“Then just like that,” he said snapping his fingers, “Mr. Ben … he said ‘You put a cross here, Bruin,’ he said, and I staked me claim … just like that.”

I liked to see his face light up with appreciation for Ben. In fact Ben was hardly ever out of my thoughts. That was understandable. He stood out in the community. He was different from the rest; and oddly enough, although they insisted on a certain conformity and Peter Callender with his title was supposed to mean no more to them than David Skelling with his questionable background, they did realize that Ben was different.

Ben had acted unconventionally. He had had a good strike. It was not a major one but it had made him comparatively rich; it had been enough for him to build a grand house in Melbourne and live like the gentleman he obviously was … or go Home. But what did he do? He built a house here … near the township; he had his own mine with men to work for him. Moreover he had set himself up as a sort of guardian of the township. Yes, there was something different about Ben.

They respected him. Moreover they felt he was necessary to the smooth running of the township. He kept a certain order and with such a motley crowd that was no small matter.

Morwenna’s time was getting near. Mrs. Bowles had seen her and had told her that she seemed to be in good health and she was sure that every thing would go as it should.

“Mind you,” she said to me, “she’s a lady and having children’s not so easy with them sort.”

“Why ever not?” I demanded.

“Don’t ask me. I’m not the Almighty. I reckon it’s because they’ve been too well looked after all their lives.”

“You do think she’ll be all right?”

“Right as a trivet. I’ll see to that.”

I was growing anxious and I spoke to Ben about it. He said: “When the time arrives she must stay at Golden Hall.”

“Oh thanks, Ben. I’ll tell her.”

“I shall insist. At least she will be comfortable there. And, Angel, you’d better come with her. She’ll want you nearby, I daresay.”

I felt excited at the prospect. Naturally I wanted to be with Morwenna, and at the same time I should enjoy being in Ben’s house.

It was summer and the days were very hot, although the temperature could change abruptly—and even though it would be what we called warm in England, it seemed cool after the excessive heat. The flies were a pest. They seemed to take a malicious delight in tormenting us and the more one brushed them away the more persistently they came back. I thought longingly of home. It would be winter there now. I remembered evenings at Uncle Peter’s, those dinner parties with Matthew and his political acquaintances, talking interestedly of affairs round the dinner table. I pictured my parents at Cador and an almost unbearable nostalgia beset me.

I think at that time I was beginning to fall out of love with Gervaise. He had changed, and although he was easygoing and never lost his temper, I could no longer see the elegant young man whom I had married; he was often unkempt—he who had always been so elegantly attired; this arduous labor was something he had never done before. I believe he had fancied he could come out, dig up a little soil and then … Eureka! … there was the precious shining fortune in his panning cradle.

It was not like that.

But I still saw the gleam in his eyes … that feverish desire to gamble which had already cost us our comfortable and civilized existence.

And there was Ben. He worked as hard as any of them. He was at his mine most of the day … supervising, watching, organizing, giving orders. But he retained the calm reassurance which I had noticed when he first came to Cador. He did not change.

When I saw the conditions in which most of them lived, I realized what he had done for us. We had thought our shacks very humble dwellings, but they were a great improvement on most of the others. He had put rugs on the wooden floors; he had had adequate bed linen sent for us. We owed a great deal to him.

He called in frequently at the shack. He would look at me anxiously and ask if I was all right. We were lucky to have him as our friend.

Gervaise and Justin were working hard, spurred on by the thought that one day they were going to find what was called in the township a “jeweler’s shop.” They did have one or two small finds which made them hilariously merry, because it was an indication that there was a possibility of finding more in that spot. Some diggers had found not a sign of the precious metal in their land, which must have been very depressing.

There had been great rejoicing the first night they had found their ounce of gold. There were a few men in the township who played cards, sometimes in one of the shacks, but mostly in the saloon. Gervaise, of course, had joined them; and I felt that he had learned nothing from all that had happened. He quickly lost all that little find had brought him. Not so Justin; he played and won a little. I began to think that Justin was as confirmed a gambler as Gervaise, but a luckier one.

I did not understand Justin very much. Morwenna was devoted to him and she talked frequently of his virtues. She was so lucky that he had chosen her, she said. She often marveled at it. But then she had been one of the most self-effacing people I had ever known. She had come to believe that she was not attractive and her coming out had seemed to confirm this. I had always tried to tell her that if she cast off that feeling of inferiority and behaved as though she were not so concerned as to whether people liked her or not, they would certainly realize that she was a very charming girl indeed. However Justin had apparently seen her worth and she was eternally grateful to him for that.

I did get the impression sometimes that there was a certain secretiveness about his past. All we knew of him was that he had been in America and had come to England to “see what he would do”; he had a small private income which enabled him to “look around.” Well, he had cast his eyes on the goldfields of Australia. I wondered whether he was already regretting that.

One day when I was alone in our shack I was surprised to see him for usually he was working at the mine at this time.

He said: “I’m on my way to the Bowleses’ to get some stores. But I wanted to have a word with you, Angelet. Are you busy?”

“Of course not. What did you want to say to me? Do sit down.”

He sat on one of the stout wooden chairs which had come to us through Ben’s generosity.

