"^J
 
 GEORGE GREENWOOD 
 
 BOOKSELLER 
 .r.r>. r>cTiCBr«r.H <;iHFE 
 
 Anfiqu* Bookihop oi 
 Curiok — 322b Military | — I 
 Rood, Cramofn* 2090
 
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 X
 
 SWAYED BY THE STORM
 
 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 Ji Story of Jluslralia to-day 
 
 By 
 
 MARION DOWNES 
 
 MELBOURNE 
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN 
 1911 
 
 Printed in England
 
 INDEX. 
 
 
 Chap. 
 1 One of God's Nobility 
 
 2 
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom 
 
 3 
 
 Phillip Morton 
 
 4 
 
 A Cold Breakfast . . 
 
 
 5 
 
 A Chapter of Accidents 
 
 
 6 
 
 Bush Fires 
 
 
 7 
 
 Affinities 
 
 
 8 
 
 Put to the Test 
 
 
 9 
 
 A Door Opened 
 
 
 10 
 
 Hidden Music . . 
 
 
 11 
 
 The New Station Hand 
 
 
 12 
 
 A Daughter of Ireland 
 
 
 13 
 
 The Day of Temptation 
 
 
 14 
 
 Shadows and Sunshine 
 
 
 15 
 
 A Woman's Way 
 
 
 16 
 
 Storm Tossed . . 
 
 
 17 
 
 "Sing mir Dein Lied" 
 
 
 18 
 
 A Tangled Skein 
 
 
 19 
 
 Lengthening Shadows 
 
 
 20 
 
 Love Estranged 
 
 
 21 
 
 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 
 22 
 
 Love in Conflict 
 
 
 23 
 
 The Angel of the Storm 
 
 
 24 
 
 Erin Goes Home 
 
 
 2o 
 
 A Radiant Sunset 
 
 
 26 
 
 Voices from the Past 
 
 
 27 
 
 Two Problems Solved 
 
 
 28 
 
 Aftermath 
 
 
 29 
 
 Mists and Mountains 
 
 
 30 
 
 A Bush Bachelor 
 
 
 31 
 
 A Fire and its Consequences 
 
 32 
 
 After the Storm 
 
 
 Page 
 
 7 
 
 14 
 
 26 
 
 34 
 
 43 
 
 54 
 
 65 
 
 69 
 
 78 
 
 88 
 
 96 
 
 107 
 
 114 
 
 123 
 
 131 
 
 138 
 
 150 
 
 157 
 
 166 
 
 171 
 
 178 
 
 183 
 
 189 
 
 197 
 
 201 
 
 210 
 
 218 
 
 227 
 
 229 
 
 236 
 
 245 
 
 256
 
 SWAYED BY THE STORM 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 One of God's Nobility. 
 
 IN the dusk of a winter's evening a minister might 
 have been seen pacing slowly up and down the aisles 
 of a large metropolitan church, his head bowed, 
 as if he were in deep thought. It was a habit of the 
 Rev. Stephen Moore's, just before the time of service on 
 Sunday evenings, to enter the church where he had 
 ministered for fifteen years, and in imagination to 
 people the pews with those who had passed away from 
 earth, but who were still dear to his heart and memory. 
 The surioundings were such as to lend themselves 
 readily to such mood. The dim roseate light falling 
 through stained glass windows, the vastness of the church, 
 the silent organ, even the empty pews were in them- 
 selves enough to enkindle a less poetic and sympathetic 
 nature than his. 
 
 Presently the City clocks chimed the hour of- six. 
 The sound recalled the minister from the past to the 
 present. With a sigh, yet not altogether a sad one, he 
 passed from the church to his study which lay beyond.
 
 8 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 It was a handsome, spacious apartment, three of its 
 walls lined with books from floor to ceiling ; the fourth 
 occupied by long low windows. In the centre of the 
 room stood a large writing table , a clear coal fife 
 burned in the grate. Seating himself at the table, the 
 minister carefully read over his written sermon, then 
 wrote some peculiar looking characters on a sheet of 
 note paper and put them in his breast coat pocket. 
 Finally he rose, put on his overcoat and hat, and went 
 out into the street. 
 
 Although nearly seven o'clock now, there was no 
 sign of lighting up the church. For some months past, 
 on account of alterations which were being made in the 
 church, the Sunday services had been held in one of the 
 principal theatres, and it was towards this building that 
 the Rev. Stephen Moore now directed his steps. Through 
 the crowded sti'eets he walked with steady rapid strides. 
 When he reached the theatre he found it, as usual, full 
 to the doors. Passing in, he made his way to the front 
 of the stage, where a temporary reading desk had been 
 placed. It was an imposing sight that he saw when 
 he lifted his eyes and looked round ; rows of seats 
 from floor to ceiling filled with eager men and women ; 
 up and up to the top-most gallery every available seat 
 occupied. A hush fell on the vast assemblage as the 
 minister's well-known figure appeared. A hush that 
 was followed by the clear, ringing tones of his voice as 
 he began the service. As the foot-lights fell upon him, 
 they revealed a tall, noble-looking man, scarcely past 
 his prime. A commanding figure, although his shouldeis
 
 One of God's Nobility g 
 
 drooped slightly ; rugged features, a massive brow, from 
 which the hair was brushed back, deep-set blue eyes 
 that gleamed like fire from beneath bushy eyebrows ; 
 eyes that seemed to pierce you through with their keen, 
 clear glance, yet, at the same time were full of mother- 
 tenderness ; it was a face that having once looked upon 
 you would not soon forget ; here was a man that could 
 not be trifled with. You seemed to feel with the con- 
 gregation as though this man standing before you had 
 come straight from the presence of God, like Moses 
 descending from the Mount, bringing God's message 
 direct, — " the burden of the Lord" 
 Presently the hymn was announced : 
 
 " All hail the power of Jesus' name. 
 Let angels prostrate fall. 
 Bring forth the royal diadem, 
 And crown Him Lord of all." 
 
 The noble words and melody echoed on the aii*, sung 
 heartily by thousands of human voices. When the 
 last notes of the hymn died away into silence, the 
 preacher's voice was heard in prayer. This was no 
 formal prayer, no mere ceremony nor chanting of words 
 while the heart was far away. This man was speaking 
 to God as a man talks " face to face with his friend." 
 
 Now the sermon began. Stephen Moore preached 
 extempore, only glancing occasionally at the large 
 strange-looking characters on the sheet of paper he had 
 brought with him. Not so much a sermon perhaps, as 
 a plain common-sense talk to his audience was this 
 strong preacher's address. The words he used were
 
 lo Swayed by The Storm 
 
 full of simple grace, well chosen and to the point. As 
 he proceeded his language became more forceful and 
 graphic, the white-heat passion that glowed in his own 
 soul began to manifest itself, and awakened in his hearers 
 an involuntary responsiveness of awe and humility. As 
 they listened, they too heard the voice of God and saw 
 the vision of God. Tired women, baffled men got the 
 comfort of the message and took heart again ; brilUant 
 Statesmen present, felt nobler ideals rise within them. 
 Young men in the flush of temptation knew themselves 
 stronger to fight the evil ; as they listened, vice grew 
 more hideous, purity more alluring and sweet. From 
 the servant maid to the haught}^ lady ; fiom the office 
 boy to the wealthy merchant ; from the unlettered 
 mechanic to the cultured scholar, all were represented 
 here, and yet to each it seemed as if the message weie 
 lor him or her alone. 
 
 And so another night's service was over. And the 
 preacher, as he watched the people pass slowly out, 
 realized to the full his great responsibility, and felt 
 weighed down with a sense of his own insufficiency. 
 But his day's work was not yet finished. Leaving the 
 building by a side door he took his way to another portion 
 of the City, where the poorest and most degraded of the 
 population lived, where opium dens and low hotels held 
 sway, where vice and squaloi and miseiy reigned. 
 Passing through the narrow, dirty lanes as one who was 
 familiar with the route, the minister at last reached a 
 Mission Hall. Entering, he found a large gathering of 
 men and women. All sorts and conditions of men.
 
 One of God's Nobility. ii 
 
 L 
 
 mostly bearing traces of sin or of want in their faces. 
 Ragged looking men, and still worse looking women 
 some of the latter whose shrill voices joined in the 
 singing, being more oi less drunk. Most of them wore 
 a dejected air, a few were bright and eager. Some faces 
 looked heavy and dull, others bore the impress of refine- 
 ment and education. The hymn over, Stephen Moore 
 came to the front and spoke a few earnest words to the 
 people in his own simple, yet powerful way. Then 
 closing the meeting, he turned with kindly greeting to 
 the several mission workers, who all knew and loved 
 him. He felt very weary as he made his way homeward, 
 for the day had been as usual, a heavy one. He had 
 not gone far when he heard footsteps close behind him. 
 A man came up breathless, as the minister turned round. 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, I don't like to trouble you, but I 
 heard you speak at the Hall just now, and thought may 
 be you'd come. Theie is a poor girl dying fast, as would 
 like you to visit her, so I made bold to ask you, sir, if 
 it is not troubling you too much." 
 
 " Certainly, I will come," the minister answered wihtout 
 hesitation. "Dying fast, you say ?" he asked, as he follow- 
 ed his companion along still narrower alleys than before, 
 
 " Yes, sir, she can't live through the night." 
 
 " Is she conscious ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; and she was crying fit to bteak her heart 
 Just before I came out. The woman with her told me 
 she was frightened to die, and wanted to see a parson, but 
 I didn't think I could find one." 
 
 There was no more conversation, there scarcely could
 
 12 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 be between the two men as they groped their way up 
 rickety staircases, and through indescribably dirty and 
 dark passages. 
 
 " That's her room, she's in there," said the man at 
 last, pointing to what looked like a dark hole. 
 
 There was a faint glimmer of light within, and the 
 minister entered. As he did so a woman came out of 
 the room, leaving him alone with the one he had come 
 to see. Lying on a miserable bed in the corner was a 
 girl, evidently not more than twenty years of age. By 
 her bed side were two broken chairs, on one of which was 
 placed a medicine bottle and a cup of water. There 
 was no other furniture in the room. One glance at 
 the girl's face told the practised eye of the minister 
 that she had not many hours to live. A great com- 
 passion filled his soul as he bent over her and took her 
 hot, wasted hand in his own. 
 
 " My poor child," he said tenderly, " I am sorry to see 
 you like this." 
 
 Her only answer was the appealing, hunted look in 
 the eyes she upraised to his. 
 
 " You wanted to see me, my child ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, I'm djdng, and I'm afraid," she whispered, 
 " I have lived a wicked life. Do you think God will 
 forgive me ? " And her large, dark eyes fixed them- 
 selves on his face entreatingly. 
 
 " Are you sorry for your sins ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered. 
 
 " Have you asked God to forgive you for Christ's 
 sake ? " he asked again.
 
 One of God's Nobility. 13 
 
 Her lips quivered. " I have not dared to pray," she 
 said, " Will you ? " 
 
 He held her hand clasped in his own, as though to 
 give her confidence, and kneeling there beside her he 
 prayed, just putting her desires into simple words. 
 
 When he ceased he found that she was lying with her 
 eyes closed, but the face was tear-stained. He seated 
 himself on the chair beside her and began to tell her 
 of the love of Christ and how He never cast out any 
 that came to Him. The girl listened eagerly, " Say 
 to yourself, ' Jesus saves me now," " the minister said, 
 " and believe that He does. You have asked His for- 
 giveness. Now take it." 
 
 The poor white Ups unclosed themselves " Jesus saves," 
 she whispered. She could say no more. The power of 
 speech was gone. Feeling that the girl was past all 
 human aid, the minister could do no more than soothe 
 her dying moments. He took out his own white hand- 
 kerchief and wiped the death-dews from her brow, 
 tenderly, aye, more tenderly than a woman might have 
 done, and whispered words of comfort as he bent over her. 
 The girl lay so still that at first he thought she was dead, 
 but presently she opened her eyes and a radiant smile 
 illumined the poor face for an instant. Then a struggle, 
 a weary sigh, and her spirit had fled. His own eyes were 
 dim with tears, and his heart heavy as he left the sad 
 scene. The woman had returned by this time, and 
 telling her of the girl's death, the minister took his way 
 to the railway station, reaching it just in time to catch 
 the last train home
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 GUM TREES AND WATTLE BLOSSOM. 
 
 STANDING some distance back from the bush road 
 deep in the heart of the forest, was a small wooden 
 cottage, in which little Erin Fergus, with her 
 father and step-mother lived. The cottage was double 
 fronted, and at one of the windows there might have 
 been seen at any hour of the day, year in and year out, 
 a child's white, weary face, beautiful in spite of its 
 delicacy. For Erin was a cripple She had consump- 
 tion of the spine, which had resulted in paralysis of the 
 lower Hmbs, and for years had not been able to put 
 her foot to the gi'ound. Evefy morning she was di'essed 
 and taken from her bed at the further side of the room, 
 to the sofa, which was placed close by the window, from 
 whence she could look out and see the ttees and sky and 
 birds. She saw little else, except an occasional vehicle 
 travelling along the bush road. 
 
 There was only one who used to visit her regularly, 
 and she was watching for him now, with an intense 
 eagerness. Presently hei* quick ear caught the sound 
 of a horse's gallop on the hard toad, and an exclamation 
 of joy broke fiom her. She listened with every nerve 
 strained until a horse and rider came into view. The
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom 15 
 
 latter, a young man with bronzed, pleasant face and fine 
 physique, sprang lightly to the giound, left his hoise to 
 enjoy the grass, then came to the window and smiled at 
 Erin, as a preliminary to entering her room. 
 
 " Well, sunbeam, how are you to-day ? " he asked, as 
 he came towards her. 
 
 The child was sitting up now with both arms stretched 
 out in welcome, while her face was a study, " Oh, 
 Don ! " she cried, " I am so glad you've come." 
 
 He folded her in his arms and kissed her, " What ! 
 crying, Erin ? " he said reproachfully, as he noticed the 
 tears on her cheeks. 
 
 " I could not help it, Don," she said penitently, " I 
 was so lonely. But I'm only crying now because I'm 
 glad," and she wound her little thin arms about his neck, 
 as if she would never let him go. 
 
 He sat down beside her. " Are you feeling better, 
 Erin ? " he asked, 
 
 " Only for the pain in my side," she answered. 
 
 " Father out ? " was his next question. 
 
 " Yes, chopping trees in Green's paddock." 
 
 " I saw i\Irs. Fergus weeding the turnips as I rode past," 
 Donald said. " So you are all alone, little woman/' 
 
 " Yes," Erin answered wearily. Then, suddenly, to 
 Donald's dismay, the child burst into a passion of sobs. 
 
 " What is it, Erin ? " he asked gently. " You are not 
 like my little, bright sunbeam to-day. What has 
 happened ? " He was holding the fragile form close as 
 he spoke, and brushing back the waves of beautiful dark 
 hair from the white, blue-veined brow.
 
 1 6 Swayed by The Storm, 
 
 But Erin could not speak, so great was the tempest of 
 sobs that shook her. And Donald wisely left her alone 
 for a few minutes, until the storm had spent itself, then as 
 she grew quieter, he whispered, "Tell me all about it Erin." 
 
 " Oh, Don," she sobbed, " I am so tired of everything, 
 I am tired of just lying here doing nothing. I want to 
 run about and jump and skip, to go outside and see the 
 birds and trees and everything. Why didn't God make 
 me stiong and well like other girls ? " And she choked 
 back the sobs that would come in spite of her efforts. 
 
 Donald was silent, but continued stroking back the 
 hair from her brow and passing his hand caressingly over 
 her face. If Erin had looked at him then she would 
 have seen the tears standing in his eyes. 
 
 " I am no use to anyone," she sobbed, after a pause. 
 
 " Hush, Erin," he said almost sternly, " you must 
 never say that again. What would Daddy do without 
 his little girl ? And what would I do without my Uttle 
 sunbeam, though she is not a sunbeam now, she's only 
 a big rain drop ? You are of use to me, Erin." 
 
 " Use to you, Donald," the child said wonderingly 
 raising to his face her large dark eyes with their curling 
 lashes, on which the tear drops glistened now like 
 diamonds. " How can I be of use to you ? " 
 
 " Listen, Erin, " he said, and all the time he was strok- 
 ing back the beautiful clustering curls, and the child 
 was being soothed and comforted in spite of herself. 
 " The other night I was having a bad time, and I thought 
 of you, and how you loved me, and then I felt quite 
 strong and happy again."'
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom. 17 
 
 " Did you, Donald ? " and there was a glad light in 
 Erin's face now. 
 
 " But if I think you are fretting, Erin," he went on, 
 " I shall be so sad." 
 
 " Well, I won't then," she answered promptly, nestling 
 her head against his rough coat. " I won't fret if it 
 makes you sad, Don." 
 
 " Very well then, you have promised me," he said 
 brightly. " And now I am going to tell you what I saw 
 as I came along. It is so beautiful out to-day, Erin, 
 though it is only the middle of winter." 
 
 " Yes, I know," came with a resigned whisper and a 
 deep sigh from the depths of his sleeve somewhere. 
 
 " And I saw such lots of wattle out, the trees are 
 covered with it." 
 
 Erin was all interest now. " Oh, Don, wouldn't I love 
 to see it. Why didn't you bring me some ? " 
 
 " Because I am going to take you out and let you see 
 it all foi yourself." 
 
 " Oh, Don ! " And Erin draw a long bieath of deligh t 
 " But how ? " she questioned. 
 
 " I'll cairy you, that's how," he returned, smiling 
 back at her. " Is there another shawl about, a big 
 warm shawl ? " he asked. " Wait a minute, I will go 
 and ask Mrs. Fergus." 
 
 He went off and returned presently, accompanied by 
 Erin's stepmother. After some searching, an old 
 woollen buggy rug was brought to light, and carefully 
 wrapping Erin up in this, after she was warmly dressed, 
 Donald lifted her in his arms, and carried hei out of doors. 
 
 B
 
 1 8 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 " Don't go too far, Don," she whispeied, " you will be 
 tired." 
 
 " Oh, no, you are as light as a feather. I am going to 
 take you to a place down the road, such a lovely spot. 
 Theie is a creek by the side, and there aie heaps and 
 heaps of wattle tfees all in bloom." 
 
 " It's scrumptious, Don," she said, as she laid her 
 velvety cheek against his rough one, and clung to him 
 more tightly. " It is just lovely being carried like this. 
 Oh ! isn't the sunshine glorious ? And hear the birds ! 
 I nevei heard them sing like that, did you ? " And she 
 laughed for very glee. "It is delicious." 
 
 " The birds are extra happy to-day," Donald replied. 
 
 For neaih' a mile he strode on, not showing any signs 
 of fatigue. At last he came to a spot where a stream 
 of pure water trickled thi'ough a mossy fern dell, while 
 all around stood the giant gum trees, like so many 
 sentinels on guard, some tall and straight, other gnarled 
 and twisted into all sorts of grotesque shapes. Over- 
 head the sun shone brilliantly in a clear, azure sky, in 
 which the piles of cloud looked like snow mountains. 
 Here were numerous varieties of Australian bush flora. 
 There was tiny maiden-hair that clustered in patches 
 on the sides of the gully ; delicate mosses that hid in 
 nooks or covered with their velvet robes the queer tree 
 stumps and fallen trees, turning their ugliness into 
 beauty ; there were tall, straight gum tfees towering into 
 blue depths of sky ; but the striking feature was the 
 blaze of yellow gloiy in the midst of all the grey ejreen,
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom. 19 
 
 the wattle trees laden with their wealth of fluffy, downy 
 golden blossom. 
 
 Donald found a comfortable seat foi Erin and caie- 
 fully tucked the rug around her. 
 
 "There is wattle blossom enough for you, Erin," he 
 said. Standing just where he was he stretched his arms 
 and began pulling off whole branches from the wattle 
 trees, piling them round the little one where she sat, 
 till the rich, heavy scent became almost overpowering. 
 El in buried her face in the soft velvety blooms and 
 laughed aloud for very excess of happiness. 
 
 " I was just thinking," she said, " of the poor little 
 sick children in the big cities who never see the wattle." 
 
 " Ah, well, you see how much better off you are than 
 they. You think of that now the next time you are 
 going to fiet." 
 
 " Oh, Don, don't pull any more." 
 
 " But, Erin," he said, and he went on still heaping the 
 glorious golden bloom all around her, " there is plenty, 
 there's such lots and lots and lots. I want to just smother 
 you with it. You know we are not in man's garden, 
 but in God's. In man's garden we have to be careful 
 and only pull a little. In God's gaiden there is always 
 enough and to spare." Donald expanded his chest and 
 flung his arms out as he spoke. " ^^'hy, as I rode along 
 this morning, I saw miles and miles of wattle trees. 
 
 " Just reminds me, when I was a little chap, I remem- 
 ber a man taking me over his fernery once, I saw a fern 
 leaf that I thought very pretty, and I picked it, and the 
 old man got in such a rage, and told me he did not grow
 
 20 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 ferns for me to pick. I know I was a naughty boy. 
 Erin, but I threw the leaf in his face, and said, " Keep 
 it, you greedy man." Of course I was turned out. And 
 then a few months later, father took me to the Blue 
 Mountains, and I went through the " Federal Pass " and 
 climbed the hundreds of steps where the fei'ns are 
 growing wild, millions and millions of them, Erin, every 
 sort of fern you can think of, from the great palm fern, 
 seventy feet high, down to the little tiny moss, millions 
 and millions of ferns, Erin — you could take cart loads of 
 them and they would not be missed — and I thought 
 how different God is from man. When God gives a 
 thing, He gives plenty of it. Just think of the great 
 rivers and lakes and mountains, and all the bright sun- 
 shine all over this great land of ours, and all the trees 
 and birds made happy by it, and surely God would not 
 grudge a little girl like you, who has to lie in a room all 
 day, all this lovely blossom. Do you think h'^ would, 
 Erin ? " 
 
 " No, I suppose not," she answeied, and so hex mind 
 at rest, she began to revel in the beauty of Nature, 
 almost intoxicated with its pure exhilarating sweetness. 
 
 " Why, you look like a picture, Erin," Donold ex- 
 claimed ])resently, " I can only see your face and head. 
 If only I were a painter, I would paint you now." 
 
 And truly the child made a beautiful picture. She 
 had flung her hat aside, and there were only visible 
 the dark curls, and the beautiful face lit up with its 
 glorious dafk eyes, while all around her were heaped piles 
 and piles of the golden perfumed wattle blossom.
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom. 21 
 
 " You look just like a fairy, Erin," Donald added 
 laughing. " Do you know what I'm going to call you 
 after to-day ? " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Wattle blossom." 
 
 " Oh, I like that name, Don," she said, her eyes 
 sparkling, " but how am I like the wattle blossom ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Well, this ^^■ay. You know the Wattle blossom is 
 the first to come out after the cold winter days." 
 
 " What is wattle made of, Don ? " she interrupted. 
 
 " I think it is made of sunshine and lovely south 
 breezes," Donald answered gravely. 
 
 " And is that why it is so scenty ? " Erin asked. 
 
 " Yes, the south breezes have been blowing the scent 
 of all the other flowers into it all through the year, and 
 the sunshine has been filling it, and so it is in a hurry to 
 give it all out again, and that is why it is the first to 
 bloom. This is just the middle of winter, and here it is 
 all about us." 
 
 " It's early this year, isn't it, Don ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear And God has given you a lot of sunshine 
 in 3'our own heart," he went on. " You are the gold 
 to me when everything else is grey ; you always have a 
 smile for me, except when I find you crying, like I did 
 to-day. Then the wattle just does what God tells it 
 to do, and when you are lying still in your little bed and 
 are patient, God is telling you things about Himself, 
 and filling your heart with His sunshine, and so when 
 people come to see you, and you are loving and kind and
 
 22 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 sweet, then you are giving out the stored sunshine again. 
 That is how you are like the wattle." 
 
 " I did not know I was like that," Erin said meekly, 
 fiom the midst of her throne. 
 
 " But it's quite true," Donald said eagerly, " and so 
 you must never say again that you arc of no use. Look 
 at that gum tree," and he pointed to a magnificent 
 specimen, standing some little distance away, its branches 
 flung, not earthwards as in the case of many around it, 
 but skywaids. Hundreds of feet above, its topmost 
 branches were swayed by the passing breeze, and several 
 birds were in their leafy recesses now, twitteiing and 
 chirping. 
 
 " Yes, Don, I see it." 
 
 " And you see that little wattle just beside it. It is 
 just a tiny bush, but it's covered with blossom, isn't it, 
 Erin ? " 
 
 " Yes," 
 
 " Well, now, I think that is like you and me, you are 
 the little, gentle, soft, clinging wattle blossom, and I am 
 the big, strong, tall, ugly gum tree." 
 
 " Not ugly, Donald," she interrupted. 
 
 " Do you mean the gum tree or me ? " 
 
 " I mean both of you. It is not an ugly gum tree, and 
 you are not ugly." 
 
 " Well, pretty, " Donald suggested laughing. 
 
 " No, you're not pretty," Erin answered surveying his 
 sunburnt face and neck with a gravely critical air. 
 
 " Well, what am I ? " 
 
 ', Just handsome," Erin replied seriously.
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom. 23 
 
 " Very well, then, tall and strong and straight, and 
 — what was the word again ? " 
 
 " Handsome," Erin answered promptly. 
 
 " Handsome," he repeated. " Now, you know God 
 has different work for the different trees. He tells the 
 gum tree to grow up very strong and straight, and it 
 has hard work to do, but the wattle has not anything 
 much to do. It is sheltered from the wind and the 
 storm." 
 
 "It has only to be beautiful, hasn't it ? " Erin said. 
 
 " That is all," assented Donald. He had lifted aside 
 some of the branches, and was sitting with his arm around 
 the child now, for he noticed she looked weary. " Only 
 to be beautiful and sweet and just give itself, and that 
 is what God asks of you. I have to go out into the 
 world and fight my way. God wants me to be strong, 
 so He tells me to work on the farm, and do all sorts of 
 hard things. But you have just to lie still and be 
 beautiful and make people happy. You and I have 
 just to let God do what He likes with us, just as the gum 
 tree and the wattle let Him do what He likes with them. 
 You see the wattle just grows as God tells it to, and so 
 he makes all those little fluffy balls and fills them with 
 golden sunshine and beautiful scent. You are doing 
 God's will just as much as" if you ran about and did things 
 to help people. You are helping, you know, but in 
 another way. Not in your way, dear, but in God's 
 way." 
 
 " And it's just as good to be a Wattle tree as a Gum 
 tree, isn't it ? "
 
 24 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 " Just as good, dear, perhaps better," he made answer. 
 
 " Don," she said wistfully after a pause. " If only 
 God would let me run about just for a little while," and 
 then there was a long silence. 
 
 " Look at that bird, Don," she exclaimed suddenly, 
 pointing to a Laughing Jackass, who was perched on a 
 dead tree close by. " Isn't it funny that he likes to 
 perch always on the dead branches. If I were he I 
 would go in amongst the leaves, wouldn't you ? Do 
 you know what I think;? I think the Jackass trusts 
 God." 
 
 " Do you, Erin ? Why ? " 
 
 " Wattle blossom," she corrected. 
 
 ' Oh, I forgot, wattle blossom, why do you think so ? " 
 
 " Well, last Sunday, you know it rained all day, just 
 poured. I was tired of my doll and my books and every- 
 thing. I wanted something live to play with, so I wanted 
 Kitty. I called and called and she would not come, I 
 think she must have been outside somewhere. Mrs. 
 Fergus was bus}^ (Erin always called her step-mother 
 Mrs. Fergus, she could never be induced to call her 
 " mother,") and so I waited for hours and hours, and 
 then I called her and asked her if she would bring Kitty 
 in to me. I think she was vexed, Don, about something, 
 because she said, " Oh, don't bother me, I have too 
 much to do." And then I cried. You see I did not 
 know then that I was your Wattle blossom. Why arc you 
 looking so cross, Don ? " as she saw a black look come 
 in his face. 
 
 " I am not cross with you, darling," he said, " go on."
 
 Gum Trees and Wattle Blossom. 25 
 
 ■' Well, I was crying, and then I looked out of the 
 window, and I saw a Jackass perched on an old bough. 
 You know that old tree right in front of our place — 
 and it was singing, — " 
 
 "What was singing?" Donald interrupted, "the 
 tree? " 
 
 "No, 3'ou silly, of course not, the bird," and she 
 laughed merrily. " Well, it was singing with all its 
 might, and the rain was just pouring down on it, but 
 it didn't care, and it laughed so much that I had to 
 laugh too, and I thought to mj'selt, that bird must be 
 trusting God, or it wouldn't sing and laugh in the 
 rain like that. Because you know any bird can sing 
 in the sunshine, but it is something to sing when it 
 is raining, isn't it, Don ? And so I laughed too and 
 began to sing, and presently, in walked Kitty and 
 jumped up on my bed, and she and I had such a lovely 
 play till dinner time, and after dinner. Daddy came and 
 sat with me all the afternoon, and so it was a happy 
 day after all. But not as beautiful as to-day, Don," 
 she added, nestling closer to him. " Oh, it has been 
 just lovely here, I ^^ill be able to think of this day for 
 weeks and weeks." 
 
 " Oh, we're going to have some more days out here," 
 he said, " first chance I get. Come now, \\'attle blossom 
 and I'll take you home to 3'our dinner, and mind you 
 eat a good one." 
 
 And taking her into his arms, together with as many 
 boughs of golden wattle as he could ]x)ssibly manage, 
 Donald carried the child home again.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 Philip IMorton. 
 
 A DAY of summer sunshine and cool breezes, 
 making life a glad thing to be enjoyed. Especi- 
 ally so here, where Nature's charms were in such 
 profusion. A broad river flowing through green, hilly 
 country, while beyond rose the mountain ranges, purple 
 in the distance. On the river a light boat, in which sat 
 a young woman. Her boat was going with the current 
 and she had nothing to do but sit there in lazy content- 
 ment and drift down the stream. By-and-by she 
 reached her destination, then she took up the idle oars, 
 and began to manipulate them, and a few minutes later 
 she sprang lightly ashore and fastened her boat securely 
 in a tiny natural cove. Some distance from her landing 
 place, there stood a large house in the midst of culti- 
 vated grounds. Beyond it, as far as the eye could see, 
 were far-extending plains on which hundreds of sheep 
 and numerous head of cattle were grazing. Between 
 the house and the river-side stood a lodge, and towards 
 this the girl walked. 
 
 An elderly woman o}^ned the door. 
 
 "I'm glad to see you, Miss Travena. Come inside."
 
 Philip Morton. 27 
 
 Margaret Travena obeyed, passing through the hall 
 into the large cool kitchen beyond. While Margaret 
 stated her business, the lodge-keeper brought her some 
 raspberries and cream. 
 
 " You have not heard the news, Miss Margaret, have 
 you ? " she asked. 
 
 " What news, Mrs. Smith ? " 
 
 " That the old master's nephew will soon be here." 
 
 " No, what is he like ? " 
 
 " Oh, a lame, delicate sort of fellow, I believe." 
 
 "It must be about five years since Mr. Howard died," 
 remarked Margaret reflectively. 
 
 " Yes, what a sudden death it was too ! I suppose 
 that is how he left no will nor nothing to say what was 
 to be done with the place. It beats me how these rich 
 folk will go on year after year, knowing they have got 
 so much money to leave, and yet make no wills. Seems 
 to me they must think they are never going to die." 
 
 Margaret was pondering. " I suppose this nephew 
 you speak of is the next of kin," she observed, " and that 
 is how he comes to inherit." 
 
 " Yes, they couldn't find no one else belonging to the 
 old man, you see. The lawyers had a lot of trouble 
 searching for a Will, which they never found, and then 
 there was a lot more time wasted one way or another. 
 You know there's a proverb about ' the Law's delays,' 
 isn't there ? " 
 
 " Not a proverb," corrected Mai-garet, " Shakespeare 
 used the phrase."
 
 28 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 " Oh, well, Shakespeare, or Hamlet, or Carlyle, or one 
 or other of them Poets," Mrs. Smith replied, rather 
 testily. 
 
 Margaret, as she recalled the sage of Chelsea's rugged* 
 abrupt speech, could not repress a smile at the thought 
 of his being styled a Poet, and she could scarcely refrain 
 from correcting the old lady in her hopeless mixing up 
 of Shakespeare and one of his own creations. 
 
 " I never am quite sure about those different Poets 
 and so on," Mrs. Smith went on garrulously, " but 
 it's near enough, quite near enough. I don't hold 
 with too much learnin' for a woman. It takes her all 
 her time to look after preserves, and jam, and such 
 things. I say, leave learnin' to the men folk." 
 
 Margaret did not think it worth while to enter on a 
 discussion on the subject, but wisely kept her own 
 counsel. " So that is why this nephew has been so 
 long in arriving on the scene ? " she asked, coming 
 back from the Poets to everyday men and events. 
 
 Yes, he was a teacher in some big school in England, 
 that's all. It will be a great change for him to come 
 here and l^e the owner of such a fine old place as 
 Tocumba. 
 
 "So it will," Margaret assented. " \\liat is his 
 name;? " ^ 
 
 " Philip Morton." \ 
 
 And then Margaret explained the business she had 
 come about, and after some mere desultory chatting, 
 took her way home again.
 
 Philip Morton. 29 
 
 Maigaret Tiavena's life had been an unusually quiet 
 
 and uneventful one. It had glided on for years past 
 
 much in the same way as the river over which her boat 
 
 was drifting. There were few storms to ruffle its surface, 
 
 and none sufficient to stir it to its depths, yet hers was a 
 
 a deep nature ; plenty of force in reserve, all the deeper 
 
 because of the stillness, and the concentration caused by 
 
 the narrow sphere in which she lived. It was a happy 
 
 life, for she had known no other. Her taste lay in the 
 
 direction of books and music and flowers, and she had 
 
 all these, and above and beyond all, her father, who had 
 
 been her hero from childhood up, and w^ho was to her a 
 
 comrade and companion as well. Her mother had died 
 
 when Margaret was about fourteen, and ever since she 
 
 had taken upon heiself with the help of an old servant, 
 
 charge of the little household. There were times 
 
 when a fit of discontent came ovei her, a craving to mix 
 
 with men and women of the outside world such as she 
 
 read of, but these were only fits of depression, and she 
 
 would put such thoughts awa\% as if they were treason 
 
 to her father. But the forces of nature are ever at work, 
 
 and God's providences in human lives are also ever busy, 
 
 sooner or later, 
 
 "The Old order changeth, giving place to new, 
 ' And God fulfils Himself in many ways." 
 
 and though Margaret knew not of it, events were quickly 
 hastening to meet her, and to alter that even flow of her 
 life's river. 
 
 Some months after her visit to Mrs. Smith, Margaret 
 found she had a leisure afternoon, and as the day had
 
 30 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 been sultry, the prospect of a row on the river seemed 
 inviting. So, dressing herself in a pale blue print frock 
 she set off in her boat. Margaret had gone a few miles 
 further up the river, when a sudden change in the 
 weather took place, the sky grew black and there were 
 signs of a thunderstorm. She was about to turn back 
 when she noticed a man standing on the bank evidently 
 trying to attract her attention. She pulled towards 
 the spot where he stood, and as she drew near, the 
 stranger lifted his hat and apologised for his inter- 
 ruption. 
 
 " I am afraid I have lost my way," he said, and the 
 voice was a musical one. " I am a stranger here, and 
 do not know the run of the place yet. \\'ould you 
 kindly direct me to Tocumba Station. 
 
 " Oh, yes," Margaret answered, " I can tell you where 
 it is, but how are you going to get there ? It is about 
 six miles through the bush." 
 
 " Six miles," the stranger repeated. While they 
 were speaking a flash of lightning crossed the sky, and 
 a loud thunder peal echoed on the still air. As he 
 took a few steps nearer to her, she noticed that he was 
 was slightly lame. 
 
 " You could never find your way through the bush," 
 she said, " besides it would be dangerous on account 
 of the storm. If you will get into the boat, I will row 
 you down, it is only three miles by river." 
 
 " It is extremely kind of you, but " he hesitated, 
 " you were going in the op}X)site direction, and there is 
 a storm coming on."
 
 Philip Morton. 31 
 
 Margaret laughed. Her laugh fell on her listener's 
 ear pleasantly. " I am not at all afraid of storms," 
 she said. " I am quite used to them, for I have always 
 lived in the bush, but you are a stranger ; besides one 
 is perfectly safe on the river." 
 
 While speaking, she had been mooring her boat to the 
 bank, and now sat there waiting for him to get in, as though 
 the matter were settled. Still the stranger hesitated 
 
 " I am ashamed to let you do this for me," he said. 
 " I feel that I am imposing on your generosity." 
 
 " Please jump in," Margoret said coolly, as another 
 loud thunder clap rent the air. " There will be a down- 
 pour presently, and we are wasting time arguing." 
 
 " Very well, then, I suppose I must," and he sprang 
 into the boat, with an alertness in spite of his lameness, 
 that surprised Margaret. 
 
 " At least you must allow me to take the oars," he 
 said, quietly suiting the action to the word. 
 
 There was something very pleasant to Margaret in 
 this friendly authoritative manner, quite a new ex- 
 perience to her. She made up her mind that however 
 delicate in appearance the stranger might be, and 
 however little of a bushman he was, he certainly was 
 no novice at using the oar. She could not help admiring 
 his quiet, steady strokes, and as she sat there with 
 nothing else to do, she found it a good opportunity for 
 noting his white, firm hands, his intellectual forehead, 
 and well-curved lips, which a light brown moustache did 
 not altogether hide. " He looks like a scholar, and 
 he is very handsome," was Margaret's conclusion.
 
 32 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 ■ You seem used to the oars," she remarked. 
 
 " Yes, I was considered a fair sculler at Oxford," he 
 said. " I am passionately fond of boating, always was. 
 Perhaps that accounts for it. And you — j^ou do not 
 seem at all far behind in the profession," he added 
 with an arch smile at her. 
 
 " Oh, I have been used to boating all my life, it comes 
 as a sort of second nature to me." 
 
 " And I suppose you are equally at home on horse- 
 back, aren't you ? " he asked. " How wonderfully 
 free the life out here is compared with what it is in 
 the old country. There seems to be so much breathing 
 space here." And he expanded his chest as he spoke 
 as though the action brought him pleasure. 
 
 " Is this place quite new to you ? " she asked. 
 
 " Yes, I have not been more than three months in 
 Australia, and am only just beginning to get used to 
 it. I will tell you what amused me very much at the 
 first — the great wood fires, especially in the country, 
 where they burn whole trees at once. Ah ! here is the 
 rain." And here it was to be sure. It began to come 
 down in torrents. In an instant the stranger had 
 drawn off his coat, and was placing it round Margaret's 
 shoulders. 
 
 " I certainly shall not see you get wet on my behalf," 
 he said, as she laughingly protested, " and I can change 
 my things as soon as I get in, while you have to return 
 home." 
 
 It was no use for Margaret to object ; this man with 
 the quiet manner had a most determined will, and was
 
 Philip Morton. 33 
 
 evidently used to having his own way. A few more 
 minutes and they had reached the lodge. 
 
 " You will come up with me to the house, won't you,', 
 he said, and get some dry clothing to return in." 
 
 " Oh, I am not at all wet, and the shower will soon 
 be over." No, I shall not need your coat, see how dry 
 I am ? " 
 
 " Oh, but you shall," he insisted. " If you do not 
 come up to the house, you shall certainly take my coat, 
 it will be a little protection. I cannot tell you how 
 thankful I am to you. Will you tell me to whom I 
 am thus indebted. 
 
 " My name is Margaret Travena." 
 
 " Ah, you are Miss Travena ? I have often heard of 
 you. I am very glad that I lost my way, since it has 
 given me this opportunity of meeting you. How 
 nice that we are neighbours. May I give myself the 
 pleasure of calhng on you next week ? " 
 
 " Father and I will be very pleased to see you," 
 Margaret answered with quiet dignity. 
 
 While they were speaking, the shower passed away, 
 and in a moment the whole landscape was transfigured 
 by the sunshine. Millions of rain drops sparkled and 
 glittered like diamonds on the leaves of the trees as 
 Philip Morton turned Margaret's boat around for her.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 A COLD BREAKFAST 
 
 THE household at Hope Farm weie early risers, for 
 there was always plenty of work to be done there. 
 In the grey dawn of a raw, bitter morning in June, 
 the big cheerless kitchen looked uninviting, for, con- 
 trary to the usual practice in the country, big fires were 
 unknown here. There was just a sufficient fire to boil 
 the kettle, that was all. The mistress of Hope Farm, 
 a thin, elderly woman with a querulous voice and face, 
 did not approve of big fires, or of anything conducive 
 to material comfort, it seemed. In her own small house- 
 hold, she was an autocrat, accustomed to have her own 
 way at any cost, even at the expense of the comfort 
 and pleasure of those around her. As she entered the 
 kitchen, now, not in a very genial frame of mind, her 
 daughter Edna was busy setting the table for breakfast. 
 She looked up with a smile. " Well mother, how did 
 you sleep ? Did you have a good night ? " 
 
 " No, indeed. The pain in my leg was terrible. It 
 was hard work getting up this morning, too, and every- 
 thing is late," she went on in a grumbling tone. 
 
 " Why, it is only just six, mother," the girl answered
 
 A Cold Breakfast. 35 
 
 " and if you had stayed in bed, I could have brought 
 you your breakfast." 
 
 " I tell you I hate having my breakfast in bed ; what 
 is the use of your saying that ! " 
 
 " Are we going to have eggs for breakfast, mother ? " 
 
 " Eggs ? No ! The idea ! why eggs are selling at a 
 shilling a dozen, and the fowls not laying too well. 
 There is some cold bacon there, that will do." 
 
 " But, mother, Donald has been working outside since 
 four o'clock, he will be so cold and hungry, and he does 
 not like cold bacon." 
 
 " You do as I tell you. I am mistress in this house. 
 Wait till you get your own house before you attempt to 
 give orders. Just mind your own business, and get 
 out the bacon at once. There the kettle is boiling, make 
 the tea." 
 
 Edna obeyed with a sigh. This was the usual morning 
 greeting. And she ought to have been used to it, but 
 she was not. 
 
 Presently her brother Donald came in. " My word, 
 cold enough, isn't it, mother ? " he said, rubbing his 
 hands together and going towards the little bit of fire. 
 " Got anything hot for breakfast, I'm as cold as charity." 
 
 " There's some cold bacon there, I want that used up," 
 his mother said without looking round at him. She 
 was watching Edna cut the bread. " Don't cut that 
 bread so thin," she said. " It wastes the butter so." 
 
 Donald's face fell, but he made no further sign. He 
 sat down to his breakfast and made the best of it. " I've 
 got all the wheat in, in that paddock, mother," he said.
 
 36 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 "It was a great work getting the horses in this morning." 
 
 " What are yovi going to do to-day ? " his mother 
 inquired, taking no notice of the statement he had just 
 made, though she was secretly pleased at the information, 
 Mrs. Cameron did not believe in praising her children 
 to their face. She thought it spoiled them. 
 
 " I have to get the mare shod," Donald said, " and 
 bring up that bag of oats." 
 
 There was an interruption here. Two small boys and 
 a brother a year younger than Donald, came tumbling 
 in to breakfast, and fell to work on the thick bread and 
 cold bacon without more ado. The meal continued in 
 silence, save for the repeated grumbling of Mrs. Cameron, 
 who reiterated all her aches and pains, and talked about 
 nothing but the bad night she had spent. It was a 
 relief when the meal was finished. 
 
 As Donald left the kitchen, his sister followed him 
 " Never mind, Don," she said, sympathetically, "It 
 will be all the same in a hundred years, won't it ? " 
 
 " I suppose so," Donald answered moodily, " but one 
 has to live in the present, all the same, you know. I 
 was offered a good billet in the city the other day," he 
 added. 
 
 " But you would not leave us, Don, would you ? " 
 Edna said imploringly. " 
 
 Don sat on the table, and swung his legs in silence. 
 
 " Well, no," he said, " at least, I refused it, though it 
 was right into my hand." 
 
 Further confidences were put an end hy the entrance 
 of their mother, who ordered Edna away to her work.
 
 A Cold Breakfast. 37 
 
 " I am going round to Mrs. Johnson's to-day, mother- 
 Any message for her ? " Donald called out as he drove 
 off later. 
 
 " To Mrs. Johnson's ? What are you going there 
 for ? You have no need to go there to-day." 
 
 " I have to see Mr. Johnson about some wheat," 
 Donald said. 
 
 " Can't you see him another time ? " 
 
 " Why not to-day, mother ? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, well, there's such a lot to be done." 
 
 " It will take longer to go another day to Johnson's, 
 and I shall be passing the house to-day, so I had better 
 go," he said respectfully, yet in a determined tone. 
 
 Whenever Donald spoke like that Mrs. Cameron felt 
 it was no use parleying any longer, so she just left him 
 and went in doors grumbling. 
 
 Donald was not long in getting the horse shod, and 
 then he turned his horse's head in the direction of his 
 friend's home. The house was built of blue stone, and 
 stood on the hill side. Not a very prosperous looking 
 place, rather untidy surroundings it must be confessed, 
 for Mr. Johnson was anything but a practical farmer. 
 He and his wife were well-to-do people with a private 
 income, and had taken up farming as a hobby, rather 
 than a means of livelihood. The result was obvious. 
 Mr. Johnson would spend the morning hours in sitting 
 with his long legs stretched in front of the fire reading 
 the newspaper. After dinner if the weather were fine 
 he would sally forth and woik with a will, that is unless 
 some interruption came along, which as often as not
 
 38 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 happened. Usually he would work right on into the 
 dark by the aid of a lantern. IMost unbusiness-like in 
 all his ways, yet a kinder hearted man could not be 
 found. As for good advice he alw ajs had plenty of that 
 on hand, and would take a long time elaborating plans, 
 which somehow came to nothing in the end. But 
 everybody liked him. He took an active part in teaching 
 the village children, and in his own small way was some- 
 thing of a philosopher and philanthropist. But his wife 
 was of a different type. She was just as practical as he 
 was unpractical, and with all, a sweet natured, genial 
 woman, one of those rare women whose very presence 
 is like the sunshine and the bieezes. Not too ready to 
 take a liking to strangers, when she did place her affection 
 on anyone, she lavished it ; and for some reason oi 
 other, perhaps because she shrewdly guessed at the 
 existing state of things at Hope Farm, and knew the 
 depth of dail}^ self-sacrifice Donald was capable of, she 
 had taken the lad into the inmost recesses of her great 
 motherly heart. She always called him her third son. 
 She had two of her own, but they were married, and 
 living in other countries, and this adopted boy was very 
 dear to her. She had seen him driving up the hill, and 
 as he reached the avenue, and sprang out of the buggy 
 she came towards him, both hands extended in welcome. 
 
 " Here is my bonny boy,!" she said with her bright 
 smile. " Fix the horse up, Donald, and come right 
 inside. There is a lovely fire, and dinner is just about 
 ready." 
 
 " I've had lunch, thank you, Mrs. Johnson," Donald
 
 A Cold Breakfast. 39 
 
 said, " you are surely late to-day." 
 
 " Yes, we are, but I am glad as it happens. Had 
 lunch? Nonsense! a growing lad like you should 
 always be ready to eat, besides, I have got your favourite 
 dinner. Now, sit in that easy chair and let me look at 
 you," she said as he appeared a few minutes later at the 
 door of the living room, " and tell me what you have been 
 doing with yourself lately. Any more poetry, Donald ? " 
 
 A flush rose to Donald's sunburnt face. " Well, yes," 
 he said, " I wrote a little thing as I drove along to-day, 
 I amused myself this morning by thinking it out while 
 I was ploughing." 
 
