AT WALLA BALLA
Nurse Mavis Wylton looked after her cheerfully; she was of something to do. Life had been very in the little and although the of the two Englishmen had her homesick, it had done a great toward the monotony.
In the year of the Great War she had taken up nursing, had the on the of Flanders, had service under the sun of Salonica, had her in Malta, Gibraltar and Egypt. She was in Cairo when the Armistice was signed, and for a post in Australia at the of the War.
An orphan, she had no in the dear old Mother Country; her only was sleeping in the company of thousands of others in the battle-scarred region of Ypres. She was in her two patients—they had come from the mine in an manner: she the of the woman who had them and only it—it so very improbable. How it be true? What was it Mr. Travers had said? She his exact words.
“Nurse, it was horrible,” he told her. “As we watched, it—the woman’s face—seemed to up and until it looked like parchment. The arms thin and bony; the and up and to the ground,—and when I closer all of the woman had and there was only a little of on the 140ground and a little that she had been to her back.” The nurse anything so horrible, so uncanny. Yes, Jez-Riah had had her wish. She had the sun, had in God’s pure air. But the was too rare, and she had died. Died? Nay, up, and returned to the from which she had sprung, and nothing of the strange, creature, but a little that was away to the four of the she had just to see.
Both Alan and Desmond in a semi-comatose condition for many days. Their had been so great, their so terrible, that it was that they had returned to the upper world. As it was, from brain fever, and were now being nursed to health and strength. The over, boys were on the high road to convalescence. Side by in little narrow they lay, and the knowledge of their came to them.
Mavis had just entered the room one day when Alan the silence. “Nurse, what day is it?”
“Tuesday.”
“What month, Nurse?”
“It’s Tuesday the twenty-fourth of June.”
“Midsummer day?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “Now you mustn’t ask a of questions, but I’ll tell you this—both you and your friend—”
“My cousin,” Alan.
“Well, you and your have been very ill. You were here four ago and at we of your lives. You are much now, and we to have you up very soon. Now don’t talk any more—”
“Nurse,” he pleaded. “Just one more question.” He a minute. “It was June at Marshfielden when—Why it must be 1915!” he quickly, Nurse Wylton frowned. Was this a new of delirium?
“Now don’t ask questions—”
141“Nurse, Nurse—I must know! We’ve been away a long time. If this is June, then it must be 1915.”
“We are a long way past 1915,” said the nurse quietly. “This is June, 1920. You must have the date.”
Alan looked at her in blank amazement. “1920,” he muttered. “Desmond”—hoarsely—“did you that?”
“Now don’t talk any more,” the nurse—and she the green across the window, and out the sunlight.
As soon as she had gone, Desmond spoke. “Six years in that Hell! I can’t it. Over six years cut right out of our lives!”
“I don’t know how we are to our presence in the mine,” said Alan thoughtfully. “I don’t think it will be wise to tell our whole story. I’d Uncle John first. He would, perhaps, old Sir Christopher Somerville to an to Kalvar.”
“Yes,” said Desmond, “a properly party would it easy to prove the truth of our story. Why we have one of the biggest of the century. Historically and scientifically we shall have the whole world by our experience.”
“Poor Jez-Riah,” said Alan suddenly. “What an end!”
The day the boys were coherent, they had asked about their little companion, and it was Nurse Wylton who had the news of her “death.” The boys had taken it very quietly—and the nurse was unable to any ideas on the relation she to them. But they her as they would have done to a animal. They she was human.
In and the their to each other—even yet they they had come through safely. Daily they stronger, and the marks of and which had so their were nearly away. They were to old Sir John 142and tell him of their escape. “We must the news to him—for he has us both, and it may be too much of a for him to learn we are alive and in Australia,” said Alan.
Desmond chuckled. “Australia! Fancy out at the other end of the world! It’s almost like a story, isn’t it? Do you we where we should land?”
Nurse Mavis entered—her arms full of flowers. “Now,” said she briskly. “There’s too much talking going on. I am sure you will your strength. Besides I have a visitor for you this afternoon.”
