Майн Рид
Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

Volume Three – Chapter Eighteen.
My Brother William

The next morning, I arose early, and went to Olliphant’s tent – to take leave of him, and his companion Bill.

I accompanied them to the public-house, from which the stage coach to Geelong was to start. We stepped inside the house, to have a glass together.

“There’s a question,” said Bill, “that I’ve often thought of putting to you. I’ve heard you called Rowland. Excuse my appearing to be inquisitive; but I have a strong reason for it. You have some other name. Will you tell me what it is?”

There is something extraordinary in the power and quickness of thought. Suddenly a conviction came over my mind: that I had found my brother! I felt sure of it. Memory did not assist me much, in making the discovery. It seemed to come upon me, as if by inspiration!

It is true, I had something to guide me, in coming to this conclusion. Sailor Bill had evidently, at some time or other, known a person by the name of Rowland. It at once entered my mind, that I must be the individual of whom he had this distant recollection.

“My name,” said I, in answer to his question, “is your own. Is not yours Stone?”

“It is,” rejoined he, “William Stone.”

“Then we are brothers!”

“You are the Rolling Stone!” exclaimed Bill, grasping my hand. “How strange that I did not ask the question, when I first heard you called Rowland!”

The excitement caused by our mutual recognition, was of the most pleasurable character; and, for some moments after the first words, we both remained speechless.

‘The Elephant’ was nearly as much astonished as ourselves, at the discovery thus made. “What a fool I’ve been,” said he, “not to have seen long ago that you were brothers. If ever there were two brothers, I could swear that you two were the pair. I have been blind not to have told you before – what you have at last found out for yourselves.”

We had no time to do more than exchange mutual congratulations: for the stage coach was about to start. I immediately paid for a seat; and set off along with them for Geelong. At the moment, I had along with me all the gold I had gathered. I had brought it out, for the purpose of taking it to the Escort Office – as soon as I should bid adieu to my friends. There was nothing else of much importance to detain me in Ballarat; and I parted from the place at less than a moment’s notice.

My brother and I found plenty of employment for our tongues, while making the journey to Melbourne.

I asked him, if he had been aware of our mother’s having followed Mr Leary to Australia.

“Yes,” said he, “I knew, when she left me in Liverpool, that she was going to follow the brute out there; and I concluded she had done so.”

“And have you never thought of trying to find her, while you were in Sydney?”

“No,” said my brother, in a tone of solemnity, “when she deserted me in Liverpool, to go after that wretch, I felt that I had lost a mother; and it is my belief, that a mother once lost is never found again.”

“But did it not occur to you that you should have tried to find Martha? Do you intend leaving the colonies without making some effort to discover our sister?”

“Poor little Martha!” exclaimed William, “she was a dear little child. I would, indeed, like to see her again. Suppose we both try to find her? I do not believe that if we discover her, we need have any fear of being ashamed of her. She was once a little angel; and I am sure she will be a good girl, wherever she is – Oh! I should like to see Martha once more; but to tell the truth Rowland, I do not care for ever seeing mother again!”

I then informed my brother, that his wishes might yet be gratified; and, as we continued our journey, I gave him a detailed history of the affairs of the family – so far as I was myself acquainted with them.

It was by no means an agreeable mode of transit, travelling by stage coach in the state the roads of Victoria were at the time, yet that was the happiest day I had ever passed in the colony. William and I kept up our conversation all day long. We had hardly a word for our companion, Olliphant; and we were under the necessity of apologising to him.

“Don’t mention it,” said the good-hearted Elephant. “I am as happy as either of you. You are two fellows of the right sort; and I’m glad you have found each other.”

On our arrival in Melbourne, we all went together to the Union Hotel. After engaging rooms, we proceeded to the purchase of some clothes – in order that we might make a respectable appearance in the streets of the city. My brother was in breathless haste to get himself rigged out; and we knew his reason. He intended to spend the evening in the society of his future wife and her mother.

At an early hour in the afternoon, he took leave of us.