 " Then you killed two biids with one stone," and she 
 patted him on the shoulder, and her clear, merry laugh 
 rang out. " Clever bo}^ ! And where is this poem ? " 
 
 " It's only in the rough," he answered, taking out a 
 scrap of paper on which some lines were wiitten in pencil, 
 
 ' Well, read them to me." 
 
 Donald complied. 
 
 " I like it," his hearer said earnestly, when he had 
 finished, " It is beautiful," and there was a suspicion of 
 tears in her eyes as she spoke. " Your poetry always 
 speaks right to my heart. Donald, believe me, your 
 name will be known yet as a Poet." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " Donald murmured, but her words brought 
 a glow to his heart and to his face, nevertheless. 
 
 " But I say yes," she went on. " Ah, here is Bertha 
 with the dinner. I am going to get you to drive me part 
 of the way back, afterwards," she said, " and so we can 
 have a good chat. Sit there. Donald, in your own place.
 
 40 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 We are dining alone to-day. Mr. Johnson has gone to 
 Townsends and will not be back till night." 
 
 The prospect of a drive with Mrs. Johnson was enough 
 in itself to give Donald a good appetite. There was 
 nothing that could have so pleased him, for he had a 
 subject he wished to unfold to her, and this was a 
 splendid opportunity. It was not Donald's way to waste 
 time beating about the bush, so as soon as they had set 
 out on their drive he opened up the subject. 
 
 " Do you know what I want to be, Mrs. Johnson ? " 
 
 " What, Donald ? " 
 
 " A bush missionary," he answered. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Because I must." Donald's breath came and went 
 quickly as he spoke. 
 
 " And why must you, Donald ? " She knew pretty 
 well what the answer would be, but wanted to draw it 
 from him nevertheless There was a momentary silence, 
 and then the words came in a passionate outburst. 
 
 " Because I can't help it," he said, in a low pa^vsionate 
 tone, " I want to preach Jesus Christ. I want to win 
 souls for Him. I go about among the people and I see 
 them hving heedless lives, just as though God were dead, 
 yet all the time they are dying men and women. That is 
 why I want to be a bush missionary." 
 
 Never had Donald looked so handsome to the eyes 
 that watched him as now. His hat was pushed back, 
 showing a broad, intellectual forehead, and his clear 
 dark face indicated sound, robust health. He was 
 driving along a difficult bit of road just then, and the
 
 A Cold Breakfast 41 
 
 horse required a good deal of management. She noted 
 the calm, cool-headed way in which he did the work in 
 hand. There was plenty of nerve and self possession 
 about this lad. She noted the sparkling of his eyes and 
 the flush on his bronzed cheek, and knew that he was 
 speaking to her of something that lay very near his 
 heart. She placed her hand upon his in that motherly 
 fashion of hers. 
 
 " I am so glad, Donald, my dear boy, I am sure it is 
 the right thing, and God will bless you in the 
 work. 
 
 He turned eagerly towards her, " Do you really 
 think so ? " he said. 
 
 Hci approval was like rich wine, he felt that her 
 iudgment was keen and critical and wise. Her opinion 
 was worth more to him than that of all the country side 
 put together. 
 
 " You have really made up your mind, have you ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " Well, yes," he said, " if the thing is possible. But 
 I can't see my way clear. 
 
 " There is no if. Say to j'ourself, I can, I will, I 
 must. And now, how are we to arrange it ? Of 
 course you will have to study hard at home for the 
 present ; that is understood, and we must get you to 
 college for two or three years at least." 
 
 Donald shook his head. " That is the trou.ble," he 
 said, " how can I ever get away ? " 
 
 " Couldn't Eiic take your place ? " 
 
 " He might next year. I'm teaching him all I can.
 
 42 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 But there is the money question." And the lad's bright, 
 eager face grew grav^e. 
 
 " Oh, well, we shall see. You cannot see into the 
 future, but God can, and He opens doors not before 
 we come to them, but just when we get light up to them. 
 What are you reading now, Donald ? " 
 
 " I am teaching myself Latin and Greek. I get a 
 lesson once a month from old Mortimer, and that keeps 
 me going. I am studying Shakespeare, and of course, 
 the Bible. You know," he added proudly, " the best 
 literature and the purest English are found in the Bible, 
 aren't they ? So I suppose I cannot be very far wrong 
 just to go on as I am, can I ? " 
 
 Mrs. Johnson was looking before her down the stretch 
 of country road with a musing expression on her face. 
 
 " Three books," she said. " The Bible — God's Word. 
 Shakespeare — the book of human nature ; and Nature 
 itself. What better could you have, Donald ? These 
 three are in themselves a University to the man or 
 woman who has soul, and heart and mind. But here we 
 are, Donald, this is my destination. Thank you for the 
 drive," as he helped her to alight. " Keep up your 
 courage, tiust God, work hard, and all will be well."
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS 
 
 " A ■^"'^ ^°^^' ^^*^ ^'^^ S^^ ^^ ^^* Sunday, Donald ? " 
 
 ■^~^ It was Mrs. Johnson who asked the question, 
 
 as she and her visitor were seated one cold 
 
 evening before the fire, eating apples. 
 
 Donald laughed. " Well, to begin with, I got soaked 
 
 through." 
 
 " Oh, you sill}^ boy, to go without a waterproof ! " 
 " Well, the sun was shining brightly when I left home, 
 
 and how was I to know what the weather was going to 
 
 do." 
 
 " But still it was cold enough for an overcoat surely, 
 
 driving all those miles." 
 
 "Oh, I had an overcoat, but it got soaked, such a 
 
 downpour, torrents and torrents, and I was right out 
 
 on the open plains. To have come back would have 
 
 been as bad as to have gone on." 
 
 " But surety you did not preach in your wet things ? " 
 " Well, no," and he laughed heartity, " Will Green 
 
 lent me his clothes. I just wish you could have seen me 
 
 in them. The trousers were ' half mast,' but that did 
 
 not matter so much, for the people did not see them. 
 
 But the coat sleeves were a terror, they hardly came past
 
 44 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 my elbows. It was the first time in my life I was sorry 
 that I happened to be a broad-chested fellow." 
 
 " I wish I had seen you. I would like to have taken 
 a snapshot of you." 
 
 " And when I got back to Green's to dinner I found 
 my things had been put in the oven ; so they were not 
 only dry, but dried ; I could scarcely get into them 
 they were so hard, just ruined." 
 
 " And how did you get on at the week night service ? " 
 Mrs. Johnson enquired. 
 
 "Oh, all right," he answered cheerily. "I had a 
 drive of sixteen miles through the most dieadful bog 
 holes, several times I thought it was a case of sta5dng 
 there all night in the hole. I really don't know how 
 Robin pulled his legs out of the mud, but he must have 
 known how anxious I was to reach Yarracoo. Well, 
 some of the fellows down there are dead set against us as 
 you know, and the leader of the gang had purposely lost 
 the school-room key. The fellow's of our band met me 
 just outside the township with a tale of woe. They 
 said the people were waiting outside the hall, but there 
 was no hope of getting in. Of course I knew what was the 
 matter, but it was no use making a fuss, so I drove up 
 and asked the people if they would mind just walking 
 half a mile further as I knew of a place where we could 
 hold the service. They did not mind a bit, for it was 
 bright moonlight. Well, we got to the place, just a bark 
 hut with two little holes for windows, earth floor and 
 a few old sacks for walls. The only trouble was to get 
 light, but half a dozen of them brought their buggy
 
 A Chapter of Accidents. 45 
 
 lanterns along, and we stuck them up here and there, 
 and it was alright I can tell you, we had a real good 
 time. While we were inside, the wind got up pretty 
 high, and we were afraid the roof would be blown off, 
 so two or three of the fellows got up and sat on the roof 
 to keep it on. Then the wind dropped, and it rained 
 so hard that the people could not think of moving, so 
 they stayed where they were. We were packed like 
 sardines, but nobody minded that, it was all the cosier 
 because of the storm outside." 
 
 And so Donald went on recounting his experiences to 
 his interested listener. He only told one side of the 
 story though, but Mrs. Johnson knew the other side. 
 She knew that people, young and old, men and women, 
 thought it worth while to drive for miles ov^er rough 
 country to hear this young preacher, who without much 
 learning, yet possessed rare gifts of speech. His very 
 unconsciousness of his own powers was perhaps his chief 
 charm. 
 
 But here their conveisation was interrupted by the 
 entrance of Mr. Johnson. 
 
 " Come along, pa," Mrs. Johnson said, smiling at her 
 husband, " here is youi chair waiting." 
 
 Mr. Johnson took the seat indicated, and stretched 
 his long legs over the fender with an air of relief. " I am 
 really tired," he said, turning to Donald, " I have 
 walked miles," and he took a large rosy apple from the 
 dish on the table, got out his pen-knife and began to 
 peel the apple in a most leisurely fashion. 
 
 " Well, did you find your umbrella ? " his wife asked.
 
 46 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 Mr. Johnson started to his feet, letting the apple 
 peeling fall to the heaith rug. " Good gracious," he 
 said, " I have come back without it." 
 
 " Didn't you find it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I found it, but I have lost it again." 
 
 ]\Irs. Johnson leaned back in her chair and roared 
 with laughter. " Isn't that you all over, Pa ? " she said, 
 " you are the silhest man that ever I knew. What do you 
 think, Donald? He lost his umbiella, he has been 
 miles around looking for it ; he found it, and now he has 
 lost it again. It is his best umbrella, and he thinks the 
 world of it. Surely you are not going out again, dear ? " 
 she added, as her husband hurriedly gathered himself 
 together, and proceeded to put on his hat, preparatory to 
 going out. 
 
 " Yes, I must find it," he said. 
 
 " Don't you know where you left it ? " 
 
 " No, I have not the least idea, but I will just go back 
 along the road I came," and off he went, not in the least 
 ruffled by his own stupidity, leaving his wife's merry 
 laughter echoing behind him. 
 
 " He is always doing that sort of things," she said to 
 Donald. " He insisted on going to Paton's farm the 
 other day, to ask Mr. Pat on about some seeds. I told 
 him Paton would be over here on Saturday, and he could 
 ask him then, but he would insist on going that day, 
 Friday. It was a six mile walk, and he went five and 
 a half miles and then was so done up that he sat down 
 and rested, and came back again without having seen 
 Mr. Paton, said he was too tired to go any further."
 
 A Chapter of Accidents. 47 
 
 And she laughed again at the recollection. " Here he is 
 back again," she added, as the object of her remarks 
 came in smiling, carrying the umbrella in question, which 
 he carefully placed in the corner, and then sat down to 
 enjoy the remainder of his apple. 
 
 " You did not have far to go, then, for your umbrella." 
 Donald remarked. 
 
 " No, I found it just standing up against Brown's 
 fence. I met Brown as I was coming in, and we were 
 having a talk, and I must have just laid it down." 
 
 " I have been telling Donald," Mrs. Johnson went on, 
 " what a terribly stupid man you are, and how you 
 nearly drive me out of my five senses." 
 
 " Nonsense, dear," he said soothingly. 
 
 " But you do," she persisted. " Just fancy, Donald, 
 I told him to get some peas out of the garden for dinner 
 yesterday, and he dragged up all that were there, enough 
 for about a week. He pulled them up, roots and all 
 and ]ust flung them down in the kitchen, right in the 
 passage, where I am walking in and out all day, whole 
 armfuls of trailing branches and roots and peas and all. 
 Some of them were only half ripe, you know. He said 
 he could not be bothered with them in the garden any 
 longer, he wanted to put something else in. And I had 
 to clear away all that rubbish before I could move." 
 
 Mr. Johnson smiled and went on eating his apple 
 with perfect unconcern. 
 
 " Why didn't you make him pick them up ? " Donald 
 said, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, he had gone off to the other end of the paddocks
 
 48 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 I could not wail. And what do you think he did next ? 
 Left the garden gate open, and of course, the two httle 
 pigs got in. I had to call him then, and go out myself 
 and help jhase them out, and if you had only seen the 
 two of us. \\'e were fully half an hour trying so get 
 those pigs out. ' David and Jonathan " we call them 
 because they are sucli great friends, one will never do 
 anything without the other, they eat together out of 
 the same dish, they seem to move as if the one string 
 was pulling them. They ran together that day as if 
 they had been in training for twelve months, and then 
 ran every way but the way we wanted them to. I Weis 
 in a bath of perspiration by the time we succeeded in 
 getting them out,and as soon as that ceremony was over, 
 we found the cows had got into the wheat paddock, 
 That was because you would not mend that gate, Pa '* 
 she went on addressing her husband. " You know I 
 told you about it a dozen times, if I told you once. My 
 word, how you did run when you saw the cows in your 
 wheat, one would have thought there was a wild bull at 
 the back of you." 
 
 " Really, dear," Mr. Johnson interposed mildly, " you 
 ought not to say such things," he said, looking lovingly 
 at his wife, for he adored her, and really enjoyed her 
 mirthful salli s. 
 
 " But I will say such things, Johnny," she said, 
 ' because you deserve them. You ought nev r to have 
 been a farmer, you know that." 
 
 " Donald," she resumed, " did I tell you about the 
 ducks we bought from the Chinaman last week ? "
 
 A Chapter of Accidents. 49 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Well, we bought a brood of young ducks from a 
 Chinaman living at the bottom of the hill about three 
 miles awa}'. V-'ell, they seemed very happy for a few 
 hours shut up in our fowl-yard, and then Pa suggested 
 that they might as well have the run of the large paddock, 
 because of the big water-hole that is there. So I let 
 him have his wa}', as I always do." 
 
 " As you never do," interrupted ]\lr. Johnson with a 
 smile, and another admiring glance at his wife's pleasant 
 face. 
 
 " Well, I let him have his own way," she persisted, 
 " and thought no more about the ducks. But a few 
 hours later when I went out to see how they were enjoy- 
 ing them.selves, there were no ducks to be seen. We 
 hunted high and low, and we pressed Bertha into the 
 service, and the three boys next door joined in the search, 
 but no sign of the ducks. They had walked back all the 
 way to the Chinaman's again. Next morning " John 
 Chinaman ' appeared, carrying a large basket in which 
 the ducks were safely stowed. He was smiling all over 
 his yellow face, as he described his sensations on seeing 
 his old friends walk back to him again. And oh, Donald, 
 I wanted to tell you about the new calf, but I think I 
 will leave that for another day, and get some tea for 
 you two hungry men instead." 
 
 " Yes, dear," her husband said in a tone of lelief, as 
 he helped himself to another and larger apple, and 
 spread his legs again before the fire, prepaiatory to 
 entering on some discussion or other with his guest, who 
 
 D
 
 So Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 was as warmly welcomed a visitor by himself, as by his 
 wife. 
 
 In an incredibly short space of time the tea table was 
 spread. It looked inviting with its snowy cloth of 
 finest linen, its glitter of silver and its pure white china. 
 There was a pile of delicious oat cakes made by Mrs. 
 Johnson's own hands that morning, and several kinds of 
 preserves, for she prided herself on her cooking. 
 
 " It's Bertha's afternoon off," she explained to Donald, 
 as she moved to and fro, " and so I am maid of all work. 
 No, no, my lad, thank you, sit still, there is nothing that 
 you can do. Everything is done except to place the 
 things on the table. Now, Johnny dear, excuse me for 
 interrupting you," she said, addressing her husband, 
 who was in the middle of a heavy discussion with Donald 
 regarding something or other, " but I hope you are 
 ready, as I shall bring the fowls in in about two minutes. 
 I know you like boiled chicken and parsley sauce, 
 Donald," she said, as she re-entered the room carrying a 
 covered dish, and seating herself at the table, "and 
 it's this man's favourite dish. Don't you think I spoil 
 my husband ? " 
 
 "Now, Donald, tell the truth," .Mi. Johnson intei- 
 posed. " Say it is the other way round, it is I who sjwil 
 her, isn't it ? " 
 
 Donald laughed. " I am afraid there are faults on 
 both sides," he said. " Isn't that what the third party 
 always says when appealed to, to adjust domestic strife ? 
 I am sadly afraid you sjxtil one another." 
 
 " Donald, Donald, do you mean to say that you are
 
 A Chapter of Accidents. 51 
 
 taking my husband's part against me ? Then you shan't 
 have any fowl," Mrs. Johnson said, Hberally helping him 
 as she spoke. " Now, Johnny, come along, don't keep 
 us waiting." 
 
 " My dear," Mr. Johnson said with an attempt at 
 severity, " I do wish you would stand on a little more 
 ceremony, and not call me by those nick-names when 
 we have visitors." 
 
 " Visitors," echoed his wife, " do you call Donald a 
 visitor ? why, he is our other son, aren't you, Donald ? 
 And as for calling yovi nick-names, Jacky dear, isn't 
 ' Johnny ' short for Johnson ? Our visitor knows quite 
 well that your name is Frederick Westwood Johnson, 
 but I call you ' Johnny ' for short, it does just as well. 
 Where are you going, dear ? " as her husband proceeded 
 to leave the room. 
 
 " Just to change my boots, my dear, you really can't 
 expect me to come to the table with these on." 
 
 " Why ever didn't you change them before, then, you 
 dreadful man ? Well, the fowls won't wait for you. 
 Donald and I will begin without you. You really should 
 be President of the Never-ready Society," she called 
 aftei him. " He is the most unpunctual man in all the 
 world," as the door closed behind her husband. " But 
 he is the best natured and kindest hearted man as well 
 You remember old Sam Giles, who caused us so much 
 trouble last year ? " 
 
 " You mean the man that cheated you out of so much 
 money ? " 
 
 " Yes, but that was not the worst of it. He made
 
 52 Swayed by The vStorm. 
 
 himself Mr. Johnson's inveterate enemy, and used to go 
 about making all sorts of mischief. I can't imagine 
 why, for my husband has always been most courteous 
 to him, as he is to everj^one. I could tell you lots of 
 things that the old man did to annoy us, but it is not 
 worth while talking. \\'ell, Sam Giles took a bad turn 
 the other night, a sort of fit, and his wife happened to be 
 away. Someone came up here to tell us. Mr. Johnson 
 got up out of his warm bed in the middle of the night, 
 and a bitterly cold night it was too, and off he went 
 and sat up till morning with the sick man. He is very 
 clever in some cases of illness, and in this case he knew 
 exactly what to do. There was no chance of getting a 
 doctor till morning, but when the doctor did arrive he 
 said, that if he had been there himself, he could not 
 have done better, and that, as a matter of fact, Mr. 
 Johnson saved Giles' life. So I am very pioud of him. 
 And a few dajs after, the old man came up here to 
 thank my husband, and the tears actually stood in his 
 eyes. He can't do enough to make amends for the past 
 and is going round telling everybody how good my 
 husband is. He is his sworn friend now, just as he was 
 his sworn enemy before." 
 
 " I don't wonder," replied Donald. 
 
 " Where are 3'ou, Pa ? " she called out at this juncture, 
 "do come along, come in any boots you like, and be quick." 
 
 There was a response from a dim distance. " I can't 
 find my blue lie anywhere." 
 
 " Dear me, bless the man, just as if Donald or I are 
 particular about the colour of the tie you have on.
 
 A Chapter of Accidents. 53 
 
 Excuse me, DonaLl, I must go and find that tie, or I 
 shall have no peace," and off she went. In a few minutes 
 husband and wife returned together, the foimer looking 
 particularly shined up and brushed for the occasion. 
 
 ";I am afraid," he said to Donald, as he seated himself 
 gravely, " that if you come here much oftener, you will 
 be frightened off the quick-sands of matrimony." 
 
 " Why do you think so, Mr. Johnson ? " 
 
 " Well, considering how badly my wife treats me." 
 
 " I think you like it," retorted Donald smiling, a§ 
 Mr. Johnson began to eat his dinner with the utmost 
 composure. 
 
 " Of course he likes it." put in his wife. " If he did 
 not have me to tease him, he would simply have died 
 long ago. He is such a pessimist that it takes me all my 
 time to cheer him up." 
 
 " I notice he cannot get along without you very well," 
 Donald said, with a twinkle in his eye. " Do you 
 remember when you went to Sydney a few months ago 
 foi a trip, how he followed you the next week ? " 
 
 " He always does follow me. I get him to give me a 
 month's leave of absence after endless coaxing, and 
 when I am away a week or less, he suddenly turns up. 
 He simply locks the place up and leaves everything to its 
 fate, comes after me to wherever I am, and says he is 
 lonely. So I can't be such a very bad wife after all." 
 
 "Well, no, not so very bad," admitted Donald. "I 
 only hope, Mr. Johnson, that when I do take a wife, I 
 will make as good a choice as you have done."
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 BUSH FIRES 
 
 ■' 'Ihe Western \vaves of ebbing day 
 " Rolkcl o'er the glen their level way." 
 
 IT was the middle of January. All day and for 
 several days past the north winds had swept 
 along with ciuel dev^astation through the town- 
 ship, ratthng doors and windows, and making eddying 
 whirlwinds of dust on the white roads. Then on through 
 the forest, till the tall gum trees seemed to moan as they 
 swayed to and fro. The ver^'leaves seemed to shrink at the 
 touch of the scorching wind ; the long strips of bark that 
 hung down from the white trees flapped idly to and fro. 
 Over barren, bro^^n fields, across interminable plains, 
 through dense scrub, up the hillsides, over the mountain 
 ranges where the tall trees seen from below looked like 
 a mere fringe ; on, across the rivers, drying them up with 
 its hot bieath. Hither and thither, blowing where it 
 listed, coming whence, and going whither no man 
 knew, though hearing the sound thereof, sped the wind on 
 its way through the Australian bush. Even the cattle 
 seemed to feel the weight ot its oppression, and sought 
 what shade they could get. which was \ ery little. Sheep 
 crept as near to the trees as possible, and lay there, too
 
 Bush Fires. 55 
 
 languid to nibble what little grass there was left. Dogs 
 'ay stretched on the ground in utter weariness. Men and 
 women moved and spoke little, almost struck dumb in 
 their longing for the cool change and for the rain so badly 
 needed, so eagerly looked for. Great banks of black 
 cloud rose up in the sky like armies ready for battle, 
 making the anxious watchers think every moment that 
 rain would descend in torrents, but alas, only to pass away 
 again, leaving the disappointed hearts still sadder and 
 the sky as intensely blue as before with a sickening lurid 
 glare and a white haze heat all round the horizon. 
 
 Cornfields, that a few months before had waved in the 
 breeze, green and vivid, were now barren, dry ground. 
 Rivers that had once been in flood, had become sluggish 
 streams, and in some parts were completelj^ dried up. 
 Creeks that had sparkled in the sunlight, were now dry 
 ditches and gullies.. Water was scarce, and had to be 
 carried from long distances to keep the cattle alive. 
 Such was the effect of an unusually hot, dry summer. 
 
 People rose in the morning feeling, if anything, more 
 languid than when they retired to rest at night. 
 
 The long day was wearing to a close, as Donald 
 Cameron, having ridden in the morning to a township 
 about 15 miles distant, was returning. It was nearly 
 eight o'clock, but was almost broad daylight still. 
 Donald had slackened the reins, and was letting his horse 
 walk. As the man rode slowly, he could not help 
 revelling in the marvellous beauty of the scene. His 
 road for some miles lay along the river side. The waters 
 were as still as a lake, and the red sunset light gleamed
 
 56 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 ujx)n them, crimsoning them into blood. Higher up, 
 where the large stones formed a rocky bed, and where 
 in the winter a waterfall played, the stream now trickled 
 leisurely through, sparkling and glittering, catching the 
 sun-rays and reflecting a million crimson and gold lights. 
 Overhead, the sky was a blaze of glory, changing from 
 one exquisite picture to another, even while you watched 
 it. Beyond the river were depths of forest, their far- 
 reaching aisles fast deepening into grey gloom. To the 
 left, the ranges were catching the reflection of the sky, 
 their rugged surface casting long shadows across the 
 landscape. To the right, the picture was an altogether 
 different one. 'SUles and miles of plains stretched away 
 into dim distances. Everywhere that crimson light 
 irradiating the landscape, and giving it the beauty and 
 witchery of fairyland. But suddenly, the daylight began 
 to fade, the colours died away as though a hand were 
 removing Nature's gorgeous mantle and replacing it with 
 a grey green one. With the fading of the daylight, a 
 strange silence seemed to pervade the lonely bush, except 
 for the dreary, eerie moan of the north wind as it passed 
 by. Then there rang out startlingly on the stillness the 
 notes of the Laughing Jackass, mingled with the weird 
 cry of the Mopoke. Rabbits darted suddenly across 
 Donald's pathway, as if pursued by invisible demons. 
 Yonder out on the plains, some kangaroos came into view, 
 hopping along in their ungainly fashion. Almost every 
 half mile in the road brought a change of landscape. 
 But always the mountains standing grim and grand, 
 always that awful stillness, that weird mystery, that
 
 Bush Fires. 57 
 
 indescribable majesty of loneliness that one feels in the 
 Australian bush. Not the smiling sweetness of an 
 English landscape, not the witching beauty of an Irish 
 lake, not the rugged grandeur of Scottish highlands, 
 though it has each and all of these in turn ; yet these 
 are not the striking characteristics of the bush. Those 
 other lands have a historical past, and they seem to 
 prattle of it to the listener with a musical tongue, and 
 with a soothing effect. But the vast Australian Con- 
 tinent has no story to tell, rather, it has a story, but so 
 remote that no human being can tell it, nor even human 
 mind conceive it. It has no immediate past, but rather 
 a past behind a past. Its mountains and rivers and 
 lakes in their lonely grandeur seem to look down almost 
 with an air of defiance on humanity as though they said 
 " You have not explored our heights and depths. We 
 have secrets that 3'ou know not of. We have millions 
 of acres where no foot of man has yet trod. We have 
 a story, but we will not tell it." 
 
 Not memories of brave warriors and courtly knights, 
 and fair ladies, and noble lives, but only a suggestion of 
 dim ages long gone by ; a vision of naked savage tribes 
 throwing their boomerangs, dancing their war dances 
 round rude camp fires — ever wandering through magni- 
 ficent scenes, content like the wild animals about them, 
 if they could get enough to eat from day to day. A 
 people with no language worth a name, no religion, no 
 history to hand down. Poor, untutored blacks who at 
 the approach of the white man, retreated still further 
 into the grim solitudes and gradually sank out of
 
 58 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 existence altogether. No, this bush of ours has no 
 sweet, soft waUz music to soothe men's ears ; rather 
 the music of " the storm on the organ " for those who 
 have ears to hear. It is more hke that of the stern 
 warrior's clash of arms in field of battle. There is a dim 
 mystery, a sort of sacredness about these fai -reaching 
 natural avenues, which have been planted by God's hand, 
 not man's. There is a majesty in those rivers, some of 
 whose sources have ne\'er yet been traced. There is a 
 glory in those mountains some of whose heights human 
 foot has not yet scaled. There is a secret in those vast 
 plains, the interior of which no man has yet explored. 
 Yet our land is not without its sweet siren voices too, 
 its sunshine, its soft breezes, its moonlight enchantments. 
 What pen can describe, what brush can paint the dazzling 
 beauty of these evergreen forests beneath the sparkle of 
 the sunshine, when the south breeze blows, shedding 
 its nectar-like breath abioad ; its vveiid solemn loveliness 
 in the clear moonlight and brilliant starlight ? Oh, 
 the charm, the nameless charm of it all ! 
 
 And all the mysterious occultism and romance of this 
 new Continent must appeal to the man born and bred 
 there, with a potency all its own, especially as in Donald 
 Cameron's case, where the man has been endowed with 
 the poetic gift. Spite of all its drought and heat and 
 their devastations, this solitary horseman loved his 
 native land, and it was no wonder that deep thoughts 
 filled his soul in that sunset hour. 
 
 Donald was roused from his dreamy musings by a 
 sudden flash of light that gleamed out in the darkness"
 
 Bush Fires. 59 
 
 One might fancy that a giant hatl issued from one of 
 yonder gloomy mountain caverns, and was holding aloft 
 a lighted torch. The light grew and spread rapidly, as 
 though in response to the first giant's call a dozen otheis 
 had lesponded. Instantly Donald seized the reins and 
 urged his horse to a gallop. All weariness and fatigue 
 of man and beast were forgotten now. The hoise pricked 
 up his ears as though quite as conscious as his master 
 of what had happened. Donald's heart grew sick as 
 he rode, for he knew all too well what that distant light, 
 which was travelling now so rapidly before the wind 
 meant. It was a bush fiie. The wind was blowing 
 directly from that spot towards the township. A few 
 hours moie and those flames would have reached the 
 homesteads, and what would be the end, God only knew. 
 Not on his own account was Donald anxious — his home 
 lay miles away in the opposite direction, and was safe. 
 Donald set his teeth hard, and urged his horse to a still 
 faster gallop. There was not a minute to lose. It 
 meant that he must give warning at the outlying farms, 
 so that the men might go to the rescue. It meant an 
 all-night's fight, a fierce hand to hand fight with these 
 flames. He had experienced it more than once before, 
 when he had seen prosperous homesteads turned to 
 ashes in half an hour ; he had seen the savings of a 
 life-time, perish in a few minutes. On, and on he rode, 
 with plenty of material for reflection. Would the 
 people in the township he sleeping ? Would they be 
 burned in their beds, he wondered. Which would reach 
 the township first, he or the fire ? Would he be in time
 
 6o Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 to give the warning, or would the flames themselves 
 be their own dread herald. 
 
 And now in a bend of the road he lost sight of the lurid 
 glare, though he coul 1 still hear the crash of the falling 
 timber and the cracki'.^ of the branches. On and still 
 onward into the darkness of the night, and the density 
 of the scrub, the horse and its ridei plunged, and oh, how 
 that hot wind swept over his perspiring face. He 
 stopped once at a narrow stream to gi\'e his horse a drink, 
 and poor thing, it needed it badly. Then on again for 
 miles. At last he turned the bend of the bush-track 
 and there, the fire in its mingled honor and magnificence 
 burst upon his view. Crackling, and sparkling, and 
 glittering, and rolling, and reverberating, and echoing 
 far and wide. Oh ! it was an awful scene, and yet a 
 glorious sight. Immense trees one minute stood like 
 fiery pillars of grotesque shapes, masses of living ted, 
 their wild light rendered all the more lurid by the dense 
 darkness and silence which reigned around. Giant 
 trees, their branches flung outward as though in piteous 
 entn aty, like human arms appealing for help, their 
 limbs distorted and twisted. Then the bvirning mass 
 tumbling and swaying, and finally crashing down with 
 a mighty echo, like a hundred thunders reverberating 
 among the hills. It was as though millions of fireworks 
 were suddenly displayed, or as though a City set on fire 
 had suddenly been planted in the midst of the loneliness 
 of that weird mountainous place. Donald was now 
 about live miles from home, and the wind was still blow- 
 ing directly towards the township. So strong was the
 
 Bush Fires. 6i 
 
 wind that it carried burning branches along as Hghtly as 
 though they were mere chips. One could fancy that 
 the fiends of hell had got loose and were in a mad, merry 
 mood that night. And now began Donald's race with 
 the fire. The horse and its rider stiaining every nerve 
 as they almost flew along the road ; on the hillside the 
 flames leaping from tree to tree, making hideous noises 
 as though in mocking glee. Then arose on the stUl 
 night air the cries of a thousand frightened birds, the 
 screeching of parrots, as thej' swooped along in large 
 flocks, the neighing of frightened horses ; the bellowing 
 of cattle ; the shrill mocking laugh of the Jackass ; 
 the barking of dogs ; and above all these sounds the 
 ever-deepening roar of the flames, the thud of the 
 falling trees, the crackling of a million branches, the 
 sighing of the hot winds. 
 
 At last the township was reached by the breathless 
 hoise and its rider Donald and the fire had reached 
 the township together. Already some of the outlying 
 fences were touched by the flames and under theii touch 
 they shrivelled like a rag flung into a mass of burning 
 coals. There was no need to raise the alarm, he found ; 
 dozens of men had already set out on their night's 
 desperate work. Men, and women too, were at work 
 with their bush beaters. The flames were leaping over 
 the ditches and up the sides of the ranges, the fire 
 gathering force and rapidity as it went. The smoke 
 grew denser. Flinging himself off his horse Donald led 
 it to a place of safety and gave it some food. Then he 
 set to work with the rest to beat back the fire. Men
 
 62 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 were coming galloping into the town from all directions 
 For miles around, the flames had given their own 
 warning. Men whose own homes were safe were 
 speeding to the relief of their fellows. Though the graiss 
 was so thin on the hillsides, it was wonderful to see how 
 the flames flew over it, and even the green saplings 
 burned like matchwood. The gallant army of fire- 
 fighters had begun their work, every nerve strained 
 to the utmost to save property and home and human 
 life. And through it all, the wind raged higher and 
 higher, hotter and hotter, making the men's work more 
 difficult. They were choked with the smoke and had 
 hard work to grope their way blindly through it to the 
 scene of action, but they shut their eyes, set their teeth 
 and went on. And the hours passed in this way till 
 midnight. Then the wind which had been getting choppy 
 veered round to the north-west, putting the brave men's 
 lives into imminent danger. One man's clothing took 
 fire, and though his comrades did all they could, the 
 poor fellow was burned to death. It was with great 
 difficulty the workers avoided being surrounded by fire. 
 Donald seemed to be the ring-leader in the work. His 
 voice was heard above the din, giving directions to some 
 of the bewildered workers, himself always in the most 
 dangerous places. Those who were not beating back 
 the fire were hurrying about trying to save their few 
 belongings. Horses and cattle driven frantic, were 
 rushing about in wild terror. In one case a sick woman 
 was brought out in her bed and placed on the road with 
 her infant of a week old by her side. Children in their
 
 Bush Fires. 63 
 
 night-gowns were huddled together in gulHes ; and even 
 here water had to be kept constantly thrown over them 
 to keep the flames from reaching them. Even the water 
 in the tanks boiled, so intense was the heat. 
 
 Towards daylight the wind suddenly turned to the 
 south, and then all danger was over as regarded the 
 township. The morning sun revealed scores of haggard 
 men and w'omen, some of whom had already dropped 
 in exhaustion. And the need over, the reaction set 
 in, and one by one those strong bushmen collapsed just 
 where they stood. It was like a hospital, or a scene 
 on a battle field, women moving about, tending the 
 sufferers., bandaging their buint hands, and arms, and 
 legs ; in some cases finding impromptu pillows for their 
 heads to rest on, in other cases giving them food. But 
 there were more piteous sights than these. A girl 
 knelt on the roadside, breaking her heart over the body 
 of her lover, who in his attempt to save a neighbour's 
 property had been burned to death. Here a woman 
 with a child at her breast, and another clinging to her 
 skirts, was sobbing over her dead husband ; and yonder 
 a man was silently looking down on his dead wife's face. 
 Further away there were two or three bodies of little 
 children found dead in the road. Most of the men who 
 had worked all night were eithei in a state of collapse, 
 or in a deep sleep, overcome with fatigue, Donald among 
 the latter. The scene of confusion was indescribable. 
 All along the road were scattered the various belongings 
 of the people. Tables, chairs, pianos, pictures, beds, and 
 clothing. Some of the people had lost everything except
 
 64 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 the clothes they wore. Children were crying with 
 hunger and fear. Horses and cattle and sheep were 
 lying dead. Groups of men and women stood looking 
 mournfully at the charred remains of what, the night 
 before, had been pleasant prosperous homesteads, and 
 w^hich had taken a lifetime to get together. And as 
 though in derision of human suffering, Nature had 
 never looked more beautiful. The sky was of a brilliant 
 blue, flecked with fleecy cloudlets, and the breeze had 
 never been sweeter and purer than that which swept 
 over the smoke-begrimed faces of the men and the 
 tear-stained faces of the women in the midst of their 
 utter desolation.
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AFFINITIES 
 
 IN a City Studio a girl was sitting befoie an easel one 
 afternoon painting. The room was tastefully, 
 though not expensively furnished. Several un- 
 finished pictures were about, all bearing the impress of 
 originality and talent even at their respective stages 
 of development After some hours the artist arose, put 
 away her brushes for the day, and went out. Passing 
 along the City streets, she arrived at the church where 
 we fiist met the Rev. Stephen Moore. She was evidenth- 
 expected and welcome, for as the minister took hei hand in 
 his, his "Well, my child," seemed to come from his heart. 
 " You are looking weary. Been working hard to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Moore, but I am not tired." 
 
 "' I shall not write many letters to-day, dear," he said, 
 " as I have had a very busy afternoon with calleis. There 
 was a returned Missionary wanting advice, and ever so 
 many different people after him to talk to ; then this 
 morning I had two committee meetings, and early this 
 afternoon interviewed three Missionary Candidates, and 
 I must keep a little of myself for to-night's meeting," 
 he added with a smile. 
 
 Two years before, Iiene Gordon had come to the 
 minister's study in much nervousness it must be con- 
 
 E
 
 66 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 fessed, to tell him how much help his sermons had been 
 to her for years past, and to ask him to let her write his 
 letters as a work of love, especially in view of the fact 
 that he had just had a break-down in health. 
 
 " Yes, my child, and thank you," he had said in his 
 own straight-forward, simple fashion ; and so it wels 
 settled, and the girl had come to look upon those hours 
 spent every week in his study as among the brightest 
 in her life. 
 
 After leaving the minister Irene went on to the home 
 where she was boarding, a pleasant villa in one of the 
 outlying suburbs. Entering the dining-room she found 
 the landlady and a new boarder, who had been expected, 
 sitting together at dinner The latter acknowledged 
 Irene when introduced to her b}' a rather careless " good 
 evening." With a great deal of interest Irene studied 
 the stranger, and concluded at once that she liked hei. 
 Kathleen FitzGerald was an Irish girl, not long out from 
 Dublin. She was tall, had clear hazel ej^es. and showed 
 a row of beautiful white teeth when she smiled. In 
 conversation Irene thought her manner was blunt, even 
 to rudeness, but her speech was read}' and full of wit. 
 She spoke rapidly, in short curt sentences, and always 
 to the purpose. There was no attempt to please, and 
 yet her manner had something pleasant in it. There 
 certainly was an indefinable charm about the girl. 
 Nothing ordinary or common place. She dressed in perfect 
 tcLste and carried herself with a somewhat haughty aii. 
 Dinner over, she excused herself, rose and left the room 
 with a stately tread, graceful in her eveiy movement.
 
 Affinities 67 
 
 ' By degrees the two girls found themselves drawing 
 nearer each other, and the strange charm which the 
 stranger had exercised over Irene at their first meeting 
 seemed to grow and deepen. There was a delightful uncer- 
 tainty about Kathleen. No one knew what she would do 
 or say next. It was one of her characteristics to si:)eak 
 according to her mood without any reserve or forethought. 
 
 Kathleen had been about a week in the house, when 
 one evening as Irene was sitting in her own room before 
 the fire, a book in her hand, the latter knocked at the 
 door. "Have you any red sewing silk?" she asked 
 in her abrupt fashion, as she entered. 
 
 " Yes, I think so," and Irene went to get her work- 
 basket. \^^hen she returned Kathleen was busy poring 
 over the book she had laid down. 
 
 " I love Longfellow's Poems," she said, " do you ? 
 Oh, you have found some silk. Thanks very much, you 
 are good. Do you mind my using it ? " 
 
 " Certainly not, you seem very busy." 
 
 " Oh, no," Kathleen replied, " just making a hat, I 
 have nearl}' finished. You look cosy here." 
 
 " Well, bring your hat and do it here," Irene said, 
 " and we can read " Longfellow " together." 
 
 Kathleen's face brightened. " All right," she said, 
 and went off. She returned presently with her millinery, 
 and seated herself in a wicker chair which her companion 
 had drawn to the fire. " Now read to me, will you ? " 
 
 Irene complied. And after a while Kathleen laid her 
 work aside and leaning her chin on her hands, gave 
 herself up to the pleasure of listening.
 
 68 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 " It is your turn now," Irene said at last, giving her 
 the book." 
 
 "Very well, what shall I read ? Hiawatha ? I love that." 
 
 " Yes, if you like." As Irene listened to her com- 
 panion's rendering of " Hiawatha " she thought she 
 had never heard anything more delightful. By-and-by 
 the book was closed, and Kathleen began to talk about 
 the land of her birth with its romance, and poetry and 
 beauty. " You know," she added with a laugh, " that 
 in Ireland, poets are as plentiful as blackberries." 
 
 " I suppose so. Tell me about some of the old ruins of 
 that country. I suppose you have seen Blarney Castle ?" 
 
 " Many a time, why I lived just beside it." 
 
 " And you kissed the Blarney Stone ? " 
 
 " Yes, often." 
 
 So the two chatted on, and that night was the be- 
 ginning of a close friendship between them. 
 
 Irene Gordon was always ready to idealise anyone she 
 took a fancy to, and had already put Kathleen on a 
 pedestal of her own imagination. Though outwardly 
 one could not have found a greater contrast between 
 these two, in reality their natures were very similar, 
 in both the same depth of character and nervous sensi- 
 tiveness, in both the same intense love of art and liter- 
 ature. But Kathleen disguised her true self under that 
 half-defiant, half careless manner of heis, while Irene, on 
 the other hand, revealed perhaps, too much of herself, 
 the trembling of her hands and even of her voice betrayed 
 her. And both girls were lonely, perhaps after all, it was 
 this fact which formed the closest bond between them.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PUT TO THE TEST 
 
 TOCUMBA Station was a fine old place. The 
 house was not so large as it was beautiful 
 in design and finish Mr. Howard had been a 
 man of cultured taste, and having plenty of money had 
 lavished it on his home. His greatest hobbies had been 
 books and music, and as a result there were two things 
 of which the house could boast, a magnificent pipe organ, 
 large enough for a cathedral ; and a splendid library. 
 The room built specially for the organ was luxuriantly 
 furnished, its carpet noiseless and thick as grassy sward 
 beneath your tread. On two sides of the room, windows 
 reaching to the floor looked out upon well-kept flower 
 beds and lawns. Mr. Howard had built the organ him- 
 self, a work which had occupied ten years of his life, and 
 many a happy hour he had spent with his much loved 
 instrument. He made no friends, living a life of 
 seclusion from choice. 
 
 It happens in some cases, in spite of the old proverb 
 to the contrary, that the course of true love does run 
 smoothly At least Philip Morton and Margaret 
 Travena found it so in their experience. It was natural 
 that these two, who had hitherto led lonely lives, and 
 who had similar tastes and pursuits, should on meeting
 
 yo Swayed by The Storm 
 
 in this quiet country place have become fast friends. 
 And gradually the friendship ripened into something 
 warmer. There was no one to interfere with theii 
 appointments, nor to be jealous of the love which had 
 grown up between them. Even the weather seemed 
 to favour them, and many were the pleasure trips the two 
 had had together during that long sweet summer just 
 past. Sometimes on the river, sometimes driving or 
 riding. But most of all Margaret loved the hours spent 
 in the old library at " Tocumba." It was here that 
 Philip and Margaret were seated now. There was no 
 light except that shed by the huge logs which burned 
 in the open fireplace, and which lit up with a lovely glow 
 the handsomely furnished room, with its rich crimson 
 carpet, its costly pictures, and rare \\orks of art. 
 
 Philip had been reading aloud, \Nhile Margaret em- 
 broidered and now it had grown too dark, either to read 
 or work, so he had laid aside his book, and was giving 
 Margaret his undivided attention. 
 
 Margaret with her fine physique and buoyant health 
 was a constant source of admiration to Philip jMorton, 
 who from his childhood had had nore mental than 
 physical strength ; whilst on the other hand Philip's 
 lameness and delicate appearance did not in Margaret's 
 eyes detract from his charm, but rather heightened it. 
 To her, mental gifts had always been more than mere 
 physical strength ; of the latter she saw plenty in the 
 type of men round about her, and whom she had alwa)^ 
 been accustomed to meet. This man with the cultured 
 mind, the refined, intellectual face and white hands,
 
 Put to the Test ^i 
 
 possessed an attraction for her beyond all others. 
 
 " I am a poor specimen of a fellow," Philip was saying 
 now, half bitterly, half defiantly. " I do not know what 
 you can see in me to care for." 
 
 " Nonsense," Margaret replied with a laugh. " What 
 does Dr. Watt's say ? " 
 
 " I must be measured by my soul, 
 The mind's the standard of the man." 
 
 There are plenty of athletic fools, you know, Philip. I 
 am not an admirer of mere brute force. I would not 
 have you otherwise than you are." And Philip had to 
 be content. 
 
 " I think you are giving me all, Philip," she said, 
 presently. " Look at this lovely home." 
 
 " My darling, if I were a poor man, I would not dare 
 to ask you to link your life with mine." 
 
 " And why not ? " she asked. " I would rather 
 marry you even if you were poor, than any other man 
 however wealthy." 
 
 " Even if I were only the poor tutor I was before I 
 came into this property ? " he asked with a smile. 
 
 " Yes," and she pushed back the masses of wavy 
 brown hair from his blue-veined brow with a caressing 
 touch as she spoke. " I like money for what it brings. 
 I like to have beautiful things around me, and comfort, 
 and all that ; but money is not fiist with me. Love is 
 more." Then she added playfully, " You had better 
 put me to the test, Philip, and see what I shall do." And 
 so they two sitting in the dream-glow of the firelight 
 talked, little dreaming of the test that awaited them both.
 
 72 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 For it was arranged that in the following summer 
 jVIargaret should become Philip's wife. She had hesi- 
 tated on account of her father. Who was to look after 
 him when she should leave the farm ? But the old 
 man steadily refused to allow her to postpone the 
 marriage on his account, " No, no, my lass," he said, 
 " 1 shall be all right. I shall miss you, of course, but 
 still you will not be far away, and we will see each other 
 every day. I want to see you settled and happy in your 
 own home before I go." 
 
 But a few weeks later a shadow fell o^'er the happy 
 home life at the farm. ]\Iargaret noticed that her 
 father's health very slowly, almost imperceptibly, began 
 to fail. He had always been robust and energetic, 
 always busy about the work of the farm, but now he 
 began to leave matters more in the hands of his head 
 man, and to take less interest in what went on around 
 him. He would sit for hours in his arm-chair bj' the 
 fire with a book in his hand, yet he did not seem to be 
 reading. Margaret used to ask him anxiously if he 
 were ill, but he would smilingly assure her that he was 
 quite well, only a little tiied ; so she was silenced, but 
 all the time a great fear clutched at her heart, and many 
 an anxious talk she and Philip had about him. 
 
 " You are staying indoors too much, my child. You 
 are looking pale," Mr. Travena said to his daughter one 
 afternoon. " Take a run outside for an hour or so, 
 I am quite happy here with my book." 
 
 And to please him Margaret went ; the first time she 
 had left him alone for days. When she returned an
 
 Put to the Test 73 
 
 hour afterwards she found a change had taken place. 
 His face had a grey look in it that frightened her. Philip 
 had just come in, and she sent him in haste for the doctor, 
 whOe she got her father to bed. When the doctor 
 arrived he looked serious. 
 
 " It is heart failure," he said to iiargaret. " He may 
 last a few days ; or a few hours might see the end. 
 Nothing could have prevented it," he said, " and he is 
 in no pain." 
 
 When Margaret went back to the room wheie her 
 father lay, he called her to him, drew her face down and 
 kissed her. " I shall not be long with you, my girl," 
 he said, " I am going home. You have been a good 
 lassie. Don't fret, my child," as she burst into a passion 
 of sobs. " Don't fret ! It's all right." 
 
