Force and Fraud (5 page)

“No, he can't interfere with
that
, and he can't live for ever,” said Lindsey quickly. Again changing his tone, he added, “not that I wish
his
death or
her
money; Flora would be a fortune in herself.”

“A fortune in a wife is better than a fortune with a wife. Eh?”

“Come Pierce, don't give us any wise saws,” said Lindsey, interrupting his friend.

“Very well; then I suppose you find the arts a paying speculation?”

“No, faith; the time has not come for that. I'll be bound to say that you make ten times more money as McAlpin's agent, than I do as an artist, aye? Or than even Titian himself would do, could he be resuscitated and start on a fresh career in this part of the world. But I envy you your privilege of seeing Flora, far more than all your percentage on wool, your mining shares, or any other species of good luck.”

“You know I shall always be rejoiced to serve you, Lindsey; but come, these gentlemen will think that I am monopolising your company.”

The above conversation had taken place on the verandah, and the two friends now re-entered the supper-room where the remainder of the evening was passed amidst songs and jokes and general hilarity.

Certain individuals who pretended to be great physiognomists had occasionally remarked that Herbert Lindsey and his friend, Pierce Silverton, formed an admirable contrast to each other. As the former has already been described, we will briefly notice the general appearance of the latter, considered by some to be the handsomer man – and so he was, with regard to regularity of features, each of which bore a just proportion to the other. With some trifling exceptions those features might have been cast in the Greek mould; but a
few trifling exceptions
sometimes combine in making a great difference. The Greek forehead is certainly not high, but that of Pierce Silverton was, just a very little lower. His blue eyes were well shaped, but he had a habit of looking under his brows; a habit more frequent in women than in men – though not proud women, but those who affect to excite sympathy. His lips, the colour of pink coral, were rather contracted; and his teeth a bluish white, like those substituted by dentists who sometimes outdo nature. Altogether there was a consumptive look about the mouth, and the expression was imparted to the other features by a delicate complexion as well as by the habitual drooping attitude of the head.

All very different to that of Herbert Lindsey who, in this respect at least, had more of the ancient Greek, because – especially when he walked – his head was thrown proudly back.

Silverton's hair was particularly beautiful – of a light brown, gently waving, and worn rather long. His nose was perfect, and his profile nearly so. What then prevented him from being a handsome man? There was a deficiency somewhere; and what it was we shall, perhaps, discover by and bye. His voice was gentle and low – not an excellent thing in man; whatever it may be in woman.

Pierce Silverton was
not
a great favourite. It is true that women are apt to take likes and dislikes; a habit that cannot be justified, as nobody ought to be liked or disliked till well known. So it may be inferred that women act without judgment, as animals do. A strange thing that women and animals should sometimes be
right
in
their impulses,
whilst men are
wrong
in
their judgment!

Let it not be supposed, however, that Pierce Silverton was entirely discarded by the fair sex. On the contrary, several young ladies thought him a
very interesting man;
though upon the whole he was more appreciated by matrons who had daughters to marry – and in this he had decidedly the advantage of his friend. Pierce Silverton had, in a few years, amassed a competency, never got himself into a scrape and was generally patronised by the mammas.

Herbert Lindsey, meanwhile, had squandered a fortune in eighteen months, entangled himself in more than one political outbreak, had thrown away the chance of advancing his interests in a lucrative profession, and was not likely to be regarded with views matrimonial.

But as there is no rule without an exception, Herbert Lindsey had, in one instance, been accepted by a very charming matron as her daughter's future husband, merely because that matron considered him to be an honourable, talented, energetic young man, who could make her child happy. Nearly four years had passed since that consent was given, and the gentle matron was now in her cold grave, but the compact, formed by her death-bed, was still unbroken, notwithstanding the reproaches and menaces of the surviving parent.

