Great Britain -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
“And an upright, downright honest man”--“AND SO YOU ARE, GEORGE!” cried
she, warmly, drawing to George's side, and darting glances of defiance
vaguely around. Then she continued to read--
“If the answer is favorable, a word is enough. Meet me at 'The Crown,'
in Newborough, to-night, and we will go up to Town by the mail train.”
“The answer is, Yes,” said George to the servant, who was at some
distance.
Susan, bending over the letter, heard, but could not realize the word,
but the servant now came nearer. George said to him, “Tell your master,
Yes.”
“Yes? George!” cried Susan, “what do you mean by yes? It is about going
to Australia.”
“The answer is yes,” said George.
The servant went away with the answer.
The others remained motionless.
“This nobleman's son respects me if worse folk don't. But it is not the
great bloodhounds and greyhounds that bark at misfortune's heels, it is
only the village curs, when all is done. This is my path. I'll pack up
my things and go.” And he did not look at Susan or any of them, but went
into the house like a man walking in his sleep.
There was a stupefied pause.
Then Susan gave a cry like a wounded deer.
“Father! what have you done?”
Merton himself had been staggered, but he replied stoutly:
“No more than my duty, girl, and I hope you will do no less than yours.”
At this moment Robinson threw up the window and jumped out into the
yard.
Meadows, under stronger interests, had forgotten Robinson; but now at
sight of him he looked round, and catching the eye of a man who was
peering over the farmyard wall, made him a signal.
“What is the matter?” cried Robinson.
“George is going to Australia,” replied Merton, coldly.
“Australia!” roared Robinson--“Australia! He's mad. Who ever goes there
unless they are forced? He shan't go there! I wouldn't go there if my
passage was paid, and a new suit of clothes given me, and the governor's
gig to take me ashore to a mansion provided for my reception, fires
lighted, beds aired and pipes laid across upon the table.”
As Robinson concluded this tirade the policeman and constable, who had
crept round the angle of the farm-house, came one on each side, put each
a hand on one of his elbows and--took him!
He looked first down at their hands in turn, then up at their faces in
turn, and when he saw the metropolitan's face a look of simple disgust
diffused itself over his whole countenance.
“Ugh!!!” interjected Robinson.
“Ay!” replied the policeman, while putting handcuffs on him. “To
Australia you'll go, for all that, Tom Lyon, alias Scott, alias
Robinson, and you'll have a new suit of clothes, mostly one color,
and voyage paid, and a large house ashore waiting for you; and the
governor's gig will come alongside for you, provided they can't find the
convicts' barge,” and the official was pleased with himself and his wit
and allowed it to appear.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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