 Those were his last words. Though he lingered for 
 some days, the power of speech was gone. He would 
 watch Margaret with a loving, contented smile on his 
 face as she moved about the room, and one morning 
 ]ust as the dawn crept up, he sighed his Icist sigh and 
 his spirit had gone from earth. 
 
 It was drawing near the time fixed for Margaret's 
 wedding day, when, one morning Philip rode over to the 
 faim. Margaret was busy about the house, but he drew 
 her into the sitting room and shut the door. His face 
 was unusually pale and his hands trembled. 
 
 " You are ill," she said in alarm, " what is the matter ? " 
 
 " No, Margaret, I am not ill, but I have strange news 
 for you. You remembei saying once that you would 
 be willing to many me even if I were a poor man, and
 
 74 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 that you wished I would put you to the test ? Well, I 
 have come to put you to the test now," he said. 
 
 Margaret looked surprised, as well she might. 
 
 " Margaret," he went on, looking stearily into her 
 eyes, " I am a poor man, I have nothing." 
 
 " What do you mean, Philip ? " 
 
 " I mean this, I have discovered that I am not entitled 
 to " Tocumba." You know it only reverted to me at 
 my uncle's death, because he died intestate, and I was 
 believed to be the next of kin. I find now that he had, a 
 son. In all probability that son is dead, but he may be 
 living ; and if so, I have no more right to " Tocumba " 
 than a stranger. Read this." And he handed her a 
 letter as he spoke. 
 
 ^largaret took it from him as one in a dream. The 
 envelope was yellow with age and the ink had faded, 
 but the address was distinctly written, — Geo. Howard, 
 Esq., 14, Rue de Rivoli, Paris. She took out the letter, 
 which was dated from London some twenty years 
 previously, and read : — 
 
 " My dearest husband, 
 
 I am writing this in bed with our little one by my side. 
 He is a fine boy with dark eyes like your own. We are 
 both well, and I have only one wish left, that is to see you 
 soon. I know you will lose no time in coming to mc, for 
 the child's sake as well as mine, ^^'ith fondest love. 
 
 I remain, your loving wife, 
 Winifred Howard." 
 
 " Where did you find this ? " JNlargaret asked placing 
 the letter on the table 
 
 " In a secret drawer. You know that large inlaid 
 desk in the library ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 Put to the Test 75 
 
 " Well, I had that moved to the other side of the 
 room yesterday and as the man was moving it, some 
 thing gave way. Aftei^vards I examined it and dis- 
 covered a ver}' small opening between the outer drawer 
 and the desk itself. I forced this with my pen knife, and 
 found a tiny drawer. That letter was in it." 
 
 " Nothing else ? " 
 
 " Nothing else." 
 
 " But I can't understand why the old man should keep 
 this a secret. Why did he never let anyone know he 
 had a son ? We heard his wife died young, but he would 
 never speak about her. I don't see how it is possible 
 to find out whether the child is living or not. And in 
 any case how is the identity to be proved ? " 
 
 Philip had picked up the letter and was turning it 
 over. " Here's something else, Margaret," he said. 
 Did you notice this postscript on the back ? " and he 
 read aloud. " P.S. — ^The baby has a birth mark on his 
 left shoulder exactly the same as your own." 
 
 Margaret gave a startled exclamation. " A birth- 
 mark, Philip ! " she repeated. 
 
 " Yes, but I don't see how that can lead to his iden- 
 tity," Philip said. " There is no description of the 
 birth-mark given, and unless someone living knows what 
 it is or has seen the mark on Mr. Howard's shoulder — " 
 
 Margaret inteirupted him. " I have seen the mark, 
 she said, " and could swear to it." 
 
 " You ? How :> When ? " 
 
 " I have seen it," Margaret repeated quietly. " I told 
 you that when I was a child Mr. Howard used to be very
 
 76 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 tond of me, and often had me brought up here. Nothmg 
 pleased him better than for father to drive me over in 
 the morning and leave me at " Tocumba " for the day. 
 I used to sit for hours watching him and talking to him 
 while he built his organ. 
 
 One da.Y when I was about sixteen, I happened to be 
 here when he took suddenly' ill. When the doctor came 
 he called me into the sick room to help. The pain in 
 the old man's shoulder was ^'ery violent, and I had to 
 keep putting hot flannels on it. While I was doing this, 
 I noticed a strange mark just below his left shoulder. It 
 was so peculiar that it startled me. 1 thought for the 
 moment it was a real insect, it was so life-like, about an 
 inch long and a vivid red in coloui". I have never 
 forgotten the sight. It seems to have haunted my 
 memory ever since. I never spoke of it to anyone, and 
 I do not think there is a ]ierson li^'ing who knows any- 
 thing about it. The only one who would know is the 
 old housekeeper, who used to nurse him, and she is dead. 
 There is no one who could indetify this boy if he be 
 living, except myself, but I would know that mark any- 
 where. I can see it now as plainly as I could then. I 
 have always had a strange presentiment about that 
 mark. Something tells me I shall see it again some day," 
 And Margaret shivered slightly, though the day was warm. 
 'I must write at onte to my lawyers and get them to 
 make enquiries," Philip said. " And Margaret," he said 
 suddenly, and his voice shook with intensity, " suppose 
 this child lives, what then ? I feel that this discovery 
 has altered my whole })osition. 1 am like one living
 
 Put to the Test 77 
 
 under false pretences. I have no right now to ask j^ou 
 to be my wife. I must set you free, for as a poor man I 
 cannot ask you to marry me. I too have a conviction 
 that this boy is hving, and will yet come into his own." 
 
 " Then you do not love me, Philip," Margaret said, 
 " if you can ask me to set you free." 
 
 " Not love you, ^Jargaret ? " he echoed. " God 
 knows you were never dearer to me than at this moment." 
 
 There was no mistaking the earnestness, the passion 
 in his voice and face, and Margaret saw it, and once and 
 for ever her doubts were swept away. She came and 
 put her arms about his neck, laying her face against his. 
 " Then I will never set you free, Philip. I love you 
 more than ever before. You are a hero. You might 
 have burnt that letter and said no more about it. You 
 have the moral courage of ten men, and I honour you. 
 We will work together to find this boy if he is living, 
 and if so we will put him in his right place. Then it you 
 have to become a poor tutor again, well, I shall be a poor 
 tutor's wife instead of the mistress of " Tocumba," that 
 will be the only difference. But you — you will be the 
 same. And I shall have you. You would not consign 
 me to lifelong loneliness, would you, Phillip ? " she went on 
 coaxingly, seeing that he still looked grave, " for that is 
 what it would mean. I shall never marry anyone but you." 
 
 And what Philip's answer was may be easily guessed, 
 for a week later, he and Margaret were quietly married 
 in the country church.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 A DOOR OPENED 
 
 IN all the world there is not a more generous Nation 
 than the Australians, or a people more ready to 
 respond with their money and sympathy at the 
 call of distress. In a few hovirs news of the disastrous 
 bush file had flashed all over the Australian States, and 
 before noon next day a large meeting was held in the 
 different Town Halls. Hundreds of pounds were sub- 
 scribed within a few hours ; and clothing and food were 
 sent immediately to the relief of the sufferers. 
 
 Doctors and nurses were soon on their way to the 
 scene, and their services were needed, for some of the men, 
 and women too, were badly burnt. 
 
 Amongst the names of those who had distinguished 
 themselves specially for their bravery, the name of 
 Donald Cameron was mentioned in the newspai">ers. 
 He was lying very ill just now, his face bruised and cut, 
 and his arms badly burnt. 
 
 The Rev. Stephen Moore on reading the pai)ers, 
 noticed the name particularly, as it happened he had 
 only the week l:)efore received a letter from his old friend 
 Mrs. Johnson, in which she had told him of Donald, and 
 his ambition.
 
 A Door opened 79 
 
 "He is a splendid, manly fellow," the writer said 
 " and yet as tender-hearted as a woman; just the sort 
 of man we need in the ministry. His heart is set on 
 being a bush missionary, but he is handicapped. He is 
 the eldest son, and his mother is a widow. There are a 
 number of younger brothers and sisters, and Donald 
 feels that he must work the farm for what it is worth on 
 their account. He studies in the evenings in what little 
 leisuie he can find after a hard day's work. I just give 
 the matter ovei to you, knowing that I can put it in no 
 better hands. At any rate, Donald Cameron will repay 
 us for what we may do. I can place £50 at your disposal 
 towards his education, but he must never know of this, 
 for he is as proud as he is poor, on which account I admire 
 him all the more," she added. 
 
 Stephen ]\loore soon ascertained that the two names 
 mentioned belonged to one and the same man, and he 
 immediately became interested in him. Donald won- 
 dered where some of the good things came from that 
 found their way to him in the hospital, but he could not 
 find out. But during his convalescence, the crowning 
 surprise came. A warm invitation from the great city 
 preacher, whose fame had spread throughout the length 
 and breadth of the country, inviting him to come and 
 spend a fortnight with him and his wife. Donald's 
 heart leaped for joy, and yet he felt very nervous at the 
 thought of this visit. He consulted Mrs. Johnson as to 
 whether he ought to accept it, and of course she urged 
 him to go, being herself a party to the great secret So 
 it came to pass a few weeks later, Donald found himself,
 
 8o Swayed by The Storm 
 
 not without much nervousness, ushered into the presence 
 of the Rev. Stephen Moore. But as the minister came 
 forward with outstretched hand, and warm welcome, 
 all Donald's fears vanished in an instant, and he felt 
 perfectly at his ease. 
 
 " So you are Donald Cameron, of whom I have heard 
 so many good things ? I am delighted to meet you 
 You are not looking too strong yet. I hope the little 
 rest and change will quite set you up. My wife and I 
 will do our best to make you happy. Here she is ! " 
 as a bright little lady came into the room, and after greet- 
 ing him as cordially as her husband had done, carried him 
 off to have rest and refreshment after his journey. 
 
 " I do not know, sir, why you and Mrs. Moore should 
 be so very kind to a perfect stranger," Donald said, as 
 after tea the minister led the way to his study. " I feel 
 myself under a deep debt of gratitude." 
 
 " Nonsense, nonsense," said the minister kindly. 
 " Come and sit down and let us have a chat." 
 
 They did not talk about anything very special, in that 
 first conversation. But it was not long before Donald 
 felt he could open his heart to this man as to no one else 
 in all the world. And yet Donald had heard some of 
 the college students speak of the Rev. Stephen Moore 
 with much awe, as the one they dreaded more than all 
 the University Professors put together. " He can 
 wither you up with his sarcasm, and his eyes seem to 
 look right through you," was the universal verdict. 
 But Donald saw nothing but the kindest expiession in 
 those keen blue eyes.
 
 A Door opened 8i 
 
 " So you would like to be a home missionary ? why ? " 
 the minister asked him on the following Monday evening, 
 as they two were alone in the study 
 
 Donald felt the blood rush to his face. He had been to 
 the service the night before, and had watched the eager 
 crowds as they hung on every word that fell from the 
 great preacher's lips. It was well known that letters 
 came to the Rev. Stephen Moore from men in all parts 
 of the world, who had listened perhaps once, perhaps 
 oftener to his preaching, but who had gone awa}^ feeling 
 that their lives could never be again the same. His 
 words had winged their way into human hearts and 
 would remain there while life lasted, making bad men 
 good and good men better. Donald knew this and more, 
 and it was therefore no wonder that with all his native 
 modesty, unconscious as he was of his own latent powers, 
 he should feel overwhelmed at this direct question. But 
 only for a moment then he raised his eyes and met the 
 keen, warm glance of his questioner. " Because I 
 cannot help it, sir." 
 
 " And why can't you help it ? " 
 
 " Because I love Jesus Christ, and want to preach 
 him." 
 
 " You could not have given me a better answer," was 
 the reply. And Stephen Moore's tone was very gentle 
 and his manner winning as he drew from Donald the 
 history of his life, of his hopes and fears, his ambitions 
 and his difficulties. Donald felt as if someone had lifted 
 the burden of years from his heait, when at the close of 
 that memorable conversation, the minister rose, and 
 
 F
 
 82 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 laying his hand affectionately on Donald's shoulder said, 
 " God bless you, my son. Go on and prosper in the 
 work of the Lord." 
 
 How possible it is for two human hearts to almost 
 touch each other and yet for each heart to know its own 
 bitterness in secret ? 
 
 Donald little dreamed of the heartache that he left 
 behind, when he retired from Stephen ]\Ioore's study that 
 day, or how he had touched a minor chord that brought 
 such sad strains from the minister's soul. Yet such 
 was the case. For years past the Rev. Stephen Moore 
 had one cherished ambition, and it was to see his own 
 son become a preacher. Slowly and surely he was 
 learning to face the bitter fact that this could never 
 be, and that his heart's desire was to go unfulfilled, 
 for Wilfrid Moore showed no inclination for the ministry, 
 and his father was not the man to urge it upon him. 
 This young man whom he had just talked with was after 
 his own heart. " "Why are these things so ? " he asked 
 himself in bitterness of spirit, while he compared the 
 advantages his own son had had, with the disadvantages 
 Donald had had to encounter. And in the comparison 
 he drew between them both, his own son did not come 
 out best. " I wonder why ? " he said to himself. It 
 was a dark hour for Stephen Moore. But not often did 
 he yield to such thoughts, and now, with a great effort 
 he shook himself from the influence that was getting 
 the mastery over him. " I must not let the demon 
 of sadness take possession of me, ' he said to himself, as 
 he rose to go out. That same day the minister calle
 
 A Door opened 83 
 
 at the offices of two or three prominent City merchants, 
 members of his own church. 
 
 " I have a young fellow that I want to put into the 
 ministry," he said. " The light man in every respect. 
 He is staying with me at present, and I want you to meet 
 him, and form your own opinions concerning him. He 
 ought to have a three years' college course. He is well 
 worth it. Just the sort of man God wants in the pulpit 
 a man every inch of him — with a big heart and a poet soul 
 1 know I can rely on you to do your part, I have already 
 ;^100 in hand. I want another £200 and the thing is 
 settled." 
 
 Needless to say that, before the week was out the 
 unsuspecting Donald had met these gentlemen, had been 
 criticised by each of them, had been weighed in the 
 balance and was not found wanting, the result being, 
 that before the next Sunday a fund of £300 had been 
 placed in the hands of the Rev. Stephen Moore for the 
 purpose of training him for the ministry. 
 
 It would be hard to describe Donald Cameron's 
 feelings when told of the fund of money that had been 
 subscribed for his college education. His first emotion 
 was a sort of wounded pride. " I will not touch this 
 money, it is like taking charity." But Stephen Moore 
 reassured him on this point. 
 
 " I believe that God has opened this door for you, 
 Donald," he said gravely, " and when God opens a door, 
 we dare not refuse to enter it. It is because we, as a 
 church, consider you specially qualified for this work, 
 that we have chosen you, and it is in our own interests to
 
 84 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 educate you for this purpose. The work of the Home 
 Missionary is one that requires the highest courage and 
 the noblest intellect in conjunction with a heart that 
 is wholly yielded to God. We want men of strong 
 personality afnd deep spiritual earnestness for the work. 
 A General on the field of ]:)attle does not send his weakest 
 men to the frontier posts in time of danger, he chooses his 
 strongest and best men for the position. It is a pity 
 theie should be an opinion current that any one will 
 do for a Home Missionar3^ It is just the reverse. The 
 very best men are needed, men who so far as spiritual 
 gifts and mental endow^ments and physical strength 
 are concerned, stand head and shoulders above their 
 iellows. We want men of prayer, of energy, men with 
 big hearts and noble souls. We are a young Common- 
 wealth, but the Australian Nation has a magnificent 
 future, because of the marvellous resources of the 
 country. We are at the beginning of things. On the 
 pioneers of the ministry in the Australian bush much 
 depends ; for the foundation must be strong and well- 
 laid if the building is to be a noble one. We want a man 
 who is intensely passionate for souls ; who longs for the 
 conversion of men and women, w'ho would lay down 
 his life if need were, in the service of the Lord Jesus 
 Christ. And it is because we believe you have these 
 qualities that we wish to educate you for the ministry. 
 It is a great honour, Cameron, believe me." 
 
 And so Donald was won over. But there was another 
 difficulty to be met, that was, in connection with leaving 
 his mother. Mrs. Cameron never had shown any
 
 A Door opened 85 
 
 sympathy with her son in his work of preaching. She 
 had persistently ignored any expression of his heart's 
 desire, that of going to College, and he himself had 
 regarded the idea as the wildest of day dreams. But 
 when ilrs. Cameron, much to her surprise, heard of what 
 had transpired, she became very angry. She told 
 Donald that he was an ungrateful son, to think of leaving 
 her. It was in vain that Donald reminded her of the 
 years when he had worked, early and late to try and keep 
 things together since his father's death, not taking any- 
 thing for himself, except the barest necessaries of life. 
 She could not be brought to see that he had done any 
 more than his duty, nor did Donald claim that he had, 
 either. 
 
 " I am sorry, mother," he said, " to vex you, but I feel 
 that God has called me to this work, and I must obey 
 Him at any cost. I do not think you will be the loser, 
 for I have trained Eric for the past two years, and I 
 am sure he can take my place on the farm. Besides, 
 by living very cheaply in the City, and doing without 
 everything that I possibly can, I shall be able to send 
 you an allowance every month which will quite make 
 up for my loss. And then, you know, mother, when I 
 come back as a Bush ?iIissionary, I shall always have a 
 home to offer you, to say the least of it." 
 
 And so all these difficulties surmounted, Donald 
 came to the City and began his course of study, attending 
 lectures at the Theological Colleges and University. It 
 was no trouble to him to learn, it never had been. 
 Greek and Latin came more naturally to him than
 
 86 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 farming ; besides, his extensive and varied reading stood 
 him in good service now. His physical strength was 
 remarkable. It was nothing for him to sit up half the 
 night working hard and be as fresh as possible next 
 morning, and so in a short time, Donald not only over- 
 took, but out-distanced many of his competitors who 
 had spent their lives within school walls. 
 
 Perhaps the one that Donald most of all felt leaving, 
 was little Erin ? When he went to say " Good-bye " 
 to her he found her looking very fragile indeed. 
 
 " Donald," she said, " you remember the gum tree you 
 showed me that Sunday when you covered me up with 
 Wattle Blossom ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear." 
 
 " Well, I have been thinking that Gum tree did not 
 have any other trees just near it, it stood quite by itself. 
 I think God wanted it to grow very tall and straight, 
 and so he did not let the little Wattle trees grow too near 
 it, because it might have bent down to them and talked 
 sometimes you know. Trees talk, don't they, Donald ? ' 
 
 " I think so, Erin." 
 
 " And God wanted that tree to grow right up towards 
 the sky, and so it had to be all alone, and I think He is 
 taking you away from me, and me away from you, so 
 that you may grow all the taller and straighter." 
 
 " Do you think so, little Wattle Blossom ? " he 
 answered, but his heart was too heavy to heed the 
 child's speech then. But he recalled it long afterwards. 
 
 Erin had made up her mind to be brave, and not let 
 Donald know how she fretted at losing him, but as he
 
 A Door opened 87 
 
 took her in his arms to say " good-bye " the child's 
 self-control deserted her, and she said piteously, 
 
 " Oh, Donald, how shall I live without seeing you ? 
 I shall be looking for you, and you will not come," and 
 sobbed as if her heart would break. " And you won't 
 forget to write every week, will you, Donald ? " 
 
 Donald promised. And he kept his word. Whoever 
 else was neglected, the little crippled child in the heart 
 of the bush never failed to get her weekly letter from 
 him.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 HIDDEN MUSIC 
 
 " A/T ^^ ^ come in ? " 
 
 J^V-L It was a clear, musical voice that Irene 
 
 knew well, and her face flushed with pleasure 
 as she answered, " Come in." 
 
 It was Kathleen FitzGerald who entered, her face 
 radiant with smiles. With her own careless, easy grace 
 she sauntered into the room, and at Irene's invitation 
 took a seat. Then her eyes wandered around. " I say, 
 this place is all right," she remarked. " The style of 
 some people, with their studios ! " 
 
 Irene smiled. 
 
 " ^^'hat have j^ou got here ? " Kathleen went on, 
 going over to a picture, and gazing admiringly, yet 
 critically at it. " Oh, I like that," she said, after a 
 silence, during which Irene watched her expressive face 
 intentlj^ " Did you do it ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 •' Oh, it is beautiful. Is it a copy, or is the idea 
 oiiginal ? " 
 
 "It was my own idea," Irene answered modestly. 
 
 " What are you going to call it ? " 
 
 " I think I shall call it " Hidden Music." Irene came
 
 Hidden Music 89 
 
 and stood beside Kathleen, and together they studied 
 the picture. The afternoon sunshine fell across the two 
 girls, showing them in strong contrast, the one daik 
 and self-reliant looking, the other gentler looking, fair, 
 and pale, yet not less determined. The scene on the 
 canvas was that of an ancient Church and belfry. In 
 the church, and round about, a crowd of people were 
 gathered, listening entranced to beautiful music. Yet 
 no one saw the musician, though eyes were eagerly 
 looking in every direction for him. But away at the 
 top of the belfry, half hidden among its dust and over- 
 growth of ivy, there sat an old man worn and grey, 
 while just above him and within reach, hung a peal of 
 bells. He was holding the ropes in the act of pulling 
 them. The sunshine seemed to light up the old man's 
 face with its own radiance, and to make it so life-like that 
 one might imagine the old bell-ringer of hundreds of 
 years ago had come back to earth again. 
 
 " What is the idea of the picture ? " Kathleen asked. 
 ' I don't quite understand," 
 
 " I wanted to express the idea of hidden music in our 
 lives," Irene answeied timidly. " There is often music 
 hidden beneath the discord of our own and in other lives, 
 and we only hear the echo of it now and then, and we 
 don't see the musician. That old man must hear nothing 
 but clang and din, clang and din, and loud noise all the 
 time ; it is the people who are far away who get the 
 music and sweet sounds. And it may be that though 
 in these lives of ours, we hear only clash and din and 
 clang, and are deafened by the loar and seeming discord.
 
 go Swayed by The Storm 
 
 yet somewhere and somehow, the music is theie as well 
 and will be heard some day Perhaps when we are dead. " 
 
 " What a funny little thing you are. I wish I were 
 good and clever like you," Kathleen said And the 
 next moment she did a strange thing for her. She 
 suddenly snatched Irene's hand and kissed it. Then as 
 if ashamed of the action she turned away and began to 
 talk and laugh in her own careless happy fashion. 
 
 " And now I will ask you to excuse me for half an 
 hour," Iiene said, " while I give a painting lesson. Here 
 is a book. You won't mind waiting, will you ? " 
 
 " No, not a bit," Kathleen answered, settling herself 
 comfortably with her book. " But don't stay too long 
 away, or you will find me gone when you come back." 
 
 Kathleen had not read more than a page, when she 
 heard a knock. She went and opened the door. A 
 young man stood there, with a dark bronzed face, a 
 well-built manly-looking fellow. He raised his hat. 
 
 " Is Miss Gordon in, please ? " he enquired. 
 
 " No, she is not," Kathleen answered. " But I am 
 waiting for her, she will not be away more than half an 
 hour, she has just gone to give a painting lesson." 
 
 " Oh, that is unfortunate," he said, " has she left you 
 in charge ? " , 
 
 " Well, not exactly," Kathleen replied with an air of 
 cool self possession, and a pleasant smile, that wcie very 
 charming in the eyes of Donald Cameron, for it was he. 
 
 " Not more than half an hour," Donald repeated. 
 " Then I had better wait, I suppose." 
 
 " Well, you won't want to stand in the passage for
 
 Hidden Music 91 
 
 half an hour," Kathleen said. " Although it is not my 
 studio, I suppose I had better ask you to come in and 
 sit down." 
 
 " Thank you," he answered gravely. And then they 
 both laughed. He did not wait for a second invitation, 
 but entered the room with the air of one who was familiar 
 with the place. Kathleen returned to her seat and book, 
 and there was a lew minutes' awkward silence. Then 
 the young man, who had been intently gazing at a picture 
 yet without seeing it, whi^e Kathleen was as intently 
 studying him meanwhile, turned to her and said, "Perhaps 
 I had better introduce myself, as we are both I presume. 
 Miss Gordon's friends. My name is Donald Cameron." 
 
 " Oh, I have heard Irene speak of you," Kathleen 
 answered. " My name is Kathleen Fitzgerald." 
 
 " And I have heard of you," he said. So this was 
 the girl of whom Irene had spoken in such glowing terms 
 and had described as charming. But Donald felt as he 
 looked at Kathleen that Irene's description had failed 
 to convey to him the reality. She wore a soft creamy 
 muslin and a large black drooping hat wi'h feathers. 
 He thought he had never met anyone so charming. He 
 could not have called her handsome, for she was not 
 that. But there was a nameless grace about her, a 
 something that could not be defined. Neither of them 
 knew just how the conversation began, but presently 
 they were chatting as pleasantly as though they had 
 known each other all their lives. 
 
 " Ah, here is Miss Gordon ! " Donald said presently. 
 as Irene entered.
 
 92 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 " You here, Mr. Cameron," she exclaimed. " Let me 
 introduce you to my friend ? " 
 
 " Oh, we are quite old friends by this time," he said, 
 laughingly. 
 
 Irene noticed a look in Donald's face that she had 
 never seen there before, and glancing back from him to 
 Kathleen she instinctively felt that the girl had exercised 
 her strange fascination over him. And the conviction 
 brought a strange feeling that could scarcely be called 
 jealousy, but which closely bordered on it. She and 
 Donald had been great friends for months past, meeting 
 constantly as they did at the Mission work connected 
 with the church. It had become Donald's habit lately 
 to take Irene home from the services, and unconsciously 
 he had put her in the place of a sistei. It seemed 
 natural to him to make a confidante of her, for hers was 
 one of those rare sympathetic natures. She realised 
 suddenly that the happy freedom of intercourse between 
 herself and the young student was put an end to, and 
 that Kathleen, whether consciously or not had come 
 between them. And she was right, for from that day a 
 kind of restraint crept into their hitherto free and easy 
 soit of comradeship. 
 
 Irene was glad to escape to the solitude of hei own 
 room that evening to think it all out calmly. And when 
 she went to sleep, it was to dream that she lierself was 
 the old bell-ringer, and that the bells were pealing and 
 clanging all around her, making such a horrid din, that 
 she woke with a start. She began to wonder then in a 
 half-dreamy fashion whether life was to be one ol hidden
 
 Hidden Music 93 
 
 music, and v.hether for her there was to be only the 
 discord and the noise, and she tried to feel resigned if 
 this were to be so, saying to herself that if others 
 should hear the music it would be all right. But next 
 morning when she awoke, it was with a sort of feeling that 
 something pleasant had gone out of her life. 
 
 Donald found the months sliji awaj^ at the College ver\' 
 happily, and before long the examinations came round. 
 His cool-headedness, and perfect self-possession, carried 
 him through with flying colours, and it was no small 
 reward to see the happiness that beamed on Stephen 
 Moore's face, as he congratulated him on his first 
 year's unqualified success. It was positive enjoyment 
 to Donald to study, there was no drudgery in it for him. 
 
 And by-and-by came the time for him to preach his 
 trial sermon. This was a most trying ordeal to most of 
 the students, it meant sleepless nights and anxious days. 
 Perhaps because of the atmosphere of doubts and fears 
 in which he was, Donald caught the infection, and as the 
 day drew near all his nati\"e courage forsook him, and 
 he felt unusually depressed. 
 
 It was arranged that Dor aid should pi each his trial 
 seimon in one of the suburban churches, as was custom- 
 ary, but two days before, Stephen Moore had had a sudden 
 attack of heart failure, and the doctors had peremptorily 
 forbidden him to preach on the following Sunday. There 
 was not time to get a supply, and the idea occurred to 
 Mr. Moore to ask Donald to take his place on that 
 morning, and preach for him. Donald was overwhelmed 
 at the suggestion.
 
 94 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 " I cannot do it, sir," he said, '' I would not dare, it 
 is beyond me." 
 
 ]\Ir. ]\Ioore laid his hand on the young mcin's shoulder 
 affectionately. " Will you ao it to please me ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 Donald looked at him and wavered for an instant. 
 And then his decision was taken. " Very well, sir, I 
 would do more than that to please you." 
 
 " God bless you," the minister said. 
 
 This was on the Thursday afternoon, and on the 
 Sunday morning as Donald was passing the study he 
 paused at the half-open door, just about to knock,, 
 when to his surprise he heard his own name mentioned 
 Thinking that Mr. Moore was bidding him enter, he 
 stepped noiselessly on the carpeted floor just inside the 
 room. And he saw a sight that he never forgot. Stephen 
 Moore knelt there praying aloud, and his prayer was for 
 Donald himself, that God would give him all the needed 
 strength and grace for the coming ordeal. Involun- 
 tarily Donald knelt where he was, and on the minister 
 rising to his feet, Donald also rose, and the two men 
 stood face to face. No words were spoken, none were 
 needed, they just gripped each other's hand in a clasp that 
 spoke volumes. And it was in this spirit that Donald 
 Cameron entered the pulpit that day. The church was 
 crowded with eager faces, for the news had spread that 
 Donald Cameron, the promising young student, was to 
 take the service that morning, but of this his 
 growing reputation, Donald was blissfully un- 
 conscious.
 
 Hidden Music 95 
 
 As he ascended the pulpit steps there rose before his 
 mind the scene he had just left. This man, whom he loved 
 and reverenced as one of the noblest and most gifted 
 men on God's earth had been kneeling, praying for him, 
 the young untried preacher. 
 
 It was no wonder that as he spoke the message rang 
 out clear and true, that he spoke with no uncertain 
 sound, and that the words went direct from his heart 
 to the hearts of the listeners. Donald forgot the 
 fashionable and critical congregation before him, and 
 preached in the same loving, forceful way as he had 
 done so often in the back blocks yonder to gatherings of 
 farmers and their wives and children. He had no 
 thought of himself. He was but the bearei of a message 
 from the King of Kings, but a channel through which 
 the stream of the Water of Life might flow to the thirsty. 
 And when the sermon was over, it was good to feel the 
 hand-clasp of Stephen Moore, and to hear him say, " My 
 son, you can truly say, with Paul, " The Lord stood by 
 me and strengthened me."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE NEW STATION HAND 
 
 " Good morning, Doctor ! " 
 
 " Good morning, Morton ! Lovely Day ! " 
 
 THE two men happened to meet some few miles 
 out of the township one morning ; the doctor on 
 his way home from visiting a patient ; Philip on 
 a tour of inspection of the estate. Their road lay in the 
 same direction, and as they were great friends, they 
 rode leisurely along together. 
 
 " By the way, Morton," Dr. Thorne remarked pre- 
 sently, " there is a little matter I have been wanting 
 to see you about." 
 
 " Yes ? " 
 
 " It is about a patient of mine that I got rather in- 
 terested in when I was in Sydney a few weeks back. A 
 young fellow I attended in the Hospital there. I-ung 
 disease just starting. I had great work to get him round. 
 In fact his recovery surprised me, but I think he is all 
 right now, or will be if he lives an outdoor life. I saw 
 a good deal of him and took rather a fancy to him. I 
 scarcely know why. I have just had a letter from him 
 reminding me of my promise to do what I could to get 
 him work on a station. I think that is his only hope.
 
 The New Station Hand. 97 
 
 He has been used to a sea-faring life, but it would be 
 certain death to him to go back to it. I though you 
 might possibly be able to take him on. I wish you could. " 
 
 Phihp Morton considered. " How old is he ?" he asked. 
 
 " About twenty-five, I should say," 
 
 " You say he has been used to the sea ? He would 
 be rather " at sea " up here, wouldn't he ? " 
 
 The doctor smiled. " Well, yes, perhaps. Still one 
 must make a beginning somewhere. He has had rather 
 an eventful life. He lived in London, when he was about 
 ten years of age, he ran away, went to Liverpool and got 
 work in the docks. Eventually he got on to one of the 
 boats, where it seems the chief mate took a fancy to 
 him, and taught him navigation, and by-and-bye he 
 became third mate on a fair-sized boat. In spite of his 
 rough upbringing and all the knocking about he has 
 managed to pick up some education, and is rather 
 superior to his surroundings. You might think it over, 
 Morton and let me know. I would take it as a personal 
 favour if you could give him a trial." 
 
 " Well," answered Philip, " I don't mind giving him a 
 trial, even if he does not suit, there will be no harm done, 
 and his health will have benefited. Of course the life 
 here is so different from what he has been accustomed 
 to that it's hard to say how he will shape, still, Jones, 
 my overseer, is a good-natured fellow, and he will be 
 able to get him into the running, no doubt." 
 
 " That is just what I think, Morton Thanks very 
 much, old fellow. As you say, there will be no harm 
 done even if he turns out a failure. Here we are at the 
 
 G
 
 gS Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 turn of the road. My best respects to Mrs. Morton. 
 Yes, I will be up to dinner on Thursday, tell her, and 
 many thanks for her invitation. Good-bye, I am much 
 obliged to you." And Dr. Thorne rode off, looking well- 
 pleased with his morning's work, though Philip, it must 
 be confessed, felt rather dubious about the affair, and 
 told Margaret so when he reached home. 
 
 " Nonsense, Phihp," she said, " don't look at the dark 
 side of things. Dr. Thorne would not have spoken so 
 strongly in his favour without a reason. I have a sort 
 of intuition that it will turn out all right, and even if not, 
 we will have done the young fellow a good turn." Mar- 
 garet was secretly pleased at the arrangement. Already 
 her heart went out to this young man whom she had 
 never seen. The romantic story of his life touched her, 
 and the prospect of being able to bring back health to 
 anyone was a pleasure ; and she had made seveial little 
 plans of her own for the comfort of the semi-invalid. 
 
 A week after, the doctor's protege, Gerald Slade, 
 arrived from Sydney. He was tall and well-built though 
 rather pale and delicate. There was a rugged manliness 
 and yet an air of refinement about him that pleased 
 Philip. He seemed delighted with his new surroundings, 
 especially with the quarters which Margaret had so 
 carefully prepared foi him. 
 
 " I have not been used to such luxuries as these," 
 he said to her with a smile, as she showed him his room 
 with its dainty little appendages. " I have had a 
 rough sea-faring life. This room is quite immense, 
 compared with what I have been accustomed to sleep in.
 
 The New Station Hand. gg 
 
 It is most kind of you to go to so much trouble," he said, 
 with so much gratitude in his voice that Margaret's 
 heart was completely won. 
 
 Next day Philip took Gerard Slade round and intro- 
 duced him to his new duties. Though the life was so 
 entirely strange to him, it did not take him long to get 
 into the way of things, and before many weeks had 
 passed, his employer was well pleased with the result. 
 Slade did not seem disposed to fraternize with the other 
 men, preferring to spend his evenings quietly in his own 
 room reading. From early morning till sunset he was 
 out of doois, and in a wonderfully short time seemed 
 to comprehend all that was required of him, and bade 
 fair to outrival even Jones himself for shrewdness and 
 common-sense. Of course he had a great deal to learn, 
 but he had plenty of adaptability, and so far from 
 repenting of his decision Philip told the doctor a few 
 months later that he was very thankful to him for 
 coming across such an invaluable Station hand. 
 
 " And the best of it is," replied Dr. Thorne, " that his 
 health is perfectly established. I could not have be- 
 lieved it possible that such a wonderful cure could be 
 effected. It is nothing short of a miracle, when I think 
 of what he was when I first began to tieat him. I am 
 quite proud of him as an example of what the open-air 
 cure will do for consumption when taken in time, as 
 was the case here." And it was true, every symptom 
 of the dread complaint had left Slade, and a finer speci- 
 men of strong, healthy manhood could not be seen in 
 all the district than he.
 
 ICO Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 " What a lovely old place, Aunt Margaret, why 
 ever didn't you tell me you had such a beautiful home ? " 
 It was Irene Gordon who spoke, as Margaret was showing 
 her over the house one day. Irene had not been well, 
 and Margaret, who was her mother's sister, had invited 
 her to come and stay with them. 
 
 " I am glad you like it, dear. Yes, it is a beautiful 
 place," Margaret answered. Then she sighed. 
 
 " It must be nice to marry a rich man," Irene went on 
 " Bnt why do you sigh ? You have nothing to sigh for." 
 
 Margaret turned to the girl with a sad smile. " There 
 is always a thorn to every rose, you know dear," she 
 said. 
 
 " And what is the " thorn in yowr rose," auntie, dear ?" 
 asked Irene, coaxingly slipping her arm into her con- 
 panion's. "It is not your want of love for your hus- 
 band, nor his for you, is it ? " she went on teasingly. 
 " Because you are the most lover-like husband and wife 
 I have ever met." 
 
 " No, that is not the thorn, Irene, that would be a 
 terrible one indeed. I think PhOip and I love each 
 other more every year, and we have been married five 
 years. But don't you know the story about this place, 
 Irene ? " 
 
 " No, what story ? TeU me about it," and Irene 
 grew deeply interested. 
 
 " Just this," Margaret answered, " that though we 
 live here and it is our home, yet in a sense it is not ours 
 for there is a possibility, just a possibility, that Mr 
 Howard's own son may be living, and if so of course he
 
 The New Station Hand. ioi 
 
 onght to be here. We have tried to find out if he is 
 living." 
 
 " But I thought the old man had no child," Irene said 
 in surprise. 
 
 " So everyone thought," answered Margaret. Then she 
 went on to tell her niece how Philip had found the letter, 
 " I would be only too thankful, if we could find the miss- 
 ing heir," she added in conclusion. 
 
 Irene opened her eyes in astonishment. " Thankful," 
 she echoed, " it would mean that you would have to 
 leave here." 
 
 " Yes, I know, but for all that I would rather because 
 I am afraid sometimes that Philip's health will break 
 down under the strain of the suspense. There is always 
 the consciousness that the place is not really our own. 
 It is like walking on thin ice. Although this home is so 
 dear to me, and I cannot tell you how I love every spot 
 of it, yet I would be happier and so would Philip, in a 
 little cottage, if we could see the rightful owner restored 
 to his own. Of course if we were certain that he was 
 dead, if would end the suspense, but we cannot find out. 
 The whole thing seems shrouded in mystery." 
 
 " What do the lawyers say ? " 
 
 " They still keep the matter open. Detectives are 
 being employed in London. They say positively that 
 the child is dead, and yet they have no proof. It is just 
 the strange feeling of unrest that both Philip and I have 
 — a sort of ' second sight ' the Scotch call it. But there 
 it is." 
 
 " Do you feel as if he were alive, Aunt Margaret ? "
 
 102 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 Margaret did not answer at once, her dark eyes looked 
 dreamily out over the vast expanse that lay before them, 
 the noble trees in the park and the great forests beyond, 
 all part of the " Tociimba " estate. 
 
 " Yes," she said in a low voice, " I feel it, and I am 
 praying every day that wherever he is, he will be brought 
 back to his own lawful inheritance. And now dear, you 
 have listened long enough to all this. Come downstairs 
 and have afternoon tea, and then if you like we will go 
 for a drive." 
 
 " I wonder why Mr. Howard never spoke about his 
 child ? " Irene said, referring again to the subject upper- 
 most in her thoughts. 
 
 " It is a mystery," Margaret answered. " He was a 
 bit eccentric, you know. I think m5'self, that his wife's 
 death was such a blow that he could not bear to speak 
 of it, but locked it up in his own breast, as some men do. 
 All I know is that for years he gave himself up com- 
 pletely to his books and music. He never would see 
 strangers. I think I was about the only visitor he ever 
 wanted to see. He did not trouble much about the 
 affairs of his estate, he left matteis to a great extent in 
 the hands of his overseer." 
 
 " And Philip is his nephew ? " 
 
 " Yes, his sister's child, his onl}^ living relative. He 
 and his sister had not met for years. As to Philip, Mr. 
 Howard never saw him in his life. 
 
 " Irene," Margaret said next morning, " would you 
 like to go to the orchard, and pick me a basket of red 
 currants ? "
 
 The New Station Hand. 103 
 
 " I would love it. Shall I go now ? " 
 
 " Yes, take that basket and fill it, if you do not get too 
 tired." 
 
 " No fear of that," Irene answered, smiling as she ran 
 off. " May I eat some," she called out, looking back, 
 
 " As many as you like." 
 
 Irene soon reached the orchard, about half a mile 
 distant from the house, and was presently busy at her 
 pleasant work. She seated herself on the long grass and 
 began divesting the bushes around hei of their cluster's of 
 rich, ripe fruit. She looked a picture there in her white 
 muslin frock, her fair face half hidden under her big 
 shady hat. And someone, himself unseen, saw and 
 admired the picture. Someone stood near and listened 
 to her merry snatches of song. That someone was 
 Gerald Slade. Remember it was long since he had seen 
 any girl at whom he cared to look a second time, for with 
 the exception of his master's wife, for whom he had an 
 admiration bordering on reverence, there were only the 
 rough country girls who did the work of the house and 
 the farm. Therefore it was no wonder that Irene's dainty 
 prettiness and refinement struck his senses with a new 
 and strange delight, all the more forcibly by way of 
 contrast. It was time that he mounted his horse and 
 rode off on his morning round of visits, but for once in his 
 life, Gerald Slade neglected his duty. Margaret had told 
 him of her niece's expected visit and he knew of her 
 arrival, but this was his first glimpse of her, though she 
 had been two days in the place. He had purposely 
 kept out of the way of meeting her hitherto. A certain
 
 104 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 proud reserve, a leeling that she might not consider him 
 her equal, had made him determine to avoid her as much 
 as possible during her stay. He would not intrude on 
 her, he said to himself proudly, he would not give her 
 the chance of condescending to him. But as he watched 
 her now, he could not feel it in his heart to think such 
 hard thoughts of her, and a longing impulse came to 
 him to speak to her. But of course, such a proceeding 
 was out of the question. For the first time Gerald Slade 
 felt discontented with his position, although he had by 
 this time, been promoted to the position of assistant 
 Secretary and sub-manager. 
 
 He was just about to move slowly away, when his eye 
 accustomed now to the sights of the bush, saw something, 
 moving in the long grass not far away. A watcher might 
 have thought he had suddenly taken leave of his senses, 
 for he instantly made a spring towards the nearest tree, 
 put his whole weight on one of its lower limbs, and broke 
 it off, as if it were a twig. Then he made a rush right in 
 the direction of the girl he had been silently admiring 
 a moment before. 
 
 Hearing the sound of hurrying foot-steps behind her, 
 Irene turned round much startled. 
 
 "It's all right," he cried as he came towards her 
 " don't move, keep quite still." 
 
 Irene's eyes followed the direction of the young man's, 
 and to her horror she saw a huge snake uncoiling itself 
 close beside her, just in the act of springing at her. 
 But before she could realise it, the man had stepped be- 
 tween her and the danger. It all happened in a few
 
 The New Station Hand. 105 
 
 moments. She saw a stick uplifted in conflict with the 
 body of the reptile, and then she knew no more. She 
 had fallen in a dead faint. When she came to herself she 
 was lying on the sofa with Aunt Margaret's face bending 
 anxiously over her. 
 
 " What is the matter, Auntie ? Am I snake bitten ? " 
 And she shuddered at the thought. Again she could 
 hear the hissing of the creature, and could almost declare 
 that it had buried its fangs in her flesh, so close it had 
 come to her. 
 
 " No, you are quite safe. The snake is killed, but you 
 had a narrow escape, child, and I cannot forgive myself, 
 for I sent you to the orchard. You can thank Gerald 
 Slade for saving your life." 
 
 " Who is he ? " Irene asked. Now that the terror 
 was over, and she was satisfied she had not been bitten, 
 she felt suddenly well and sat up. 
 
 " Haven't I spoken of him ? He has been with us for 
 nearly a year. I do not know how we should get on 
 without him. Philip thinks the world of him, and so 
 do I. He is coming to tea this evening, and then you 
 wiD meet him. He was greatly distressed at leaving you 
 in that faint, but he had to go away on some important 
 business, and I assured him you would be all right when 
 he came back. He carried you in from the orchard in his 
 arms. I thought you were dead, judging by his face, 
 for it was almost as white as your own. What a fright 
 you gave us all, child. I think I shall have to send you 
 back by the next train if this is how you are going to 
 behave. Drink this wine, and then lie still for an hour.
 
 io6 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 It is a blessing that nothing more serious happened." 
 
 It was haid to say which of the two, Gerald Slade or 
 Irene Gordon looked forward most to the meeting that 
 evening. Irene had caught a glimpse of a strong, well 
 set up figure, and a face that would at any time have 
 drawn her admiration, but in any case her heart beal 
 rapidly at the thought of meeting this stranger who had 
 saved her from, she hardly knew what. As for Slade, he 
 spent the day in a delirium of joy. Over and over 
 again he lived those delicious minutes when he had held 
 the girl in his arms and looked down on her unconscious 
 face. It was not in Gerald Slade's intense nature to do 
 anything by halves, and in a whole-hearted way, 
 characteristic of him, he had fallen in love with Irene. 
 To him the killing of the snake was a mere detail, a 
 common every-day occurrence, but that he should have 
 come between it and her was a something that thrilled 
 him with rapture and thankfulness every time he thought 
 of it. And when he met Irene a few hours later, and was 
 formally introduced to her, the pink flush of self-con- 
 sciousness in her cheeks, and the look of shy gratitude 
 Maigaret looked on at the meeting of these two with 
 in her blue eyes only .dde her all the more lovely in 
 his eyes. 
 
 eyes that saw, and a heart that understood, and then left 
 the room on some pretext, leaving them alone together in 
 order that they might become better acquainted with 
 each other.
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF IRELAND 
 
 THERE were times when Kathleen's selfishness and 
 rudeness were so marked that Irene was inclined 
 to turn away from her, but just as she had suffi- 
 ciently hardened her heart against her, the girl would 
 come and storm the citadel in such charming fashion 
 that Irene would immediately surrender. Kathleen 
 could be so gentle and winning when she liked, though 
 so utterly repellant at other times. She was like the 
 ocean in its ever varying moods. Sometimes as calm 
 as the summer sea, at others like a storm-lashed ocean. 
 She was as changeable as the wind, saying a thing one day 
 and contradicting herself absolutely on the next. Yet 
 perhaps it was this very variableness which made her 
 attractive. You might weary of people whom you 
 knew so well that you could tell beforehand exactly 
 what they would do and say, but this girl, who did not 
 know herself, who seemed to have little self-control, had 
 a fascination all her own, and knew how to exercise it. 
 Sometimes her moods reminded one of lurid lightning 
 flashes lighting up some old ruin, for she could sparkle 
 with wit and laughter, alternating with fits of despair 
 and back again to fun and brightness with marvellous 
 rapidity.
 
 io8 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 A few weeks before she and Donald met, Kathleen 
 had been away for a week's holiday at the seaside, and 
 on her return told Irene of a man she had met there. 
 
 " Oh, I like him," she said, enthusiasticallj-, " he has 
 travelled and read a great deal, and is most interesting to 
 talk to. We saw a great deal of each other. He hurt 
 his foot and could not put it to the ground for two oi 
 three days. The weather was too wet to go out, and I 
 used to pass the time reading to him and hearing him 
 talk. He used to like me to read to him. Oh, I tell you 
 he is just the thing." 
 
 " What is his name ? " 
 
 " Barrettson," answered Kathleen. " Isn't it a 
 ridiculously long name ? I should grow tired of signing 
 it. I call him ' Barry ' for short." 
 
 " To his face ? " 
 
 " Oh, no, not yet, but to you. He is coming up to the 
 City, so he said, next week." 
 
