uncoiling the whole of therope, and keeping only the end in his hands. He dreaded lest, his feetslipping, he should be dragged in himself; and though he did not fearfor himself, he knew that, if he was dragged in, Arthur would in allprobability be lost. He found that he could not stand still either, buthad to move down the stream, as his brother was swept on by the current."If it is difficult to hold him now, what will it be when he grasps thedrowning man?" he thought. He would have shouted for help had hebelieved that any one was near to afford it. Arthur, meantime, saw thedrowning man approaching. An eddy seemed to be carrying him off towardsthe opposite bank. Should he venture to swim across without the rope?Had he a right to run so great a risk of losing his life, and bringgrief and sorrow to the heart of his young wife? He prayed for strengthand aid. He was about to loose himself from the rope, when again thelog was whirled near him. The moment for the greatest exertion hadarrived. He sprang forward. His right hand grasped the drowning man,but the log on which he floated escaped from his hold, and was borneonwards by the current. As he caught the man, the spring he made andthe additional weight almost overbalanced Willie, who was on the pointof falling into the water, when he found himself close to a young tree,of the willow tribe, bending over the stream. He grasped it with hisleft hand, hauling with all his might till he drew in a sufficientlength of the rope to pass it round the stem. His dread was lest hisbrother should sink before he could reach the shore. He then fearedthat the man for whom Arthur had risked so much might be torn from hisgrasp before he could get him in. The fact of the willow growing thereshowed that there was a permanent water-hole at the spot, and that,therefore, the depth must be considerable. He dragged in the ropeslowly, for Arthur seemed scarcely able to support his burden. "Keep--keep up, brother!" he cried out, considering whether he should not makethe rope fast and jump in to help him. Just then he discovered that thecurrent itself was doing what he wished; scarcely had he secured therope than Arthur was swept close up to the bank. He sprang on to helphim. The bank, happily, shelved, and together they dragged the nearlydrowned man to the shore. He was dressed as a labourer, and his roughhands showed that he was accustomed to hard work. It was too dark todistinguish his features. After they had rubbed him for some time, hegave signs of life; and on his further recovering they placed him onWillie's horse, and, supporting him on either side, led him up to thehouse, which was about half a mile distant. The stranger scarcely spokeall the way; indeed, he was but partially recovered from the effects ofhis immersion. The ladies of the family, who had been expecting them atan earlier hour, ran out as they reached the house. Emily hurried offher husband to change his wet clothes; while Willie, briefly describinghow bravely his brother had behaved, conducted the stranger to his room,that he might go to bed, while dry garments were got for him and somehot potation was prepared. Had he been of the highest instead,apparently, of the lowest rank, he could not have been more kindlytreated. Willie was delighted to be of use, and having collected someclothes from his brother's wardrobe, brought them to the stranger, who,having taken the remedies prescribed for him, insisted on getting up.
"Why, whose house am I in?" exclaimed the stranger, his eye falling onthe mark of some of the linen brought for him.
His young attendant told him.
"Then you surely must be little Willie Gilpin!" cried the stranger; "andthat fine fellow who jumped into the river and pulled me out is Arthur,and those are your sisters. I thought I knew their faces."
"And who are you?" asked Willie.
"An old friend, though I think it likely a forgotten one," answered thestranger. "Do not say that I know your people. If they recollect me,well and good; if not, it matters little: I am not worth recollecting."
It was evident that the stranger did not belong to the rank of life hisappearance had at first betokened. James, who had been at a distance,now arriving, came to the door, and invited him in to supper. Thestranger followed him, and with a bow to the ladies, which was certainlynot like that of a mere countryman, was about to take a seat at table,when Arthur entered. The stranger's colour mounted to his cheeks as hesaid--
"I am indebted to you, sir, for my life, and I am most thankful, as itenables me to enjoy the present society, though I fear my life is notworth the risk you ran to save it."
