now his mind was made up, he felt weakness leave him. trouble never nagged when there was work to do. the horse waited to be saddled at the bottom of the hill, which task he did with the speed of long custom. he had chosen for the day's work the little chestnut mare which carried him from surprise the night he met moll gregory. he had chosen well, for she was staunch and willing—without airs and fancies. once he turned her towards the river, she held the way like a prim miss travelling to school.
the sky was green as he came down the hill; colour faded from it; darkness fell upon the whole country. the stars took their places in the sky, and began the slow turning which he had watched so many years now that they told him the month and the hour as might a clock.
the breeze had lessened to a tremble as he climbed down to the plain, and the night clapped a warm breath upon him. distant summer[pg 191] lightnings flicked across the lower skies. the feet of the stepping mare trod evenly upon the pebbles and on the bare earth. he chose her often for the day's work because of the speed of her walk; but to-night she seemed turned sluggard to enrage him. yet the road was falling behind. the hill he had climbed was far over his shoulder. the conical hill of surprise had risen on the horizon. now the green belt of timber was hinted at a few miles ahead. now he saw it with distinctness. thought took hold of him again until he found himself in the desolate strip of country where the floods ran in the rains. the warm night was wrapped about him. crickets shrilled everywhere. several times sounded the thump of startled kangaroos. lightnings flickered without pause above the outline of the hills. it seemed to him he was part of great music working in crescendo.
here was the pool. he knew it was the pool; but it was too dark to discover the waters. she lived here. he would see her in a few moments. he would see her. he would see her in a moment. he lived through the long day that he might see her a little while in the night. he would see her again when this slow beast had trodden a little farther.
suddenly he grew cold with such a greediness of cold as the passion of the tropic night could not appease. he had come to say good-bye. in half-an-hour he would be moving away from the pool, nevermore while she lived there to ride that way. he could not do that. no, not he. he was but a man. his shaking body was a man's body. he was unworthy to be battleground of contending right and wrong. not to-night. he could not make an end to-night. to-morrow, but not to-day.... a moment ago he rode by the beginning of the pool, and now he passed the castor-oil tree. the trees were breaking apart. there stood the hut and the tents.
from a chaos of fancies he presently took hold upon realization. in the doorway of the hut, looking towards him through the dark, stood moll gregory. lamplight from inside passed her and pierced the night with a long beam. she held an empty basin in her hands. the dark was clear to him who had ridden half-a-dozen miles through it; but she looked before her in a puzzled way.
"is that you, mr. power?"
"yes, molly."
he believed he shook when he spoke to her. she was a draught of water, chilled by snows from high peaks, offered into the hands of a dying man. how she impassioned the night with her loveliness. he would never find her[pg 193] beauty staling, though he looked on her for ever. all the moments of a day brought new emotions watching from her eyes, new passions sitting upon her lips. he never knew how holy beauty might be until he looked upon her. how the light shone on her brown hair, lying coiled on her head and brooding round her brows.
he found he had pulled up the mare in the doorway.
"i've come to see you, molly."
why did she not answer, instead of standing like that, tapping the basin on her knee and looking first at him, and then away, and then at him again? did she understand at last he loved her? another man kneeling in homage to her. she was frowning a little bit. he found himself dismounting. the dog, grown friendly now, came forward with waving tail. the hut was empty.
"mum and dad went over to the shaft a while back," she said just then. "there's nobody here."
he led the mare a little way away; tethered her; unsaddled her. she drooped her head after the day's work. another hour he would have led her to drink; but now where was the time?
the girl had gone indoors when he returned to the hut. she stood by the table putting the crockery into the basin. the room was heavy with heat. the lamp wick was untrimmed,[pg 194] smoking a little and lending a needy light. nothing was changed.
"them is to wash up," she said.
he was living again, standing thus beside her. yet he was weary with knowledge that he waited on her for the last time. he grew entranced with her quick hands in the basin. she nodded her head to the dish-rag hanging on the wall. he took it and faced her across the table, and together they began to wash up.
he knew then that whatever waited for him in the long years to be lived before he became an old man—whether there were other women to meet and other lands to travel—these moments he was living now would walk with him in memory to the very shadow of the grave. that strange mood visited him, which sometimes comes to a man, when he stands out of himself and views the scene as onlooker. he peered into future years, when maud and he journeyed kindly down the road together, and the worst wounds of this summer madness were crusted over. but he knew there would be hours when certain winds blew, or certain scents drifted out of the scrub, or certain words were spoken, when he must go apart a little while until memory slept again.
the mood passed as instantly as it arrived, and once more he stood before her weary and miserable. she would tire of a glum face soon. he had carried a long face lately when they walked together. beauty she, and he the beast. strangely she had passed it by. she was still wilful and careless, yet now she had moods when she was thoughtful and a little kind. never was she heavy-hearted; though to-night she frowned just a little and was as silent as himself. he heard a rattle of cups. within his heart—growing and growing with the moments—feeling was in torrent, until it seemed excess in him must overflow and fill her barren little heart. they chanced to look up at one moment from their work—up and out at the door—and a great white star fell down the sky.
