our trusty old horse fulfilled his duty, ever faithfully taking us home
along the gum-tree-lined road.

My mother had taught me from the Bible that I should honour my parents,
whether they were deserving of honour or not.

Dick Melvyn being my father did not blind me to the fact that he was a
despicable, selfish, weak creature, and as such I despised him with the
relentlessness of fifteen, which makes no allowance for human frailty and
weakness. Disgust, not honour, was the feeling which possessed me when I
studied the matter.

Towards mother I felt differently. A woman is but the helpless tool of
man--a creature of circumstances.

Seeing my father beside me, and thinking of his infant with its mother,
eating her heart out with anxiety at home, this was the reasoning which
took possession of me. Among other such inexpressible thoughts I got
lost, grew dizzy, and drew back appalled at the spirit which was maturing
within me. It was a grim lonely one, which I vainly tried to hide in a
bosom which was not big or strong enough for its comfortable habitation.
It was as a climbing plant without a pole--it groped about the ground,
bruised itself, and became hungry searching for something strong to which
to cling. Needing a master-hand to train and prune, it was becoming rank
and sour.




CHAPTER FIVE