Arthur had been earnestly examining the countenance of the strangerwhile he was speaking. "I thought so," he exclaimed, coming round tohim and taking his hand; "Mark Withers, of Wallington?"
"The same, though somewhat wiser; rather further down the hill than whenwe parted," returned the stranger. "But I'll own it does my heart goodto meet so many old friends together."
Kind and warm greetings saluted the wanderer; his heart softened, andfor a time he laid aside his cynical, discontented manner. Thewell-furnished rooms, the handsome arrangements of the supper-table, andthe servants in attendance, all spoke of ample means. A feeling ofjealousy might possibly have passed through his heart as he made theseobservations. He remarked, however, when left alone with the brothers,"Well, you fellows seem to have fallen on your feet; and I'm heartilyglad of it, indeed I am."
"We have been working pretty hard, though," said James; and, aftergiving a brief sketch of their career in the colony, he asked, "And you,Withers, I hope that you have got a comfortable home in Australiasomewhere."
"Home!" exclaimed Withers; "I haven't a wigwam I can call my own, and mywhole property consists in the damp duds I had on my back when I pulledthem off in Willie's room."
"Where have you been, then, Mark, all this time?" asked Arthur.
"Been! why, my dear fellow, all round the world, exemplifying the truthof the saying, that `a rolling stone gathers
no moss.' My father didnot much fancy my giving up his business; and indeed I had to takeFrench leave at last, and then write and ask his forgiveness. He toldme, in reply, that I was a graceless vagabond; but that I might followmy own devices, if I was so minded, without opposition, though withouthelp from him. I fancied that my own devices were full of wisdom, soresolved to follow them. I had fallen in with a man bound for the Capeof Good Hope Colony, and, listening to his representations, agreed toaccompany him. Out to the Cape I went, but soon discovered that afarm-life was not to my taste; and so, meeting with some sportingcompanions, I spent my time in shooting elephants and lions, and otherbeasts of the forests and mountains of that wonderful land. As myexpenses at this sort of work were far greater than my profits, I spent,in time, all the money I possessed, and had at length to engage as alabourer on a property of which, on first landing, I might have becomethe owner. This was not what I had bargained for; and hearing thatfortunes were to be made rapidly in South Australia, I saved enoughmoney to carry me to Cape Town, where I found a ship calling in on herway to that colony. I shipped on board her to work my passage; butfinding the work I had to do and the treatment I had received very farfrom my taste, I resolved never again, if I could help it, to placemyself in the same position. I found, on reaching Adelaide, that iffortunes were to be made in a hurry, they were to be lost still morerapidly--not that I had myself any opportunity of making the experimentI tried all sorts of plans which I thought would prove short roads towhat I so much desired--to become rich; but, somehow or other, none ofthem proved satisfactory. At length I had struck out something newwhich would, I really believe, have been a great success, when the newsof the wonderful discoveries of gold in California reached the colony.Wonderful to relate, I had made enough money to pay my passage, which Itook on board one of the first vessels sailing for those regions Iconsidered myself wonderfully fortunate to get there, for I had now nolonger the slightest doubt of success. San Francisco was already awonderful place. Everybody on board hastened to the shore as soon as weentered the harbour, and in the course of two or three days the whole ofthe crew, except the captain and first mate, had deserted the ship. Thecentral part of the city consisted at that time chiefly oflodging-houses, gambling-houses, and houses of entertainment. Thelodging-houses, fast as they could be put up, were crowded, and were ofthe most wretched description. The best to which I could gain admissionwas a long barn-like edifice, with bunks or berths like those on board aship, arranged along on either side with straw, hay, or leaves as amattress, and a horsecloth as a coverlet. The gambling-houses were themost attractive. There was music gratis, and spirits without limitationfor all who chose to play. I felt sure that I should make my fortune inthat way. How was I to get enough to stake? I must work. I found nodifficulty in obtaining employment as a labourer at high wages. In ashort time I had saved about