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MISTRESS BETTY CAREW: BEING…

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MISTRESS BETTY CAREW: BEING SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF MR. GEORGE BASS, SURGEON OF E.M.S. "RELIANCE." By Mary Gaunt. I JSOOKS BY THE SAME AUTI-IOR "Dave's Sweet- heart"; "Kirkham's Find"; "The Moving Finger"; 11 Deadmaies," &c. CHAPTER -XVII.-(Continued.) Betty looked at her. one was fond of her Serving woman, but after an was said and done ehe was only a convict servimg woman. She had no right to question her about her relations with CBass. "Eunice," she said gravely, "see to Mr. Wil- liams' supper. I will have mine in my room Ikere," and she closed the door as if that settled ,the question. Eunice stood for a moment regarding the closed ijoor helplessly. What chance would this fair igirl have when men's blood was up, and every moment the danger grew nearer. She went into tthe yard and stole behind the barn, and there Hacked on, fur side out, was the wild cat skin. The end would come to-night, most certainly. There was no escaping it. Crane spit forcibly and looked at her and grinned. A shout from the house sent her running back. Williams had returned, sullen and disagreeable, and there was nothing for it but to set out his evening meal as quickly as possible. He swore at Eunice, but took no notice of his wife's ab- sence, and when he had finished he stretched him- aelf out on the couch and closed his eyes, {Whether in sleep or not she could not say. Then she spread a napkin, and by the other Sdoor took in a tray to Betty. The girl sat in an Tupright chair by the window looking out across 'the garden. The year before Mr. Cayley had Ziven her some dahlias, and she was now looking at the gorgeous flowers. She had looked forward 4o their blossoming when first she saw the green leaves, but her husband had taken care to spoil all her simple pleasures. She ate her supper inechanically, and the sun was so low the shadow of the house stretched right across the garden. Eunice watched her and her heart sank. How CthouJd she help her? How could she help her. And the minutes were flying away. This man swould certainly never see another sunrise. Then she took a desperate resolution. She went to the bedroom door with a face white as her own oif, and with knees that trembled under her. She felt that she must give Betty some idea of the danger that threatened, even though it cost tier her own life, or Simon Burton's life, whieh ;was a far more important thing. "Madam," she began tremblingly. Betty rose to her feet, shocked at the sight of &er servant's white face. "Why, Eunice! what's the matter? Are you ill t Eunice took the cue at once. "Yes, madam, I am very ill I think. If you tould spare a moment-" "Sit down. Stay where you are," shouted jlWilliams, rising to his feet and kicking open the Sdoor that was between them. "Let the old hag iworry it out herself. They're for ever malinger- ing, these convicts. Even if she die, it's no j pnatter." Betty looked at him contemptuously. "Eunice looks ill," she said, "and she does not malinger. I must help her if I can, and she left the room without another word. I But Eunice was not in the kitchen, and Betty crossed the yard to the little slip of a room she fead shared with her husband. There on her bed J .sat the old woman rocking herself slowly back- wards and forwards. "Oh, Eunice! Are you in pain?" "No, madam, no. But, oh, my pretty, will you 110 down to Mistress MacArthur's. Go to-night, ,,so now." "Eunice, do you know what you are saying? ou must be dreaming if you are not mad. I fdare not ride through the woods at night, even lif Mr. Williams would allow me, which he cer- itfcainly will not. "Don't ask Mr. Williams, but go. Go now." "Eunice, do you know what you are saying?" "Only too well. Go now, for God's sake! or pity's sake "Eunice, you must be ill. Tell me what is it? The old woman wrung her hands. "Ah, dear gib dear! was ever unlucky woman in such a jplight? My dear, my dear, the place is doomed, and I would save you if I can. By the morning it will be too late." A glimmer of light broke in on Betty's wonder- ment. Such things she had heard discussed as a possibility more than once. In a settlement where the bond outnumbered the free there was always one danger looming on the horizon. "A rising among the convicts," she cried. f,But there is only Crane and Orleans here now, and Mr. Williams is a trained man and more than a match, for them." "Yes, yes," said Eunice, eagerly. "Of course he is more than a match for them. But you had fbest be out of the way. It will be no place for a ,-woman once the Indians come in. "The blacks said Betty, and she put her hand !