IN THE ROARING FIFTIES

By

EDWARD DYSON1906

I

THE night was bright and cool, and the old East Indiaman moved slowly onthe heaving bosom of the ocean, under a strong full moon, like awind-blown ghost to whose wanderings there had been no beginning andcould be no end--so small, so helpless she seemed between the twoinfinities of sea and sky. There was no cloud to break the blueprofundity of heaven, no line of horizon, no diversity in the long lazyroll of the green waters to dispel the illusion of an interminable ocean. The great crestless waves rose and fell with pulsing monotony, round, smooth and intolerably silent. It was as if the undulating sea had beenstricken motionless, and the ship was damned to the Sisyphean task ofsurmounting one mysterious hill that eternally reappeared under her prow, and beyond which she might never pass. Suddenly the ghost faltered on thecrest of a wave, fluttering her rags in the moonlight, possessed with avague indecision. Shouting and the noise of hurrying feet broke thesilence. There was a startling upheaval of men; they swarmed in therigging, and faces were piled above the larboard bulwarks. A boat droppedfrom the ship's side, striking the sea with a muffled sound, and wasinstantly caught into the quaint lifting and falling motion of theFrancis Cadman, as the oily-backed waves slid under. Four men in the boatbent smartly to the oars, a fifth stood erect in the prow, peering underhis hand over the waste of waters; another at the tiller encouraged therowers with cordial and well-meant abuse. A hundred people shouted futiledirections from the ship. The gravity of the Indian Ocean was disturbedby the babble of dialects. One voice rose above all the rest, sonorous, masterful, cursing the ship into order with a deliberate flow ofinvective that had the dignity and force of a judgment. 

The boat drew off rapidly. The men, squarely and firmly seated, benttheir heavy shoulders with machine-like movements, and when they threwback their faces the rays of the moon glittered and flashed in theirdilated eyes and on their bared teeth. The sailor at the tiller swayed inunison, and grunted encouragement, breaking every now and then intobitter speech, spoken as if in reverent accord with the night and theirmission, in a low, pleading tone, much as a patient mother might addressa wayward child. 

'Lift her, lads--lift her, blast you! Oh, my blighted soul, Ellis! I'dget more square-pullin' out of a starved cat with ten kittens--I would, by thunder! Now, men, all together! Huh! Huh! hub!'

The boatswain strained as if tugging a stubborn oar. In the interval ofsilence that followed all bent attentive ears, but no call came from thesea. The sleek oars dipped into the waves without a sound, and swungnoiselessly in the worn rowlocks. The man at the prow remained rigid as astatue, and Coleman resumed his whispered invocation. 

'Bend to it, you devils! One! two! three! Morton, don't go to sleep, youswine! Ryan! Tadvers, you herrin'-gutted, boss-eyed son of a barber'sape, are you rowin' or spoonin' up hot soup? Pull, men! Huh! That's aclinker! Huh! Shift her! Huh! May the fiend singe you for a drowsy packo' sea-cows! Pull!'

The men threw every ounce of power into each stroke, the voice of theboatswain blending with their efforts like an intoned benediction, andthe treacly sea foamed under the prow into drifted snow which ran merrilyin their wake. For a tense moment the boat hung poised upon a highroller, as if about to be projected into the air, and the man in theprow, electrified, threw out an arm with a dramatic gesture. Theinstincts of the ex-whaler triumphed in that moment of excitement. 

'There she blows!'

Instantly Coleman fell into a condition of profound agitation; he pouredout a lava-flow of vituperation upon the heads of his men; he cursed themfor weaklings and waster and hissed phrases shameful to them anddiscreditable to their parents. The crew increased their stroke. Alreadythe perspiration was streaming from their indurated hides; their wetfaces and breasts glistened in the night. Every now and again thelook-out, discovering a black spot where the moon's rays splashed asmooth-backed wave with silver, uttered an inarticulate cry that struckthe men like a spur, and all the time his pointing hand was a finger-postto the steersman. 

Meanwhile the object of this chase, a fragile, white-faced girl, hadfought with the mammoth waves as with inveterate beasts seeking to stifleher in icy embraces. A mere atom plunged in their depths as in cavernousand boundless darkness, she had struggled with an ocean the whole of thefocus of which were leagued against her, possessed all the time with afoolish and trivial remembrance of child hood, the vision of a littlegray kitten, with a weight about its neck, striving to beat its way upthrough clear waters, sending out tiny bubbles of crystal that danced inmockery of its dying. 

On the surface she was swung across seeming great distances, till astrong arm out of the night and the vastness of things seized her, andthe tension of the struggle passed from her limbs, leaving a sense ofappeasement as sweet as sleep. She heard a man's voice directing her, andobeyed without understanding. Now the sea supported her like a soft andpleasant bed, she had no fear and little consciousness. A few stern wordsbuzzed in her head like bees--'Sink your arms! Don't try to breathe whenwe're under! Keep your mouth shut!' They were very absurd: they couldhave nothing to do with her; but she had heard them somewhere, and sheobeyed. 

The man lay well back in the water, with little more than his chin andlips above the surface, his left hand, twisted in the woman's hair, rested in the nape of her neck, sustaining her with scarcely an effort. An ocean swimmer from his early boyhood, great waters had no terrors forhim, and when he found the drowning girl he knew that all would be well, provided the ship's boats were successful in their search. 

The girl was very tractable: she lay perfectly still. He looked into herpale face; her eyes were wide open, staring straight up at the feeblestars. Every minute or so he cried aloud, or whistled a shrill callbetween his teeth, but the action did not disturb the flow of histhoughts. Despite the peculiarity of his position, he had drifted into astrange mood of introspection. Why had he done this thing? What was thegirl to him that at the first sight of her danger he should haveforgotten his philosophy of self, his pride in his contempt for his kind, and his fine aloofness? She was no more in his life than any other of thefour hundred strangers on board. The act of leaping into the sea had beena mere impulse, the prompting of an unsuspected instinct. She might hatehis race, but he was still its slave. All his life he had been anIshmael, feared and disliked; humankind had given him only cause to hateand despise it, and yet blood remained stronger than belief when a humanlife was in peril. The young man laughed, and the boat's from the FrancisCadman, drawing near, heard the mocking laughter and ceased rowing, chilled with a superstitious terror. 

'Good God!' cried the look-out, 'there's two of 'em. '

The sailors turned in their seats, staring in stupid awe at two headsclearly visible in the moonlight that lay like silver gossamer on thedark green sea--two heads where they had expected to find but one. Theboatswain, frozen in the forward movement of his swing, glaredopen-mouthed, speechless; he felt his stiff hair stirring strangely underhis hat, a pronounced uneasiness moved in the boat. Only one woman hadfallen from the ship, and here, out in the deep trough of the lone sea, they found two creatures, and one laughed eerily. Sailormen believed inmany awesome mysteries: ghosts and goblins peopled the ocean like a vastgraveyard. The boat held off, and no man spoke, but Ryan shivered underhis skin, and fumbled his memory for the name of a potent saint. 

'Ahoy, there!' cried the young man impatiently; but winning no response, he swam slowly to meet the boat as she drifted. He raised the girl, andone of the men seized her mechanically, and drew her limp form from thewater. No hand was offered to the rescuer, but as the boat lifted heseized her prow, and drew himself aboard. All eyes were upon him, staringdubiously. 

'Divil take me if it ain't the Hermit!' gasped Ryan, with an expirationof intense relief. 

Coleman's stony expression instantly relaxed, he recovered himself with ajerk of the bead. 

'Well, ' he murmured bitterly, 'of all the stuck pigs! What the blue fury're ye all sittin' garpin' at like a lot o' demented damn kelpies? Giveway there! How's the young lady, Smith?'

'She don' seem perticler bad, ' answered Smith doubtfully. He wasstruggling to wrap his charge in a length of stiff, crackling sailcloth, puzzled by the white face of the girl. 

Coleman looked sharply at the young man, who was seated on the gunwale, but, discovering no encouragement in his set face and careless eyes, repressed his curiosity, and devoted himself to the task of overhaulingthe Francis Cadman. It was a long and trying job, but he accomplished itwithout having exhausted his eloquence. Indeed, his terms of endearmenthad been cautiously selected throughout, out of a heroic respect for thelady passenger. The boatswain's idea of language becoming in the presenceof the gentler sex was rather liberal, perhaps; but in any case his niceconsideration was wasted upon the girl, who heard never a word. She layas if in the grip of fever, her distorted mind pursuing quaint visionsand trifling and irrelevant ideas. As they drew near, the rescue-partysent out a breathless cheer, which was answered from the ship with a wildyell of exultation, and then a broadside of questions burst from the deckof the Francis Cadman, where every creature on board excitedly awaitedthe boat's return. The sonorous and masterful voice enforced silenceagain with a sentence. 

'How is it, bo's'n?' called the same voice a moment later. 

'Got 'em both, sir, ' answered Coleman. 

'Both!'

'Ay, ay, sir!'

A tumult of voices surged over the ship again; the heads piled themselvesafresh, craning one above the other. Two had gone overboard! Only one hadbeen reported, and one only was missed. Interest was doubled. For fourweeks the Francis Cadman had been pottering about the Indian Oceanwithout discovering a single adventure to break the stupid monotony ofsky and sea, and restore the faith of the passengers in their favouritemaritime authors; but here, at last, was a sensation and a mystery. 

Perhaps, after all, it was no mere accident, but a tragedy. Men and womenthronged the deck, thrilling with sympathy, and yet secretly hoping for acomplete drama, even though someone must suffer. 

The girl was first passed up. When the young man followed she had beencarried below. He was barefooted, and clad only in singlet and trousers;his coat and shirt had been discarded in the sea. 

Ryan's expression sprang from every tongue. 

'The Hermit!'

The young man stood with his shoulders to the gunwale, facing the crowd. There was something resentful in his attitude. His face was that of a manabout twenty-two, beardless and boyish, but the firm, straight mouth, with its compressed, slightly protuberant lips, and the thick line ofdark brows, throwing the eyes into shadows, imparted an appearance ofsullen reserve that belonged to an older face. His scrutiny condemned menand repelled them. His figure, about three inches above middle height, was that of a labourer whose strength was diffused through the limbs byswift and subtle exercise. There was nothing rugged in his powerfuloutline, and every attitude had an architectural suggestion of strength. 

Captain Evan peered at the youth closely, and not without a hint ofsuspicion. 'Your name's Done, isn't it?' he said. 

The Hermit nodded shortly. 

'How did all this happen, my man?'

'I was leaning on the gunnel by the main-chains when I heard a cry and asplash, and saw the girl's body past. I dropped in after her. '

'You saved her life, then?'

'I helped her to keep afloat till the boat reached us. '

'Good boy!' Captain Evan put out his hand as if with the intention ofgiving Done an approving pat on the shoulder, but the young man turnedaway abruptly, thrusting himself through the men, who had clusteredaround him muttering diffident compliments, and endeavouring to shake himby the hand. 

'Blast it all, don't maul a man about!' said the hero sulkily, and thecrowd made way for him. 

Below Jim Done stripped hastily, wrung out his wet clothes upon thelittered floors and climbed into his bunk, threatening to tear down awhole terrace of the crazy structures as he did so. 

The Francis Cadman was not ordinarily a passenger boat: she wascommissioned to carry two hundred and fifty sailors to the ships lefthelpless in Corio Bay and Hobson's Bay, deserted by their crews, who, inspite of official strategies, had fled to the diggings immediately afteranchors were dropped in Victorian waters. 

The accommodation for the men was the roughest imaginable. Bunks ofunplaned timber were strung up in tiers under the forecastle, andwherever space could be found for them in the dark and musty depths ofthe ship. A few second-class male passengers shared these delectablequarters with the sailors, and the Francis Cadman had secured acomplement of first-class patrons willing to pay exorbitant prices forthe dubious comforts and plain fare of the 'cabin' passage. 

The gold lust was burning in the blood of Europe. Fabulous stories ofAustralian treasures were flying about the nations; greedy ears drankthem in, and the wildest yarns were never doubted. In their franticeagerness to share in the golden harvests being reaped at Buninyong, Clunes, Bendigo, and Ballarat, the people wasted no thought on thehardships of the journey; there was not a ship too crazy or a doghole toodark to carry the desperate adventurers. 

Jim Done's bunk was in a third story. The den it was built in was like asteam-warm pest-house in the hot latitudes, and in the cold a clammytomb; but he had no thought of complaints. A new country and a new lifelay before him; he cared little for the troubles and privations by theway. To-night his mind was given over to reflections arising out of theincidents of the last few hours. They were not pleasant reflections. Theadventure loomed like a misfortune. He hated the idea of the notoriety itwould bring him; and, picturing himself the object of the sentimentaladmiration of a score of simpering busybodies of both sexes, fumedfiercely, and framed biting invectives. A voice close to his ear startledhim. Turning sharply, he saw the head of Phil Ryan on a level with hisown. Phil was standing on the lowermost bunk, offering the first tribute, a pint pannikin of steaming hot grog. 

''Tis the thing the docthor orthered, ' said Ryan, with timorous humour, fearing an ungenerous response. 

It was Jim's first impulse to refuse the offer with out compliments, butat that moment the greasy ship's lantern swinging above them on a rope'send illumined the Irishman's face, and Done saw his mark upon it--a longpurple wheal under the left eye, a week old yesterday, but stillconspicuous. For a reason he could not have explained even to himself, that changed the young man's mind. He drank the liquor, and returned thepannikin with a 'Thank you!' not over-cordial. 

'Yer a proper man, Done, ' said Ryan, 'an' I'm proud I fought wid ye, an'mighty glad ye bate me. Good-night!'

'Good-night, ' answered Done coldly. He had been too long at variance withmen to take kindly to popularity now. 

II

NEXT morning Done lingered below till the day was well advanced, but thedarkness and the heavy atmosphere 'tween decks drove him into the open. It was a fair day, a big placid sun was shining, and the breeze followedthem with a crisp suggestion of glittering ice-fields far down in thesouth. The sailors and passengers were grouped in small parties of six orseven, lounging about the deck in lazy abandonment, leaning over theside, smoking comfortably, and spitting with a certain dreamysatisfaction into the sweet, clean sea, or sitting in rings on improvisedseats, alert, and loud in argument. 

Jim's youthful face was even more than usually forbidding that morning ashe stepped amongst the men to his favourite position on one of the guns. He feared an attempt to break through his reserve, some demonstrationarising out of last night's adventure, that might be taken advantage ofby the men to force their society and friendship upon him. He looked atnone of the faces turned curiously in his direction, and his expressionof stubborn enmity killed the cheer that sprang from a few of theforecastle passengers, and it tailed into a feeble absurdity. Leaningupon the old wooden gun-carriage, with his arms supporting his chin; hestared at the cleavage of the green sea and the swelling foam, feeling athis back all the time the cackle of criticism, like an irritation of thespinal marrow, chafing fretfully at this further proof of the failure ofhis long endeavour to school himself into complete indifference. 

Absolute serenity in the teeth of public opinion--good, bad, orindifferent--that was an ideal frame of mind, to the attainment of whichhe had set himself when still a mere boy; but men and women remainedpowerful to hurt and to auger him. He had acquired from his long moralexercise a certain power of restraint up to the point at which his fiercetemper blazed; he reached the stage of ignition without those displays ofsparks and smoke that are usual preliminaries to a 'flare-up. ' He hadlearned, too, in the course of his schooling, to simulate an imposingunconcern under commonplace trials and tribulations, when it so pleasedhim, and between the satisfaction to be felt in being able successfullyto assume a given virtue and in having actual possession of that virtuethe distinction is too delicate for unregenerate minds. 

The young man did not envelop himself in his spare skin ofimperturbability at this crisis, because he felt that some show of activeresentment was necessary to repel effusive admirers and maintain thebarrier he had set up between himself and his fellow-travellers. When JimDone set foot on board the Francis Cadman he was flying from anintolerable life, seeking to escape from despair. This he did not admitto himself, for he had the indomitable pride of a lonely man who gave tothought the time that should have been gloriously wasted on booncompanions and young love. 

Done was a sensitive man, who had been some thing of a pariah since hisknickerbocker period, and was first the butt and later the bane of thenarrow, convention-governed public of a small English village. A fiercedefiance of the people amongst whom he had lived his life kept him in hisnative place till after his twenty-first birthday. He rebelled with allhis soul against the animal unreason of these men, women, and children, puzzling over the fanatical stupidity of their prejudice, and, strivingto beat it down, intensified it and kept it active long years after allmight have been forgotten had he bowed meekly to 'the workings ofProvidence, ' as manifested in the thinkings and doings of the Godfearingpeople of Chisley. 

When James Done was five years old the only murder that had beencommitted in Chisley district within the memory of the oldest inhabitantwas done by a member of little Jim's family. The murderer was tried, found guilty, and sentenced accordingly. 

The murder had a romantic plot and melodramatic tableaux, and wasincorporated in the history of Chisley--in fact, it was the history ofChisley. 

The murderer passed out, but his family remained, and upon them fell thehorror of his deed, the disgrace of his punishment. They became creaturesapart. With all Chisley understood of the terror in those dread words, 'Thou shalt not kill, ' it invested the unhappy family, and they bowed asif to the will of God. 

Jim's mother, a thin, sensitive woman, with a patient face, put on ablack veil, and was never afterwards seen abroad without it. She helpedher boy a few weary miles along the road of life, and then one eveningwent quietly to her room and died. Jim's sister, ten years older thanhimself, took up the struggle where the mother dropped it, and sustainedit until the boy could go into the fields and earn a mean living forhimself, at which point she drowned herself, leaving a quaint note inwhich she stated that life was too dreadful, but she hoped 'God and Jimmywould forgive her--especially Jimmy. '

At this stage Chisley might have forgiven Jimmy, and condescended toforget, and even indulge itself in some sentimental compassion for thepoor orphan, had the boy shown any disposition to accept these advanceskindly and with proper gratitude; but for years Jim had been reasoningthings out in a direct, childish way, and in his loneliness he was filledwith an inveterate hatred. He chose to live on as he had lived, acceptingno concessions, disguising nothing, and Chisley quite conscientiouslydiscovered in his sullen exclusiveness and his vicious dislike of worthymen the workings of homicidal blood, and accepted him as an enemy ofsociety. 

Early in his teens Jim recognised the value of brute strength and humanguile in his dealings with the youth of Chisley, and set himself to workto cultivate his physical qualities. All that the pugilists and wrestlerscould teach him he picked up with extraordinary quickness, and to thearts thus acquired he added cunning tricks of offence and defence of hisown contriving. He had a peculiar aptitude for wrestling and pugilism, delighted secretly in his strength and swiftness, and would walk fivemiles to plunge like a porpoise in the stormy sea. 

He had submitted to much in his joyless youth, but now, conscious of hisstrength and expertness in battle, he set himself deliberately to defyhis enemies and resent with force of arms every encroachment upon hisliberty, every insolence. There was a sudden epidemic of black eyesamongst the youth of the village; cut faces, broken ribs, and noses ofabnormal size served the heirs of Chisley as stinging reminders of theold shame and the new courage and power of Jim o' Mill End, that beingthe name given to the boy in accordance with an awkward provincial customof identifying a man with his property, the situation of his residence, or some peculiarity of manner. 

On one occasion the lad fell upon a hobbledehoy who had just given ahighly diverting pantomime representing the hanging of a man, withrealistic details, and, having beaten him in fair fight, broke hiscollar-bone with an atrocious fall. For this outrage Jim o' Mill End wascalled upon to answer to the law, and, the answer he had to give beingconsidered wholly unsatisfactory, Jim was sent to gaol for a term ofdays. 

Chisley, if Slow to discover its mistakes, was not wholly imbecile; itlearned in time to respect the fists of Jim o' Mill End, and now hatedhim quite heartily for the restraint imposed. But Jim derives littlesatisfaction from his triumph; Chisley conquered him by stupidsubmission. His physical superiority won him nothing but immunity fromopen insult; the young men and their elders were careful to give him noreasonable opportunity of asserting the rights of man in their teeth witha dexterous left, and Jim was now beyond disputing with children. Theunhappy boy was not deceived by the new attitude his neighbours hadassumed towards him. He saw an increased dislike behind the stolid, animal-like faces that met him everywhere, and felt that silence wasworse than insult, more galling than blows. He detected jeers under themask of dogged respect, and had passionate impulses to beat and tear, finding himself still powerless against the brutal injustice that hadpoisoned his life. 

Baffled here, Jim o' Mill End turned greedily to the fount of wisdomseeking justification for his deep contempt for his fellows, corroboration of his opinions as to the stupidity, ignorance, andvileness of mankind, He read greedily, finding justification everywhere. Poets, philosophers, novelists, historians--they had all found man out, just as he had done. Discovering an echo of his beliefs, he thrilled withhot delight. He met allies amongst the poets, and adored them. It isstrange how sympathetic books drift to the hand of a reader possessedwith a consuming idea; how they gather around him, fall open to his eye, and give up the thing he yearns to feed on. Without the knowledgenecessary to selection, Jim had an affinity for books of pessimisticdoctrine, and though both means and opportunities were limited, hegathered together, in the course of two years, quite a library ofprecious volumes, and he came forth from these an intellectual giantrefreshed. He saw Chisley on a plane far below him, a sink of ignorance, and judged it like a god--or a boy. Whatever Chisley respected he foundexcellent occasion to despise; whatever it revered he discovered to befalse and contemptible. His sense of superiority was magnificent; it gavehim a glorious exultation. A few hot words with the clerical caretaker ofthe Chisley conscience over the question of Sabbath observance exposedthe young man--the gaol-bird--as an infidel and a scoffer. Jim was noinfidel, but communities like Chisley do not under stand subtledistinctions in theology. Here was fresh occasion to fear and abhor Jimo' Mill End; here was justification for many evil prophecies. 

For a time Jim revelled in his great moral superiority and dreameddreams. But the gnawing impatience returned--the unrest, the craving forsomething he could not define, but which always merged itself into hisgreat grievance. He lived alone. At his work--which he obtained readily, for he was strong and efficient, and gave double value for his wages--hehad no mates. Girls he had seen grow up from babyhood developed intobeautiful creatures, with miraculous eyes, round limbs, and cheeks sored, so tender, that their soft ripeness haunted his dreams. Under coverand in secret he would watch them pass or at play with a throbbing heartand a passionate hunger for companionship, and discover himself doingthis with something of a shock, ashamed of his interest in his enemies, resentful of all emotions that ran counter to his cherished antipathies. 

When the news of the discovery of fabulous gold deposits in far Australiareached Chisley, Jim had thoughts of a new life in a new land: he cravedfor a wide field and a wild life; nothing withheld him but pride, theegotism that would not permit of his abandoning a struggle even with menso contemptible as these ignorant villagers. But the hunger for humanityfilled him with visions of a new society in which he would be one withhis fellow-men, and then his enemies seemed so pitiful that he knewhimself for fool and blind to waste a care upon them. So he sold thesmall property at Mill End, took up his few belongings, and left Chisleyquietly by night, eager to leave all the old life behind him, anxious forthe new. 

