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澳大利亚

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chapter I.

Rain, rain—nothing but rain on this Christmas Eve, in the New South
Wales metropolis. Although it was in the heat of summer the wind from
the coast blew keenly through the almost deserted streets, and caused
the fine mist-like wet to penetrate the stoutest overcoat. It was such
weather that no one who had a roof over his head would care to be out
in. But there was one wearily toiling from street to street, beneath
the protection of the verandahs—a delicate-looking girl. With one hand
she was trying to wrap her scanty rags round her wasted body, and in
the other she held a half-dozen boxes of wax matches. Her face was
worn, and pinched, and dirty, but it was a very beautiful, patient,
little face; her hair, too, would have been a bright golden in natural
hue, save that it was shaggy and dirty also. It was to little purpose
that she offered her matches to the passers-by, who were few and far
between on this wet evening—they were all too anxious to get home out
of the rain. From the brightly lighted streets the little wanderer
crossed Hyde Park, and wended her way slowly up Oxford Street, and from
thence to the left, along the Bay Road, where dwell the wealthy and the
great. Why she had left the shops and all the busy part of the city for
the wide, bleak road, dotted with high, massive houses standing out
dark and cold in the falling rain, the poor child could not tell.
Impelled by some strange fascination, she had quitted her usual haunts,
and taken the opposite direction leading from her wretched home.
Although it was getting late, and past the time when she should have
returned, she had no thought of going home. Her memory was full of
faint, indistinct thoughts, whether dreams or faraway realities, who
shall say? She wondered why she had rambled so far from the city; but
she also felt she must go on. Her ragged dress was soaked with rain and
the keen wind was cruel and cutting, yet the poor little thing did not
feel the rain or the wind; on the contrary, she felt as if she was on
fire, save now and then there would pass a cold feeling all over her,
which caused a shivering fit. The match girl was well aware that she
would be beaten when she returned to her wretched dwelling, yet,
strange to say, she felt perfectly happy as she wandered farther away
from it.

Half way up the Bay Road there came over the little waif a feeling of
dizziness, accompanied by a feeling of thirst, and again that burning
sensation which again changed into a cold shiver, as she stood there.
Close at hand there was a friendly porch belonging to a grand mansion,
so the child crept into it, out of the wind and rain, and crouched
down. No sooner had she done so than all her light-heartedness appeared
to leave her, and she burst into tears. It was very strange that
directly the little match vendor began to cry she heard a confusion of
sounds around her—wild, mocking laughter, and shouts, and stamping of
feet, and strange lights were dancing before her eyes. The stones on
which she was lying seemed to be heaving and tossing, and she felt very
frightened just for a moment, and then she fell fast asleep.

These sounds still went on in her slumber, but they gradually got
softer and softer, and sweeter and more subdued, until they changed
into the most lovely music. And the little outcast thought she was
standing in the midst of a very beautiful garden, and somehow it
appeared to her that she had known it all a long time ago. The rain and
wind and the murky clouds had passed away, and it was glorious, sunny
day; the flowers were in full bloom. Voices of birds and insects filled
the balmy air, and gay coloured butterflies flitted here and there.
While she was standing, wondering that all these strange things should
seem so familiar to her, a handsome boy, with golden curls, approached,
and exclaimed,—

“Oh, dear sister Nellie, come and play. Why did you go away and stay
away so long?”

The dreamer looked up; she appeared to know the happy face quite well,
and she assured him in a voice, that was not like her old thin, weak
voice, but soft and clear, which seemed like a voice that had belonged
to her a long, long time ago,—

“Indeed, I don’t know where I have been, Frank; nor why I went away. Is
it a long time since?” she asked timidly.

“Such a long time, sister.”

“I am here at last, Frank; and I will never go away again. Come, let us
play in the garden.” And then she took his hand, and they walked on
together amongst the flowers, while the thousand voices round about
gave gladsome welcome. All the old miserable life of the beggar child
seemed to fade quickly away here, leaving nothing save the feeling that
she had always been accustomed to the grand objects by which she found
herself surrounded.

“Suppose we have a game of hide and seek?” suggested Frank.

“That will be very nice; but who shall hide first?”

They had a little consultation about that very important matter, when
it was decided that Nellie should hide first. It was most peculiar that
the name Nellie came quite natural to the dreamer, though she had been
called Maggie, Meg, and sometimes Peggy as long as she could remember.

So Nellie went to hide, and she hid behind a rosebush, and there she
found a great hole in the ground big enough for her to creep into. Ere
she had settled herself, Nellie found that the hole led to a dark
passage, with a soft light glimmering at the end of it. Still
wondering, she went towards the light. Passing along through several
archways, the child emerged into a splendid cavern, lit up with many
coloured, sparkling lights from thousands of precious stones, with
which the sides and roof of the place were studded. While she was
standing awe-struck with amazement at this magnificent place, she heard
by her side a flutter of light wings, and turning, saw hovering over
her a beautiful little creature with long hair, which glittered like
woven sunbeams. The form was rose-hued in colour, and from its
shoulders sprang green wings, sheeny and lustrous as the throat of a
humming-bird.