Ôn the old woman's shoulder. "Then it is a regular plot, and Simon Burton is in it." "Oh, madam! madam!" "Tell me, tell me now at once." Betty spoke .authoritatively as became the mistress, and when -the pity went out of her voice Eunice was her- self again. "I was a fool," she said sitting up and look- ing at her with hard eyes. "A man cannot serve "two masters, but I had got fond of you and would ,save you if I could. My duty was to Simon Bur- -fton, and I have betrayed him." Betty softened a little. "You have been good to me," she said. "And I can understand you want to help your husband. JEunice, indeed, I am more than grateful, but I r, tnust tell Mr. Williams that danger threatens him. I could not go away myself and leave him to be murdered. I must tell him. Help me to con- sider what we shall say. I do not want any one to suffer because he has been hard on them." The other sat up with the weary resignation of ■old age. "They trusted me and I have betrayed them," she said. "If you tell Mr. Williams I have be- trayed them, there will be murder done, any- way. Crane and Orleans will be sent down to Parramatta to get a thousand lashes each, and shooting a man outright is nothing to that." It was true enough. That would be their fate, a suspected conspiracy and a conspiracy were much the same thing as far as punishment was concerned, and the girl looked in shrinking horror at the alternative presented her. "What can I do? What can I do?" she moaned. "Let things be," said the old woman coaxingly. Let things be. Ride down now and tell dainty Mistress McArthur how your husband has treated you and see what she will advise. I warrant she is as clever a woman as she is a kind one." "I can't. I should know you were killing him here, and though he has used me ill enough I cannot he a party to his death." "You said yourself, madam, he is more than a match for the two men here." "Ah, but not a match for Simon Burton, especially if he brings the savages in." "You cannot wonder if Simon hates him," flashed out the old woman. In truth, Betty did not. But, indeed, she bad no desire to defend her husband, only she could not see him murdered without warning him. And Eunice understood her feelings thoroughly, and understood, too, that the feelings of the ruling class would prevail. She would never throw in her lot with the convicts. If any one was to be sacrificed it must be the unfaithful servants, ■though they had been goaded into sin* She leaned back against the mud wall and looked at the girlish figure in the deepening dusk. The sun had set and the darkness was sweep- ing down swiftly. "I will try and get Mr. Williams to come away with me," said Betty. "You'd best keep your breath to cool your por- ridge, madam," but Betty crossed the yard to the main building. Her husband was looking out of the window ) puffing great clouds of smoke, and he turned round as she entered. "Why is not my supper cleared away, madam? "Eunice is not well," she said lightly, and he looked at her in surprise, for her tone was not that of an injured woman, indeed, she had for- gotten for a moment the scene of the afternoon in the new and pressing danger. She will be able to do no work, she must have rest. Will you take me back to town with you to-night?" "What d-d foolishness is this," said Wil- liams, rudely. "I came here to rest in my own house. I do not propose to go down to the Cove to-night. Betty put a light hand on his sleeve. "You are not really tired of me," she said, archly, though she felt her gaiety rang false. But once he would have done her bidding. Would he now? "It was but a foolish jest that the wine carried too far that you played on me this after- noon. You owe me some reparation, surely. I am weary of being here. Will you take me down to the MacArthur's to-night?" Betty drew her breath in sharply. She had failed, she knew, she saw suspicion in his eyes. He brought his hand down on the table with a sounding smack. "Before God," he said, "I am sick to death of you and your fine lady airs. I curse the day ever I saw your face. You have brought me no- thing but ill." "I brought you not even myself willingly," flashed Betty, moved to deepest anger. Why could she not go away and leave this man to his fate? But she could not, and if she would save him and herself she would have to tell him the truth. It seemed to her the only way out of the difficulty. She stood and looked at him a moment, then she drew herself up. Could she save Eunice and these two men, criminals though they were, would-be murderers though they were? They would have been peaceful hinds under another master. "I want to get away," she said. "I am frightened here. When I was outside just now I saw a little blackfellow slipping through the f Pn ce. He always comes to me for broken meats, but he did not come to-night and he slipped away when I saw him. That looks bad." "It would," mocked Williams, "but it happens to be a lie. What are you lying to me for, madam ?" "I have never asked you to do anything for me yet, prayed Betty earnestly, "only take me away to-night." I'll be hanged if I do, unless you give me a better reason than that." He had right on his side. Betty felt she was asking a most unreasonable thing, and yet how save him and how save his servants as well. "There's something at the bottom of this," he said, angrily. "If the Indians come we must defend my gear. Do you think I can afford to lose it?" "If there are twenty or thirty of them, how ccxuld