Olliphant and I were compelled to kill the time the best way we could; but the trouble of doing so was not great: since there are but few cities of equal size with Melbourne, where so much time and money are devoted to the purpose of amusement.

Next day, I accepted an invitation from my brother, to accompany him on a visit to his sweetheart. She and her mother were living in a small house in Collingwood. When we arrived at the door, it was opened by a rather delicate ladylike woman, about forty years of age. She received my brother with a pleasant smile; and I was introduced to Mrs Morell.

The young lady soon made her appearance, from an adjoining room; and, after greeting my brother in a manner that gave me gratification to witness, I was introduced to her.

Sarah Morell was, what might have been called by any one, a pretty girl. She had not the beauty of my lost Lenore, nor was she perhaps even as beautiful as my sister Martha; but there was a sweet expression in her features, a charm in her smile, and a music in her gentle voice, that were all equally attractive; and I could not help thinking, that my brother had made choice of a woman worthy of his honest and confiding love.

She talked but little, during the interview – allowing most of the conversation to be carried on by her mother; but, from the little she did say; and the glance of her eyes – as she fixed them on the manly form of my brother – I could tell that he was beloved.

By that glance, I could read pride and reverence for the man upon whom she had bestowed her heart; and that she felt for him that affection I once hoped to win from Lenore.

How superior was my brother’s fate to mine! He was beloved by the one he loved. He was in her presence; and they were soon to be man and wife. He was happy – happy as youth can be, when blessed with hope, love, wealth, and health. I was happy also; but it consisted only in seeing others blessed with the happiness, which I was myself denied.

After passing some hours in the cheerful companionship, of Mrs and Miss Morell, my brother and I returned to our hotel – where we found ‘The Elephant’ in a very unamiable mood. He had just ascertained, that he would have to stay three days longer in Melbourne: as there was no steamer to start for Sydney before the third day from that time.

After a council held between my brother and myself, it was resolved that I should go on to Sydney with the Elephant; and try to induce our sister Martha to accompany me back to Melbourne. The pleasure of meeting a long-lost brother, and of being present at his wedding, we hoped, would be sufficient inducement to cause her to change her resolution, and consent to live with relatives, who were only too anxious to support and protect her.

Since William had been told of our mother’s death, he appeared to take much more interest in Martha’s welfare; and urged upon me, not to come back to Melbourne, without bringing her along with me. We could not, he said, feel happy, returning to England, and leaving our sister alone in the colonies.

I promised to use every effort in the accomplishment of his wishes – which, of course, were but the echoes of my own.

Miss Morell, on hearing that her lover had a sister in Sydney, insisted on the marriage being postponed, until Martha should arrive.

“I am willing to be married the very day your sister comes,” said she, adding in her artless manner, “I shall wait with great impatience until I have seen her.”

It is hardly necessary to say, that these conditions redoubled William’s anxiety for the speedy arrival of our sister; and, before taking leave of him, I was compelled to make a most emphatic promise of a speedy return. Olliphant, without knowing the object of my visit to Sydney, was gratified to hear that we were to continue our travelling companionship still further; and in joyous spirits we stepped aboard the steamer bound to that place.

Volume Three – Chapter Nineteen.
A Milliner’s Yarn

The Melbourne steamer made the port of Sydney, at a late hour of the night. On landing, we proceeded direct to a hotel, where, after some difficulty, we obtained accommodation for the night.

In the morning, after eating our breakfast – which in Sydney is the most important meal of the day – my companion and I walked out into the streets. We soon parted company – each taking a different direction, since each had his own affairs to attend to.

I proceeded direct to the house where I had left my sister, two years before. I was both surprised, and disappointed, at not finding her there; and perceiving that the house was no longer a milliner’s shop.

I inquired for the people who formerly occupied the premises; but could learn nothing of them.

“I am justly served,” thought I, “I should have corresponded with my sister; and this disappointment could not have happened.”

My relatives had been lost to me once. That should have been a warning. I should have taken precautions against a recurrence of this misfortune. Instead of doing so, I had led Martha to believe, that I had gone back to England; and during my absence had never written to her. I now perceived how foolishly I had acted; and felt as if I deserved never to see my sister again.

