by Mayne Reid
individualsthat occupied the knife-board.
We got off the "bus" at Charing Cross, stepped into Morley's Hotel, andordered "dinner for two."
"Cannon," said I, "how came you to be here? I left you in Melbourne,without any money. How did you get a passage home?"
"Well," replied Cannon, with a peculiar grin, "it's easily explained.My well-wishing friends here sent me a little money, which came to hand,shortly after I saw you. I knew why they did it. They were afraid,that I might get hard up out there, and, someway or other find my wayhome. They weren't so cunning as they thought themselves. On receivingtheir cheque, I did with it, just what they didn't intend I should do.I paid my passage home with the money, for fear I mightn't have thechance again; and I'll take precious good care, they don't send me outof England a second time--not if I can help it."
"What has become of Vane?" I asked.
"Vane! the damned insidious viper! I don't like to say anything abouthim. He had some money left him here; and got back to England, before Idid. He's here now."
"And how are our friends up the Yarra Yarra. Have you heard anything ofthem, since we were there together?"
"Yes; and seen them, too--several times. They were well the last time Isaw them. I mean well in bodily health; but I think a little wrong inthe mind. They became great friends with that fellow Vane."
I noticed that Cannon, although he had said that he did not like to sayanything about Vane, kept continually alluding to him during the two orthree hours that we were together; and always spoke of him with someshow of animosity.
I could see that the two men were friends no longer. I was notinquisitive as to the cause of their misunderstanding--probably for thereason, that I took very little interest in the affairs of either.
"Are you in any business here?" asked Cannon, when we were about toseparate.
"No," I replied, "I don't desire to go into business in London; and, asI can find but little to amuse me, I am thinking of returning toAustralia."
"Ah! that's strange," rejoined Cannon. "Perhaps the reason why you arenot amused, is because you are a stranger here, and have but littlesociety. Come along with me, and I will introduce you to some of myfriends, who can show you some London life. Will you promise to meet mehere to-morrow, at half-past ten o'clock?"
I did not like giving the promise; but Cannon would take no denial; and,having nothing else to do, I agreed to meet him, at the time and placehe had mentioned. After that we shook hands, and parted.
Though not particularly caring about either of them, I liked Vane lessthan I did Cannon. I was not at all surprised to find that adisagreement had sprung up between them. In fact, I would rather havefelt surprised, to hear that they had remained so long in each other'ssociety without having had a quarrel. Cannon, with all his faults, hadsome good qualities about him, enough to have rendered him unsuitable asa "chum" for the other; and I had anticipated a speedy termination oftheir friendship. I knew that Vane must have done something verydispleasing to Cannon, else the other would scarce have made use of suchstrong expressions, while speaking of his old associate. Cannon, whennot excited by passion, was rather guarded in his language; and rarelyexpressed his opinions in a rash or inconsiderate manner.
Next morning, I met him according to appointment; and we drove to acottage in Saint John's Wood--where he proposed introducing me to someof his English acquaintances. We were conducted into a parlour; and theservant was requested to announce, "Mr Cannon and friend."
The door was soon after opened; and Jessie H--stood before me!
On seeing me, she did not speak; but dropped down into a sofa; and forsome time seemed unconscious, that there was anyone in the room.
It was cruel of Cannon thus to bring us again together; and yet he didnot appear to be the least punished, although present at a scene thatwas painful to both of us. On the contrary, he seemed rather pleased atthe emotion called forth upon the occasion.
Jessie soon recovered command of herself, but I could easily perceive,that her tranquil demeanour was artificial and assumed--altogetherunlike her natural bearing, when I knew her on the banks of the YarraYarra.
Cannon strove hard to keep alive a conversation; but the task of doingso was left altogether to himself. I could give him but little help;and from Jessie he received no assistance whatever. The painfulinterview was interrupted by the entrance of Mr H--, whose deportmenttowards us, seemed even more altered than that of his daughter.
I could easily perceive, that he did not regard either Cannon, ormyself, with any feeling of cordiality.
We were soon after joined by Mrs H--, who met us in a more friendlymanner than her husband; and yet she, too, seemed acting under somerestraint.
While Cannon engaged the attention of Mr and Mrs H--, I had a fewwords with Jessie.
She requested me to call, and see them again; but, not liking the mannerin which her father had received me, I declined making a promise. To mysurprise--and a little to my regret--she insisted upon it; and appointedthe next morning, at eleven o'clock--when she and her mother would bealone.
"I am very unhappy, Rowland," muttered she, in an undertone. "I seldomsee anyone whom I care for. Do come, and see us to-morrow. Will youpromise?"
I could not be so rude--might I say cruel--as to refuse.
Our stay was not prolonged. Before we came away, Mrs H--also invitedus to call again; but I noticed that this invitation, when given, wasnot intended to be heard by her husband.
"Little Rose is at school," said she, "and you must come to see her.She is always talking of you. When she hears that you are in London,she will be wild to see you."
After our departure, my companion, who already knew my address, gave mehis; and we separated, under a mutual agreement to meet soon again.
There was much, in what had just transpired, that I could notcomprehend.
Why had Cannon not told me that Mr H--and his family were in London,before taking me to see them? Why had he pretended that he was going tointroduce me to some of his London friends? I could answer thesequestions only by supposing, that he believed I would not haveaccompanied him, had I known on whom we were about to call.
He might well have believed this--remembering the unceremonious mannerin which I had parted from his friends, at the time we visited them onthe Yarra Yarra. But why should he wish me to visit them again--if hethought that I had no desire to do so?
This was a question for which I could find no reasonable answer. I feltcertain he must have acted from some motive, but what it was, I couldnot surmise. Perhaps I should learn something about it next day, duringthe visit I had promised to make to Jessie. She was artless andconfiding; so much so, that I felt certain she would tell me all thathad taken place, since that painful parting on the banks of the YarraYarra.
Long after leaving the house in Saint John's Wood, I found occupationfor my thoughts. I was the victim of reflections, both varied andvexatious.
By causing us to come together again, Fate seemed to intend theinfliction of a curse, and not the bestowal of a blessing!
I asked myself many questions. Would a further acquaintance with Jessiesubdue within my soul the memories of Lenore? Did I wish that suchshould be the case?
Over these questions I pondered long, and painfully--only to find themunanswered.
Jessie H--was beautiful beyond a doubt. There was a charm in her beautythat might have won many a heart; and mine had not been in different toit. There was music in her voice--as it gave utterance to the thoughtsof her pure, artless mind to which I liked to listen. And yet there wassomething in my remembrance of Lenore--who had never loved me, and whocould never be mine--sweeter and more enchanting than the music ofJessie's voice, or the beauty of her person!
Volume Three, Chapter XXV.
JESSIE'S SUITOR.
Next morning I repeated my visit to Saint John's Wood. I again sawJessie. She expressed herself much pleased to see me; but upon herfeatures was an expression that pain
ed me to behold. That face, oncebright and joyous, and still beautiful, gave evidence that some secretsorrow was weighing upon her heart.
"I know not whether I ought to be glad, or grieved, Rowland," said she."I am certainly pleased to see you. Nothing could give me greater joy;and yet I know that our meeting again must bring me much sorrow."
"How can this be?" I asked, pretending not to understand her.
"Ever since you left us on the Yarra Yarra, I have been trying to forgetyou. I had resolved not to see you again. And now, alas! my resolveshave all been in vain. I know it is a misfortune for me to have metyou; and yet I seem to welcome it. It was wrong of you to come hereyesterday; and yet I could bless you for coming."
"My calling here yesterday," said I, "may have been an unfortunatecircumstance, though not any