“A visitor?” boys.
“Yes, Mr. Travers, the Mine Manager, is very to see you, and he wants to return you your property.”
“What property?”
“Some you had when you—came—in Walla Balla.”
The boys looked at each other blankly. They had the and and they had from the Tomb of Korah. They had been about their financial position, and now, if the proved to be real, they money and to for their and their to England.
“Mr. Travers will be here in about an hour,” on the nurse. “Do you well to be out in chairs to the garden?”
“Please,” said Desmond. “I’m of this room.” But they very weak as they walked across the to where the chairs were them with many and rugs.
One of the under Alan out first, and as Mavis the Desmond, he “Wheel me once the garden first, Nurse.”
The at the ones, and a touch of colour came into the nurse’s cheeks. Of the two strangers, Desmond was her favourite. He her of her brother—in many he was 143so helpless, and she him and for him, until love had overtaken her unawares.
She him along the paths, and he asked her to stop and him a rose, but when she offered it, he saw only the roses in her cheeks—smelt only the perfume of her hair.
“Mavis, Mavis,” he whispered, “will you come to England with us—with me—when we go? It too soon to speak—I’m an old crock—old my time—but you have me to life and hope. I can’t tell you what we have been through, Alan and I. Some day you shall know the whole story. Meanwhile may I hope? I love you with my whole soul. Come to England with me as my wife!”
The as Mavis over the chair and the thin hand that on the coverlet. “I do care,” she tremulously. “I have to a great deal—but are you sure? I know so little of you both. I you have been through some terrible experiences. I won’t question you, I will trust you, but isn’t it to wait? Wait until you are stronger. Perhaps in England there was a girl once,” the trembled, “a girl you once for. She may be waiting still—but you have been ill, and have forgotten.”
“No,” said Desmond firmly. “There has been a woman in my life. I it—never.” Suddenly, as he spoke, there came his the picture of a woman into the flames—Kaweeka. “My God!” he cried, “listen, Mavis! I’m not of you. One day I will tell you everything. It is true there was a woman once—” Mavis a cry. “Listen. She wasn’t a woman of this world, but like Jez-Riah, the woman who was with us when we came here. I did not love her—I think I her, but she was like a siren. She an power over me. Mavis—she asked me to her.”
“Did you?” in a whisper.
A of came over the white face. “Yes, Mavis,” hoarsely. “For I in her house—until my me. When he appeared she did her best to him also. She me aside, but he 144was where I had been weak. No she was to him. He it was who me to my and saved me from shame.”
“You loved her?”
“No! A thousand times no! Mavis—it’s difficult to explain. Our whole is so improbable, so fantastic, that without proofs which we hold, it would be as the of a brain. This woman was nothing to me really; when we were together I and her—almost her, but I was in her hands. It was a difficult situation—at that time I did not her language or the of her people. Oh, how can I make you understand! She wanted me as a new of toy. She nothing of or life as we know it. Her power was almost mesmeric.”
“Is she still?”
“No. She died—oh, years ago,” his hand across his brow. “I am sorry, Mavis. I had forgotten. I had no right to speak to you, but all of Kaweeka had from my mind until you spoke of another woman. Will you what I said? I of you, don’t me too much.”
“Dear—I know what to say. I you freely. I nursed you to life, Desmond. I my whole time to you. While Matron and Nurse Fanshaw to your cousin, I over you. You dear to me. I wanted to see your look at me with in them. I—I—wanted you to—to like me—a little. Then when you I loved to talk to you. Dear, I can the past. Life since 1914 has changed. Women have changed. We are no longer the narrow stay-at-homes we were the War.”
“The War?” asked Desmond wonderingly.
“Yes, the Great War. The with Germany.” He looked puzzled, but asked no questions, only with his closed, thinking. “We the of sex,” she on, “and can forgive. You asked me just now to you. I’ll 145marry you most you like, and I’ll do my best to make you your terrible experiences. Wait—” as Desmond would have spoken, “I’ll ask no questions. When the time is you can tell me all. Meanwhile I’ll be to love and trust.” There was no one in sight; a tall on either of the garden walk gave them shelter.