Standing thus, looking out along the pathway of the Francis Cadman, Donehad reviewed his life almost daily, sometimes broadly and briefly, asgiven here--sometimes going into excruciating details of suffering, shame, terror, and hate; but his eyes were always turned forward. 

Done meditated uninterruptedly for nearly an hour. Gradually theconversation of the group behind him had drifted from his business andthe affair of the previous night to the great absorbing topic of the pastfour months--Australia, the land of mad dreams, where the hills werepowdered with precious 'dust, ' and the rivers purled over nuggets of puregold. 

A hand fell upon the young man's shoulder; he turned sharply, angrily, and beheld the bland face and trim figure of Captain Evan. With theCaptain was a handsome lady in black, who had already created in Jim'smind a confused impression of massed raven hair and big, innocent darkeyes that had a trick of floating up from under heavy lids and thick, long lashes to their greatest magnitude, and then disappearing again likerevolving lights. 

'All right after your plunge, my lad?' inquired the Captain heartily. 

Done gave the expected reply, conscious of the eyes signallingappreciation, and there was a pause. 

'You do not inquire after the young lady, Done!'

'I've heard the men speaking of her, Captain. I understand she' prettywell?'

'Still, a little gentlemanly attention, you know. She is most grateful. '

Done stiffened a trifle, and the line of brows asserted itself. 

'I don't ape gentility, ' he said quietly. 'I'm glad the young lady's wellagain, but genteel formal ain't much in my line, I think. '

'Hem!' The Captain's eyes narrowed, his air of patronage lifted. He wasas gentlemanly an old sea-dog as ever bully-damned a ship from the gatesof hell on a blind night, and was proud of his first-cabinaccomplishments. 'This lady is Mrs. Donald Macdougal, ' he said. 'MissLucy Woodrow is Mrs. Macdougal's companion. '

Jim gathered his soft cap in a handful and bowed moderately; but the ladyheld out dainty gloved fingers, and flashed her bright eyes upon him. 

'We all think you quite a hero, Mr. Done, ' she lisped--' quite!'

'Fact is, ' said the Captain, 'the ladies and gentle men greatly admireyour noble conduct. '

'Most noble and brave, ' added Mrs. Macdougal softly. 

The young man had a presentiment of mischief, and fortified himself. 

'And, ' the Captain continued, 'they have held a little meeting to considerthe idea of--ah, expressing their appreciation in a--er----hem!--anadequate and proper manner. '

The Captain was quoting the chief orator--himself. He paused with anexpectant air, but Done was apparently quite impassive; evidently thefact that the ladies and gentlemen of the first class wished to put onrecord their very proper respect for British pluck and the positivevirtues by giving the hero of the moment an inscribed watch or a goldlocket did not appeal to this young man. 

The pause became uneasy. If Jim had betrayed some confusion--blushedstammered, protested--all would have been well; but he waited calmly. Captain Evan had only two manners--his polished, first-class maimer andhis ship manner, the manner with which he worked the Francis Cadman--andit was a mere step from one to the other. For a moment he was perilouslynear assuming his natural and most successful manner, blasting Done tothe depths for a high-stomached, adjectival swab, and commanding him outof hand to accept the proposed honours and emoluments with proper respectand gratitude, and be hanged to him. 

'Of course, ' said Mrs. Macdougal gracefully, 'only if you approve, Mr. Done. ' But the inference was that he could do nothing less with such eyesopenly beseeching him. 

'I can't agree to this, ' said Jim decisively, addressing himself to theCaptain. 

'Oh, come, you must not be shy!' murmured the lady. 

'I cannot agree to any demonstration or accept any gifts, ' persisted Jim. 'You're very kind, I believe; but I'm reserved--I detest display. '

'Still, you know, my man, brave actions like yours cannot be totallydisregarded by feeling people. '

'To be sure!' from the lady. 

'Captain Evan, ' said the young man firmly, 'ever since I came on boardthe Francis Cadman I've endeavoured to keep myself to myself. I askednothing from anybody on this ship, but simply to be left alone. That'sall I ask now. Perhaps I appear boorish to the lady, but the instincts ofa lifetime must be respected. ' Jim spoke like an old man. The lady foundhim very impressive. 

'Very well, Done, ' said the Captain, looking searchingly into Jim'sstrong young face, 'we'll say no more about the matter. ' He moved away, but the lady extended the slim gloved fingers again, lowering her eyesfor an effective unveiling. 

'I respect your feelings, ' she said, as if making great concession. 

Really, the boy was most interesting, so handsome, so unusual. She smiledupon him like a guardian angel with exquisite teeth, and the scamp turnedagain to the sea, apostrophizing in fo'c'sle idiom all interfering foolsand sentimental humbugs. 

III

Lucy Woodrow did not appear on the deck until after nightfall. Jimunderstood that she would insist upon expressing lifelong gratitude withthe usual effusion and the usual tears. He feared the ordeal, andprepared himself for it. He had seen the girl often during the voyage, sometimes accompanied by a blonde youth, whose beautiful clothes andexquisite manners afforded unfailing material for primitive satire in theforecastle, but, as a rule, quite alone, muffled in a dark, hooded cloak, watching the sea, always with her face turned yearningly back, as ifEngland and home lay straight out along the vessel's wake. She wasmiddling tall, eighteen perhaps, with a thin but supple and pleasingfigure, and a quiet, smileless face, that wanted only happiness to makeit beautiful. 

Done's misanthropy was not a quality of his nature, it was thrust uponhim, and did not prevent his being a close observer of men and things;but that he had the smallest interest in any person on board was notbelieved by one of his shipmates, since he was instinctively careful tobetray no concern. He had been struck by the girl's apparent loneliness. The attentions of the blonde youth were borne meekly, as part of thecontiguous discomforts--that much was obvious to the forecastle and allunder. It never occurred to Jim that she was probably placed likehimself, and had good reason to stand aloof. 

When he had been on board the Francis Cadman a month or so, Jim wasamazed to find that the attitude of the passengers and the crew towardshimself was almost analogous to that of the people of Chisley. Nearlyevery phase of feeling that was manifested amongst the villagerspresented itself here, and he was troubled. His first suspicion was thathis identity had become known. He had small knowledge of men, and a sickfear gripped him at the thought that all communities were alike, andwould reflect the suspicions and animosities of his little village if itwere known among them that one of his blood had done murder, and hadsuffered as a murderer. But no whisper of his story reached his ears, andhe remained perplexed. He had yet to learn that society in all its phasesis ever intensely suspicious of the man apart. His one desire had beenthat he might be lost amongst the passengers, that he might effacehimself in the crowd by keeping carefully out of every man's way andconcerning himself with the interests of none. By doing this he hoped toland in Australia unknown, unheeded, and start his life again, cut offfrom the past completely. He had only succeeded in making himselfnotorious. He was silent, reserved, but he was different to the others, and to hide amongst sheep one must be a sheep. Jim's very anxiety toescape notice made him conspicuous. His aloofness was resented as 'dirtypride, ' and, being strange to all, he became the butt of many. 

Jim Done was not of the type that rough-living men select as the victimsof their small jokes; but in the forecastle the disposition to play uponthe Hermit developed from small and secret things into open harassment, and Jim's stoicism was wholly misconstrued. He did not seem to see thingsthat would have caused others in the company to fill the ship with badlanguage and dread of death; he was impervious to rhymed jibes and broadsarcasms that were supposed to have peculiar powers of irritation ifrepeated constantly, day after day and night after night, without anyapparent feeling, or motive, or reason under the sun. 

Fire was struck one evening with a particularly good joke played uponDone in his bunk. Jim stepped down amongst the laughing men in his shirt, and selecting the one whose laugh was loudest and most hearty, he struckhim an open-handed blow that drove him like a log along the floor. Therewas little noise. A narrow 'ring' was improvised, two or three bits ofcandle were found to help the sooty ship's lantern, and the men fought asthey stood. 

Jim's opponent was Phil Ryan, a smart young sailor, six or seven yearshis senior. The fight was short but lively, and the onlookers had not oneword of comment to offer after the first round. The men gazed at Donewith a ludicrous expression of stupid reproach. He had deceived, betrayedthem; he had posed as a quiet, harmless man, with the manners of anaristocrat, when he might have been ship's champion at any moment bymerely putting up his hands. 

Phil went down five times. The fifth time he remained seated, gazingstraight before him, with one sad, meditative eye, and another thatlooked as if it could never be of any use as an eye again. 

'Get up, Ryan!' urged Phil's second. 

Phil did not move; he gave no indication of having heard. 

'Ryan, get up, man!' The second prompted him with his toe. 

'Meanin' me?' said the vanquished. 

'To be sure. Be a man! Get up and face him. '

'Divil a fear o' me!' said Ryan. 'I'm never goin' to get up agin till youput that wild man to bed. ' He pointed at Jim. 

'Are you licked, then, Ryan?'

'Licked it is. Any man is li'ble to wander into error, maybe, but there'swan thing about Phil Ryan, he's open to conviction, an' he's had all theconviction he wants this blessed night. '

'Then we've had enough?' said the second, with an uneasy eye on Jim. 

'We have that, ' continued Ryan, 'onless some other gintleman would liketo resoom th' argumint where I dthropped it. ' The fallen hero ran hisgood eye eagerly from face to face. 

But Done had already returned to his bunk, and the others seemedindisposed to put him to further trouble. No more jokes were played uponthe Hermit. The cynics and the wits developed a pronouncedly seriousvein, and it was resolved that for the future Jim Done should take hisown road, and behave in his own peculiar way, without provoking objectionfrom the company. 

'Tis a curtyis an' gintlemanly risolution, ' said Ryan, tenderlycaressing his inflated eye, 'an' a great pity it is we forgot to think ivit sooner. '

The respect the forecastle had acquired for Done was vastly increased byhis rescue of Lucy Woodrow. Conduct that had previously been ascribed tomere conceit was now accounted for by most romantic imaginings, for it isa cardinal belief amongst men of their class that the true fighter issuperior to all little weaknesses and small motives. When the girlcrossed the moonlit deck to Done's side, the sailors drifted away out ofearshot, and inquisitive eyes could not turn in Jim's direction withoutprovoking a profane reproof. 

Done's heart beat heavily as the slim, dark figure faced him, extending atrembling hand. 

'I am Lucy Woodrow, ' she said in a voice little above a whisper. 

'Yes, ' he answered simply. 

Her hand closed upon his fingers, and she was silent for a moment, evidently deeply agitated. Her head was bent, hiding her face from hiseyes; and he noticed curiously the moonlight glimmering like tiny sparksin her red-brown hair. 

'You saved my life, ' she continued; 'you risked your own. I thank youwith all my heart. '

There was something in her voice that made the simple, formal words quiteeloquent, but Jim scarcely heeded them; he was terrified lest she shouldkiss his hand, and withdrew it abruptly. 

'I can only say thank you--thank you! And one says that in gratitude fora mere politeness. But you understand, don't you? My heart is full. '

'Yes, I understand, ' he said. 'Now, please, try to say no more about it. I'm glad to have helped you; but the risk I took was very small afterall. I've almost lived in the sea. '

She raised her face and looked into his eyes. 

'It is very easy for you to speak like that, ' she said; 'but I know thatif it were not for you at this moment my poor body--' She sobbed andturned to the sea, with something of its terror and desolation in herface, and Done understood the grim idea that possessed her. 

'Thank God, it was not to be!' he said; and he felt more deeply at thatmoment than he had done for many years. 

Lucy Woodrow remained silent, leaning upon the gunwale with her face tothe sea, and he noticed presently that she was weeping, and was silenttoo. When she spoke again the new feeling in her voice startled him. 

'Why did you save me?' she asked in a passionate whisper. 

'Why?' He was full of wonder, and repeated the interrogation vaguely. 

'Yes, why--why? You had no right!'

'Is it a matter of right?' he asked, stunned. 'I saw you fall. I don'tknow why I jumped over. My next conscious action was of striking out inthe water. The act was quite involuntary. '

'You had no right!' Her voice was very low, but instinct with a griefthat was tragic. 

'Tell me what you mean. ' Unconsciously, he spoke in the soothing tone oneadopts towards an injured child. 

'I did not fall overboard. '

'Then, what happened?'

'I threw myself into the sea!'

'You--you wished to drown?'

'Yes, I wanted to die--to be rid of my wretched, empty life. '

Done was thrilled. He gazed earnestly upon the frail young figure; he hada dawning sense of the possibilities of life and emotion in others. He, too, had often thought of self-slaughter in an abstract way as the finaldefiance; but here was a mere girl for whom life held so little that shecraved for and dared death. A remembrance of his own sister came back tohim, softening his heart to pity. He touched Lucy's arm gently. 

'And when you were thanking me just now, ' he said, 'you--'

'I lied? No, no, no!' she cried, with a revulsion of feeling; 'I meantit! I am grateful--indeed I am grateful! I longed to die; but the thoughtof washing about in these terrible waters makes me ill with fear. Whenthe waves took hold of me and swept me under I wished to live--I had awild yearning for life. Many times since last night I have felt the watersucking me down and the mighty waves piling above me, and have felt againthe utter helplessness and terror. ' Shuddering, she covered her face withher hands, but continued speaking after a moment's pause. 'It washorrible to die; but I am wretched--wretched! and I shall never be braveenough to venture again--never!'

She threw the hood back from her abundant hair and stood a little apart, her hands pressed upon her eyes, struggling with her tears, alreadywondering at the sudden, overwhelming emotion that had swept her intothis betrayal. He mused in a troubled way, perplexed by hercontradictions avowal, feeling that, after all, he might have done thisgirl a great wrong. 

'Has your life been so unhappy, then?' he asked. 

'It has been too happy, ' she replied in a constrained voice. 

'Too happy?'

'If I had learned to know sorrow sooner I could have borne it better, perhaps; but until a year ago my life was all happiness. Before that Ihad those who loved me, and neither fears nor cares. My father died, andmother followed him within seven months. I was their only child; I foundmyself alone, beset with anxieties and terrors, utterly desolate. I amgoing to be Mrs. Macdougal's companion at her husband's sheep-run, deepin the Australian Bush, and to teach their children. Since coming aboardI have been too much alone; I have had too much time to think of myhopelessness, my loneliness. There were moments when I seemed to be cutoff from the world. It was in one of these moments that I--I--' She madea significant gesture. Her voice had grown faint, and her limbs trembled. 

'Stay, ' he said gently, 'I'll get you a seat. '

His concern about this stranger, his curiosity, occasioned noself-questionings, no probing into motives. For the time being hiscustomary attitude of mind--that of the pessimist sceptically weighingevery emotion--deserted him. He had been, in his small circle in Chisley, the one person with a tangible grievance against life, but here he foundanother at more bitter variance with Fate, and weaker by far for thefight. A mutual grievance is a strong bond. He was lifted out of himself. When he returned he found Lucy Woodrow much more composed. She thankedhim, and seated herself in the shadow. 

'Mr. Done, ' she said, 'I owe you an apology. You did me a great service, and I have made that an excuse for inflicting my troubles upon you. ' Jimnoted the conventional phrases with a feeling of uneasiness. 'You arevery kind, but something I have confessed I want you to forget. I lostcontrol of myself. '

'You may trust me to say nothing. '

Yes, yes; I am sure of that, ' she added hastily, 'but I want you toforget. I should not like to see it in your face if we meet again. '

'Why fear that? For what you did you have to answer to yourself alone. '

'I did not confess the truth even to Mrs. Macdougal, ' the girl went on ina low voice. 'I have been a little hysterical, and it is very good of youto bear with me. '

'I'm glad you told me; it gives me an interest, and I've never beeninterested in the fate of another human creature since I was a mere boy. '

'I did wrong in the sight of God. You have saved me from a great crime. '

'No! If life had become unbearable you were justified. When you said Ihad no right to interfere, you spoke the truth. No man has the right toinsist upon a fellow-creature continuing to live when life has becomeintolerable. ' Jim was most emphatic on this point. 

'Hush! Oh, hush! I know I said it, and I have thought it too; but thethought was born of weakness and cowardice. '

Done, who thought he understood himself clearly, and believed he had aplan of life as precise and logical as the multiplication table, waspuzzled by a nature almost wholly emotional, and she continued:

'I mean to be brave, to meet the future with hope. It was my lonelinessthat terrified me. I thought it might be always so, but perhaps realhappiness awaits me out there. I may make true friends. '

She spoke eagerly, anxiously, seeking corroboration, looking to him forencouragement with touching wistfulness, as if he had been a graybeardand an old and trusted friend, rather than a mere youth in years, and anacquaintance of only a few hours. 

He felt the appeal, and tried to respond. 

'Yes yes, ' he said. 'Then, at least, one can always fight the world. Ifwe can't be loved, we can make ourselves feared. There's a great deal inthat. '

The girl was surprised at his warmth, and a little startled by hisphilosophy. 

'I could not think that, ' she said softly. 'It must be terrible to befeared--to meet always with doubt and shrinking where you look forconfidence and affection. '

'But when the world refuses to accept us, when it uses all our fineemotions as scourges to torture us, then we must fight. '

'I--I fight the world!' The girl rose in some agitation, and raised twotremulous hands, as if in evidence of her weakness. 

The gesture staggered him a little. He had been not so much defining herposition as defending his own, and although he could see the futility ofhis principle of resentment as applied to her case, it was not in hisnature to preach the pleasing gospel of sentimental optimism. He had nowords of comfort to offer her; the gentle platitudes of encouragement andconsolation she needed, and which would have fallen so glibly from thelips of an average man, were impossible to him. He was silent. 

'One had better die, ' continued Lucy Woodrow, 'than live at enmity withone's fellow-creatures. Ah! the world is good and kind, under its seemingcruelties. People are more generous than we know, but we should meet themwith open hearts, and give a warm welcome to their affection andconfidence. There must be something evil in the nature that is shut outfrom human sympathy, human fellowship--something wanting in the heartthat is lonely, where there are scores of men and women eager to givefriendship and love. We repel those who are drawn to us by their goodnessof heart; we refuse what we most long for, and then blame others becausewe are unhappy. '

The girl was speaking the thoughts in which she had vainly soughtcomfort. She ceased abruptly, and, moving to the side, stood with hereyes turned yearningly back over the sea, oppressed by her loneliness andthe home-sickness that had not left her since the shores of England fadedfrom her sight. 

Jim felt a stir of something like resentment at his heart. He found inthe girl's words a reflection of the beliefs of his native village, andperhaps justification of them, and saw her for the moment as theembodiment of the respectability, the piety, and all the narrowness ofChisley. The thought revived his habitual reserve. He meditated anescape, already regretting that he had permitted himself to drift intothis extraordinary position. 

IV

MRs. MACDOUGAL came to Done's rescue a moment later. She saunteredlanguidly up to the young couple in her character of the interestinginvalid, careful to make a charming picture in the moonlight. 

'It is a delightful night, Mr. Done, is it not?' she said. 

Jim admitted as much, without any display of interest, and the ladycontinued:

'You know our dear girl is not strong. You must not keep her in the nightair. Why, Lucy, how foolish you are! not a single wrap, and the wind sochilly! You'll certainly have a sickness. '

'I shall not be ill, Mrs. Macdougal, ' said Lucy. 'But you are very good. '

Mrs. Macdougal's plump figure was covered with furs, and a handsome shawltrailed from her arm; but it was characteristic of Mrs. Macdougal toprofess the sweetest solicitude for other people, whilst appropriatingfor her own use and pleasure all the comfortable, pleasant, and prettythings. She was not more than thirty-three, and looked like a gipsyspoiled by refinements. Her social schooling had been confined to a longcourse of that delectable literature devoted to the amours of a strictlyhonourable aristocracy with superior milkmaids, nursery governesses, andother respectable young persons in lowly walks. Indeed, Mrs. Macdougal, having had no early training worth speaking of, had successfully modelledher manners upon those of a few favourite heroines. She fancied theexpression, 'It is, is it not?' lent an air of exquisite refinement toordinary conversation. She was naturally artificial. Artifice would havebeen her certain resort in whatever path it had pleased Fate to plant hersmall feet. Her temper was excellent so far as it went, and her mannertender and clinging. She would have preferred to have been tragic withsuch eyes and such hair, but with her plump figure it was not possible. She loved attention, particularly the attentions of men, and employedmany artifices to secure them, usually with success. She had engagedCaptain Evan on the deck during every afternoon for a whole week, fanningaway a purely hypothetical headache. Altogether Mrs. Macdougal was adelightful fool; almost everybody liked her. 

'Really, for your own sake, my dear! It will not do for two of us to beinvalids. ' Mrs. Macdougal pressed a firm white hand upon her ample bosom, and coughed a melancholy little cough, hinting at a deep-seatedcomplaint, the seriousness of which she could not long hope to disguisefrom her friends. 

Lucy retired dutifully, and her mistress composed herself in an effectiveattitude for a long chat with the young man. 

'Darling girl!' she said, gazing affectionately after the retreatingfigure. It suddenly occurred to her that she was very fond of LucyWoodrow, although up to the time of the accident she had not given her asecond thought. 

The young man did not feel called upon to make a demonstration; he merelyinclined his head and watched Lucy along the deck as a manifestation ofsome little interest in the subject. 

'If anything had happened to her that awful time!' Mrs. Macdougal's eyeswaxed to their greatest dimensions to express terror, distress, all theexcitement of the accident, and were veiled under their white lids andheavy lashes to convey some idea of the grief that would have laceratedthat gentle breast had Lucy Woodrow perished in the cruel sea. 'Ah, Mr. Done, I, too, owe you a debt of gratitude!' she continued. 'The poor girlis in my care. I should never have forgiven myself. '

'I can't accept your gratitude, ma'am, ' said Jim brusquely. 

'So gallant, so noble!' murmured the lady. She was not succeeding, andshe felt it. The boy was too ridiculous. She assumed a new pose, gazingdreamily over the side into the scudding sea. 

'If I were to fall in, Mr. Done, ' she said, after a telling pause, 'youwould save me too?' She smiled coquettishly. 

'I should not, Mrs. Macdougal; the responsibility is too great. '

She did not fully understand him, and was quite shocked, but answeredbrightly:

'Oh yes, it is, is it not?'

Jim now resented the woman's intrusion upon him with a cublikesullenness. He even longed to be avenged upon her for his uneasiness, andwould have liked to have said quite coolly, 'In the devil's name, madam, leave me to myself!' It piqued him that, after all, he had not the moralcourage to do this, so he turned a forbidding shoulder, pretendinginterest in the scud of sea. 

'Really, Mr. Done, you are foolish to hide yourself here, ' continued Mrs. Macdougal. 'It is so much pleasanter in our part, and you have thefreedom of the ship, you know. Dear, kind Captain Evan could not deny me. Do come! Our little entertainments will delight you, and everybody willbe so pleased. '

'I'm very well where I am, thanks. ' The lad's tone was not at allgracious. 

'But you are so much above these men, and there are several nice cabinpassengers--quite superior people, who are anxious to know you. '

'You're mistaken, ma'am. I'm a farm labourer going out there to earn myliving. I'm at home here with common men, and I hate superior people!'