 " I saw Barry to-day," Kathleen announced a few 
 days later, and for the next following days Kathleen 
 seemed to think and talk of no one else, for " Barry " was 
 taking her out nearly all tlie time. It was therefore not 
 altogether a surprise to Irene when Kathleen later on 
 told of her engagement. " He is no longer my friend," 
 she stated. " I am going to marry him and go back with 
 him to England. He writes letters to me twice a day," 
 she stated. " I am going to marry him and go back with 
 him, he is madly in love with me," she said, and she 
 laughed. 
 
 ** Are you madly in love with him ? " asked Irene.
 
 A Daughter of Ireland. 109 
 
 " I don't know," Kathleen answered, and her brown 
 eyes looked dreamy, " sometimes I think I am, and then 
 again I think I am not, I am not quite sure yet whether 
 I shall marry him." 
 
 " But you are engaged to him ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes," answered the other indifferently. 
 
 A few days later when Irene asked how her lover was, 
 Kathleen replied, " Oh, don't talk about him. I am 
 sick of him. I won't marry him." 
 
 " Why not ? What has happened ? " 
 
 " Oh, last night he blazed at me, and said, " What do 
 you mean by treating me like this ? Playing fast and 
 loose with me, I won't have it." 
 
 " What made him angry ? " 
 
 " Oh, because I would not let him kiss me, he wanted 
 to do so, and I ordered him to the other end of the room. 
 I felt that if he touched me then, I could almost have 
 struck him." 
 
 " And yet you told me only a week ago that you thought 
 it would be bliss to spend your life with such a man." 
 
 Kathleen laughed. " It would be ' blister ' now," 
 she said. 
 
 " You were in love with him then ? " Irene said. 
 
 " Love," echoed Kathleen scornfully, " there is no 
 such thing." 
 
 " Oh, yes, there is." 
 
 "If he had plenty of money it would be just the 
 thing," Kathleen remarked, after a pause. And so she 
 talked on, saying that her heart was in a state of unrest, 
 and she wished herself dead, and yet every now and
 
 no Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 again there flashed out some witty speech Hke lightning 
 in the darkness. 
 
 " Why did you let it go so far ? " Irene asked naturally 
 enough. 
 
 " I don't know. I wanted to get him at first, and now 
 that I have him I don't want him. Things lose their 
 charm when we get them, I believe that is it. x\ny 
 woman can get any man she wants to have, if she sets 
 to work the right way. Of course, she must forget her 
 womanliness," she added. " I am off him now, I am 
 quite off him. I almost hate him, I have had too much 
 of him. I went out visiting the other evening to get 
 away from him for a while. Last night he and I played 
 cards, just one game, and I said, " This is a game of life 
 and death." I said, " If you win I marry you ; if I win, 
 I don't." 
 
 " And who won ? " Irene asked. 
 
 " I won," Kathleen answered proudly. 
 
 " And what did he say ? " 
 
 " Oh, he was mad. I suppose I don't love him, that is 
 about what is the matter. He said, " You want to treat 
 me like you do a book, or that dog there. You take up 
 a book when you want it, and throw it down when you 
 are tired of it. You fondle and pet the dog one minute, 
 and order it off the next. You won't treat me like that," 
 and he seized me by the shoulder. He said, " You put 
 other people before me, and put me last, and I put you 
 before everyone else in the world. You can do what you 
 like with me." I could have thought more of him if he 
 had not talked such stuff."
 
 A Daughter of Ireland. hi 
 
 " How did he come to propose to you ? " Irene asked. 
 
 " Oh, one evening we were standing at the window in 
 the dusk, when he suddenly turned and kissed me, and 
 I said to him, " How dare you ? " He said, " I dare, 
 because I love you." 
 
 " Did you like his kisses at that time ? " Irene asked. 
 
 "Yes," she replied,"and for a few days after,but when I 
 began to think about it, I felt I could not marry a man 
 who just earned wages, I must have plenty of money 
 to spend. I like diamond rings, and beautifvil dresses, 
 and costly things, and servants to order about. I could 
 not settle down to work and cook for any man. I dance 
 attendance on a man ! I would rather dance on him. 
 If he had five thousand pounds, I would marry him to- 
 morrow. Oh, well, ' all the world's a stage, and all the 
 men and women merely players.' Barry thinks I will 
 be a tame cat after I am married," she went on after a 
 pause. 
 
 " He thinks you are a wild one now, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes. He thinks I will purr, but he will come home 
 to his dinner one day, that is if I marry him, and will 
 find the other sort of cat." 
 
 " He will find you with your back up, spitting, won't 
 he," laughed Irene, " and putting your claws out." 
 
 " Yes, indeed." 
 
 " Then, I think you had better not marry him," 
 Irene said seriously. 
 
 " My sister used to tell me never to marry a poor man. 
 She said I would be throwing myself away if I did. She 
 said I must marry a rich man, and I agree with her."
 
 112 Swayed by The Storm. 
 
 " There is something lacking in you, Kathleen, and 
 that is a heart. You have a vein of hardness in you." 
 
 " I believe you are right," Kathleen answered moodily, 
 
 " I can't understand your nature," Irene said, " if 
 I loved a man I would do anything for him." 
 
 " You are a loveable little thing. If I were a man I 
 would run away with you." And Kathleen suddenly 
 drew Irene to her and kissed her. " Do you know," she 
 said, " I sometimes wish I were in heaven ? " 
 
 " You have something to do on earth." 
 
 " Yes, I have to bear a burden." Then she quoted, — 
 
 " Life is a burden, bear it; 
 
 Life is a thorn crown, wear it ; 
 Life is a duty, dare it." 
 
 " Yes, but it's hard," she added. 
 
 " Oh, well, go to bed now, it is late, don't worry." 
 
 " 1 do worry," and there were actually tears in Kath- 
 leen's brown eyes. "Good-night. God be with you," and 
 she vanished. 
 
 And this was the girl that Donald had begun to set his 
 heart upon. Irene watched the " players on the stage " 
 with a dull pain at her heart. She understood it all, for 
 was not she herself swayed by the same strange un- 
 accountable influence as he was. She would have done 
 anything on earth for this wild, undisciplined creature, 
 would have nursed her night and day if she were ill, and 
 thought it no sacrifice. She would have done more for 
 her than for anyone else in the world, even though at 
 times Kathleen treated her with much rudeness. And 
 so she could understand how Kathleen could, even 
 unconsciously, wind herself into a man's affections.
 
 A Daughter of Ireland 113 
 
 " I can always get men to care for me," Kathleen had 
 remarked one day, not boastfully, but just stating the 
 fact simply. " I don't know how it is, I don't try to 
 attract them, and I don't know what they see in me to 
 like. I am rude to them, perhaps that is why." 
 
 Irene wondered how it would all end, she almost longed 
 that someone could warn Donald against the folly of 
 letting his heart go out to such a girl, yet not for worlds 
 would she have done so herself. She was too loyal to 
 her girl-friend for this, so feeling helpless to say or do 
 anjrthing, she had to stand by and let matters take their 
 own course. 
 
 H
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE DAY OF TEMPTATION 
 
 " ^nr^HEN am I to take this decision as final, Mr, 
 JL Moore ? " 
 
 " I am afraid so," was the reply. 
 
 " But think of the advantages. You must remember 
 that you are getting — er — well, you are not getting 
 younger you know." 
 
 " I am not afraid of the plain truth," the Rev. Stephen 
 Moore interrupted with a smile. " You might have 
 finished your sentence as you began. I know I am 
 getting old, and the fact does not trouble me — it is only 
 setting nearer the Home Land, you know. I had my 
 sixtieth birthday last week." 
 
 " Well, you are no longer a young man," the other 
 went on eagerly, almost feverishly, so bent was he on 
 accomplishing the object of his mission. " And that 
 is the reason why you ought to have rest from all mone- 
 tary worries. If you come to us, youjwill have a stipend 
 of £1000 a year guaranteed for life ; there is a beautiful 
 house belonging to the Church, and best of all there are 
 loving hearts waiting to welcome you. Besides, the 
 people here are constantly moving away ; at the present 
 time there is a large exodus from this State on account of
 
 The Day of Temptation 115 
 
 the bad times, and the times are not mending nor likely 
 to. Do let me persuade you, Mr. Moore. I have 
 travelled over five hundred miles in the hope of getting 
 you to change your mind." 
 
 The minister listened gravely to all that the delegate 
 from an Interstate Chuich had to say, and then he spoke, 
 ":I am deeply grateful to you, Mr. Morris," he said. 
 " and to all the officers of the Church and I want you to 
 convey to them my warmest appreciation of their 
 exceeding kindness in giving me this invitation. And it 
 is most kind of you to have come all this distance to see 
 me. But I have no alternative, I must remain where I 
 am." 
 
 " But why ? " persisted the other, in his eagerness 
 drawing his chair closer. 
 
 The Minister's face wore a dreamy look, as if his 
 thoughts were in the far past. " When the invitation 
 came from your Church to me three months ago," he said, 
 " I did not even place the matter before my elders. 
 I simply wrote at once, saying that it would be impossible 
 for me to leave my own people at the present crisis. I 
 can only make the same answer to you now, though, 
 believe me, I do most fully appreciate all your kindness. 
 My reason is this — as you know, my people have been, 
 and are still passing through a severe financial crisis. 
 In the days of their prosperity they were good to me, 
 very good. What sort of despicable creature would I be 
 were I to desert them now in their hour of need ? I 
 could not do it, I will not," and in strong excitement, 
 Stephen Moore rose and paced the study floor. " Please
 
 116 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 do not press the matter further, Mr. Morris, I beg of 
 you," he said, as he resumed his seat. " You cannot 
 wonder," he went on, and as he spoke a smile illumined 
 his strong face, which somehow suggested the setting sun 
 on a granite rock. " You cannot wonder that I love my 
 people. A man cannot labour in a Church for twenty 
 years, as I have done here, without growing to love his 
 people and becoming part of them. I would rather go 
 down with them than leave them alone. I carmot desert 
 the sinking ship. I do hope you will understand my 
 motive. I have watched the children grow to young 
 manhood and womanhood, and I have seen others grow 
 old and pass away. I have been in every home con- 
 nected with the Church in their times of sorrow and of 
 joy ; I am one of them. Forgive me if I pain you, my 
 dear friend and brother," he added, and he laid his hand 
 affectionately on his companion's arm. " But you 
 understand, don't you ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must accept your answer, Mr. Moore 
 though I am very sorry indeed. There is no possibility 
 of your changing your mind, is there ? " 
 
 " None whatever," was the reply. And as Mr. Monis 
 noted the clear-cut firm lips, and saw the look of deter- 
 mination on the minister's face, he felt that further 
 pleadmg was in vain. He remained for half an hour or 
 so chatting, for he and Stephen Moore were old friends, 
 and then he took his departure, for he had to catch that 
 day's express back to his own home. 
 
 Left alone, the minister paced to and fro in deep 
 thought. " Thank God," he said to himself, " that
 
 The Day of Temptation 117 
 
 temptation is past." For it was a temptation. Stephen 
 Moore knew only too well — none better than he — how 
 dark and troublous were the times coming on his Church 
 Every day brought some new revelation to what the 
 people of the city were passing through financially. 
 Some of the wealthiest members had become suddenly 
 poor ; and numbers of the younger men were leaving 
 for other parts. One after another of his flock had come 
 to him to pour out their sorrows, finding in him always 
 the ready counsellor, the loving, cheering friend they 
 needed ; and he had been giving himself to them, and 
 carrying not only his own burden but theirs, till it 
 seemed as though the load were greater than he could 
 bear. And so when the letter had come inviting him to 
 this wealthy Church in another State he had felt that 
 he could not add to his people's sorrow by even telling 
 them about it. He knew that their love for him was 
 sufficiently strong to urge him to accept it, and so, when 
 he had written kindly, but firmly declining the invitation, 
 he had thought the matter done with, until to-day, 
 when a delegate had come expressly from the Church to 
 try and repersuade him. Only a month before he had 
 asked his own people to reduce his stipend by two 
 hundred per annum. He asked himself row whether he 
 had done wisely after all, in refusing the invitation. 
 And yet in his heart he felt thankful that he had been 
 able to do the noblest, because the right thing, and he 
 did not really regret his decision. 
 
 But deeper than the shadow of coming trouble, there 
 lay a secret pain at the knowledge that had come to him
 
 118 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 only a few days previously. It was rumoured that many 
 of his Church members, some of whom had grown up 
 from Children under his care, had made a plan to form 
 a new Church in one of the suburbs. It was not only 
 the fact that their support and presence would be \vith- 
 drawn from the City Church just when it was most 
 needed. In this there did not lie the sting. But the 
 consciousness that as he was growing old they could find 
 it in their hearts to desert him, this was as the poisoned 
 arrow to the wound. More than this, six months before 
 he had had a very severe attack of heart failure, brought 
 on, the doctors said, by over- work. He had been ordered 
 complete rest, which he had forced himself to take, for 
 there had been weeks of lingering illness, when his life 
 hung in the balance. Even now, he was working far 
 beyond his strength, and he knew it. His people knew 
 it, and the doctors. But Stephen Moore could not help 
 it, as long as he had strength to preach Jesus Christ, he 
 must preach, be the consequences what they might. It 
 was his passion for souls that had led him so to work 
 night and day far beyond his strength, doing the work 
 of three men. It was the intensity of the fire that burned 
 within him which was exhausting his unusually strong 
 physical frame. The burden of souls seemed laid on his 
 great heart, as the burden of the Lord had been laid on 
 the heart of prophets before him. His passion for his 
 Saviour was so absorbing that all else was forgotten. "I 
 am not used to taking care of myself," he would say in an 
 almost boyish fashion, when those who loved him 
 remonstrated with him, and begged him to take care
 
 The Day of Temptation 119 
 
 of the life that was so dear to them. And it was while 
 things were in this condition that the idea for a new 
 Church was started. A preacher had been brought out 
 from the old land some time previously to assist Stephen 
 Moore. A man without much depth of character, with 
 little spirituality, but with a certain showy brilliance of 
 style that some people mistook for eloquence, as there 
 are some who will always be attracted by glitter, whether 
 of the paste or the real. And this man had been chosen 
 in prospective as the minister for the forth-coming 
 Church. And it was through those long days when 
 Stephen Moore lay ill, his whole heart yearning to be 
 busy about his Master's business, during those days that 
 some of his people gathered themselves together, and 
 even made a house to house visitation amongst the old 
 members to organise a new Church membership. 
 
 " If they had only waited till I was well, but to do 
 that sort of thing when a man is ill," was the minister's 
 rather bitter inward comment, as he reflected. It was 
 not a case of failing eloquence ; never had Stephen 
 Moore preached with such magnificent power and force; 
 never did he seem so inspired as at the present time. 
 Each Sunday as he entered the pulpit his face seemed 
 to shine with the very light of heaven, and his words 
 kept his hearers spell-bound. 
 
 Sometimes a grey, blustering, windy day is succeeded 
 by a calm evening, in which the glory of the sunset glow 
 is more exquisitely beautiful by reason of the contrast, 
 and so it was in the case of Stephen Moore. He was 
 not among those who might be described as a man
 
 120 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " clothed in soft raiment and living in kings' houses," 
 rather he was a prophet of the wilderness, a strong man, 
 rugged and blunt in speech, a leader among men, one 
 who had swaj^ed the multitude. Now, as his life depened 
 into its autumn, there was a beautiful mellowness and 
 tenderness about him, a deep spirituality that character- 
 ised him, all the more noticeable because of the natural 
 ruggedness and strength of the man. All the softening 
 beautiful infiuenecs of a life lived very near to God were 
 visible. There was none the less fiie and poetic grandeur 
 in his speech and his sermons — and yet — those whom he 
 loved so dearly and for whom he had sacrificed his very 
 life, were ready to leave him for this stranger, who 
 compared with him, was but " as sounding brass or a 
 tinkling cymbal." No wonder he felt as a father might 
 feel who sees his children grow indifferent towards him, 
 forsaking him when he most begins to need their care and 
 affection. 
 
 But after all, Stephen Moore's best work was done in 
 private. He hated display He hid himself behind his 
 work, giving himself to it with a whole souled devotion, 
 caring nothing for the praise of men. He was pre- 
 eminently " a man with a message," and his message had 
 the rare quality of setting men's minds to work, and 
 opening before them new vistas of thought. He never 
 took an active part in politics. He was constantly 
 refusing invitations to preach in other churches and in 
 public halls ; but among his congregation Sunday after 
 Sunday were prominent Statesmen and leading pro- 
 fessional men, and his message to these was of such
 
 The Day of Temptation 121 
 
 character that they went out from hearing it, stronger 
 and purer men ; so his indirect influence was far more 
 potent and wide-spread than his direct influence would 
 have been, had he stood on pubhc platforms at pohtical 
 meetings. Yes, his was a strong, rugged granitic 
 ministry, wonderfully persuasive in argument, marvel- 
 lously tender in appeal ? A masculine man this, strong 
 in brain and body, yet possessing the gentleness of a 
 woman. A man, who, because of his deep earnest 
 thinking, and striking originality, could always attract 
 and hold other men, for he was an intellectual leader of 
 rehgious thought. 
 
 He was travelling from one of the neighbouring States 
 one day by sea, when he noticed a stranger lying on the 
 deck very ill indeed ; so ill that he could not move nor 
 speak. His head was resting on the bare deck, for there 
 was not a cushion to be seen anywhere. Stephen Moore 
 looked about for a pillow, and went from one end of the 
 ship to the other in search of one, and it was only after 
 a great deal of trouble that he succeeded in finding one. 
 This he brought and placed it under the man's head with 
 a sympathetic word. The stranger opened his eyes and 
 tried to thank him, but Stephen Moore, stooping to 
 listen, only caught the whisper of one word, " Inasmuch." 
 It was enough. Stephen Moore moved away with his 
 heart aglow, finishing the sentence to himself, " Inas- 
 much as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, 
 My brethren, ye have done it unto Me." 
 
 It was wonderful, the variety of places in which he 
 found opportunity to carry out his one over-mastering
 
 122 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 desire, that of preaching the Gospel. Sometime sitting 
 beside the sailor lad in his cabin ; again in a bark hut in 
 one of the country back-blocks, talking to some rough 
 miner or bushman ; often in the wards of the City 
 hospitals, and many, many times in the worst of the 
 slums, bending over a dying woman, whispering to her 
 the name of Jesus. It was a common occurrence for him 
 to receive letters from men and women in all parts of the 
 world, telling him that, through his preaching they 
 had accepted Christ as their Saviour. And this was 
 Stephen Moore's highest reward.
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 SHADOWS AND SUNSHINE 
 
 THE Delegate from the Interstate Church had no 
 long taken his leave, when a low knock at the 
 study door interrupted the minister's meditations 
 It was Irene. As he took her hand and uttered his 
 usual " Well, my child," his blue eyes gleaming kindly 
 from beneath their shaggy brows, the girl felt as though 
 an angel had laid his hand on her brow and touched 
 her to calmness. There aie some people who bring out 
 of us, while we are in their presence, the very best 
 that is in us. They draw out as it were, the music of our 
 souls ; just in proportion as others draw out the discord. 
 And such was the unconscious influence of the the Rev. 
 Stephen Moore on Irene. No matter how tempest- 
 tossed she felt, how wearied or troubled, his presence 
 soothed and quieted her. She had come to him now 
 with her heart hot and bitter. Things had gone wrong 
 with her throughout that day, and yet all at once, it was 
 as though the burden had been lifted ; she did not even 
 need to talk about that which had so weighed upon her 
 spirits a few minutes before. It was rest enough just 
 to be near him, to watch his face, to listen to his voice 
 He was to her, father and mother and friend all in one, 
 for her parents had both died while she was a child. 
 There was no trace visible of the conflict of mind he
 
 124 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 had just passed through. He had his usual smile of 
 welcome for his friend. 
 
 " I hope you have a lot of letters to-day," she said 
 brightly, "for I feel just like working." 
 
 " Yes, there are several. Now, are you ready, dear ? " 
 And he began to dictate to her. Leaving her then to 
 transcribe her shorthand notes he busied himself with 
 some papers. Presently he looked up, and said in his 
 own abrupt fashion, 
 
 " Just open that drawer beside you there. No, not the 
 bottom one, the second. Hand me that book out of it." 
 
 Irene obeyed. " No, not that one," he said, " it is 
 the small one with a red cover." 
 
 Irene groped for a minute and finally produced the 
 book he described. As she handed it to him he was 
 smiling. " Dear me, my child," he said, " it only just 
 struck me this minute — how I order you about. You 
 don't mind it, I hope, do you ? " 
 
 She flashed back an amused glance at him. She told 
 herself that she would not have minded cleaning his 
 boots for him if necessary. Any service she could render 
 him, however menial, would be a pleasure, so intense was 
 her devotion to him. It is well for us when the days of 
 hero worship are not past. W'^ell for us who have the 
 hero left to worship. The sorrow is when we find that 
 our ideal is shattered, and that which we have mistaken 
 for gold has revealed itself but as clay, not worthy of the 
 pedestal on which we had placed it. Better far for us 
 if death comes and takes our idol and keeps it for us pure 
 and untouched.
 
 Shadows and Sunshine 125 
 
 " Mind ? " echoed Irene. " No, I don't mind how 
 much yon order me about, you can do so as much as you 
 Hke. I would not let anyone else order me about 
 though," she added, with an unconscious toss of her head. 
 
 " I should think not, dear," and there was an amused 
 look and an answering flash in the minister's eyes as he 
 spoke. " I should think you would not let anyone else 
 order you about. Mind you don't." And then they 
 both resumed their work. 
 
 This was just one of the chords that were so often 
 struck when these two met. A chord that produced soul 
 thrilling vibrations and a beautiful harmony that seemed 
 to linger in the silence that followed. " And now, my 
 child," he said presently, " you have done enough work 
 for to-day, and so have I, I am feeling rather tired, 
 and as I want to take a meeting to-night, I must rest for 
 a while. I am going to lie on the sofa. Sit in that easy 
 chair and talk to me. Ask me some questions." 
 
 Irene obeyed as far as taking the easy chair, but 
 though she racked her brain to think of one of the many 
 questions that so often haunted her, not one came to her 
 memory. " I cannot think of a single question now," 
 she said, " though so many come into my mind at times." 
 
 He smiled. " That is often the way, dear." Ah ! 
 Irene, did you but know it, the day will come when you 
 feel you could tear down the very heavens to get 
 your friend back again to ask him some of the problems 
 that stirred your soul, for to you there was none who could 
 answer as he could, this man, who Uved as it were in the 
 inner temple of God and communed with him as a friend.
 
 126 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " I liked your sermon last night," she said after a pause. 
 
 " Yes," the minister answered dreamily, " it was a 
 beautiful subject, " The Lord gave and the Lord hath 
 taken away, blessed be the name of the Lord." Yes, 
 God is alwaj's taking, and He is always giving. We are 
 always losing, and we are always gaining something as 
 life goes on. Sometimes it seems as if God is giving, 
 giving all the time, at others He seems to be taking, al- 
 ways taking away." 
 
 " Yes," answered Irene, " it seems to me just now as 
 though God is taking away all the time. One after 
 another friend I have lost." 
 
 He interrupted her. " My child," he said tenderly, 
 " I hope you won't think you have lost me when I am 
 gone, will you ? I guess we'll meet again. And what 
 God takes from us, only to keep for us and give back to 
 us again better and purer, cannot be considered by us as 
 lost," he said. 
 
 "No," assented the girl. " But," she added after a 
 silence, " there is the human loss." 
 
 " So there is, my child, so there is," and then noticing 
 her sadness, he led the conversation into brighter channels. 
 
 "Is it time for you to take your medicine ? " she, 
 asked presently, noticing the bottle and medicine glass 
 on the table. 
 
 He glanced at his watch, " Dear me, yes, I should have 
 had it half an hour ago. I cannot remember these 
 things. It is a very troublesome thing to be under 
 doctor's orders, isn't it ? Will you mix it for me, dear, 
 and be very careful, for the least drop too much or too
 
 Shadows and Sunshine 127 
 
 little would be harmful ; it is a very powerful poison." 
 
 Irene rose and very carefully measured the medicine 
 and the water, a^id brought it to him. 
 
 " You would make a nice little wife, Irene," he said 
 with a smile, as he took the glass from her hand. " How 
 is it that you are not married, I wonder. I suppose you 
 have not met the right man yet." 
 
 " I suppose not," she answered, and her face flushed. 
 
 " Oh, well, plenty of time, Irene, you are better eis you 
 are, unless it really is the right man. It is one of the 
 tragedies of life when the wrong people are united." 
 
 " Do you think God meant every woman to be married, 
 Mr. Moore," Irene asked. 
 
 " By no means. Why, some of the most beautiful, 
 some of the noblest and the best women the world has 
 ever seen, have never married," he replied. " Think of 
 Florence Nightingale and Frances Ridley Havergal, and 
 a host of others. I am glad there is not the need for a 
 woman to marry that there used to be fifty years ago 
 You see, then, a woman had no other possible career 
 open to her but marriage, and so she often was compelled 
 to marry even where she could not love, rather than be 
 dependent on brother or father or someone else as the 
 case might be. Now she can afford to wait until she 
 meets the right man. Mind, she is none the less free to 
 marry when the right man comes along and the right 
 time comes. Not that I for one moment admire what 
 is called the " new " woman. The greatest charm of a 
 woman is her womanliness. Take that away, and she 
 becomes — I was going to say a monstrosity. Just as a
 
 128 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 man's chief attribute is manliness, so a woman's is 
 womanliness. 
 
 Look at those women that have best served the cause 
 of Christ and Humanity," he continued " those women, 
 who stand as special examples, and what is the striking 
 characteristic of them all ? They have not lostany of their 
 womanly qualities. Oh, no, it is Death and destruction 
 when those go. But they have added to their womanly 
 qualities, manly ones, they are kind and tender, gentle 
 and S5niipathetic, and at the same time they are wise 
 and courageous. The men who have been the best have 
 grafted on to their strength and wisdom and courage 
 the qualities of gentleness and kindness. The women 
 who have been the best have grafted on to their tender- 
 ness the sympathy, the qualities of strength and wisdom 
 and courage. Someone might say, " If men are to 
 cultivate womanly qualities, and women are to cultivate 
 manly qualities does not that mean that you come 
 to a sort of identity between the man and the woman ? " 
 God forbid. Written by God's finger on the tables of the 
 human heart, there are instructions which, if people 
 follow them, they will find that in man the manly side 
 of character must predominate and in woman the 
 womanly side of character must predominate. The 
 essential features of either men or women, are to pre- 
 dominate ; the man is not to lose or diminish strength, 
 wisdom and courage, because he becomes kind and 
 gentle and tender, and on the other hand while women, 
 if they follow Christ and graft in upon their gentleness 
 and tenderness, strength and wisdom, they will not lose
 
 Shadows and Sunshine 129 
 
 or diminish their womanliness ; that will predominate 
 still. Otherwise, we should be getting the world full of 
 womanly men, and manly women, from whom God pro- 
 tect us; for they will never do Christ's work in the world." 
 
 " Do you think that a woman can be in business, and 
 retain all her womanliness ? " Irene asked. 
 
 " Certainly I do, she may take her characteristics with 
 her into that sphere as well as into any other. I was 
 just saying I wondered why you had not married. I 
 might say the same of our Mabel. All her sisters are 
 married, and she is not, and yet she is the most beautiful 
 of them all. Look at that picture," and he took a photo 
 from a drawer and placed it before Irene. " I am very 
 proud of it. It was taken some few years ago." 
 
 " She is certainly very beautiful, Mr. Moore," Irene 
 said, as she surveyed the picture critically. The face 
 was a beautiful one. Mabel Moore was dressed in Greek 
 costume ; one exquisitely rounded arm was visible. 
 Her dress, or rather robe, hung from the shoulder to the 
 feet in graceful folds, a bow of broad ribbon velvet was 
 fastened on the left shoulder and streamers fell from 
 it to the end of the dress. 
 
 " Now, I think I shall have a smoke," the minister 
 said. " Dear me, what have I done with my pipe," and 
 he be^an feeling in the capacious pockets of the thick 
 blue Sou'wester coat, he usually wore in his study in the 
 winter. " I cannot find it anywhere. What have you 
 done with it, child ? Have you hidden it ? " 
 
 Irene laughed. " I, what would I do with your pipe 
 I have not touched it ? " 
 
 I
 
 130 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " Well, it is not in my pocket, you must have hidden 
 it." Irene glanced around the room. " I don't see 
 it about," she said, " perhaps it is in that coat pocket 
 in that corner," she suggested, then bent her head over 
 her work again, for she had returned to her letter writing 
 by this time. She was so absorbed in it that she had 
 forgotten the missing pipe, when she was suddenly 
 recalled by a not very hard box on the ear. She 
 looked up in surprise to see the minister standing over her 
 with a would-be severe expression on his face. " I'll teach 
 you to play tricks. Take that for hiding my pipe." 
 
 She laughed heartily. " I never touched your pipe," 
 she said, " I told you I didn't." 
 
 It was his turn to look surprised now. " Then how 
 did you know where it was ? " 
 
 " I didn't know." 
 
 " You told me it was in that coat pocket, and it was. 
 I have no recollection of putting it there, and can't 
 imagine how it got there. I always put it in the one 
 place. Certainly, I should never have dreamt of looking 
 there for it, if you had not suggested it, so of course 
 I thought you hid it. 
 
 " No, I just thought it was a likely place for a pipe," 
 Irene answered, " But it was only a guess on my part." 
 
 " Dear me, you must be a witch," was the laughing 
 retort. " So I boxed your ears and you didn't deserve 
 it. How cruel of me. Oh, well, it will do for the last 
 time you did deserve it, or for the next time, won't it, 
 eh, my child ? "
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 A woman's way 
 
 I AM going to the hospital this afternoon, Irene, will 
 you come with me ? " Kathleen asked one 
 Saturday afternoon. 
 
 " I don't mind if I do. What are you going there 
 for ? " 
 
 ' Oh, to see Archie Lang, a little boy I know. He met 
 with an accident last week, had his leg cut off, I want to 
 see how he's getting on." 
 
 After some time the two girls f jund themselves by the 
 side of the sufferer. He was a bright-looking boy of 
 about fourteen years of age. Evidently Kathleen 
 was a special favourite of his, j udging by the expression 
 on his face as he greeted her. In her own nonchalant 
 manner she seated herself beside him and began to talk 
 as if nothing had happened, though a close observer 
 would have noted how her lip quivered at the sight of him. 
 
 " Did they take it off, Archie ? " she whispered pre- 
 sently, in an awed voice. 
 
 He nodded. And then he began to give her the 
 details. For a few minutes she listened, then her face 
 grew white to the lips. " Don't tell me any more," she 
 pleaded, "I can't bear it." She rose and walked to the
 
 132 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 window and stood there struggling hard to regain com- 
 posure, when she returned it was to laugh and make 
 her hearers laugh, but Irene noticed the traces of tears on 
 her face. As they were leaving, Kathleen bent over the 
 little lad with a beautiful tenderness. " You are brave, 
 Archie," she said. " I am proud of you. You won't 
 mind if I kiss you, will you ? " 
 
 " Mind ? " echoed the little lad, and he almost 
 snatched her face down to his, and kissed her lovingly. 
 She murmured something which brought a glad smile to 
 his face, as she returned his kisses, then placing a box of 
 rich strawberries on his pillow she left him. 
 
 " I like him, and he has no mother," she remarked to 
 Irene, half apologetically, as they emerged once more into 
 the city streets. Half an hour later, the two friends 
 entered one of the city tea-rooms and seated themselves 
 at one of the numerous small tables. 
 
 While they were waiting to be attended to, a large 
 collie dog came up and nestled against Kathleen's 
 dress. Kathleen soon began to make friends with it 
 and presently was feeding it with her scone and butter. 
 " Say ' thank you,' " she said to the dog as she 
 dropped her piece of scone into its open mouth. " There, 
 that is my last bit, and it is well buttered. Now I have 
 finished and I hope you have," she went on, addressing 
 the animal seriously. The dog swallowed the tempting 
 morsel, put its long tongue out, and waited with an air 
 of expectancy for more. " Look at his face," Kathleen 
 cried, " there's a look of ' I don't believe you ' about 
 him, isn't there ? "
 
 A Woman's Way 133 
 
 Then the dog as if knowing himself the object of their 
 attention began to roll himself on the floor and go 
 through a series of gymnastic exercises for their benefit 
 and amusement. 
 
 " I am always talking, and talking nonsense," Kath- 
 leen remarked as they left the tea-room. " People don't 
 know me, but I don't want to be such that he who runs 
 may read, I hide my true self." 
 
 " And I read between the lines," Irene answered, 
 " and sometimes take the exact opposite of what you say, 
 as being what you really mean." 
 
 " You are not far wrong then." 
 
 "It is because I know there are depths in you, be- 
 neath the surface. You are not shallow. You are deep 
 as the sea. That is why I like you." 
 
 " And I would sooner be with you than anyone else 
 in the world," Kathleen replied. " Yes, I would, when 
 I am with you I feel restful and soothed and happy. I 
 say dreadful things, but you take no notice, you make 
 allowances for me, as no one else does. I think you 
 understand me better than anyone else does." 
 
 " Do you ? Perhaps so. I think the more we love 
 anyone the better we understand them." 
 
 "It is better to have sorrow and joy, sunshine and 
 shadow in our life, than to have all joy and happiness," 
 Kathleen said as they walked together along the road. 
 " The life that is all sunshine would be monotonous. I 
 would not choose a life of joy if I could. I am getting 
 tired, shall we get into this tram ? " and she hailed a 
 passing tramcar. The man, though he saw her, did not
 
 134 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 stop until he had gone some distance along the road, and 
 the two girls began to follow. Presently Kathleen got 
 tired of running and in a fit of obstinacy, began to walk 
 slowly, keeping the crowded tramcar waiting. The con- 
 ductor, watching her, rang the bell impatiently, and then 
 to make matters worse, she pretended to be lame and 
 just crawled along, to Irene's amusement. The con- 
 ductor, now grown furious, rang the bell and sent the 
 car along without her. 
 
 " I wonder if I walked lame, whether the next tram 
 man would have compassion on me and pick me up," 
 Kathleen remarked coolly, as she came limping up to 
 Irene. 
 
 " Well, there would be plenty of lame people in the 
 city this afternoon if that were the case," Irene returned 
 with a laugh. 
 
 " Don Cameron was wild with me the other night for 
 not keeping my appointment," Kathleen remarked 
 presently. " I told him he knew the remedy and that 
 it was immaterial to me whether I ever saw him again. 
 I kept him standing in the cold for an hour waiting for 
 me, and he lost his temper." 
 
 " I should think so," remarked Irene. 
 
 " He said he would never ask me again to meet him, 
 and I said, " Very well." But he made an appointment 
 with me for to-morrow night, for all that," she added 
 triumphantly. " He says there is not such another 
 wild girl like me in the world, and I suppose he is right. 
 I know I am fickle, and false, and faithless, and I don't 
 know what anybody sees in me to like."
 
 A Woman's Way 135 
 
 " What about ' Barry ' ? " Irene asked. 
 " Well, what about him ? " was the cool retort. 
 " I thought you were going to marry him ? " 
 " Marry him," echoed Kathleen scornfully. " No, 
 indeed, it's all off with him. He's going away next week." 
 " Where to ? " 
 " England." 
 
 " You will miss him, won't you ? " 
 " What makes you think I will miss him ? I miss no 
 one." 
 
 " You are a hard-hearted wretch, Kathleen. Would 
 you be content to live your life all alone ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Kathleen unconcernedly. "I was 
 feeling so lonely last night," she added presently. 
 
 " You ought not to feel lonely, you have more than 
 one lover." 
 
 " Oh, hang the lovers. I wish sometimes though, I 
 could meet someone whom I could love as I know how to." 
 '■ Kathleen, is there anyone in the whole world that 
 you love ? '" 
 " No." 
 
 " Not a soul ? " 
 " No." 
 
 " Not even Mr. Cameron ? " 
 " Not even Mr. Cameron." 
 
 " I sometimes think I would like to be as self-sufficient 
 as you." 
 
 " I'm not self-sufficient, I'm funny. When I am with 
 people, I don't like them, and when I am away from 
 them, I do. I have been a brute to you lately."
 
 136 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " Yes, you are a real brat, a bold brat," returned 
 Irene laughing, " but for all that. I love you. Do you 
 believe it ? " 
 
 " I would believe it if there was anything in me to 
 love." Then she turned suddenly round on Irene. " I 
 say, you and Donald Cameron would just suit each 
 other." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " Irene asked calmly, " what 
 gives you that idea ? " 
 
 " I don't know, but I believe you would, you are more 
 his style than I am. You are a good little thing, and I 
 am a wicked wretch, too good for him." 
 
 " It is just because you are " a wicked wretch " that 
 he likes you." 
 
 " Who told you he likes me ? " 
 
 " Oh, anyone can see it," Irene answered carelessly. 
 " The other evening when we were out together, he 
 never took his eyes off you the whole time." 
 
 Kathleen laughed, she did not seem at all displeased. 
 
 " And what is more," Irene went on laughingly, " I 
 have come to the conclusion that I have played goose- 
 berry for you quite long enough. From this time on you 
 can take your own walks. You are quite old enough to 
 do without me for a chaperone now." 
 
 Kathleen laughed merrily. " Yes, I suppose so, old 
 enough and ugly enough." 
 
 " I'm tired, I am going home," she announced pre- 
 sently. 
 
 " Have you had a busy morning ? " Irene asked 
 sympathetically.
 
 A Woman's Way 137 
 
 " Yes. Busy as the devil in a gale of wind," was 
 she reply, given in a petulant manner, yet before they 
 reached home, Kathleen was in one of her sweetest and 
 gentlest moods. ^ You are a perfect little love, Irene," 
 she said, " I cannot care for anybody in the world as I 
 do for you. But I have such a queer way of showing 
 my love sometimes. Don't be cross with me when I am 
 nasty, will you ? " 
 
 But for all that when Irene bent over her to kiss her 
 " good-night," she pushed her rudely from her. " Go 
 away," she said, " you are smothering me. I feel cross."
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 STORM-TOSSED 
 
 A GLORIOUS afternoon of summer sunshine and 
 sea-breezes, which Donald Cameron and Kathleen 
 Fitzgerald had spent together. After dining at 
 the seaside Hotel they had strolled for some miles along 
 the beach and were now resting on the sands under the 
 shelter of a rocky cliff, watching the sunset. 
 
 " Did you bring those verses I asked for ? " Kathleen 
 demanded. " Don't dare to say you forgot them." 
 
 Donald teased her for awhile, but finally produced 
 some papers from his breast pocket. She seized them 
 eagerly and read them, " Yes I like them, but you told 
 me you wrote three poems last week, I want the other." 
 
 " Haven't you got enough ? " he asked, laughing 
 " You are one of those never satisfied people." 
 
 " I want that other, please ; you have it there, I'm 
 sure. Just hand it out." 
 
 Kathleen's tone was beseeching, and her looks and 
 manner irresistible, at least to Donald. " Here it is," 
 he responded, handing her what she asked for. She read 
 it over once, twice. Then she looked up. " It is just 
 lovely," she said, and there was intense feeling in her 
 voice. " I like it better than anything I have ever 
 read in my life."
 
 Storm-Tossed 139 
 
 " Now, now," Donald replied, laughing, " that is too 
 much. You don't mean all that. You know you are a 
 Shakesperian student, not to mention the other great 
 poets, whom you know nearly by heart." 
 
 " Yte," she said, but for all that, this appeals to me 
 more than anything I have ever read." 
 
 " Will you read it aloud ? " he asked presently, " just 
 to please me, I like to hear you read my verses. I can 
 judge what they are like then." She complied and read 
 as follows : — 
 
 Out on the mountains the storm-fiend is driving 
 Swiftly the wheels of his chariot, the wind 
 Shaking, in anger, the sleet from his garments, 
 Whilst the rain-torrent pours ceaseless, unkind ; 
 
 And the winds eerie, 
 
 Sob as if weary. 
 
 And the tall gum-trees 
 
 Swayed by the storm. 
 
 Bend hither, thitherward, 
 
 Eastward and westward, 
 
 Backward and forward. 
 
 Now stooping lowly, 
 
 Now rising slowly, 
 
 Swayed by the Storm. 
 
 Out on Life's mountains the storm-fiend is driving, 
 Fiercely his chariots of sorrow and sin, 
 Shooting strife's arrows broadcast all around him, 
 Making life's music a discord and din. 
 
 Till hearts once cheery 
 
 Moan as if wearj-. 
 
 And men and women, 
 
 Swayed by life's storm, 
 
 Turn hither, thitherward, 
 
 Eastward and Westward, 
 
 Backward and forward, 
 
 Groping in midnight. 
 
 Needing the sunlight. 
 
 Swayed by the storm.
 
 140 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 Out on the mountains God's sunshine gleams radiant, 
 Making each raindrop a mirror of light, 
 Birds are rejoicing, the forest is smiling, 
 Rippling with laughter all tuneful and bright ; 
 
 And the winds hushed to calm. 
 
 Murmur their sweet psalm, 
 ■ And the tall gum-trees 
 
 After the storm 
 
 Lift their heads skyward, 
 
 Standing all stately. 
 
 Bathed in the sunlight, 
 
 Lulled by the zephyrs. 
 
 Rooted more firmly, 
 
 Strong through the Storm. 
 
 Out on Life's mountains God's sunlight is shining 
 Back of the storm and the conflict and night ; 
 God is enthroned, then take courage, my brother, 
 Crown Him your King and your path will have light, 
 
 And your life dreary. 
 
 Shall become cheery 
 
 For men and women 
 
 Swaj'^ed by life's storm. 
 
 If by God guided. 
 
 If looking upward 
 
 God ward and heavenward, 
 
 Grow stronger, purer. 
 
 Nobler and brighter 
 
 Strong through the Storm. 
 
 He thanked her. " I hke the idea of comparing life 
 to a storm," she said, as she again bent her face over 
 the paper. She did not seem disposed to let it out of 
 her hand or put it aside for anything else. She grew 
 silent, and so deeply absorbed in it that she seemed to 
 forget Donald's presence. Once or twice he spoke 
 to her but got no answer. Then she turned partly 
 aside as if she wished to hide her face from him. 
 
 Daylight was fast fading now, and Donald could not 
 see the girl's face very well, especially as she wore a
 
 Storm-Tossed 141 
 
 broad brimmed hat and kept her face downbent. Sud- 
 denly an idea occurred to him. 
 
 " You are not crying, are you ? " he asked in great 
 surprise 
 
 There was no reply, except that Kathleen presently 
 drew her handkerchief out and began to cry silently into 
 it. Her companion utterly at a loss what to do or say, 
 rose to his feet and stood looking down upon her, feeling 
 unutterable things. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked again. And still no 
 reply but a smothered sob. " I haven't vexed you, 
 have I ? " he went on, kneeling beside her, a.nd feeling a 
 brute, as he afterwards told her. She shook her head 
 but went on sobbing like a tired child. It was no 
 ordinary fit of weeping, its convulsions shook her from 
 head to foot, and though she struggled hard for com- 
 composure, the storm of grief would have its way. Then 
 a thought flashed on Donald's brain, a thought that 
 thrilled him with rapture. " It isn't the verses that 
 you are crying over, surely ? " he asked. 
 
 She bowed her head in the affirmative. And then, 
 suddenly a great wave of deep feeling swept over the 
 young man, and he realised in that moment a strange 
 kinship of soul between himself and this wayward girl, 
 the kinship of suffering. He felt intuitively that her 
 life had been a storm-tossed and lonely one, like his own 
 and as he had written out of the depths, so she sym- 
 pathised out of the depths of her own experience. He 
 had been attracted to her from the first, almost against 
 his will and his reason, but now he knew that he loved
 
 142 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 her with the whole strength of his manhood. And the 
 fact that his own verses should have had power to call 
 forth such pent-up emotion from her proud reserved 
 nature, was in itself a link sufficient to bind her to his 
 heart thenceforth. Yielding to an uncontrollable 
 impulse he drew her close and tried to comfort 
 her. 
 
 " Don't, don't," he said, as if her sobs hurt him, as 
 indeed they did. " Remember, God loves you, and — 
 and — " He longed to finish the sentence but be dared 
 not. " Not yet," he told himself, " it would perhaps 
 startle her." Kathleen did not seem at all surprised at 
 his caressing words and action, she submitted, that was 
 all. All the colour had gone from the sky now. leaving 
 the dull leaden shades of evening, there were no people 
 in sight. The tide was coming in, and the soft splash 
 of the waves fell on Donald's ear. Kathleen's face was 
 flushed and tear-stained and hot, and her hands were 
 trembling. 
 
 " Would you like to bathe your face ? " he asked. 
 And without waiting for her answer, he took a few 
 strides across the sand and stooping wrung his hand- 
 kerchief out in the cold, glistening waters that rolled 
 up on the beach. Then returning and kneeling by the 
 girl's side, he began to bathe her face and hands. It 
 was a novel experience to him and his heart beat fast 
 with excitement and pleasure as he did so. Kathleen 
 remained passive under the operation, she neither moved 
 nor spoke. One might have thought it was an every- 
 day occurrence to her ; but his hands actually trembled.
 
 Storm-Tossed 143 
 
 And suddenly, he heard her low, rippling laugh ring out 
 on the stillness. 
 
 " Now, you've washed my face, but where's the 
 towel ? " she demanded. " How can I go about with a 
 wet face, salt water too ? Why, I'll be as shiny as — 
 as a glow worm. Ugh ! it feels so horrid ! " 
 
 This Wcis a new aspect of the case, and a most unsenti- 
 mental one. Donald looked rueful for a minute, then 
 the ludicrousness of the position struck him and he 
 laughed heartily. " You will just have to wait till it 
 dries of its own accord, that's all." he made answer. 
 
 " Why didn't you take my wet handkerchief to the sea 
 and keep your own dry ? " she asked, " there would 
 have been some sense in that." 
 
 " You are a most ungrateful creature. When a fellow 
 is doing his level best for you, you turn round and abuse 
 him. It's just like you." 
 
 " Yes," she admitted, coolly, " it's just like me." 
 And then a long silence fell between the two. 
 
 Kathleen had removed her hat, and she sat there in a 
 careless graceful attitude, gazing dreamily seawards, 
 apparently in deep thought. Her companion, sitting 
 watching her, wondered what her thought were, but 
 her face was as inscrutable as that of the Sphinx. That 
 this girl had a story to tell, and probably a sad one 
 Donald felt sure. Would she ever give him her con- 
 fidence. To have tried to draw it from her would have 
 been the last means of getting it. She must be left to 
 take her own way. And the element of mystery about 
 her only deepened his interest in the girl. And what a
 
 144 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 strange piece of inconsistency she was. Her faults 
 were so patent, yet the man felt as if he were made a 
 prisoner by the silken chains of love and the more he 
 struggled the tighter the meshes were drawn. There had 
 been no love passages between these two, though they 
 had had many a pleasant stroll together of late. Plenty 
 of fun and badinage on both sides, which both enjoyed 
 immensely. To-night was the nearest approach to the 
 serious side of things, and — just when his heart was over- 
 flowing with sentiment, she had brushed it away as 
 indifferently as one might brush aside a cobweb. 
 
 " What a fool I've been. Haven't I ? " The question 
 broke in unexpectedly on the young man's meditations. 
 Kathleen was looking at him and smiling. " It isn't 
 often that I'm moved like that," she added half angrily, 
 half-shamefacedly. 
 