“I’m worried about Morwenna,” he said.

“You mean having the baby … here?”

He nodded. “I don’t think she is very strong.”

“She’s stronger than she appears to be,” I soothed him. “And Mrs. Bowles who is supposed to know about these things says everything is all right.”

“Angelet, you will be with her.”

“Of course. It is good of Ben Lansdon to have offered us rooms in his house. It will be much more comfortable there.”

“Oh yes,” he said. “Oh, Angelet, I want it to be over … I long for our son to be born.”

“It may not be a son.”

“No, I hope it will but what I want is for Morwenna to be all right. If she comes through this I shall think very seriously about taking her and the child home.”

“I think it may be in Gervaise’s mind too,” I said.

“You are always hoping … Next day will come the big find … and if you went back for the rest of your life you’d be thinking, ‘What did I miss?’ ”

“I know. But you could go on through your life thinking of missed opportunities.”

“It’s true. But when the child is born … I shall seriously think of leaving. I feel this is not the place in which a child should be brought up. Do you agree, Angelet?”

“Yes,” I said. “I do.”

“And all that housework you and Morwenna do … It is not what you are accustomed to.”

“We are getting accustomed.”

He was thoughtful. Then he said: “If this works out, I’ll go and do something. I’ll change, Angelet, I will, I will.”

I looked at him questioningly. He saw my intentness and he laughed suddenly. “I’m a bit overwrought,” he said. “I’m worried about Morwenna. Angelet, promise me you will be with her.”

“All the time … if they’ll let me. Don’t worry, Justin. Babies have been born in places like this before.”

“I know.”

“The sooner we get her to Ben’s house, the better.”

“It is good of him.”

“We owe a great deal to him, Justin. It would have been even more primitive without him.”

“Yes … we owe a lot to him.”

“Don’t worry. Morwenna is so happy. You have made her happy, Justin. And this baby … well, it just means that with you both she will have everything she wants.”

He stood up abruptly.

“I’m afraid I’ve talked too much.”

“Of course not. I’m glad you came. She has good friends around her, Justin.”

He nodded agreement and gave me a rather uncertain smile as he went out.

I thought a good deal about how fervently he wanted a son. Most men did. He really cared for Morwenna. I felt my distrust of him slipping away and I realized that I had not before been aware how deep that distrust went.

Mrs. Bowles had predicted the time the baby was due to arrive. Ben suggested that a week before we should move into Golden Hall where rooms had been prepared for us.

I was very glad for Morwenna was experiencing the usual discomforts and a little luxury was what she needed.

Meg was delighted at the prospect of having a baby in the house even though it would be only a temporary arrangement. Gervaise and Justin would go back to the shacks after their day’s work, change there and come on to Golden Hall to dine.

This seemed to work well.

“This is the life,” said Gervaise. “What a good thing it is to have friends in high places.”

He was not envious. That was not in Gervaise’s nature. In fact he was a very good man. If only he had not had that one overwhelming weakness, how different our lives would have been!

The day which had been calculated for the baby’s arrival came and went. Morwenna seemed quite well but there was no indication that the baby was ready.

Two days passed and when the third came we began to get anxious.

Mrs. Bowles said: “Nothing to worry about … yet. Babies are funny things. No use telling them to hurry. They come in their own good time.”

Morwenna was very tired. She was longing for the ordeal to be over. She slept a good deal.

One afternoon when I was by her bed and she was dozing, there was a gentle knock on the door. I went out to find Ben standing outside. He drew me into the corridor.

“Angel, you ought to get out for a while. Come now.”

“Suppose it happens while I’m away?”

“There’s no sign. Meg’s here. She’ll send Jacob for Mrs. Bowles. I’ll warn her. Come on. You need a little change or you will be ill. Just for an hour or so.”

I looked at Morwenna. She was sleeping.

“All right,” I said. “But we must put Meg on the alert.”

“We’ll tell her.”

“Perhaps she could come up and sit here.”

“All right. She shall.”

Meg was only too delighted.

“I’ll see she’s all right … and at the first sign Jacob or Thomas will be off. You get out, Mrs. Mandeville. You’ll be the one who’s ill if you don’t. You look as if you need a bit of fresh air.”

So I rode out on Foxey, with Ben beside me.

We came to that spot where we had sat before. It was quite pleasant. One could see the flat land right to the horizon. We tied our horses to a bush and sat watching the dappled sunlight in the creek close by.

Ben said: “I worry about you, Angel.”

“About me? Whatever for?”

“This life out here. This township … Those little shacks. … You’re nothing but a housemaid.”

“It’s no different for me than for any of the others here.”

“You must long for home.”

I was silent. I couldn’t deny it.

“How long can you stand it, Angel?”

“I suppose for as long as it has to be.”

“You’re a stoic.”

“No. I am very impatient sometimes.”

“Morwenna ought not to be here either.”

“You don’t think anything will go wrong?”

“I wasn’t thinking of that. But this is no place for women.”

“Nor for men either.”

“Tell them that and they won’t believe you.”

“You live comfortably enough.”

“When I first came out here I lived the same as the rest of them.”

“But you found your way out of it.”