'They are trying, are they not?' This with a gush of confidence and alittle air of being weary of the great ones of the earth. 

Mrs. Macdougal made several further efforts to induce Done to allowhimself to be lionized by the first-class passengers, who, to escape fora time the boredom of a long, dull voyage, were eager to make a pet ofthe interesting and mysterious hero; but Jim's moroseness deepened underthe attacks, and at length he escaped with only a glance of almostmaidenly coyness whenever circumstances threw him in the lady's way. 

But Lucy Woodrow was not to be denied; she had been forced into thecurrent of his life, and he would make no effective fight against her. After a few days her pale face, animated with an expression of patheticappeal, obtruded itself upon his meditations. He surprised himselfmapping out a pleasant and beautiful future for her, or dwelling upon hermisfortunes with a tender regret, and at such times took refuge from histhoughts in sudden action, shaking this folly off with fierce impatience, heaping abusive epithets upon his own head, arraigning himself as adrivelling sentimentalist; and what shame could equal that of a pulingsentimentality?

After all, this girl stood for everything he had learned to despise andhate. To her the conventions behind which society shields itself, itsshams and its bunkum, were sacred. He was convinced that had she knownthe whole truth as Chisley knew it, she must have ranged herself with hisenemies. He admitted that he had been guilty of an impertinentinterference in her private affairs when he plucked her from the sea, butdid it follow that he need worry himself further about the young woman?Certainly not! That point being settled, he could return to his dreams ofthe Promised Land, the land of liberty, only to find the fair faceobscuring his fine visions, or to be interrupted by the girl herself, whosometimes took refuge near him from the importunities of the male blonde, but more often sought him out to satisfy the new interest his morbid andpeculiar character and, it must be admitted, his cold, good looks hadcreated in her breast. 

At her approach Done felt the stir of a novel exultation in histraitorous flesh. To be sure, he had woven romances for himself, but hisheroines were always of a type totally different to Lucy Woodrow. Theywere strong, dark-eyed, imperious creatures, who espoused all his beliefsand echoed his defiance of the world. What sense of humour had as yetfound place in his nature was exercised to the full at the expense of thelackadaisical lover in life and in fiction, and now he felt there wassomething absurdly pensive in this phenomenon of his own. He satisfiedhimself that he was not in love with Lucy, but here were the markedcharacteristics of the fond and fatuous hero--the obtruding face of thebeloved, idealized and transfused with a sickly pathos; the premonitorytremblings; the recurrence of thoughts of the fair. It was all indefiance of his philosophy--an insult to his manhood. Like many veryyoung men, Done was extremely jealous of the honour of his manhood. It isthe pride of a new possession. 

Certainly Lucy Woodrow was quite honest to her nature in her attitudetowards the young stranger. She did not dissect her emotions: she did noteven question them. In becoming her hero Done had levelled all theconventional barriers, and her friendship and concern were sincere. Shehad never recurred to the incident of the rescue, feeling that thesubject was painful to him, and glad to dwell no further upon an act ofher own that of late had become quite inexplicable to her. Lucy no longerturned her eyes to the wake of the Francis Cadman: she no longer yearnedbackward to the land where she had left only a grave. Her mind wasemployed with a most serious duty: she had adopted a mission, and thatmission was the regeneration of James Done. The regeneration was not tobe so much religious as moral. The poor boy's life was disordered; he hadsuffered some great wrong; his naturally beautiful, brave, generousdisposition was soured; he had lost faith in God and in woman, and itremained for her to restore his belief, to teach him that hisfellow-creatures were in the main animated with the most excellentmotives, and to drive away all those strange, wild opinions of his, andgenerally brighten and sweeten his life and turn him out a new man. Shecould not have explained how she was going to accomplish all this, butevery maiden is at heart a missionary of some sort, and Lucy had a vagueidea that the influence of a good woman was always effective in suchcases. She never imagined that the youth would test her pretty, heartfeltopinions and her glowing faith in the rightness of things in the cold, sceptical light of his logic. 

'Women don't bother themselves much to know if things are true, ' he said. 'They're content with thinking they ought to be true. '

'Well, ' she answered, 'why not try to be true to the things that ought tobe true?'

'If I wanted to, the world wouldn't let me. '

'You cannot believe that. The really good man is always obeyed andreverenced. '

'And has always a fat billet. Yes; that kind of goodness is an excellentthing as a speculation. '

She thought him wilfully paradoxical, and it came about, when theiracquaintanceship was about three weeks old, that while Jim Done, thesmall and early philosopher, held Lucy in fine disdain as a born fool, his vital humanity discovered strange allurements in her, and herproximity fired a craving in his blood that sometimes tempted him tocrush her in his arms and bruise her lips with kisses. He grew lessbrusque with her, and showed on occasions a sort of diffident gentleness, and then Lucy was satisfied that her work was progressing. 

'You never talk of your life there in England, ' she said one night asthey stood by the mizzen-chains overlooking the sea. Since the use of theforepart of the ship had been offered him as a privilege, Donereligiously abstained from encroaching a foot beyond the steerage limit, although he had previously invaded the sacred reserve on occasion indefiance of authority. 

'No, ' he said; 'I am running away from that. '

He gave little thought to the conversation, but he was thinking much ofthe girl. She looked strangely beautiful and unreal in the dimlight--curiously visionary--and yet he felt that she radiated warmth andlife. Something stirred hotly within him: he was drawn to her as withmany hands. 

'It would interest me, ' she said--'it would interest me deeply. ' Sheturned her face up to him, and her eyes caught the light, and burned withcurious lustre in the shadowy face. 

He did not misjudge her; he knew her concern for him to be the outcome ofgratitude and the kindliness of a simple nature, but it conveyed a sweetflattery. Her hand rested upon his arm, and from its soft pressure flowedcurrents of emotion. At his heart was a savage hunger. The faint scenther hair exhaled seemed to cloud his brain and his vision. 

'I feel that it is some sorrow, some wrong done you in your early life, that makes you so bitter against the world, ' she said. 'You think ill ofall because one or two have been unkind and unjust, perhaps. Becausesomeone has been false or unfair to you at home there, you are cold andcontemptuous and distrustful of the people around you here, who are eagerto be your friends. ' Her tone was almost caressing. 

For answer he caught her up in his arms, using his strength roughly, cruelly, clasping her to his breast, and kissing her mouth twice, thrice, with a fierce rapture. A moment he held her thus, gazing into her face, and the girl's hands seemed to flutter up to his neck. Suddenly sheexperienced an awakening. On the heels of the new joy came a new terror. Setting her palms against his breast, she pushed herself from his relaxedarms. A few feet of deck, a space of cold moonlight, divided them, andthey stood thus, facing each other in silence. Lucy had an intuitiveexpectancy; the situation called for an avowal. It became awkward. Aboyish shamefacedness had followed Done's outburst of passion, and hespoke never a word. The two were victims of a painful anti-climax. A girlhas but one resource in such an emergency. The tears came, and LucyWoodrow turned and stole away, leaving Jim stunned, abashed, withunseeing eyes bent upon the sea. Done's right hand was striking at thewoodwork mechanically; his mind was in a turmoil. The blows increased inforce till blood ran from his knuckles, and then through his clenchedteeth came the bitter words. His rage against himself had a bitingvindictiveness. He cursed in whispers. 

What a fool he had been! What a fatuous, blundering ass! What had hedone? Why had he done it? Was he in love, with Lucy Woodrow? This latterquestion recurred again and again through the night, and the answer camevehemently--no, no, and no again! He had nothing in common with the girl. He recited a score of her simple, silly opinions in self-defence, and, having strenuously reasserted his freedom, turned over to sleep, andslept never a wink all night. What disturbed him most was the fear ofmeeting Lucy Woodrow again. Perhaps she would avoid him now. There was nocomfort in the thought. He knew that what had happened must alter theirrelations towards each other, but could neither admit that Lucy wasnecessary to him nor summon up a comfortable indifference. 

V

DONE caught a fleeting glimpse of Lucy Woodrow next day, Tuesday. She wascertainly avoiding him. The conviction made him bitter. How wellSchopenhauer knew these women! Lucy's squeamishness was further proof ofa narrow and commonplace mind. Had he suffered so much all his life atthe hands of people of this class, and learned to measure them so welland hate them so sincerely, only to be won over by the prettiness of asimple girl? He brooded over the matter for some hours, when it wasdriven from his mind by an important happening. Early on the followingmorning the first mate reported that land had been sighted. The newsstirred the ship as an intruding foot stirs an anthill. The peopleswarmed upon the decks, and strained their eyes in the direction pointedby Captain Evan's glass, which was in eager demand amongst the cabinpassengers all the forenoon. 

One sailor, a canny Scot, produced a battered old telescope, and did avery profitable business with the excited emigrants, whom he charged'saxpence' for their first peep at the land where fortune and glorywaited them. The telescope was quite unequal to the occasion, but itsowner had carefully drawn a mark on the lens to represent the desiredobject, and there were no complaints, although the Australian coast-linesometimes sloped at acute angles, and often appeared to be quiteperpendicular. 

Jim awoke to new sensations, and all his hopes and ambitions surged backupon him with redoubled force. A childish rapture possessed him; he hadan impulse to run and jump, to act foolishly, and to yell like a boy atplay. It required some self-restraint to keep from throwing wide his armsto the warm sun, that seemed to instil delight into his very veins. 

Meanwhile Lucy Woodrow had experienced another shock, and had beenafforded some idea of the cheerful readiness with which a censoriousworld misconstrues our amiable intentions, and imputes selfish motives tothe most disinterested missioner. She found herself quite unable to workup a proper feeling of indignation against Done. Her training impelledher to stigmatize his conduct as ungentlemanly, ungenerous, andabsolutely shocking. The words of condemnation came readily enough, butthere was no proper spirit of maidenly pride behind them. On thecontrary, deep down in her breast there glowed a sense of triumph, anabiding joy, of which she made some effort to be ashamed. Her avoidanceof the young man on the day following his misdemeanour was a pathetic bitof dissimulation, an effort on Lucy's part to deceive herself with a showof coldness and dignity. 

During the Tuesday afternoon and evening Mrs. Donald Macdougal hadassumed towards Lucy the touching airs of an injured innocent. Her coughrequired more than usual attention, and her head was extremely bad, butshe bore it all with conspicuous resignation. She could not containherself long, however, and gave utterance to her grievance in theevening. 

'I do think you ought to give me a little more of your confidence, Lucy, 'she said, with an aggrieved air. 

'In what way, Mrs. Macdougal?' asked Lucy, surprised at the words and thetone. 

'Well, my dear, I have treated you almost like a sister. I am in a manneryour guardian; and it's nice to feel one is trusted, is it not?'

'But I do trust you; and I am grateful too--most grateful. '

'It isn't that. You don't tell me things. For instance, about youngDone. '

'Really, Mrs. Macdougal, there is nothing of interest that you do notknow. 

'Oh, nonsense, Lucy! Why are you blushing, then? You have been a greatdeal together since the accident, and I permitted it because he is sobrave and handsome, and he is quite a gentleman, in spite of hisposition. But '--and here the voice grew petulant--'I thought you wouldgive me your confidence. You ought to have had more consideration for me, seeing how dull I was, and how stupid it is here, with nothing to do andnothing to talk about. '

'My meetings with Mr. Done have been merely friendly. It would not amuseyou in the least to hear our conversation repeated. ' Lucy felt that herface was scarlet. She was angry and combative. 

'Come, now, is that fair?' continued Mrs. Macdougal, patiently sad. 

'You know you are the heroine of the ship's romance. We're just achingwith curiosity about it. '

'Mrs. Macdougal, you amaze me!'

'We have scarcely talked of anything else for weeks, and I did thinkyou'd put your trust in me. '

The girl was standing with squared shoulders and erect head, a patch ofcolour on either cheek, a courageous spark in either eye, and wrath inevery gesture and in every line of her slim figure. 

'Is this true?' she said. 'Do you mean to tell me that my friendship withMr. Done has been the subject of the usual idle chatter here, day andnight?'

'What could you expect, my dear?'

'That I have been criticised and scandalized and spied upon?'

'But with the nicest feelings and the best wishes. What else was there tointerest anyone? I thought you understood. It was so romantic anddelightful, and we were all so pleased to find him taking a real interestin you. The people quite expect you to become engaged, you know. It wouldbe a most delightful ending, would it not?'

'It is a shame--a great shame!' cried Lucy. These people have no decency. I will tell you this, Mrs. Macdougal that no word of what you speak ofhas passed between Mr. Done and me. '

Mrs. Macdougal was quite grieved. 'The passengers will be disappointedshe said. 'I'm afraid they won't think it quite nice of you. You see, these things are expected to end prettily. It's customary. '

It's very absurd and very mean. '

Mrs. Macdougal shook her head ominously. The thought of the chagrin ofthe cabins, deprived of a satisfactory climax to their little romance, filled her with gravest apprehension. Her strong belief was that Done andLucy owed it as a sacred duty to the eternal verities, as set forth inpopular fiction, to marry. If they failed to conform, they gave peoplegood grounds for a grievance. 

Lucy Woodrow's spirit was up in arms. The girl who had feared nothing somuch as to find herself at variance with her fellows, and had believedthe affection and the goodwill of those about her to be the firstessentials to happiness, felt no weakness, no lack of self-reliance, nowthat she was in some measure pitted against the many. She resented theconduct of the passengers in making her the subject of theirtittle-tattle with a bitterness she had never felt before. In overlookingher actions and assuming a right to influence her in a purely personalmatter, these people were guilty of an insolence to which she would notsubmit. She thought she discovered a certain antagonism amongst thosewith whom she presently came into contact, and the opposition developedcharacter. Pride came to her aid. No doubt some peeping Tom or pryingwoman had been witness to the theft of kisses. In that case the incidentwould now be a theme of conversation in the cabins. She could not trustMrs. Macdougal to withhold from the gossips a single word of theirconversation. Lucy's determination was to show herself superior to theship's opinion; she would not have it thought she was influenced one wayor the other, and for that reason it was necessary that there should beno appearance of a quarrel between herself and Done. 

She found him sitting on a gun-carriage, and seated herself by his side, having offered her hand in token of amity. 

Jim's heart had never been so light; his cherished animosities were fledfor the time being. But conversation was difficult. He detected adifference in the girl that was not explicable to him, and imagined thatshe was still angry. He realized, too, that she was at a disadvantage, because of the service he had rendered her, and presently blurtedsomething like an apology. 

'I suppose I oughtn't to have done that the other night?' he said. 

'No, ' she murmured. Her head was bowed, and her foot tapped tremulouslyon the deck. 

'It's the sort of thing the respectables pretend to be shocked at, isn'tit? Well, I regretted it immediately. ' His voice had grown softer. 'Idid, upon my word!'

'Please don't speak of it, ' she pleaded. In truth, the apology troubledher deeply where the offence had left no pain. She wished it had neverbeen spoken The thought of it had power to provoke tears long after. 

The Francis Cadman sailed majestically through the Heads into PortPhillip on a beautiful Sunday morning in November, when the beneficentspring was merging into a fiery Southern summer. The sun blazed withtropic splendour in a sky of unspotted sapphire; the blue, translucentwaters danced in unison with the hearts on deck, rippling into gold andsilver and the sparkle of a myriad diamonds. Eager eyes saw the symbolsof wealth in all things, and a fever of exultation and expectancy burnedin the ship. Done was like a man drunken. It was as if sunshine were astrange, new thing to him, as if he had never breathed deeply and trulythe good air of God till now. He had big affectionate impulses; he feltthat the sailors were fine fellows, his shipmates cheerful souls. Hewould have liked to shake hands all round and assure them of hisfriendship, but sailors and passengers were full of their own affairs, and took no notice of him. For two days past there had been muchwhispering amongst the crew and the men under contract to work the shipthat had been left crewless in Australian waters. Done detected anundercurrent of excitement, and noticed many guarded consultations. Thatthere was some conspiracy afloat he was convinced, but the plotting wasconducted in so cheerful--even hilarious--a spirit that he suspected noevil. 

The ship was anchored off Queenscliff to bide the coming of the noisy, grimy, paddle-tug engaged to tow her wearily into Hobson's Bay, and up toher berth by the primitive river wharf. And now speculation and curiositywere awakened in the cabins by the peculiar conduct of Captain Evan instationing armed sailors along the ship, larboard and starboard. 

Shortly after, Done, who was watching developments with keen interest, saw a Scandinavian seaman named Jorgensen steal over the side, and slipinto the sea like a porpoise. Jorgensen struck out for the shore, swimming under water for the most part, till he had covered a distance ofabout two hundred yards from the ship. Others, including the armedsailors, had witnessed Jorgensen's escape, but no one spoke. 

Nearly an hour passed, and then Jim saw that two boats were comingtowards them from a distant point. At the sight of these there was a rushof sailors. No orders had been given, but a score of men busiedthemselves lowering the Francis Cadman's boats, laughing at their workand joking uproariously. Others came singing and yelling from theforecastle and up through the hatchways, with bundles which they piled onthe deck. All order was abolished; the jubilant cries of the sailors wereechoed back from the shores over the placid sea. 

Captain Evan stood upon the deck, pale with passion, gesticulatingfuriously, shouting orders that no one heard. Every time he opened hislips the sailors responded with louder yells of cheerful derision. Evanrushed at one of the armed sailors, cursing heroically. 

'Fire on them! Fire, I tell you!' he cried. 

The man paid not the slightest heed, and Captain Evan, snatching the gunfrom his hands, levelled it at the boatswain. 

'Down on your knees, you mutinous dog!' he thundered. 

The boatswain grinned amiably, and thrust his finger into the barrel ofthe piece. 

'By the holy, we've spiked your gun, Captain!' he said. 

Evan pulled the trigger. The cap snapped and nothing more, and now, worked into an ungovernable passion, he clubbed his gun, and bringing thestock down upon the boatswain's head, stretched him upon the deck with acracked skull. Swinging his weapon, the Captain dashed at the men, but adozen pair of hands were on him, and he was dragged down. Bently, thefirst mate, who went to his assistance, was served similarly. In a fewmoments they lay helpless, trussed like turkeys ready for the roasting. The cabin passengers gathered about, white-faced, full of terror, thinking of piracy and all its attendant horrors. Some of the women werescreaming. The sailors lifted Evan and Bently; and Done, who was watchingthe turn of events, greatly agitated, was startled into a new train ofthought by a woman who had thrown herself at his feet, clinging to hisknees, crying:

'Help him! help him! They are going to do murder!'

It was Mrs. Macdougal. Done started forward, and half a dozen sailorsmoved to intercept him. 

'You don't mean mischief?' he said. 

'Devil a bit!' replied a big Irishman. 'We'll stow them out of harm's waytill we're safe on shore, an' never a mischief will be done to annywon atall. Come along, Captain darlin', ' he added. 'Ye'll rist aisier in yercabin. We're goin' diggin' fer the gould, an' not all the fiends out ivConnaught could shtop us. '

Captain and mate were bestowed under lock and key, and, like a band ofschoolboys at breaking-up, the men continued their mutinous work. Onesection had started a quaint chanty; the rest caught it up presently, andwith the rhythm of the song came something like order among themutineers. Singing lustily, they piled their baggage into the boats, andDone, who had recovered the feeling of annoyance his impulsiveinterference had occasioned him, watched them, rejoicing in sympathy. Hehad brought no particular respect for law and order from the Old Land, and this happy revolt delighted him. He would have loved to join themerry adventurers in their defiance of authority. It was grand! Lustilyhe sang the chanty, and as the boats, loaded down with sailors and theirtraps, and towing astern in the warm sea strings of deserters for whomthere was no room aboard, moved off, he leaned over the bulwarks wavinghis hat, and shouted with all the power of his lungs:

'Good luck to you, boys!'

They answered with a cheer, forgetting all differences in their presentrobust animal spirits. Ryan sprang up in one of the boats. 

'Come wid us, man; why don't you?' he cried. 

Jim had a strong impulse to follow, but a small hand seized his. 

'No, no--please, no!' whispered Lucy at his side. 

He shook his head at the men. After all, there was no occasion for him torun away; he was bound to no man. 

The sailors had taken the key of the Captain's cabin with them, and bythe time Evan and the mate were liberated the crew of the Francis Cadmanand all the sailors under contract to the distracted owners of vesselsriding idle and helpless on Corio Bay and Hobson's Bay had disappearedamongst the ti-tree fringing the shore, leaving the ship's boats afloat. Five sailors remained aboard--one, the boatswain, was temporarilydisabled; two of the others were sick and bedridden. Captain Evan stoodon the main hatchway and reviewed the situation, and in his manner ofexpressing himself there remained no trace whatever of the suave autocratof the cabins. In less than an hour his voyage had been converted into anutter and ignominious failure. 

The journey from the Heads to the river mouth in the wake of the tug-boatPlatypus, slow and toil some, set Jim in an itch of impatience. He waslonging to feel land under his feet once more, and was leaning over theside, his awkwardly-packed canvas bag of belongings at his feet, watchingthe line of Liardit Beach, with its few dingy buildings standing backfrom the sea, apprehensive lest this, after all, should prove to beMelbourne, his brave city of refuge, when Lucy Woodrow approached him tosay farewell. 

'They tell me we are very near our journey's end, ' she said. 'I wish toask you a favour before you go. '

She looked strong and confident, and he was grateful there were to be notears, having anticipated something like a scene. She had prepared toland, too, and wore a dark dress he had not seen before, and a quaintlittle hat that became her well. He thought her beautiful. The idea ofparting with her hurt now, and his pulse stirred impatiently. Theadmiration in his eyes caused a flush to relieve the pale olive of hercheeks. 

'I'll do anything you ask, ' he said, 'It is a very little thing. This is Mrs. Macdougal's address. I want youto promise to write to me. '

'I will. '

'Your life in this new land will be active and adventurous, I'm sure, butsome day, in one month, or two, or perhaps a year, you will find time tosend me a letter to say how you are, and how the strange country pleasesyou?'

'You are the only human creature I have met in friendship, ' he said, betrayed into warmth by her unaffected concern. 'I can never forget you, Lucy. ' He used her Christian name for the first time. 

'Thank you, James, ' she answered simply. 

'No, no--Jim! Jim!' He had been called James only by the parson and themagistrates of Chisley, and he despised the unctuousness that seemed tocling to the name. 

'Thank you, Jim, ' she said, smiling. 'You see, ' she continued gravely, 'what you have done for me makes it impossible that I can ever becareless about your welfare. I shall always want to know where you are, and if you are well and happy. '

'I'm not used to this sort of thing, ' he stammered. 

I bear it badly. ' And, indeed, he had a most amazing disposition to lapseinto tears The disposition was never near to mastering him, but there itwas. 

She saw his agitation, and it warmed the mothering feeling which, thoughstill a child in heart and years his junior, she had long felt for thebig, strong, friendless youngster. 

'You will take this, won't you? I intend it as a little keepsake. '

She proffered a small gold locket somewhat shyly, and blushed deeply whenhe opened it and discovered a tiny miniature of herself. He was pleasedto have it, and told her so in a graceless way. 

'Do you mean to go ashore at once?' she asked presently. 