twenty dollars. I walked into the largestgambling-house, with my few dollars jingling in my pockets. The hallwas brilliantly lighted. It was hung with coloured silk or calico, andadorned with mirrors and pictures. There was a gallery with a band ofmusic, and a bar where all sorts of viands could be obtained. Therewere small tables for cards on either side, and several larger tables inthe centre, at which sat the bankers, the professional gamblers, theowners or renters of the saloon. I walked up to one of these tables andstaked five of my hardly gained dollars against a thousand or so, andwon. I won again and again, until I found myself the owner of twentythousand dollars. I had never been so rich in my life, but yet it wasnot a sum which would allow me to leave off. I played on all night,losing and regaining; and at length, when the saloon was closed, I hadbut a quarter of my first winning remaining. This would never do. Idetermined to go the next day, and I persuaded myself that if I couldwin as much as I had done the first night, I would never bet on a cardagain. I returned to that hall of horrors--for so it was, in spite ofits gilding and mirrors and music. The haggard, pallid countenances ofthe professional players, almost Satanic in their calmness; the excited,eager looks of those who had come in the hopes, by staking their all, ofclearing themselves from difficulties, or, by rapidly acquiring wealth;of being able to return to their far-distant homes! To a considerablenumber, I believe, the scene was thoroughly distasteful; and yet,infatuated folly led them, as it did me, there. I won at first; butfortune turned against me, and I went on losing rapidly. If I stakedhigh, I lost; if low, it was the same. Every instant I expected to havemy first good luck come back, till I discovered that, to the very lastdollar, my pocket was cleared out. But I saw a terrible sight thatevening--I spare you the particulars--the suicide of a poor youngEnglishman, who, like me, had lost every shilling he had. I trembledlest I should be tempted to commit a like act; for I found that hardly aweek passed by but some wretched victim of gaming thus plunged into afearful eternity, while numbers took to drinking hard, and broughtthemselves speedily to the grave. Sickened for the time of gambling, Iworked hard again, till I had saved enough to take me up to thediggings. I found one of my shipmates about to start. We agreed to gotogether. We were bound to each other, not by mutual regard, but thatwe required companionship, and believed we could trust each other. I donot much like to think of all the hardships we underwent. We had somedistance to go up the river, on the crowded deck of a vessel; then, withour packs on our backs, we commenced the toilsome part of our journey,over mountain and valley, across rivers and plains, on the highlands,exposed to sharp winds, which pierced bitterly through our lightclothes, while on the plains we were scorched with the fierce rays ofthe unclouded sun. A large party had collected at the foot of a ruggedmountain. Before us lay a plain of vast extent, which must be crossed.We had heard that there was a scarcity of water. Some had filled theirwater-skins and jars and kegs; others laughed at the notion of not beingable to go a few hours without water, even should we not find any; andsome carried flasks filled with rum or brandy, boasting that that wasthe best stuff for quenching thirst I never felt greater heat in thetropics; the air was filled with the finest dust, which got down ourthroats, stopped our nostrils, and filled up the pores of our alreadyparched skins. The first night we stopped for very weariness--no waterwas to be found. Those who had some would not part with a drop to theircomrades: they might want it themselves. All night the wolves howledround us, as if scenting their prey. There were reports, too, thathostile Indians had been seen; and several times the camp was aroused byan alarm that the redskins were on us. The next day, when the sun rose,the sky was cloudless, and there was not a breath of wind. Greater thanever was the heat, and more intense the thirst of those who had broughtno water. I had a small flask full; but though I kept wetting my lipsoccasionally, I suffered dreadfully. Almost certain destruction wouldbe the lot of those who dropped behind; yet, one by one, several poorwretches sunk down exhausted, in vain imploring the rest to carry themon. Sad were their cries; but our breasts were steeled against theirappeals. We had our own safety to consult, and the gold mines werebefore us. Among those who sunk down were several