"do you know what people say, molly? every falling star is a soul hurrying from earth." she shrugged shoulders with faintest movement. "i think a man's soul dies, molly, when hope dies. perhaps some man's hope has died to-night."
for an instant she turned wide grave eyes upon him, then she went back to work, moving her hands deftly in and out of the basin.
"molly, you could get along without me, couldn't you? if i had to go away for a while and could not come back, you would not be lonely with other friends to look after you. you have been a good little comrade to me; but i think our friendship was not meant to die of old age. you could get along without me, couldn't you—and molly, you wouldn't forget me just at first?"
"no, mister."
"i asked you not to call me mister. say jim."
"no, jim."
she had finished washing up. she went out into the dark and threw away the water. she found a second cloth, and began quickly to dry the cups he had lingered over.
"you aren't so slick to-night," she said. "you are pretty slick at this kind of thing for a man."
"i was round the run to-day. i came here from across the other side. the pool is shrinking fast, molly."
"the rains should be here, christmas."
"it might be a pool of love, and all the drinks men take from it shrink its rim. molly, are you as clever as you pretend at forgetting? if something happens, so that i come no more to the pool—when you go alone to fish or when you go with others, will you remember that once or twice you fished with me?"
"you aren't to go away. sometimes i think you couldn't."
the work was done. she turned with a graceful movement of her body as she said the last words, and was putting the cups and saucers on the shelf, and the spoons with a rattle into a box.
"hang up the cloth, jim, and wake up. you aren't always asleep. i heard something about you yesterday. they say you are such a daddy man with horses that when you camped out brolga way, the brumbies came down from off mount sorrowful to sing to you. ah, mister, i have got you smiling."
"i'm not mister."
"jim."
silence fell again, and once more he grew conscious of the little sounds that accompanied the flight of time—the flutter of wings round a lamp; the swish of a girl's dress; the cries of insects from the dark. it was like standing by a river filled to both banks, which swept swiftly and smoothly to the sea, and hearing the small voices of multitudinous waters.... what did she say now?
"i found them specimens this morning. they was a little higher up the bank. do you want to see them? they aren't far."
"we went to find them the first day i came here, molly. do you remember? it does not matter now. i shall remember we never found them. come outside. i have a lot to say to-night. it will be cooler there, and talking is easier under the trees."
then he found himself walking among the trees. she was on his right hand, and water[pg 198] glimmered in the distance. summer lightnings were flickering in the skies. this night was as last night had been. last night was as the night before had been. he could not believe they walked together for the last time. yet time moved out here, and death found work to do. a clumsy beetle had blundered out of the dark, finding harbourage upon her fair hand. she had crushed it with a little blow, and the body had fallen in the grasses to wait the busybody ants. how much was starting and finishing just now over all the wide world?
they passed up the pool with only a word or two spoken between them, searching the water when the fishes jumped, listening to the creatures pushing through the undergrowth, staying to look at strips of water starred with white lilies. her sober mood passed away as they went on. wantonly she dropped to her knees and gathered up twigs to cast into the water. he heard her laughter in the dark like a peal of low bells. then he found they had reached the end of the pool, and the hut was far away.
"molly, this is the end. the water finishes here. i have something to tell you. are you listening, molly? it only takes a moment to say. good-bye. that's a strange word, isn't it? have you heard it before? well, to-night we are saying good-bye."
until the word was spoken he felt he might never need to say it; but now it was said, and the night had turned deaf ears on his call for mercy. he saw her plainly in the dark standing before him petrified, in all her wonderful beauty, alert as though about to flee, with her great eyes wide open looking at him. she had clasped her hands together in front of her.
"what's took you now, mr. power? no, stay there. i can hear where i am."
"don't start, molly ... i have something to tell you.... i didn't mean to tell you. but why not tell you?"
"stay there, mister. don't look like that. i don't want to know. let's go home. don't look like that. you——"
"stop your sweet chatter, molly. listen, i say. i love you. i am starving for want of you. feel my hand, molly. it trembles like the hand of a man in fever. feel it, i say."
"mister!"
"i am burning. i am burning inside and out. let me touch your hand. give me your hand a moment to cool me. give it to me, i say."
"mr. power, don't make me cry. i don't——"
"i am going away. do you hear me. i am going away never to see you again. other men are to have your kisses. your bosom is to beat on the breasts of other men. my lips shall go unwashed. my heart shall thump in an empty drum. do you hear me?"
"don't talk so loud, mr. power. don't look like that. mr. power, don't come so near. please, mister; please!"