'Yes; just as soon as I can. '

'Mrs. Macdougal is ready, and I suppose we leave the ship immediately. '

He took her small hand in his. 'Good-bye, ' he said. He longed to hold herin his arms again. 

'Good-bye, ' she whispered. 

'I hope you'll find things easy for you out there, and that you will behappy. '

'I think I shall. I am going to try hard for happiness--to be as happy asI once was. Say you will try too. '

He looked at the wide sweep of blue sky, and the new land swathed in agolden atmosphere of glorious sunshine and more glorious hopes, and didnot smile at her idea of happiness recoverable by distraint. 

Mrs. Macdougal bustled up. She had brought dresses from Europe with theobject of prostrating what little feminine society there was in theneighbourhood of Boobyalla, and wore one of them now. If her colour wasnot all natural, it was a very excellent imitation. She looked charming. 

'Sure you are quite ready, my dear?' she said. 'Macdougal will bewaiting. Macdougal of Boobyalla, you know. ' This to Jim: 'And he's a mostimpatient wretch. Saying au revoir?' she queried archly, after a pause. 

'I was bidding Mr. Done good-bye, ' said Lucy. 

'It is very sad, parting with old friends, ' murmured Mrs. Macdougal, withveiled eyes. 

'Sadder parting with new ones, ' replied Jim, glancing towards Lucy. 

'Oh yes, it is, is it not? But you will come and visit us some time atBoobyalla. We are shipmates, and that's a sort of relationship inAustralia. '

Done thanked her, but equivocated. He could not see himself as the guestof the great Donald Macdougal, J. P. , of Boobyalla. The lady experienced aglow of impatience. Only a hobbledehoy could prefer Lucy Woodrow'simmature charms to the ripe perfections of a woman of her years. 

VI

JIM was the first off the Francis Cadman on the Monday afternoon when shedrew alongside the rough Yarra wharf just under Bateman's Hill, and whenhe set his foot on Australian soil he planted one tendril of his heartthere. He let fall his bag, and looked about him. The arrival of the shiphad occasioned no interest that he could discover. Perhaps the news wasnot yet common property. A dusty road along the banks of the river on hisright led to the town; there were a few scattered houses of dark stoneand primitive design on the hill before him, beside which the lawlessgum-trees flourished. The day was intensely hot; a wind that might havebreathed o'er the infernal regions whipped up clouds of dust, and spunthem into fantastic shapes, filling eyes and lungs, but no discomfortcould dull the joy he felt on coming into his kingdom. He had turned hisback to the wind to wait the passing of a sirocco of sand, when adouble-seated American waggon, drawn by two steaming horses, flashed onhim out of the storm, driving him headlong to the ground, and coming to astandstill within a few feet. The bag had served as a buffer, and thedeeply-ploughed roadway made a soft bed, so that no bones were broken;but Done arose with all his fighting instincts aflame, and turned uponthe driver. 

'You murderous ruffian!' he cried. 'I've a mind to break--'

He stopped short, one foot upon the step, one hand grasping the ironworkof the seat, staring at the driver, suddenly disarmed. The man on theseat was a grizzled, malformed creature of about fifty, with adeeply-wrinkled small face, burnt a dark tan, and almost covered with atangle of short, crisp, iron-gray whiskers. The suggestion of arough-haired terrier was so strong that Done expected the brute to barkat him. The small eyes in the protecting shade of tufted brows, likeminiature overhanging horns, were keen and shrewd This extraordinary headwas supported by a small and shapeless body, the legs of which were muchtoo long and extremely thin, as were the arms also; but the wrists andhands, strained to hold the restive horses, were hard, corded, and hairy, suggesting a gorilla-like vitality in the curious man. Done let himselfdown to the roadway again. One could not fight with so miserable acripple. 

'You drive like a madman, mister, ' he said in a milder tone. 

'Maybe yer off the ship just now?' said the ape like driver, quiteignoring Done's grievance and his words. 'So bein', you can tell we ifthere's a Mistress Macdougal aboard her. '

The man kept his eyes on his horses; his heels were firmly set on thefootboard. It. Needed all the strength of his iron wrists to restrain thebeasts--tall, lean bays, with a certain piratical rakishness about them, long-maned and long-tailed, effective weapons against the voracious fliesthat swarmed over their rumps. Their powerful frames showed throughclean, healthy hides, and their blood in the proud carriage of theirheads and their hot impatience under restraint. A half-caste aboriginalboy, dressed apparently in his master's old clothes--and the master's ownclothes were none too new--sprawled on the bottom of the vehicle, andgrinned at Done in a friendly way over the tailboard. Jim resented thecripple's contempt for his wrongs, and ignored the question put to him. He was taking up his belongings again, when Mrs. Macdougal herselffluttered by. 

'Why, Mack!' she cried. 

The driver's eyes left his horses' ears for a moment, and rested on thelady. They displayed no particular feeling. 

'Hello, missus!' he said casually, adding, after a pause: 'Best jump up. Nags a bit fresh. '

Jim walked on. So this was Donald Macdougal, J. P. , of Boobyalla. Theyoung man's annoyance fell from him. He thought of the devoted husband'sgreeting after their long parting, and laughed aloud. Macdougal ofBoobyalla was no demonstrative lover. A few minutes later the waggondashed past Done; the bays were being driven at a gallop, and the vehiclefairly jumped on the broken road. The young man caught a glimpse of Lucyclinging desperately to her seat, and then waggon and horses were buriedin a dust-cloud of their own making, which was whirled away at a terrificpace, and spun out of his view round a distant corner. 

Done plodded along with his bag upon his shoulder. He had no definiteplan of action. He thought now of looking about him for a day or twobefore leaving for the fields. No doubt it would be an easy matter to getaccommodation at some hotel or lodging-house. After that he would movewith the throng, and his future actions would depend upon such knowledgeas he might be able to gather from the experienced people with whom hecame in contact. He presently had ample proof that the driving ofMacdougal of Boobyalla was nothing extraordinary here. Three horsemenpassed him at a racing speed, and with much shouting and cracking ofwhips, and a wild, bewhiskered Bushman, driving two horses in a light, giglike vehicle, charged through the dust at a pace implying somebusiness of life or death; but a little further on Jim came upon thesteaming pair tethered to a post outside a rough structure labelled the'Miner's Rest, ' and at the bar stood the driver toying lazily with anobbler of brandy. He passed groups of men lounging against the buildingand sitting in the street, all smoking, none showing particular concernabout anything. Their lethargy surprised him. He had expected to find thetown mad with excitement, to behold here the gold fever blazing withoutrestraint; but wherever there was a post to lean against a man wasleaning against it, exactly as if there were nothing doing, and the worldhad not just run demented over the richness of their Victorian fields. Itremained for him to learn that this very excitement provoked acorresponding lassitude, and that when the Australian diggers were notindulging in the extreme of frenzied exertion or boisterous recreationtheir inertia surpassed that of their own koala, the native sloth. 

Ere he reached the busier part of the town, Jim made the disconcertingdiscovery that he was a marked man, an object of public contumely. He hadheard calls of derision at various points along the road, and wasconvinced now that for some reason or another he was exciting thelaughter and badinage of the men. This was a painful shock to Done'shappiness. The situation recalled Chisley, and something of the oldIshmael stirred within him. He set his teeth and hurried on. 'Pea-souper!' was the epithet most in favour amongst his tormentors. Why'Pea-souper!' Jim could not understand. He could see no aptness in itsapplication to him, and yet it was certainly a term of mockery. 'Pea-souper!' The taunt had an ignominious flavour. It hurt because itrecalled so much of what he had travelled halfway round the world toescape. 

He plunged into Elizabeth Street as if seeking cover. Here the crowd wasthick, and one man might pass unheeded. Elizabeth Street was the busiestthoroughfare of Melbourne--a miserable, unformed street, the buildings ofwhich were perched on either side of a gully. Pedestrians who were notsober ran serious risks of falling from the footpaths into the roadwaybelow, a rather serious fall in places. Plunged is the right word; theroad was churned into a dust-pit, on the footpath the dust layankle-deep, and people on foot had the appearance of wading throughshallow water. Occasional gusts of the hot north wind seemed to lift theStreet like a blanket, and shake its yellow, insinuating dust in thefaces of the people. 

Here Done found the characteristic lassitude of the unemployed digger andthe surging life of a town suddenly thronged with the adventurous men ofthe earth blended in a strange medley. Men were lounging everywhere, talking and smoking, or merely sunk in a state of abstraction. The talkwas all of digging. The miners were exchanging news, rumour and opinions, and lying about their past takings, or the fabulous patches they had justmissed--lying patiently and pertinaciously. Many faces were marked anddiscoloured from recent debauches. Lowly inebriates slept peacefully inthe dust, one with his head affectionately pillowed on a dog that snarledand snapped at anyone coming within three feet of its master. 

There was little variety in the dress worn. Even the man who had not beentwo miles from Melbourne affected the manner of the digger, and donnedhis uniform. Cabbage-tree hats or billycocks were on every head, and forthe rest a gray or blue jumper tucked into Clay-stained trousers andWellington boots satisfied the majority. A few swells and 'flash' diggersexhibited a lively fancy in puggaries and silk sashes and velvetcorduroys and natty patent-leather leggings, but anything morepretentious was received with unmistakable manifestations of populardisfavour. A large bullock-team hauling a waggon load of bales blunderedslowly along the road, the weary cattle swinging from side to side underthe lash of the bullocky, who yelled hoarse profanity with the volubilityof an auctioneer and the vocabulary of a Yankee skipper unchecked byauthority. A little further on another team, drawn up before a hotel, laysprawling, half buried, the patient bullocks twisted into painful anglesby reason of their yokes, quietly chewing the cud. Riders and driversconformed to no rule of the road, and maintained a headlong pace implyinga great contempt for horseflesh, and no more respect for their own limbsthan for the neck of the merest stranger. From the bars, which werefrequent, came a babel of laughter and shouting. To the 'Pea-souper'every thing was new and wonderful. 

A squalid aboriginal swathed in an old tablecloth fresh from somebreakfast started from a corner, pointing a long, dirty finger at Done, and grinning a wide grin. 

'Yah! dam new chum!' he said. Then he laughed as only an Australian blackcan, with a glitter of seemingly endless white teeth, and a strident roarthat might have been heard a mile off. 

'New chum!' This appellation had been thrown at Done a dozen times. 

'Pea-souper!' trumpeted a horseman through his hands. There weresarcastic references to 'limejuice, ' and Jim was asked by severalstrangers, with a show of much concern, if his mother knew he was out. 'Does your mother know you're out?' was then a new and popular streetgag, and the query implied a childlike incapability of taking care ofhimself on the part of the person addressed, and was generally acceptedas a choice piece of humour. Jim heard so many references to the 'newchum's bundle' that he was presently satisfied he owed all theseunpleasant little attentions to the burden he carried, and he determinedto rid himself of it at the first opportunity. Turning into BourkeStreet, he eventually found a hotel where there was comparative peace. Entering, he called for a drink. 

'New chum?' queried the barman, after serving him. 

'I suppose I am, ' replied Jim. 'Look here, would you mind telling me whatin the devil's name a new chum is?'

'A new chum is a man fresh from home. '

'From England?'

'Scotland, Ireland, anywhere else, if he's green and inexperienced. Miners from the Californian fields don't rank as new chums. '

'And how am I known as a new chum?'

The barman grinned. 'That'll tell on you all over the place, ' he said, indicating the bag. 'That's a true new chum's bundle. No Australian wouldexpatriate himself by carrying his goods in that fashion. He makes themup in a roll, straps them, and carries them in a sling on his back. Hisbundle is then a swag. The swag is the Australian's national badge. '

'Well, I'm hanged if that isn't a little thing to make a row about. Doyou reckon it shameful to be a new chum, then?'

'Not exactly. No offence is intended; the men jeer out of mere harmlessdevilment. The new churn's got so much to learn here, he can't helplooking a born fool as a general thing. '

'And pea-souper and lime-juicer?'

'They've been hazing you properly, mate. Pea-soupers and lime-juicers arestrangers off shipboard. They'd never have spotted you, though, withoutthe bundle. There's no raw-meat tint about you; you're tanned like anative. Buy a blue jumper and get a cabbage-tree up in place of that cap, and you'd pass muster as a Sydney-sider born and bred. '

'A cabbage-tree?'

'Hat--straw. Get a second-hand one if you can: they're more appreciated. Usually a man likes to colour his own hat as he colours his own pipe; butyou're eager to meet the Australian prejudice against newness. Anotherbit of advice, ' continued the bar-man, who was glad of the chance to turnhis vast antipodean experience to some account. 'If you happen to beanybody in particular, as you love your peace of mind and your bodilycomfort, don't speak of it. '

'Luckily, I'm nobody in particular. '

'That's all right. I was idiot enough to let it be known that I wasafflicted with an aristocratic name, and I had to hold this job againstbanter enough to drive a cow daft. Now my name's Smith. '

'Are you a new chum, then?'

'Lord no! I've been out seven weeks. '

It was Jim's turn to laugh. 'Well, ' he said, 'if a man can qualify as arepresentative Australian in seven weeks, I'm not going to complain. '

The barman provided much more valuable information. Bed and board couldnot be had at that establishment for love or money, and, furthermore, itwas unlikely Jim would be able to find lodgings anywhere in Melbourne. 

'I suppose you can take care of yourself--you look a likely man, ' hesaid. 'Well, the nights are so warm no man needs a dwelling. When you'retired of knocking round to-night, take your traps down by the river, rollyourself in your blanket in the lee of a gum-tree, and sleep there. Didit myself for a week, and only had to put up one fight all the time. Sleeping out's no hardship here. Meanwhile, in exchange for the latestnews from down under, I'll dump your swag, and keep an eye on her tillyou call again. '

The young fellow's ready friendship was most grateful to Done, and heremained in the bar till a run of business rendered further conversationimpossible, picking up useful knowledge by the way, and presentlydiscovering the barman to be a gentleman with an expensive polish, whosemost earnest desire was to hide his gentility and disguise the contingentgloss under a brave assumption of the manners and speech peculiar to thepeople of the rough young democracy. 

Tea that evening was the most expensive meal Jim Done had ever eaten, andfar from being the best; but his appetite was equal to anything, and thefare on the Francis Cadman had not been so dainty as to give him anyepicurean prejudices. It was night when Jim came from the primitiverestaurant, darkness having come down with a suddenness surprising to anew chum accustomed to long twilights. Jim had taken tea in a tent nearPaddy's Market. Here scores of tents of all sorts and sizes were huddledtogether. All cooking was done out of doors. Fires were everywhere, theirglow, reflected brightly on the canvas of the 'flies, ' giving a fantasticbrilliance to the scene. Life stirred around him, jubilant, bounteous, pulsing life. The levity of the people was without limit. Theirchildishness astonished Done, but he lived to find this a characteristicof the diggers in all parts; even the roughest men in the roughest campsexhibited a schoolboy's love of horseplay and a great capacity forprimitive happiness. It was as if the people, having thrown off the moregalling restraints of civilization and order, felt their limbs andspirits free for the first time, and exercised both with the freedom and, the austere critic may say, the foolishness of mountain goats. 

Jim's whole being was infected with the spirit of the place, his blooddanced. He had discarded his cap for a well-seasoned cabbage-tree, andwore a blue jumper under his coat, and now passed unheeded, exceptingwhen a jovial digger, flown with brandy and success, roared a 'Good luck, mate!' or commanded him in to drink. Social restraints were gone;equality ruled the road; all men were brothers, and friendships of tenminutes' standing were as sacred as the ties of kinship. 

The night was young, but already turbulent. The hot wind had passed, andthe air was sweet and free from dust. As he moved along the street, Done's ear caught the squeak and the twang of fiddle and banjo comingthrough the confusion of voices. Step-dancing and singing were the mostpopular delights. The ability to sing a comic song badly was passportenough in digger society. The streets were lit with kerosene. Here andthere a slush lamp or a torch blazed before an establishment seekingnotoriety, shedding a note of lurid colour upon the faces of the beardedmen thronging the footpath. If there were laws controlling all theseelements, Jim failed to discover a sign of them; neither did he see signof the flagrant lawlessness he had been led to expect. The absence ofarms surprised him most of all. He looked to find knives and revolvers inevery belt, but saw no display of weapons, and noting the bluff, lumbering kindliness animating the crowd, he thought of his own small butcarefully selected arsenal with some contempt. 

Jim Done walked about the streets for two hours, interested ineverything, disappointed with nothing. All this satisfied the cravingthat had driven him from home. Here he was one of the people, a manamongst men, accepted at his face and physical value by fellow-creatureswho respected most the fearless eye and the strong arm. Moreover, therewere no signs of those hated forces, respectability, piety, conventionality, all of which had seemed to range themselvesautomatically on the side of his enemies. 

He came to a large wooden hall with a row of lamps blazing along itsfront and a foreign sign over the door. From within floated strains ofmusic and the beating of many feet. Jim entered. The place was crowdedwith hairy diggers--mostly successful, he learned presently. Theatmosphere was heavy with smoke. A wild dance was going on, and severalsets held the floor. Half a dozen of the most fortunate of the men hadfemale partners, the others danced 'bucks, ' man and man, and the poundingof their heavy boots and the yells of laughter provoked by their clumsymovements quite drowned the music of the feeble orchestra, crowded awayin the far corner of the room. Along one end ran an unplaned woodencounter, where two or three barmen were kept busy serving gin, brandy, and rum to the parched dancers. When the dance was ended there was a rushfor the bar, and Jim found now that dancing did not go by favour, thehands of the fair being bestowed upon the highest bidders. One tall, lack-haired, laughing girl, with the figure and face of a Bacchante, sprang upon a chair, shaking aloft a yellow scarf, and was auctioned forthe next dance amidst a storm of bidding and a hurricane of merriment. She was borne down the room in the arms of the triumphant digger, who hadpaid thirty 'weights' for his bouncing partner--six pounds for tenminutes' dancing, and the proud purchaser couldn't dance a step!

Jim watched the women curiously; they were a new type to him--young, virile, red-lipped, flushed with wine, shameless in the face of thecrowd, their faces kindled with laughter. They led the men in their wildrevel--pagans absolute. One in particular attracted Done; she was tall, dark-eyed, and black-haired. This, in conjunction with the boldcombination of red and black in her costume, gave him the belief that shewas Spanish. There was about her some suggestion of character andstrength that pleased him. She romped like a child; her merriment wasclean and unforced. He saw nothing of the corruption that Vice issupposed to stamp upon the faces of her votaries. These women, despitethe feeble kerosene lights, the tobacco-smoke, and the bare, ugly walls, might have been participants in the revels of Dionysus. 

Several times, passing him in the dance, the eyes of the Spaniard flashedinto his own, and she smiled. When the dance was ended she confrontedhim. 

'Sure, you're goin' to dance wid me, ain't ye now?' she said in the mostmellifluous brogue. 

Done shook his head and laughed with diffidence. 

'No, thanks, ' he said. 'I'm not a rich digger. Only a poor new chum, ' headded, hoping to carry conviction. 

'Straight from the Ould Country, is it?' asked the girl eagerly. 'Have yethe word of ould Ireland, an' how does she stand? The dance is yours forthe shmallest token. '

'I'm sorry I don't know Ireland, ' said Jim. 

'Then I'll give you the dance fer natural love an' affection. '

Done protested that he could not dance, but the laughing girl dragged himinto the thick of it. 

'Come along!' she cried, dropping the brogue. 'I'm a patriot, and I loveyou for the green in your eye. '

Jim danced. He was literally forced into it, and presently found himselfgetting along quite decently in a barbaric sort of polka. When the musicceased he followed the custom of the country, and shouted for hispartner. She drank sherry. He left the hall a few minutes later, with thegirl's kiss, lightly given, tingling on his lips, and walked awayquickly, treading on air. Presently he began to question himself. Whythis growing exuberance? Was it drink? Never before had he felt itsinfluence. He pulled himself together. He was crowding his sensation: itwas time to cry a halt. 

The young man returned to the hotel where he had left his belongings. Thelong bar was crowded with men. The hotel was little more than a largetent with a pretentious wooden front. It was illumined by a single lampsuspended above the counter. This lamp lit up the faces of the mengathered under it, but beyond the countenances of the customers fadedinto a mist of tobacco-smoke, deepening into darkness in the corners. 

Done leant against the bar, watching the scene, still curious, content towait till the busy barman had leisure to attend to him. After a fewmoments he found himself an object of most marked interest to a tall, thin digger, perched on an up-ended barrel, drinking porter. The man waswatching him narrowly, and at length, as if to leave no doubt of hisattentions, he stepped down, and, standing squarely in front of Done, looked him closely in the face. Jim returned the stare, finding curiositydeepen into surprise, and surprise into conviction, in the countenanceconfronting him. 

'Solo!' cried the man. 'Solo, by all that's holy!' As he spoke he sprangbetween Jim and the door way, as if to cut off escape. 'Bail up!' hesaid; 'we've got you tight this trip. '

'You're making a mistake, I think, mate, ' said Jim. 'Anyhow, my name isnot Solo. '

'That's a bluff! I know you too damn well! Boys, ' continued the miner, addressing the crowd, 'it's Solo. I'll wager my soul on it. Get at him!There's five hundred cold guineas on his head!'

'I tell you you're wrong!' blurted Done. 

The tall man waited for no further argument, but jumped at Done, and theyclosed. There was a short struggle, and Jim put his opponent down with anold Cousin-Jack trick that he had often tried on better men. 

'The man's drunk!' said Jim, as the crowd narrowed in on him. He set hisback against the counter, prepared to make a good fight. 

A raw-boned, brown-faced native of about twenty-six grappled with him, butonly as a pretence, as Done speedily found. 

'Bolt, or you're a done man!' whispered the Australian at his ear. 'WhenI smash the lamp, over the counter and under the tent, and skedaddle foryour life!'

This young fellow allowed himself to be thrown off, and backed into thecrowd. The long man, who had recovered his wind, turned to address themen. 

'It's Solo, mates, ' he said, 'and there's five hundred waiting for us ifwe take him. '

The men moved forward in a body, but just then a pewter crashed into thelamp, and there was darkness. Acting on his new friend's advice, Donecleared the counter at a bound, and dived under the canvas. Pickinghimself up, he ran into the darkness. He heard footsteps following him, and increased his pace, stumbling on the strange ground. But a voiceassured him. 

'Keep to the right! Make for cover!' panted his pursuer. 

VII

FINDING only one man following, Jim Done ceased running on reaching aclump of trees, and presently he was joined by the young Australian whohad aided him. 

'My colonial, you sprint like an emu!' gasped the latter. 'All the same, that was a mad sort o' thing to do. '

'What was?'

'Why, showin' yourself 'bout here with the cheek of a dashedcommissioner, while there's five hundred on your head, hot or cold, liveor dead, an' every trooper in the country whim' to give his long ears topot you. '

'But you are quite wrong; I'm not this Solo. '

'Not Solo! That won't wash. Wasn't I there with Long Aleck when you gotaway with the gold Hoban hid in our nosebag other side o' Geelong?'