who carried flasks ofspirits. Our guides declared that we should reach water before sunset.This kept up the spirits of the stronger men. They were mistaken, orhad purposely deceived us to encourage us to proceed. Again we slept onthe burning sand, with our pistols in our hands, and our water-bottlesunder our heads, ready at a moment's notice to defend ourselves againsteither Indians, wolves, or our own companions, who, tempted by thirst,might endeavour to steal the water we found so precious. The howling ofthe wolves in the distance, and the groans, and often the imprecationsof those suffering from thirst, drove away sleep; and I, with others,started up to reach the river, which we were assured was not more thanfifteen miles off. In four or five hours it might be reached. Wepushed on at a rapid rate, our mules following willingly, instincttelling them that relief was at hand. The green trees appeared insight, and the water, bright and limpid, was seen between them. Wehurried on--men and animals together rushing into the stream, the menlapping the water up like d
ogs, and dipping their whole bodies inwithout even stopping to pull off any of their clothes. It is a wonderthe sudden change from heat to cold did not kill some of us; but thefact is, that our pores were so completely closed up with dust that thebath, by removing the dirt, allowed the perspiration to escape and savedus from fever. A few turns in the sun soon dried our garments, and thendelightful indeed was it to throw ourselves on the grass, in the shadeof the tall trees, and to rest after our fatigue. One man proposed thatwe should load our mules with water and go back for our poor comradeswho had dropped in the desert, if the caravan would camp for a couple ofdays; but the proposal was instantly negatived with derision.
"What! did he forget that we were bound for the diggings? Lose twowhole days which might be employed in collecting the gold of which wewere so eagerly in search! Scarcely had our companions came up than onwe pushed. The diggings were at hand; the nearer we got to them, themore eager we became to commence work. We reached at last the principaldiggings. It was a fearfully wild spot--mountains on all sides, almostdestitute of trees, with the river running between them; the ground inevery direction was full of burrows, as if the habitation of rabbits;but the chief work was going forward by the banks of the river, wherehundreds of men were labouring away from morn till night with veryvaried success. My partner and I set up a hut; it was a wretchedaffair, but not worse than many others; then we turned to with eager,beating hearts. We dug and washed hour after hour, but, toil as wemight, we had not, at the end of the day, obtained more than would payour expenses; sometimes not so much. We toiled on. We had no choice;we must find gold or starve. With the cold wind descending from themountains at night, and the chill fogs; the hot sun by day striking downon our heads while we stood up to our knees in water--no wonder that allsuffered more or less from ague and fever. Many died from disease, somewent mad, some committed suicide. There was no one to care for them, noone to mourn them; bowie-knives were in constant requisition, murdersfrequent. One day I heard shots fired, and ran to see what wasoccurring. Some strangers, that is, natives of various countries, hadtrespassed on the ground claimed by a company of Americans. Withoutgiving any warning, the latter assembled and fired on the new-comers,killing several; then rushing on them with bowie-knives, axes, andrevolvers, they desperately wounded or killed several more, putting therest to flight. `There, I guess they'll not try it on again,' I heardone of the victors say, as he kicked the dead body of one of theconquered party. I could describe many other similar scenes. At nightwe always slept with our pistols under our pillows, and our knives atour sides, ready to start up at a moment's notice. Several successfuldiggers were murdered for the sake of their wealth, and others were cutoff by Indians, while prospecting beyond the chief diggings.Altogether, I don't think that any place on earth could have been morelike Pandemonium than were those Californian diggings at the time I wasthere, for I have not mentioned half of its horrors and abominations. Iresolved to get out of them. An unexpected run of success gave me themeans; the news of the discovery of gold in Australia expedited mymovements. My partner agreed to share my fortunes. We got back to SanFrancisco, though not without great hazard of losing our gold and ourlives, and got on board a