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<h4>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h4> At the same moment that Dudley, with his whole thoughts and feelings cast into confusion, halted suddenly in his advance, the horseman who was coming forward on the right hand of Norries drew his rein tight, and sprang to the ground. A few words passed between him and his companion, accompanied by quick and eager gesticulations, and then he darted forward and clasped Dudley's hand in his own. "Dudley!" "Edgar!" were the only words that were uttered by either for several moments, for overpowering emotion in the bosom of each forbade all farther utterance. The coming up of Norries was a relief to both, although there were several strangers in the party who accompanied him, and in one of them Dudley thought he recognised an officer of the government whom he had seen at Hobart Town. "Did I not tell you, Mr. Dudley," said Norries, in his abrupt way, "that, notwithstanding all the wickedness and the crime which this world contains, all the folly, the feebleness, and the selfishness which are to be found in every class of life, there is still devotion more high and pure, honesty more incorruptible, and wisdom more beautiful, than even the enthusiasm of inexperience can picture to the mind of youth?" "You did, indeed," answered Dudley, with a bewildered look; "but I do not comprehend all this. In heaven's name, Edgar, how came you hither? What brought you to this place?" "To see you, Dudley," answered Edgar, wringing his hand again; "to bring you good tidings, to comfort, to----" "Well, well," cried Norries, interrupting him, "we will talk that all over by-and-bye. Don't you see that Mr. Dudley is a good deal discomposed by all this? He is very glad to meet with an old friend from England, and that is enough to shake a man's heart who has not known what gladness is for many a long month. Besides, he has had to defend his life against a whole herd of these savages. My gun served you well there, Mr. Dudley, and two of the balls you gave me last night for my own defence have been turned to yours. But let us come up to the scene of action, and see what the results are. I brought two of the men down, I think." "And I one," answered Dudley; "but one of them was only wounded, and I believe got away with the rest. Those spears of theirs are frightful things; and I had five or six of them thrown at me at once. The tree sheltered me that time, but I could not have escaped them again in the same manner, and must have died here, had it not been for what I must call your marvellous arrival at the very moment when my fate was in the balance." "It was not marvellous at all," answered Norries. "The fact is, as soon as I had got to the other side of the lake, after leaving you this morning, I found Mr. Adelon and these other gentlemen coming down from my house, where they had been to seek me for information and guidance; and paddling back again, while they rode round, we followed very close upon your heels. We saw some of the natives moving about, and suspected that they were watching ourselves, which only made us hurry our pace, and follow the track under the low scrub between the pasture and the shore. Hearing these black dogs yelping, and the report of a gun, we were quite sure that some European was in trouble, and so we scrambled through the bushes as fast as we could go, and got in sight of our friends with the spears just at the right moment. You must have walked very slow, or halted somewhere, for you had a full hour's start of us." "I did walk slow," answered Dudley, "and I also sat down to rest under the trees, in hopes that the savages, having no cover to hide them, and being afraid, I believe, of a gun, would free me from their unpleasant company, and leave me to pursue my way during the evening in peace. But it seems they need very little cover, for without a bush or shrub of any kind to hide them, they had got within a hundred yards of me, before I was aware of their approach." "Lord bless you, sir!" cried the government officer, who was following slowly as they advanced towards the mimosa trees, "they will creep through the long grass just like a rattle-snake. But here lies one of them, dead enough, I think." And with that he dismounted, and turned over the body of one of the savages with his foot. The man had apparently died instantly, and without pain; for Norries' ball had passed through his heart, and the features, though horrible in themselves, were not contorted. Another was found a moment after, with the same low, unpleasant brow running back at a sharp angle from the eyes; and after gazing at it for a moment, Dudley turned inquiringly to Norries, saying, "What shall we do with the bodies?" "Oh! leave them where they are," answered Norries. "Their friends will come and fetch them; and some day or another you may see them slung up between two bushes, like a scarecrow in a field in England. But now, Mr. Dudley, I think these gentlemen and I had better go on to your place, for this, I believe, is the only opportunity I shall ever have of returning your visit." "I shall be very happy to do all I can for their convenience," answered Dudley, looking at the numerous party with some hesitation; "but I think you could give them better accommodation, Mr. Norries, for I have nowhere to lodge myself but a hole in a rock." "I can hardly take them there," whispered Norries. "I have often poor creatures who have run away coming about me, and you see there are some of the government people here." "Oh! never mind the accommodation, sir," exclaimed the government officer, speaking at the same time. "We are all bushmen except Mr. Adelon and his servant, and we can make a bivouac of it, if you can lodge those two." "That I think I can do," answered Dudley, "though very roughly. You do not know, Edgar," he continued, turning to his young friend, "what it is to lead a rover's life here." "It is a life I should like beyond all things, for a short time at least," replied Edgar Adelon; but the officer added almost at the same time, addressing Dudley, with a meaning smile, "You have had a good three months' trial of it, sir, at all events." Dudley hardly knew what to understand from his manner, for there was a shrewd, intelligent look about the man's countenance whenever he addressed him, which plainly indicated that he knew all about his actual situation as an escaped convict, or deserter, as it is frequently called in colonial parlance; but, at the same time, his manner was respectful, and not in the least degree menacing, so that Dudley could not suppose for one moment, either from his general demeanour or from the company in which he came thither, that his object was to apprehend and convey him back to a penal settlement. Yet what was he to think? What was he to expect? He did not venture to indulge in hopes, for the bright promise-maker had so frequently deceived him that he trusted her no longer; and even the first whisper of her voice, sweet and soothing as it ever is, he shrunk from, as if it had been the fanning of a vampire's