 He turned to her eagerly. " No, indeed," he began, 
 " you are not a fool." And he would have said a great 
 deal more if she had let him. But the next moment she 
 sprang to her feet " I think it is time we had some tea," 
 she remarked in a most matter-of-fact voice, " we have 
 been silly long enough. I don't know whether you are 
 hungry, but I am." And presently she was talking 
 nonsense in her most whimsical fashion, making Donald 
 laugh in spite of himself, and making him wonder 
 whether the scene of half an hour before had been pure 
 imagination on his part. 
 
 " Would you care to come and hear Paderewski ? " 
 Donald asked her a few weeks later. 
 
 " I would love to," she replied. And so it was arranged.
 
 Storm-Tossed 145 
 
 " Paderevvski." For weeks past the name had been 
 in the atmosphere. And this being the great player's 
 last recital, the throng was very great. Though Donald 
 and Kathleen arrived early, the place was already 
 crowded. 
 
 In the middle of the hall was a raised platform, on 
 which stood the piano which was to speak to the people 
 as probably no musical instrument had yet done. There 
 it stood, a dead, lifeless thing in itself, yet none the less 
 possessing a fascination, all its own, for everyone 
 was looking towards it. Still the crowds poured in by 
 the hundred, gradually getting seated ; the excitement 
 increased ; and a thrill of expectancy filled the great 
 cold building, like warm life-blood being infused into a 
 marble statue. There was the sound of many hundreds 
 of feet echoing in the galleries and in the halls below, and 
 then at last, all was silent, They are waiting now, the 
 people. What for ? For the coming of the man who can 
 wake that dead instrument into life as no other living 
 man can do. At last ! Here he comes ! And a great 
 hush falls, followed by a confused murmur " like the 
 sound of many waters," the murmur of applause and 
 welcome as the slight, well-known figure comes forward, 
 and crosses to where the piano stands, under the Dome. 
 After bowing gracefully to the people he sits down, and 
 in his own unassuming manner begins to play. Every 
 breath is hushed ; that vast multitude is listening. 
 Out, out upon the hushed silence, into the great spaces, 
 filling the dim distances of that vast hall, there float 
 the sweet sounds of Bach's Chromatic Fantasia and 
 
 K
 
 146 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 Fugue. Presently we are listening to one of Beethoven's 
 Sonatas. Do the dead hear us ? One wonders whether 
 the old masters would not bend the ear enraptur«d to 
 listen to such an interpretation of their own composi- 
 tions, for surely this rendering of their music would 
 satisfy them. The movement finished, a silence ensues. 
 A long silence, almost painful in its suspense ; then a 
 faint sweet whisper steals out from that instrument 
 under the dome. Those far away as well as those near, 
 see now a white hand uplifted, and then both hands 
 lifted high. Now a sound as of rolling thunder fills the 
 immense spaces, then a whisper so faint, yet so clear that 
 not a single note is lost. And ever and again the witch- 
 ing melody of the Sonata is repeated. It comes again, 
 faster and faster yet, followed by another long silence 
 in which the eye notes the crowds around and the central 
 figure under the dome sitting motionless before the 
 instrument, as if he were turned to stone. Now begins 
 the Andante movement sounding at first like far away 
 bells in the snow, and gradually coming nearer and 
 nearer ; and still the slow stately music moves on its 
 way, like a procession of the samted dead pacing the 
 aisles of Heaven's Cathedral, still the language of music 
 the " universal language," is poured forth in a torrent. 
 Men and women of many nations and tongues are 
 present, but this man under the dome speaks to each in 
 his and her own language. Among that multitude there 
 are diversities of taste, of education, of creed, wide 
 asunder as the poles, but the master musician holds 
 them as " one." By his magician's wand he sways them
 
 Storm-Tossed 147 
 
 in perfect unison, in perfect rythm. And now " Schu- 
 bert's Impromptu " rises like a hymn, sweet as bird 
 notes on a Sabbath morning, pure and fresh as the 
 sparkling dew ; men and women listen, and for a brief 
 while forget their sorrows, their sordid cares and anxieties 
 even their pleasures, and are lifted into a purer, higher 
 atmosphere. Like a sacred chant, the music rises and 
 falls, till one could fancy that with such sounds the 
 angels might lead the redeemed souls in through the 
 gates of heaven. So, with short pauses, with little 
 rest, the master player goes on, spending himself, giving 
 the people of his very best. And what a " best " it is ! 
 What a sea of toil and drudgery lies at the back of these 
 waves of music that we listen to with such joy. What 
 days of ceaseless untiring devotion to his art, what 
 " toiling upward through the night " while his " com- 
 panions slept." For genius without effort does not 
 produce very much. 
 
 Now he passes to Chopin's Sonata, then onward to 
 the Funeral INIarch. As those white fingers flash across 
 the keyboard or are uplifted only to descend with more 
 power, the silence of the listeners grows more tense. In 
 the wondrous music of the " Marche Funebre " as played 
 by Paderewski, one can hear the wail of a single 
 mourner's breaking heart, again, the stately and mag- 
 nificent progress of the march, till presently we hear the 
 sound of muffled drums in the distance ; they come 
 nearer, and the music grows louder, till the Triumph 
 song is heard above the tramp of Death's armies. Sorrow 
 and Death aie vanquished ; for Immortality and Hope
 
 148 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 are stronger than the Grave. We listen and are sad and 
 glad together. At last the Finale has died away, and the 
 people can give vent to their over-wrought feelings in a 
 wild burst of applause. It is 10 o'clock and the pro- 
 gramme is finished ; the people, not because they would 
 exact more from Paderewski, but because of their 
 appreciation, continue to applaud ; and wearied though 
 he must be, the master musician sits down again and 
 gives them more, and still more music. The great hall 
 rings with cheers and hurrahs ; handkerchiefs are 
 waved, the people are almost beside themselves. And 
 now it is all over, the vast crowds quickly and quietly 
 begin to disperse and in a little while the great hall is 
 deserted ; "its lights are fled, its garlands dead," but 
 the music has not " departed " nor ever will while 
 memory lasts, from the hearts of at least some of those 
 who heard it. 
 
 To Donald Cameron the pleasuie of the evening 
 enhanced by Kathleen's presence, it was indeed a night 
 to be remembered. But that was not all that made it 
 memorable. Kathleen, softened by the music, of which 
 she was passionately fond, had never before seemed so 
 bewitching in her sweet womanliness. 
 
 Almost frightened at his own temerity and trembling 
 with passionate love, Donald poured out his heart to the 
 girl walking homeward by his side in the moonlight, and 
 when he left her, it was with a promise that she would 
 be his wife. After leaving her Donald had three miles 
 to walk, but he seemed to be treading on air. The 
 stars had never been so brilliant, nor the moonlight so
 
 Storm-Tossed 149 
 
 clear, nor the night breezes so balmy, he thought, 
 
 Donald had heard Dr. Moore say once that joy 
 without sorrow at the heart of it was only de'^irium. 
 He recalled the words now, and wondered if his joy 
 were indeed delirium, for there was no sorrow associated 
 with it, and yet perhaps, he told himself philosophically, 
 it was because of all the sorrow that had preceded it, 
 all the stormy experiences of his younger days — that his 
 joy now was so intense as to be almost unbearable, and 
 that was " the sorrow at the heart of it." He lay for 
 hours wide awake, positively unable to sleep for his new 
 
 joy- 
 
 While Kathleen on the other hand, after entertaining 
 Irene with an account of the delightful concert, and 
 keeping her own counsel with regard to the event which 
 had transpired on the way home, namely her engage- 
 ment to Donald Cameron, went to her room, and in 
 half an hour was sleeping soundly.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 SING MIR DEIN LIED. 
 
 AS the summer passed away, Margaret's fears 
 regarding her husband's health proved only too 
 well founded, for he began gradually to fail. 
 One by one he had to relinquish the duties devolving 
 on him as master of Tocumba, and it was well for him 
 that he had such a trusty servant as Gerald Slade, who 
 now held the position of Station manager and confiden- 
 tial secretary, Jones having in the meantime married 
 and removed to another State. 
 
 It was the close of a very sultry day. Philip had been 
 out in the morning for a short while, but the heat soon 
 exhausted him. He was lying on the sofa now, looking 
 very pale and ill. Margaret was seated beside him, 
 and they were conversing together in low earnest tones, 
 till a silence fell between them. A long silence which 
 Philip broke at last. 
 
 " Sing to me, Margaret," he said. 
 
 " What shall I sing, Philip ? " she asked, turning to 
 him with one of her radiant smiles. Did he guess the 
 tears that lay at the back of those smiles, or how often 
 she sought solitude to give vent to the passion of grief so 
 that she might find relief and be bright when she was
 
 " Sing Mir Dein Lied." 151 
 
 in his presence ? Perhaps he guessed, but each tried to 
 hide from the other what was yet uppermost in each — 
 the parting that must soon come. Yes, it was too true , 
 Philip's days on earth were numbered. 
 
 " Sing mir Dein Lied," he made reply. 
 
 Margaret went to the piano, and began to sing in her 
 rich contralto voice. Philip closed his ej-es wearily, and 
 with a sigh of content listened as the words of the song 
 floated through the room. 
 
 Sing me to sleep, the shadows fall. 
 
 Let me forget the world and all ; 
 
 Tired is my heart, the day is long, 
 
 Would it were come to even-song. 
 
 Sing me to sleep, your hand in mine. 
 
 Our fingers as in prayer entwine ; 
 
 Onh' your voice, love, let me hear, 
 
 Singing to tell me you are near. ^ 
 
 Love, I am lonely, j^ears are so long, 
 I want you only, you and your song ; 
 Dark is life's shore, love, night is so deep. 
 Sing me to sleep, love, sing me to sleep. 
 
 Sing me to sleep, love, you alone 
 Seem to be left me for mine own. 
 Haply my heart will know no pain, 
 \^'hen I awake from sleep again. 
 Sing me to sleep, and let me rest, 
 Of all the world I love you best ; 
 Nothing is faithful, nothing true 
 In heaven or earth but God and you. 
 
 Love, I am lonely . . . 
 
 The singer's voice broke and then Margaret did a 
 strange thing for her. All her self-control suddenly 
 deserted her. She buried her face in her hands and 
 sobbed. In a moment Philip was by her side. 
 
 " My darling," he said tenderly, " what is the matter I
 
 152 Swayed by the vStorm 
 
 You are tired and not well to-day. I was a selfish brute 
 to ask you to sing." 
 
 " Oh, no, no, not that," she gasped, struggling for 
 composure. " Only the words — " oh, Philip," and she 
 flung her arms about his neck. " I am lonely, so lonely, 
 and the years will be so long without you." And then 
 she stopped, she could say no more. But Philip under- 
 stood, no words were needed between these two who 
 were so truly one in heart and mind He took hei into 
 his arms and held her close and kissed her tear-stained 
 face passionately, as he had so often done before. : 
 
 " My darling, it is as God wills," he said. " I wish I 
 could stay for your sake, and for the sake of the child 
 that I shall never see on earth. It is hard indeed t© 
 leave you just now especially hard to know that I cannot 
 leave you this place except on condition. I have had a 
 bitter conflict in my heart, but I have given it all over 
 to God now and He will care for you. I have given you 
 my heart's best love, dear, my wife, my only love, but 
 apart from that I have been but a poor, weak — " 
 
 She stopped him. " Don't speak so, Philip, it hurts," 
 she said. " I would not have had my life without you, 
 and the thought of losing you breaks my heart. I think 
 we have loved each other too well, Philip." 
 
 The shadows deepened into darkness, but when the 
 servant came to light the room Margaret motioned her 
 away. Philip wished to sit there in the daikness with 
 her hand in his. Lovers ! Aye, more than lovers 
 They had been six years married and every year had 
 but drawn them closer together. " Do not think you
 
 " Sing Mir Dein Lied " 153 
 
 have lost me, darling, when I am gone," Philip whis- 
 pered. " We shall surely meet again yonder. It is only 
 that I am called home a little before you. I shall just 
 be inside the door, you know, and the door of Heaven 
 
 stands open night and day. 
 
 " One army of the living God, 
 
 At His command we bow. 
 
 Part of the host have crossed the flood, 
 
 And part are crossing now." 
 
 " I have only two wishes left now, Margaret," he 
 continued. " One is that I might see our little one before 
 I go." 
 
 " And the other ? " asked Margaret, as he was silent. 
 
 " The other is that we might find the lost heir. But it 
 is as God wills," he added resignedly. " I have done 
 all in my power to trace him." 
 
 Presently Margaret suggested to her husband that he 
 might feel more rested in bed. 
 
 " No, my darhng," he said, " I am so happy here, so 
 perfectly happy. I seem to breathe more easily than I 
 have done lately I would rather stay here a while 
 longer, that is if you are not tired." 
 
 " Tired, no." 
 
 " Shall I sing to you now, Philip ? " she asked pre- 
 sently, " I can sing now, I feel brave again." 
 
 " Yes, if you will. I want you only, you and your 
 song," he repeated with a smile : 
 
 " Nothing is faithful, nothing true. 
 In heaven or earth but God and you. 
 Sing me to sleep, your hand in mine. 
 Our fingers as in prayer entwine." 
 
 he went on dreamily. " Sing ' Rock of Ages,' dear 
 will you please ? " And in a low sweet voice she sang the
 
 154 Swayed by the Slorm 
 
 beautiful old hymn right through to the end without 
 faltering. 
 
 Philip thanked her and kissed her, then said he was 
 tired and would go to bed. Through the night he slept 
 soundly but just as the dawn broke he woke with a 
 great cry. In an instant Margaret was bending over 
 him. 
 
 " What is it dear ? " 
 
 His lips were moving and she bent to catch the 
 whispered words " God and you." Those were the 
 last words Philip ]\Iorton spoke and a few minutes later 
 he went home to God. 
 
 There was great and universal sorrow throughout 
 the country side when the news of Philip Morton's 
 death was made known. And when three days later the 
 funeral procession passed through the gates there were 
 throngs of mourners from miles around, real mourners, 
 for Philip ]\Iorton was loved by all, rich and poor alike. 
 Everybody had received some kindness from him in 
 one wa}^ or other. Everybody had a good word to say 
 for him. During his short life he had done more among 
 the people than some who had grown white headed with 
 the years. There were many improvements in the social 
 and physical condition of the people, due largely to his 
 influence. This man had not lived for himself, and so 
 he had not lived in vain. 
 
 And Margaret ? She was spared the agony of those 
 days, for she lay in a darkened room between life and 
 death, not only for that week, but for many following
 
 " SiNCx Mir Dein Lied " 155 
 
 weeks. And side by side with Philip Morton's coffin, a 
 tiny coffin was borne, bearing the remains of the little 
 son who had been born an hour after his father's death. 
 The child had opened his eyes on this world for a day, 
 and then closed them again for ever. 
 
 And it was a very pale and fragile looking Margaret 
 that came back to health and strength. She would " go 
 softly " all her days, for her treasures on earth had been 
 removed, yet she did not sorrow as one without hope 
 for one day the call would come to her too to " come 
 up higher," and these her " loved and lost " would be 
 restored to her. She loved to dwell on that last evening 
 she had spent with Philip and to recall his words. He 
 had had one wish, granted, she told herself, he had seen 
 their child, though she herself had not seen him. " It 
 is as God wills," she murmured, echoing his own words, 
 choking back the sob in her throat. By-and-by she 
 roused herself to take an interest in what was going on 
 around her. Perhaps a longing that Philip's othei wish 
 would be fulfilled had something to do with the effort she 
 made to take up her life work again. 
 
 It was wonderful to see the gentle consideration 
 which Gerald Slade showed Margaret at this time. Had 
 she been his own sister, he could not have cared for her 
 more tenderly. Though only a few years older than 
 himself, she had been to him as a mother and sister in 
 one, and now she in her weakness clung to him. It was 
 he who brought her the first violets that appeared. It 
 was he who persuaded her to let him take her for drives 
 and walks that she might regain her strength, and
 
 156 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 coaxed her to visit among her friends. He would 
 consult her constantly about little details connected 
 with the estate, just in order that he might make her 
 display some energy and interest. It was hard work, 
 but he succeeded. After a time she resolutely set her 
 self to live for those around her. The poor people of the 
 township had always loved her, every man, woman and 
 child among them, and as she went in and out of their 
 homes more frequently now than ever, a wonderful 
 bond grew up between herself and them. " Lady 
 Margaret," they used to call her, and a veritable Lady 
 she looked as she moved about with queenly grace, with 
 her pale. Madonna-like face, her sad dark eyes, her 
 patient winsome smile.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 A TRA.NGLED SKEIN 
 
 THE following Easter, Irene Gordon had come up to 
 spend a week at Tocumba. During her previous 
 visit Gerald Slade and she had been thrown very 
 much in each other's society, and quite a pleasant friend- 
 ship had sprung up between them. Gerald had driven 
 over to the Station to meet her on this autumn afternoon. 
 As she stepped out of the train, he though she looked 
 handsomer than ever. She wore a navy blue serge dress, 
 relieved by a white fox fur boa. Her cheeks were flushed 
 with pleasure, and her blue eyes were unusually bright. 
 Needless to say, Gerald had looked forward to her visit 
 with much eagerness. He was manager of the Station now, 
 and under his management things were prosperous. 
 He had plenty of news to tell her as they drove along. 
 Margaret gave her niece a very loving and kindly 
 welcome, and in a few hours she had settled down as one 
 of the family. The next morning she was awakened by 
 the sound of the organ. Someone was playing with 
 more than usual skill and feeling. Wondering greatly as 
 to who the musician could be, she dressed herself and 
 went to the organ room. To her surprise she found 
 Gerald Slade at the instrument 
 
 " I had no idea that Mr Slade could play so well," 
 she remarked to her Aunt at breakfast.
 
 158 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " He is very musical," Margaret responded " When 
 Philip and I discovered his talent we told hftn he could 
 use the organ whenever he liked, and he was delighted 
 to do so." 
 
 " But where did he learn ? " Irene enquired. " I 
 thought he had rather a rough up-bringing." 
 
 " It seems that he had a great friend, an old blind 
 organist in London, and it was from him he learned to 
 play. He has a rare gift." 
 
 Irene was interested, and during one of her subsequent 
 walks with Gerald, she introduced the subject, and asked 
 him to tell her about his boyhood. 
 
 Slade's nature was naturally so reserved that he 
 seldom spoke of anything concerning himself, either past 
 or present. But seeing how interested Irene was, he 
 began to tell her the whole story. He described his 
 somewhat lonely and loveless childhood. His mother, 
 he said, had too many other children to take much notice 
 of him, and he was allowed to find what pleasure he could 
 after school hours in the London streets. " We lived in 
 a small house," he told her, " and there was not much 
 room, besides there was always a noise with the babies 
 crying and so on, and I used to Uke to get away and be 
 quiet. Not far from where we lived was an old Church, 
 and as I was very fond of music as a child I used to 
 creep in there and listen while the organist played hour 
 after hour. For a long time the old man, who was 
 blind, did not find out that I was there. But one day I 
 dropped asleep and fell off my seat. He heard the noise, 
 came to me and asked me a lot of questions, and as he
 
 A Tangled Skein 159 
 
 seemed very kind, I told him all about myself, and how I 
 loved the music. And from that day we were great 
 friends. After a while he offered to teach me to play, 
 and so I used to go every day after school and spend 
 hours there with him. It was about the only pleasure I 
 had in my life, that, and watching the shipping and the 
 sailors down at the docks. I made up my mind when 
 I was quite a little chap that I would go to sea when I 
 was old enough. And when I was about twelve years 
 old, my mother married again, and my step father was 
 very cruel to me, and so one night without saying a 
 word to anyone, I put my clothes in a bundle and 
 slipped out. I ran away to the Liverpool Docks, where 
 I knew a boy friend was working, who had promised to 
 get me work. Well, I got on to a boat, and by-and-by 
 one of the mates seemed to take a liking to me, and 
 taught me navigation, and then I took a position as 
 third mate. But I always wanted to come to Austraha, 
 and so I saved up, and when I got as far as Sydney I took 
 bad with pneumonia ; it turned to consumption, and I 
 was in the hospital at Sydney for months. It was there 
 Dr. Thorne met me, and was so kind, and you know it 
 was through him that I came up here." 
 
 ■' And did you never want to go back to your mother, 
 nor hear of her again ? " Irene asked in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " No," he answered, " I always felt that she did not 
 care very much one way or the other. I never felt 
 home-sick, because you see my home life was such an 
 unhappy one. The happiest hours I spent in London
 
 160 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 were sitting in that old Church with my bhnd friend 
 learning to play the organ." 
 
 " What became of him ? " Irene asked. 
 
 " Oh, he died just about the time mother married 
 a second time. And of course at his death I was shut 
 out from the organ, so that was an added reason for my 
 losing interest in the place and wanting to get away." 
 And then as Gerald did not seem disposed to make any 
 further confidences, they changed the subject. 
 
 It was a couple of days before Irene's return to the 
 City, and she and Gerald Slade were strolling along one 
 afternoon. Gerald had been reading " Carlyle's Heroes 
 and Hero-worship," and the}' were discussing the book. 
 " Oh, well," Gerald remarked, " the days of hero- 
 worship are past." 
 
 " I do not think so," Irene answered promptly and, 
 decisively. 
 
 Her companion looked down upon her with an amused 
 smile. " You don't mean to say that you have a hero 
 to worship," he said teasingly, " no one has in these 
 critical, materialistic days. You have only got to get 
 close enough to people to' find out the flaws in their 
 character. You know the old proverb, " No man is a 
 hero to his valet.' " 
 
 " Possibly not," she retorted with a scornful curve 
 of her pretty mouth. " Valets as a class are predisposed 
 to find faults in their masters, I suppose the trouble 
 being that they cannot change places with them. But 
 for all that it is not true in every case that you have only- 
 to come near enough to people to know their faults.
 
 A Tangled Skein 161 
 
 I know one who, the nearer one gets to him, and the 
 better one knows him, the more beautiful his character 
 really appears. I have a hero that I worship." 
 
 Gerald Slade looked and felt rather startled at this 
 unlooked-for admission. He was beginning to think 
 that Irene cared a little bit for him, for she had been 
 so gracious in her manner, and their intercourse had 
 been so pleasant and unbroken. And so far she had 
 never given him the slightest hint of a rival. A twinge 
 of jealousy made itself felt. 
 
 " Yes," she went on calmly, " there is one man who, in 
 every sense of the word, stands head and shoulders above 
 all others I have ever known." 
 
 "Who is he ? " As Gerald asked the question his 
 voice sounded queer in his own ears. Then he had been 
 in a fool's paradise all this time, he told himself, and this 
 girl was only amusing herself at his expense after all; 
 she was just a heartless flirt leading him on, while her 
 affections were given elswhere. A strange spirit of 
 perverseness suddenly came to the girl. A perverseness 
 more characteristic of Kathleen than of herself. Half 
 amused and half vexed at the black look she saw in Slade's 
 face, she detei mined to tease him by keeping him in the 
 dark and indulging him in his jealous fancies. 
 
 " Oh," she said carelessly, "it is a minister I have 
 known for some time." 
 
 Hardly knowing that he did so, Gerald Slade took 
 hold of Irene's two hands and held them in his strong 
 grip. " Tell me his name," he demanded. "I shall not 
 let you go until you do." 
 
 L
 
 162 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " Very well," she responded quietly, " you will need to 
 keep me a prisoner for a long time, for I shall certainly not 
 be forced into telling you." She was angry now. She 
 resented his authoritative manner, and the pain he was un- 
 consciously giving her did not tend to make things better. 
 
 Gerald Slade saw his mistake. He let go her hands as 
 quickly as he had grasped them. " I beg your pardon," 
 he said. And then an awkward silence ensued. 
 
 The next moment the whole thing struck Irene in its 
 ludicrousness, and she felt inclined to laugh outright and 
 confess that the " hero " was no other than her old 
 friend the Rev. Stephen ^loore. But glancing at 
 Gerald's face, it was so stern and set, that she was silent. 
 What she might have said to put matters right was never 
 said, for just at this moment they heard the sound of 
 wheels close behind. And then Irene heard her own 
 name called in a delighted voice, and turning she saw 
 a buggy being driven, in which sat her friend Donald 
 Cameron. Another minute and he sprang to the ground, 
 holding out both hands in welcome. 
 
 " Why, Irene, fancy meeting you here, this is good. I 
 did not know you were up. I am just on my way to my 
 first Mission Station," he explained. 
 
 Irene seemed equally pleased to meet him. " Aunt 
 Margaret is at home," she said, " as you are so near hadn't 
 you better come back with us ? She will be delighted 
 to see you. She expected you up some daj^s ago, she 
 was saying. You will stay to tea of course, then you 
 can ride back this evening. There are plenty of horses 
 here, aren't there ? " she asked, turning to Gerald with a
 
 A Tangled Skein 163 
 
 smile as she introduced the two men. 
 
 ' Yes, I want to see Mrs. Morton. I have a message 
 for her, so I think I will come over now, thank you," 
 Donald said, and turning to the driver he gave some 
 instructions, then accompanied Irene and Gerald Slade 
 back to the house. 
 
 The unexpected pleasure of meeting her old friend, 
 whom she had lost sight of for some months, brought 
 a flush to Irene Gordon's face, and a sparkle to her eyes, 
 which Gerald Slade was not slow to observe. Under 
 ordinary circumstances he would not have noticed the 
 fact, but in his present mood he drew his own conclusions, 
 which were anything but pleasant ones. Irene was 
 too much engrossed with Donald Cameron to notice 
 Gerald's rather constrained manner. She had com- 
 pletely forgotten what they had been talking about, and 
 when Gerald excused himself on reaching the house on 
 the plea of some important business to attend to, and 
 did not reappear that evening, she was not at all dis- 
 turbed. There was not a doubt in Gerald Slade's mind 
 about who the " hero " was of whom Irene had spoken in 
 such glowing terms. He had heard of the young Bush 
 ]\Iissionary who was expected up shortly, and of whom 
 everybody was talking. And Gerald Slade recalled 
 now what he had forgotten before, that Irene and Donald 
 had seen a great deal of one another during the latter's 
 College days. 
 
 There were no more drives or rides with Irene for him 
 now, Gerald told himself sternly. He was very angry 
 with the girl he loved, and "to be wroth with one we
 
 164 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 love, doth work like madness in the brain." His was a 
 self-contained nature, he was just, almost to severity, 
 conscientious to a fault. He could not rightly forgive 
 the injury that he felt Irene had done him by deceiving 
 him, as he thought, and leading him on to believe that 
 she cared for him, when all the time her affections were 
 placed elsewhere. 
 
 And so for the rest of her stay Irene Gordon saw no 
 more of her hitherto devoted admirer. Once or twice she 
 wondered why he did not come to take her out as usual, 
 but she concluded that he must be extra busy, not 
 dreaming for a moment of the true state of affairs. 
 
 It was the evening before Irene's return, a clear frosty 
 night. There was no moon, but the stars were unusually 
 brilliant and lit up the whole landscape. Gerald Slade, 
 returning from a long ride, and feeling wretched beyond 
 words to express, suddenly became aware of two figures 
 walking slowl}' along the quiet road a long distance 
 ahead of him. It did not need a second glance to see 
 that they were Irene Gordon and Donald Cameron in 
 earnest conversation, so earnest indeed, that they did 
 not hear the approach of his horse's hoofs. And just then 
 Gerald saw Donald suddenly place his arm aiound Irene 
 as they stood still for a few minutes. Then he saw 
 Donald draw the girl's arm through his own, and the 
 two walk very slowly along together. 
 
 Gerald Slade had seen enough and more than enough. 
 With a sudden jerk he turned his horse's head, and 
 galloped away in the opposite direction. The sight 
 maddened him, it was more than he could bear calmly.
 
 A Tangled Skein 165 
 
 He had tormented himself with jealous fancies alter- 
 nating with hopes that perhaps after all he was wrong 
 and there was nothing between these two, but now he 
 was convinced beyond the shadow of a doubt that 
 Irene Gordon and Donald Cameion were lovers. He 
 had hoped against hope that before Irene returned to 
 the City he would have been able to discover that his 
 jealous fears were unfounded. He told himself that 
 as he drove her back to the station he would find out the 
 truth, and if he were wrong might even get her promise 
 to be his wife, he flung himself from the saddle 
 now in a state of mind bordeiing on frenzy. On 
 reaching his room the first thing he did was to take pen 
 and paper and write a courteous but short note to 
 Mrs. ]^Iorton, telling her that he had found it necessaiy 
 to visit an outlying part of the Station the next morning, 
 that he would be absent during the whole day, and 
 asking her to convey to her niece his farewell. 
 
 Irene, on the othei hand, wordered as to the reason of 
 Geiald Slade's non-appearance, and looked forward to 
 the drive back to the station with him as the one means 
 for putting matters right if they weie wrong. 
 
 " I cannot understand him," ]\Iargaret said as she 
 gave the message, " but I suppose Gerald had a good 
 reason. He would be disappointed too, I should think, 
 at not being able to drive you back himself. Never 
 mind, Irene, I will go with you," And Irene smiled 
 back and made some trifling remark, but had hard work 
 to choke back the tears and to hide the bitter disappoint- 
 ment she felt.
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 LENGTHENING SHADOWS 
 
 THE day had been grey and gloomy, and night began 
 to close in early As Irene Gordon hurried along 
 the quiet suburban road, she felt rather nervous. 
 There were few houses and these stood far back in their 
 own grounds and there were long stretches of paddocks 
 in between. All sorts of lurking dangers suggested 
 themselves to the girl's mind, among which tramps and 
 dogs loomed largely. She was on her way to the 
 minister's home ; for since his last break-down in health 
 she often went at his invitation to stay from Saturday 
 to Monday. As she neared his house she heard a great 
 barking of dogs. But she nerved herself and went on. 
 Just as she had her hand on the gate, to her relief, she 
 saw the tall form of the minister himself approaching 
 through the semi-darkness, and heard his voice, " Is 
 that you, Irene ? Is that you, my child ? You are 
 late, I was afraid you would feel timid in the dark," 
 he added kindly, as he opened the gate, and took her 
 hand in his. 
 
 " Yes," she admitted, " I was feeling rather nervous." 
 The dogs, three great creatures, came bounding around 
 her, as if ready to welcome her on their master's account.
 
 Lengthening Shadows 167 
 
 She could afford to smile at them now, under his pro- 
 tecting wing. Still holding her hand in his, Stephen 
 Moore leisurely proceeded towards the house. The wide 
 hall door stood open, sending a flood of light upon the 
 gloom without The light and comfort of the house and 
 her friend's welcome were inviting indeed and compared 
 with her recent fears the thought of heaven somehow 
 suggested itself to her mind. Life with its darkness, its 
 fears, ts troubles would be all past one day, and she 
 would ibe met at the Father's house and led by her 
 heavenly Guide up to the door of " the many mansions." 
 
 Tea over, Mr. Moore took Irene into the library and 
 they wrote some letters, after which they joined Mrs. 
 Moore and some visitors in the drawing room. 
 
 Sunday morning dawned clear and bright after a 
 night's rain. Irene went upstairs on to the balcony. 
 The sun shone gloriously, and the birds' songs resounded 
 on the still morning air. Cloth of gold roses in all their 
 creamy loveliness, climbed and clustered over the wide 
 balustrade. Irene could have picked lap-fulls of them 
 from where she sat. Mr. Moore came out presently and 
 chatted with her. 
 
 " There is a new book, dear," he said, and he placed 
 in her hand a copy of " The Ideal Life," by Drummond, 
 " you may like to read it. Sit here, or come into my 
 study, or go wherever you like, there is an hour before 
 we start for Church, the cab will be here for us then." 
 
 " I want to write to a missionary in China," Mr. Moore 
 said that evening. He only preached once a day now, 
 and even that was almost beyond his strength. " I
 
 168 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 think I can do so now, dear, if you are ready." And 
 
 he began : — 
 My Dear Nellie, 
 
 I think I had better begin a letter, though probably 
 I shall hardly be able to finish it this evening. Your last letter 
 seemed to be full of good news and I did rejoice in its tidings. 
 
 I feel with you that China seems to be coming to a very great 
 crisis, and in the meanwhile it is impossible to judge what will 
 be the immediate result. It is a blessed thing to know that 
 we have just to go on carrynig out the Master's orders, knowing 
 that whatever occurs He will not be surprised. 
 
 To my simple understanding it seems that in India or China, 
 or elsewhere my business is to present Christ and to say what 
 I can to commend Him to other people, but I cannot beg men's 
 patronage for my ever glorious Master. I feel that I have just 
 to deliver His message, and leave the question of its treatment 
 between the hearer and God. 
 
 As for myself, I am thankful to say that my health is so 
 far restored that I can do a fair share of work, though not so 
 much as in former years. I have an Assistant in the church 
 who preaches once on the Sunday, and does sundry other work. 
 Our Church is not so strong as it was when you saw it, for beside 
 a commercial depression which took away many of our people, 
 there have been two or three new Churches formed, and a good 
 many of our members have been transferred. But we hav^e still 
 excellent congregations and are not without tokens of His 
 presence and power. 
 
 Mrs. Moore keeps in fairly good health. The children 
 are all scattered now, except ]\Iabel. Now I suppose you will 
 want a little sermon. 
 
 Here is a subject I am going to preach upon some day, 
 St. Luke 24. [Jesus revealing Himself on the road to Emmaus]. 
 I think there is such an exquisite touch in the fact that before 
 He explained Himself to Cleopas He had to listen to what 
 Cleopas tliought about Him ; and to this man there seems to 
 have been given the most exquisite privilege that any man ever 
 had in this world, vi^. , He preached Jesus to Jesus. Think of 
 Jesus listening to what Cleopas told Him about Himself, and 
 Cleopas going on, so delightfully unconscious of the personality 
 of his Hearer, and surely sometimes that Hearer must have 
 smiled when he heard the loving, but blundering testimony of 
 His follower. Perhaps I shall hardly be able to make a sermon 
 about it after all, but the thinking about it has been to me so 
 delightful that I have laughed again and again. Is it not very 
 wonderful that even in laughter as truly as in tears, one may do
 
 Lengthening Shadows 169 
 
 homage to our glorious Saviour ? 
 
 I long to see you again, and I often think that I shall do 
 so even on this side, in the meantime I will only say, give my 
 love in Christ to your dear sister, and may God bless and keep 
 you both." 
 
 " There now, dear, that is finished," he said with evi- 
 dent rehef. " Now come for a stroll up the road, it will 
 do us both good, and will let the gas out of our lungs." 
 
 It was a clear, starry night, and as they strolled along 
 the quiet road, the minister pointed out to Irene and 
 named the several groups of stars and the planets. 
 " How much there is to learn," she remarked, " how little 
 time in one life to do it." 
 
 " You must not think of this life as the whole book," 
 he made answer. " This life is only volume one." 
 
 " I had a letter from Aggie Kent yesterday, " Irene 
 said after a pause, " you know she has gone to Africa 
 as a Missionary. She sends her love to you." 
 
 The minister smiled. " And give her mine when you 
 write. My, how the children scatter, some in Africa, 
 some in India, some in China, what would it be were it 
 not for the Father's house at the end of it ? " 
 
 Next morning i\Ir. Moore was not so well, and was 
 unable to rise. He sent a message to Irene, asking her 
 to come to him after breakfast. She found him sitting 
 before the fire in his dressing-gown, looking very weak, 
 she thought. They had worked and talked together 
 for some time, and then he began to tell her that he felt 
 his time on earth was getting short. 
 
 " We shall not have many more happy times of inter- 
 course, Irene," he said, " you are very dear to me, my 
 child, you have always been so good and kind to me.'
 
 170 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 For months past Irene had known the truth, but she 
 had put it away from her, not allowing herself to believe 
 it. More than once some of her acquaintances had 
 stopped her in the street to bewail the illness of their 
 minister, and had hinted that he would not be long 
 with them, but Irene had always turned away from 
 such remarks wish a sort of shuddering horror and 
 unbelief. She had almost hated those who said these 
 things to her, but now as the words fell calmly from his 
 own lips, she felt there was no gainsaying them. The 
 iron entered her soul in that moment, all her self- 
 control gave way, and she burst into a passion of sobs. 
 The minister drew her to him and tried to comfort her, 
 and presently she grew outwardly calm, but to Irene, 
 that day was really the beginning of the end, it was to 
 her the death knell of her friend's life.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 LOVE ESTRANGED 
 
 " O HALL we go for a tram ride, Kathleen, or would 
 
 v3 you rather walk ? " 
 
 " I don't care, it's all the same to me. I don't 
 feel inclined to go anywhere. I'm tired." 
 
 Kathleen evidently was in one of her bad moods this 
 evening. Donald used to tell her laughingly that he 
 never knew which way he would find the ' wind blowing ' 
 when he met her. To-night the " wind " was evidently 
 in the wrong quarter. Try as he would, he could not 
 please her. If he made a statement or expressed an, 
 opinion, that was a signal for her to flatly contradict 
 the statement, or differ from the opinion. If he said 
 black was black, she declared it was white. Everything 
 he said and did was wrong. Still he bore patiently with 
 her petulant mood, as he had done many times before, 
 feeling more sorry for her than angry. He had done all 
 he could think of that evening to give her pleasure. He 
 had brought her a bunch of exquisite red roses, her 
 special favourites, but she had received them in rather 
 a careless fashion. He had taken her in to have straw- 
 berries and cream, but she had declared the strawberries 
 tasteless, while she was eating them. Donald began to
 
 172 SWAYEI) BY THE StORM 
 
 wonder vaguely what their future home would be like 
 if she were to give w^ay to these unreasoning fits of ill 
 temper. Yet through it all, whatever was the witchery 
 of the girl, he seemed more than ever drawn to her, 
 perhaps from the very sense of compassion for what 
 he felt to be more her weakness than her fault. 
 
 " Kathleen," he asked suddenly, " did your mother 
 spoil you when you were a child ? " As a matter of fact 
 he knew that such had been the case, for Kathleen had 
 told him so. She was the youngest child and had been 
 allowed to run almost wild. 
 
 The question was like putting fire to gun powder. She 
 turned on him fiercely, and poured out a torrent of wrath, 
 " My mother," she echoed, " don't you dare to speak of 
 her. Spoilt me, indeed ! I should think not." 
 
 Donald let her run on in a tirade, then spoke soothingly, 
 as one might to an adored, but naughty child. " Kath- 
 leen," he said, " what is the matter with you to-night, 
 you are utterly unbearable. You are certainly acting 
 like a spoilt child now, you must admit that. Have I 
 done anything to annoy you ? Let us be free and frank 
 with each other. We are promised man and wife, you 
 know, and ought to understand one another. I have no 
 wish to quarrel, you know that. They say it takes two 
 to make a quarrel, but sometimes I think it only takes 
 one." 
 
 She did not answer, but walked on in sulky silence for 
 a few minutes. " Why don't you answer my question ? " 
 he asked rather sternly. 
 
 She turned on him passionate!}'. " Who says we are
 
 Love Estranged 173 
 
 going to be man and wife ? " she demanded. 
 
 Donald stood aghast. " Why, Kathleen," he replied, 
 " didn't we promise to marry each other, surely you 
 have not forgotten. Why, you are w^earing our engage- 
 ment ring." 
 
 Kathleen took the ring off her finger and held it 
 tow^ards him. " There is your ring," she said, " I don't 
 want it." 
 
 He drew back. " I will not touch it," he said, " you are 
 beside yourself," and then his tone changed to tenderness 
 " You are not well, Kathleen, surely, what has hap- 
 pened ? " 
 
 " I am quite well," she retorted, " but I am not going 
 to marry you." 
 
 His face was white as her own, and before his glance 
 she cowered, but she put on an air of assumed indiffer- 
 ence. " You are not going to marry me ? " he echoed, 
 " I want to know your reason for this sudden change 
 If you do not wish to marry me, I shall not try to per 
 suade you, but I must know your reason. " 
 
 Kathleen toyed with the ring in silence. But he 
 was e\ddently waiting for an answer, there was no 
 escape. And at last she spoke, half unwillingly. " I 
 have been thinking about it," she said, " and I have 
 decided not to be your wife." 
 
 " I want your reason," he interrupted, in a voice that 
 was very calm and still with the white heat of passion. 
 
 " When I promised to marry you the other evening," 
 she said, " I was under the impression that you were 
 going to live in the City. I find now that you are going
 
 174 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 to be a Bush Missionary. That means that you will 
 always live in the country." 
 
 " Well ? " he said, as she paused. 
 
 " Well, I am not going to bury myself in the back 
 blocks for any man living," she went on. "I think it 
 is bad enough any^vay to be a minister's wife. She has 
 to be at the beck and call of everyone. She has to 
 please a lot of Church people who each want something 
 different, and each sets up an ideal of her or his own. 
 That would never suit me. I would be shocking them 
 all the time, and I would just take a pleasure in shocking 
 them," she added wickedly. " I should hate everyone 
 of them, I know I should. Then a minister's wife has no 
 claim on her husband's time. He is always wanted by 
 somebody or other. He is never at home. But apart 
 from all that I would not think of living in the bush, I 
 should die of loneliness." 
 
 " You ought to have thought of all this before," 
 Donald answered in a cold, still voice that sounded 
 unlike his own. " You knew perfectly well from the 
 beginning that I intended to become a Bush jMissionary, 
 that I was being educated for that." 
 
 " If you would turn your attention to some other 
 profession, and live in the City, then I would marry you," 
 she said coolly, " but if not, I would sooner sta^' as I 
 am. You have talents too," she went on, thinking that 
 she was gaining her point. " You are too good to waste 
 your life preaching to a set of country yokels." '; 
 
 " Do you really mean what you are saying ? " he 
 asked, " or are you talking nonsense."
 
 Love Estranged 175 
 
 " I am in earnest," she replied. 
 
 " Then you mean this — that I am to choose between 
 my hfe work and you. ±s that it ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is it." 
 
 " Very well," he answered icily, " then, I choose my 
 life work." 
 
 " As you please," she answered, " then that is settled, 
 and there is no more to be said. I am going home." 
 And she turned round and began to walk in the opposite 
 direction quickly. 
 
 " There is more to be said," Donald replied, turning 
 and walking by her side, " there is a great deal more to 
 be said. Then love does not enter into the question, 
 evidently ? " 
 
 " Love," she echoed, " there is no such thing, now- 
 a-days people only marry for convenience." 
 
 He looked at her sadly as one might look at a fever 
 patient raving in delirium. " Kathleen," he said, " I 
 have loved you in spite of all your vagaries. I have 
 seen the best in you, even when you showed your worst 
 side. And even now I cannot believe that you mean all 
 the cruel heartless things you have said. I cannot 
 believe that you are as unwomanly as you make yourself 
 out to be. Let us part friends at least, and you can 
 think it over, and when you are in a more reasonable 
 mood, you will be sorry for what you have said, and we 
 shall discuss matters then. I love you still. I cannot 
 bear to give you up, even though you have hurt me so 
 cruelly. You have said things I would not tolerate 
 from any other living being."
 
 176 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " You cannot care for me very much," she said, " when 
 you dehberately choose your work, and put it before me.' 
 
 " I am not mj^ own master," he said, " there is One 
 Whom I must obey, and He has called me to this work, I 
 believe. I could not turn my back on it, no not even 
 for you, not even though it breaks my heart to give you 
 up." 
 
 Still Kathleen pleaded. " You have gifts," she 
 said, " you have eloquence. You would succeed at the 
 Bar. Why not become a Lawyer ? " 
 
 Donald interrupted her impatiently. " I would not 
 entertain the idea for a single moment," he said firmly. 
 " Do not think because i plead for your love, that I for 
 one moment contemplate giving up my present work. 
 Perhaps 3'ou have no love to give. I am beginning to 
 think you have no heart. You are asking an utterly 
 unreasonable thing of me when you ask me to do this. 
 I must go on with this work at any cost. I have no 
 alternative. If you ask me to give up anj^thing that 
 concerns myself alone, I would do it for your sake, any- 
 thing but this." 
 
 " I have no other request to make," Kathleen replied 
 coldly, " this is the only one I have ever made, and you 
 refuse it. You say you have chosen, so there is nothing 
 else to be said." 
 
 " Will you meet mei again ? " he asked. They were 
 near her home now. 
 
 " No, I will not meet you again. Good-bye," she 
 said, and she was moving away. 
 
 He was stunned and crushed. And yet his heart
 
 Love Estranged 177 
 
 went out to her in that moment. Now that he was about 
 to lose her, the longing to clasp her once more in his arms, 
 grew unbearable. In spite of all, he could not, and 
 would not believe that she meant it. 
 
 " Kathleen," and his lips quivered with paifi, and his 
 voice faltered, " don't act in this mad fashion. We love 
 each other. Be true to your best self," and he stretched 
 out his arms. " You are dearer to me than life itself." 
 
 " It does not look like it," she said, standing still, 
 thinking that even now she was going to win. 
 
 " If there was any real reason why I should give the 
 work up," he remonstrated, " I would do so, but there 
 is not. I have pledged myself to God and to man, and 
 I must go on. Ask me anything else in the world but 
 this, and I will do it for your sake. That is, anything 
 that is not wTong," he added. 
 
 Kathleen made no answer. She had lifted the latch 
 of the gate now. 
 
 " I ask you once more, and it is the last time. If we 
 part in this fashion I shall not come back." And again 
 he made a step towards her, but she turned away from 
 him with an angry gesture, and gave no answer, and 
 without another word Donald Cameron turned and strode 
 away homewards. 
 