I should have been more deeply aggrieved by my conduct, but that I still entertained the hope of being able to find her.

Sydney was not a large city; and if my sister was still within its limits, there was no reason why I should not discover her whereabouts – especially with the energy and perseverance I determined to make use of in the search.

This search I lost no time in instituting. I turned into the next street – though rather mechanically than otherwise: for I was still undecided as to how I should act.

All at once I remembered, that the woman, with whom Martha had gone into partnership, was a Mrs Green. I remembered, too, hearing Mrs Green say, that she had resided in Sydney for several years. Some one, therefore, should know her; and, if she could be found, it was natural to infer, that I should learn something of Martha.

While sauntering along the street, into which I had entered, my eye fell upon a little shop, which bore the sign of a milliner over the window. That should be the place for me to commence my inquiries. I entered the shop, where I saw standing behind a counter the worst-looking woman I had ever beheld. She was not ugly, from having a positively hideous face, or ill-formed features; but rather from the spirit that gave expression to both. It was a combination of wicked passions – comprising self-esteem, insolence, avarice, and everything that makes human nature despicable. The woman was dressed in a style that seemed to say: “vanity for sale.”

I asked her, if she could give me any intelligence of a Mrs Green, who formerly kept a milliner’s shop in the next street.

A disgusting grin suddenly spread over the features of the woman, as she promptly replied, “Yes; Mrs Green was chased out of Sydney over a year ago. She thought to smash my business; but she got smashed herself.”

“Can you tell me where she is to be found?” I inquired.

“Yes. She saw it wasn’t no use to try to carry on business against me; and she’s hooked it to Melbourne.”

“There was a young woman with her, named Martha Stone,” I continued, “can you tell me where she is?”

“Yes. She’s another beauty. I am not at all astonished at young men inquirin’ for her. Don’t think I am, mister. I’ve kept that lady from starving for the last six months; and I’m about tired of it, I can tell you. This is a nice world we live in, sure enough. What might you be wantin’ with Miss Stone?”

“I wish to know where she is to be found – nothing more,” I answered.

“Certainly. You wish to know where she is! Of course you do. Why not?” said the disgusting creature, in a tone, and with a significant leer, that I have ever since been vainly endeavouring to forget. “What right have you to think, that I should know where any such a person lives?” continued the woman. “I wish you to understand, sir, that I am a lady.”

I should certainly never have thought it, without being told; but, not the least grateful for the information, I answered:

“You say, that you know where Miss Stone is to be found. I am her brother, and wish to find her.”

“Oh! that’s it, is it?” retorted the woman with a look of evident disappointment. Then, turning round, and forcing her neck someway up a narrow staircase, she screamed out, “Susan! Susan!”

Soon after, a very young girl – apparently half-starved – made her appearance at the bottom of the stairs.

“Susan,” said the only woman I ever hated at first sight, “tell this man, where Miss Stone lives.”

There was something not so bad in the creature after all; and I began to fancy, I had been wronging her.

“Please, sir,” said Susan, pointing with outstretched arm towards one of the sides of the shop, “go up this street, till you come to the baker’s shop; then turn round this way, and go on till you pass the public-house with the picture of the horse on it; then turn that way, and go on till you come to where the house was burnt down; cross the street there, and go on to the house where they sell lollies; go by that, and at the turning beyond go this way until you come to the house with the green window blinds – ”

“That will do,” I exclaimed. “I don’t want to lose my senses, as well as my sister. Can you tell me, Susan, the name of the street, and the number of the house, in which Miss Stone resides?”

“No, sir, thank you,” answered Susan.

“Can you go there – if this lady will give you leave?”

“Yes, sir, if you please,” said the girl, glancing timidly at her mistress.

I thought the mistress would refuse; and even hoped she would. Anxious as I was to find my sister, I did not like to receive even so slight a favour from one whom I had hated with so very little exertion.