'You're on the wrong scent. My name is Done. I'm a new chum, landed onlythis morning off the Francis Cadman. '

'Here, let's look you over again. ' The stranger struck a match, and, shielding it with his hands, examined Jim's face. 'Dunno, ' he said, 'butp'r'aps you are a bit young. Still, rig a beard around that chiv ofyours, and it's Solo to the life. '

'If it's worth while, walk down to the ship with me, and I'll satisfy youin two minutes. '

Your word's good enough for me. Solo or no, taint my deal. '

'Well, you've gone to some trouble to help me out of a hole, and I'mobliged. ' Done offered his hand, and the other shook it heartily. 'Youmight tell me who and what this Solo is, ' continued Jim. 

'Smartest, coolest, most darin' gold-thief in Australia. Outlawed forrobbery under arms, wanted by all the police 'tween here and the Murray, and his head's worth five hundred to you 'r me, 'r any yob that can robhim of it. He works alone. What his right name is no one knows. '

'That's all a bright look-out for me!' laughed Jim. 'But if he's such aninfernal scoundrel, and he's robbed you among the rest, why come to hisrescue?'

''Pon my soul, I dunno I' replied the Australian, scratching his headdubiously, ''less it's 'cause of his pluck 'n' the dashed pleasant, gentlemanly way he has o' doin' things. By the way, what 're you out for?Goin' diggin'? Got a mate? Where 're you makin'?'

'I'm going digging. I have no mate. I can't say what field I'm making fortill I know more about them. '

'Look here, take in my points. ' The native struck another match, and heldit that Done might make an inventory of his perfections. 'Five foot tenhigh, strong as a horse, sound in wind and limb, know the country, knowthe game, been on three fields, want a mate. Name's Micah WentworthBurton--Mike for short. Got all traps, pans, shovels, picks, cradle, tub, windlass, barrow. Long Aleck--chap that attacked you--was my mate; he'sturning teamster. Take me on, an' here's my hand. We're made for a pair. '

Burton stopped for lack of wind. He jerked his words with a slight nasalintonation, and his manner and his action indicated a characteristicimpetuosity. Done was astounded at his own seeming good fortune and theother's rash confidence. 

'Come, ' he said doubtingly, 'do you mean to say you'll go intopartnership in this desperate way with a man you don't know, but whom yoususpect of being a notorious rogue, and give him all the advantages ofyour property and your knowledge?'

'Will I? My oath! Is it a deal? All that about Solo is off. I might 'a'known he had too much horse-sense to mooch about Melbourne disguised onlyin a daily shave. As for the rest, blast it! we're men. I take you onchance, you take me on spec. We can look after ourselves, I s'pose. Well, what say?'

'I couldn't ask for anything better. The only objection to thearrangement is that I take all and give nothing. '

'Done, then! But don't you run away with a wrong idea. There 're heaps o'decent men an' good miners in Melbourne who'd jump at a mate of yourstamp. Come along to my tent up Canvas Town to-night. There's a sparebunk. Aleck started on a jamboree that won't mature for a week. We cantalk things into order. '

Jim Done awoke next morning with a fear in his heart that he had made afool of himself. His mate was sitting just without the tent, grillingchops on a piece of hoop-iron twisted into a grid. Jim's head felt new tohim, and ached badly; old doubts, old prejudices, possessed him. Whyshould all the regard this stranger expressed have developed in anacquaintanceship of minutes? Why should Burton be so eager to bestowbenefits upon him? That was not the customary way of men. He got up, dressed and washed, and took breakfast with his mate, and the sullensuspicion lingered; but Mike talked volubly, questioning nothing, and asthe morning wore on his obvious sincerity won on Done, and ere theyturned their backs upon Melbourne the Australian's spontaneous, carelessconfidence in him and his open-hearted cordiality planted in Done theseeds of one of those strong, lasting friendships which are never halfexpressed in words, although they may sometimes be attested in eloquentand heroic actions. 

On the afternoon of his second day in Melbourne Jim saw Lucy Woodrow oncemore. She passed in Macdougal's trap as Done and his mate were walkingalong Swanston Street. She looked very pretty, and was laughing gaily atsomething her companion had said. The sight of that companion affectedJim in a peculiar way. He looked a man of about forty, strongly butsparely built; his face, clean-shaven but for the triangle of hair comingjust below the ears, had a cameo-like correctness of outline; the lipswere firm and full, the eyes deep. He wore one of the flat-brimmedbell-toppers fashionable at the time, a skirted coat, and a high collar. In a flash the whole man was photographed on Jim's mind--why he could notunderstand. The sensations given him by the sight of that face were quiteapart from the pang he experienced on noting Lucy's apparent interest inthe man. Jim felt for the miniature in his pocket. It was hard to believethat only about twenty-four hours had sped since their parting. Lookingback now over so much that was strange, he thought as many weeks mighthave gone in the interval. 

'Monkey Mack, ' said Mike, following the direction of Jim's eyes. 

'Do you know him?'

'Everybody knows of him. Owns the best-stocked station out of New South. Made a pile through the rushes, selling stock at famine prices. Richestsquatter in Vic, an' that dirty mean he won't wash 'cause o' the ruinouswear and tear on soap. Used to go round collecting the wool the sheepscraped off on his fences an' trees, an' for years cadged his toby, (tobacco, you know) off passing teamsters; then, when the teamsters shiedat him, gave up smokin'. Owns thousands of acres an' hundreds o'thousands o' pounds, an' wears toe-rags, an' yet lets his wife have whatshe likes, an' spend what she pleases. That was his wife 'long side him. '

'Yes, she came over in our ship. '

'Shipmates, eh? That's as good as first-cousins. '

'Who was the other man?'

'Donno. Looked like something just blown ashore. Very superior, likely. Mrs Mack's got a weakness for gentility. She was a neighbourin'squatter's milkmaid, they say. '

'Well, Macdougal's not mean in the matter of horseflesh. '

'Right. That's his other great extravagance. See, he gets about badly onthose spider-legs of his, and makes up for his misfortune when he splitsacross a horse. He breeds the best, drives like a fiend, an' can rideanythin' lapped in hide. '

A week later Done and Burton were on their way to Forest Creek diggings. Everything worth working on Ballarat was pegged out, Mike said. ForestCreek was the new Eldorado. Their tools and stores were four days ahead, in the care of an experienced teamster whom Mike knew well, and whom hecould trust to pull through, despite the abominable roads and themisfortunes that had knocked up many a well-found team and marked thetrack with crippled horses and stranded wagons. For two days Jim hadcarried his swag through the Australian Bush, and one night he had slepton the brown grass, using his folded blanket for a pillow, the camp-fireflickering palely at a distance, the wide-branching, dreamy gum-treesspreading their limbs above him, the warmth of summer in the scented airAlready the instincts of the Bushman were developing in him. He began tofeel a friendship for the towering gums in their flaunting independence;their proud individuality pleased him. To his mind they reflected thespirit of the people--it must be the spirit of the land. Nowhere in theirfeathery elegance did he find a law of conformity; each tree was a lawunto itself, tall and strong and slender, youthful and buoyant, openingfond arms to the blue sky. The absence of the sap-greens of Englandconveyed at first an impression of barrenness, but that wore off, and theartistic side of his nature fed upon the soft harmonies of faded grassand subdued green foliage nursing misty purples in its shade. The groundwas his bed and chair and table; never had he been so intimate withMother Earth. Here she was uncontaminated, the soil was sweet, and itgave no hint of untold generations of dead fattening the grass upon whichhe couched as in sweet hay. From the earth he drew an ardent patriotism. He was already a more enthusiastic Australian than the loose-limbednative with whom he fraternized. 

They camped five miles beyond Miner's Rest on the second night, preferring the comparative solitude of the Bush to the scantaccommodation and some what boisterous company at the shanty latelyestablished to cater for the fortune-hunters streaming to the new rushes. Mike selected the spot and dropped his swag. 

'We've tramped far enough to-day, ' he said. 'You'll find water just overthat rise there. I'll light the fire. '

'So you've been over this part before, ' said Jim, unstrapping the billyfrom his mate's swag. 

'No; this is new country to me. '

'Then, how do you know I shall find water beyond that hillock?'

''Pon my soul, I don't know why I know, ' Mike answered; 'but I'll wagermy share of our first tub it's there. '

Jim found the water. There was a water-hole in a small creek at the spotindicated. His mate's knowledge of things about him in the Bush, thingsunseen and unheard, had seemed uncanny at first; he was getting used toit now. Mike was born in the Bush, and the greater part of his life hadbeen spent in it. He knew it as thoroughly as its familiar animals did, and much in the same way, without being aware of his knowledge, which wasmainly instinctive. The billy was on the blazing fire, and Done satwatching Mike smartly mixing a damper in the lid. To Jim this, too, was awonderful accomplishment. Water and flour were deftly manipulated until aball of dough that quite filled the small lid resulted. It was done withthe cleanness and quickness of a conjuring trick. The dough was dividedinto two pats, to be cooked under the hot ashes. Then Mike improvised hiswire grid again, and in a few minutes the steak he had carried in adilly-bag from Miner's Rest was sizzling and spitting over the embers. 

Done's admiration for his mate was growing rapidly. Mike looked like amodel in new copper, kneeling by the fire, his face thrown back, reflecting the glow of the flame in the surrounding dusk. Jim realizedwhat had gone to the making of that hard, lean frame, and, proud as hewas of his own strength, envied the other his endurance. He knew thatBurton had been making concessions to him throughout their journey, thathe could have walked miles further in the time without fatigue, carryinghis swag as jauntily as if it were a butterfly poised on his back. Hisboyish exuberance of manner when stirred was in direct contrast to thequiet assurance with which he went about ordinary affairs. He was neverin difficulties, never at a loss; the Bush was his living-room, bedroom, and larder. He had already shown himself independent of what the storescould provide when a meal was wanted. Mike might have been a pink Adonisin another climate and under other conditions; his gray eyes and fairmoustache were in almost ludicrous contrast with his tanned hide--heappeared to be bound in morocco. 

After their meal Jim spread himself upon the ground, his head pillowed onthe swag, stretching his tired limbs. Mike sat smoking, and there wassilence over and about them. One of those brief hushes, when all thenight voices are stilled and the trees merge into black, motionlessmasses, was upon the Bush, and it infected the men. All day they hadmarched with the throng; their tramp had never been lonely, thousands ofmen were moving upon Forest Creek, and every now and again they passed atoiling party burdened with tools and utensils, or were passed in turn bymore enthusiastic spirits pushing on, eager for a share in the treasureof Red Gully, Diamond Gully, and Castlemaine. The shouts of the joyoustravellers were still echoing in Done's ears. 

He had seen diggers on the track under varying fortunes, cursingdreadfully by broken-down teams, urging on their dull bullocks--slow, butvery sure--singing exuberantly as they paced by, carrying heavy swagswith light hearts, shouting as they went, under the impulse of a commonhope that begot friendliness in all; and yet each man was armednow--there was a revolver or a pistol in every belt. They came out of theBush, and the Bush swallowed them again--strange groups. Two Jim passedhe recognised as sailors off the Francis Cadman: one was in the shafts ofa loaded wheel barrow, the other, with a rope over his shoulder, trudgedahead, towing manfully, both as merry as boys at play, despite the tendays' journey ahead of them. 

'Good luck, mate!' 'Good luck!' The trees showered kindly wishes, andhearty compliments danced from lip to lip. A spirit of irrepressiblejollity laughed in the land. Drays, waggons, buggies, cabs, vehicles ofall kinds, were pressed into the service of the adventurers. Four diggerswent roaring by in a dilapidated landau that had seen vice-regal servicein Hobart Town, driven by a fifth blackguard dressed in an old livery, and they brandished champagne bottles, and scattered the liquid gold likeemperors--lucky pioneers from Buninyong. A ragged, bare-footed, hatlessurchin, a stowaway fresh from the streets of London, whipped behind, ashe might have done a few weeks earlier on a Bishop's carriage in RottenRow. The mates next encountered a band of Chinamen carrying their burdenson bamboos, covering the ground smartly with their springing trot andcackling gaily as they went; then a 'hatter, ' drunk as a lord rollingheavily, his hands in his pockets, his hat jauntily set on the back ofhis head, bellowing the latest comic song, a lonely soul; then a dray, piled high with cradles, pans, picks, shovels, swags, and a miscellaneouscargo, on the top of which perched a bulky Irishwoman, going to thediggings to make her fortune as the proprietress of the Forest CreekLaundry. This and much more in the depths of a pathless forest, the gravesolitude of which was disturbed only for the moment as each jocundcompany hastened on into the mysterious vastness ahead, or fell back intothe dense Bush that lay behind. That anybody could have a definite ideawhither he was going in this ocean of trees, that engulfed them all likestones dropped into the sea, Done found it hard to believe. 

'You're a curious kind of devil, Jim, ' said Mike, who had been watchingDone closely during the last few minutes. 

'How's that?'

'You don't talk. Worse still, you don't smoke. '

'No; in England I had neither mates nor friends, and smoking's aconvivial disease--a kid catches it from his companions. '

'I might have guessed you were bred a "hatter"; you're as dumb as amute. '

'Same reason, Mike; but I'm getting over it. I'm getting over a good manythings rather too suddenly. I'm sort of mentally breathless. A year agoI'd have sworn that friendship and good-fellowship were impossible to me. '

'Go on!'

'And just now I'm feeling things too keenly to talk much about them. '

''Nough said, Jimmy; I ain't complaining. ' Mike knocked the ashes from hispipe on his boot. 'I s'pose I'd best get somethin' for breakfast, ' hesaid, rising and stretching himself. 

'What, here?' Jim looked about him into the darkness. 

'Here or hereabouts. Keep an eye on the swags. I won't be gone more'n anhour at the outside. '

Micah Burton went off into the dense Bush, that to Jim looked grimlyunpromising, and the latter lay back upon the grass again, with quite aluxurious sensation. The hard day's walking made this rest peculiarlyagreeable: he had eaten well, his mind was at peace--he no longerconcerned himself with psychological theories--he was content to live andfeel. 

Sharply out of the silence came a ringing report. Jim was jerked to asitting posture, listening with all his ears. The report was repeatedseveral times, a fusillade of shots, followed by faint echoes of a voiceraised in anger. There was an interval of quiet, and when the sound brokein again Done sighed contentedly, and relapsed into his former position. He recognised the crack of a cattle-whip. In a minute or two he heard thevoice of the bullocky admonishing Bally and Spot with a burst ofalliterative invective, and presently the leaders came labouring out ofthe darkness, the great red bullocks, with bowed heads, moving slowly andwith that suggestion of impassive invincibility that goes always with abig team of good working bullocks in action. 

'Hello, mate!' cried someone beyond in the shadows. 

'Hello, there!'

'Plenty o' water 'bout?'

'A creek down to the left. '

'Right-o! We'll camp here, Stony. Woa, Strawberry! Woa, there, Spot!Bally! Blackboy!'

The cattle came to a standstill, and while the others busied themselvesunyoking the team, one man went off through the trees, and presentlyreturned, carrying a billy he had just filled. He kicked the firetogether, threw on a few pieces of wood, and began to prepare a meal, paying no attention to Jim, who lay watching him. It was not customary tosay 'By your leave!' in little matters of this kind. On the track everyman's company was supposed to be welcome. Following a habit ofobservation, Jim examined the man without curiosity. He was thin, sandy-haired, and wiry, about forty-five, with restless hands, and acowed, half-sullen expression--a drinker of strong drinks of the kindmanufactured at the shanties, corrosive liquids that ate the souls out ofmen in quick order. 

Having disposed of the bullocks, the tinkling of whose bells was aforeign note in the night, two others came to the fire, carrying thetucker-box. They were brothers, long, bearded, brown-faced Australians ofthe runs, going up to the rush with stores for Coolan and Smith, orAberdeen, the universal providers of the Roaring Fifties. 

'Hurry up that blasted quart-pot, Stony!' ejaculated the elder of thetwo. 'I feel as if I'd done a three days' perish-me!'

The men ate hungrily, sitting about in the light of the fire, drinkingthe hot tea from pannikins and from the billy lid, and as they ate theytalked. Done was beginning to find himself at home in the society of men. The humanities were finding place in his soul. Everything about thesepeople interested him--their work, their pleasures, their ideas. Theywere so closely in touch with vital things, so tolerant. They cherishedno political, social, and religious convictions to the exclusion of theirfellow-men. 

Burton returned, swinging four featherless birds. The invasion of theircamp did not surprise him. He greeted the strangers cheerfully, and heldthe birds up for Jim's inspection. 

'Our breakfast, ' he said. 'Fat 'n young. '

'Where did they come from?'

'A lagoon half a mile up the creek. Four shots, four duck. ' He touchedhis revolver. 

'But Nature doesn't provide plucked birds for our benefit. '

'Skinned an' cleaned 'em at the water. '

The teamsters were not averse to boiled duck and broth for breakfast, andthe two billies were soon steaming on the camp-fire, while the companyyarned and smoked. It was nearly ten o'clock, and all hands were thinkingof taking to their blankets for the night, when a sixth man came quietlythrough the trees, unobserved until his greeting disturbed them. Done hadto turn on his side to look at the newcomer, a handsome, beardless man inthe garb of a digger, but much more scrupulous in the matter ofcleanliness and fit than the majority. 

'I did not like the society at the Rest, ' he said, 'and walked on, looking for quieter company. '

'Make yourself at home, ' answered Mike. 'There's tea in the pannikin, an'there's grub in the dilly-bag. You're not carryin' traps. '

'No. Sent everything ahead but this 'possum rug. Thanks for--'

He ceased speaking. His face had been composed, almost colourless; intoit there sprang an expression of amazement, which deepened into an animalferocity shocking to see. The mouth twitched spasmodically, the eyescaught the glare of the flame, and glowed with a catlike lustre. Surprised, Done turned in the direction of his glance, and discovered theman Stony crouching on the other side of the fire, his weak, tremuloushands stretched out before him, his face gray as ashes and convulsed withhorror. Glaring at the stranger, he lifted his hands, thrusting thevision from him, and a cry of terror burst in his throat, as the mansprang at him, bearing him to the ground as a tiger might have done, groping fiercely at his throat with iron fingers. Stony lay on his back;his enemy, kneeling on his body, choking him, bent his face down, andcried fiercely:

'It is you, then? I am not mistaken! You know me, you dog, and you knowthat I mean to tear the heart out of you!'

Releasing his grip on the flesh, he wrenched at Stony's shirt, ripping itat the neck. 

'Help!' gasped the prostrate wretch. 'For the love of God, help!'

'There's your brand--your brand, Peter!' He thrust his face into Stony'sagain, and all the hate that a face can carry and that a voice can conveywas betrayed in his expression and his words. 'Do you know what I haveendured, Peter? Do you know what I have suffered?'

Clutching at Stony's throat again, he bored his knee into the body underhim, his arms became rigid with the power of his grip, and Stony laychoking, clawing feebly at the other's sleeves, his face distorted into ahideous caricature. 

The other men stood about, watching, the Australians reluctant tointerfere in a quarrel they did not understand. It was Done who seizedthe stranger, tearing him off his victim, and then Mike and a teamsterlaid hands upon him, while Stony was writhing and panting on the ground. The digger offered no resistance; he seemed unconscious of everything buthis hatred and his vengeance, and his eyes never moved from Stony. 

'We draw the line at cold-blooded murder, mate!' said Mike, but the othergave no answer. 

Stony had picked himself up, and, casting one horrified look at hisenemy, turned away, and plunged into the blackness of the Bush, runninglike a frightened animal. 

'What's he been up to, anyhow?' asked one of the teamsters, as theyreleased the stranger. The latter did not reply, but instantly dartedafter the runaway. The four men listened to the retreating footsteps, andpresently the Bush echoed two pistol shots fired in rapid succession. Thebirds murmured and moved in the trees, a monkey-bear grunted disgustedly, and then all was still again. 

VIII

FOR some little time the four men stood with their faces turned in thedirection Stony and his pursuer had taken, listening breathlessly, andthen they went to their blankets again. Done was greatly disturbed; theothers took it more as a matter of course. 

'You won't follow them?' said Jim. 

'Well, ' one of the brothers replied, 'I ain't particularly busy just now, but my hands are too full for that kind of foolishness. '

'He meant murder!'

'Somethin' too like it to please old Stony. '

'What do you think it was all about?'

'Can't say. Long grudge, evidently. '

'The clean-shaven man was a lag, ' said Mike. 'Convict, ' he added, seeinga question in Jim's eye. 'Maybe your friend lagged him. '

'Don't know him from a crow, ' replied the teamster addressed. 'We'retaking some traps and ware up to the Creek for him on our load, and hetravelled along. '

'I think you're mistaken about that man being a convict, Burton, ' saidDone to Mike later, breaking a long silence. 

'Sure I'm not. Saw the cuff-marks on his wrists as he was battling withStony. Why?'

'He's the man who was in the trap with Macdougal of Boobyalla the otherday in Swanston Street. '

'The swell in the choker and double-decker?'

'Yes. For some reason his face impressed me. I couldn't mistake it. '

'Didn't notice it; but if he's own brother to Governor Latrobe himself, I'll take my affie he's a lag. '

The mates overtook the carter with their tent and stores and tools withina day's journey of the rush, and pushed on to secure a claim. Done'sfirst sight of a busy goldfield was gained on a clear, sunny morning, when, after passing through Sawpit Gully, they came upon the beginning ofthe long lead that comprised many rushes, known as Forest Creek. Theimpression Jim retained was a semi-humorous one of humans reduced to theproportions and the dignity of ants, engaged upon the business of antswrought to a pitch of excitement by some grand windfall at their doors. Little figures bustled about, carrying burdens; pigmies swarmed along thelead. The holes, with their white and yellow tips, were clustered asclose together as the cells in a great honeycomb, and into the shafts andout of them bobbed hurrying, eager creatures. The whirring of windlasses, the clatter of nail-keg buckets, the incessant calls, 'Look up below!'and the distinct ringing of hammer on anvil, blended into a quaintsymphony of labour. The swish, swish, swish, of the wet dirt in thecradle-hoppers and the rattling of the tailings thrown from the shovelsproviding an unvarying substratum of sound. There were tents everywhere, large and small, dotting the distance, but clustering into a township ofcanvas to the right of the Creek, and over the scene floated a faintmirage, so that the whole field and all in it quivered in the warmascending air, the gauzy effect aiding the idea of stagy unreality. 

At the first sight of the lead Mike threw his hat into the air andcheered wildly. Another party coming in were beating their jaded horsesto a run, the men jumping beside the team mad with joy, shouting likemaniacs. On all hands were the waggons and drays unloading by tents notyet fully erected. The men who were not busy at their claims or puddling, cradling or panning-off dishes by the creek, were breathlessly engagedupon the work of getting their canvas houses into order and be stowingtheir goods; newcomers passed unheeded, however boisterous. 

'Before tea we'll have our pegs in here, Jim, ' said Mike joyfully. 