we?" "Three men and two women under shelter against such poor creatures! Why I could hold them single handed, I believe," said Williams. "Could you-can you trust tile servants?" Williams wheeled round, and Betty knew she had betrayed Eunice even as Eunice had betrayed Simon. "Whew! So the wind is in that quarter. A convict rising, and you will have me got away and have them raid the farm. A nice wife I have gotten for myself. Here, where's that old woman ?" He put his hand on Betty's shoulder and thrust her back into the room, then going to the door he shouted aloud, "Eunice! Eunice!" Betty suppressed an inclination to call out "Don't come," and then the obedience of long years of servitude asserted itself. Across the yard came Eunice as quickly as she could. "What devil's business is thia now?" asked her master. Quick, make a ole&n breast of it if you don't want to find yourself in. the stocks." Eunice turned reproackful eyes on Betty, sad old eyes that said, "I have done my little best for you and this is my reward." "Eunice," she said, quickly, "knows nothing of it. What are you dragging her into it for? Surely I may be afraid without telling my as- signed servant," she said, with an effort at haughty indifference. "You may," said Williams, grimly, "but as I know you it is not likely. You're thick as thieves with Eunice. Do you think I haven't seen that. Come now, what's going to happen to-night or to- morrow morning?" "Nothing is going to happen that I know of," said the old woman, apparently with dull in- difference. It had grown so dark they could hardly see each other's faces. "Bring a light, commanded Williams, and she brought in a lamp from the kitchen, set it in the middle of the table and stood where the light fell full on her face. "Now what is this? "Nothing, nothing," she smoothed her apron down. She would retrieve as far as possible her false step. However sorry she might be for her mistress, she could not throw in her lot with this man. Since Mistress Williams would not take the chance she had given her, she would have to dree her own weird. "Nothing," said Williams, hia anger rising, "nothing. We'll soon see if it is nothing." He picked up a heavy decanter by the neck. "Now, Eunice Burton, what about this convict con- spiracy that neither you nor this wife of mine know anything about?" and he held the decanter threateningly over her head. "Mr. Williams," cried Betty imploringly. "What about this conspiracy?" The old woman looked at the threatening de- canter, quailed a little before it and then ap- parently made up her mind. "I know nothing, sir, just nothing." "What about this conspiracy? asked Williams again, as if he had never heard her. "Mr. Williams, Mr. Williams," prayed Betty, "that decanter is heavy. You may do her a hurt, and she put her hand on his arm. He jerked it off easily, for he was a powerful man. "That rests with herself," said he. "What about this conspiracy, Eunice?" "Nothing, sir," she said again, and down came the bottle crash against the side of her head, and she dropped like a stone. A piercing shriek burst from Betty's lips, and she flew to the old woman's side and raised her head. She gasped once or twice, and looked at Betty with unseeing eyes. She had received her death hurt. "She is dying, she is dying," sobbed the horri- fied girl. Williams had gone a little further than he in- tended. He had only intended to scare the old woman, but the brute beast in him could not resist the blow when she defied him. "She brought it on herself," he said, half- apologetically, "she most certainly brought it on herself. She's dead, madam. Get up and stop that snivelling." She was dead, certainly she was dead, even Betty's ignorant eyes saw that, and she smoothed down ner hair and closed her eyes. Only a convict serving woman, but Betty had grown to love her more than she knew, and it seemed to her that she had certainly brought her to her death. She had betrayed her, she had put her in Williams' power, and she rose to her feet with a shuddering sigh. "What now?" she whispered. "What now?" said Williams, recovering his equanimity, "well now, I don't mind taking horse as you so kindly suggested a quarter of an hour ago, and starting for Parramatta." "I see, I see," breathed Betty, scarcely above her breath, "a face at the window." It was Crane's face, and it vanished as she spoke, but with one movement Williams put out the light, then went softly and closed the shutter, while Betty, alive to the danger of the situation, barred the door into the yard. The three rooms apart from the rest of the farm bui1 lings were built for possible defence, and in a aioment or two Williams and his wife were safe from any- thing the two convict serving men could do alone. "The mischief is," said Williams, "they'll bring in all the bolters that have been hid in the woods for the last six months, to say nothing of the Indians." "What will they do?" breathed Betty, as her husband, having made sure they were safe for the present, felt about for tinder and steel and lighted the lamp. "They will burn the place, they will kill