Oscar and Lucinda

of the church. 'I tell you now, without reserve,' he roared, 'I envy you. This woman loves you.'

Dennis Hasset felt ill. He wished to withdraw. All the godless of Boat Harbour pressed their thick necks and cauliflowerears forward. He stooped and poured his fistful of salt into his sow- The madman was now crying. His face was as di^X and tattered as the bandages around his wrists.

'How you can stand there,' Oscar said, 'when U& ^plastrier pines in Sydney, why, it is quite beyond my comprehen

The salt in Dennis Hasset's sock was as painful as ground glass. He thought: When, oh Lord, will my past follies stop returning to torment me?

He put his hand on the shoulder of the weeping man-He intended Christian charity, but felt only an alien body as W* and bony as a suit of armour. It was then, wondering how he could stop the germs of scandal which were already multiplying around him, that he saw Miriam Chadwick's bright green riding costume

'Mrs Chadwick,' he said, 'I wonder could you assist us?' Thus, while Percy Smith was busy shifting his mo °nn8 in accordance with the wishes of the government inspector, Denn» s Hasset and Miriam Chadwick escorted Oscar Hopkins up the rutted track to Hyde Street. Both men limped a little, one from an injury mcurred upon a journey, the other on account of blood-red salt grinding against a naked high-arched foot. At the Hyde Street corner, Dennis Hasset requested that Oscar excuse them both. He left him standing, still weep'°8'.ln the shelter of the post office while he conferred with Mrs Chadw«*

whose large, dark brown eyes, so obviously filled with charity &the weeping man, moved him greatly.

'Miriam,' he said, 'you must help me, please-I 'just hurry to my wife before she hears all this puffed up by gossip5' Would you be the good Samaritan? Here is a crown. Buy him bandages and mercurochrome. Here is the key to the meeting roo'1-You can lock the door and keep the busybodies out. Look after nim-He is in such a

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Oscar and Lucinda

sorry state, poor beggar. Can you manage this? Will Mrs Trevis permit you?'

'Dear Dennis,' said Miriam Chad wick, who was at once delighted to have exactly what she wished and outraged that a man who had (not long ago either) cruelly spurned her, should now beg favours of her. 'Dear Dennis, you must hurry home to Elizabeth and leave this wounded soul to me.'

She accepted the large brass key, the crown piece, and the Tom bag of salt which Dennis Hasset thrust into her bosom. And then my greatgrandmother took Oscar Hopkins by the arm and walked very slowly, oblivious to the stares, to the meeting hall above the cobbler's shop. There she locked the door and began her ministrations.

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Oscar and Mlriim

When Oscar Hopkins and Miriam Chadwick came down the stairs to the cobbler's shop at last, it was to announce their impending marriage.

There was a small wet stain on the back of my great-grandmother's green silk riding habit. This was remarked on-how could it not bebut nothing was ever said out loud, and, in any case, Miriam had plied the young traveller with Mr Hammond's expensive emollients and creams, with stinging iodine, blue-red mercurochrome, bright yellow 'Healing Ointment,' had rubbed him with so many healing dyes that he soon looked like a tropical fish in his father's aquarium; with so many wet and greasy substances about, no one could be surprised if Miriam also spilled a wee drop on her clothing.

Oscar, when at last he opened the heavy cedar door at the top of the stairs above the cobbler's, had the stunned and slightly vacant air you might see in some one rescued from a burning house. As he walked down the loud, uncarpeted stairs, he felt his sin declared to all the world. '

47?

Oscar and Miriam

I love Lucinda Leplastrier. ,

The cobbler was working at his bench. Oscar could not meet his gaze. He Ipoked instead at a pair of dancing pumps hanging from the door. To these he nodded.

He had fornicated in God's temple, he who had judged the cedar cutters at Urunga. All my life, he thought, I have sought the devil's murmuring in my ear, have let him persuade me that it is holy that I bet, that I abandon my father, that I draw poor Stratton into the morass, and all the while I am armoured by conceit. I play the saint. When Miss Leplastrier and I were most passionately engaged, I imagined it was I who restrained us from sin, I who ensured our chastity until that happy day (today, today I might have written to her in triumph) when she might have seen what I am and accepted my proposal that we stand as bride and bridegroom in God's sight. But it was not I. And the proof is here: that the moment a ministering hand is placed on that part of my anatomy, the minute, the instant it is touched, the first time in all its life-why, then, I fail the test. And find my Christianity to be but a spiderweb, so easily it is brushed aside. And I am a dog in the street prepared to be crushed by a waggon's wheel in order to let its beastly nature have its head. I cannot even justify my act by calling out 'love, love, I did it for love.' His punishment was that he must marry this woman he had cornpromised. It did not occur to him that it was she who had compromised him. He must marry her. He took the laudanum from his pocket and sipped it in the deep shadowed doorway of the cobbler's shop. The street was lined with bullock waggons all loaded with logs as thick as four big men. The air was fat and warm and syrupy, sweet with forest sap, urine, brandy. There were yellow dogs and yellow clay earth littered with furry bark.

Oscar's eyes remained focused in the middle distance. He sucked in his cheeks, biting them harder than he knew. He limped beside my great grandmother as they set about this business, each equally determined that the job be done properly, and yet with a definite distance between them, like allies in a business venture, or the captains of opposing cricket teams. They posted the banns. It was done in fifteen minutes. They went to Bernie Lovell and each rewrote their wills. It took half an hour. They went to the offices of the Courier- Sun and filled out a little form for the advertisement which announced their engagement.

Only when my great-grandmother saw he did not write 'Reverend' in their engagement notice, did she suspect he might not be a clergyman. She certainly had no idea that he was now the owner of

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Oscar and Lucinda

a glass church in Sydney and a fortune of ten thousand pounds.

Oscar had forgotten this himself. He was sick at heart, preoccupied by what he had lost, not gained. All he could think was that the glass church was the devil's work, that it had been the agent of murder and fornication. The only clear thing he could think, the only thing he could hear above the raging passions of his beating heart, was how he could destroy the hateful thing. It was just five o'clock, and the government clerks were already dosing their shutters for the day, when he began to bid her goodbye. She had employment to return to, and although he should have seen the word 'Governess' on both her will and the marriage banns, he had not; her employment remained a mystery to him. Like two strangers introduced to business partnership by medium of a newspaper advertisement, they agreed to meet at the post office at ten o'clock upon the morrow. He saw her on to her pony which she had tethered in the government paddock. He must have known, already, that he would not commit himself to her in any but a legalistic way, for he felt only mild dismay to see how she treated the animal. He made the motion of doffing his hat to her, although he had no hat, having given the same to Kumbaingiri Billy's father's sister. He held open the gate of the government paddock, and when the pony and its rider had passed through, he walked thoughtfully down towards the river, dragging a stick behind him, scratching a line in the baked clay track and thus-his route marked by this fine erratic line-he disappeared for ever from my great-grandmother's life.

109

A Cheque amidst Her Petticoat

When Miriam was old, she wore long black dresses and violent-coloured petticoats (crimson, royal purple, blazing yellow) and it was easy enough at that time to see her as an ugly old parrot in a Victorian cage, but when she stood in Dennis Hasset's little study-hardly a study at all for it was

A Cheque amidst Her Petticoat

what they call, in Bellingen, a sleep-out, a makeshift enclosure of a pleasant back veranda-when she stood there, she was straight and young and strikingly handsome. She had strong features, a straight nose, a long jaw, wide-placed brown eyes above defined cheekbones. She was almost severe, but yet was not severe, and her true