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Chapter XXXII. Auckland Once More—The Luck of the Devil—Harry and the Stubbs Visit Wanganui.

I Was longing for the steamer to start that I might return to Auckland, for though I had unaccountably made up my mind that nothing should prevent my being present at the wedding, which I was convinced must now occur, yet the sight of my favoured rival's happiness was too much for me. His supercilious air of condescending superiority when addressing me was too maddening to be borne with equanimity. I always felt an intense desire to kick him unmercifully, and it was only the thought that it would pain Fanny more than him which enabled me to suppress my violent inclinations in this direction. Charlie hated him as intensely as I did, and it was all Fanny and her father could do to prevent the young scamp from playing tricks on him. He improved a little in his riding under Fanny's tuition, but it was her greatest trouble that she feared she would never make a horseman of him. Almost living in the saddle herself, and being passionately fond of horses, it must have tried her considerably to witness her lover bullying his horse (poor old Bob, the quietest we had) because, as he asserted, he was so full of tricks (said tricks being caused by his rider's pernicious habit of holding on by his spurs).

In a few days I was again in Auckland, and striding down Queen-street Wharf to meet my sister and her husband. The steamer from Dunedin just hauled up alongside as I approached, and I was in plenty of time to see them land. Cecilia was little altered since I had last seen her, except that she had grown more matronly. She still had the will to command, which I so well remembered. The possession of a willing subject and slave had doubtless increased rather than diminished it. The greatest alteration I noticed in Stubbs was but a temporary one, caused by sea sickness, to which he had been a martyr. He was, if possible, several shades whiter than usual. His wife had not suffered in the least, but had entertained great sympathy for him, and been most kind on the voyage, he affirmed. Now they had arrived in port, she evidently thought he ought to be well, and ordered him here, there, and everywhere to get her multitude of small parcels, as well as larger luggage. The poor fellow obeyed, although I could see it was pain and grief to him. They both expressed themselves highly delighted at seeing me. On asking them where they intended to stay, Cecilia said they must go to some quiet boarding-house for a few days until her husband should meet his predecessor in the charge he was about to take, and inquired from him when the parsonage would be vacant. I accordingly took them to a suitable place, and the next day Stubbs called on the gentleman in question, whereupon it transpired that for some reason best known to himself that gentleman would not or could not give up the parsonage for three weeks. He had written to Stubbs to that effect and posted the letter himself. Stubbs replied that he had never page 136 received it. After wondering for some time and blaming the excessive carelessness of the post office officials, he put his hand in his pocket and found the letter. Not having worn the coat since, he had not previously discovered his negligence.

‘But, sir,’ suggested Stubbs, in his mildest manner, ‘could you not manage to let us have one room—a very small one would do—till you leave.’

‘No, no. With all my family the place is full. Not room for a mouse. We will be ready for you on this day three weeks, my dear sir.’

When Cecilia heard of this delay she was greatly vexed. ‘Why did you not insist on his giving you accommodation in his house or paying your bill here, as it was on account of his stupid carelessness. If you had received his letter you would have remained down there earning something. You know very well we cannot afford to pay for lodgings and everything now there is nothing coming in.’ Then her tone waxed sarcastic, as she continued: ‘If that great friend of yours had not borrowed so much of your money, it would not have mattered, but as it is, you know how pressed we are.’

‘Yes, yes, my dear, but what could I do? We must try and borrow a few pounds somewhere,’ with an appealing look in my direction.

‘But who would lend us money? We are strangers here,’ returned my sister, not noticing his reference to me.

‘Well, under certain conditions, I will, my dear Cissy. These conditions are that you will spend it in a trip to Wanganui to see our relatives there. They particularly wish you to do so, as this note from aunt will testify. A short visit will pleasantly fill up your spare time. If you are a little longer than the specified period I don't doubt the old gentleman will not object to take another Sunday or two.’

‘It would certainly be very nice, Frank, and I think we will accept your kind offer. I do enjoy the sea so much. My poor husband will be very sick again though, I'm afraid.’

‘Yes, I fear I shall,’ put in poor Stubbs, ruefully, ‘but as long as you enjoy it I don't mind what I suffer—at least not very much.’ The last few words were evidently added to counteract the apparent disregard of truth in his assertion. They were delivered after a pause, and a sad cadence seemed to cling to them.

‘Well, it's settled,’ replied the practical Cissy. ‘I suppose they don't give chaplains a free passage on these coastal steamers, Frank. They would not when we came up from Dunedin, though I tried them hard. I am afraid they would not have got much good out of you though, dear, for you were so awfully sick.’

‘No, they do not require the assistance of the church, as the voyage rarely includes Sunday. By-the-bye, how did you leave your young convert at the gaol, Stubbs? I suppose he was deeply grieved at your departure. A pity you couldn't have brought him up, and turned him into a Sunday-school teacher, or something.’

‘He deeply grieved at my departure! No, it was the other way about,’ replied my brother-in-law, in more excited tones than I had yet heard him use.’ I was deeply grieved at his departure, for he managed to escape a short time before I left.’

‘Yes,’ interposed Cissy, ‘and took a sum of money with him, which my husband was foolish enough to lend him. That was the worst of it.’

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‘Hallo, Stubbs! you surely were not green enough to lend money to a prisoner, were you?’

‘Yes, Frank; unfortunately, I was. The young man seemed so sincere. He used to teach in my Bible-class, and even took the service for me on two occasions in the gaol. Then he told me, with tears in his eyes, that if he could only get twenty pounds to pay a lawyer he could obtain his freedom, for he was falsely accused. He promised to pay me back as soon as ever he got out, and although Cissy is sure he will not, yet I have still hopes that my teachings may come home to him some day, and he may return it. It may be long first, though,’ he added musingly. ‘I do not, however, agree with Cissy that the money loss is the worst. I think that the loss of the soul of one, who you believe has been gathered into the fold is far worse.’