ship bound across the Pacific to this country.The ship, however, being caught in a gale off this coast, drove onshore, when half the crew and passengers lost their lives--my partneramong them--while I only saved my life and the clothes on my back. Ihad learned by this time not to be surprised at any misfortune whichmight overtake me. I was far better off than in California, for I wasamong countrymen, I begged my way up to the diggings, or rather I hadnot to beg it, for I was passed along from station to station. I wasmuch better off, too, at the diggings than I had been in California, forI was now one of the ruling faction; and, though things were bad enoughin some respects, people were generally civilised and humane, comparedto gold-diggers I had met on the other side of the globe. My luck,however, was much the same. All I could do was to keep body and soultogether, till at last I had to come to the conclusion that I was notcut out for a gold-digger. On my way up to the diggings, I had restedat a station owned by an old gentleman, who seemed to take an interestin me. At all events, as I was going away, he promised to receive mewhen I got tired of gold-digging, if I would come back to him, and toput me in the way of making my fortune. Utterly disgusted with myill-success as gold-digger, I bethought myself of him, and was on my wayto his abode, when, on attempting to cross your river, I was carried offmy feet, and should have become food for fish or water-rats had it notbeen for your courage, Arthur and Willie; and I can say, with sincerity,that you deserve great credit for it. As to thanking you, I do notfancy that thanks from such a wretched vagabond as I am are worthanything, and so I'll say nothing about that."
"We are too glad that we have succeeded in saving your life, old friend,to care about thanks," said Arthur. "And now you are here, we hope thatyou will stay and try if you cannot follow our occupation. It is theone that succeeds best in Australia in the long run, depend upon it."
Mark Withers said that he would think about the matter; but the nextmorning he declared his intention of proceeding to the farm of the oldgentleman, a Mr Elton, who had invited him to his house before he wentup to the diggings. "The fact is," observed Mark, "I have an idea thathe intended to leave me his property, and that would not be anunpleasant way of making a fortune, you'll allow."
"It would be a way of getting one, certainly," observed James; "though Idoubt if your expectations will be realised; and I think that you wouldenjoy it far more if you make it yourself by honest industry."
"Every man to his taste," said Mark, with a careless laugh; "if I failin my expectations, I can but try on plodding industry at last, youknow, and little harm will be done."
"It is difficult to stop a rolling stone when it has gained an impetusdownhill," said James; "remember that, Mark. However, I can only saythat my brothers and I shall be glad to welcome you back, should youfind yourself mistaken in your hopes, and to find some employment foryou which will put you in the way of becoming independent in the end."
In so great a hurry was Mark to assure himself that he should obtain theexpected fortune from Mr Elton, that he insisted on setting forth onhis journey the next day. He did not object, however, to borrow a horseand a few pounds from his old friends. This he did with the air of aman conferring rather than receiving a favour. When Craven, who arrivedsoon afterwards, heard of this latter circumstance, he predicted thatthe face of Mr Mark Withers would not be again seen at Warragong,unless he might have the assurance to return and borrow more.
Charles Craven had become a very constant visitor of late at Warragong.By his intelligence, activity, and knowledge of mankind, he hadcontributed greatly to the prosperity of the Gilpins own property, aswell as to that committed to their charge. They had obtained permissionto make over a considerable portion of the latter to his management, sothat he had now a comfortable, if not a handsome, income. There seemedto be no doubt that he admired Miss Gilpin, though he had not proposedto her. Perhaps he considered that she was indifferent to him, orregarded him merely as a valued friend of her brothers.
Nothing had been heard of Mark Withers since his departure. One eveninga horseman was seen approaching the house, dressed in rough bushfashion; and soon afterwards, into the room where the ladies wereseated, walked Mark himself. He had assumed a careless independentswagger, peculiarly distasteful to those into whose society he hadintroduced himself.