 M
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 SWAYED BY THE STORM 
 
 THINGS had gone prosperously with the members 
 who had formed the new Church. It was in a 
 thickly populated suburb, and several of those 
 most interested were very wealthy men, and as a con- 
 sequence, funds and congregation were on the increase. 
 The services had been held for some months in the large 
 public hall, but now the Church itself was in course of 
 erection. A number of members from the parent Church, 
 and also some new ones, amounted altogether to about 
 a hundred and fifty, and the people felt the time had 
 come to have the Church formally opened, and so the 
 invitation had come to the Rev. Stephen Moore, as the 
 leading minister of the Denomination, to perform the 
 ceremony of inducting the new minister, opening the 
 Church, and receiving its members in the ordinary way. 
 There was a very large attendance on the night of the 
 ceremony. The centre of the hall was occupied by the 
 nembers themselves, the side seats being allotted to those 
 who had come to witness the proceedings. All eyes were 
 turned towards the Rev. Stephen Moore as he slowly ad- 
 vanced to the platform and took his seat beside the new 
 minister. He conducted the service and preached the 
 sermon ; never had he spoked with more power and 
 eloquence, spoken mor • lovingly than now, as he com-
 
 Swayed by the Storm 179 
 
 mended the new Church to God, and prayed for Divine 
 blessing on it and all its members. Afterwards he, in a 
 few well-chosen words inducted the minister, and formally 
 declared the Church opened. The next duty that 
 devolved on him was to welcome the members, not only 
 collectively, but individually. Stephen jMoore looked 
 very majestic and kingly now, to the eyes that eagerly 
 watched him. Some of those present knew a little of 
 what this night's work meant to him, but those who 
 knew most, knew but little after all ; the rest was known 
 to himself alone, and to his God. Perhaps of them all, 
 except his wife, Irene understood best. Somehow he 
 suggested to her mind the patriarch Abraham going 
 up Mt. Moriah to offer his son Isaac. But his step did 
 not falter nor his voice quaver, as he passed along the 
 rows of men and women, taking each in turn by the hand, 
 and welcoming him or her to the membership of this 
 newly-formed church, in each case quoting an appro- 
 priate Scripture text. Like a river in full flood, the 
 stream of Bible language flowed from his lips ; words 
 of promise, of encouragement, of hope, of love ; it was 
 as though he were inspired. A strange awed hush fell 
 upon the assembly. People whispered to each other, 
 as they went home, " Wasn't he grand to-night ? I 
 never knew such power. He seemed to be taken right 
 out of himself." " I think he will not be much longer 
 with us," another said, sadly. " He seems too spiritual, 
 too heavenly to be left on earth much longer. Did you 
 notice his face, how it shone ? The martyr Stephen 
 must have looked like that when he saw the heavens
 
 180 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 opened." And so they talked, these people who had 
 brought him thither, at what cost to his own heart, 
 God only knew. Did they understand, those of them 
 who had grown up under his loving care, did they 
 understand what it meant to him to take their hand, to 
 look into their eyes, to bid them " good-bye " while his 
 own life hung, as it were in the balance, when he knew 
 that his days on earth were numbered. Did they 
 guess of the strain that they were putting on him by his 
 very effort of self-repression in that night's work ? 
 For physically he was really not fit for his ordinary 
 duties. Did they catch the heart-break in his tones as 
 he pronounced over them those wondrous words of love 
 and inspiration and wisdom ? But he had made no sign. 
 After the benediction the people crowded about him 
 with congratulations on his restoration to health. Many 
 of them thanked him for the words he had spoken, and 
 many insisted on accompanying him and Mrs. Moore 
 to the Railway Station. And through it all he main- 
 tained his quiet, dignified, gentle manner. Not even 
 to his wife, did he show all that he felt. But when he 
 had got home and closed his study door, the storm broke 
 in all its fury. Kneeling there like Hezekiah of old, 
 he spread the matter before the Lord, He who 
 had upheld him in this, perhaps the most trying scene 
 in all his life. For weeks he had been under strong self 
 restraint, fitting himself as it were for to-night's fierce 
 conflict, and now the battle had been fought and won, and 
 he had come off " more than conqueror " through Christ, 
 but for all that he was wounded, sorely wounded. It
 
 Swayed by the Storm 181 
 
 was now the hour of darkness, the future looked dim, 
 and uncertain ; the sense of loss was heavy upon him, 
 his physical weariness was great, the present looked 
 hopeless. No one disturbed him in his solitude, for 
 he had asked his wife that he might be left alone till he 
 joined her at supper. And so the storm might have its 
 way until it spent itself. He reviewed the past, he 
 thought of how he had spent himself for these people, 
 who had just deserted him. He remembered how he 
 had refused the invitation from another Church, and for 
 the moment wondered whether after all his decision had 
 been wise. " I have not long to live," he said to himself 
 bitterly, " surely they might have stayed with me to the 
 end." As he reviewed the past, as he remembered his 
 ministry in the years gone by, and compared its brilliant 
 success with his present loneliness, it seemed to him 
 as though he had been a failure. But suddenly a light 
 shone through the gloom ; it was as though a divine hand 
 touched him, and a divine voice said, " Fear not, be 
 strong, oh, man, greatly beloved, be strong." It was as 
 if in the midst of the raging of the storm. One stood there 
 and in His Own authoritative way, said, " Peace be still," 
 and there was a great calm. To the lonely watcher the 
 room seemed flooded with heavenly light, as though the 
 Christ Himself stood there, not far off, but coming 
 very close and saying, " Weep not." It was a vision of 
 Christ, making His disciple's heart glad. Stephen Moore 
 remained kneeling, he could not have risen to his feet, for 
 he felt that he was in the very presence of God Himself. 
 So he knelt there in quiet rapture, feeling that the storm
 
 182 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 had swept by ; that it had done its worst, and its worst 
 had been only God's best after all. The winter had 
 passed, and lo ! the time of the singing of the birds had 
 come. Sorrow and sighing had fled away and there was 
 nothing left but exquisite joy in Stephen Moore's heart, 
 a joy in which no stranger might intermeddle. A joy 
 which none knew, save himself, and the Master whom 
 he loved with such an intense passionate devotion. 
 About an hour later he descended to the dining room 
 to join his wife who was waiting rather anxiously for him. 
 She feared the strain of to-night's work would tell on 
 him, but one glance at his serene bright face, dispelled 
 her fears. But for all that, a mischief had been done 
 to him physically, though his spiritual nature had 
 triumphed. Like Israel, as a prince he had had power 
 with God and had prevailed. Yet like Jacob he had 
 received a mortal wound, and none knew that fact better 
 than he himself.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 LOVE IN CONFLICT 
 
 DONALD, you are not like your usual self lately. 
 Is anything wrong ? What is the trouble ? " 
 the minister asked one day. 
 
 " Oh, a bit worried, Mr. Moore, that's all." 
 
 " I can see that," came the reply in a sympathetic tone. 
 " I am sorry. I do not wish to force your confidence, my 
 boy, but if I can help you I shall be very glad. It is 
 often a relief to put our trouble into words." And then 
 he waited. 
 
 " I don't see why I should not tell you, Sir," Donald 
 answered, " There's no one I would sooner confide in. 
 But — a fellow doesn't care to speak about his love affairs." 
 
 Stephen Moore looked grave. " I do not see why love 
 affairs should not be seriously discussed," he said, " They 
 are a very important element in one's life." 
 
 And presently Donald faund himself unburdening his 
 heart to his friend. " I told her that I could not give 
 up my life work even to please her, " he added in con- 
 clusion. " I feel that God has called me to this, and I 
 dare not disobey." 
 
 " You were quite right, Donald." was his friend's 
 earnest response.
 
 184 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " And so we parted. And yet," Donald went on, in an 
 impassioned tone, " I do love her ; I sometimes feel as 
 if the temptation is too strong and that I shall have to 
 go to her and tell her I must have her at any cost. I 
 feel as though I could sell my soul for her. She is a 
 mocking, beautiful, fascinating, loveable — " and he 
 paused, " I was almost going to say devil. Yes, she 
 is a devil, but I can't help it, I love her." 
 
 " I am very sorry indeed to heai this," Stephen Moore 
 said sadly and sternly. " When we say we will have a 
 thing, God sometimes lets us have our own way, but the 
 thing gained at such a cost is not worth having. It is 
 ' a gift with a gauntlet in it.' God often gives us our 
 request, but, as in the case of the Israelites, He sends 
 leanness into our soul because of it. You are passing 
 through a storm-waste, Donald, and I do earnestly 
 sympathize with you ; but be true to the right and aH 
 will yet be well. Tell God about it, spread the whole 
 matter before Him, ask Him to undertake for you, As 
 far as I can judge, this girl would not prove a blessing. 
 I should think she was more a temptation that should 
 be conquered. I do not speak harshly, nor condemn 
 her. God forbid that I should speak an unkind word 
 of anyone or to anyone. Pray to have the attraction 
 taken out of the temptation and God will do it. Ask God 
 to let you marry this girl if you wish, but only if it be for 
 the best. God cannot do for his child only the second 
 best, He must do the uttermost best, and if it is better 
 for you to be without her, God will not let you marry her. 
 There is only One Hand that can bind up your heart-
 
 Love in Conflict 185 
 
 wound, my lad," be said very gently, " that is the nail- 
 pierced Hand. But He will, be sure of that. You had 
 better get away for a bit ; go and see that little friend 
 of yours up in the bush, little Erin that you have told 
 me about. By the way, I got some books for her the 
 othei week, perhaps you would take them to her. She 
 will do you more good than anyone else in the world 
 just now. Yes, and a talk with Mrs. Johnson will 
 perhaps make you see things in a different light. She is 
 a splendid woman, many a time she has given me a 
 cheering word. Stay up country for a Meek or two, and 
 get about as much as possible," 
 
 " I wondei why God deals ^uth us in these strange 
 ways," Donald remarked moodily, after a pause, " why 
 did He send this giil into my life for instance. She has 
 brought so much pain and unrest." 
 
 " We cannot solve these mysteries," his friend replied. 
 " We must be content not to understand. After all, 
 a God whom we could fully and completely understand 
 would be no greater than ourselves, and so would not 
 satisfy our soul's deepest need. We are finite, He is 
 infinite. I have lately been impressed with this idea : 
 When we look at the sorro\A's and troubles that God 
 permits, if we know Him well enough, we should not be 
 surprised even at these. All that surprises us really 
 aiises from defective knowledge of God. You have only 
 to know anyone well enough, and you will not wonder 
 at anything they do, simply because it will be the out- 
 come of their own character. I think that without 
 irreverence we may apply this to God. Of course this
 
 186 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 applies not only to the sad things but to the pleasant 
 ones as well. It will take Eternity to unfold to us what 
 God really is. The consequence is that we shall again 
 and again have occasion to say " He hath done mar- 
 vellous things." I suppose that surprises will bring to 
 us some of the greatest pleasures of heaven itself." 
 
 " I think I will take your advice, sir, and get away at 
 once." 
 
 " Do so, Good-bye my lad, God bless you. Remember, 
 I shall be praying for you." 
 
 Donald Cameron shook hands in silence, his heart was 
 too full to speak as he turned away. Yes, he told him- 
 self, little Erin would do him good, Erin, with her child- 
 like, unerring trust, her pure spiritual vision, who lived 
 more in heaven than on earth and whose life was fast 
 gliding away. In the absorbing interests of the past 
 months, Erin had not been ver}^ much in his thoughts, 
 though he never forgot her weekly letter. Riding 
 through the bush on his way to her now, he wondered if 
 she had changed for the worse. Ah, there was the old 
 familiar spot. How long ago it seemed since he had 
 last seen it. What a life time he had lived since then, 
 of joy and sorrow. And in contrast with the patient 
 little invalid and her beautiful spirituelle face, rose a 
 tormenting vision of Kathleen as he had left her, haughty, 
 mocking, cruel. Yet strange to say, at that very 
 moment his heart went out to her with a great throb of 
 passion, and a longing that would not be denied. But he 
 crushed back the feeling with the same dogged deter- 
 mination as he had often grappled with dangers and
 
 Love in Conflict 187 
 
 difficulties met with in his boyhood. He turned his 
 thoughts to the child, and wondered about and pictured 
 the joy of their meeting. He did not over-rate it 
 either. She was almost frantic with delight when she 
 saw him. A lump rose in the young man's throat and his 
 eyes were dim with tears as she placed her thin arms 
 around his neck and laid her face against his own, mur- 
 muring, " Oh, Don, I have wanted you so, I have wanted 
 you so. And I told God how much, so He sent you." 
 And then for joy, the poor little girl sobbed outright. 
 
 " Are you feeling weaker, darling ? " 
 
 " Yes, a bit. Look at my arms, aren't they thin ? 
 They are thin, only skin and bone." 
 
 " Daddy brought the doctor yesterday," she went on, 
 "and he said 'She won't last much longer. They 
 thought I was asleep but I wasn't. I'm glad he said 
 that, Don, for I'm so tired waiting. Since you've been 
 away, it's been so lonely, and it isn't wicked to want to 
 go and see Jesus. You see I'll have Him all the time 
 up there. Don't look sad, Donald, dear," she con- 
 tinued, stroking his face lovingly as she spoke, " you 
 know I'm going to keep on being your wattle-blossom 
 just the same when I'm in Heaven, and perhaps I'll 
 be able to do lots for you, more than I can here. Oh, 
 won't it be lovely to stand and run about up there. It 
 says in the Bible " The redeemed of the Lord shall wait 
 there " and perhaps because Jesus knows how I've 
 wanted to run about down here, He'll let me go lots of 
 little messages for him." 
 But Donald was crying now, the tears were raining down
 
 188 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 silently on his face, and seeing this, the child in her own 
 winsome way tried to comfort him, winding her arms 
 more tightly about his neck and kissing him passionately 
 over and over again, saying all she could think of to 
 cheer him, yet her innocent speeches were stabbing him 
 to the heart all the while. 
 
 He came again the next day and during every day of his 
 visit. Several times he carried her out into the sun- 
 shine and amused her for hours together. She was 
 delighted with the beautiful fairy tale books Mr. IMoore 
 had sent her, and Donald had not forgotten to bring her 
 some treasures up from the city. And for a while 
 strength came back in a wonderful way. She ate and 
 slept better and seemed free from j)ain. Mr. Fergus said 
 it was the joy of seeing Donald that worked such wonders 
 and the child herself declared it was. But it was just 
 the beauty of the sunset after all, just the beginning 
 of the end. For Erin's disease was of all the most 
 deceitful, one of its hallucinations being that the patient 
 is always believing, he or she is getting better, while all 
 the time the disease is making progress.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 THE ANGEL OF THE STORM 
 
 WE do not learn from the book of Nature the fact 
 that God is Love, for its pages are oft-times 
 blood stained. We see the dual character of 
 God in Nature. We have a gentle aspect presented to 
 us there it is true ; but what are we to say of the other 
 side ? The fierce ocean lashed to fury, the earthquake, 
 the volcano, the burning sands of the desert, the dreary 
 ice solitudes, the storm-swept moors, the cruel tiger, the 
 waly serpent, floods and fires, and a host of other aspects, 
 these do not teach us that God is Love. Nowhere do we 
 find that fact but in Revelation. It often seems as 
 though Nature mocks us in our time of deepest sorrow. 
 Sometimes when the heart is saddest, Nature smiles the 
 more radiantly, making human grief the heavier by con- 
 trast ; and often on the other hand, when our hearts 
 are light, her skies are frowning. Some such thoughts 
 as these passed through Donald Cameron's mind as he 
 rode through the bush the day after his visit to little 
 Erin. His heart was hot, and bitter, and rebellious. 
 His life seemed enshrouded in cloud and gloom, and yet 
 never had the sun shone more brightly, nor the birds sung 
 more sweetly than to-day. He felt as if he hated Nature,
 
 190 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 because she was in such a sweet mood. He wondered 
 if he were growing to hate everything which God had 
 made, even his fellow creatures, and was conscious of a 
 feeling of resentment towards God Himself, as he asked 
 himself angrily why had this strange love come into his 
 life, a love which had in it more of the elements of the 
 volcano and the hurricane, than of the smooth, flowing 
 ^i^-er. Every time he tried to banish the thought of 
 Kathleen, a vision rose before him of the girl in her most 
 charming moods, like a sort of delicious torment. The 
 more he tried to recall her perversities, the more her 
 gentler and sweeter ways recurred to his memory. It 
 seemed as though with one hand she was drawing him 
 and with the other driving him away. He reviewed his 
 life from his earliest childhood, and the recollection did 
 not tend to brighten him. He felt that he had never, in 
 the highest sense, known a mother's love. His ideal of 
 motherhood could only come from his knowledge of 
 books, and from Mrs. Johnson. His own mother had 
 cared for him up to a point, true ; she had fed and 
 clothed him when he was too young to take care of 
 himself, but she had starved him of his birth-right, love. 
 His had always been an affectionate nature, not in spite 
 of, hut because of the strong manliness of his character. 
 With his ruggedness there was a blending of almost 
 womanly tenderness and gentleness in his composition, 
 and it was this side of his nature which his own mother 
 had repressed. Perhaps she was not altogether to blame, 
 she believed herself to be an ideal mother, and would 
 have angrily repudiated any reflection which might have
 
 The Angel of the Storm 191 
 
 been cast on her in this direction. But she was not 
 given to sentiment, and when Donald as a little fellow 
 had gone to her craving the sympathy and love which he 
 saw other mothers lavish on their boys, she had repulsed 
 him, and so he had grown up apart from her. She was the 
 last one in all the world to whom he would have given 
 his confidence or opened his heart, and yet he had always 
 tried to be a dutiful son to her and had a great deal of 
 affection for her, though he was now quite unable to give 
 her any demonstration of it, beyond doing his duty to 
 her. If he could have taken the heart-sorrow of the 
 present hour to her, what a relief it would have been, and 
 the reflection that he could not, was only an added drop 
 of bitterness in his cup. And then the thought came 
 back to him as it had been doing constantly for the past 
 week. Why not fling everything to the winds, duty, 
 his life work and all else which he had hitherto held 
 sacred, and take to his heart and his arms this girl whom 
 he loved so madly, loved with a wild fierce passion which 
 swept his soul as nothing had ever done in his life 
 before. He felt that she was everything to him, that 
 with her life was a delicious dream, without her it was 
 a dreary storm-waste. He recalled the scene when he 
 had asked her to be his wife and she hid consented. How 
 gentle and loving and clinging she had been that day, 
 he felt now the thrill of her kisses on his lips, and the 
 memory almost maddened him, as he felt that never 
 again would he know that bliss, unless he forsook every- 
 thing which all his life he had counted dear a^nd sacred. 
 It was in his power to have her, it rested with hi'm to
 
 192 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 choose. Oh, it was a fierce battle. To Donald it was in 
 very truth " the day of temptation in the wilderness." 
 As he rode along and thought about it all, great beads of 
 perspiration stood on his brow, and his hands uncon- 
 sciously clenched themselves. The road along which 
 he was riding was just a narrow ledge of rocks. On his 
 left a huge mountain reared itself, and on the right the 
 valley swept sheer down hundreds of feet below. The 
 horse plodded along in a sure-footed patient way, but 
 its rider had to exercise almost super-human efforts at 
 self control to keep himself from plunging madly forward 
 or from flinging himself from the saddle into the wooded 
 valley beneath. A sudden consciousness came to 
 Donald that there was no human being in all the world 
 sufficient to help him in that awful hour of soul conflict. 
 He felt that he was passing through the valley of the 
 shadow of Death, human companionship had come just 
 as far as it could, and then left him alone. And yet 
 the consciousness that God was with him was an almost 
 over-mastering one ; and a silent cry went up to God 
 for help. Had it not been for that unseen, yet realized 
 presence, Donald must have either yielded to the 
 spiritual temptation to give up all for Kathleen, or to the 
 physical temptation of flinging his life away. He felt 
 that he had done wisely in coming away from the girl. 
 Had he been near her, he must have gone to her and 
 yielded to her terms. 
 
 And then all at once it seemed as if Nature herself saw 
 and pitied him, and became sympathetic. With a 
 rapidity common to the cUmate, the landscape became
 
 The Angel of the Storm 193 
 
 transformed, the sun hid itself, the birds ceased their 
 song and took shelter in the leafiest branches of the 
 trees ; the soft breeze changed into a moan and a sigh 
 as the wind swept past. Blacker and blacker, darker 
 and darker, grew the living picture before Donald's eyes 
 till suddenly a great crash of thunder rent the air, and 
 so lurid was the lightning that swept the sky, which 
 half an hour before had been cloudless, that Donald's 
 horse took fright, and it took the man's whole strength 
 to calm the creature. Donald found a certain fierce 
 pleasure in holding back the strength of the strong horse 
 in that moment, and it did him good. It was the very 
 thing he needed, to relieve the tension of his mind and 
 heart. The horse was almost frantic with terror, and 
 would have plunged madly over the precipice, had not 
 Donald soothed and led him into a leafy glade under 
 the shelter of an immense rock. He dismounted and 
 petted the creature and calmed him while the storm 
 swept past in all its boundless fury. Presidently just 
 a few steps in front of Donald, a huge gum tree crashed 
 down, struck by the lightning, spilt into a hundred pieces. 
 It fell with a violent thud across the narrow path, its 
 great roots up-turned. In its fall it struck a great stone 
 which probably for centuries had lain just as it was, 
 one corner resting on the rock, the plaything of a 
 thousand storms ; the force of the falling tree had 
 loosened the fragments of earth which held the stone in 
 its place, and being let go, obedient to the law of gravi- 
 tation, it fell, and went careering down the steep descent, 
 echoing and re-echoing as it went, carrying with it all 
 
 N
 
 194 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 that came in its way, smashing down scores of trees, 
 sending small stones rolling, till at last with a dull thud it 
 rested deep down in the heart of the forest. Donald, 
 from his place of safety watched it all. He had grown 
 strangely calm now. Just as before, Nature's gentleness 
 and radiance had irritated him almost to frenzy, so now 
 Nature in her stormy mood which corresponded with his 
 own, had had the effect of calming and strengthening 
 him. There were mingled emotions in his mind as he 
 gazed. The scene was truly an awe-inspiring one, as 
 the wind rose and sped on its wild work of devastation 
 through the forest, Donald could almost fancj^ he heard 
 the shrieks of sirens ; the thunders still reverberated 
 among the hills, the lightnings still sped across the 
 heavens. Had it not been for the shelter of that wall of 
 stone where they stood, the horse and its rider must 
 surely have been killed in that hour, unless saved by a 
 miracle. It was as though God had made bare his 
 arm and had shown the mightiness of His strength as 
 against that of puny man. 
 
 Donald had witnessed many a danger, but never 
 before had God's majesty seemed so real, so terrible as 
 now. Overcome with the sense of the oppressive lone- 
 liness, the grandeur and terror of the scene, mingled with 
 a sense of gratitude for deliverance from sudden death, 
 Donald fell on his knees in silent prayer. It seemed 
 as though time with its littleness was swept away, and 
 eternity with its greatness loomed before him, the things 
 of time and sense became the unreal and the shadowy 
 and the things of eternity became the real and visible.
 
 The Angel of the Storm 195 
 
 It was as though Donald's eyes were opened and he saw 
 chariots of fire and horsemen round about him, and he 
 knew that dehverance had come to him, not by the 
 angel of peace, but by the angel of the storm. It was 
 a great cry from out of the depths that Donald sent up 
 in that hour, and God heard it. The man arose from 
 his knees presently, and knew that not in his own 
 strength, but in the strength of One " mighty to save," 
 he had conquered. His love for Kathleen was not 
 taken away, rather it had become a purer, holier thing, 
 but he felt that henceforth he could put God and duty 
 first, and his earthly love second. 
 
 And then suddenly the storm wind ceased, the thunder 
 died into silence, and the rain began to descend, not 
 gentle summer rain, but torrents, pouring in a deluge, 
 flooding the valleys. Donald was glad to shelter close 
 in his hiding place. As the rain seemed to touch with 
 soothing hand, the lightning-charred roots of the giant 
 trees, so it seemed to Donald as he watched and listened 
 to its ceaseless patter, as if God's hand were binding up 
 his own heart-wounds and healing them as no human 
 hand could have done. Half an hour passed, and then 
 another change, common to semi-tropical climates, 
 came over the scene. The rain ceased, and the sun shone 
 out even more brilliantly than before. Each drop of rain 
 which lingered on a million leaves became transformed 
 into a thing of wondrous beauty, a diamond fresh from 
 the hand of God Himself. Trees which had bent and 
 swayed in the storm, now lifted their heads to the blue 
 sky as if rejoicing. The tiny mosses and lichens which
 
 196 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 grew everywhere looked more radiantly green, more 
 exquisitely tender because of the bath they had just 
 had. The birds came out again singing with more thrill- 
 ing sweetness than before, and as Donald mounted his 
 horse and proceeded on his way, he realised a deeper joy 
 than he had ever before dreamt possible. A wonderful 
 sense of " the peace of God which passeth understanding," 
 possessed him, for he knew that he had given his will over 
 to God absolutely, and that though temptation might 
 sway him again, and though he might even carry a 
 heart-sorrow all his days, yet never again could he have 
 such a conflict as that day had seen in his soul.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 ERIN GOES HOME 
 
 IT was Friday afternoon, and Erin had been unusually 
 full of fun and laughter and quick wit. As 
 Donald kissed her " good-bye," telling her he 
 would come and take her out to-morrow, he little dreamt 
 that to-morrow the feet of the one-time cripple would 
 be walking the streets of gold, that to-morrow she would 
 not need his loving ministrations, but so it was. The 
 following morning when her step-mother took her break- 
 fast in as usual, the child appeared to be sleeping so 
 soundly that she went away again without disturbing 
 her. Half an hour later, as her father was leaving, he 
 went to give her his usual kiss, and bending over her 
 wondered at her sound sleep, for she was usually awake 
 with the birds. And then a great cry broke from him, 
 for he saw that it was not sleep, but death which held his 
 darling. Little Erin had been called away, " God's 
 finger touched her, and she slept." 
 
 It was on a Sunday afternoon that a solemn procession 
 wound its way through the bush along the road, where 
 Donald had carried his light burden on that Sabbath 
 morning two years before. He recalled it with a sorrow- 
 ing heart, as he passed along now, he, with three others,
 
 19* Swayed by the Storm 
 
 bearing the little coffin on their shoulders. It was a 
 long procession that followed, men, women and children 
 from miles around had driven over that they might follow 
 the child to her grave. Donald had chosen the site, a 
 sunny spot not far from the little country church. He 
 had chosen it because of the group of wattle trees which 
 grew round about it. When all the mourners had gone 
 away Donald remained looking down sadly on the new 
 made grave. No one, not even Erin's father felt her 
 death more keenly than he. And Donald's grief for his 
 child friend somehow took away the sting from his pain 
 with regard to Kathleen. He recalled the child's words, 
 spoken a day or two before. Already Erin was doing 
 something for him. " God maybe wants you to stand 
 alone," she had said, " and to grow straight up towards 
 heaven, and so he won't let you keep anyone close beside 
 you just now. When father wants a tree to grow very 
 straight and strong, he always takes away the little 
 trees that are growing round about it, he says they take 
 the good from the ground, and won't let it grow so high." 
 " Yes, Erin," he said, speaking alond, as if she could 
 hear him, " you are quite right, God wants me to stand 
 alone." and in that hour Donald felt that he had gained 
 another victory over himself. There was no longer any 
 need for him to stay away from the temptation of 
 meeting Kathleen, he could go back to the City and 
 meet her, strong and firm in the right. The attraction 
 was taken out of the temptation, not that he loved her 
 less ; if possible, he loved her with a more yearning, 
 compassionate tenderness, but he could not give up
 
 Erin Goes Home 199 
 
 God's smile for her. He looked up into the blue sky 
 overhead and realised that God was not far off, but a 
 real presence strengthening and upholding him. And 
 somehow the child Erin seemed nearer to him than she 
 had even been while on earth. 
 
 So it was a new and a stronger man that went back 
 to the City and to the College. 
 
 " It all depends upon the point of view you take," 
 Mr, Moore had said to him once, and Donald felt how 
 true it was. There was still the pain there, but he was 
 stronger, more able to bear it. It no longer conquered 
 him, but he conquered it. He could have gathered this 
 girl, faults and all, wilfulness and all, into his arms, and 
 have sheltered her from the world's storms if she had let 
 him. But he no longer had to say, " I can't live without 
 her." He had learned to stand alone with God. 
 
 Once or twice after his return to the City, he and 
 Kathleen met in the company of others, and they spoke 
 to each other in a quiet friendly fashion, just as though 
 no lightning flash had riven them asunder. But each 
 heart knew its own bitterness, Kathleen's especially, for 
 in Donald's absence she had discovered that at last her 
 love had been won by him, and knew that she had made 
 a fatal mistake. It was too late now, though she would 
 gladly have become his wife on his own terms, but her 
 pride would not let her tell him so. She looked into his 
 face, and saw only quiet determination written there, 
 and she admired him, and loved him all the more. She 
 felt that had he given into her she would have despised 
 him, and yet with a woman's perversity she longed that
 
 200 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 he might give her the opportunity of telling him how she 
 felt, but no opportunity came. And Kathleen felt that 
 her best safety lay in flight. She could not go on meeting 
 him in this cool fashion, and so she determined to go 
 away. She sent no farewell message, she told no one of 
 her intention. The news that she had gone struck 
 Donald's heart with a chill, almost as of death. He had 
 hoped against hope that she would relent, and now all 
 hope had fled. Out of the conflict of that hour, Donald 
 came forth looking years older, but there was an added 
 dignity about him, and new power in his preaching from 
 that day. And some six months after, Donald received 
 a marked newspaper from a distant State, in which he 
 read the announcement of Kathleen's marriage.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 A RADIANT SUNSET 
 
 STEPHEN MOORE had been a hard worker, he had 
 borne the burden and heat of the day in the 
 Master's vineyard, not seeking its shade and 
 repose. For years, he had passed along the City street 
 to his study just as the Town Hall clock was on the 
 stroke of eight and there he would be busy all day, 
 frequently remaining to an evening meeting three times 
 a week or oftener, which meant reaching home at ten 
 o'clock at night. He had need of a sturdy vigorous 
 frame to do the work he did. 
 
 But with all his unusual physical powers there was a 
 limit, and Stephen Moore found that limit before long, and 
 the break-down in health which has been referred to was 
 the result. 
 
 But in spite of the doctor's orders, and his friends' 
 numerous protests, he could not be induced to rest, as 
 long as he felt able to work. " How can I rest," he 
 would say when remonstrated with, " when souls around 
 me are perishing ? I must preach to them. I have only 
 one chance to do so, only one life, and Eternity will be 
 long." And so the work went on with a great deaj
 
 202 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 of intermission, long pauses when he would be too ill 
 for days even to speak or move, then a new lease of 
 strength, when he would go out again busy about the 
 " affairs of his Father," till at last the end drew near. 
 One Sunday morning it was his painful duty to preach 
 a funeral sermon for a church member who had died 
 during the week. After the service, the Dead March 
 was played. As that magnificent, but soul-haunting 
 music wailed and sobbed through the organ pipes and 
 vibrated through the church Stephen Moore's highly 
 strung nature felt the strain greatly, for immediately 
 afterwards he retired to the vestry very much worse 
 than usual. Referring to the circumstance a few days 
 later, he said, " It is an awful thing, that ' Dead March,' 
 I love it, and yet I hate it. I hope they won't play it 
 over me when I am gone. ' The Hallelujah Chorus ' 
 would be much more fitting. Why should we play the 
 Dead March over those whom we believe have gone to 
 a better place ? " 
 
 And not many weeks later his last sermon was preached. 
 Did some premonition warn the people who loved him 
 so and watched him that morning, that such was the 
 case ? Irene Gordon perhaps, felt it in a dim uncon- 
 scious way, for it seemed that never had he spoken with 
 more power, and never had the light of heaven shone 
 more clearly on his face than to-day. She was taking 
 the sermon down in shorthand. But suddenly looking 
 up she felt as if she could not again take her eyes off his 
 face. She sat fascinated, entranced not less by his 
 expression than by his words. It was as though he had
 
 A Radiant Sunset 203 
 
 stepped on the threshold of the Palace of the King, and 
 his face had caught the light from the City 
 of God. 
 
 During the illness that followed he said more than once 
 " Oh, if I could only preach one more sermon." And 
 again he would call his daughter and ask her anxiously, 
 " Mabel, is there anything I ought to be doing, my 
 child ? Is there anyone I ought to be visiting ? " 
 
 "No, father." 
 
 ''' Are you quite sure, dear ? " 
 
 " Quite sure, father." 
 
 " Ah, then, that is all right," he would say with an 
 air of intense relief. 
 
 Irene Gordon, calling one day, found him somewhat 
 better than usual. " Go and have a rest, Mabel," he 
 said to his daughter, " you need it, Irene will take care 
 of me for a little ; she knows how to shake up my pillows," 
 he added smiling. 
 
 " Come over here, dear, I want to talk to you," the 
 minister said to Irene as the door closed behind his 
 daughter. " We shall not have many more oppor- 
 tunities for happy intercourse. By the way," he 
 remarked presently, " I have not heard j^ou speak 
 lately of your friend, Mr. Slade. Is he well ? " 
 
 Stephen Moore watched the girl narrowly as he asked 
 the question and the flush that deepened on her cheek 
 was not unnoted by him. 
 
 " He was quite well when last I heard — but — well, 
 I think I offended him in some way or other, for we have 
 not been such friends as usual."
 
 204 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " That is a pity, Irene. Life is altogether too short 
 for these misunderstandings, don't you tliink so, dear ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do. But they seem to come Ijetween friends, 
 all the same." 
 
 " I don't know why, dear, but I have sometimes, 
 thought that you and he cared a little bit for each other. 
 Forgive me, but you know I am privileged to speak 
 freely to you, as if I were your own father." 
 
 Irene smiled, and there was a suspicion of tears at 
 the back of the smile, but she said nothing. 
 
 " You are not disappointed in him, are you ? I mean, 
 you have nothing against him, it is only that some sort 
 of cloud has come between you both ? ' ' the minister went 
 on eagerly, as though he were trying to sift the matter, 
 as in truth he was. 
 
 " Oh, no, Mr.Moore, I have nothing whatever against, 
 him. I think he is a splendid fellow, and I am sorry to 
 lose his friendship." 
 
 " Maybe God will give it back one day, my child ; rest 
 assured that if it is for your good, he will. Now, I want 
 you to open that large tin box over there, here is the 
 key, just on the top you will find a long blue envelope, 
 bring it to me, dear, will you please ? " 
 
 Irene found the blue packet, a Inilky looking affair, and 
 brought it as desired. 
 
 " I want you to take this with you, " her friend went 
 on, " and take care of it for a little while. It has to do 
 with some private business. There is nothing to be 
 afraid of," he went on as she looked somewhat puzzled. 
 " It contains some information concerning a friend of
 
 A Radiant Sunset 205 
 
 yours. I shall not be here many days longer, and I want 
 you, when I am gone, to open the seal, and then arrange 
 at once to meet the person spoken of. Don't let the 
 papers out of your own hands till you give them to the 
 one concerned and explain what I shall tell you. The 
 rest will speak for itself. It is because I have perfect 
 confidence in you that I have entrusted this matter to 
 you. Now let me explain." 
 
 Then in a few words he told her how, when he had been 
 in London visiting the hospital there some few years 
 previously, he had become interested in a sick woman 
 and befriended her for some time. He had lost sight of 
 her, but within the last few days had been greatly sur- 
 prised to receive a long private letter from her, in wihch 
 she made certain revelations to him on her dying bed, 
 and asked him to undertake the business referred to as 
 a favour to herself. " I am not putting a heavy burden 
 on you, my child," he added. " You trust me, Irene, do 
 you not ? I would not ask you to do anything hard. 
 Will you promise to do this for me ? You will find full 
 instructions inside." 
 
 Irene, seeing that he was becoming rather exhausted 
 with so much talking, assured him of her willingness, in 
 order to relieve his mind. In truth she was not much 
 interested in the affair. What did anything matter, she 
 asked herself, now that he was leavdng her ? So she 
 busied herself mixing his medicine and attending to his 
 wants, glad of the excuse to hide the tears that would 
 come. But his keen eyes saw them nevertheless. " My 
 child," he said tenderly, as she came towards him.
 
 206 Swayed bv the Storm 
 
 " You are not fretting for me, surely, are you ? I shall be 
 only a little way on ahead, you know, and every day 
 will bring you a day's march nearer home. Don't think 
 about the partings, Irene, think of the meetings and the 
 welcomes yonder. Thank you, dear, that is nice," as 
 she arranged his pillows comfortably, " you are a good 
 little nurse, and I hope you will be a happy wife some 
 day." 
 
 And though Irene was blissfully unconscious of the 
 fact, Stephen Moore had really put the mj'sterious 
 documents into her hands, because of a shrewd suspicion 
 that had come to him concerning her own love story. 
 She had not told him much about it, but he had gathered 
 just a little, and divined a little more. Knowing that 
 she and Gerald Slade had been friends, and that a 
 coolness had come between them, the idea had occurred 
 to him that this strange business put into his hands was 
 a means whereby he might bring together these two 
 that he somehow felt loved each other. 
 
 A few days before his death he said to his wife. 
 " Isn't He a long time coming ? " 
 
 Mrs Moore, thinking his mind wandeied, asked " Whom 
 do you mean, dear ? " 
 
 " Why," he answered, " of course I mean Jesus Clirist. 
 I wish He would come quickly, I am longing to meet 
 Him, I am so tired of waiting. Do you think He will 
 be very long now ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, " not long now." 
 
 " You and I have had a long time together, dear," 
 he went on. " God has been good to spare us to one
 
 A Radiant vSunset 207 
 
 another for so many years, hasn't He ? And the door 
 will be ajar. I shall be just inside, you know." And 
 so he tried to comfort his wife, whom he had always 
 so dearly loved, thinking of her loss in the midst of his 
 ■own intense physical pain and weariness. But that 
 was just like him. 
 
 It was in the nature of his illness that he should suffer 
 with sleeplessness, and for days and nights together, the 
 ■suffering and weakness were intense, but he never mur- 
 mured. And one night he sent his wife away with a 
 very tender good-night kiss, telling her to have a good 
 sleep, and he would see her in the morning. 
 
 Speaking of it afterwards, ^Irs. Moore said, " I left him 
 sleeping peacefully and went to my room, leaving the 
 nurse with him. Towards morning I woke and hurried 
 to his side, and when I came to him I found he was away." 
 
 And in the City Church where Stephen Moore had so 
 long loved and worked and suffered, the minister, who 
 had been taking Stephen Moore's place for months past, 
 ascended the pulpit and announced in faltering tones 
 that at 4 o'clock that Sabbath morning Stephen Moore 
 Tiad gone home to God. A thrill went through the vast 
 congregation. There was a solemn silence, and then a 
 loud sound of sobbing began to make itself heard. It 
 was a touching scene. There was not a face that was 
 not wet with tears, not a heart that was not ready to 
 break, for, from the least to the greatest, there was none 
 who had not loved him with a great love. And all felt 
 that the world had suddenly grown poorer because of 
 the loss that was theirs that day.
 
 208 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 Irene was not present in the church that morning ; 
 the news of Mr. Moore's death had come to her from 
 another scource. She received it in a dazed sort of 
 fashion, not fully realising it, and yet she had been 
 expecting it. But for weeks past it was as though he 
 had been dead to her. The last time she had gone to see 
 him he was too ill even for her to be admitted, and he 
 had sent a message by his daughter. " Give her my 
 love, and tell her not to grieve, she will understand. 
 Tell her there is no separation." That was his last 
 message to the girl, and she had taken it as his dying^ 
 farewell, but to her clinging, loving heart the separation 
 began from that hour. And yet, when the news of his. 
 death came, it seemed as if the barrier were removed 
 and as though he who was freed from the bondage of the 
 flesh and its limits, came back from the border-land and 
 stood beside her in spirit, whispering words of comfort 
 and cheer and love as of old. Who can tell ? 
 
 The following Sunday, the pulpit was draped in black, 
 and on the wide space in front there stood a beautiful 
 wreath of white flowers, across which a broad band of 
 purple ribbon was placed on which was written in gold 
 letters the words " I am with Jesus." And presently 
 the solemn service over, there arose from the organ the 
 strains of the Hallelujah Chorus. And at the first burst 
 of solemn sound the great congregation rose to its feet, 
 " Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! for the Lord God Omni- 
 potent reigneth. King of Kings, and Lord of Lords, and 
 He shall reign for ever and ever." The organ seemed 
 almost to speak the words with a strange mingling of
 
 A Radiant Sunset 209 
 
 spiritual triumph over earthly sorrow. And the music 
 was more soul-thrilling than even the ' Dead March ' 
 itself would have been, all the more so that it was 
 accompanied by the sound of human sobbing. Yes, he 
 who had passed beyond their ken was surely a Prince 
 in Israel ; like another Moses, he had been led away by 
 the hand of God to climb the lonely Mount of Death ; 
 like him, he had spent and been spent for his people. 
 Had he loved men less and himself more he might still 
 have been with us, was the unspoken cry of many a soul. 
 Of him truly, it might have been said in the noble 
 words of the Hebrew poet, " The beauty of Israel is 
 slain upon Thy high places, how are the mighty fallen ? " 
 
 O
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 VOICES FROM THE PAST 
 
 IT was ]ust as well that Irene Gordon in the midst 
 of her grief for the loss of her friend had to turn 
 her attention to other things. Among them the 
 mysterious sealed packet first claimed her attention. 
 She opened the envelope with some misgivngs it must 
 be confessed, and when she had glanced at its contents, 
 she was rather more disturbed in mind than before. 
 To her great surprise the master therein referred to no 
 other than Gerald Slade. 
 
 They had not met since her last visit to Tocumba, 
 when he had so studiously avoided her. That she had 
 in some unconscious way offended him, she felt certain, 
 and she had often longed that the mystery might be 
 solved. 
 
 Her Aunt Margaret had written more than once since 
 that time, inviting her up, but Irene had always found 
 a good excuse for keeping away. It was Gerald's place 
 to seek her and get the necessary explanation if he 
 wanted it, she told herself. And now as she recalled her 
 friend's last charge to her, not to let the papers out of 
 her possession until she had put them in the hands of the 
 one concerned, her heart beat rapidly and her breath 
 came and went quickly, for it meant that she must
 
 Voices from the Past 211 
 
 write to Gerald Slade and ask him to meet her. It 
 meant more — that she was to be incidentally the means 
 of conveying to him the tidings of his own parentage, and 
 putting him in possession of facts that would probably 
 alter his whole prospects in life. She almost rebelled 
 against the mandate of her departed friend, and marvelled 
 greatly as to why he should have chosen her for this so 
 difi&cult a task. It was characteristic of the girl 
 however, that when there was a hard duty to be per- 
 formed she would go at it immediately and get it over. 
 So now she lost no time in writing a business-like letter 
 to Gerald Slade, informing him of the facts of the case, 
 and asking him to arrange to meet her. An answer came 
 by return post that he would wait on her at her house 
 the following evening. 
 
 Gerald Slade had been schooling himself for months 
 to the inevitable fact that he must put this girl out of his 
 life once and for all, but the lesson he had set himself 
 was a hard one, and when he thought he had quite 
 learned it, it seemed as if he had to begin all over again, 
 for somehow Irene had interwoven herself with every 
 fibre of his being, and try as he would to forget her, her 
 image would persist in haunting him by day and by 
 night. He never spoke of his secret grief to anyone. 
 Margaret noticed that he had grown very reserved and 
 taciturn of late, and that he devoted himself more 
 assiduously than ever to his music and to the care of 
 the Estate. Sometimes she rallied him on the subject 
 but he would always evade any attempts at questioning 
 on her part, however delicately put.
 
 212 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 And one day when he received a letter from Irene, it 
 brought back all the stifled pain and longing just when 
 he had thought he had forever banished them. What 
 could it mean, a business-like cold letter, asking him to 
 meet her to talk over some business paper which had 
 been given to her by the Rev. Stephen Moore, and which 
 concerned himself, Gerald Slade, personally ? He would 
 go at once and end the suspense. For a few minutes a 
 wild hope sprang up in his breast, that perhaps after all 
 this girl whom he loved might care for him, that there 
 might have been some mistake. And then the memory 
 of that star-lit night, when he had seen Donald Cameron's 
 arm placed around her, rose before his vision with 
 tantalizing clearness, and he dispelled the hope angry 
 with himself. 
 
 And it was in this state of mind that he rang the bell 
 and was admitted into Irene Gordon's presence the 
 following evening. She was dressed in black, and 
 looked very pale and sad he noticed. So pale and sad 
 that he longed to comfort her in his own fashion. But 
 he put a strong curb on his desires, telling himself 
 grimly that she belonged to another — and this very 
 self-repression on his part only served to make his 
 manner the more chilling and forbidding. 
 
 Irene had hoped he would meet her in such fashion 
 as would enable them to come to a better understanding 
 of each other But the moment he stood before her the 
 constraint in his manner conveyed itself like an electric 
 shock into her own, and more in the manner of two 
 perfect strangers, and very much after the fasliion of
 
 Voices from the Past 213 
 
 lawyer and client, these two, who in reality loved each 
 other dearly, seated themselves at the table, while Irene 
 explained how the papers had come to her possession, 
 and how Mr. Moore had requested her to deliver the 
 papers into his, Gerald's Slade's hands personally. 
 How, until she had opened the packet the previous day 
 she had had no idea of what it contained. " There is a 
 long letter addressed to Mr. Moore. I have not read it," 
 she said. " I have only satisfied myself that the papers 
 concerned yourself, and I now hand them over to you." 
 
 Gerald Slade took the papers and thanked her. Then 
 he took his leave and went back to his Hotel, where he 
 was soon deep in the perusal of the documents. 
 
 The letter above referred to was signed " Mary Slade," 
 and had been written some months previously, it was 
 dated from London. The writer, after thanking Stephen 
 Moore for his kindness to her when visiting her in a 
 London hospital some years previously, asked him to do 
 her a favour. She said that she was now on her dying 
 bed, and wished to make a confession. Its import was 
 as follows : — 
 
 Some thirty years before, a lady with an infant had 
 boarded at her house, and a few days later had died 
 leaving her infant son That same night the writer's 
 own child, also a boy, died. Her husband, a sea-faring 
 man, was on his way home, and the woman, knowing how 
 disappointed he would be at the death of their first born 
 son, conceived the idea of passing off the living child as 
 her own, and burying her dead baby with the stranger. 
 She did not consider she was doing wrong, as she believed
 
 214 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 the strange child's father to be dead, the lady having 
 stated that her husband had been killed recently in a 
 railway accident in Paris. The writer had buried the 
 secret in her own breast, not revealing it even to her 
 husband. Some twelve months later a gentleman called 
 and stated that his name was Philip Howard, that he 
 was in search of his wife whom he heard had believed 
 him dead, that by some means his identity had been 
 mistaken for another's, that he had been in the railway 
 accident mentioned, and had sustained a shock to the 
 brain, that he had been unconscious for weeks, and 
 when he had recovered had lost all trace of his wife 
 who had preceded him to London, and had there given 
 birth to a son. It was while he had been on his way 
 from Paris to join her, that the accident took place, 
 and his name had been published in the London papers 
 as amongst those killed. The writer went on to say how 
 she had told the stranger that his wife had certainly 
 believed him dead, and that she herself had died of 
 grief she believed. And the child ? Her first impulse 
 was to confess the truth, but conscience " which makes 
 cowards of us all," held her back, and in a moment she 
 had put her living lie into words, and stated that the 
 infant had died and was buried with its mother. Mr. 
 Howard had accepted the statement. It was only what 
 he had believed and feared had happened. She never 
 saw him again. Years afterwards she heard that he 
 had gone to Australia and become wealthy, that was 
 all she knew of him. During the years that followed, 
 several more children had been born to her, and she
 
 Voices from the Past 215 
 
 had grown to almost hate the boy for whom she had 
 made her hfe a Uving He, and when some ten years later 
 her iSrst husband had been drowned, and she had 
 married again, she was not sorry, when the boy whom 
 she had named Gerald, but whose real name was George 
 Philip Howard, had run away. She had always meant 
 to tell him of his true parentage when he grew up, and 
 5^et her sense of guilt had made her put off the evil day. 
 And it was to her something of a relief that she did not 
 know his whereabouts so that she could not have the 
 opportunity of confessing the truth. 
 
 But now as her own death drew near she was troubled. 
 She had made enquiries, and discovered that the boy 
 Gerald Slade, or rather George Philip Howard, had gone 
 to Australia, and as Stephen ]\Ioore had been so kind to 
 her, she had discovered his address, and was writing 
 to ask him to make what enquiries he could, so as to let 
 the boy know his real name and parentage, and if 
 possible bring him and his father together so that he 
 might have his own. 
 
 In the conclusion the writer begged the minister not to 
 put the matter into the hands of lawyers if he could avoid 
 it. Her sense of guilt made her dread the earthly 
 tribunal, even when she was just about to appear before 
 a Higher one. 
 
 Gerald Slade's face grew pale as he read on to the end. 
 He sat far on into the night alone with his strange secret. 
 He knew Mrs. Slade's hand-writing well. She gave a 
 description of his personal appearance and all other 
 details that she thought likely to lead to his identity^
 
 216 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 There was also a copy enclosed of the Certificate of 
 Death of Winifred Howard and of the infant, George 
 Philip Howard. It was a romantic story, and Gerald 
 Slade told himself, that it was such a story as no Court 
 of Law would probably accept. Yet he himself did not 
 doubt the truth of it for a moment. 
 
 This then explained why he had never felt any affection 
 towards Mrs. Slade, even though she had been to all 
 intents and purposes his mother, and had never treated 
 him with actual unkindness. 
 