The woman, contrary to my expectations, consented to the child’s going out to show me the way; and I am so uncharitable as to believe, that her consent was given with the hope that, in finding my sister, I should meet with some chagrin!

I followed Susan through the streets, until we came to a dirty, wretched suburb of the city, where the girl pointed out a house, and told me to knock at the door.

Giving the poor little slavey half-a-crown, I sent her away; and, the next minute, my sister was sobbing in my arms.

Everything in the room proclaimed her to be in the greatest poverty. Strange that I did not regret it; but, on the contrary, was gratified by the appearance of her destitution! It was proof that she was still virtuous and honest. Moreover, I fancied she would now be the more willing to accept the protection, I had come to offer her. She was under the impression, that I had just returned from England. When I undeceived her on this point, she seemed much grieved, that I had been so long in the colonies, without letting her know it.

I soon learnt from her the simple story of her life, since our last parting. At the time she had joined Mrs Green in business, the latter was deeply in debt; and, in about three months after, all the stock in the little shop was sold off to meet Mrs Green’s liabilities. Their business was broken up; and Mrs Green had gone to Melbourne – as her rival had stated. Martha had obtained employment in two or three milliner’s establishments in the city; and, as she blushingly told me, had good reasons for leaving them all.

She was now making a sort of livelihood, by working for anyone who chanced to have sewing to give her; and was obtaining occasional, but ill paid employment, from the lady who had assisted me in finding her.

“Oh, Rowland!” said Martha, “that woman is the worst that ever lived. She never lets me have a piece of sewing, at a price that will allow me more than bread and water, and yet I have been obliged to take it from her, because I cannot get enough sewing elsewhere. I often work from six o’clock in the morning till ten at night – when I can get anything to do; and yet I’ve often been very, very hungry. I’m sure it is as bad here, as the stories I’ve heard about poor sempstresses in London. Ah, brother! Good girls are not wanted in this place. People seem only to care for those who are bad; and while they have everything they wish, girls like me must live as you see I’ve been doing. Oh, Rowland! is it not a cruel world?”

I was much gratified at hearing my sister talk in this manner: for each word was evidence, that she had been leading an honourable life; and, moreover, her despondency led me to believe: that she would no longer oppose my projects, as she had previously done.

It was all for the best, that she had not done as I wished her two years before. Had she then consented to returning with me to England, I should have gone thither – notwithstanding my disappointment about Lenore. By doing so, I should have missed meeting my brother – besides I should have lost the opportunity of making above fifteen hundred pounds – which I had gathered on the gold-fields of Victoria.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty.
My Sister still Obstinate

I had been some little time in my sister’s company, before telling her of my intentions regarding her. I had allowed her to indulge in such conjectures about my designs, as the circumstances might suggest.

“I am very glad, Rowland,” said she, “that you have made up your mind to stay in the colonies. I hope you will live in Sydney. Oh! we would be so happy! You have come to stay here, have you not? Say yes, brother; and make me happy! Say you will not leave me any more?”

“I do not wish to leave you, dear sister,” said I; “and I hope that you have now learnt a lesson, that will make you willing to accept the offer I am going to make you. I have come, Martha, to take you with me to Melbourne.”

“What reason can you have, for wishing me to go to Melbourne? It cannot be a better place than Sydney?”

“Are you still unwilling to leave Sydney?” I asked, with a painful presentiment, that I was once more to be baulked in my design of making my poor sister happy.

“Brother,” she replied, “I am not willing to go to Melbourne. I don’t wish to leave Sydney – at least, not yet.”

“Would you not like to see your brother William?” I asked.

“What! William! dear little Willie! Have you heard of him, Rowland? Do you know where he is?”

“Yes. He is in Melbourne; and very anxious to see you. I have come to take you to him. Will you go?”

“I must see William – my long-lost brother William! I must see him. How came you to find him, Rowland? Tell me all about it. Why did he not come here along with you?”

“We met by mere chance – on the diggings of Victoria; and, hearing me called Rowland, he asked my other name. We then recognised one another. Little Willie – as you call him – is now a tall, fine-looking young man. Next week he is going to be married to a beautiful girl. I have come to take you to the wedding. Will you go, Martha?”

