# Artabanzanus/Chapter 19

CHAPTER XIX.
I LOSE THE GOOD DOCTOR.
When Julius Winbourne finished his remarkable story we were still advancing slowly along the eastern shore of the lake, directing our course southward. The waters lay in calm repose, and the rays of the declining sun fell upon them with a heavenly but transient glow. I now regarded that lovely, half green, half gray crystal mirror with a more concentrated interest than ever.
We pursued our way for some time in silence: he, perhaps, thinking deep thoughts upon which I might not intrude, and I of the strange occurrences that may happen to any one of us when we least expect them. We had turned away from the lake at a place called Boggy Marsh, and now walked more briskly up a rugged path which would lead us, I knew, to the hut where, in all likelihood, I, if not both of us, should remain for the night. We had passed a deserted cottage with an iron roof, and reached a spot where stood the ruins of a large chimney that had been built for some shepherd's residence in the days when civilized Tasmania was younger than she is now. Here Julius proposed that we should sit down awhile and rest, previous to ascending a wooded hill in front of us, and we did so after taking precautions against cold stones and damp grass.
'I do not know why it is,' he said; 'there is a feeling ​of strange and majestic solemnity coming over me. I am sure an awful event is about to happen to one of us, if not to the other also. This place is either holy or cursed. Did anything remarkable ever happen here, Ubertus?'
'Nothing here that I know of, Julius,' I answered; 'but near the southern end of the lake, on the other side, there is a hill called Murderer's Hill It is covered with dead ghastly trees, and is said to have been the scene of a lamentable tragedy many years ago. It was a case of long cherished revenge. An overseer at Macquarie Harbour, an establishment for prisoners, gave evidence against a man, who, whether justly or unjustly, was sentenced to receive a severe flogging, as the custom was in those unhappy days. The former came, in after years, to live near that hill; the latter followed, and accomplished his fell purpose.'
'We are like travellers,' said Julius, 'in those flying carriages you have described, or in a fine ship bounding over the ocean. We dance, and laugh, and sing, and enjoy ourselves to the uttermost, not knowing, and evidently not caring, how soon we may, with a mighty crash, be hurled to destruction. I have died once, and I believe, Ubertus, I am about to die again; but a death of a different kind. Start not, my dear friend: tremble not! Your time is not come yet, but mine is very near. And I am glad of it. Oh, what agonies I have suffered! What depths of miseries I have endured! How my undying spirit within me groaned and shrieked with anguish, when it found itself cut off from that Eternal and Divine Essence from whom it derived its existence, and all that it ever knew of sweetness and pleasure. When will the foolish, proud, vain world learn wisdom and humility? When will the thoughtless and ignorant acquire knowledge? When will the wicked cease from their wickedness? But I have given you enough of my moral philosophy, and if you write a successful book, ​how much better will the world ever be for it? Did you not tell me that you had once written a short poem about a shipwreck?'
'Yes, on the loss of the ship Dunbar. She sailed from London, and traversed the ocean in safety; but her captain, in attempting to enter Sydney Harbour one night in August, 1857, made a fatal mistake. The ship was dashed to pieces on the South Head, and all on board, with only one exception, perished.'
We proceeded up the hill, and through the wood beyond it, I taking the lead, as the path was familiar to me. A light wind had arisen, and a number of small white clouds chased each other up the hills from the surface of the Great Lake, which we had left behind us. On reaching an elevated open space, we stood still, and looked back to survey the beautiful scene. I am compelled to pause, as I find it difficult to describe what then occurred. It took place in a moment, like a sudden flash of thought through a poet's brain. A luminous cloud descended towards us as we turned; Julius convulsively seized my arm, his eyes nearly starting out of his head.
'Who is this?' he cried, 'who is this? Is it a dream? Is it true? It is Helen! It is Helen herself, as I live. Yes, Helen—my heroine, my darling! I am ready; wait for me; I am coming! Farewell, Ubertus! I shall be with you in your hour of need.'
And while he spoke he changed. What appeared to be a thick veil of blue gauze fell between him and me. His form assumed the likeness of a luminous cloud, which ascended into the air, and the two clouds mingled together and became one, ascending still higher into the air, and disappearing gradually from my sight.