 Needless to say Gerald Slade had not been in his present 
 position without hearing the mystery of Tocumba and 
 the story of the missing heir, and a wonderful sensation 
 of delight was his at the knowledge that the fine old 
 place really belonged to him. The organ he loved 
 to play, and which was as dear to him almost as if it were 
 human, had l^een Ijuilt by the hands of his own father 
 whom he had never seen. And then followed a feeling 
 of resentment at the injustice that had been done him 
 by this woman, who was now dead, and who though 
 she tried in her clumsy fashion, could never undo the 
 grievous wrong she had done. He thought of what 
 might have been, and his heart grew hot and bitter. 
 And then he thought of Margaret and of Philip and their 
 wonderful kindness to him. How they had treated 
 him more as a younger brother than as a paid servant. 
 How in the years since Philip's death, Margaret had 
 leaned on him, and had been to him partly mother and 
 partly sister. What a wonderful coincidence that he 
 should have been brought to Tocumba and that he should
 
 Voices from the Past 217 
 
 have had the whole management of the place that really 
 belonged to him. And through all his musings like a 
 woof of gold in a web of grey, there ran the thought of 
 Irene Gordon. And the one result of that long night's 
 meditation was this — Gerald Slade's resolve that he 
 would let matters stand as they were for the present at 
 least. He would hold the secret in his own hand. He 
 would keep these papers, and some day would claim the 
 estate, but just now, while Margaret's health was failing 
 he would not trouble her. There was only one other, 
 who knew the secret, and she only knew a part of it. 
 She did not know that he was heir to the Tocumba 
 Estate. He would write and ask her to keep the secret 
 and at the thought of her sharing it with him, a new joy 
 thrilled him, for surely it was a bond between them. 
 
 It was not until the grey dawn broke that Gerald 
 Slade sought his pillow.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 TWO PROBLEMS SOLVED 
 
 BEFORE returning to " Tocumba ' Gerald had 
 another short intreview with Irene, and after 
 ascertaining that she knew little or nothing of the 
 contents of the papers, beyond the mere fact that they 
 concerned him. he renewed his determination to say 
 nothing about the matter for the present. The fact 
 that Mrs ^lorton was away at the seaside under the 
 doctor's orders, made it an easy matter for Slade to 
 carry out his purpose. He felt that a few months would 
 make no difference, he would wait and see how things 
 shaped themselves. But since meeting Irene, all his old 
 love had come back with renewed force. Try as he 
 would, he could not banish the vision of her sad sweet 
 face. And what was Donald Cameron thinking of, not 
 to go and comfort her ? Slade asked himself the question 
 savagely. Iiene was earning her own living, and looked 
 altogether too fragile for the task. Donald Cameron 
 could well afford to keep a wife. Why then did he not 
 bring her to his home without delay ? And a desperate 
 resolve formed itself in Slade's mind as he meditated. 
 He would go to Cameron and learn the truth from his 
 own lips.
 
 Two Problems Solved 219 
 
 Hitherto he had avoided meeting the Home Missionary, 
 and had resisted all the latter's overtures of friendship, 
 Donald often wondered why. But none the less, Gerald 
 Slade was perfectly familiar with Donald's movements. 
 He knew his usual routes on his way to and from the 
 different preaching Stations, to the day and even to 
 the hour. So it was not at all a hard matter for him 
 to way-lay Donald and have it out with him. The 
 opportunity soon presented itself. Two days later 
 Donald Cameron, on his way back from a service was 
 overtaken by Gerald Slade. Donald gave him a 
 pleasant greeting, rather glad to find him disposed to be 
 friendly, but though the two horsemen rode side by side 
 for a considerable distance, Gerald Slade seemed to be 
 either pre-occupied, or to have some grudge against his 
 companion, for he was not by any means agreeable 
 They had almost reached the bend in the road where 
 their paths diverged, when Slade abruptly broke the silence 
 
 " I saw Miss Gordon the other day," he remarked. 
 
 " Indeed," and Donald showed considerable interest, 
 " And how was she ? " 
 
 The other darted a look at him that might almost be 
 termed fierce. " She was looking very ill indeed, and 
 very much cast-down." Gerald spoke quite savagely. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that," Donald replied gravely. 
 " I know she is feeling Mr. Moore's death very keenly, 
 they were such great friends. He was more like a father 
 to her. I wrote her a letter of condolence the other 
 day," he went on, " but I have not heard from her, nor 
 seen her for some time."
 
 220 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 Gerald turned round on him suddenly. " Not heard 
 from her," he echoed. '* Is there anything the matter ?' 
 
 It was Donald's turn now to look astonished. " I do 
 not understand you," he said. " Perhaps you are under 
 some misapprehension ? Will you explain." 
 
 " Aren't you engaged to Miss Gordon ? " Gerald 
 asked the question almost without knowing it, the words 
 seemed to spring to his lips of their own accord. 
 
 Both men in their intensity of feeling had drawn rein, 
 and sat facing one another. " No," was Donald's 
 reply, " there is nothing between Miss Gordon and my- 
 self, we are great friends, but no more." And a light 
 flashed on Donald's mind which explained a great deal 
 " Irene Gordon is one of the nicest girls I have ever met," 
 he went on, determined to clear up any lingering doubt 
 that might exist in his companion's mind. " But I have 
 given my love to another woman." 
 
 Gerald Slade almost swayed in his saddle under the 
 influence of his conflicting feelings. But he stammered, 
 " I understood," and then he stopped. 
 
 " What gave you the impression ? Donald asked with 
 a smile. 
 
 " Because I saw you together the night before she 
 left. You were walking down the load, and you looked 
 certainly more like lovers than mere friends. How 
 did you come to have your arm around her ? " 
 
 " I can explain it all," Donald said, " I remember dis- 
 tinctly that night. I called on Miss Gordon as I wanted 
 to have a chat with her about a mutual friend of ours. 
 We had a good deal to tell each other, and as the night
 
 Two Problems Solved 221 
 
 was so fine, I asked her to come for a stroll down the 
 road. On our way back she caught her foot somehow 
 and hurt it slightly, and she complained of not being 
 used to bush roads. It was only a shght sprain, nothing 
 to mention, but just for the moment I though she would 
 fall and so, naturally I put my arm about her. And 
 then I drew her arm m mine as we walked along to 
 prevent her hurting her foot again. I can assure you 
 that is the whole truth, and she herself would tell you so." 
 
 Gerald's face was a study as he stretched out his hand 
 to Donald. " Forgive me, old fellow," he said, " I 
 have been wronging you in my thoughts all this time." 
 
 Donald grasped the extended hand, and held it in a 
 warm, clasp. " You have been regarding me as a rival 
 then," he said with a smile " I am glad for all our 
 sakes that we have cleared matters up. She is a grand 
 girl, I wish you joy, old fellow. Go in and win ? Irene 
 and I are just brother and sister, we could never be more 
 than that to one another. I have often wondered why 
 j^ou held me at arm's length, but I hope we shall be friends 
 from this day." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied the other. 
 
 And though their paths branched off just here, Gerald 
 Slade rode on for some miles by Donald's side, as now 
 that the barrier of misunderstanding was swept away 
 the two men found they had a great deal in common. 
 Glancing at his watch, Gerald found that he was already 
 late for an appointment which he had forgotten 
 and putting spurs to his horse, he started homeward at 
 a mad rate. His heart was so light that he felt in a
 
 222 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 reckless mood, and for once in his life he did not watch 
 his horse's movements. The creature was a wild one, 
 which he was only just breaking in. Gerald Slade could 
 manage a horse as well as any man on the Station, but 
 now with all his thoughts centred elsewhere, he lost for 
 the time being his cool self-possession. He had not 
 gone far before he needed it, for as he turned into the 
 main road, a huge yellow motor came dashing along 
 at full speed towards him, and the horse, which had 
 never before seen a motor, took fright. It was all the 
 work of a few minutes. Gerald somehow lost hold of 
 the reins which got entangled in the horse's hoofs In 
 another minute he was dashed by the maddened horse 
 against a giant tree which stood near, and then he knew 
 no more. He was lying unconscious in the road, flung 
 there by the horse which had started to gallop home- 
 wards. 
 
 Mrs. Morton had only returned to Tocumba the 
 previous week. All day a strange foreboding of evil 
 had been with her. A kind of restlessness that she could 
 not account for caused her to wander from room to 
 room and finally outside in the cool of the evening. 
 Suddenly she saw a sight which filled her with appre- 
 hension. A horse riderless, galloping along the road 
 towards the house. She recognised it instantty as the 
 horse on which Gerald had set out on that afternoon. 
 To give the alarm to the household was the work of a 
 few minutes, and in less than half an hour search parties 
 were out in all directions looking for the missing man. 
 Margaret had telephoned for Dr. Thorne at the same
 
 Two Problems Solved 223 
 
 time, and so it came to pass that the doctor and the 
 stretcher bearing the wounded man arrived together. 
 
 Gerald Slade was brought in unconscious and laid on 
 the sofa. Margaret bent over him in great distress. 
 
 " The left shoulder is badly cut," Dr. Thorne said, 
 as he examined him, and then he sent Margaret away 
 seeing that she looked so ill, while he put in the stitches 
 and bandaged the sufferer, not leaving him till he was 
 comfortably settled in bed. " He is out of danger now," 
 he said, later as he took his leave. " You will give him 
 careful nursing, I know, that is all he wants. I will be 
 round again in a few hours." That evening the doctor 
 pronounced the state of his patient as satisfactory as 
 could be expected. " I shall bandage his shoulder 
 myself to-night," he said to Margaret, " but after this 
 you will be quite able to do it." 
 
 The next morning, as Margaret was undoing the 
 bandages she uttered a startled exclamation, and then 
 checked herself. 
 
 " You are trembling, Mrs. Morton," Gerald said, 
 looking at her anxiously. " Perhaps this excitement is 
 too much for you. Hadn't you better let someone else 
 attend on me ? " 
 
 " No, no, I am all right," Margaret replied. And she 
 went on with her work. But Gerald did not guess what 
 had really caused her sudden pallor and startled cry. 
 She had seen the birth mark. There it was, a vivid red 
 mark, about an inch long, identical with the one she had 
 seen on Mr. Howard's shoulder. She would have known 
 it anywhere. But she said nothing about it. She
 
 224 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 wanted to think about it alone, and so leaving Gerald in 
 a sound sleep she went away to the library and shut her- 
 self in. The room looked just the same as it had done 
 on that autumn day years before when Philip had sat by 
 her side. " Was it possible ? " she asked herself 
 " Could this be really the missing heir at last ? " There 
 could not be two marks so exactly alike, and yet — the 
 circumstances of Gerald Slade's childhood were contra- 
 dictory. Gerald had a mother living, so it could not be 
 he. It was all a mystery. And in that hour the desola- 
 tion of her position swept over her and her heart was 
 very sore. She flung herself on her knees, and sobbed as 
 she thought of Philip and of how they two had so often 
 talked about this And then she determined to tell Gerald 
 the whole story, and see if they could get to the bottom 
 of the mystery. 
 
 " The doctor says I can get up to-day, doesn't he ? " 
 Gerald asked her a day or two later. 
 
 " Yes, for a few hours. When you are dressed, come 
 into the library, there is a nice fire there." 
 
 By-and-bye Gerald Slade found himself seated in an 
 easy chair before the fire with Margaret opposite him 
 She had some sewing in her hand, but did not seem to be 
 very intent on it. A bright spot burned on her cheeic 
 and she seemed restless. 
 
 " You are not looking well, Mrs. Morton," Gerald 
 remarked in a sj'mpathetic tone. " I am afraid nursing 
 me has been too much for your nerves. Why, your 
 hands are trembling." 
 
 " It is not that," she answered nervously, " but I
 
 Two Problems Solved 225 
 
 made a strange discovery. Did you know that you have 
 a peculiar mark just behind your left shoulder ? " she 
 asked suddenly. 
 
 He smiled. " Yes," he said, " it is like a red insect. 
 I suppose you saw it when you were dressing my wound." 
 " Yes." And then Margaret went on to tell him all 
 that is already known to the reader about the mark. 
 " And we have always been trying to find the missing 
 heir, and felt sure that this birth mark would be the one 
 means of proving his identity. And now I find you have 
 this mark, but of course you can't be the one we are 
 looking for, seeing that your mother was living, at least 
 up to the time you left her." 
 
 " Mrs. Slade was not my mother," Gerald said very 
 quietly. 
 
 " Not your mother ? " It was Margaret's turn now to 
 be surprized. 
 
 " No, my own mother died when I was an infant, and 
 Mrs. Slade passed me off as her own child, but my real 
 name is George Philip Howard." And then Gerald 
 began to tell his story, and when he brought his papers 
 and he and Margaret read them together, there was no 
 longer any doubt in his or her mind that this was the 
 long lost heir of " Tocumba." 
 
 " What a marvellous coincidence," Margaret said, 
 " that you should have been brought here right to the 
 very spot. The whole thing sounds like a romance. 
 And now you must take steps to get possession imme- 
 diately," she went on. " Why did 5'ou not speak to me 
 of your discovery before ? " 
 
 P
 
 226 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " I am not going to take any steps, Mrs. Morton," the 
 young man answered firmly. " I consider that you have 
 as much right to the place as I. It would be a hard 
 matter for me to establish my claim in a Court of Law 
 after all these years. We can arrange some settlement 
 between us. I think that will be fair to both. You 
 have been as good as a mother to me, or a sister," he went 
 on, " and this will be your home as long as you live." 
 
 But Margaret was equally determined. " No, no," 
 she said. " It was Mr. Morton's wish that when the lost 
 son was found, if ever, he should take full possession. 
 Besides my father's farm belongs to me, and I am suffi- 
 ciently provided for for the rest of my life. I do not 
 expect to live to be old." 
 
 It was finally arranged that the family lawj^er should 
 be consulted, and aftei some coming and going on his 
 part, a settlement was drawn up entitling Margaret to 
 a share in the home, and establishing beyond all doubt 
 Gerald Slade's claim to the Estate as the only son of the 
 late George Philip Howard.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 AFTERMATH 
 
 IN one of the large hospitals of the City, just as the 
 clock was striking eight, one evening, the head 
 nurse, or " Sister " as she was called, entered her 
 private sitting-room with a weary step, and seated her- 
 self in the low easy chair. She had just come off duty, 
 and was very tired, for the week had been an unusually 
 busy one. Bye-and-bye she touched a bell and a maid 
 appeared at the door. " Will you bring me some tea here, 
 Eva, please, I am too tired to go to the dining-room." 
 
 " Yes, Sister Kate. Is there anything special you 
 would like ? " 
 
 " No thank you, just some tea and toast will do." 
 When she had finished, Sister Kate, taking a new book 
 from the table began eagerly to cut its pages and to 
 glance through it. She began to read presently, and 
 read on and on as if fascinated. Page after page she 
 turned, and now all the weariness had left her face, and 
 it had become almost radiant. It was Donald Cameron's 
 last book that she was reading, Hour after hour passed 
 and at last the book was finished, then with a deep- 
 drawn sigh, she laid it down. Leaning her head on her 
 hands, she gave herself up to her own thoughts. " And 
 I might have been his wife," she said aloud, half sadly.
 
 228 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " I wonder if he ever thinks of me now. I suppose he is 
 married though, long ago. There is quite a different tone 
 in that book from what there was in the last. This is 
 the best and strongest of them all. There is a joyousness 
 in it that was lacking in the others. His first book was 
 one cry of pain. I felt it in every page. He was wanting 
 me then, I know it, but he has got over that now, he has 
 learned to do without me. And yet, I suppose I am a 
 strange creature — I admire and love him all the more 
 because he is strong and does not need me. I wonder 
 if he would know me now if we were to meet." And 
 Kathleen glanced across the room at a large mirror 
 opposite. She noted that her face looked much older and 
 graver than of old, that into her dark hair had come 
 many threads of grey. A half bitter, half scornful smile 
 curved her red full lips, and her dark eyes glowed. 
 " Quite an old woman," she said to herself sarcastically, 
 " Oh, well, it does not matter, he is not likely ever to 
 meet me again." And suddenly Sister Kate acted in a 
 way that was most unusual and unexpected, she flung 
 herself down on the sofa and gave way to a fit of passion- 
 ate weeping, a thing she had not done for years. Pres- 
 ently she grew calm, "What a fool I am," she said to 
 herself. Then she rose, bathed her face, and took up 
 some work. Looking at her next morning moving about 
 the wards in the calm, dignified, almost cold way that 
 was characteristic of her, no one would have dreamt of 
 what had happened in the seclusion of her own room 
 Truly " the heart knoweth its own bitterness and a 
 stranger intermeddleth not with its joy."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 MISTS AND MOUNTAINS 
 
 DURING those days of convalescence, Gerald Slade 
 had confided to Margaret what was uppermost in 
 his thoughts — his love for her niece, and needless to say she 
 was a deeply interested and sympathetic listener. And 
 very impatiently he waited for the doctor's permission 
 to get about again. No sooner was leave given than he 
 started off to the City in search of Irene Gordon, but 
 when he got to her home, a disappointment awaited him. 
 He found that she had gone away. Under the strain 
 and the fretting she had had a nervous break-down, and 
 had been forced to put aside her work for the time being. 
 But Gerald Slade was not to be daunted, and he was too 
 anxious to brook any delay, so he determined to follow 
 her to the neighbouring State where she had gone. And 
 the next day he began a train journey of over six hun- 
 dred miles in order to meet her. 
 
 Irene had gone to spend a few weeks at a Summer 
 boarding house in the Blue Mountains. It was her first 
 visit to the place, and as the train wound its way among 
 the fugged highlands of New South Wales, she almost 
 held her breath with delight. These mountains were 
 grand and majestic enough to satisfy her. There was a
 
 230 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 delicious crispness in the morning air as the train ran into 
 the little mountain station. It was good to rest in this 
 beautiful spot Irene felt, and alreadj^ some of the nervous 
 tension of the past few months seemed relieved, and she 
 looked forward to spending a quiet fortnight. 
 
 The morning following her arrival was fresh and beau- 
 tiful beyond description, and after breakfast the girl 
 set out on a tour of inspection. Her heart thrilled with 
 pleasure as she walked briskly along the wide country 
 road, that wound through the bush. At a bend of the 
 road she came upon a small boy chopping wood. The 
 occupation itself was prosaic enough, but amid such 
 surroundings it made a picture worthy of a great artist. 
 She followed the path, which grew more winding and 
 narrow till she emerged on to a look-out, a coiner railed 
 in, from which one could look down hundreds of feet into 
 the valley below, where ferns grew in wild plenty on the 
 slopes, and where sharp crags of rock projected here and 
 there. A stream of water trickled over the rocks, making 
 a tiny waterfall amidst the luxuriant green. Every- 
 where tall gum trees — their wierd-shaped limbs moss- 
 covered, towered against the sky. 
 
 As she stood there on the stone parapet, Irene placed 
 her hand on a dead stump standing like a lone sentinel, 
 its dead wood dressed with lichens and moss, like a corpse 
 decked with flowers. It was so old that at Irene's touch 
 it rocked to and fro. She turned again into the path, 
 climbed some steps cut out of the solid rock, and reached 
 another view point, from whence she got a different land- 
 scape mist covered ; on along a winding path, and
 
 Mists and Mountains 231 
 
 through an opening formed by some huge rocks nearly 
 meeting overhead, till at length she reached a place 
 called Reid's Plateau, a flat stone rail-enclosed, on which 
 were three wooden seats. Here was a wonderful sight. 
 Around her on every side was a white, impenetrable mist. 
 It was as though she stood in the midst of a bright cloud, 
 so brilliant, so white as almost to dazzle and blind her. 
 It was a weird and indescribable sensation that the lonely 
 watcher felt in that moment. It was as though she were 
 alone with God. Memories of Stephen Moore came 
 trooping in on her mind, and woven with memories of the 
 dead were thoughts of the living, of one who occupied her 
 thoughts very, very frequently of late, try as she would 
 to forget him. That one was Gerald Slade. And again 
 she wondered what was the barrier that divided them, 
 because in her heart of hearts she felt that the separation 
 brought him pain as well as herself. She tried to recollect 
 anything she might have done to offend him, but could 
 not. Standing there above the world, as it seemed, it 
 would not have been strange to her had he appeared to 
 her. 
 
 She was startled from her reverie by the sound of a 
 man's footsteps on the stone parapet just beyond. A 
 little nervously she waited for the stranger to appear. It 
 was she supposed some tourist who had found his way 
 to the same look-out as she herself had sought for, it was 
 one oi the noted beauty spots of the district, and she 
 had been directed thither. She could not see who it 
 might be, till he should come close up, because of the 
 thickness of the white mist that enshrouded her. And
 
 232 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 then — was she dreaming or awake ? For coming out 
 of the white mist, coming towards her with such a smile 
 of greeting and gladness on his face as she had not seen 
 there for many a weary month, she saw no other than 
 the object of her thoughts — Gerald Slade. She smiled 
 back in welcome and he advanced with out-stretched 
 hand. And his first words fell very strangely on her ears. 
 
 "Ah ! I have found you at last." 
 
 " Found me," she echoed, " have you been looking 
 for me? " 
 
 " Yes, looking everywhere. They told me at the 
 house that you had come here to the Blue Mountains and 
 gave me your address. When I reached the house where 
 you are staying here, I was told you had started for this 
 spot, so I followed you." 
 
 " But why did you want to see me ? Is anything 
 wrong about those documents ? " She asked anxiously. 
 " No, no." he said reassuringly, " they are quite right." 
 
 " Then what did you follow me for ? " was the question 
 that rose to Irene's mind, but she did not utter it, 
 something kept her silent. But her heart beat the more 
 rapidly as he did not answer immediately. 
 
 The scene was a romantic one. There was nothing 
 distinctly visible, except the rocky plateau on which 
 they stood, and the quite immediate surroundings. 
 Growing in the crevices of the rocks were bushes and 
 shrubs of varied description. Many of these were out- 
 lined clearly against the white ocean of mist which 
 seemed to close still closer round them. For a while they 
 stood together looking, as it were, into nothingness, into
 
 Mists and Mountains 233 
 
 vast space with the knowledge that below them, and 
 shrouded by the white mist mantle, there yawned almost 
 unfathomable abysses and this knowledge only serv^ed 
 to enhance the mysterous weird beauty of the enfolding 
 mist. Gradually dim outlines of rugged, rocky walls 
 and of immense trees, began to grow visible, then and 
 suddenly, just as though God's own hand were drawing 
 aside the curtain (as indeed it was) from before one of 
 His pictures, the mist veil was moved aside, noiselessly 
 and swiftly, and there before them a scene of surpassing 
 loveliness and grandeur was revealed. Huge granite 
 walls, suggestive of the ruins of some ancient feudal castle 
 were visible first ; then followed in quick succession, and 
 with colours as fresh as though newly painted, gigantic 
 eucalypti trees, green saplings, their myriad leaves 
 glittering with millions of rain tears, while far below 
 were glimpses of a winding path here, a flight of stone 
 steps there — a hundred fairy dells where waters gurgled 
 and gleamed, and where fern fronds uncurled and 
 yonder the bold headlands, sheer, awful precipices be- 
 tween earth and sky, some bare and rugged, others 
 verdure clothed. Just a little apart stood a tall jagged 
 rock rising from its base hundreds of feet below, like 
 Cleopatra's needle, its square tower-like summit, re- 
 minding one of a castle turret of the sixteenth century. 
 There it stood grim, not deigning a glance at the green 
 loveliness that Nature was clothing it with, kneeling at 
 its feet or climbing up its sides. 
 
 Standing there alone amid such a scene, the man and 
 woman turned and looked into each others' faces. It
 
 234 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 was as though they stood alone in the presence of the 
 Supreme Artist, the world with its sights and sounds was 
 far away, all the sordid realities of life seemed to belong 
 to the dim and the invisible. Here was a word of mists 
 and clouds and mountains, where all that the world 
 called shadowy had become real and visible. Under any 
 circumstances it was a never-to-be-forgotten moment 
 by those who witnessed it, but to these two who had long 
 loved each other in secret, what must it have been ? The 
 girl's eye were full of tears, and beyond a low murmur 
 of delight, she had no words. A sudden consciousness 
 at the moment had come to her, that the man by her side 
 loved her. 
 
 Perhaps there is no human joy to equal that which 
 fills a woman's heart, when she is conscious of a man's 
 love, just before it has been declared. There is a glamour 
 and a sweetness about it which never comes again after 
 the love has been put into words. 
 
 It did not seem a surprising thing to here, therefore, 
 when Gerald Slade, meeting her gaze, suddenly stretched 
 out both arms to her, and spoke her name as she had 
 never heard it uttered before. 
 
 " Irene, I love you," he said, in low passionate tones. 
 " I have loved you ever since the day I saw you in the 
 orchard at Tocumba. You have been the one woman 
 in the world to me. Come to me. Be my wife.' And 
 in silence Irene lifted her tear-dimmed eyes to his. 
 But he read his answer there and was satisfied, and when 
 he drew her into his arms and kissed her fondly, she did 
 not resist. And what they said to each other need not
 
 Mists and Mountains 235 
 
 be told. Just the old, yet ever new story, always fresh 
 and wonderful and rapturous in the hearing and the 
 telling to those concerned. And he told her of his jealous 
 fears and doubts, and of all he had suffered in those 
 months, and how he had believed her to be engaged to 
 Donald Cameron, and how Donald had explained it all. 
 And then there fell a long silence. The silence of intense 
 happiness. 
 
 " Look, Irene," Gerald said at length, pointing out over 
 the living picture spread before them. They saw a per- 
 fect rainbow arch — God's bow in the cloud, it flung its 
 colours and brightness around earth and sky, partially 
 encircling the white mist which still enshrouded a portion 
 of the picture and partly framing the revealed landscape. 
 Across the great granite walls of the precipice its blue and 
 green rays fell, across the myriad dancing leaves that 
 smiled in the sun through their rain tears. Further down, 
 the sunshine and shadows played at hide-and-seek upon 
 the winding pathways of the forest. Gerald and Irene 
 watched it together till the glory began to fade, and the 
 mists white and still, came creeping, creeping up from 
 the valley below, and then they two turned and went 
 home together. 
 
 " And, Irene," he whispered as they parted that 
 night, " I am no longer jealous of your hero. He was 
 worthy of all your admiration and devotion. He was 
 one of God's saints, we shall never see his like again."
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 A BUSH BACHELOR 
 
 AS Donald Cameron was putting his horse up outside 
 a little country church one Sunday morning after 
 a ride of about twelve miles, one of the church 
 members came up in a little flutter of excitement. " You 
 will find a few of the miners in church this morning, sir," 
 he said, " I thought I had better tell you so that you 
 w^ouldn't get too great a shock." And he smiled. 
 
 Donald looked the pleasure and surprise he felt. 
 " Some of the miners," he echoed, " why I never asked 
 one of them to come to church." But in spite of his 
 friend's kindly warning, Donald was wholly unprepared 
 for the scene that met his eye when he entered the church. 
 About a dozen of the front seats were occupied by these 
 great rough fellows, about eight}/ in all. To most, if 
 not all of them, coming to Church was an entirely new ex- 
 perience. As the Home Missionary entered the pulpit, 
 they sat and watched him with a kind of shame-faced 
 nervousness, and some of them shuffled uneasily in their 
 seats and grasped their hats as if they longed to make a 
 sudden rush outside to their more usual and congenial 
 surroundings. But Donald's presence soon put them at 
 their ease. His keen glance seemed to take in the whole 
 of them at once. They were watching him intently, and 
 the pleased surprise on his face found a ready reflection
 
 A Bush Bachelor 237 
 
 on theirs. Donald on his part felt a choking sensation 
 in his throat and a mist before his eyes, and as he gave 
 out the opening hymn his voice faltered. He was glad 
 to take shelter behind the hjann singing to gain com- 
 posure. As he heard the men's rough voices ioining in the 
 old familiar tune, so familiar to them in their childhood, 
 so unfamiliar in their manhood days, he felt stirred to 
 his heart's depths. The men listened to his discourse in 
 perfect silence, and with the greatest attention. And the 
 service over, they gathered round him, telling him that 
 they intended to come often and hear him preach. 
 
 Donald had been for some weeks past spending a good 
 deal of time among these miners, who had come up in 
 dozens to work a newly opened gold-mine. He had made 
 himself friendly with the men, smoking a pipe with them, 
 and chatting in such fashion as completely won their 
 hearts. He had been particularly careful not to ask 
 any of them to come and hear him preach. If they ever 
 did come, which Donald considered doubtful, he told 
 himself it would have to be of their own free will. But 
 that attendance at Church was not all. The following 
 week a deputation of the men waited on him and pre- 
 sented him with a large silver watch with his name 
 engraved on it. Over a hundred of them had put some 
 of their savings together for this purpose. And this was 
 the beginning of a great work among the men Some- 
 times on a Saturday afternoon six or eight of them would 
 come with pick and shovel and work in his garden for 
 hours, then they would stay to tea, and all spend a 
 pleasant evening together.
 
 238 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 One Sunday night, a hard day for Donald, he having 
 ridden forty miles in all, over bad roads, and preached 
 four times, he tlu'ew himself wearily on the sofa after 
 supper and naturally fell fast asleep. A loud knocking 
 awoke him. Going to the door and opening it, he saw a 
 burly figure, and recognised it as one of the miners. By 
 his thick incoherent speech Donald knew the man had 
 been drinking, but he brought him in and seated him 
 in front of the fire. It had burned rather low by this 
 time, but another log thrown upon it soon restored it, 
 and in a very short time, Donald had made a cup of 
 strong coffee and given it to his visitor. The man drank 
 it, and then fell into a short doze, from which he woke 
 completely sobered and thoroughly ashamed of himself 
 But the minister did not scold him, not even lecture him 
 He talked as if nothing had happened, and at length 
 suggested in a kindly manner that it might be as well 
 if he went home. The man rose immediately and went. 
 Left alone Donald went to his room, and was almost 
 asleep when he was roused by another loud knocking at 
 the door. There was no help for it, he must get up. 
 It was the same man back again. 
 
 " If you would not mind, sir," he said, " I wish you 
 would come with me a bit of the way. Some of the chaps 
 is up yonder, and thej'll want me to have another drink. 
 I know I can't resist 'em, sir. I can't trust mj'self, and 
 I don't want to get drunk again after your being so kind. 
 If you'd just come with me, sir, it 'ud be all right, but I 
 can't trust meself." 
 
 " Very well, my man." And in a few minutes Donald
 
 A Bush Bachelor 239 
 
 was ready. The night was bitterly cold, but he did not 
 mind that. He trudged along, feeling too glad at heart 
 to care for such trifles as cold and discomfort. The man's 
 almost child-like confidence in him and his desire to keep 
 straight were reward enough. After seeing the man 
 safely past the danger, and saying a few kind words to his 
 would-be tempters, making them feel more ashamed 
 of themselves than if he had lectured them for an hour 
 he returned to his well-earned rest. It had not been 
 at all easy work to get into the good graces of these men. 
 For a long time they had regarded him very suspiciously 
 but something had occurred a few weeks before which 
 had made Donald's popularity with them secure. The 
 gaol chaplain being on sick leave had asked Donald 
 to take his place for a while. Among the prisoners was 
 a famous boxer and prize fighter, a man that feared 
 neither God nor devil. Donald was talking to this fellow 
 one day when the man got abusive, and finally told him 
 to clear out, saying he wished he had half an hour out in 
 the yard and he would show him. Donald quietly went 
 to the warder and requested half an hour's leave for the 
 man. The warder, a friend of Donald's, granted leave, 
 and Donald went back and challenged the prisoner to 
 come outside and show what he could do. For a while 
 the contest seemed about equal. But, Donald, although 
 not so large of limb, proved to be the stronger man, owing 
 to his perfect health and great reserve of physical 
 strength. And presently he had the prize-fighter on the 
 ground, begging for mercy, which needless to say Donald 
 was not slow to grant. But from that time the man
 
 240 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 became Donald's greatest champion. His term of 
 imprisonment over, it happened that he had come up 
 with one of the relays of miners, and was surprised and 
 delighted to meet his old friend " the parson ". Naturally 
 he had to give an explanation to his mates as to how and 
 where he had met him previously, and this he did with 
 as much pride in the telling of the story as though he had 
 himself won the victory. 
 
 It was seven years since Donald had begun his work as a 
 Bush Missionary. As he looked back he felt that he 
 had accomplished little. Yet judged from all points, his 
 work was considered by those who knew best, a brilliant 
 success. There were hundreds of homes and hearts 
 where he was welcomed and loved. Donald's home 
 was about forty miles distant from " Hope Farm " where 
 his mother and brothers still lived. His sister Edna had 
 married some years before. An elderly woman acted as 
 his housekeeper, but there were so many outlying dis- 
 tricts to be visited, and the distances between the different 
 churches were so great that Donald spent quite as much 
 time away from his home as in it. 
 
 " When are you going to take a wife, Donald ? " Mrs. 
 Johnson asked him one day. " I cannot bear the thought 
 of your growing old without wife oi child. You are not 
 meant for a solitary existence. Surely 3'ou have for- 
 gotten that old love by this time ? " she said, looking into 
 his eyes, and placing her hand on his shoulder in her old 
 affectionate fashion." 
 
 Not much changed by the years was his old friend. 
 She was just as merry and bright as ever as she greeted
 
 A Bush Bachelor 241 
 
 her " third son." She kept a room ahvays ready for him, 
 which was called " Donald's room." 
 
 A shadow fell on Donald's bright face, but he made no 
 answer. 
 
 " There are plenty of nice girls about, Donald," she 
 went on seriously, " splendid women who would make 
 good mothers and wives, and would not say, ' No,' to 
 you." And she glanced approvingly at his handsome 
 face and stalwart figure, as proud of him as if he indeed 
 belonged to her. 
 
 " But you would not have me ask any woman to share 
 my home and my life when I could not give her my whole- 
 hearted affection, would you ? " he said, in the same se- 
 rious tone. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson looked grave. " It is a hard question, 
 Donald," she said, " perhaps you know best. If I 
 thought there was any hope of your ever marrying the 
 woman you have set your heart upon — but she is married, 
 and why should you go all your days mourning for one 
 who is quite beyond your reach ? " 
 
 " I have no thought of ever marrying her," he an- 
 swered, " it is not that. She is of course dead to me since 
 her marriage, but no other woman has the least attraction 
 for me, and so I must even " gang my ain gait," he 
 added with a laugh. " But surely I am not such a bad 
 advertisement of bachelorhood, am I ? " he asked, 
 straightening his tall form as he spoke, and smiling down 
 upon his companion. " You can't say I am pining away 
 or turning into " A melancholy sample of a miserable 
 man, can you ? " 
 
 Q
 
 242 Swayed by the Storm 
 
 " Well, hardly," was the laughing response, " I think 
 you look better than ever." 
 
 " Look here, ]\lammy, what do you think of that ? " 
 and he opened his bag and took from it a new book, 
 placing it on the table before her. She took it up, and 
 her eyes sparkled. 
 
 " Another book published, Don, no wonder j^ou look 
 so happy. Let me congratulate you. Why, you are 
 getting quite famous as a writer. When did j^ou write 
 this one ? " 
 
 " Oh, within the last six months," he answered care- 
 lessly. " You know I get a little spare time in the winter 
 months. It would never do to sit and look at the fire all 
 the evening, that would drive me melancholy mad in a 
 week." And there was a suspicious quaver in his voice 
 a sort of tears behind his laughter that touched Mrs, 
 Johnson's motherly heart to the core. 
 
 " Yes," she told herself with her woman's keen in- 
 tuition, " he loved that one woman, and will love her to 
 the end. It has gone deeper than I thought. Is this 
 copy for me, Donald ? " she said aloud. " Thank you so 
 much. I feel as if I want to begin it right away." And 
 she turned the pages lovingly as she spoke. " This is a 
 feast in store for me." 
 
 " I hope you will not be disappointed," Donald 
 laughed back, " at any rate, the reviews have been 
 unusually favourable. There is one comfort in being 
 a fairly successful writer," he went on, " it lelieves my 
 mind from all monetary worries, and leaves me free to do 
 my work just in my own way and extend it too. Do you
 
 A Bush Bachelor 243 
 
 know I have made enough out of the three books aheady 
 pubhshed to allow me to live for the next ten years in 
 idleness, if I wished to, but of course I don't." 
 
 " Do you hear that, pa ? " asked Mrs. Johnson of her 
 husband who just entered, wearing a heav^^ o^'ercoat 
 and carrying his umbrella, though the day was unusually 
 fine and warm. Perhaps he tried in this way to make 
 amends for the numerous drenches he got by reason of 
 leaving these articles carefully at home just when he most 
 needed them. He was bending under the weight of a 
 huge cumbersome parcel. This he laid on the table and 
 then mopped his forehead. " What have you got there, 
 dear ? " 
 
 He smiled genially and began to undo the string. ]Mrs. 
 Johnson helped to remove the wrappers, and then she 
 burst into shrieks of laughter " In the name of all that 
 is reasonable or unreasonable, pa, why did you buy that?" 
 
 The " that " referred to was a hand sewing-machine. 
 Poor ^Ir. Johnson's cheerfulness grew slightly clouded. 
 " Why, dear, isn't it just the thing for you ? " he asked 
 in surprise, " you know I don't like to see you using the 
 treadle machine." 
 
 " But, my dear, we have no less than two machines in 
 the place, and no mortal woman can work more than one 
 at a time, and I am quite strong enough to work the 
 treadle machine any day. The other has been l3ang 
 there for years unused, and now you go and fill the house 
 up with another. Why will you go on wasting your 
 substance on riotous living in this fashion ? You will be 
 the death of me, pa. He goes to auction sales," she
 
 244 Swayed by The Storm , 
 
 continued, turning to Donald, who was laughing heartily, 
 " and buys things that must have come out of the Ark, 
 and would not be of any use to us if we lived to the age 
 of Methuselah, which we won't. You know, pa, you 
 bought those garden seats with no backs to them, and 
 that great wooden bedstead. And then you brought 
 home a pair of scissors that I have scarcely got strength 
 to lift up, and that are as blunt as possible. And — " 
 
 " But I got it very cheap, mj' dear," Mr. Johnson in- 
 terrupted, ruefully contemplating his bargain. 
 
 " Even if you got it for nothing it was not worth 
 bringing home," retorted his better half. 
 
 " Well, what shall I do with it, dear ? Is there anyone 
 about that could make use of it ?" he asked quite meekly. 
 
 Mrs. Johnson considered, " Yes, there's that little 
 Mrs. Jones up the road, she would be glad of it I think. 
 She has six children, and no sewing machine, it would be 
 a real boon to her. Take it along to her, pa, as soon 
 as you have had some tea and rested 3'ourself, she will 
 be quite delighted." 
 
 And Mr. Johnson, the cloud now lifted from his brow, 
 gladly agreed to the proposal. And not content with 
 carrying the machine to her himself, he made several 
 ;ourneys to her with other articles which he begged his 
 wife to gather together, and which might be useful.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 A FIRE AND ITS COXSEQUENXES 
 
 THE annual Meetings of the denomination to which 
 Donald Cameron belonged were being held and 
 he had come to the city to take part as one of the 
 Speakers. On his second day in town, he looked up 
 an old College chum of his, a man who was fast rising to 
 eminence in the ]^Iedical profession. Dr. Culvert was 
 delighted to meet his old friend, and the two men sat 
 and chatted over old times far into the night. 
 
 " I have lately opened a Private Hospital," the doctor 
 said to him, when they met a day or two later, " would 
 you care to go over it with me ? I am on my waj' there 
 now." 
 
 • Donald was delighted. He had always made it a rule 
 to find material for his sermons out of the incidents of 
 every-day life, and every new sphere of laboui had a 
 special attraction for him in this direction. In a hos- 
 pital, above all places, he could surely find plenty of 
 suggestions. The Private Hospital in question had been 
 an old mansion built in the early days. The front part 
 of the house was modernized, but the back was in a 
 very dilapidated condition. 
 
 " Where does this queer-looking staircase lead to ? "
 
 246 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 Donald asked, as he followed the doctor over the spacious 
 but old-fashioned building. " You may well call it that, 
 Cameron, it must have been built in the year one. But 
 wait till you see the queer place it leads to. Come up and 
 have a look at it." 
 
 It was a long, low-ceiled room in which they found 
 themselves, after mounting the rickety stairs. 
 Very little light came from the one small window. There 
 were shelves on two sides of the room. Donald looked 
 around him curiously. " You don't make use of this 
 place, surely," he asked. 
 
 " Yes, we keep stores, medicines, bandages, etc., up 
 here. We are rather short of space, you know, till we 
 can get the additions built. The nurses and myself 
 are the only ones who come up, so there is not much 
 danger in the meantime." 
 
 " It would be a serious business if a fire were to break 
 out," Donald remarked, " why the whole place is like 
 matchwood." 
 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders. " Oh, well, we 
 don't expect fires to break out ever}^ da5^" was the reply. 
 
 " This is a ponderous-looking door. Do j'ou notice 
 that it closes from the outside with a spring ? Anyone 
 shut in here would be a close prisoner." 
 
 The doctor examined the lock. " Yes," he replied, 
 " I wonder if the place was used for some such purpose 
 years ago. Some of these old houses could tell strange 
 stories if the}^ could speak. Oh, well, I shall have the 
 whole thing cleared away before long." And the doctor 
 went on to describe his plans as the}^ descended the
 
 A Fire and Its Consequences 247 
 
 stairs. " I am going through the children's ward now, 
 would you care to come with me ? " 
 
 ," I should like nothing better," Donald said, " if you 
 don't mind." 
 
 " I don't mind, and the children never object to 
 visitors." Dr. Culvert answered pleasantly. " I am 
 just going to make a flying visit to them though, and then 
 I must leave you, I have an operation for i2 o'clock." 
 
 The children's ward was a laige, lofty room, looking 
 cheerful and bright as the morning sunshine fell full upon 
 it through the high curtainless windows which reached 
 from floor to ceiling. The rows of little cots, each covered 
 with a red quilt, the light polished floors, and the long 
 strip of red carpet down the centre of the room, the 
 tables here and there with vases of fresh flowers ; a couple 
 of nurses in their neat costumes flitting about ; even the 
 children's expectant faces, all gave the room the appear- 
 ance of a pretty picture. Some of the children were 
 sitting up in bed amusing themselves with their toys. 
 One or two little sick ones were lying still. One sleeping 
 child clasped a broken doll close to her tear-stained face. 
 
 " Poor little mite," the doctor said compassionately. 
 " She was operated on yesterday, and she very strongly 
 resents being so tightly bandaged up, but she is doing 
 famously," and he laid his hand in a fatheily fashion on 
 the little sleeper's shoulder, and passed on. 
 
 Suddenly Donald's attention was arrested by a scene 
 at the farthest end of the room. A little girl was sobbing 
 bitterly, and a nuise bending over the cot was holding 
 the child very close to her breast and whispering to her,
 
 248 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 trying to soothe her sobs. But it was not the child, but 
 the nurse who attracted his gaze. There was something 
 about her, he could scarcely tell what, that reminded 
 him of Kathleen. He stood and watched her for a few 
 minutes quite lost to his surroundings. Dr. Culvert 
 meanwhile was taken up with another little patient 
 and did not notice him. Presently the nurse laid the 
 child gently back and kissed her, then turned and left 
 the room, going out from the further door ; but in that 
 moment Donald saw and recognised Kathleen. She had 
 not seen him, and he had only caught a glimpse of her side 
 face, but he had not a moment's doubt that it was she. 
 
 "Did you notice that nurse who left the room just 
 now ? " he asked, turning to his friend. 
 
 " Who ? Sistei Kate ? Yes, what about her, do j^'ou 
 know her ? " 
 
 " Her face struck me as being familiar," Donald mur- 
 mured, moving away and feeling strangely uncomfort- 
 able. It was fortunate that the doctor's mind was full of 
 his " cases " at that particular moment, otherwise he 
 might have noticed something peculiar about his friend's 
 manner. They had passed through the long room by this 
 time, and Donald was breathing more freelj^ He had 
 rather dreaded meeting Kathleen unexpectedly on her 
 return to the ward. He wanted time to recover himself 
 befoie meeting her. " And who is Sister Kate ? " he 
 asked, in a tone that tried to be indifferent. 
 
 " She is sub-matron," replied the doctor. " She is 
 just now acting Matron. She will not accept the position 
 permanently, for she seems to have a great objection to
 
 A Fire and Its Consequences 249 
 
 any sort of publicity ; personally she is invaluable to me. 
 She is well liked by the staff, and the patients, too, 
 everyone has a good word for her." 
 
 " Married, isn't she ? " 
 
 The doctor glanced at him now, his attention was 
 aroused, " Oh, then you do know her ? " 
 
 " She reminds me very much of someone I once knew " 
 Donald answered evasively. 
 
 " Oh ! the husband is dead, you know." 
 
 " Indeed ? " 
 
 " Yes, rather a sad affair," the doctor went on con- 
 fidentially, " she married, I am told, in some sort of 
 pique — had a quarrel with the man she loved. The 
 husband met with an accident about six months after and 
 died. She has been here about four years now. A 
 strange character," he continued, " as proud as Lucifer 
 and yet as unassuming and gentle on occasion as it is 
 possible for anyone to be. There, I think I have sketched 
 her personality and character as fully as a newspaper 
 reporter, haven't I. I don't know why, I'm sure, but 
 you seem interested, and I always enjoy talking about 
 Sister Kate. My wife sweais by Kathleen," he added. 
 
 " Kathleen ? " Donald echoed. 
 
 " Yes, she was a Miss Kathleen Fitzgerald before her 
 marriage. Dear me, I have gossiped too long," as he 
 glanced at his watch, " I must be off. Good-bye old 
 fellow. You won't forget Thursday ? " 
 
 " No, Good-bye." 
 
 The following Thursday Donald and Dr. Culvert had 
 arranged to spend together, driving and shooting. The
 
 250 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 return train did not arrive in the city till near midnight 
 and as they were returning, Dr. Culvert suggested that 
 Donald should spend the night with him at the private 
 hospital. " Plenty of room," he said, " and it will save 
 you some miles." Donald was pleased to accept. They 
 retired early for after the long daj^'s outing the two 
 men were ready for bed and soon they weie fast asleep. 
 Towards morning Donald was startled by a cry of " fire." 
 He sprang up, rushed his clothes on, called to the doctor 
 whose room was next to his own, but getting no answer, 
 he ran in, shook him, and succeeded in waking him. It 
 seemed only an instant before the whole place was a 
 scene of indescribable confusion. There were the cries 
 of frightened children, the moaning of sick people, the 
 nurses running hither and thither. Donald had already 
 telephoned to the Fire Brigade, and the men were on their 
 way ; in a few minutes they arrived on the scene. No- 
 body knew how the fire originated, but at the back part 
 of the house the fire was fast making headway. Donald 
 threw himself into the fray with a zest that surprised even 
 himself. He seemed to have the strength of ten men. 
 It was no new work to him, bringing back as it did, 
 lecollections of the old days when he had beaten back 
 bush fires. He seemed to be here, there and everywhere, 
 carrying out two children at a time to a place of safety, 
 and returning for the older patients over and over again. 
 And all the time he was scanning the faces of the different 
 nurses as they passed to and fro, with an eager intensity, 
 with a heart sickness that no one knew but himself. 
 Needless to say, he was searching for one face, and as the
 
 A Fire and Its Consequences 251 
 
 minutes passed and he did not see that one, a great fear 
 took possession of him. 
 
 " Where is Sister Kate ? " he asked, clutching Dr. 
 Culvert's arm with a face grown white as death. 
 
 " I don't know. Isn't she about ? " The doctor 
 turned to a group of nurses. " Have all the nurses left 
 their rooms ? " he asked, for the fire was already close 
 upon their quarters. 
 