It was in reference to this engagement that Herbert Lindsey was now conversing with his friend, Pierce Silverton – the privileged companion of Flora McAlpin, and the trusted agent of her father. They sat on the verandah of
The Southern Cross
a full hour after the other guests had dispersed. At length Silverton, in his turn, prepared to go, saying, “Well, Lindsey, as you will have another long walk tomorrow morning, I ought not to detain you. It would not be proper for Flora to go far into the forest to meet you.”

“I will take care of that. I shall be at the boundary of her father's station by eight o'clock in the morning.”

“Can you manage that? You will have a walk of a dozen miles.”

“I shall rise at daybreak, take a cup of coffee, which will be ready for the coach-passengers, and that same coach will give me a lift, thus saving me three or four miles.”

“It will set you down at the entrance of the forest; but take care you don't get entangled amongst the branches.”

“Not I, indeed. The forest that I passed through this morning is more dense, but I chopped away the branches like a thorough bushman, I can tell you. I have a first-rate bowie knife; look here.”

Lindsey felt in his pocket for the article, and suddenly exclaimed, “Why, where the deuce has it got to? O, upstairs in my other coat I suppose. But I was going to ask, is there any likelihood of McAlpin returning tonight? Not that I care for the old fellow; but I don't want to give him a pretext for tyrannising over my darling Flora.”

“No; he only started yesterday. I almost wonder you did not meet him.”

“There is no horse-track through the part of the forest I travelled. I purposely kept out of his way; the obstinate old fellow – to turn against the son of his best friend for such a trifle!”

“Men of McAlpin's stamp do not regard the squandering of three thousand pounds in less than two years as a trifle.”

“Especially in the manner
I
spent it. Men of his sort are more ready to find an excuse for swindling and speculation than for the follies of a youth who is led astray by the fascinations of the Continent. I do not mean to vindicate myself; I
did
spend my fortune and now–”

“True – you spent your money like an ass; and now you have to earn it like a horse.”

“I wish you wouldn't talk proverbs, Pierce. I hate that sort of humbug; besides, they are generally nonsensical. Asses don't spend money though they earn it sometimes for their masters. I never had a master; and, by Jove, I never will.”

Lindsey spoke with more temper than he had hitherto done, and Silverton added, “It is not only having
spent your money
that irritates McAlpin, but he thinks you will never settle to anything.”

“Tell him to give me a station and his daughter, and I will be the steadiest fellow in the colony. I should like to know how a man is to settle when he is obliged to tramp about the country looking out for chances as I do.”

“
He thinks you might have followed the profession of medicine. You walked the hospitals for a year, did you not?”

“Yes, and got sickened with horrors; I can't bear the sight of blood, Pierce.” Herbert Lindsey turned pale, and entering the room through the window of the verandah, drew from the filter a glass of water, which he drank eagerly.

“I have often wondered to hear you say so, a brave fellow like you, Lindsey!” said his friend.

“Pshaw! A mere physical defect that I inherit from my mother, who was frightened a short time before my birth. But I do not permit this disgust to take a morbid possession of my faculties. I would not turn away from a sight of pain if I could do any good, and thus nerving – but no matter. I did not choose to become a surgeon, and, perhaps if I had never got amongst those students I might have been a rich man to day.”

“Another of McAlpin's objections; he says you suffer yourself to be led away by any wild fellow.”

“Six years since probably I
did,
but I am another man now. Can't he allow a poor devil a chance to reform? I never was vicious and I never did anything to leave a stain on my name, and that's more than some people can say. I tell you. Pierce, that McAlpin is an obstinate, pig-headed old Highlander, and I'll marry his daughter in spite of him.”

Some portion of the young artist's past career may be gathered by the dialogue recorded in our last chapter. It will easily be seen that Herbert Lindsey had been a spend-thrift. In fact, like many other young men who become possessed of wealth in early life, he once thought that money would never come to an end. At the age of twenty-one he became entitled to £3000; and, two years later, not a shilling remained.

To his credit, however, be it recorded, that a great part of it had been absorbed in the purchase of valuable books – scientific, artistic, and historical; and, when disgusted with the profession of medicine, which he had once prepared to follow, in the expenses necessary to qualify himself as an artist. In pursuit of the latter, he had travelled in France, Italy, Spain, and Germany, studying in the best galleries, and under the best masters. Thus, after all, Herbert Lindsey had spent as little money in foolish extravagance as the generality of young men would do under similar circumstances.

