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Updated: June 5, 2025
Mrs. Buckley, on the first news of her illness, had come up and taken her quarters at Toonarbin, acting as gentle a nurse as man or woman could desire to have. She took possession of the house, and managed everything. Mrs.
Her father he was reputed to possess almost half a million dollars was a silent man, suspicious and wary in his contact and dealings with the world; and it was probable that those qualities had been softened in Pompey Hollidew's daughter to a habit of diffidence, to a customary, instinctive repression. No such characteristics laid their restraint on Buckley Simmons, her present companion.
"Shut up, Tol'able," Buckley Simmons interposed, "you'll hurt trade. Gordon's the Dandy Dick of Greenstream." "Haven't I a right to as many suits of clothes as I've a mind to?" Gordon demanded belligerently. "Sure you have, Gord. You certainly have," a pacific chorus replied. "I want one like the last drummer wore through here," he continued; "a check suit with braid on all the edges."
Buckley would not believe us, but insisted that her sister, Rosy O'Brien, as well as the child her sister had nursed, were drowned in that terrible ferry-boat disaster last July. After what seemed to me hours of catechising, I got the story from her. "A year ago, as I finally found out, her sister, this same Rosy O'Brien, went South with a Mr. and Mrs.
"Sound in wind and limb, my dear madam, but rather sad at heart. We have had some very severe black fighting, and we have lost a kind old friend James Stockbridge." "Is he wounded, then?" said Mrs. Buckley. "Dead." "Dead!" "Speared in the side. Rolled off his horse, and was gone in five minutes." "Oh, poor James!" cried Mrs. Buckley. "He, of all men! The man who was their champion.
After a time the front door banged, her father came into the house and the visitor drove away. Everything became quiet and for a long time she could hear the hoofs of Alfred Buckley's horse beating a rapid tattoo on the road that led down into town. Clara thought of Hugh McVey. Alfred Buckley had spoken of him as a backwoodsman with a streak of genius.
Captain Brentwood went back to Garoopna next morning; but Frank Maberly kept to his resolution of going over to see Mary; and, soon after breakfast, they were all equipped ready to accompany him, standing in front of the door, waiting for the horses. Frank was remarking how handsome Mrs. Buckley looked in her hat and habit, when she turned and said to him,
She simply and frankly acknowledged they had been taking some of it, but their condition was such that it melted the heart of the landlord's driver, Curley Buckley, who told them "to be taking a little of it until the landlord would come." The poor Driscolls were not bad tenants, they owed their landlord the last rent only, but they were responsible for another debt.
Charles Hawker had laid down in an inner room, and was sleeping uneasily, when he was awakened by some one, and, looking up, saw Major Buckley, with a light in his hand, bending over him. He started up. "What is the matter, sir?" he asked. "Why do you look at me so strangely? Is there any new misfortune?" "Charles," said the Major, "you have no older friend than me." "I know it, sir.
"Alice," he said, "I have had one object before me from my boyhood, and since you told me that I was to be your husband, that object has grown from a vague intention to a fixed purpose. Alice, I want to buy back the acres of my forefathers; I wish, I intend, that another Buckley shall be the master of Clere, and that you shall be his wife." "Sam, my love!" she said, turning on him suddenly.
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