"Your brothers were right!" he exclaimed, throwing himself into a chair."Old Elton was a humbug. He has cheated me abominably. Got me tolabour for him, and then laughed in my face when I told him why I haddone so; telling me that, as I worked for love, I required no wages; andthat, as I was not worth my salt, he should give me none. However, hereI am, not much the worse for the adventure, with a few months experienceof bush life, and ready to become your brothers' chief stockman, oroverseer, or anything they like to put me to, not derogatory
to thecharacter of a gentleman."
The Miss Gilpins and their sisters-in-law would have been inclined tolaugh at this speech, had it not been for the impudence of Mark's looksand tone. On the arrival of the gentlemen he softened his manner; andJames and Arthur, ever kind and thoughtful, began at once to considerhow they could employ their old companion, so that he might not feel theweight of his obligation to them. He decided that he would be employedas a stockman, without considering his fitness for the occupation, butpreferring to ride about on a good horse to walking on foot or sittingin the house with account-books before him. He acquitted himself,however, more to his employers' satisfaction than they had expected. Helearned to ride and manage his horse well; and by the time he had gaineda knowledge of the country, he had attained many of the requisites of agood stockman. He showed no inclination, however, to consider himselfof the rank of one, but, assuming on his early friendship with theGilpins, was constantly appearing at the house, and at length it becametolerably evident that he proposed to better his fortunes by marryingone of the Miss Gilpins. Jane had reason to believe that she washonoured by his preference. Suddenly, after this discovery, Cravenceased to pay his visits at the house as usual, or, if he came, wentonly to the business room, and declined stopping to luncheon or dinner.Whether or not Jane was in any way concerned at this, she let no onediscover. Mark came oftener than ever, boasting that he should soonbecome a stockholder on a large scale, and that he intended to introducegreat improvements in the management of cattle in Australia.
Where cattle are so apt to stray, as in the Australian bush, herds ofdifferent proprietors may occasionally get mingled, and therefore it isnecessary to brand them carefully. When this operation is to beperformed, the animals are driven into a pound. Ropes are then castover the horns and legs of the bullock to be first marked, he is thrownto the ground, and the hot iron is applied. This is often a work of nolittle danger; for when a young bull, who has been roaming at libertysince his calfhood, finds himself thus treated, he is apt to turn on histormentors, and to attempt to retaliate. A considerable mob of cattlehad to be branded at Warragong, and all the hands who could be collectedwere employed in driving them into the pound. To get them there wasdifficult; to hold them quiet while being marked was still more so. Oneyoung and very powerful bull had resisted all the attempts made to catchhim, when Mark Withers--who at that instant caught sight of the MissGilpins riding by--declared that he could manage the animal; and,leaping over the paling, lasso in hand, approached it with unexpectedhardihood. The animal's rage appeared excited to an ungovernable pitchat seeing him, and, lowering his head with a loud roar, he dashedtowards him. While attempting to spring on one side, the unfortunateman's foot slipped, and before he could recover himself, he wastransfixed by the animal's horns. The bull then, lifting up his head,bore his victim as if in triumph round and round the pound. In vainWithers struggled to release himself, and shrieked for help. James andArthur and Willie, followed by several men, leaped into the pound,regardless of the risk they ran of being set on by other animals.
"Oh! horrible! Save him! save him!" simultaneously cried the MissGilpins, who had ridden up.
At that moment Craven, who heard their cry, rode up, and, seeing thestate of affairs, ordered the gate to be opened, and dashed in. Thenext instant he had thrown the lasso over the bull's head, clearing theman, and while he drew it tight round the creature's neck, the rest ofthe party came up and were able to get theirs round his legs and tobring him to the ground. Mark breathed, but had received some severeinjuries. Whether they might prove fatal it was difficult to say.
"Oh! Mr Craven, we are indeed grateful for the way in which youreleased that poor man from his horrible position," said Jane, in asweet, yet unfaltering voice, as, on riding out of the pound, Cravenbowed stiffly to the sisters.
He looked at Jane's countenance earnestly, and then rode up alongsideher horse.