“Kiss me, Mavis,” said Desmond hoarsely. “Oh my darling, how I love you.” And so the old, old was told once more.
“Nurse Wylton! Nurse Wylton!” Matron’s voice was calling and it was a nurse who answered.
“Nurse, have you been? Mr. Travers has been waiting over an hour to see the patients.”
Half an hour! Mavis offered no excuse—indeed she had none, and she her to Alan’s side. As she away to Mr. Travers, she Alan say petulantly, “Wherever have you been all this time, Dez?” but she didn’t catch Desmond’s reply. If she had it would have set her thinking, for he said in an awe-struck tone, “Lanny, old boy, do you know there has been a war—a with Germany? And we’ve missed it, old chap, we’ve missed it.”
Mr. Travers was a and loved by all the miners. He came and the boys cheerily.
“Well, I’m to you are better. A you gave every one to be sure. We at how you had got into such a position.” He laughed at the recollection.
“However, the was after all, wasn’t it?”
The looked at one another with eyes. In their opinion the be called simple! Mr. Travers, however, on. “After you had been rescued, Mennell, our foreman, gave orders for the men to work at that point. He wanted to be made, after me. The day, however, we the had with water, and the were very busy, I can tell you. Then part of the 146in, and the gave way. Oh, it was a mess! However, it was away, and we the passage. Very indeed.” And he his hands together. The boys were puzzled.
“When did you Karragua?” asked Mr. Travers suddenly.
“Karragua?” asked Alan.
“Yes, Karragua.”
Desmond opened his mouth as if about to speak, but Alan was the to his wits.
“Before we tell you our story, won’t you tell us what you discovered?” he asked shrewdly.
“Certainly, my friend. I it was some you had on?”
“Something of the sort,” Alan, now puzzled.
“I so. I I was right. I shall take a bottle of off Old Man Paterson now. I told him it was the result of some wager—he would have it you had it by accident.”
“Do go on,” Alan. The was desperate. Neither of the boys had the idea of what Mr. Travers was talking about.
“Well,” the manager, “you may be sure it took some time to clear away the débris after the cave-in. When it was clear we saw a passage leading out of it, and it about a mile, when it up; and as we had no we returned and to continue our another day.”
“Well?” from boys.
“It was a Thursday. John Cornlake, Bill Watson and one or two other good, all hands came with Mennell and me. It was a long road—two and three miles by our pedometer—pitch dark, as you know. Suddenly we saw a of in the distance. We moved the aside—how it is among the and undergrowth! and we at once it was the of ‘Red Mark’s Tunnel’.”
Neither of the boys spoke—they saw the of 147the situation, but were by a word they might give themselves away.
“It must be a hundred and twenty years since it was used. How did you come to it?”
“A told us about it,” said Alan after the of a pause, and Mr. Travers was content.
“Of when the of our mine was sunk, the for the entrance to the tunnel, but it was discovered, and I don’t it would have been by a lucky accident. I you were unable to your way to Karragua—was that it? You were in a condition when you were found. We have already the government of the discovery,” he on, “and have been sent to it. We are not sure what the result will be. Every one in Walla Balla wants to have it opened up as a of showplace. It would do the an amount of good. Red Mark and his who through it have left a them.”
So! It on Alan’s mind at once. In some way the entrance to the passage by which they had come from Korah’s was again up. Their was still their own, but a passage by early eighteenth century had been instead.
“Did Red Mark the passage himself?” asked Alan.