wing lulling him into a fatal repose. Hope was, indeed, the enemy whom he dreaded most, for he feared that that sweet voice of hers might prove more treacherous than man's bitterest hate. Neither could he understand how his fate could have been changed; but while he said to himself, "No, I will not indulge in hope," he trusted still. Giving his horse to the servant who followed him, Edgar Adelon walked on by Dudley's side, sometimes conversing with him and sometimes in silence. They looked at each other frequently, with an anxious glance, as if each had much to say to the other--questions to ask, tales to tell, intelligence to communicate; but there were so many always round them, that it would have been difficult to say one word unheard, and the common feelings and thoughts of mutual interests in the breasts of both were not fitted for indifferent ears. They had proceeded some ten or twelve miles in this manner, and Dudley thought he perceived that Edgar walked with a fainter pace, when they arrived upon the bank of a broad but not very deep river, a tributary, apparently, of the Murray or the Glenelg. Dudley had crossed it on the preceding day, and knew that in no place it was more than knee-deep. He was about to walk in at once, therefore, but Edgar knelt down upon the bank to drink, saying, "I am dreadfully thirsty, and hungry too, if the truth must be told; for we expected to find provisions at your house, Mr. Norries, but were disappointed by not finding you within." "You should have gone in and taken them, young gentleman," replied Norries; "we never scruple at such things in the scrub. Every man is welcome to whatever the house contains in the way of food. I dare say, however, Mr. Dudley has a biscuit or two in his wallet. You look faint." "He has not touched a morsel all day," said the officer. "He was so eager to get forward, we could not make him eat." "I have only three hard biscuits left," answered Dudley; "but stay, I have the means of getting more nourishing food. I saw fish in this river as I passed yesterday, and they must be at feed about this time. If you will light a fire, I will soon get some." And drawing out a winder with a strong line, he sought along the bank for bait. A peculiar kind of grub appeared in plenty near the roots of the trees; and while Edgar lay down on the bank to rest himself, Dudley cut a sapling for a rod, and once more tried his fortune for a meal out of the waters. The first cast of his line was unsuccessful; and suffering the bait to float slowly down, the fisherman was preparing to draw it out a second time, when he suddenly felt a tug, which nearly drew the rod he had made out of his hands. The officer and one of the other men had followed him, watching his sport; and although, by every device he could think of, Dudley strove to save his line from snapping, and draw the fish to the shore, it soon became apparent that without a reel, or any appropriate tackle, he must be unsuccessful; and the officer, plunging in, exclaimed, "I will kill him!" and ran his left hand down the line, opening a large clasp-knife with the other. He had to rue the experiment, however, for the moment after having bent down and dipped his arms in the water, he drew them out again, exclaiming, "He has cut me to the bone!" but he resolutely attempted the feat again, and appeared to succeed, for shutting up his knife, and taking hold of the line, he drew it slowly to the side, when, with Dudley's assistance, he lifted out an enormous fish of the perch kind, weighing not less than fifty pounds.[2] A fire was by this time lighted; and the fish, cut into slices, was put to broil thereon, affording, in a few minutes, a very satisfactory meal to the whole party. When somewhat refreshed, Edgar Adelon looked up, saying with a smile, "I feel stronger how, Dudley, thanks to the Nameless Fisherman of the Nameless Lake." And in those few words, a part, at least, of the history of Edgar's coming was told to his companion. After resting for about an hour and a half, the whole party rose, and pursued their way to the foot of Mount Gambier, which began to tower above them as they advanced; and when, having left some of the party below with the horses, the others reached the top, the same wild and magnificent scene was presented to the eyes of Edgar Adelon, in the light of the setting sun, which had welcomed Dudley on the day of his first arrival. The effect was great upon an enthusiastic and impressible mind, and he exclaimed, "Well, Dudley, methinks it would not be so hard to pass one's days in such a spot as this." "This is not its only aspect," answered Dudley, laying his hand upon his arm. "And it is so with everything in life," said Norries. "There is scarcely any object in any state so inherently beautiful, or so inherently hideous, that the light in which we view them will not render them either pleasant or repulsive to the eye." "There is somewhat more to be said, too, Edgar," continued Dudley. "Much of the intensity of everything depends upon its accessories. There are accessories to all states in the human heart. Think, for one moment, of the condition of my mind here, and you will see that a paradise might well be a desert to me." "True, true," answered Edgar, pressing his hand upon his eyes, and then adding with a sigh, "but that is over." "Take my advice, Mr. Adelon," said Norries. "Go into the hut, lie down, and give yourself up to sleep, without thinking or talking any more. From what I have seen of you to-day, I very clearly perceive that you have been too much fatigued, and too much excited. In ten minutes it will be night, and you will rise refreshed, to tell your tale under the light of the dawning day. I will sleep out here upon this soft grass." "I do not think I can sleep," replied Edgar. "Try, try," said Dudley; and he led him into his wild dwelling, and pointed out to him his own lowly bed of dried herbs and grass, covered with the skins of the kangaroo. "There, Edgar," he said, "rest there. It has been my couch through many a weary and restless night; but sleep should visit your eyes more readily, for kindness surely has its own balm, and he who comes to comfort and to cheer may well expect repose and peace." He was turning to leave the but, but Edgar detained him for a moment, saying, "Let me comfort and cheer, then, Dudley, by telling you my best news first. You need no longer be an exile, you need no longer live in solitude; I have your full pardon with me. You are free." It was not that Dudley was ungrateful either to God or man. It was not that he did not feel the intelligence as a relief; but at that moment the sense of having been injured was stronger upon him than ever. The redress did not seem to him to be complete, and he repeated, "Pardoned! pardoned! What have I done that requires pardon?" "Nothing, Dudley," answered Edgar; "but there is much to be told and much to be considered. Not now, however, for I feel that Mr. Norries's advice is right, and I must have repose." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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