Basil and Annette. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

home, and that within its domains could be found much that would make a man's life agreeable and useful He had come to the colony, as had thousands of other colonists, with the intention of making his fortune and returning to England. He could not hope to make a fortune in a day, though wild ideas of gold-seeking-successful gold-seeking, of course-had floated through his mind. Suddenly, when his fortunes were at the lowest ebb, there was presented an opportunity which, unworldly as he was, he could not disguise from himself it would be folly to throw away. But it was due to Anthony Bidaud that the matter should not be concluded without something more being said.

      "I need no time to consider," he said. "Your proposition is flattering and advantageous to myself. But you speak of not being wise. Are you wise in placing a trust so delicate and important in the hands of a stranger?"

      "I am content to do so," said Bidaud, "and I beg you to believe that the obligation will be on my side."

      "After all," suggested Basil, with a little touch of shrewdness "it may be with you a choice of evils."

      "It is a choice of good," observed Bidaud. "I have told you," continued Basil, "that I have not been educated into an understanding of business matters, and that my mission in life" – here he smiled deprecatingly-"was to go through life in a gentlemanly way, without working for my living."

      "But you came to the colony to work?"

      "Yes. I am only endeavouring to prove to you how utterly unfit I am for the position you would assign to me."

      "I am entirely convinced," said Bidaud, with a look of affection at the young man, "of your fitness for it."

      "Think of my inexperience."

      "Experience will come to you as it came to me. You will learn as I did."

      "Then there is another view," said Basil, and now he spoke with a certain hesitation. "You and Annette are here as father and daughter. It is not to be supposed that I could supply your place. I am a young man; in a very few years Annette will be a young woman. Will not our relative positions then be likely to wound her susceptibilities-"

      "Do not finish," said Bidaud, pressing Basil's hand warmly. "Leave all to time. Nothing but good can spring from what I propose. If Annette were now a young woman-"

      And here he himself purposely broke off in the middle of a sentence. Certainly his manner could not be mistaken. A flush came into Basil's face, and he did not speak again for a few moments.

      "Has the letter," he then said, "you wrote to your sister been returned to you?"

      "No."

      "Then it must have been delivered."

      "Not necessarily. I am not sure whether undelivered letters addressed to Switzerland are returned to the colonial post-offices. If you have stated your principal objections I see nothing in them to cause you to hesitate. You will consent?"

      "Yes," said Basil, "I accept the trust."

      "With all my heart I thank you," said Anthony Bidaud; then he placed his hands on Basil's shoulders, and said in a solemn tone, "Guard my child."

      "Whatever lies in my power to do," said Basil, "shall be done."

      Bidaud nodded and turned away; his heart was too full to say more. Basil turned in another direction, with the intention of seeking Annette, in fulfilment of a promise he had made to join her in the woods. He knew where to find her.

      CHAPTER IV

      Traversing a narrow, winding bridle track, he soon reached the river. A broad belt of white sand stretched on either side for some little distance, the water glistening like polished mirrors in its smooth, deep reaches. Here and there it broke into a thousand tiny silver-crested waves, created by the inequalities in the ground. Farther on the main stream twisted into great clusters of dark green river oaks, and was lost to view. The white sands narrowed, and were replaced by rocks, covered with moss and lichen, and here a bark canoe was moored. Stepping on a large boulder, Basil jumped into the canoe, and loosening the rope, paddled down stream. The water ran like a mill race, and presently divided into two streams, beautified by waterfalls and fairy islands adorned with luxuriant vegetation. This dividing of the waters extended only some three or four hundred yards, at the termination of which they were united in one dark lagoon. A strange stillness reigned upon the surface of the water, but this sign of peace was insincere, the current in reality running hard and strong. Round about the canoe floated masses of white and mauve water lilies; in parts the huge leaves formed a perfect carpet, which easily supported the light weight of the lotus birds as they skipped from shore to shore. At the lower end of the lagoon the stream became so narrow that a man could jump across it, and here Basil left his canoe, and plunged into the woods to find Annette.

      She was sitting on a great patch of velvet moss, idling with some flowers of the wax plant and the yellow hibiscus. Her back was towards Basil, who stepped softly, intending to surprise her, but the crackling of the leaves betrayed him. She turned quickly, and jumping up, ran to meet him.

      "I have been waiting for you ever so long," she said, and she slipped her hand into his.

      Basil made no excuse for being late; an age seemed to have passed since he had last seen her, though scarcely three hours separated "then" from "now." But short as was really the interval it had effected an important alteration in their relations towards each other, and the contemplation of this change made him silent. Neither was Annette as talkative as usual, and they strolled idly along for some distance without exchanging a word. Basil had hitherto accepted Annette's beauty in a general sense; she was pretty, she was bright, she was full of vivacity-that was all. Had she been a woman he would have subjected her to a closer and more analytical observation, for he had an artist's eye for beauty, and loved to look at it in animate and inanimate nature; but Annette was only a child, and he had paid her just that amount of attention which one pays to small wild-flowers that grow by the wayside. But now, looking down upon her as she walked by his side, he observed that her eyes were hazel, and he said to himself that hazel eyes, in girl and woman, were the most beautiful eyes in the world. The hazel colour in the eyes he was gazing upon was brilliant, and Basil said to himself that it was the brilliant hazel eyes that are the most beautiful in the world. Annette's features were not exactly regular, but formed as fair a picture of human loveliness as a man would wish to see, her lips sweetly curved, her teeth white and shapely, her ears like little shells, her golden brown hair gathered carelessly about the gracefully shaped head. Yes, Annette was beautiful even now as a child; how much more beautiful was she likely to be when her springtime was fully set in!

      Raising her head suddenly she saw that Basil was gazing at her more earnestly and closely than he was in the habit of doing. "I was looking at your eyes, Annette," he said, rather guiltily. "I never noticed their colour till to-day."

      "They are hazel. Do you like hazel eyes?"

      "Very much."

      "I am glad of that. My eyes are like my mother's. Will you come with me?"

      "Where?"

      "To her grave."

      He had visited it before with Annette, and they now walked towards the canoe, gathering wild flowers as they walked. Once Annette slipped, and he caught her and held her up; there was an unusual tenderness in the action, and Annette nestled closer to him, and smiled happily. In the canoe her skilful fingers were busily at work, weaving the flowers they had gathered into garlands to lay upon her mother's grave. She had a special gift in such-like graceful tasks, but then her heart was in her fingers. The loving homage was reverently rendered when they reached the spot, and Basil assisted her in clearing the dead leaves and in planting some fresh roots she had brought with her from the woods.

      Her task accomplished, Annette sat beside the grave, with a wistful expression on her face which made Basil wonder what was stirring in her mind. He waited for her to break the silence, and presently she spoke.

      "What makes you so quiet, Basil?"

      "I do not know. Perhaps it is because you have said so little, Annette."

      "I have been thinking."

      "Yes."

      "I wanted all day to speak to you about it. I thought