“Come!” warbled the being, and the voice was dreamy and sweet, like the
“coo” of a stock dove. “Come, and I will show you something wonderful.”

And the lovely being took Nellie by the hand, and led the child through
a cleft in the rock to another room which was lined, roof, walls, and
floor, with soft green moss. All round the room were hung beautiful
garlands adorned with diamonds. Some fairly blazed again with gems,
others contained only a few, fixed here and there, while fairy-like
forms flitted to and fro continually, bearing in their hands more gems,
which they fixed into the garlands. The dreamer was very much surprised
at what she beheld.

“Where do they get all those diamonds to put into the garlands?” she
inquired of her companion.

“The diamonds,” answered her conductor, “are the tears of sorrow shed
by the unhappy people in the world; for always while they are weeping
there are unseen watchers ready waiting to receive their tears and
convey them here.”

“And what are those very large gems, that shine so brightly in the
middle of the finished garlands?”

“Those are tears of joy; no garland can be finished without them.”

The child wandered round the chamber, and saw that almost all the
wreaths had some tears of joy and some of sorrow; but she came at last
to one that was quite full of tears of sorrow and in it no tears of joy
at all, while on it was a name, “Peggy the Beggar.”

Scarcely had her eyes fallen upon the name than she awoke; awoke, and
beheld bending over her a lady with a lovely face; but she looked proud
and stern, and the little wanderer instinctively shrank away from her
and crouched closer to the wall.

“How very tiresome that this wretched child should choose my porch, of
all places, to creep into for shelter,” cried the lady, in a cold,
unfeeling tone. “Yet I cannot turn the unfortunate thing away on such a
night as this. It’s a poor Christmas indeed for the poor child,” she
added, in a more tender way. “Here, Smith, take up this little beggar
and carry her to the kitchen, give her something to eat, and tell Jane
to put some dry things on her.”

A tall servant came forward and lifted the ragged bundle of humanity in
his arms as tenderly as a mother would have done. The man had just such
another little girl at home, and his heart yearned with sympathy for
the outcast as he bore her along the great hall of the house. Certainly
the place was strange to the child; but as in her dream she seemed to
remember everything, so now it appeared to her that the objects upon
which she gazed had been familiar to her a long, long time ago, and her
dream came back to her so vividly that she cried out aloud, “Oh, Frank!
Frank! Dear brother, where are you hiding? Do come to me. Come to
sister Nellie. I am not playing now.”

The stern lady had followed her servant with his living burden; but
when that cry reached her she stopped short, and grasped at the wall
for support. What sudden spasm caused the beautiful, haughty face to
grow instantly pale, and the tall form to bend trembling down as if
struck with palsy?

“Oh, Frank, come to sister Nellie. Dear brother, come.”

With a wild, hysterical sob the stately figure bowed lower yet, and
pressed her arms upon her throbbing bosom as if each of the little
outcast’s words had been cruel dagger-thrusts that were piercing her
through and through.

Coldness, pride, the vigorous will, that moulds martyrs and devils
alike, was strong within the woman, yet the combination of all three
had no power against that weak out-cry—“Come to sister Nellie, Frank!”

Ere the low, faint wail had died out, the proud lady had snatched the
poor child to her bosom, and covering the hot, unwashed face with
passionate kisses, cried aloud,—

“I—I had a darling Nellie once, and a golden-haired boy also, whom we
called Frank, but they were buds that faded here to bloom in heaven.
And now their dear voices will never fall upon my ears again. Alas!
Alas!”

Then like all else she had seen in this place, it seemed to the child
that the face of the beautiful lady was not altogether strange to her.
The very caress was like the endearing embrace of a mother, whose heart
had longed and yearned for her lost ones, and the poor little outcast
wondered how it all could be, until she lost all consciousness and
began to dream again.

chapter II.