‘That is very well, my dear,’ Cissy replied, ‘but the loss of the soul is his, while the loss of the money is ours.’

‘I am sure you must be right, my dear,’ Stubbs answered, meekly.

Harry walked in at this moment, and I introduced him to my sister and her husband.

‘I heard you were in town, Frank, so I felt sure you would be here. I have made a few lucky hits in the share-market since I last saw you, which have considerably increased the little legacy my uncle left me. I shall now stop speculating, for I often see fellows who have made a rise, wire in heavy till they drop the lot. It is not good enough. I have learnt a lot of experience from them, and mean to profit by it. When are you off for Wanganui? I'm ready to look out for a good farm there as soon as you like.

‘We are off by the next steamer. By Jove! old boy, I wish I had your luck.’

‘Luck, man! It isn't luck! there's no such thing. If a man studies every chance, and carries on with caution, he is pretty sure to come out right. It's those fools that rush blindly into a thing without troubling or knowing anything about it that cry out about not being lucky.’

Mr and Mrs Stubbs had by this time left the room.

‘I don't agree with you, there, Harry. Now, take my case in my love affairs. I have studied every chance, and taken every opportunity of letting Fanny know what an out-and-out villain Grosvenor is, yet he is winning and I am losing. I believe it is all luck, and that he has the luck of the devil, as they say.’

‘Not a bit of it, old man. You've been going in for a game you don't understand, while he's up to all the ropes. I do not believe you understand women an atom, Frank; excuse me saying so. If you did you wouldn't have been such a muff as to always run down Grosvenor to this girl of yours. It did him far more good than you. Begin that game with a girl, abusing a fellow she cares for, and the fat's in the fire, directly.’

‘Well, Harry, I didn't think you could teach me anything on the subject. How do you come to be so wise about the dear girls, eh?’

‘By studying the subject. You remember how cranky I used to be, shifting about from one to the other, and suffering greatly from the mistakes I made, and also from my hasty way of taking offence at trifling things they said and did. After a lot too much of this sort of thing. I saw there must be something wrong, so I began to consider. First, I thought there were none of them worth bothering page 138 about, but when Miss Grave was kind enough to trouble to carry on a sisterly correspondence with me, her letters full of womanly sympathy and advice for one so tossed about by his own temper and waywardness as I was, I then began to think there is something in them after all, and not only something, but a lot more than I ever dreamt of. But for her kind interest in me I should have gone to the dogs altogether, as so many of the young fellows have done I knew when I first came out—men without friends, for the fellows they call their friends are the worst enemies they have. But here I am preaching away, when I am all ears to hear how your friends are getting on. I heard the Robinsons were at your “hop” the other day. Was Miss Grave with them?’

‘No, she was not. The old lady said she had a headache,’ replied I.

‘That old beast always prevents her going if she can, for Julia complains that she never gets so many dances when she is there. The old cat made up that headache yarn.’

I related the scene between Julia and Fanny, and informed Harry that we should be down in time for the wedding, and that Miss Grave would be there, as she had not been in the row.’

‘That will be grand for me, but it's rough on you. Can't we manage to expose the detestable villain somehow?’

No, the game's up. They won't believe us. He's got a way of making them all believe him. How he does it I don't know. I wish to heaven I did.’

The day previous to the departure of our steamer for Wanganui we hired a buggy, and took Cissy and her husband for a drive to give them some idea of the varied beauty of the scenery in the neighbourhood of Auckland. From the road which winds along the hills in the Remuera districts, even at that time a favourite locality for suburban residences, we saw beneath us the blue waters of the harbour, that vast sheet of water so snugly sheltered on the sea-ward side by the North Shore and the sloping sides of Rangitoto, beyond which gleamed in the sunlight the mighty ocean, its monotony relieved in the distance by the low-lying Tiri Tiri Island, while further away again in the blue haze loomed the misty outline of the Great Barrier, forming altogether a scene of which the eye never wearied. My brother-in-law was most enthusiastic in his admiration of the sea, providing always he was not too near it, and could gaze on it from the land. In this case the scene suited him admirably, as long rolling spurs divided by deep gullies clothed in verdure, and in some parts planted with ornamental trees and built on, formed a most pleasing foreground to the view, and gave him a sense of security, to be, alas! too speedily lost, for the next day found us being tossed and rolled about on the Manukau Bar. Cissy, Harry, and I enjoyed it immensely, but poor Stubbs had no sooner stepped on board at One-hunga than he remarked that, if we would excuse him, he thought he would go and lie down. He did not sufficiently recover to leave his cabin till we steamed up the Wanganui river, which, owing to nearly six hours' delay occasioned by some breakages in our machinery, was not until shortly after one o'clock on the day fixed for the wedding. This delay had been most irksome to me, as I reflected that in all probability we should not arrive in time to attend it. Cissy, to whom I had not confided my love for Fanny, remarked that had it been my own wedding I could not have exhibited more impatience. I wondered in an inane way why I was so determined to page 139 put myself to the torture of witnessing my hated rival's union with my beloved cousin, for torture I knew it must be—why I had not rather have gone anywhere to be out of the way. I could not answer these questions satisfactorily. A sort of mysterious, uncontrollable influence appeared to draw me on to my own manifest discomfiture. I was powerless to resist it. I was a fatalist for the time being, and felt assured that no human might could deliver me from the minutest atom of the punishment I was doomed to receive. Why I knew not. It was my destiny, and I must go through with it. But how? My sufferings may appear exaggerated to some of my readers, who may be less sensitive than I was, or, at all events, deem themselves so.