"i am going away, molly. i told you that, didn't i, just now? i have come to see you for the last time. i have—molly, all the fires of heaven and hell are lighted in your eyes. you are doomed to live burning men's hopes to ashes. molly, the breeze is in your hair. it flutters there, as your little soul flutters somewhere in your lovely body. let me touch your hair once—oh, so softly it shall be. once."
"mister!"
"once."
"mister!"
she was in his arms. he never remembered how they came together. but all the parched streams of spirit and body were loosed in a flood of waters. he was kissing her lips. he was kissing her eyes. he was kissing her throat. her hair touched his hair. her hair was in his mouth, and the sharp taste of it made him mad. he began to kiss her in frenzy, until she ceased to struggle and lay in his arms sobbing and laughing. he crushed her to him. he kissed her mouth again. he kissed her eyes again. again he kissed her hair. he kissed her brows.[pg 201] he kissed her throat until the red marks rose in the brown skin. he pressed his head against her bosom where her heart struck wildly. he felt her tiny teeth against his lips. he buried his face in her coils of hair. he held her two hands and covered his eyes with them. he kissed their palms. he laid soft kisses in her eyes. he lifted her from the ground. he fell upon his knees and laid her in the grass, and himself fell down beside her. he interlaced her fingers with his. he drew each open hand of hers slowly about his cheek. he lifted her from her grassy bed and pressed her to him. the coarse stems of plants pushed about his face. great grasshoppers leapt from their beds into the dark. the stars seemed to blink and flash. he pressed his mouth to hers again, and held her there through an eternity. and then he fell down beside her with his face in the grasses, hearing her tiny sobs, and, more tremendous than that, the shrill of the insects, and more tremendous than the chorus of insect voices, the living stillness of the night.
after an age, he raised himself on both hands, lifting his head above the grass stems. she lay close by, her face turned away, and her heavy hair ragged with little leaves and tiny twigs. she was sobbing very quietly. it seemed to power he and she lay at the bottom of a deep pit[pg 202] whence he and she had tumbled in headlong flight from the stars. brave boasts fled in wind. big words gone in sound. "traitor" seared in red letters across his soul. a harvest to reap from this sowing. what harvest to reap? would this child learn to love him as he loved her? no. he believed already her little heart beat to other time than his. well, the draught had proved too bitter for his tasting. he had put down the cup as it touched his lips.
he raised himself to his knees and bent over her. "you must get up, child. it won't do to lie like that. crying has never mended matters since the world began."
he found her hand and she answered his touch, rising slowly, and presently standing up. he stood beside her and tenderly picked the rubbish from her hair. she stooped to smooth her dress, and afterwards he kissed her once, and they turned towards home. they did not speak all the journey by the water; but he thought the stars stared down on them like dismal virgins whose virtue has grown strong with loveless years. sometimes he held a bough aside that she might go by. at the end of a long time they were by the castor-oil tree, and light from the hut shone through the dark.
"don't come home," she said. "not to-night." and she had slipped away in a moment throughthe trees, while he stood staring where she went.
he saddled the mare in brief space. he could look into the distant lighted hut; but it was empty. she was not there. he drew the reins together on the chestnut's neck and gained the saddle. when the mare found her head turned home she started away primly at her swift walk. he gave the reins to her neck. but they had not put behind half a mile of the journey when the steps of a second horse approached, and a whinney came through the dark.
"you, mick?"
"hullo, boss."
they pulled up with one accord. he saw o'neill in the dark, wearing a wide-brimmed hat, a shirt open at the neck, riding trousers and leggings below, and long spurs strapped at his heels. his happy smile had departed, and power knew he was face to face with the first reaping of his harvest.
"i haven't got back yet," he said. "i went as far as the big hole past the ten mile, and then round mount dreary way. there were a couple of mobs by the water—doing right enough." he came to the end of what he had to say. o'neill sat gloomily, tapping the arch of his saddle with his fingers. "i looked in at the gregory's a bit on the way back." power added.
then o'neill spoke. his old swagger came[pg 204] into his bearing, and he lifted his head defiantly. "boss, do you reckon you are on the square game down there?"
anger blazed in power's face. he felt a weight upon his chest and the chords of his throat tighten. but he had caught hold of himself before the words left his lips. after a long moment he said almost gently: "fast talking won't do us good, mick. it looks that the road is pretty rough for you and me just now. we were friends before ill-luck sat down between us. it is a poor crush that won't hold the beast when the branding starts."
o'neill stared gloomily at the neck of his horse. "boss, it's no game i'm playing there, i swear. it's no come-and-go affair with me."
"and how is it better for me?"
the man flashed up his head. "miss neville," he said.
the pain in power's face told the rest of the story. a moment later power spoke.
"a man has his life to live, and wins or loses as his turn comes. one of us must finish on top; but it needn't break our friendship."
"straight wire you mean it, boss?"
"straight wire."
he found the mare, fretful of delay, was moving down the road. o'neill had gathered up his reins. without more talk they were moving—each going his way.