me, and for you-well, madam, you may guess your fate." They were facing death together, but they were as far apart as the poles. I CHAPTER XVIII. FLIGHT. It is true fortitude to stand firm against All shocks of fate, when cowards fight and die In fear to suffer more calamity. "The horses are in the stable," breathed Betty. "And much chance we have of getting them." "There are only the two men. You are a match for them both. They have no firearms." "How can I be sure of that?" said Williams. "Besides, the man who lies hid has the advantage, just as the man in the house has till they fire it." There came a sudden knocking at tHe door, and they both started. "Who's there? called Williams. "Me," said Orleans, and the Servility had gone from his voice. "Well, what do you want?" "Mistress Williams," was the unexpected reply. "Many a good turn she's done us, and we're agoin' to burn you out in a jiff, as soon as the others come along but we've no quarrel with her." "And if I give her up? asked Williams. "She'll come to no harm with us. We ain't so sure of any other chaps that might come along: "Why, she'll run away and swear to the lot of you," mocked Williams, and the other man laughed back. "I reckon we can take care of that. Put her out of the door, and I reckon I'll take as good care of her as ever you done." "You must give us time to think," said Williams. She doesn't want to come. "Then I reckon," said the mocker, "as it's the first time she ever hankered after your society. Plenty of time. I'll give you half an hour. Williams turned and looked at his wife. She lay on the sofa with her face pressed against the pillows. She looked white and miserable. "Do you want to go?" he asked, sullenly. "They evidently don't think there's the smallest chance for me." "Your only chance is to get up and fight them now—now, while they are only two," said Betty, wearily. It seemed to her that she had gone through so much of late it would be quite an easy thing to die, provided only the death came quickly. "How do I know there are only two of them? I am convinced I shall be killed the moment I go outside. The woods may be full of Indians with ears like hares. You yourself saw a boy slipping through-" "That was a lie to make you start for Parra- matta. I understood from Eunice the attack was to be to-morrow. She wanted me to get away, and she would not have suggested that if the woods had been full of Indians." Still Williams looked doubtful. "There is no trusting these people." "There are only two of them, unless Crane has gone to bring the others, and say there is no longer need for delay. We could get away now. "We might, but it is a terrible risk." "Let me go, then," said Betty. "If you will no fight when I do believe only Orleans is there, let me go, then, if I can get away I might slip down to Parramatta and get help." You might do that/' said Williams, thought- fully. "But you'd be as thankful for my death as Orleans himself." Betty smiled. Only," she said, "I would do my best to keep you from being murdered for my own sake. Do you think I want to have blood on my con- science?" "We are doomed here," said Williams, pacing the room like a caged beast. It is our only hope. Are you there ? he asked, raising his voice. "Here," said a voice with startling suddenness, right under the window. "Mistress Williams will collect her gew-gaws and be with you in ten minutes. I will open this door and let her out." "If you but show yourself in the doorway," said the warning voice, "I will let daylight through you." "You have no musket." "Stand in the doorway and you'll see." Betty gathered together a few belongings, and a cloak and hood, for the night was just a little chilly. She had reached that stage in her life when nothing seemed to matter much. She could not be much more miserable and shamed than she had been as Williams' wife, and if death come, well, then it would come. And yet somehow when she saw him standing there, waiting for her, she pitied him. "I am sorry," she said, helnlessly; "make a rush for it when you open the door." But Williams shook his head. "If you can get away, or can in any way get news to Elizabeth Farm, I can hold out," he said. "But you will not." "I will, indeed I will, if I possibly can. I will not live with you again-never, never. I will be a servant in Mistress MacArthur's house, I will do anything rather than live with you but I will save your life if I can. Be sure of that, be very sure of that." He looked at her face, but she turned away. She was leaving him to a lonely watch which would probably end in death, but he should never touch her lips again if she could help it, and something of her feelings he read in her face, for he stooped and kissed her hand. "I suppose I haven't been the best of hus- bands, Betty," he said, "but you scorned from the first what many a woman would have been proud to have. Good-bye." "Good-bye, and I will save you if I can," Then he opened the door and thrust her out into the darkness, and she heard it bang behind her. (To be continued.)

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