“The goes that Red Mark and a and a passage. Walla Balla was a large farm at that time, and was nearly sixty convicts. Escape was almost impossible, the place was so well guarded, and such was on those that to that tried. Red Mark and his were lucky, however, and they managed to the bloodhounds. Their friends helped them with food. Feverishly they at the tunnel. It was their plan to to the sea. It took them years to complete it, but they their at last. The night it was fifty vanished. They 148had the and had taken of food with them. Those that were left talked about having of a passage, but it was found—at least not until now. Those were again. But at Karragua Creek a small disappeared, and on it Red Mark and his friends. But of you’ve the before. How did you the place—by accident? And then I you you’d your way through to the other end.”
Alan smiled. Mr. Travers was helpful. He talked so much himself that he gave no one else the of speaking, and he answered all the questions that he put to the boys—himself.
“Yes,” said Desmond, who had taken his from his cousin. “We told a friend about it, who us one thousand we would our way through. Unfortunately, our out, we our way, we had no food and—”
“And I you were a week or more in that cave—hungry and out?” Mr. Travers helpfully. “Now I’ve you your property back,” and he them the they had from the Tomb of Korah. “Oh, you might give me an official receipt for them,” and he the boys a paper for them to sign. “By the way,” he continued, as he put the receipt away, “that woman.” His solemn. “What was it—? Was it some—some joke you had prepared, or was it—”
“I can’t yet,” said Alan shortly. “We are going home to England where we have a very to tell. I cannot the you saw, but I may have to call upon you to repeat the of her death. I I may use your name?”
“By all means. I shall be only too pleased to you in every way I can, but I shall be to about that woman—it was strange. By the way, I sealed your with our office seal. I should like you to them to see they are intact.”
“We won’t now, Mr. Travers, thank you. We have in you. By the way,” he 149added, as if in afterthought, “could you put me in touch with any one who would one or two gems? I have some with me, and am to them into cash for our use.”
“That’s easily done,” said Mr. Travers. “Our manager is with Messrs. Frimpton, Long and Beauchamp of Melbourne. They are, I think, the biggest in gold and in Australia. I will an for you.”
“Thanks very much.”
“Don’t mention it. Now I think I have long for a visit. Good-bye, Mr. Forsyth. Good-bye, Mr. Desmond. Take of yourselves, and don’t over tired,” and the man left them.
“We got out of that easily, thanks to you,” said Desmond as they saw him a in the garden. “I couldn’t think what he was at.”
“It’s lucky the way to Korah’s has been again. That of and earth did us a good turn.” Alan a minutes, and looked at his quizzically. Then quietly—
“Haven’t you anything to tell me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh my dear chap—don’t think I am inquisitive, but we’ve been like all our lives. I’ve our nurse; I’ve you too. Have you spoken?”
“Yes. My God, Alan! I’m not worthy. Think—Kaweeka—”
“That is past. It’s no good over what is done. You were not there, alone, in that Hell. Have you told Mavis about it?”
“I’ve to make her about Kaweeka—but I’ve told her nothing about our and our discoveries.”
“I’m of that. I should like Uncle John to be at the telling of our experiences. I’m about Mavis for your sake. I like her very much—in I might say I’ve to be almost of her. All happiness, old boy.”
“I should like to be married we start for England.”
150“Will she agree?”
“I think so.”
“Well I’ll be best man. Ah, Mavis”—as she appeared—“there is to be no now, you know. You are going to one of the best, and you’ve got to like me too.”
Mavis and his cheek. “There! Alan, see how I can be,” said she laughingly. “Now it’s time you to bed—you’ve been up long for one day.”
That night the lights were she told them the of the Great War. “Where have you been?” she asked in bewilderment. “Why every one in the world of it. It’s been horrible—terrible; white against white; white black to help them. Every nation in the world in one way or another.”
“I know it improbable, dear, but neither Alan I the long talked of with Germany had come to pass until you spoke of it to-day. Don’t ask any questions—just trust me.”
“It’s all very and strange,” said she ruefully. “But I will my in patience.”
As soon as he was able, Alan sent one diamond and a dozen to Messrs. Frimpton, Long and Beauchamp and in return to the value of five thousand pounds. The boys had also some diamonds for Mavis, and had had them set into an ring for the woman Desmond loved.
