Often Harold must have felt it well for him that Dermot
Tracy knew the worst beforehand--nay, that what he learnt in New
South Wales was mild compared with the Stympson version. Dermot
himself wrote to his uncle the full account of what he had learnt
from Cree and from Prometesky of Harold's real errors, and what Henry
Alison had confessed of those attributed to him, feeling that this
was the best mode of clearing the way for those hopes which Harold
had not concealed from him. Dermot was thoroughly happy, enchanted
with the new world, more enthusiastic about his hero than ever, and
eager to see as much as possible; but they renewed their promise to
be in Sydney in time to greet poor old Mrs. Alison.
Dear old body, what a state she was in, between joy and grief, love
and terror, heart and brain. She never wavered in her maternal
eagerness to go to "poor little Henry," but what did she not imagine
as to Botany Bay? She began sewing up sovereigns in chamois-leather
bags to be dispersed all over her person against the time when she
should have to live among the burglars; and Dora, who was desperately
offended, failed to convince her that she might as well expect
robbers at home. However, the preparations were complete at last,
and I took her myself to the good people who were to have the charge
of her. I had no fears in sending her off, since Harold was sure to
arrange for her maintenance and comfort, in case of her situation not
being a success; and though I had learnt to love her, and lost in her
my chaperon, I was glad to be so far unencumbered; and to be freed
from the fear that Eustace and Hippolyta might do something harshly
inconsiderate by her, in their selfish blindness to all save
themselves.
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