Like many others, he had paid a high price for experience, having been robbed and defrauded by those on whose good faith he relied. But never having been addicted to vice, when he found himself nearly penniless, he could at least commence a fresh career, unembittered by the pangs of remorse.

About two years after having devoted himself to the Arts, being on a sketching tour in Germany, he met Mrs McAlpin and her daughter – the former having been recommended by her physician to try the waters of Baden. Mrs McAlpin was an English lady of good family, refined and highly educated. In her youth she had been very romantic, and after reading
The Lady of the Lake
, amidst the scenes described in that beautiful poem, she married a great strapping Highlander, because she fancied he resembled Rhoderick Dhu.

As that renowned chieftain died a bachelor, it would not be fair to surmise what sort of husband he might have made; nevertheless, the poet has not endued him with the sweetest of tempers. And so it is probable that poor Lucy discovered, too late, that her husband resembled the hero of her romance in one very undesirable point of view.

Poor Lucy McAlpin! Her illusions were dispelled one by one, and she at last became aware that her lord and master cared more for making money, than for either his gentle wife or his pretty daughter; as, having heard that, in Australia, he could easily become possessed of vast and valuable lands, he resolved to go thither
at once.

A considerable delay would have been caused by waiting till his elegant and somewhat fastidious wife had made, what she thought, the indispensable preparations: till a suitable governess could be prepared for Flora, and till various other preliminaries could be arranged. Her husband told her that she was making a fuss about things that were not of the least consequence. The result was that Angus McAlpin set off alone, having readily assented to his wife's proposal that she should remain behind till Flora had finished her education.

On arriving in the land of his adoption, McAlpin congratulated himself on the steps he had taken, the wild life of the wildest part of the bush, being just the thing for the hardy Highlander, but not quite adapted to the tastes of a fanciful lady. Thus Mrs McAlpin continued to dwell amongst her own relations, occupying herself – for a period of five years after her husband's departure – with the education of her child. At the end of this time, a complaint with which she had long been afflicted, assumed a threatening appearance, and (as we have stated) she was recommended to try the waters of Baden.

Unable to enter into the pleasure of that gay scene, she gladly welcomed the society of Herbert Lindsey. The more so, that she had known him since his childhood;
his
father and
her
husband having been early friends.

The young man fearlessly related the history of his past career. He spoke with enthusiasm of his present occupations, and anticipated, with all the ardour of a sanguine temperament, success for the future. Mrs McAlpin was naturally disposed to regard errors like his with indulgence. Herbert Lindsey had been ‘more sinned against than sinning' and would, probably, have obtained forgiveness from a sterner judge than the amiable Lucy.

Flora, at that time seventeen years of age, was always present during the visits of the young artist, and he was occasionally permitted to accompany her on her rambles if the distance happened to be too great for the declining health of the delicate mother.

At first their conversation was of art, of poetry; then, as will readily be imagined, of love. Herbert Lindsey, with all the frankness and loyalty of his nature, immediately informed Mrs McAlpin of his passion for her daughter and, after some persuasion, obtained her consent to their future union. It is true that the lover had not a shilling beyond what his pencil procured; but what did that signify? Could they not live on love? So at least thought Flora.

“And on my exertions – my untiring exertions,” said Herbert.

“Such genius as yours must surely meet its reward,” added the mother whose fading eyes rekindled with enthusiasm as she spoke. Alas, and alack! It may chance that the young girl's dreams were not more idle than those of the travelled artist; or of the mature and accomplished woman. Mrs McAlpin, however, was not altogether imprudent in sanctioning this attachment; in the first place, she relied on the good principles, as well as the genius of her future son-in-law; in the second, on a competency that it was in her own power to bestow, and on which the young couple could exist till the death of Herbert's uncle, when the artist would become possessed of a considerable property.