"I have some slight surgical skill, perhaps I may be of service," hesaid quietly.
Withers was being carried at this time towards the house.
"Oh! try what you can do. My brothers will be most thankful. It wouldbe dreadful were he to die in his present, as I fear, unprepared state,"she replied.
Craven drew a deep breath. Susan echoed her sister's words. They wereapproaching the house.
Craven's skill was not very great, but he was gentle and patient, andcontributed to relieve the sufferings of the injured man. Many hourspassed before the surgeon, who had been sent for, arrived. In the meantime, Craven was as assiduous in his attention as he could have been hadMark been his dearest friend. The surgeon would not pronounce a decidedopinion as to the case. Though the injuries were severe, if the man'sconstitution was good he might recover, but if not, they would probablyprove fatal. James, as a true friend, felt that it was his duty to tellMark the truth.
The injured man groaned and muttered, "Yes, it was good; but I have donemy best to destroy it."
James spoke to him earnestly, and urged him, without delay, to make hispeace with God, through the only means open to sinful man--the blood ofHis dear Son.
Mark listened, but a veil seemed on his understanding. "The fact is,old fellow, I haven't thought about the matter, and I would rather notnow," he replied. "I don't intend to die just yet, if I can help it;and who knows but what I may take up your notions of things, and becomeas good as you are? You mean me well, I know you do; but just let mealone."
But a faithful man is faithful in all things. Arthur persevered, and atlength a perceptible change took place in Mark's manner when he spoke ofsacred matters. The fear of death in him became great. More than onceArthur heard him muttering to himself those awful words: HEREAFTER!ETERNITY! At length the surgeon began to speak more favourably ofMark's condition. He thought he would recover, he said, but would be acripple to the end of his life. It was a heavy blow to Mark, and causedhim many bitter tears, although it was evident that it was a wonderfulrelief to his mind to be told that God had given him time forrepentance, and not cut him off in the midst of his sins. Arthur was byhis bedside continually, and it filled him with deep joy to be able tobelieve that Mark was a changed man. He spoke penitently, sorrowfully,of the past, but cheerfully and hopefully of the future. One day, as hewas lying on a sofa, to which he had been lifted from his bed, he saidto Arthur, "I remember long ago, in the old country, Arthur, when youand I were discussing what was the object in life most worthy of ouraim, I thought wealth, for the sake of spending it on pleasure--onmyself. I could not make out exactly what your aim was; but you andyour brothers seem to me to have got all you can desire to make lifepleasant, while I have lost all I had, and gained nothing."
"I held, I believe, that all we should aim at is to do our duty, andthat openings for the employment of our energies will always be foundfor us," answered Arthur. "We certainly have found this to be true inour own case."
"Yes, that you have," said Mark, without, however, any bitterness in histone. "I should have called it luck once, but I won't now. I will try,by God's mercy, poor helpless creature that I am, to find some means ofusefulness, that so I may not be a mere cumberer of the earth, but mayrepay in any way that may offer itself some little portion of thekindness of my benefactors."
The Gilpins had truly been fruitful fig trees. All they undertookprospered.
Far and wide they were a blessing to their neighbours, for as such theylooked upon all those--rich or poor--whom they could reach.
Through their efforts and instrumentality the glad tidings of great joywere carried to all around them, many of whom would never otherwise haveheard the Gospel sound.
The contrast between the career of the brothers and their quondam friendwas great, but not greater than will usually be found between those whoset the Lord always before their eyes, and seek him early while yet Hemay be found, and those who turn aside from His ways and refuse tofollow them.
Craven declared that it was impossible any one could reap more
benefitfrom his friends than he had. It seemed probable, indeed, that, but forthem, he would have remained a hut-keeper to the end of his days. As itwas, he became not merely an upright man in the eye of his fellow-men,but also a sincere Christian. He married Jane Gilpin, and with thisevent we close our narrative.
THE END.
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