They had been walking since two hours before daybreak, but elationpossessed them to the exclusion of all thought of fatigue. The sight ofthe field of action set Jim's sinews twitching; he longed for the strife, and found some difficulty in restraining himself from running with thepreceding party pell-mell on to the creek. But he had nothing of thegold-seeker's fever in his blood; the thought of amassing a fortune hadmerely occurred to him: it was the free, strong, exhilarating life thatstirred him most deeply. 

Burton discovered an old acquaintance in a sooty blacksmith perspiringcopiously over an open-air forge, and the mates left their swags in histent and hastened to the high-walled, square tent occupied by the wardenof the field to secure their licenses. Here Jim had his first taste ofofficialdom in Australia, and he did not like it. The tent was throngedwith miners eager to secure their papers; they were met with cold-bloodedintolerance by a class of officials often bred to their business in theinfamous convict system, and now incapable of putting off their tyrannousinsolence in the faces of free men. Several foot police--Vandemoniansfrom the convict settlements--were stationed in the tent to enforce themandate of Commissioner McPhee, or any understrapper who might resent theimpatience of a digger, and order him to be propelled into the open onthe toe of a regulation boot. The new hands bore the indignitiescarelessly, but the experienced diggers came up to the rough countergrimly and silently, conveying in their attitude Some suggestion of areckoning almost due. They under stood all the injustice and flagrantabuse the licenses implied, the new chums did not. 

'Take care o' that, Done, ' said Mike, flipping his own license with histhumb; 'they're important. I've heard em called tickets of admission tothe new republic. '

'What do they stand for, Mike?'

'One month. For one month James Done is entitled to burrow for gold inHer Majesty's mud hereabout, an' for that time he's reckoned to have aright to be alive. At the end of the month he trots up to renew, and theprice is thirty bob every time. '

'But if James Done doesn't happen to have thirty bob?'

'Then his right to be alive is null and void, and if he's caught so muchas scraping dirt to bury a pup he's dealt with according to law. If inhis month's work he doesn't earn enough to buy grease for his windlass, he must take out his miner's right or run the chance of being scragged. '

'That seems strangely out of place here. And the men stand it?'

'And heaps more. This license qualifies a miner to be dragged out of hishole at any moment, like a blasted wombat, by the scruff, to bebully-damned from Geelong to breakfast by some lag-punching, lop-earedex-warder with a string of troopers at his heels!' Jim saw his mate in abitter mood, for the first time. 

'But why the license, if it confers no benefit?'

'To rob the diggers mercilessly, and to provide swine like those in therewith a chance of riding the high horse over better men!' Mike was mixinghis metaphors in his wrath. 'But you'll know all about it in time. Ifyou're in the habit of using your hands, keep 'em tight in your pocketswhen the traps are out man-hunting. It's worse than manslaughter to puncha trooper. They'd have you in the logs in ten ticks less 'n no time. '

Done refused to be depressed by the prospect. He understood that with hisright in his pocket a miner was safe, and the charge did not seem to hima serious grievance in this land of plenteous gold. 

The mates had a crib with Duffy, the blacksmith; and after the meal, armed with wooden pegs, a pick, and a shovel, they set out to secure aclaim. Acting on the urgent advice of Duffy, they headed for DiamondGully, nearly two miles off; and here Mike loitered about amongst theclaims, chatting with the men on top, keeping his eyes wide open, andgathering information as he went. The majority of the miners were quiteenthusiastic; they were doing well, and had no desire to conceal thefact. One showed a prospect in the tin dish that wrung a wondering oathfrom Mike, and yet he moved on. Done could not understand. There wasplenty of free land on either side, extending for miles. 

'Why not here, Burton?' he asked, indicating a pleasant spot. 

'Off the lead, probably, ' answered Mike. 'We don't want to waste timebottoming shicers--sinking duffers, ' he added in explanation. Done wasstill unenlightened. 'Putting down shafts where there isn't a colour, 'continued Burton. 'We'll get right on the lead, or I'm a spud-miner fromDonegal. '

In due course they came to a claim that interested Burton deeply, but theman at the windlass was gloomy, almost despairing. He didn't believe he'dgot a tucker show, and sadly advised Mike to shepherd a hole down to theleft. 

'We ain't in sight of her here, ' he said. 

Burton took a pinch of dirt from the side of the bucket at his feet, rubbed it between his finger and thumb, and grinned at the digger. 

'Take me for a Johnny Raw, don't you?' he said. 'This is good enough forme. Quick, Jim, the pegs!'

The exclamation was drawn from him by the sight of three men runningalong the lead in their direction. 

As Burton hammered in his first peg, the newcomers started hammering apeg for the same holding. Mike paced the twenty-four feet, and kicked thestranger's peg out of the ground. Not a word was spoken. The intrudingdigger, a stoutly-built, cheerful-looking Geordie, promptly struck atMike, and they fought. Done stood aside, nonplussed by the suddenness ofall this, and for a minute a hard give-and-take battle raged on theclaim. Jim discovered the Geordie's mate busying himself driving in apeg. Seizing the man by the back of the neck, he dragged him to his feet, and sent him spinning with a long swing. After which he gripped Mike'sopponent in the same way, and bowled him over and over. 

'Now you get the pegs in, Mike, ' said Jim. 'I'll attend to these. '

The Geordie arose and rushed at Jim with the vehemence of an old fighter, but Done stopped him with a straight left, closed, and threw him. Mikeceased hammering the peg to applaud. 

'Neat and nice!' he cried. 'Would any other gentleman like a sample?'

'I'm quite satisfied, ' said the Geordie, without a trace of ill-feeling. 

'Then peg out the next, ' continued Mike. 'It should be quite as good aspec as this if your friend's on anything like a gutter. '

'Ay, ay, lad!' responded the Tynesider, who had a mouse on his cheek asbig as his thumb, and he set cheerfully to work to peg out two men'sground further on. His bluff having failed, he cherished not theslightest resentment, and two minutes later, to Jim's great amusement, all concerned were indulging in affable conversation. The newcomers werefriends of the party in the working mine, where the lead had been cut, aprospect from the headings promising so well that the holders hadhastened to acquaint the Geordie with the fact. The latter arrived toolate, however--first come, first served, being the law of the diggings, and first peg in meant legal possession. 

Two men's ground measured twelve feet by twenty-four feet. Mike had takenthe twenty-four feet in the direction in which the lead seemed to berunning, and now he lined out a shaft about four feet by two feet, andcommenced sinking. He dug down to the depth of his waist, and at sunsetthe mates returned to Forest Creek. That night the teamster arrived withtheir goods, and Done and Burton slept under canvas, the tent having beenhastily thrown across a hurdle to provide a screen from the glowingmoonlight, the trees here being stunted and widely scattered. 

'So you're a wrestler, Jim said Mike, when they had turned in for thenight. 

'I know a fall or two, ' answered Done. 

'You put Long Aleck down on his chin in short order, an' he fancied hismutton, I can tell you. Know how to turn a fist to the best advantage, too, don't you? That Geordie's an old sailor who's been through the mill. I know the breed. You stopped him like a stone wall. I'm satisfied Istruck it lucky when we met. '

'Glad you think I'll be useful. I don't seem to have been of much accountup to now. 

'Useful! A man's got to fight 'r knuckle under. The rushes ain't peopledwith penny saints. You've got to punch a few to get yourself respected. '

Done was not long learning the truth of this. He found in time that thefeats of arms he had mastered with the idea of impressing his enemies inChisley were his most valuable accomplishments in Australia. 

Next day the mates carted their belongings to their claim, and themorning was spent in erecting the tent, rigging bunks, and making thingsshipshape. They got to work in the shaft again after dinner, Done takinghis first lesson in sinking. Within two hours they came upon the washdirt, the sinking at Diamond Gully being very shallow. While they werebusy Jack Thorn, the Geordie, came up from the creek and approached them, grinning broadly, and hiding something under his hat. 

'Hope yer eyesight's good, mates, ' he said. 'I've got a bit of a dazzlerhere to spring on you. What d'yer think o' that?' He removed his hat, andexposed a pint pannikin filled to the brim with clean, coarse nuggets. 

'Whew!' whistled Jim. 'You've hit it thick. '

'Yes, ' he said. 'That's from three buckets off the bottom. I s'poseyou'll get her just ez good. My mate's got a few ounces o' finer stuff. We're mightily obliged to you boys for puttin' us in this hole. '

'You're welcome, ' said Mike, grinning. 'We did it for your own good. '

'What weight is there in that?' asked Done. 

'Over two hundred ounces. Eight hundred pounds' worth, perhaps. '

Jim gasped and turned to his work again, digging rapidly. Later, Burtontook a sample of the gravel in the dish, and carried it away to thecreek. He returned in ten minutes with a little water in the pan. Jimcould see only a few specks of gold in the bottom of the pan, and hisface fell. 

'A shicer?' he said. 

'Not a bit of it. That's a good enough prospect. Let me have a cut ather. '

The hole was now too deep for Done to throw the dirt to the surface, inexperienced as he was in the use of a shovel in so narrow a space. Burton continued the work till sundown, and then washed a prospect thatmade his eyes glisten. Next morning they bottomed. Jim was at the mouthof the shaft when Burton called from below:

'Look out on top! Catch, old man

Jim caught the object thrown up to him. It was coated with clay, but thegold shone through, and Done handled his first nugget--a plump one ofabout ten ounces. A little later they set to work, puddling the best ofthe wash dug out in the course of sinking; and then the debris was putthrough the cradle, and Jim awoke at last to the full zest of thedigger's lust. Pawing among the gravel in the hopper of the cradle, hepicked out the gold too coarse to pass through the holes, and thegleaming yellow metal fired him with a passion that had in it all thefrenzy the winning gambler feels, with an added sense of triumph andsuccess. When Mike lifted the slides out and sluiced water over them, showing the gold lying thick and deep, he felt a miser's rapture, and yethad no great desire for wealth. He did not fear work, and had no love ofluxury, so that the hunger for riches never possessed him; but this joywas something apart from avarice. The yearnings of untold generationsafter the precious gold have filtered the love of it into our blood, madethe desire for it an instinct. Jim went to bed that night richer by overone hundred pounds than he had been when he rose in the morning. 

Done and Burton logged up their shaft and rigged the windlass, and setabout the methodical working of the claim. The second day's cleaning upwas not as good as the first, but it was highly satisfactory. It was notusual for the miners to keep the gold about them for any length of time. If it was not carried to the storekeepers at Forest Creek, there weregold-buyers--buying for the Melbourne banks, as a rule--who calledregularly, eager to exchange bank-notes for the virgin gold. On theafternoon of their third working day, Jim and his mate were leaning onthe windlass, talking to two or three men who had gathered about, waitingfor one of the gold-buyers then riding along the lead, when they werejoined by a tall, fine-looking digger, with a remark ably handsome brownbeard and bushy brows. 

'Good-day, mates! Got a good thing here?' he said, seating himself on oneof the logs. 

'Oh, not so bad!'

The newcomer had dropped his revolver, apparently by accident. He stoopedand picked it up, but instead of returning it to his belt, toyed with itabsently as he made inquiries about the lead and the yields on the field. All eyes were attracted by the peculiar manner in which he handled theweapon, tossing it to and fro carelessly, and twirling it through hisfingers with remarkable rapidity. 

'That's a pretty clever trick, ' said Thorn. 

'This is no great shakes. ' The owner of the beautiful beard twirled hisrevolver more rapidly. 'Lend me another. '

Thorn threw his, and the stranger caught it smartly, and juggled with thetwo. 

Brigalow Dick, the gold-buyer, rode up. A particularly bright ex-trooperfrom Sydney, Brigalow Dick had a reputation as a safe man, and the horsehe rode was one of the finest on the field. On one side of the front ofhis saddle was strapped the stout leather case carrying the gold, on theother was a bag containing money. 

'Any gold to sell to-day, Burton?' asked Dick. 

'Yes, in half a minute, old man, ' replied Mike, deeply interested in thetricks of the juggler. 

Brigalow Dick drew his horse up closer and watched the performance. 

'Bet you're Californian, Whiskers, ' he said. 

The stranger nodded. 'Let me have another shooter, ' he said. 

A third was thrown to him, and he twirled the three in the air, discharging each into the tip as it reached his hand. 

'Bravo! bravo!' The performance was growing quite exciting. 

'That's simply nothing, ' said the amateur prestidigitateur modestly. 'Throw me another, and I'll show what I call a damn good trick. ' He casthis eye around the group. It lit upon the gold-buyer casually. 

'Here you are. ' Brigalow drew his revolver from his belt, and threw it. 

'Very good, and many thanks, ' said the stranger. He coolly placed theother revolver in his shirt, turned the gold-buyer's long six-shooter onits owner, and said: 'Come down off that horse, Richard, my boy!'Brigalow laughed uneasily, but did not stir. 'Comedown, curse you!' criedthe other with sudden ferocity; and, springing to his feet, he seizedDick, and brought him heavily to the ground over his horse's rump. 'Liethere, or, by God, I'll scatter your brains on the grass!' said thejuggler. 'The first man that moves will peg out a claim in hellto-night, ' he continued, leading the horse away, and walking backwardshimself, with the revolver pointed. No man doubted his word. Dickcrouched on the ground, staring after him, furious, but quite beaten. Suddenly the robber sprang to the horse's back with a clean jump. 'Now, that is what I call damn good sleight of hand, Brigalow!' he cried; and, producing a short, heavy green-hide whip from his shirt, he lashed thehorse mercilessly, and went riding at a breakneck pace down the gully, heading for the distant timber. 

'Tricked!' cried the ex-trooper, jumping to his feet--' tricked by thegreat Blue Bunyip! Tricked like a kid!' He turned and ran for thetroopers. 

'I surmise Mr. Solo was lurkin' behind them there whiskers, ' said a tall, thin Californian, when the party had somewhat recovered the surprise. 

Jim started, recalling the encounter with Long Aleck in the Melbournebar. 

'Was that Solo, do you think?' he asked. 

'Dead cert' replied the Californian. 'Them's his playful ways. '

'If you guessed it, why didn't you give a hint?'

'Not knowin', can't say; but it's just pawsible I ain't pushin' myselfforward as a target this spring. '

Done found this indisposition to interfere in 'other people's business'very marked amongst the diggers; and their toleration of notoriousevildoers was a pronounced feature of their easy-going character, encouraged, no doubt, by their contempt for the law, which appealed tothem only as an instrument of oppression. 

'This means a gallop for the troopers, ' said Mike. 

'They'll run him down!' ejaculated Jim at a venture. 

'The man occupyin' my socks is bettin' ten ounces agin all the feathersoff a wart-hog that they don't, ' answered the Californian. 

'But look at the weight he carries!'

'You're a bright boy--a most remarkably bright boy!' drawled theAmerican, 'an' I guess you'll pick up a heap o' knowledge afore you dieout, but up to now you don't know much about Solo. He kin ride like thedevil, an' fight like the hosts of hell, an' he's ez full o' tricks ez apum'kin's full o' pips. I tell you, Amurka's proud of her son. '

'Who sez he's American?' asked a digger, resenting the appropriation. 

'Well, sir, if he ain't he's that good an imitation he might's well bethe real thing. '

About half an hour later three troopers came cantering through DiamondGully, looking very smart in their Bedford cords and shining top-boots, and the diggers yelled derisive orders, and greeted them with cries ofcontempt, jeering them from every hole along the lead. 'Jo!' was thefavourite epithet hurled at the troopers and all representatives ofconstituted authority. Done never discovered the origin of the term, butinto it the diggers compressed all the hatred they felt for unjust laws, domineering officials, and flagrant maladministration. 

'I thought you knew this Solo, ' said Jim to his mate that evening. 

'Well, ' replied Mike, 'I reckoned I did; but he changes his disguisespretty smartly, 'r else that was another party in the same line o'business. '

IX

IN the four days and a half of their first week on the field Burton andDone cleared close upon seven hundred pounds. By the end of the secondweek they had worked out their first mine, and Jim possessed eighthundred pounds. They tried another claim, and bottomed on the pipeclay. The hole was a duffer. They tried a third, and cut the wash once more. This claim was not nearly so rich as their first, but rich enough to payhandsomely, and Mike, young as he was, was too old a miner to abandon agood claim on the chance of finding a better. By this time Jim wasfeeling himself quite an experienced digger; he could sink a straightshaft, knock down wash-dirt with the best, and pan off a prospect asneatly and with as workmanlike a flourish as any man on the field. He wasrapidly coming into close touch with the life about him, adopting themanners of his associates, and slowly wearing down that diffidence whichstill clung to him in the society of strangers. He was reticent, butthere remained no suspicion, no animosity towards his kind. Looking backa year, he could hardly recognise himself; the Jim Done of Chisley seemedan old man by comparison. Already Jim of Forest Creek could laugh at Jimo' Mill End, but the consciousness of an escape from a horror remained. How serious he had been in those days! How he had permitted himself tosuffer! Thank God, it was all gone!

Going into the tent on the afternoon of the second Sunday, Jim found hismate asleep on one of the bunks. In the hollow of his out-thrown hand laya cheap lacquered frame containing a daguerreotype of a girl's face. Asudden contrition smote Jim; he turned anxiously to his bunk, throwingthe clothes left and right. The vest he had worn when he left the FrancisCadman lay under the pillow. He dived his finger into the watch-pocket, and heaved a sigh of relief. Yes, it was there, safe and sound. He heldLucy Woodrow's miniature, gazing on it, suffused with chastened emotions. Heavens! how beautiful she was, and so gentle and generous! What an asshe had been! He kissed the picture very tenderly, and with a bit of twinesecured it in the pocket of his jumper in dangerous proximity to hisheart. 

Jim Done had now seen much of the fanciful night life of the camps. Apopulous lead presented a picturesque appearance by night. Theilluminated tents and the flaring camp-fires dotted the field thickly, and where the tents of the business people were drawn in line andsomething like a main street formed, slush lights and kerosene torchesflamed and swinging oil-lamps lit up the scene. Here the wilder spiritsassembled and drank square gin, and gambled in the canvas shanty bars, ordanced with fine frenzy to music provided by some enterprising GermanFräulein stolidly grinding a hurdy-gurdy. There were numerous slygrog-shops amongst the tents, and most of the storekeepers sold illicitdrink with open impudence. These places were often centres of roaring, ribald life after nightfall; but the majority of the diggers lay ingroups about their camp-fires, chatting quietly or reading the mostrecent papers available, and were peaceably inclined, easy-goingcitizens. 

It was the fiercer side of existence on the fields that appealed mostdirectly to Jim; he loved the strong colour, the exultant animation, thedevil-may-care character, that marked the gatherings in the bars and thegambling-saloons. He took little active part in the playing and thedrinking, but the feverish energy of the men and the stirring scenesprovided such vivid contrast to what he had hitherto known and seen oflife that his soul was greedy for it all. To Mike these scenes were allfamiliar; his attitude towards them was one of quiet indifference, and heregarded Jim's rapture with the amused tolerance a sedate, elderlygentleman feels for the enthusiasm of a little boy. 

The mates had shifted their tent to a convenient position near the claimthey were now working, and were camped within two hundred yards of theestablishment of Mrs. Ben Kyley, laundress and baker. Mrs. Kyley was abig-limbed, fresh-coloured, dimpled woman, whose native canniness didnot, militate in the least against an amazonian joviality that made herhail-fellow-well-met with half the diggers on the field. Her voice wasthe loudest amid the clamouring tongues in her large tent at night, andher guffaw overbore everything; it was one of the wonders of ForestCreek. Many a time its echoes, rebounding from Boulder Hill, had set allDiamond Gully grinning in sympathy. It was not known whether Mrs. Kyleyand Ben were married or merely mates, but popular opinion tended to thelatter belief, legal unions being incompatible with a nice adjustment offorces at the rushes. The exigencies of life on the diggings made suddenchanges of scene necessary to the men, and a woman like Mrs. Kyleycouldn't be expected to abandon her business for the sake of a husband, seeing that it was so much easier to set up another husband than anotherestablishment. But the most important branch of the business, that of slygrog-selling, made a man who could handle the riotous and evil-disposedquite essential. Ben Kyley's appearance, broad, thickly-set, solid as agum-butt, broken-nosed and heavy-handed, and his reputation as the manwho was beaten by Bendigo only after an hour's hard fighting, marked himas the fittest man on the field for the position he held. For the rest, Ben was a quiet, mild man, whose voice was seldom heard, and whosesubjugation to Mrs. Ben was almost comical. Ben worked on his claim byday, and at night he officiated as 'chucker-out' in Mrs. Kyley's bar--fora bar it was, to all intents and purposes. Ben's duty was not to suppressdisorder, but merely to see that the common disorder did not develop intolicentiousness, to the danger of Mrs. Kyley's property or the detrimentof her trade. 

Mrs. Ben Kyley made bread because bread-baking at three shillings a loafwas an exceedingly profitable business. For the same reason she washedshirts at twelve shillings the half-dozen. But selling rum at a shillinga nobbler to 'flash' diggers who despised change was much more profitablestill. The industrious woman, who washed and baked all day, was kept busyfor the greater part of the night retailing rum to insatiable diggers, and the mystery was that, although nobody could see rum in the bottle orin bulk anywhere about the place, it was rare that the supply ran short. 

Jim had visited the tent on one or two occasions, walking from the otherside of the gully; he went again on the Saturday afternoon followingtheir removal to buy bread. Mrs. Kyley's big camp-ovens were nestled inthe fires outside the tent, three of them in a row; Mrs. Kyley herself, half smothered in suds, was washing with the rapidity and theindefatigability of a machine. 

'Aurora will attend to you, my boy, ' blared Mrs. Kyley, blowing a stormof suds out of her mop of hair. 

Aurora! Jim entered the tent wondering, and found three or four men atthe counter, conversing with a young woman, twenty-three perhaps, tall, black-haired, dark-eyed, flushed with colour, happy in temperament, freein manner, a striking representative of a not uncommon type of the time, meeting men on a mutual footing, asking no concessions and makingnone--Jim's 'Spaniard' of the Melbourne dance saloon. She recognised himimmediately. 

'Hello!' she cried. 'Look now! if it ain't the boy wid the blushes, an'there's the blush to prove it agin' him. '

Jim was blushing; his rebellious blood gave the lie to his assumption ofeasy indifference. 

'How are you?' he said. 'I knew you at once. '

'To be sure. 'Twould be indacent to forgit, seem' it's my debtor ye are, for the price of a dance. '

'Which you gave me for natural love and affection. '

''Deed, then 'twas because you were poor an' motherless in a strangeland, but now the gold's a worry to you, I doubt. '

Jim laughed and shook his head. 'I want a loaf, ' he said. 'My mate ishungry and waiting. '

'Heigho!' sighed Aurora; 'devil a scrap of gallantry have these slips ofboys, Quigley! You wouldn't leave me for all the mates on earth, wouldyou, now?'

The big bearded digger banged his fist on the counter, and swore a firm, fluent oath that he would not. 

'Worse luck, ' added Aurora, with a twinkling eye. 'Here's yer bread, Teddy-was-me-darlin', an' ye'd have it fer love if 'twas me own to give. '

Aurora assumed and dropped the musical brogue according to her whim. Ordinarily her English was as pure as Mrs. Kyley's, and Mrs. Kyley hadthe reputation of being a lady of vast attainments. 