 " Yes, doctor." 
 
 " Where is Sister Kate ? " 
 
 One of the girls spoke. " I have not seen hei about, 
 doctor, but I know she was up early this morning, she had 
 a lot of bandaging to do." 
 
 The word was scarcely out of the girl's mouth before 
 Donald made a sudden frantic rush towards the old rotten 
 staircase which led to the room above. With one leap 
 he had cleared the passage, and was now half way up 
 the stairs. The flames had almost reached them, and 
 when they did they would make short work of them, 
 for they were like matchwood. Donald was conscious 
 of one fact only, his brain seemed to swim with the 
 thought, Kathleen was up stairs and perhaps that 
 dreadful door had swung to, its iron hinges acted on by 
 the heat, and if so, she was a prisoner, waiting to be 
 burnt to death. Yes, he was right. His worst fears were 
 realized. There was the huge iron door in front of him 
 — shut. There was no hope of opening it from the 
 inside, he knew, and it took an almost superhuman effort 
 to do so from the outside. Like a wild animal he flung his 
 whole strength against it and it moved slowly back ;
 
 252 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 he rushed in, the place was filled with smoke and was 
 almost dark. 
 
 " Kathleen," he called wildly, but there was no 
 answer. In another moment his eyes had become 
 accustomed to the semi-darkness, and he saw something 
 lying on the floor just beside him. It was the figure of 
 a woman. The face was forward, resting on her hands. 
 He stooped and turned it round. It was Kathleen. He 
 did not know whether she breathed or not, but he 
 snatched her up in his arms and flew towards the staircase. 
 Yes, the fire had reached it now, the flames were leaping 
 up to meet him and his unconscious burden. Not a 
 minute to stop and think. The top pai't of the staircase 
 had not yet caught fire but the bottom two or three steps 
 were in a blaze. Dr. Culvert had dragged several 
 mattresses, which happened to be near, and piled them on 
 the floor. Donald managed to get half way down and 
 then he dropped or rather flung, with his remaining 
 strength, his burden on to the friendly mattresses 
 beneath. Then he himself leaped foi his life. Just in 
 time, he had only reached the floor when the flames like 
 angry fiends licked up the staircase. A few minutes 
 later the room above, tottered and crashed down in a 
 thousand lurid pieces. Fortunately, the water which 
 had been playing on this part of the house now forced its 
 way in great volumes. 
 
 The smoke was suffocating. Someone took hold of 
 Donald, who was more than half dazed, and led him 
 away. Amid the din he heard Dr. Culvert's voice, 
 "She will be all right, Cameron. I'll attend to her." Then
 
 A Fire and Its Consequences 253 
 
 he himself lost consciousness. When he recovered, he 
 found on enquiry that Kathleen was safely in bed and 
 was being carefully looked after. 
 
 " She is delirious," the doctor told him, " the shock, 
 I suppose. We are doing all that is possible, and I have 
 great hopes of bringing her round. She has such a 
 splendid constitution. What about yourself ? " 
 
 " Oh, I am aU right." 
 
 " Well, keep still for a bit, you have done more than 
 your share. The fire is under now, and no lives lost, 
 thank God, There would have been one life at least 
 lost only for you, stay there till I come back," he said 
 authoritatively. And Donald was forced to obey. 
 
 " Will you do me a favour. Culvert ? " he said when 
 the doctor returned. 
 
 " A thousand favours," the other said gratefully, " I 
 do not know how to thank you enough. What is it ? " 
 
 " Well, don't let Sister Kate know who saved her. I 
 have a particular reason for this. But I may as well 
 tell you . ' ' And then in a few words he told him the truth . 
 Dr. Culvert was deeply interested and promised readily. 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to see her," he said with an 
 innate delicac}^ worthy of a woman. 
 
 " I should indeed." 
 
 " Well, come this way. Mind she is delirious, so 
 don't be alarmed." And Donald followed the doctor 
 to the room where Kathleen lay. She was tossing from 
 side to side, moaning and talking incessantly. " We are 
 doing all that possibly can be done for her," the doctor 
 said reassuringly. " We will pull her through, Cameron,
 
 254 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 don't look so down-cast. The rest and quiet will work 
 wonders." Just then a message came for the doctor, he 
 was wanted immediately, and he went. The nurse 
 having also left the room for a few minutes Donald was 
 left alone. Yielding to an uncontrollable impulse, he 
 bent over Katlileen and kissed her hot lips passionately, 
 twice, thrice, and tears filled his eyes as he took her 
 burning- hand in his own. What a beautiful, shapely 
 hand it was! And then he began to push back the dark 
 heavy waves of hair from her temples in the same 
 soothing fashion that he had done with little Erin's hair 
 in those long ago days. In her weakness and helplessness 
 Kathleen came nearer to the man that loved her, than she 
 had ever done in all the magnificence of her health and 
 strength. 
 
 " My poor girl," he murmured fondly. Suddenly 
 Kathleen's eyes opened, and fixed themselves upon his 
 face, and for a moment his heart stood still. Did she 
 recognise him, and would the shock be too much for her ? 
 
 She continued gazing in silence, and at last he spoke. 
 " Do you know me, Kathleen ? " But there was no 
 answer, no recognition in the eyes. They closed them- 
 selv'es again wearily, and she began to talk. What was 
 she sajdng, what could it be ? Was that his name he 
 heard ? " Donald," she was saying in a piteous way, 
 like a tired child. " I want Donald." 
 
 " Yes, dear," he said soothingly, " I am here," Again 
 the brown eyes opaned and fastened themselves on his 
 face, and with something of her old imperiousness, which 
 almost made him smile, she said,
 
 A Fire and Its Consequences 255 
 
 " Go away, I don't want you, I want Donald." Then 
 she clutched his arm and held him fast and her talk 
 became more rapid. " It is his last book," she said, 
 " it is the third book he has written. I have read every 
 word. But he does not love me now. There is no 
 heart-ache in his last book. There was in the first, he 
 wanted me then, but he can do without me now." 
 And presently she relapsed again into nonsensical talk, 
 and moaning and crying. Here the nurse returned, and 
 Donald took his leave. 
 
 " You will take great care of her," he said, " won't 
 you." 
 
 " I will," the girl said, smiling into his anxious face. 
 As Donald passed through the empty corridor, a deep sob 
 shook him, but his heart was lighter than it had been for 
 many a day. Kathleen was free, and without doubt she 
 loved him, that was enough. It was more than he had 
 ever hoped for. " I want Donald," the words rang as 
 music in his ears and in his heart, and for very excess of 
 happiness he laughed aloud at the thought of Kathleen 
 the unconscious telling him what Kathleen the conscious 
 would not have owned to him for all the world.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 AFTER THE STORM 
 
 DONALD CAMERON had kept well out of sight after 
 that first visit of his to Kathleen when she was 
 unconscious. He remained in the City however, 
 and seeing the doctor every day was well posted up as 
 to her condition. As Dr. Culvert had said, the rest and 
 quiet were all she needed to restore her shattered nerves, 
 and in a few days she was quite herself again, not very 
 much the worse for what had happened. 
 
 Usually she was ready enough to put two and two 
 together, her keen insight into human nature being 
 rather above the average, but in this instance no thought 
 of who the mysterious stranger was, crossed her mind. 
 Of course she had heard the story fiom the other nurses, 
 but none of them knew the name of the stranger, and 
 Dr. Culvert insisted on keeping it a secret. " I do not 
 know why you should refuse to tell me my rescuer's 
 name," she said to the doctor, and her eyes flashed with 
 anger as she spoke. 
 
 "I am very sorry," he replied mildly, " but my friend 
 particularly requested me not to mention his name just 
 at present." 
 
 Kathleen looked puzzled, as well she might. " I
 
 After The Storm ^ 257 
 
 cannot think what his motive can be for this secret, " 
 she said. 
 
 " I shall see him to-night," the doctor proceeded 
 calmly, " would you like me to take a message from you?^' 
 
 " Yes, I would please. Tell him I should very much 
 like to meet him. I am very anxious to express my 
 gratitude to him for what he has done." 
 
 Dr. Culvert promised, and went off, highly pleased with 
 the message. 
 
 And next morning Kathleen was informed that the 
 mysterious stranger would be pleased to interview her 
 at any hour that she herself might appoint. She arranged 
 an hour promptly — the next evening at 7 o'clock, as soon 
 as she would be off duty, for she was quite recovered now, 
 and had been on duty for the last couple of days. And 
 Dr. Culvert promised that his friend would be there. 
 
 Punctually to the hour Donald Cameron was being 
 ushered into Sister Kate's private sitting room. As he 
 entered, someone rose to meet him. A tall, stately 
 woman, looking like a Quakeress in her sober grey gown, 
 with its white linen cuffs and collar. Just the same 
 Kathleen as he had known of old, looking older and 
 graver certainly, but in his eyes more beautiful and 
 womanly. It was the hour between the lights, and the 
 room was not yet lit up, so that he could not see her face 
 very clearly, and she did not recognise him. She was 
 therefore altogether taken by surprise when in response 
 to her shy greeting the visitor suddenly came towards her 
 with out-stretched hands and called her by her name 
 She staited back utterly bewildered at finding that 
 
 R
 
 258 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 Donald Cameron stood before her. The hours pre- 
 ceding the present interview had been full of suspense for 
 her as well as for Donald, and the effect of her recent 
 illness had not quite passed away. Her usual self 
 control forsook her, she reeled and would have fall- 
 if his strong arm had not supported her. Donald led her 
 gently to the sofa, and stood looking down upon her with 
 much concern in his face and with a murmured apology on 
 his lips. 
 
 ' Forgive me, I hope I have not startled you." he said. 
 
 " Was it really you that saved me from the fire ? " 
 Kathleen asked as soon as she regained composure enough 
 to speak. 
 
 He bowed his head in silence. He noticed that her 
 voice was tremulous. 
 
 " I do not know how to thank you," she was beginning, 
 but he interrupted her impatiently. 
 
 " I do not want thanks," he said, " I did not come here 
 for that." 
 
 With something of her old impulsiveness she broke in 
 with, " Then what did you come for ? " 
 
 " I have come to ask you a question, Kathleen." 
 He spoke in a resolute, determined fashion, altogether 
 unlike the Donald she had known at their last interview. 
 " I do not want to seem to take advantage of what has 
 occurred," he said, " I am only too thankful that I 
 happened to be there at the time of the fire. But will 
 you allow me to say what I want to say ? " 
 
 Her clear brown eyes met his, and he heard a low 
 murmured, " Yes, go on."
 
 After The Storm 259 
 
 " Kathleen," and unconsciously he laid his hand on 
 her shoulder as he spoke, " you remember how we 
 parted ? " 
 
 Her eyes drooped at the question. 
 
 " You remember," and his voice had grown more 
 impassioned now, though it was still resolute in tone. 
 " You remember how I told you I loved you then ? I 
 have never ceased to love you. I have put no other 
 woman in your place through all these years. You are 
 free. Have you any love for me to-day ? If so I am 
 here to claim it. I want your final answer." 
 
 How dear his voice sounded in the silence ' How 
 tall and strong he looked standing there ! It was a novel 
 and delightful experience to Kathleen to be treated in 
 this authoritative fashion. It was turning the tables 
 upon her. What an autocrat he was, this man, strong in 
 the midst of his deep passion ! And the woman who 
 watched him, loved him more in that moment than ever 
 before. But she was not going to surrender so easily, 
 although if she had followed the real dictates of her heart, 
 she could have knelt at his feet and sobbed out her love 
 But she apparently sat unmoved and said coolly, " So 
 you demand my love, do you ? " 
 
 The man's mood changed suddenly to one of tender- 
 ness. " Kathleen, why do you act a part towards me ? " 
 And he took her in his arms as if she already belonged 
 to him and he knew it. " No, I do nut demand your 
 love, I plead for it. But I know it is mine, isn't it ? " 
 
 " How do you know ?" she flashed back at him. And 
 then the thin disguise of her feelings broke. She had
 
 260 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 acted her part long enough. All the pent up love of 
 these years, all the sorrow, the lonehness, the heart-ache 
 for this man whom she had loved even while she sent him 
 from her, came to the surface. She laid her face on his 
 shoulder and sobbed as if her heart would break. " For- 
 give me," she whispered, " I don't know why I have acted 
 so, I have loved you all the time, even when I was most 
 cruel, and you have always been so patient, I don't 
 know why. And now you have just saved me from a 
 horrible death. How can you forgive me all the pain, 
 the needless pain I caused you ? But I have suffered 
 for it," she added. And for answer Donald held her 
 in his arms and soothed and petted her as if she were a 
 little child. How tender he was with all his manhood's 
 strength ! How restful it was to feel his arms about her 
 and to know that he would never allow the world's 
 rough wind to blow upon her again if he could help it. And 
 she confessed to him the years of suffering and struggle 
 she had gone through since the day she had sent him 
 away. How she had longed for him of late years, but 
 that only her pride kept her back from letting him know 
 that she was free again to marry. She spoke of her 
 husband who had been an invalid almost from the first, 
 and said that her life with him had been one of self 
 renunciation and stern cold duty, for she had never had 
 any love for him. And yet in that six months she had 
 learned in the school of sorrow, more than in all the 
 previous years of her life. 
 
 After a long while she remembered it was time to light 
 up. Crossing the room, she touched an electric bell and
 
 After The Storm 261 
 
 flooded the spacious apartment with brilhant hght. 
 " Don't you think I have grown old looking ?" she said 
 to him with a laugh. 
 
 " You are seven years older," he replied gravely, " and 
 so am I. But we are both seven years wiser, I hope." 
 
 ' And my hair is turning grey," she went on, " look at 
 me. Are you quite sure you will want me now you have 
 seen me in the light ? " 
 
 " Quite sure," he laughed back, and then he said 
 such things to her as only lovers would say, such words 
 as brought the old sparkle to her eyes, and the flush to 
 her cheek, till he declared she looked younger than ever. 
 " There was only one thing lacking in you in those old 
 days," he said, " and you have got that now." 
 
 " What was it ? " she asked, knowing all the time what 
 he meant. 
 
 " Only a heart," he made answer. 
 
 Her face grew serious again. " I had a heart," she 
 said, " though I used to make out I had not. I was 
 always a bold brat — you know. I was always queer, 
 perhaps I am queer still. Don't you think you are 
 running a great risk in having anything to do with me ? " 
 
 " Possibly," he replied, " but still— I'll risk it." 
 
 " Well, you are very brave," she laughed back, and 
 then she told him that he was far more to her, and that 
 she admired and loved him more because of his firmness 
 and manliness in the past. " If you had given in to my 
 wilfulness," she said, " I would have married you, but 
 I would have despised you, I think. And Donald, I have 
 read your books, look here they are, " and she pointed to
 
 262 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 them in her book-case. " I know them all by heart/ I 
 believe. I used to wile away many a lonely hour reading 
 them. I love them, it used to seem as if you were speak- 
 ing to me in them. And when I read your last book I 
 made up my mind that you did not want me any longer, 
 you seemed to have quite above and beyond any heart 
 aches." 
 
 " Ah ! you were quite wrong," he said, " when you 
 thought that. I have wanted you more every year." 
 And again he said such words to her as need not be told. 
 His writing had brought him joy beyond words to tell. 
 It had been a world of his own to live in. Not for worlds 
 would he have been without the gift with its mingled 
 pain and rapture. But this moment when Kathleen 
 told him of what his books had been to her was the 
 very crown and summit of earth happiness. 
 
 " And Irene ? What of her ? Have you seen her ? Is 
 she well ? " Kathleen asked eagerly. 
 
 " Yes, I saw her some months ago, and have heard from 
 her and her husband — " 
 
 " Her husband ? " interrupted, " Is she married ? " 
 
 " Yes, to the best fellow on earth — " 
 
 She interrupted him again. " Except one," she said, 
 passing her hand caressingly over Donald's temples and 
 pushing back the thick waves of clustering hair. 
 
 " Very well, have it so," he laughed, " then the second 
 l^est. Will that suit you ? " 
 
 She noddded. " And who is he ? " 
 
 " He is a Mr. Howard, the missing heir to tlie ' Tocum- 
 ba Estate.' It is a long story, I will tell you all about
 
 After The Storm 263 
 
 it one day. At present they are having a tour in the Old 
 Country and on the Continent. They were married 
 about twelve months ago." 
 
 " I am so glad. Dear httle girl, how often I have 
 thought of her and longed for her." 
 
 " Well, why ever didn't you write ? " Donald asked. 
 
 " It was just my wicked pride, Donald," she made 
 answer. " I could not bear to let her know I was in 
 trouble. 1 once told her that if I were, I would never 
 let her know, and I kept my word, though it cost me 
 more than I can tell you. I always loved Irene, and 
 always will. Then when I would have written, I learned 
 she had left her old address, and so I lost sight of her, 
 I wonder whether she will forgive me, and if I shall ever 
 see her again." 
 
 " Yes, of course. Do you know what, darling ? Their 
 home is not far from mine, and when you are " he paused 
 for an instant — " my wife, you and Irene will be near 
 neighbours. Perhaps that will reconcile you to the 
 dreadful position of being a Bush Missionary's wife," he 
 added with a twinkle in his eye. 
 
 Kathleen's eyes drooped. " You are cruel Donald," 
 she said. " But I deserve it all, and more," she added 
 with such genuine contrition in her voice, that Donald 
 could not resist consoling her in his own way ; and he 
 did so. "I would rather be the wife of a Bush Mission- 
 ary, if that missionary is you, Donald," she whispered, 
 winding her arms about his neck, and kissing him, " than 
 thej wife of a millionaire. I have learned a great many 
 lessons since that day. This hospital has taught me a
 
 264 Swayed by The Storm 
 
 great deal, and among other things I have learned that 
 one does not find the highest joy, nor indeed any lasting 
 joy, in the path of self-pleasing, but in the path of service 
 and helpfulness. You remember the day I cried over 
 your poem ? " she asked him after a pause. 
 
 Aye, did he not ? Would he ever forget it ? he told her. 
 
 " I have never forgotten it, not the poem either. You 
 and I .have been swayed by the storm, haven't we? " and 
 Kathleen's voice was like low sweet music, and her eyes 
 were tear-dimmed as she spoke, " but like the trees 
 you wrote about, we are all the stronger and better for 
 the storm." 
 
 And, smiling through her tears, she quoted softly, 
 
 " For men and women 
 Swayed by Life's Storm, 
 If by God guided, 
 If looking upward, 
 God ward and Heavenward, 
 Grow stronger, purer, 
 Nobler and brighter, 
 
 Strong through the storm." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by Henry J, Drane Ltd,, London, EX,
 
 A CATALOGUE 
 OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN, 
 
 100, Flindei^s Sli"eel, 
 MELBOURNE. 
 
 October, 1911,
 
 INDEX 
 
 Alpha Centauri 
 
 Animal Physiology, The Elements of 
 
 Australian Building Estimator 
 
 Australian Butterflies, A Guide to the Study 
 
 Australian Crisis, The 
 
 Bells and Bees 
 
 BusHLAND Ballads 
 
 Clarke's Elocution Instructor 
 
 Dawnward .... 
 
 Dominions of the Boundary 
 
 Eating for Health 
 
 Egmont .... 
 
 Federal Liquor Service, The 
 
 From Range to Sea 
 
 From the Old Dog 
 
 Ginger Talks 
 
 Glimpses of Australian Bird Life 
 
 Great Longing, The 
 
 Heart of the Rose, The 
 
 How to Handle a Customer 
 
 Key to the Birds of Australia 
 
 Keeyuga Cookery Book 
 
 Laboratory, The . 
 
 Lamp of Psyche, The 
 
 Lyrics in Leisure 
 
 Lyric Moods 
 
 Moods and Melodies 
 
 Mosquitoes, Their Habits and Distribution 
 
 No Breakfast ; or, The Secret of Life 
 
 Nugget Booklets .... 
 
 Petals in the Wind 
 
 Poems by Bernard O'Dowd . 
 
 Poems of Henry C. Kendall 
 
 Poems of William Gay 
 
 Poems of Love, Life and Sentiment 
 
 Poetry Militant .... 
 
 Practical Lessons in Hypnotism . 
 
 Quinton's Rouseabout, and Other Stories 
 
 Rosemary, That's for Remembrance 
 
 Sea and Sky ..... 
 
 Sea Spray and Smoke Drift . 
 
 Seven Deadly Sins, The 
 
 Silent Land, The 
 
 Things Worth Thinking About 
 
 Useful Birds of Southern Australia 
 
 Victorian Hill and Dale 
 
 Ways of Many Waters, The 
 
 Wisdom and Success in Advertising 
 
 Woman's Work ....
 
 A 
 
 CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THOriAS C LOTHIAIN, 
 
 100. Flinders Street, 
 MELBOURNE. 
 
 THE ELEMENTS OF ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY. By W. A. 
 
 Osborne, M.B., D.Sc, Professor of Physiology in the Univer- 
 sity, Melbourne. 152 pages, 64 illustrations. Price 65. ; 
 postage, id. 
 
 In this book an attempt has been made to give an elementary 
 account of physiology from the standpoint of the mammal and 
 with special reference to man and the domestic animals. It is 
 hoped that it may function as a text-book intermediate between 
 the primer and the special manual of human or veterinary physio- 
 logy, and therefore be of use to students of medicine, veterinary 
 science, and agriculture. As the technical terms employed 
 are all defined, and as no presumption is made that the reader 
 has studied chemistry or physics, the book, it is also hoped, may 
 be read with profit by others who may not be entering upon a 
 definite course of professional study. 
 
 In the appendix a number of biochemical data are given for the 
 sake of those who have some chemical knowledge. 
 
 A copy should be in the hands of every intelligent person. It 
 is the latest and best book on the subject. 
 
 " The book is trustworthy and free from errors ; it is specially full on its biochemical 
 fiide, which is what one would anticipate from Professor Osborne's research work, , . • 
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 3
 
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 NO BREAKFAST ; or, The Secret of Life. By " Gossip." 
 Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 94 pp. Antique paper. Attrac- 
 tive cover in two colours. Price is. ; postage, id. 
 
 This is a book that will take you unawares and surprise you, 
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 show whether you have discovered the secret of the book or not. 
 
 " . i . a vigorous expression of the philosophy of common sense. , , , The plea 
 is foE more simplicity, for moderation in all things," — Sydney Morning Herald, 
 
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 — Adelaide Register, 
 
 THE AUSTRALIAN CRISIS. By C. H. Kirmess. Paper 
 
 cover, 2s. 6d. Cloth cover, 3s. 6d. 
 
 This is a remarkable novel, and one which has attracted con- 
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 Read the book. 
 
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 book contains many sweeping assertions with which the majority of the liquor reformers 
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 " It is a new book really. It breaks new ground. . , . His arguments are very 
 clear and simple. ... It ought to be in everybody's hand." — Sydney Stock and Station 
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 " It is rare to find an earnest Temperance Reformer who does not call his oppooeats 
 hard names ; Mr. Wollaston does not,"'— Adelaide Register, 
 
 4
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN, MELBOURNE 
 
 POETRy BY BERN3KD O'DOWD. 
 
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 THE SILENT LAND AND OTHER VERSES. By Bernard 
 O'Dowd, Author of " Dawnward ? " " Dominions of the Boun- 
 dary." Bound in half-cloth boards, gilt tops. Price 2s. 6d. ; 
 postage, id. 
 
 A few copies of an Edition-de-Luxe (limited to twenty-five), 
 signed by the Author, are still available. Price 75. 6d. 
 
 " The most arresting work of the younger generation is that of Mr. Bernard O'Dowd." 
 — The Times (London). 
 
 DOMINIONS OF THE BOUNDARY. By Bernard O'Dowd. 
 
 64 pages, art cover. Price is. ; postage, id. 
 
 " Mr. Bernard O'Dowd stands out alone among modem Australian poets." — The 
 
 Spectator (London), 
 
 POETRY MILITANT. By Bernard O'Dowd. An Aus- 
 tralian plea for the Poetry of Purpose. An exceedingly fine, 
 sincere, literary essay. Paper cover, is. ; postage, id. 
 
 "This booklet Is an important contribution to Australian Literature." — N.S^W. 
 EduccUionul Gazette, 
 
 THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS. A Sonnet Series By Ber- 
 nard O'Dowd. Small quarto, 56 pp., deckle edged, antique 
 paper. Price ^s. 6d. ; postage, 2d. 
 
 This is Mr. O'Dowd's latest volume, and one which can be 
 confidently recommended as containing some of the most remark- 
 able poetical work yet done in Australia. 
 
 " ■ , , It is full of thought and vision ... it embodies such a bold and luminous 
 re-valuation of the universe, as we have every right to expect from the true poet,"— 
 The Herald. 
 
 5
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN. MELBOURNE 
 
 LYRICS IN LEISURE. By Dorothy Frances McCrab 
 
 (Mrs. C. E, Perry). Antique paper, 84 pages, white art cover. 
 Price IS. ; postage, id. 
 
 " . . • Worthy addition to the growing stores of Australian Poetry." — The Age. 
 " • • . Vivid and human." — Christchurch Press. 
 
 ALPHA CENTAURI. By M. Forrest. Neatly bound 
 in cloth ; gold blocked ; antique paper. Price 35. 6d. ; or 
 post free, 35. yd. 
 
 " Gives her a high place among Australian poets . . . unusually keen and clear- 
 sighted . . . brilliant local colouring . . . full of verbal feUcities, of picturesque 
 expressions. , . . Every word teUs." — The Australasian, 
 
 " Mrs. Forrest is not only an exceedingly graceful writer, but an earnest thinkeo 
 and student of human nature." — Sydney Mail. 
 
 LYRIC MOODS. By Robert Crawford. Cloth bound, 
 
 35. 6d. ; postage, id. 
 
 " Full of fine thought and feeling, and there is daintiness and finish in the expression 
 and versification." — The Argus. 
 
 " Gracefully written." — Sydney Morning Herald. 
 
 " Its outstanding characteristics are wholesomeness and daintiness." — The New 
 Idea, 
 
 SEA SPRAY AND SMOKE DRIFT. By Adam Lindsay 
 Gordon. A reprint of this early AustraUan Classic. Cover 
 in two colours by Alex Sass. 160 pages, is. ; postage, id. 
 
 A Unique Volume. 
 
 BELLS AND BEES. By Louis Esson. 2s. 6d. 
 
 This is a unique volume of poetry, dealing with Australian 
 subjects in a new way. 
 
 PETALS IN THE WIND. By Helen Jerome, is.; 
 
 postage id. 
 
 A graceful book of Australian verses, by an Australian Poetess 
 who has a genuine gift of song. Readers will not be disappointed. 
 
 6
 
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 D3INTy BOOK5 BY GRE3T 
 3U5TK3LI3N 3UTHOK5. 
 
 A Series for good Australians to buy. 
 
 Bound in the best limp ooze leather. Price is. 3d. ; postage, id. 
 
 SEA SPRAY AND SMOKE DRIFT. By Adam Lindsay 
 Gordon. A Dainty Miniature Edition of Gordon's Classic, 
 
 A delightful volume to handle, and one that makes a present 
 which will please. 
 
 POEMS OF HENRY C. KENDALL. A Selection of this 
 favourite Australian Poet's best work. 
 
 BUSHLAND BALLADS. By Edwin J. Brady, Author of 
 " Ways of Many Waters." A neat edition containing a number 
 of new, unpublished poems of great attractiveness. 
 
 POEMS. By Bernard O'Dowd. A neat volume of selec- 
 tions from Mr. O'Dowd's books : — The Silent Land — Dawnward ? 
 — Dominions of the Boundary — Poetry Militant — The Seven 
 Deadly Sins. 
 
 This Volume makes a good introduction to a poet who is now 
 being quietly recognized as our greatest Austrahan poet. 
 
 POEMS OF WILLIAM GAY. A carefully made selection 
 from the work of this httle known but attractive Bendigo poet. 
 
 Prof. Dowden. — " Noble in feeling and dignified in expression, each sonnet moving 
 with a grave music towards its close, ihey are admirable both for thought and work- 
 manship," 
 
 POEMS BY JENNINGS CARMICHAEL (Mrs. Francis 
 
 MULLIS). 
 
 A selection of this author's poems. 
 7
 
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 THE NUGGET BOOKLETS. 
 
 3 Series of Reprints from the World's Literature. 
 
 Daintily printed, generally in two colours, with attractive art covers, gd. each. 
 Also bound in enduring green ooze leather, 25, 6d. Postage id. 
 
 " Are daintily printed and intelligently compiled." — The Bulletin* 
 " The handy and neat Nugget Booklets." — The Register. 
 
 MAXIMS AND MORAL REFLECTIONS OF THE DUKE DE LA 
 
 ROCHEFOUCAULD (from the French). 
 
 OMAR KHAYYAM, translated by 'Edward Fitzgerald. With 
 
 introduction. On Australian-made paper. This edition contains those 
 stanzas that Swinburne declared were " the Kernel of the Whole." 
 
 " A booklet which will be welcome to many." — The Herald. 
 " To be preferred to English editions." — The Bookfellow. 
 
 UNTO THIS LAST, by John Ruskin. 
 
 With Introduction by Mr. H. H. Champion. 
 
 SWEETHEARTS AND BEAUX, wherein you may learn what 
 tricks the Archer plays, and so, being fore-armed, grow Wise. 
 
 THE WISDOM OF THE FOOLISH AND THE FOLLY OF THE 
 
 WISE, Criticising the Fads and Follies of Society. 
 
 " Got up and printed in the usual attractive manner." — The Gadflyi 
 
 NEW THOUGHTS AND OLD NOTIONS. 
 
 A pocket-book of cheerful wisdom. Get one, and be happy. 
 
 THE SUPREME LITERARY GIFT, by T. G. Tucker, Litt.D., 
 Professor of Classical Literature in University, Melbourne. 
 The principles of Literary Criticism, a contribution to the foundation 
 of a correct taste. 
 
 "This masterly treatise." — The Register. 
 
 " A valuable and stimulating contribution." — The Womath 
 
 THE MAKING OF A SHAKESPEARE, by T. G. Tucker, LittD., 
 
 Professor of Classical Literature in University, Melbourne. 
 
 8
 
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 The greatest Australian Cookery Book. 
 
 200 pages. Full Cloth. One Shilling and Sixpence. 
 
 Postage id. 
 
 THE KEE/UGA COOKEKY BOOK. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIETTA C. McGOWAN, 
 "The Australian Mrs. Beeton," "The Australian Unbeaten." 
 
 Full of good, relUble, neb) and tasty Recipes. 
 
 SUMMARY OF CONTENTS. 
 Bachelor Meals. — Emergency Meals. — Cookery for Children. 
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 IN PREPARATION. 
 
 WOriAIN'5 WORK. 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRIETTA C. McGOWAN 
 and 
 MARGARET CUTHBERTSON. 
 
 A' handy guide to help all women towards employment, giving full 
 particulars of every profession or trade. 
 
 Price One Shilling. 
 9
 
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 Recommended for use by the Educational Departments of 
 Victoria and Tasmania. 
 
 THE USEFUL BIRDS OF SOUTHERN AUSTRALIA, by R. Hall, 
 F.L.S. Crown 8vo, full of illustrations, 312 pages. Price 3s. 6d. ; postage 
 2d. A comprehensive and popular book on the haunts and habits of 
 Australian birds. An ideal book to place in any boy's hands. 
 
 " Mr. Hall's careful treatment of the subject." — Nature. 
 " A useful book on an important subject." — The Zoologist. 
 
 GLIMPSES OF AUSTRALIAN BIRD LIFE, being a dainty booklet of 
 31 original and unique photographs taken from actual birds in their 
 native haunts by A. C. Mattingley and others. Descriptive notes 
 by Robert Hall, F.L.S. Price is. ; postage id. Third thousand. 
 
 " An excellent souvenir to send to naturalists in other lands." — Vic. Naturalist, 
 " Unique camera work." — The Emu. 
 
 KEY TO THE BIRDS OF AUSTRALIA, by Robert Hall, F.L.S. 
 
 A scientific work dealing clearly with the classification and geographical 
 distribution of Australian species. Price 5s. ; postage 2d. 
 
 Recommended by the Educational Department of 
 
 New South Wales. 
 
 GUIDE TO THE STUDY OF AUSTRALIAN BUTTERFLIES, by 
 
 W. J. Rainbow, F.L.S., F.E.S., Entomologist to the Australian Museum, 
 Sydney. 300 pages Crown 8vo, over 250 illustrations, and a fine three- 
 colour frontispiece (reproduced direct from four brilliant Butterflies). 
 Price 3s. 6d. ; postage 2d. A thoroughly scientific, yet popular work 
 for all who desire a Imowledge of Australian Rhopaloceran Fauna. 
 
 " An Australian scientific classic." — The Register. 
 
 " A model of arrangement and sound work." — Publisher's Circular, 
 
 " A useful little book . . . Very well executed." — Nature. 
 
 A Charming Book for Nature Lovers. 
 
 FROM RANGE TO SEA : A Bird Lover's Ways, by Charles Barrett. 
 With a special preface by Donald Macdonald. A beautiful booklet, 
 dealing in a sympathetic manner with Nature as seen and felt by the 
 author on his rambles. Printed on art paper, and illustrated by 40 
 original photographs taken by Mr. A. H. E. Mattingley. Price is. ; 
 postage id. Australian ooze calf, 3s. 6d. 
 
 " A harmonious soliloquy among the birds ■ ■ , contains a good deal of valnable 
 material." — Museum JourtMl (London). 
 
 10
 
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 HOW TO HANDLE A CUSTOMER, AND OTHER HELPS TO 
 
 MODERN BUSINESS, by " One Who Knows." Uniform with Nugget 
 Booklets. Price gd. ; postage li. 
 
 MOSQUITOES: THEIR HABITS AND DISTRIBUTION, by W. J. 
 Rainbow, F.L.S., F.E.S., Entomologist to the Australian Museum, 
 Sydney. A neat booklet of 64 pp., well illustrated, dealing with this 
 interesting pest and its extermination. Price is. 6d. ; postage id. 
 
 " A valuable contribution to nature study." — The Herald. 
 
 VICTORIAN HILL AND DALE: A Series of Geological Rambles. 
 
 by T. S. Hall, M.A., D.Sc, Lecturer in Biology in the University of 
 Melbourne. 208 pages, with 40 original photographs. Price 3s. ; postage 
 2d. 
 
 This is a most interesting and unique volume and one that will appeal 
 to and stimulate all readers. The matter is fresh and clearly written. No 
 geological knowledge is pre-supposed, and only popular terms are used. 
 
 A Book of Real Importance. 
 
 GINGER TALKS. By W. C. Holman. Price 5s. (postage 
 
 2d.) Grown 8vo., extra cloth gilt, 235 pages with 15 full -page 
 cartoons illustrating the principles of Salesmanship which the 
 " Talks " explain. 
 
 This Volume is essential to every live business man. Fifteen 
 brilliant and fascinating chapters give the most practical course 
 in Salesmanship ever written. The sentences are crowded with 
 epigrams, sharpened with penetrating wit, lighted up with humour, 
 and made vividly alive with the tones of a masterful personality. 
 It is a healthy influence to come under. You will work better, 
 play better, and enjoy life better after reading. 
 
 GINGER TALKS' PREFACE. 
 
 After reading you will send straight for a copy. 
 
 There is gunpowder in every man if you can get only the spark 
 to it. 
 
 There is latent power in every salesman — often more than 
 he himself dreams he possesses. All that is necessary is to Hght 
 the flame of his enthusiasm by showing him his own opportunities 
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 Do but this much for him, and the hidden gunpowder within 
 him will make him explode into sudden and irresistible action. 
 
 " Ginger Talks" are sparks to reach the gunpowder.
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN, MELBOURNE 
 
 GOOD POETRY 57 3U5TRALIAN 
 POET5. 
 
 THE LABORATORY AND OTHER VERSES, by W. A. Osborne. 
 
 Small Quarto, Antique paper, printed in two colours. 
 
 Price 2s. 6d. ; postage id. A small collection of fugitive verses by 
 one who is occupied in scientific pursuits. 
 
 " Technique almost perfect, a command of varied styles, grace, restraint." — The 
 Register. 
 
 THE WAYS OF MANY WATERS AND OTHER VERSES, by 
 
 Edwin J. Brady. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. Illustrated through- 
 out by Alex. Sass. Price 3s. 6d. ; postage 2d. A reprint of this breezy 
 volume of Sea Verse and Chanteys which have won such favourable 
 notice. 
 
 " Brady sings in a lay that harmonizes with the thud, thud of canvas beating as 
 the ship comes into the wind, with the creak and wheeze of block and tackle, and the 
 rattle of the donkey-engine and winches as the loaded slings swing aboard. He tells 
 of wiJd, roaring nights, when ' th' old man is driving his craft through and over.' 
 In the domain of Australian verse Brady's sea-songs are unique." — Queenslander. 
 
 POEMS OF LOVE. LIFE, AND SENTIMENT, by Ella Wheeler 
 Wilcox. A large Crown 8vo volume, containing the best poems written 
 by this wonderful American. Handsome two-colour cover. Price is. 6d. ; 
 postage id. Also in limp leather, 3s. ; postage 2d. In attractive cloth, 
 price 2S. ; postage 2d. 
 
 THE LAMP OF PSYCHE, by Johannes Anderson. 120 pp.j 
 Crown 8vo. Antique paper, art paper cover. Price 2s. 6d. ; postage id. 
 
 " I consider that ' The Lamp ' is a lofty, inspiring, gently harmonious, and well- 
 sustained piece of work, and a welcome addition to eood Australian poetry." — Bernard 
 O'DowD in The Socialist. 
 
 MOODS AND MELODIES, SONNETS AND LYRICS, by Mary 
 
 E. Fullerton. An attractive booklet of 64 pages. Antique paper. 
 Price IS. ; postage id. 
 
 " Cultured, artistic and neatly turned lyrics . . . sonnets always skilfully wrought 
 and fine in feeling." — Scotsman. 
 
 " Contain many striking lines." — Spectator (London). 
 
 12
 
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 SEA AND SKY, by J. Le Gay Brereton, Small Quarto. Editioa 
 
 limited to 500 copies. Price 3s. 6d. 
 
 " One of the most purely poetical volumes yet produced in Australia." — The Worker, 
 " Such careful work, so delicately done, is a rare portent in our vague Australian 
 
 sky." — The Bulletin. 
 " There is nothing whatever in it about horses . . . reflects no little credit upoD 
 
 the condition of poetical culture in Melbourne, and should be read with a hearty interest 
 
 by lovers of poetry anywhere." — The Scotsman. 
 
 EGMONT, by Hubert H. Church. Crown 8vo, price 3s. 6d. 
 
 " The real thing is there, speaking direct from the heart of the writer to the heart 
 of the reader . . . originality as well as charm. . . . He is a real poet with a poet's 
 insight, and a poet's faith in the great things of the Unseen." — Otago Daily Witness. 
 
 " True poetry . . . deep earnest thought ... in him New Zealand possesses 3 
 poet of whom she may well be pleased." — New Zealand Times. 
 
 " A real poet ... to be judged by high standard." — Adelaide Register. 
 
 " Melodious and sincere." — Argus. 
 
 "... his masculine intellectual strength is making his work memorable." — Christ' 
 church Press, 
 
 THE HEART OF THE ROSE. An lUustrated Quarterly for those 
 who love inspiration and imagination in literature. The first number 
 appeared on December 9, 1907, entitled " The Heart of the Rose," and 
 was quickly bought up. This number is now sold at an advanced price. 
 No. 2, " The Book of the Opal," appeared on March 9. The third number 
 is entitled " The Shadow on the Hill," and No. 4, " Fire o' the Flame," 
 is now on sale at all booksellers. The four, numbers, price 5s. post free. 
 
 " One finds in the little magazine many things of interest, and some things of real 
 beauty . . . this latest of Melbourne magazines deserves a warm welcome." — "Elzevir," 
 The Argus. 
 
 ROSEMARY, THAT'S FOR REMEMBRANCE, by Elenor Mordaunt. 
 Author of " The Garden of Contentment." Crown 8vo, 204 pages. 
 Price 2S. 6d. ; postage 2d. 
 
 "A REPRINT OF AN EXCELLENT VOLUME." 
 
 THINGS WORTH THINKING ABOUT. By T. G. Tucker, Litt. D., 
 Professor of Classical Literature in University, Melbourne. A reprint of 
 a volume that deals in a popular way with interesting subjects such as 
 liteiature, Science and Education, Culture and Cant, Teaching of History, 
 etc. 3s. 6d. ; posted, 3s. gd. 
 
 " In Australia he should be known as a public benefactor. The volume before us . . , 
 being nothing less than a contribution to the Commonwealth." — The Athenaum, 
 
 13
 
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 A COnPLETE COURSE IN HyPNOTISn. 
 
 PRACTICAL LESSONS IN HYPNOTISM, by Dr. W. W. Cook, A.M., 
 M.D., containing Complete Instructions in the Development and Practice 
 of Hypnotic Power, including much valuable information in regard to 
 Mental Healing, Mind Reading, and other kindred subjects. The 
 chapters include : Philosophy of Hypnotism — Qualiiications of a Hypno- 
 tist — Qualifications of a Subject — Favourable and Unfavourable Influ- 
 ences — Precautions to be observed — How to Hypnotise — Degrees of 
 Hypnosis — Clair voyance-^elf-Hypnotism and Auto-Suggestion — Acci- 
 dental Development of Hypnotic Power — The Hypnotist's Secret — 
 Developing a Subject — Animal Magnetism and Magnetic Healing — 
 Overcoming Habits by Hypnotism — Criminal Hypnotism — Hypnotism 
 and Disease — Anaesthesia during Hypnosis — Hypnotism and the Insane 
 — Hypnotising Animals — Hypnotism in Business and Society — Hypno- 
 tism in the Professions — General Hypnotic Influence — Post-Hypnotism 
 — Awakening a Subject - -Mind Reading and Telepathy — Hypnotic 
 Miscellany — Self-Anaesthesia — Method of Producing Hypnosis, etc., etc 
 All complete in one illustrated book. Price 5s. ; postage id. 
 
 AN INDISPENSABLE BOOK FOR EVERY BUILDER, 
 CONTRACTOR, OR ARCHITECT. 
 
 AUSTRALIAN BUILDING ESTIMATOR. A Text Book of Prices. 
 
 by Walter Jeffries. 320 pages, strongly bound in cloth, Crown 8vo, 
 with full tables and index, ys. 6d. ; postage 2d. This book is written 
 by a practical man, who has had wide and varied experience in the build- 
 ing world of more than one Australian State. The volume is most com- 
 prehensive and complete. His own knowledge of the requirements of 
 the trade is supplemented on many points by the advice and assistance 
 received from many specialistic and professional friends, making the 
 book one that no Builder, Contractor, or Architect can afford to be 
 without. 
 
 QUINTON'S ROUSEABOUT AND OTHER STORIES, by Edward S. 
 
 SoRENSON. Crown 8vo, 280 pages, cloth ; with attractive wrapper, 
 by Alex. Sass. One Shilling ; postage id. A volume of 18 original, 
 fresh and breezy Australian stories that aie worth reading. 
 
 CLARKE'S ELOCUTION INSTRUCTOR, a large volume giving in a 
 
 thoroughly practical manner the latest and best methods of becoming 
 a successful Elocutionist. Many and varied exercises are contained in 
 the course. The author, Arthur Clarke, is well known as a most 
 successful teacher, and it is anticipated that his system of training will 
 be largely adopted. Price 3s. 6d. ; postage 2d. 
 
 14
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN, MELBOURNE 
 
 THE, SECRET OF OPTiniSn. 
 
 Revised and Enlarged Edition. 
 
 EATING FOR HEALTH. Second Edition. By Dr. Abramowski, M.D. 
 
 (Berlin) of Mildara, Victoria. 156 pages, with two photographs. Price 
 2s., postage, xd. 
 
 Australia too long has obeyed the conventions of the old world 
 and has sufiered in consequence. She forgets that harmony with 
 surroundings is the basis of happiness. 
 
 This second edition is now ready. It has been thoroughly 
 revised and brought up to date, all the Doctor's latest results are 
 included, and it is confidently felt that the present book is thor- 
 oughly up to date and is the latest word upon Eating for Health. 
 
 This book is written from actual personal knowledge and 
 experience. It is the evolution of a common-sense idea of disease 
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 esting as a novel. Send for a copy and benefit yourself. 
 
 A Suggestive Book of riodern Thought. 
 
 THE GREAT LONGING. By Alan D. Mickle. 208 
 pages, crown 8vo., full cloth, 2s. 6d. (postage, 4d.) 
 
 This book is an ambitious and sincere quest after Truth. The 
 author attempts to describe truly what is, and to read from the 
 tendencies of things what will be. He does not desire to con- 
 vince others of the truth of his ideas, nor does he wish to convert 
 them to his way of thinking. And he does not for one moment 
 believe that a practical, workable social system would be gained 
 if the world of present-day men suddenly agreed to conform to 
 his philosophy. But he believes that readers whose sympathies 
 naturally tend towards an individualistic and aristocratic inter- 
 pretation of life, as opposed to the socialistic interpretation, 
 will find much that is interesting and suggestive in this book. 
 
 A INEW THING IN BOOK5. 
 
 FROM THE OLD DOG. Being a Series of Letters on PoHtics 
 from an ex-Prime Minister to his Nephew. By Frank Fox. 
 
 Bright, witty, humorous, instructive. A textbook of White Australian 
 Politics. Price is. ; Cloth Edition, 2s. 6d. Postage id. 
 
 " It is a book that should prove of value to the young liberal aspirant for political 
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 " The matter is good and so is the style." — The Adelaide Register. 
 
 " It is full of gaiety and wise humour, and more absorbingly interesting than most 
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 WISDOM AND SUCCESS IN ADVERTISING. Enlarged and revised 
 edition. By E. Gewurz. 
 Price IS. Postage id. 
 
 15
 
 THOMAS C. LOTHIAN, MELBOURNE 
 
 AUTHORS 
 
 ABRAMOWSKI, DR. 
 
 ANDERSON, JOHANNES 
 
 BARRETT, CHARLES 
 
 BRADY, EDWIN J. 
 
 BRERETON, J. LE GAY 
 
 CLARKE, ARTHUR 
 
 COOK, DR. W. W., A.M., M.D. 
 
 CHURCH, HUBERT H. 
 
 CRAWFORD, ROBERT 
 
 DE LA ROCHEFOUCAULD 
 
 ESSON, LOUIS 
 
 FITZGERALD, EDWARD 
 
 FORREST, M. 
 
 FOX, FRANK 
 
 FULLERTON, MARY E. 
 
 GAY, WILLIAM 
 
 GEWURZ, E. 
 
 GORDON, ADAM LINDSAY 
 
 "GOSSIP" 
 
 HALL, R., F.L.S. 
 HALL, T. S., M.A., D.Sc. 
 HOLMAN, W. C. 
 JEFFRIES, WALTER 
 JEROME, HELEN 
 KENDALL, HENRY C. 
 KIRMESS, C. H. 
 McCRAE, DOROTHY FRANCES 
 McGOWAN, HENRIETTA C. 
 MICKLE, ALAN D. 
 MORDAUNT, ELENOR 
 O'DOWD, BERNARD 
 OSBORNE, W. A., M.B., D.Sc. 
 RAINBOW, W. J., F.L.S., F.E.S. 
 RUSKIN, JOHN 
 SORENSON, EDWARD S. 
 TUCKER, T. G., Litt.D. 
 WILCOX, ELLA WHEELER 
 WOLLASTON, TULLIE 
 
 Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London, 
 
 i6
 
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