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Updated: May 15, 2025
Three hundred and fifty miles south of Sydney, on the great watershed which divides the Belloury from the Maryburnong, since better known as the Snowy-river of Gipps-land. As the sun was going down on the scene I have been describing, James Stockbridge and I, Geoffry Hamlyn, reined up our horses on the ridge above-mentioned, and gazed down the long gully which lay stretched at our feet.
He did not lose his sense of possessorship of Patricia: in his innermost mind she was still his, and Geoffry was but the owner of an outside visible Patricia that was but one expression of the woman who stood crowned and waiting in his heart. There was no question of the wedding, or if there were between themselves, Geoffry was not allowed to voice it.
Geoffry Hamlyn and The Hillyars and the Burtons have obvious faults, but in most respects they are the highest, because the least artificial, expression of Kingsley's powers. A consideration of some of their more noticeable qualities will perhaps afford the clearest answer to the question which opens this essay.
Geoffry was asking. "I thought it was the poppies you wanted," said May, suspiciously. "It is! it is!" cried Kenwick with fervour. "But you make such a pretty setting," Daymond explained; "your dress, you know, and the general colour-scheme." "What fun to be a colour-scheme," cried May. "Uncle Dan, do you think I might be a colour-scheme?"
Nevertheless, it did occur to him, as the twilight deepened, that somewhere in the encumbered churchyard that he was looking down upon lay his son Geoffry and Geoffry's first wife, Elizabeth. He felt a very lonely old man as he thought of it.
"No, my boy, but I found a pocket-knife in the skiff and a coil of gut, with two fish. I know you have both knives exactly alike, and probably only one of you can tell me to which it belongs. Geoffry, have you your knife in your pocket?" Silence, and no movement on Jeff's part. In a moment Jeff looked up, and in his steady brown eyes there was something which Uncle Hugh could not read.
There was something in Kenwick's manner that antagonised him; it was, somehow, too appreciative. "I make a condition," the Colonel exclaimed abruptly, in his voice of martinet. "If there's a likeness the sketch is forfeited." "I'm safe," Geoffry laughed. "I never got a likeness in my life."
Then she smiled in swift recognition. "Is it you, Geoffry? We are still alone at sea?" "Yes, the night is ending; you have slept well." She drew herself away from me gently, sat up and glanced about. "How tired you must be. I have been very selfish. There is nothing in sight?" "Nothing." "And the men are still asleep. Who are they?" I named them as best I could, pointing out each in turn.
Evidently the girl had been standing there, gazing out at the waters, and had turned swiftly about at my entrance, aroused by some slight sound. Her first thought must have been Estada, for there was a startled note of fear in her challenge. "Who are you? Why do you come here?" "Speak low," I cautioned. "You must know my voice." "Geoffry Carlyle!"
If Geoffry Daymond had known no more about Nanni than was known to May herself, the little incident which had caused such perturbation in the young girl's mind would not have made any special impression upon him. The scene itself, indeed, might have lingered in his mind as one of those charming surprises that lurk in the enchanted atmosphere of the lagoons.
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