'There's the money, ' said Jim, 'and will you take this for the dance?' Heoffered her a nugget he had picked from the week's yield, a flat, heart-shaped slug, curiously embossed. 

''Deed, an' it's mighty fine, ' said the girl, 'but I'd rather have ye medebtor for life. '

'Take it for natural love and affection, then. '

'Ah, if it's the heart you're givin' me, I'll be uncommon greedy, so Iwill. ' She kissed the nugget, and slipped it into her breast. 

Jim went away, glowing with the satisfaction a very young fellow feels inhaving provoked the admiration of a woman and the jealousy of a man. Aurora's of interest was open and unabashed. Quigley's jealous passionwas just as artless and free from disguise. Done had intended to sendthat nugget as a natural curiosity to Lucy Woodrow. He put the shade ofregret the recollection provoked hastily out of his mind. Mike had hearda good deal of talk about the new girl at Mrs. Kyley's, now Jim swelledthe chorus of admiration. Both young men spent that evening at thewasherwoman's tent. 

The Kyley establishment consisted of a tent some fifty feet long, dividedinto two compartments with a canvas partition. This screen ran justbehind the counter, and through it Mrs. Kyley dived to replenish her jugof rum; but that room at the back represented the sanctity of the Kyleyhome-life, and to it the diggers never penetrated. The public portion wasfurnished with two long deal tables, at which the men sat on the Bushstools and diced and drank, or played monotonous, if noisy, games ofeuchre and forty-fives. 

That night Aurora--surnamed Australis by a facetious digger--wasparticularly attentive to Done. Jim was flattered by her open preference, dazzled by her bright eyes and glowing cheeks, and piqued by herbantering manner, for she still implied that he might be allowedindulgences because of his beardless, boyish face and his seemingingenuousness. As a protest against this attitude, Done was impelled todrink rather more rum than was good for him, and under the influence ofthe fiery spirit he lost some thing of his habitual reserve, and a fightwith Quigley was only averted by the tactful intervention of Burton. 

'Didn't like interferin', Jim, ' said Mike next morning, 'but Quigley's ahard nut and an ugly fighter. He'd have eaten you if you'd taken him onas you stood. '

'I'm much obliged, old man, ' answered Done mournfully. 'I suppose I madean outrageous ass of myself. '

But he went back to Mrs. Kyley's bar again on the Monday evening, andthere got good advice from Aurora. 

'You don't like this rubbish, Jimmy, ' she said, serving him with thedrink he had asked for. The remark was made with an air of positiveassurance. They were alone. 

'Well, no, I don't particularly, ' he admitted. 

'Then, don't be a fool. Don't gammon you do. You need not drink it. Idon't want you to. See here, Jimmy, ' she continued gravely, 'Quigleydoesn't like you; he is looking for a chance to do you a mischief, and hewould have had his chance the other night if I hadn't overlooked you likea mothering hen, and sold you good creek water at a shilling the nip. '

'I did act the fool, I admit. '

'Never a bit; but don't give Quigley his chance by numbing your goodsense with Mary Kyley's rum. Sure, ' said Aurora, dropping into her honiedbrogue, 'it's fer the love of me ye're comin', not for the dthrop o'drink. Murther! would ye kill me wid denyin' it?' She was sitting on thecounter; she pressed her fingers on his lips, and laughed in his facewith happy impudence, her large handsome mouth full of pearls, her eyesflashing a challenge. Jim's arm stole to her waist of its own initiative. 

Then Mrs. Ben Kyley came roaring into the tent. 'Inveigling my girlaway!' she cried. 'Get out, you kidnapper! Where's your taste, anyhow, philandering with a slip of a girl when there's a fine woman about with aheart as empty as a big sieve?' And the bouncing washerwoman bore downupon him, and bombarded him out of the place with gusts of laughter. 

As yet, Done had seen little of the trials and tribulations of thediggers. Diamond Gully was a prosperous rush, and the impositions underwhich the Victorian miners complained so bitterly had not come home tomany on this field; but he had heard a great deal. The political andsocial wrongs of the diggers were the staples of conversation about thecamp-fires. To Jim's great surprise, he found these men, surrounded withthe exciting conditions of their peculiar life, allowing their minds tobe occupied with aspirations after political freedom. The failure ofChartism in England had driven thousands of hot-blooded champions ofpopular rights to Australia, and these were the leaven that leavened thewhole lump. They talked of people's parliaments, manhood suffrage, andpayment of members in a country governed by a pack of British nomineeswho had no knowledge of the bulk of the people and no sympathy with theiraspirations. The ideas stirred the miners; they found a lodgment in everybreast, and already men spoke of an Australian Republic south of theMurray, governed on the liberal principles enunciated by Fergus O'Connor. 

Jim had supposed the tolerance of man towards man, the absence of pettyprejudices, and the large appreciation of individual liberty thatbelonged to the character of a brave, self population to bemanifestations of an absolute freedom; he found the men fired with apassionate aspiration for liberty, just as the masses in England had beenfive years earlier, and possessed of even more substantial reasons forrevolt. The idea of the young republic delighted him; he was alreadyprepared to shed his blood in establishing that glorious ideal. Storieshe had heard of the indignities to which the miners were subjected by aninsolent bureaucracy, of men being hunted down like dingoes and beatenwith the drawn swords of the troopers because of their failure to complywith the outrageous licensing decrees, bred in him a hatred akin to thatfelt by the diggers who had suffered in person. 

But Done's first experience of a license-hunt was largely farcical. Mr. Commissioner McPhee had chosen a sweltering hot day for his hunt. Most ofthe diggers on Diamond Gully were below, sheltered from the mordant raysof a sun that blazed in the cloudless sky, so close to earth that itsheat struck the face like a licking flame. Jim had just brought somepicks from the smithy, when he saw the troopers, headed by the magnate ona fine chestnut, descend upon the gully, their glazed cap-peaks and theirswords flashing gaily in the sun. The mounted men divided at the head ofthe gully, and came down on each side of the lead; the foot policefollowed Commissioner McPhee, head Serang and cock of the walk fromSawpit Gully to Castlemaine. The duty of the foot police was to rouse thediggers out of their drives, and enforce the orders of the high andmighty McPhee. On Diamond Gully the wash was so shallow that the policehad no difficulty in getting the men to the surface, and the inrush ofthe troopers was the signal for a swarming The men poured from thecrowded claims, and in a few seconds the gully was awakened to violentaction, and given over to tumult. 

The air resounded with the yells of the miners, raised in warning andderision. 'Jo!--Jo!--Jo!' The cries travelled the whole length of thelead, like a salute of musketry. Mike came up the rope, hand over hand. 

'A license-hunt, ' he said. 'Now you'll see how these gaol warders amusethemselves. '

'What are we supposed to do?'

'Have your license handy. Show it to Huntsman McPhee, and keep your handsoff his hounds. '

Mr. Commissioner was not having much trouble; he came through the claimslike a monarch demanding obeisance and tribute, and the shouts of theminers followed him. 'Jo!--Jo!--Jo!' The men made a sort of chorus of thejibe. A fistful of wet pipe-clay thrown from the cover of a tip struckthe sergeant of troopers in the face, and he spurred his horse furiouslytowards the spot. There was a rush of police and diggers, and a bit of amelee resulted, but Sergeant Wallis received no satisfaction. Four orfive unlicensed diggers had been captured, luckless workers for whomFortune had spread no favours, and these were handed over to the mountedpolice, who guarded them with drawn swords, accelerating their movementswith blows of the blade and not infrequent prickings, for the hatred inwhich the diggers held the troopers was not more fierce than thetroopers' hatred for the men. 

Done and Burton stood on the little hillock of mulluck about their shaft, watching the course of events, when the Grand Serang rode at them. He wasa fine stamp of a man, and loved an effect in which he was the centralfigure. It was becoming in a mere digger to make way for the horse of Mr. Commissioner. Burton, however, stood his ground, the flush burningthrough his tan, and, rather than give way an inch or be run down, raisedhis hand and struck the noble nag of the big official on the nose withhis palm, with the result that the chestnut went up on his hind-legs, pawing the air, and rattled down the tip on his heels, while the crowdingdiggers, to whom any indignity inflicted upon a commissioner, howevertrivial, was a joy and a solace, set up a shout of scornful laughter. 

'What the devil, sir, do you mean by striking my horse?' thundered theirascible McPhee. 

'I don't care to be ridden down like a thieving dingo' replied Mike. 

'Sergeant, search this impudent jackanapes, and if his license isn'tO. K. , jam the beggar into the logs!'

At this point another handful of white clay was thrown from the back ofthe crowd, and this time McPhee was the target. The clay struck hint inthe breast, and clung to his black cloth. Again there was a rush ofindignant and amazed under-strappers, and the Commissioner, crimson withwrath, raised himself in his stirrups and shouted orders, the executionof which it was beyond even his great power to enforce. They enjoined theimmediate precipitation of the offenders into the Bottomless Pit. 

A diversion was created by the sudden appearance of a new quarry. A slimyouth had darted from behind one of the piles of mullock, and was runningat full speed up the lead towards the head of the gully, followed bythree foot police. 

'After him!' shouted McPhee. 

A couple of troopers and two more foot police joined in the chase, butthe youngster was a good runner and very cunning. He kept to the minedground, where the troopers would certainly have broken their necks hadthey put their horses after him, and springing like a wallaby he clearedthe holes, and darted in and out amongst the tips, to the utter confusionof the lubberly and ill-conditioned pursuers. Straight up the lead heran, and now all the foot police were hunting him, while the troopersrode along the right and the left of the gully to keep him from breakingfor the tents, or for Boulder Hill, where there were hiding placesamongst the big rocks and in the wombat-holes under them. 

'Run him down!' shouted McPhee, furious after the indignities that hadbeen put upon his high office. 'Five pounds to the man who nabs him!'

The diggers shouted a grand chorus of encouragement to the lad, and addeda cry of contempt for Mr. Commissioner and all his horde. A number of themen joined in the chase, to add to the confusion of the police. The rest, crowded on the higher ground, formed a large audience, and a moreenthusiastic audience, or a more vociferous one for its size, had neverwitnessed a sporting event in wide Australia. The excitement grew withevery successful trick of the runaway, and now he was leading his huntersin and out amongst the claims at the gully's head, apparently quiteindifferent to the heat of the day or the stress of the chase. The minerswere giving the youth all the assistance they could by devisinghindrances for the police. Barrows, picks, shovels, buckets, andhide-bags found their way under the legs of the pursuers, windlass-ropeswere stretched to trip them up, and preoccupied miners jostled them atevery turn, and endeavoured to detain them in argument. 

Presently the prisoners, in the charge of three troopers, findingattention diverted from them, seized the opportunity to make a bolt forthe hunted digger's haven of refuge, Boulder Hill, and the confusion oftongues swelled to one rapturous howl at the sight. The unlicenseddiggers spread, running their best, and dodging smartly to avoid thehorses. One poor devil went down under the hoofs of a big roan, and therearose another roar of different portent. 

The youngster was being hemmed in amongst a few claims on the extremeleft. The troopers had stationed themselves beyond, and the police wereclosing in on him, while the crowd yelled encouragement and advice. Witha rush and a reckless spring from a mullock-heap, the youth cleared hisenemies again, and came racing up the gully once more, the baffled policeand a number of miners following pell-mell, the troopers cantering on thewings of the hunt. If the boy could reach the crowd where it was thickestthere was a chance for him, but he was running straight at CommissionerMcPhee, who sat upon his horse watching the chase, and relieving hisofficial feelings with a flow of elegant objurgation. 

On came the young digger, the cheers swelling as he advanced. The men ofDiamond Gully had never so thoroughly enjoyed anything in the nature of achase. It seemed that the race was to be to the swift. The crowd partedto take the runner to its heart, when Sergeant Wallis threw himself fromhis horse, and the young digger simply sank panting into his arms. Wallisput on a grip that had reduced many a recalcitrant convict to order, andlooked inquiringly at McPhee, who had ridden to the spot. The crowdclosed round, overlooking the scene from mullock-heaps andwindlass-stands. 

'Produce your license, you rascal!' roared the Commissioner. 

The youth was too short of breath to speak, and remained panting underWallis's hand. 

'He has no license, sergeant. Run him in!' said McPhee. 

'Sure, Commissioner dear, what'd I be doin' wid a license whin I'm only awoman?' The captive plucked the billycock from her head, and a mass ofblack hair fell over her shoulders. 

Done, who had pressed to the front, recognised Aurora. That section ofthe crowd which saw and understood sent up a shout of surprise andjubilation. Wallis retained his grip on the girl, and the sight of hishands upon her stirred a savage resentment in Jim. He made a rush at thesergeant, but Mike was beside him and held him. 

'Don't be a fool, Jim. Don't give them a chance, ' he said. 'She's rightas rain. McPhee can do nothing to her; he'll lumber you if you only openyour mouth!'

'What'll I do with him--her, sir?' asked Wallis. 

'A pretty chase you've led us, you vixen!' blurted the Serang. 'For twopins I'd chain you to the nearest log, and give the flies a treat. '

'Would hairpins do, Mack dear?' panted Aurora, thrusting an impertinent, flushed, handsome face up at the Serang, and feeling amongst her tangledhair. 

There had been an expectant hush upon the men for the last few moments. On this broke a great bovine roar of merriment from the opulent lungs ofMrs. Ben Kyley, who stood foremost in the ring surrounding McPhee, thesergeant, and the girl, her strong white hands, suspiciously pipeclayed, supporting her shaking sides. The familiar guffaw was infectious; thediggers caught it up, and, laughing like madmen, closed in on Wallis, snatched his prisoner from his hands, and, hoisting her shoulder high, bore her off in triumph. 

Commissioner McPhee, surrounded by his minions, rode from Diamond Gullythat afternoon with one prisoner--the man who had been run down, and thecrowd that ushered him out bore Aurora Griffiths aloft, and sang a longchant of derision, which, keenly as he felt it, the Serang did not dareresent. 

X

NATURALLY, Aurora's popularity was greatly increased, and the tent ofMrs. Ben Kyley became a favourite rendezvous. The girl's good looks andher good and Mrs. Kyley's own breezy, genial disposition, were sufficientto assure a large interest on the part of the men; but Aurora, in takingaction against the troopers, had identified herself with the enemies ofofficialdom. Thenceforth she was a public character. There were not somany women about the rush but that scores of sober, reputable diggerswould have travelled far and drunk much indifferent rum merely for theprivilege of gazing upon the merry, handsome face of a girl like AuroraGriffiths. Now she was in some measure their championess there was morereason for offering devotion at her shrine, and Kyley's saw busy nights. 

'Why did you do it?' asked Jim a few nights later, throwing into hiswords a hint of reproach. Done was unconsciously assuming some little airof proprietorship over Aurora. Whenever the girl noticed it smilessparkled in the corners of her brown eyes. 

'Pure devilment! What else?' she answered. 

'Wasn't it a little--just a little--' He was at a loss to expresshimself, and Aurora's laugh chimed in. 

'The dear boy's brought his sinse iv propriety wid him!' she cried. 'Maybe ye' have a few words to say on moral conduct an' the dacentobservances iv polite society, an' ye'll be axin' me to put on a properdecorum before the min. Arrah! ye have some purty maxims for youngladies, an' a heap iv illegant an' rare ideals iv yer own as to what'sgood an' becomin' in young persons iv the other sex, haven't ye, dear?'

'No, no, no!' cried Done, shocked to find how easily he had slipped intothe attitude of the common moralist. 

'I stand on my merits and my lack of them, Jimmy. There's only one of mehere!' She touched her breast. 'And good, bad, or indifferent, my friendsmust take me whole. '

'Whole, then. '

'Wait, boy, you don't know a fifth of it yet. '

'Do your worst, and test my devotion, Aurora. I defy you!' Jim wasgetting on. 

'Devil doubt you. You're a bold man, Mister Jimmy Done, an' I like yourcheek, for all it's as smooth as my own. ' She touched his facecaressingly with her fingers, and turned to serve clamouring customers atthe other end of the counter. 

'Good-night, mate, ' said a quiet voice at Jim's elbow. Done turnedquickly, and started back a step with some amazement on beholding thepale, impassive face of the stranger who had attacked Stony at their campin the Black Forest. The man was smoking a cigar. He was dressed afterthe manner of a successful digger, with a touch of vanity. He regardedJim earnestly, and the young man experienced again the peculiar feelingthe first sight of this stranger had provoked. 

'Good-night, ' he said. 

'I see you recollect me. '

'Oh yes. Did Stony quite escape you that night?'

'He did, thank's to you, Done. '

'A man couldn't see murder done under his very nose without stirring ahand. '

'Don't apologize. I have no grievance. If I had killed him I should haveregretted it more than the death of my dearest friend, although no manfrom the time of Cain had better excuse for murder. I suppose you havenot seen the man since?'

'No!' answered Jim with emphasis. 

'Meaning that you would not tell me if you had. You need not fear beingan accessory before the act. I want Stony alive, Mr. Done. '

'Mister Done!' Jim laughed. 'I did not think there was a Mister on thecamp. But how do you know my name?'

'I have heard it here to-night half a dozen times. My name is WatRyder--Walter Ryder, but mono syllabic Christian names are insisted onamongst our friends. ' He pointed his cigar towards the diggers at thetables. 'Forgive me, ' he continued in an even voice, 'but your scrutinyof me is suggestive. May I ask what there is in my appearance or mymanner that disturbs you?'

The question was put without feeling of any kind, but it startled Jim alittle. He was surprised to find that he had betrayed any trace of hisemotion. 

'Well, ' he said, 'my experience of you has not been commonplace. '

'You mean that affair in the Bush?--a casual fight, with the usual loudlanguage merely, for all you know. ' Ryder maintained silence for a fewmoments. He was studying his cigar when he spoke again. 'By the way, ' hesaid abruptly, 'I know a good deal about you, Done, if you came out inthe Francis Cadman. He expected this announcement to have some effect. 

'I saw you one day in Melbourne, ' Jim replied. 'You were driving withMrs. Macdougal. '

'Mrs. Donald Macdougal of Boobyalla, ' said Ryder gravely. 

'She was a shipmate of mine. '

Yes; and you saw my face for a moment in Melbourne and remembered it. Youobserve narrowly and quickly, Mr. Done. It was not Mrs. Macdougal who wasmost communicative on the interesting subject I have broached, however, but a very charming young friend of hers, Miss Woodrow. The young lady'sconcern was excusable in view of certain services, but neverthelessflattering. She asked me to constitute myself a sort of foster-Providenceover you if we ever met, Mr. Done. '

Jim laughed to smother a pang. 

'Do I need it, Mr. Ryder?' he asked. He fancied there was a flutter ofthe other's eye towards Aurora, but Ryder did not reply to the question. 'Miss Woodrow told me of the rescue, ' he said, 'of your solitarydisposition, and spoke of a life of suffering in England. '

Done's lips tightened; he squared his shoulders. The fear that hadpossessed him on leaving his birthplace was no longer upon him, but hedesired no revelations, no digging into the past, and there was a hint ofmotive in the other's tone--he was inviting confidence. For a few momentsRyder bent a keen glance upon the younger man, his face bowed and inshadow, toying with his cigar. 

'Jo!' yelled a voice out in the darkness. 

Instantly every pannikin was emptied on the floor, and thrust into adigger's shirt. 

'The traps!' cried Mrs. Ben, and her rum-jug flew into a tub of waterbehind the counter. Several bundles of washing were tossed out, a loaf ofbread was thrust upon Done, and at the same moment the door was thrownback, and in marched Sergeant Wallis, followed by five police. Mrs. BenKyley was not surprised, and had expected that Aurora's imposition wouldbring a raid down upon her sooner or later, and here it was. 

'You're selling sly grog here, ma'am, ' said Wallis, sniffing like aretriever. 

Ben Kyley rose silently from his stool and approached Wallis. 

'Sit you down, Ben Kyley!' roared Mrs. Ben; and Kyley returned assilently to his seat, and sat smoking throughout the scene that followed, apparently quite listless. 

'Am I selling sly grog, Mr. Sergeant? Then it's a miracle where it comesfrom. I haven't a drop in the place, or I'd stand you a nobbler gladly. It's my opinion there are worse-looking men than Sergeant Wallis ingaol. '

'Rubbish, ma'am! the place reeks of rum, ' said Wallis. 

'A bit of a bottle Quigley shouted for the boys, this being hisbirthday. '

'Quigley has too many birthdays. Search the place, boys!'

The police commenced a systematic search of the tent, examining bothcompartments, and trying the earthen floor for a secret cellar. Theyfound nothing, and meanwhile Mrs. Kyley was bantering Wallis withboisterous good-fellowship. 

'The idea of an officer of your penetration, sergeant, mistaking a poorwasherwoman's tent for a grog-shop. '

The poor washerwoman does a big business, Mrs. Kyley. '

'Not amongst the police, Sergeant Wallis. It is a miserable living awasherwoman would make out of them. I hear they beat their shirts with astick once a month, as we dusted the carpets in the old Country. '

'We can find nothing, sergeant, ' said one of the police. 

'Remember how Imeson tricked you all at Bendigo, Wallis, with a hollowtent-pole that held ten gallons of brandy. '

'I do, Mrs. Kyley. You were Mrs. Imeson then. '

'And if you have the luck I may be Mrs. Wallis one of these days. '

'Heaven forbid, ma'am!'

'Don't waste your prayers on me, sergeant. Maybe I deserve even that, mysins being many and various. '

'And sly grog-selling is one of them. But I'll have you there yet, mygood woman. ' Wallis turned his thumb down. 

'Remember I am only a poor weak woman when that happens, sergeant. Willyou have a drink before going? There's a nip left in Quigley's bottle. '

'No, ma'am, I don't drink, ' answered Wallis from the door. 

'Then, sergeant, commit your nose for perjury. It's bearing false witnessagainst you all over the field. '

There was a yell of laughter, interspersed with the usual cries of 'Jo!'as Wallis passed out after his men, and the diggers bombarded Mrs. Kyleywith the bundles of washing that had been hastily distributed amongstthem. Ben Kyley followed the police out, and presently returned andnodded to Mary, who seized her jug and dived through the canvaspartition. She was back again in a minute with a jug full of spirits. 

'My shout, lads!' she cried. 'Roll up, and drink the health and long lifeof Mary Kyley!'

The device that enabled the washerwoman to deceive the police was knownto a few of the diggers, but they kept the secret well. Her tent waspitched close to a big hollow gum-tree. High up in the butt nestled abarrel of rum, the bottom coated with cinders, like the interior of theburnt tree. From this barrel a pipe came down under the bark to a neatlydisguised little trap-door where the canvas lay against the butt. Ahidden slit in the tent corresponded with the trap-door. It was Ben'soffice to replenish the barrel at night, with kegs brought from theirsafe hiding-place in an abandoned claim, over which was pitched the tentof his mate, Sandy Harris. Mary had adopted this plan on three rushes, and her savings, regularly banked in Melbourne, already assumed theproportions of a modest fortune. 