“I don’t know. I must see brother William. What shall I do? What shall I do? I cannot leave Sydney.”

“Martha,” said I, “I am your brother; and am willing to assist you in any manner possible. I am older than you; and we have no parents. I have the right to some authority over you; and now demand the reason, why you are not willing to go with me to Melbourne?”

My sister remained silent.

“Give me a straightforward answer,” I cried in a tone that partook of command. “Tell me why you will not go?”

“Oh, brother! – because – because I am waiting here for some one – one who has promised – to return to me.”

“A man, of course?”

“Yes, yes – a man – a true man, Rowland.”

“Where has he gone; and how long is it, since you have seen him?” I asked, unable to conceal my indignant sorrow.

“He went to the diggings in Victoria, a little more than two years ago. Before going, he told me to wait, until he should come back; and then he would marry me.”

“Martha! is it possible that this is your only reason for not going with me?”

“It is – my only one – I cannot go. I must wait for him!”

“Then you are as foolish, as our poor mother was in waiting for Mr Leary. The man who promised to return and marry you, has probably forgotten both his promise and you, long before this. Very likely he has married some other. I thought you had more sense, than to believe every idle word spoken by idle tongues. The man for whom you are making yourself miserable, would laugh at your simplicity, if he only knew of it. He has probably forgotten your name. Cease to think of him, dear sister; and make both yourself, and your brothers, happy!”

“Do not call me a fool, Rowland – do not think me one! I know I should be, if I was waiting for any common man; but the one I love is not a common man. He promised to return; and unless he dies, I am sure he will keep his word. I know it would be folly to have trusted most men as I’ve done him; but he’s not like others. I shall yet be happy. To wait for him is but my duty; do not urge me to neglect it.”

“Oh, Martha! our poor mother thought about Mr Leary, just as you do about this man. She thought him true to her – the best husband in the world! You may be as much mistaken as she was. I advise you to think no more of him, but go with me. Look around you! See the wretched state in which you are living! Leave it for a happy home, with those who will truly love you.”

“Do not talk to me so, Rowland, or you will drive me mad. I wish to go with you, and wish to see William; but I cannot, and must not leave Sydney!”

It was evident to me, that my sister was afflicted with the same delusion, that had enslaved our mother even unto death; and, with much regret, I became conscious of the folly of trying to induce her to act in a rational manner. I saw that common sense, reason, persuasion, or threats, would all be alike unavailing to obtain compliance with my wishes. The little I had seen of her sex, had impressed me with the belief that no woman ever exhibited such blind faith and full confidence in a man worthy of the least regard; and I was willing to stake my existence, that my sister’s lover was a fellow of no principle – some low blackguard of a similar stamp to the late Mr Leary. I could not suppose him to be quite so bad as Leary: for that to me would have appeared impossible.

I was greatly chagrined to think my kind intentions towards Martha should be thwarted by her folly. I was even angry. Perhaps it was unmanly in me to be so. My sister was unfortunate. No doubt she had been deluded; and could not help her misfortune. She was more an object for pity than anger; but I was angry, and could not restrain myself from showing it. Conscious of my upright and disinterested regard for her, I could not help thinking it ungrateful of her, thus to oppose my designs for her welfare.

“Martha,” said I, “I ask you once more to go with me. By doing so, you will fulfil a sister’s duty as well as seek your own welfare. Reject my offer now, and it will never be made again: for we shall part for ever, I will leave you to the misery, you seem not only to desire, but deserve.”

“Rowland! Rowland!” exclaimed she, throwing her arms around my neck, “I cannot part from you thus. Do not leave me. You must not – you must not!”

“Will you go with me?” I asked, too much excited to listen patiently to her entreaties.

“Rowland, do not ask me! May heaven help me; I cannot go!”

“Then, farewell!” I cried, “farewell for ever!” and as I uttered the parting speech, I tore myself from her embrace, and hurried half frantic out of the room.