Already they were well to the hospital, but as Walla Balla was only a very small township, there was no for visitors, so the at the hospital as paying guests.
One day, late in July, a very wedding took place. The was in her nurse’s and the and best man were in white duck. The was performed by the local clergyman, and there was a big spread at the hospital, to which in the had been invited.
Alan sad as he waiting on the 151for the train to come in that would off the happy pair to their honeymoon. No woman had entered his life. His great was a still; and he if the time had passed for her to materialize.
“You’ll for everything, won’t you?” said Desmond.
“Rather. Now don’t worry. The Sydney at on the seventh of next month—eleven days from now. It’s the Clan Ronald. I’ll book your berths and you there.”
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
Their were said, and Alan was left alone. He a days longer at Walla Balla among the friends he had made, and then by easy to Sydney. The country was very but he to home. He to see the of London, the streets, to again the noisy traffic, and at last to the of the English and woods. He to see his uncle. Was he still alive? he wondered. He was to cable; he was to write. Suddenly an idea came into his and he why he had not of it before. He would to his uncle’s and friend—Masters. He trust him to the news gently.
“Hotel Majestic,
“Sydney.
“Dear Masters (he wrote)
“You’ll be to from one you no have long as dead. Don’t be afraid—it is no who is you, but a man. I cannot in this letter, but I am the next home, and I will on Plymouth the exact time we to arrive in London. Yes—it’s ‘we,’ Masters, for I have my Desmond. It all I know, and I am you 152that you may the news to my uncle that we still live. Tell him we are to see him. Tell him Desmond has a wife and is her home. I can say no more—my hand is with as I write. We have things, been to many places since we left Marshfielden, but upon Sir John, that had we been able to with him we should have done so.
“With our to Sir John and yourself,
“Yours very sincerely,
“Alan Forsyth.”
“There! I think that will meet the case,” and Alan up the and posted it.
The seventh at last! All the was on board; Desmond and his wife up happy to the and as they saw Alan over the bulwarks. The clanged, the gave to their cry, “All ashore! All ashore!” The sounded. Gradually the great away; the out in from her funnels; the landing stage smaller and smaller until it was out of altogether. The had started on her to England.
That night after dinner, when Mavis had gone to her state-room, the two had a to talk in the moonlight.
“It we are going home at last,” said Desmond. “I like a child again. I have so much to learn. When we were only to be used—now they are almost perfect, and are vehicles of every day use. The whole world to have a century in these last years.”
“There is a great for us to learn,” Alan, “but we must it to Uncle John. He will put us right about everything.”
“I wonder how he has with his airship,” 153said Desmond after a pause. “We used to laugh at the dear old chap; he has the laugh on us now.”
“He always said that the of was in the air.”
“Have you the safe?” asked Desmond suddenly.
Alan laughed. “Rather! Or at least the Purser has. I a box in Sydney and packed in it; here’s the key. When next we open it, God, it will be in the presence of Uncle John.”
Alan looked sadly at the in of him. A moon had and was sending its across the waters. The air was sweet and balmy—the Southern Cross was and the whole was like a painting. The chud-chud of the and the of the water was the only to be heard. Somehow, Alan very much alone that night. Desmond, his playmate, his boyhood’s chum, and later his in adventure, to him. He had married a wife. That was the trouble in a nut-shell. Things would be the same again. He was of Mavis—she was a dear girl, and would be a wife for his cousin—
“Good night, old chap,” said he huskily. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. I’ve been you too long from Mavis.”
“Good night, Alan. I think I will turn in now. I shall to sleep as soon as my touches the pillow,” he added boyishly.
“Good night.”
But it was early Alan to sleep. He what the had in store for him. Would it prove as as the past? Or would he a old bachelor, a on the of the earth? No home of his own—a uncle, perhaps, to Desmond’s sons. Yes, he was morbid. He was still young, thirty and had his life him. Somewhere, perhaps, a was waiting for him. Somewhere, some time he would his ideal,—and then—
The clock five; he yawned, over and asleep.
154