It was a long and troubled dream. Days and weeks appeared to pass away
in which the little sleeper could remember nothing clearly. At one time
the beautiful lady would appear to be bending fondly over her, and then
the face would change suddenly to that of a wretched hag, whom she had
known and called mother, in the miserable home she had within the slums
of the city. From this place came terrible voices in her ears, and
terrible things struggling round the bed. Flames of fire darted and
danced in her poor, weary eyes; but through all this she beheld the
fairy of the cavern appear again, holding in his hand the wreath
whereon was written her name. He held it towards her gleaming with
diamond tear-drops. How she struggled to reach it! The more she tried
the weaker she became, but it seemed to her that there was an invisible
arm round her for her to rest upon, and though faint and weary, her
failing footsteps ever got nearer and nearer the precious circlet. Then
followed an interval of soft, soothing quiet, and the eyes of our
heroine opened drowsily upon the waking world again. She felt very
weak, but somehow very happy. She was lying on a clean, white bed in a
comfortable room, which appeared as if she had seen it before somewhere
in her dreams. As the child raised her weary eyelids her gaze rested
upon the prostrate form of the lady kneeling by her bedside, with her
face hidden in the bedclothes, sobbing. The poor wanderer felt sorry
that one who had been so kind to her should weep in trouble, and
raising her little warm hand, she laid it on the beautiful head of the
kneeler, and uttered the familiar word, “Mamma.”

The little sufferer knew not why that tender word rose to her lips
before any other; she only knew that the affectionate term was in her
heart and mind—that was all.

At the sound the grand lady raised her head, and kissed the child again
and again with maternal fondness, her lips murmuring the while, “My own
darling child. My Nellie, whom I thought had departed from me for ever.
Heaven has been good to me.”

Then for the first time the little match vendor shed tears of joy.
Sleep came to her again, from which she was aroused by the sound of
voices talking in whispers close to the bed.

“I am so sorry to have disobeyed you, ma’am, but you must forgive me,
and let me stay and nurse my own little pet,” cried a girl’s voice in
pleading accents. “When they told me at home that the stolen child had
come home again to you, I couldn’t keep away. I know it’s all along of
my carelessness that she was took away. Yet I loved the deary and was
compelled to come, although you must hate the very sight of me.”

“Hush, nurse, hush!” replied the lady’s voice sadly. “I am so glad you
have come. Since I lost my Nellie, and Frank died, and my dear husband
perished at sea, I have been a friendless, lonely, and unhappy woman.
Now my lost darling has been restored to me again the world will not
seem so bleak and weary. You shall stay and help me nurse my stolen
baby into health again.”

It seemed very strange to the child, as she lay back in the bed, to
learn the early history of her own life; how she had been stolen away
when she was only a wee toddler; how her brother, just one year older
than herself, had pined and died for his sister; how the poor mother,
with all her grand and fashionable friends, had felt herself deserted,
and had hardened her heart against all good influences, until the cry
of the frightened little outcast had reached and softened it.

There were long, weary watchings by the couch of the sufferer, filled
with anxiety and suspense. For the mother who had found her lost one
had a vague dread haunting her that her darling might be snatched
ruthlessly from her a second time, and by a foe more terrible than a
kidnapper. The child’s sleep was filled with dreams of angels. They
carried her again and again to that rocky chamber where hung the
garlands; and each time she found her own all ablaze with tears of joy,
and nearly finished.

On one occasion she stretched forth her hand to take it, but the fairy
came up to her and said,—

“Not yet, my dear; you shall wear it very soon.”

The child related these dreams to her mother, who answered nothing, but
fell down upon her knees and prayed that the garland should not be
completed yet awhile.

Nellie could not understand all this, but one night she felt very weak
and cold. Her mother was seated by the bedside gazing with greedy eyes
at the poor, worn, pinched-up little face. There were others in the
room, but the patient now saw only her mother.

“Dear mamma!”

“What is it, my darling?”

“I have seen the garlands again. Mine is finished at last.”

The face of the lady grew very pale. She hid her weeping eyes and
muttered,—

“A little while longer, only a little while.”

“I know what the garland means now, mamma; I am going to die,”

“Oh no! my dear, long lost pet, not yet, not yet. I cannot spare you,
now you have come back to me. Stay with me a little while—just a little
while. You are so very dear to me.”

Who shall say what agony of supplication in that low wail of entreaty?
Who shall fathom its intensity?

“But you will come too, mamma?” said the weak voice, now grown very
weak and feeble. “You have cried so much, your garland must be nearly
ready.”

A great sob, which shook the tall, shapely figure like a reed, was the
only answer. She raised her head at length, and the eyes of mother and
child met.

“Oh, when I get there, I’ll prepare your garland, mamma,” came the
faint voice, almost in a whisper now.

For a moment there was a wild light in the poor mother’s eyes. The
words appeared to stir some old memory in her heart. She looked into
the peaceful face of her dying child, and the voice became more calm
and steady.

“It is very hard to part, my darling, very hard; but I will try to bear
it all, so that tears of joy may mingle with tears of sorrow in my
wreath of immortality.”

The words fell on an ear that heard them not. There was a look on the
child’s face that caused the mother to rush forward and throw her arms
about the poor weak clay, as if to stay the departing spirit in its
flight.

“Oh, mamma! there is little brother Frank with my garland. See! he is
beckoning to me.”

And then the weary little head fell forward on the mother’s shoulder,
and the tired spirit entered into rest.