When the police were gone Jim looked about him in search of Ryder, buthis acquaintance had disappeared. As his friendship with Aurora Griffithsripened, Done shook off thoughts of Lucy Woodrow, since they never camewithout an underlying sense of accusation. He was enjoying his presentlife to the full. In his heart was a great kindness towards the peoplewith whom he mingled. He was naturally sociable, a lover of his kind, andrecognised now that half the torment of his life since coming to manhoodhad arisen from his isolation, from the lack of opportunities ofgratifying this affection. He admired Aurora, comparing her with hisyouthful ideal, the strong animal, self-reliant, careless of custom. True, she lacked the intellectual superiority with which he had endowedhis defiant Dulcinea, but he had even forgotten to take delight in hisown mental excellence of late, so that did matter. He only concernedhimself with living now. He was quite at his ease in Aurora's society, and the atmosphere on the Kyley establishment pleased him. The place wasfull of interest, but his warmest interest was in the full-blooded paganwho officiated as Hebe to the assembled diggers. 

He had quite respectable qualms at times, seeing her the object of somuch rough gallantry--qualms he stifled instantly as being in flatrebellion to his fine philosophy of individualism as applied tobehaviour. His rights of man must be rights of women too. But, for allthat, there was much comfort in the belief that Aurora showed nopreference elsewhere. Quigley's prominence as a suitor was not due to anypartiality on the part of the girl, but rather to Quigley's ownaggressive character, and his imperturbability under her eloquent banter. To be sure, she persisted in treating Jim as an interesting boy, a lineof conduct he found somewhat absurd, but which was partly the vein of herhumour, and partly due to his inexperience in the role of Don Juan. 

So the merry months passed, and the mates worked claim after claim onDiamond Gully, doing much prospecting work and sinking sundry duffers, but unearthing sufficient gold to make Done's riches a good deal of anuisance to him, although translated into the biggest bank-notesavailable. During all this time Quigley's dislike for Jim was only keptwithin bounds by the vein of flippancy that ran through Aurora'sdemonstrations of preference for the younger man. The quarrel wasinevitable, however, and it was precipitated by a half-drunkendemonstration of affection towards Aurora on Quigley's part, which thegirl resented with a savageness that betrayed an unexpected trait. 

One Saturday night Done and Burton were partners in a four-handed game ofeuchre going on at one of the tables, when a sudden disturbance arose atthe counter. Mrs. Ben Kyley's familiar rum-jug crashed and flew to pieceson the table amongst the men. The players were on their feet in aninstant. At the other end of the compartment Aurora was struggling in thehands of Pete Quigley. Pete held her wrists firmly, and Aurora's fingersclutched the neck of a bottle. Her face was distorted with passion, notrace of its habitual humour remained; the fury of a mountain cat blazedin her eyes, her lips were drawn back from her large white teeth, whichwere clenched with a biting vindictiveness. The other men reseatedthemselves, watching the struggle without much concern. Mrs. Kyleyshouted an uncomplimentary summary of Quigley's character from behind thecounter. Jim alone advanced to interfere. 

'Drop it, Quigley, ' he said quietly, but his warmer feelings stirred. 'Blast it, man, let the girl be!'

'An' have my brains knocked out with a bottle? I'll see you flamingfirst!'

Done pressed Aurora's fingers apart, and threw the bottle behind thecounter. 

'Now release her!' he said in a tone conveying a threat. 

'Mind your own infernal business!' answered Pete. 'I'll deal with you inhalf a minute. '

'Release her!' Done was at Quigley's throat with a grip that startedPete's eyes from their sockets, and the elder digger abandoned his holdon Aurora to fight for his own breath. There was a brief struggle, andJim sent Pete sprawling over a stool. 

Quigley picked himself up. He did not rush at Done: he was apparentlycomposed. He undid the wrist and collar buttons of his jumper, drew thegarment over his head, and threw it on the floor at Jim's feet. 

'I suppose you'll take it fighting!' he said. 'If you won't I'll thumpthe soul out of you, anyhow. '

Aurora rushed between them, and endeavoured to grapple with Pete again. 

'You shall not fight!' she cried. 'You coward! You brute!'

At this juncture Kyley, who had been away replenishing the rum-barrel, entered the tent. He took in the situation at a glance. 

'Look after Aurora, Ben!' ordered Mrs. Kyley, and Kyley calmly took thestruggling girl in his arms, and handed her bodily over the counter intothe washer-woman's gentle care. 

Mike was promptly at his mate's back. 'Stave him off, Jim, ' he said. 'Useyour straight left, and if he gets in throw him. He's a dirtyin-fighter. ' Mike had boxed a good deal with Done lately, and did nottremble for his friend. 

Kyley came forward again. It was no part of his duty to prevent anhonourable settlement of a quarrel between man and man, and very far fromhis inclination. 

'If yer meanin' fight, ' he said, it's got to be fair, square, an' inorder. First man that fouls 'll hear from me. Are you ready?'

The men had formed themselves into ranks along the sides and the end ofthe tent, leaving a clear space about eighteen feet square. Jim threwaside his shirt, and stood erect and composed. The flannel he wore wassleeveless, and his uncommon length of arm excited the attention of thecognoscenti, and if there was a miner on Diamond Gully who did not knowthe points of a fighter, he was ashamed to admit it. Done had done mostof the windlass work since coming to the field, and his forearm wascorrugated with muscle, while the flexors responded to movements likeballs of iron starting under the brown skin. His shoulders were broad andset well back, his poise buoyant, and his air of absolute confidence gavea dubious tone to the words of the quidnuncs who were allowing Quigleythree minutes to whip him out of all recognition. Done looked slight andsmall before his big opponent, but Pete's bigness was due largely tosurplus material, and Pete had been anything but a temperate man of late. Jim recollected this in calculating his chances and determining hismethods. 

'Time!' cried Kyley. 

Done took his ground easily, with his left arm well up, and his right infor defence, a style so unusual at that date as to provide a littlederision amongst the onlookers. Mike, standing with his arms outspreadand his shoulders to the crowd, keeping the ring, smiled complacently. Pete, confident in his height, weight, and strength, was determined tomake a short, hot fight of it, and went straight at Jim, both hands up, and launched his right for the young man's face with terrific force. Thismust have been a decisive blow had Jim's face remained there to receiveit, but Done ducked neatly, and the next moment his left was shot intoQuigley's cheek, sending the big man staggering, and raising a purplewheal under the eye almost instantly. Pete's composure forsook him at thefirst set back, and uttering a furious oath he rushed in again, swingingboth fists; but that shooting left hand met him full in the mouth, andbalked him again, his own sledge-hammer blows falling short of hisopponent. He pushed in recklessly, punching right and left, but Jimdodged smartly, slipped under his arm, and jumped to the other end of thering. Quigley swung round and dashed at him, and once more Done's hardleft shot into his face, while the heavy blow of the giant was neatlyparried, and again Jim bewildered his man by ducking and slipping fromhim. 

'Why don't you stand up and fight him like a Briton?' cried one of thesupporters of the big digger. 

'He's fightin' fair, an' as long as he fights fair he'll fight as he domwell pleases!' said Ben Kyley, who had constituted himself referee. 

Already Quigley was bleeding freely and panting from his exertions, whileDone, who betrayed no excitement and conserved his energies with miserlycare, was no more disturbed than if he had been taking a hand at cards. He faced his foe as before, presenting as little as possible of his bodyfor a target, and met Pete's rush this time with an adroit side movementand a heavy lifting blow in the body that made Quigley gasp, and robbedhim of the little bit of sense that had remained. He went blundering atJim, lashing out with left and right. There was a rapid exchange, andusing his guard arm in offence for the first time, Jim sent in a swingingblow that crashed on Pete's chin; and Pete dropped as if his legs hadsuddenly broken under him, and lay in a grotesque attitude, his cheekpressed to the earthen floor, while the assembled miners sent up yells ofexcitement that presently settled into a babel of criticism. 

Quigley made an effort to rise, but collapsed, and was lifted into hiscorner, and freely sprayed and towelled by his seconds. Jim sat unmoved, while Mike and an aristocratic digger, known as the Prodigal, fanned himwith the towels Mrs. Kyley had thoughtfully provided. 

Quigley came up again at the call. He was still blinking and a littledazed, but far from being beaten, and the first round had taught him alesson. He advanced more warily, displaying some little respect for hisenemy's darting left, but Jim's tactics puzzled and disgusted him. Theyoung man was as nimble as a cat, and no matter how Pete pushed him, healways broke ground and slipped away when it seemed that his toweringopponent had him at his mercy. 

'Why don't you fight, blast yer!' stuttered Pete, swinging on the runawayfor the third time in two minutes. 

'Yes, stand up to it. This ain't a dancing lesson!' his second growled. 

Jim's answer was a quick feint and a hard drive on the nose with theleft, following up quickly with the right on Quigley's ear. Both blowssank in deeply, and Jim eluded Pete's rush, jumped out of his reach, and, coming at him from the side, punched him heavily in the neck, whereatMike and his friends clamoured joyously. Quigley rushed at Jim, spittingoaths, but he was a better fighter than he appeared to be, and wasprepared for the other's swift, cutting left hand by this, and, ducking, he landed both fists on Jim's body. Jim countered on the ear and neck, there was a fierce rally that set the crowd jumping and shouting madly, and Jim slid out and skipped away, then got back at Pete before he hadquite realized what had happened with a powerful blow over the kidneys. 

Pete's blood was up; he set his teeth, and went at Done with hungrypassion. The young man's style of fighting was new to most of theonlookers, and few of them appreciated it. What they liked was to seecombatants stand up to each other, giving punch for punch, a system inwhich the strong brute had all the advantage. Adroitness in avoidingpunishment was not regarded with favour; but, in spite of the derisivecries of Quigley's backers, Jim kept strictly to his methods. 

'Shut up, you!' cried Kyley. 'The lad's fightin' his own battle, an'fightin' it well. He could wipe the floor with a bunch of you. '

Breathing heavily, and looking extremely ugly under his blood andbruises, Pete followed Jim round, watching for an opportunity to rush inand grip him. He felt that it was only necessary for him to get thesmaller man in his arms to settle the contest once and for all; but Jimfought him warily, sparring, ducking, and dodging, cutting Pete again andagain with left-hand punches, or clipping him neatly with a swingingright when an opening offered. Taking advantage of an instant when Donewas driven against the line of men, Quigley bore in, shaking his headfrom a blow that might have felled a bullock, and, clasping Jim round thewaist, deliberately carried him into the centre of the ring, makingnothing of the short-arm punches that cut like a hammer. Three times hetried to dash Done to the ground, but the latter was lithe as a serpent, and his limbs writhed themselves about Quigley and clung tenaciously. Thecrowd was shouting the two men's names, and exchanging cries of triumphand abuse. Suddenly an arm shot across Pete's breast, an elbow was driveninto his throat, the two men wheeled, and the big one was sprung from hisfeet and sent down, with a stunning shock. The yelling ceased suddenly, every eye was upon Quigley. 

'My God! he's killed!' said one awed voice. 

They dragged Pete to his corner, and Jim submitted himself to theattentions of his seconds. All the passion had gone out of his heartbefore the first round was finished: there remained no emotion but thelust of conquest. Aurora, who had watched the fight lying across thecounter under the washer-woman's restraining arm, her dark eyes shining, her face ablaze, beat the boards with her knuckles, and cried outincessantly, a prey to a fever of excitement that quivered in all herflesh. 

'Time!' cried Ben Kyley, and the men came to the scratch for the thirdround, Pete badly shaken, but game and still eager. 

'Stand in an' fight me, an' I'll belt the hide off you!' he saidsavagely. 

Jim laughed mockingly, and pushed his face forward, inviting the other tolead, and when Pete lunged at it he ducked, and got right and left on tohis enemy's ribs, slipping, away under Pete's arm when he endeavoured toreturn the blows. For a time Jim simply led the big man a dance round thering, landing a stinging blow now and then, to add to Pete'sdiscomfiture; but the latter got him cornered at last, and the thud, thud, thud of the blows stirred the crowd to enthusiasm once more. Petegot after Jim smartly when the latter broke ground, and landed his bestblow, a heavy right swing on the temple that sent Done down, and left himconfused for a few seconds. Quigley's friends shouted themselves hoarseas Mike helped his mate to the chair. 

'How goes it, Jim?' asked Burton anxiously. 

'He's beaten, but my hat won't fit me for a day or two, ' answered Done, smiling through the water. 

Quigley showed his bad condition very markedly when he came up, and Jim, excepting for a cut chin and a big lump over his temple, appeared nonethe worse. Pete maintained his wild policy, rushing the young man aboutthe ring, wasting energy in terrible blows that were rarely within a footof their object, while Done, who scarcely seemed to be fighting at all, slipped in every now and again and battered Pete's body, chary of hittinghis cut and swollen face. This was maintained for two rounds more, andthree times Quigley went down. When time was called for the seventh roundJim said decisively:

'I'll fight the man no more! He's beaten!'

There was a yell from Quigley's corner, and Pete rushed Jim, forcing himback among the men. Again they clinched, but Jim broke away, and Quigleyfollowed, almost blind, and scarcely able to stagger. Done put him offwith the left, and drove in a right-hand blow that took Pete on the pointof the chin, sending him to earth, helpless and hopelessly beaten. 

'Jimmy Done's the winner, ' said Kyley authoritatively, when a measure ofquiet was restored, 'an' I don't mind sayin' I ain't seen a prettier bito' fightin' this five year. You've got a lot o' Tom Sayers's daintytricks, my lad!' he added, shaking Done by the hand. 

 XI

THE miners pressed about the victor, eager to shake hands with him, andinvitations to drink were showered upon him. Aurora clamoured on the outskirts of this crowd, trying to fight her way through, still halfdelirious with excitement and exultation, calling Jim's name. Her rapturewas uncouth, half savage; she had many of the instincts of the primitivewoman. But Mike dragged Done's shirt over his head and led his mate away. Burton prepared a hot tub for Jim that night, and after nine hours' sleepthe hero awakened on Sunday morning with only a bruise or two, a lump onhis forehead, and a stiff and battered feeling about the ribs, to remindhim of his fight with Quigley. 

It was a pleasant morning, the winter was already well advanced; but onlyan improved water-supply, an occasional wetting at the windlass, and theneed of a rug on the bunk, marked the change of season, so far as Jimcould see. There was no place for verdure on Diamond Gully; the wholefield turned upside down, littered with the debris of the mines, washedwith yellow slurry, and strewn in places with white boulders and thegravel tailings sluiced clean by the gold-seekers. The creek, recently alimpid rivulet, was now a sluggish, muddy stream, winding about itstumbled bed; but a bright sky was over all, and a benignant sun smiledupon the gully, scintillating among the tailings and burnishing the muddystream to silver. The tents looked white and clean, and the smoke fromthe camp-fires rose straight and high in the peaceful atmosphere. Astrange quiet was upon the lead; it needed only the chastened clanging ofa church-bell to complete the suggestion of an English Sabbath. 

Jim was sitting on the foot of his bunk reading. Mike had gone up thecreek on a prospecting expedition. Presently a magpie in a dead tree at alittle distance burst into full-throated melody. Done dropped his book tolisten. That clarion of jubilation always delighted him. It seemed to himthat if the young Australian republic men were talking of ever came intobeing its anthem must ring with the wild, free notes of its bravestsinging-bird. 

'So the bold hayro was not kilt intoirely?' Aurora was smiling in at him, her eyes full of sunshine, her cheeks suffused with more than theirwonted colour. 'Are ye axin' me in? Thank ye, kind sir. ' She slipped intothe tent, and, placing a hand upon each shoulder, examined himcritically, while he smiled back into her face, and wondered why shebrought with her suggestions of a bounteous rose-garden. 'Ah, Jimmy, Ithought I'd hardly know ye!

 '"Where are your eyes that looked so mild? Hurroo! Hurroo! Where are your eyes that looked so mild Hurroo! Hurroo! Where are your eyes that looked so mild, When my poor heart you first beguiled?"

She sang no more, but sank upon his knee, and her arms were about hisneck. Her accent was mischievious, but there was the fire of rubies inher eyes. 

'They're both there fast enough, ' laughed Jim. 'An' niver a black oneamong them. The big fellow didn't spoil your picture, then? Ah, Jim, itwas fine! fine! fine! It maddened me with delight to see you beating him. You--you sprig of a fighting devil, I love you for it!'

Jim's heart took fire at hers. He strained her to him, and his lips sankupon her handsome, eager mouth in a long kiss that transported him. 

'Dearest, you have kissed my heart, ' she whispered. 'You fought him forthe love of me, didn't you?'

Only twice in his life had he kissed a woman, and as if greedy from longfasting he kissed her now, lips, cheeks, eyes, and neck. His lipssearched the deep corners of her mouth. 

'But you don't say you love me, ma bouchal!' Aurora murmured, and herarms tightened about his neck. 

'You are beautiful! You are beautiful!' he said fiercely. 

'But you don't say you love me!'

'I love you! I love you! I love you!' There was not now in the youngman's mind any self-questioning; there was no probing for logicalreasons, no doubting, no examining emotions in a suspicious, pessimisticspirit. Done abandon himself to the delicious intoxication of the moment, and Aurora was transfigured under his caresses her aggressiveness, herbonhomie, her bold independence of spirit, were all gone; she developed aclinging and almost infantile tenderness, and breathed about him a cloudof ecstasy. 

When Burton returned in two hours' time, Done said nothing about Aurora'svisit, but Mike did not fail to mark his mate's demeanour, which wasunusually thoughtful. 

'Not feelin' too bright, old man?' asked Mike

'Nonsense, Mike; I'm all right. '

'Thought p'r'aps those rib-benders o' Quigley's were pullin' you up. '

'Not a bit of it. I haven't a thought to spare for Quigley. '

Burton understood better later in the evening, when he saw Jim and Aurorasitting together at Kyley's in the dim corner furthest from the widefireplace, and the Geordie touched him on the arm and jerked his thumb intheir direction. 

'She was down to your tent to see after her champion this mornin', ' hesaid. 

'Spoils to the victor!' said the Prodigal. 

Mike's eyes drifted towards Jim and Aurora several times during theevening, and he thumbed his chin in a troubled way. He had been thinkingit was almost time to try fresh fields; but it was not going to be soeasy a matter to shift as he had imagined. 

A few nights later, seizing the opportunity when he was alone in thetent, Jim cut the stitches that secured the locket containing LucyWoodrow's portrait in the breast pocket of his jumper, convenient to hisheart; and drawing from under his pillow the tin box that held hismother's brooch and picture, and the few papers and heirlooms hecherished, he placed Lucy's gift somewhat reverently amongst histreasures, and hastily stowed the box away again. He had formulated nodefinite reason for doing this, and experienced some contrition inperforming the act, and a sense of relief when it was done. 

The young man's complete victory over Quigley made his reputationthroughout Diamond Gully. Pete Quigley had two or three hard-won battlesto his credit, and it was thought there was no man on the field so hardto handle, with the exception of Ben Kyley, whose showing against aprofessional of Bendigo's calibre set him on a plane above the mereamateur. Pete confessed himself beaten without equivocation. 

'I ain't got any patience with this blanky new fangled style o'fightin', ' he said. 'A man ought to toe the scratch an' take his gruellike a man. With those Johnnie-jump-ups it's all cut an' run, an' I admitit licks me. I ain't neither a foot-racer nor a acrobat, an' Done gave meas much as I cared about. '

Indeed, Quigley looked it. The fact was patent on the face of him, and hewould not be in a condition to dispute the thoroughness of his trouncingfor three weeks at least. 

Jim was regarded as a celebrity. Strangers even went to him, and gravelyasked to be permitted to shake hands with him as such. He was pointed outto newcomers, and observed on all hands with a serious respect that hadall the comedy of piquant burlesque. 

''Pon my soul, Mike!' said Jim, 'if your republic comes while mypopularity lasts, I shall be first President. '

'Well, ' answered Mike soberly, 'if you could talk as well as you fight, I'd like your chances. '

Done's opportunity of increasing his popularity came on the followingSaturday. The Saturday afternoon off was strictly observed on the rushes. The miners were nearly all batchers--that is, bachelors keeping house forthemselves--and the tidy men amongst them needed one half-day for washingand cleaning and putting their tents in order. Only the more prodigalspirits cared to pay Mrs. Kyley's exorbitant rates for laundry work, andfor the others who cherished a respect for cleanliness--the nearest theordinary digger came to Godliness--Saturday afternoon was washing day, and scores might have been seen after crib outside their tents performingthe laundress's office, usually astride a log, on which 'the wash' wasspread to be alternately splashed and soaped and rubbed. Saturday was thegreat 'settling day, ' too. If there were any differences to be foughtout, or any disputes requiring the nice adjustment of the prize-ring, they were almost in variably made fixtures for Saturday afternoon. 

For a month past Aurora had forcibly taken over the mates' washing, andas they were well-disciplined batchers who performed their domesticduties effectually from day to day, for them Saturday afternoon wasreally a holiday; and on this particular afternoon they were sitting inthe open, sunning themselves, and talking with the Prodigal of the latestnews from Ballarat, where the leaders of the diggers' cause wereagitating resolutely for alterations in the mining laws and reform of theConstitution, when a party of about twenty men approached them from thedirection of Forest Creek. The party halted at a distance of about fiftyyards, and after a short conference two of the men came on. 

'Hello!' said Mike, 'here's trouble. '

'Five ounces to a bone button they are looking for fight, added theProdigal. 

'Good day, mates!' The foremost of the two strangers greeted them withmarked civility, and the friends replied in kind. 'One of you is the manthat beat Pete Quigley, we're told. '

'This is Jim Done, ' said Mike, giving an informal introduction, indicating Jim with the toss of a pebble. 

'Glad to know you, ' the other said, with some show of deference. 'Factis, we've got a man here who's willing to fight you for anything you careto mention up to fifty pounds. '

'What!' cried Done in amazement. 

'Oh, quite friendly, and all that. He hasn't anything against you. '

'Confound his cheek! Does he--do you think I've nothing better to do thanto offer myself to be thumped by every blackguardly bruiser who comesalong?'

'Softly, mate; no need for hard names. We come here as sportsmen, makingyou a fair offer, thinking, perhaps, you'd be glad of a bit of a rough-upthis fine day. '

'Then you can go to the devil!' said Jim, laughing in spite of himself. 

'You won't fight?'

'I will not. I'm no fighting man. I only fight when forced, and then witha bad grace, I can assure you. '

The two men looked quite pathetic in their disappointment as they turnedto rejoin their companions. 

'Well, of all the outrageous--' gasped Jim. 

'Price of fame! said the Prodigal. 

Mike grinned. 'Don't be selfish, Jim. I've got nothing to do thisafternoon, an' would just as soon watch a good scrap. Why not oblige thekind gentleman?'

'You and the kind gentleman can go hang!'

'They've got Brummy the Nut there, ' the Prodigal said. 'Brummy is a lagwho had all the sensibilities battered out of him in the quarries. He hasno science, but hits like the kick of a cart-horse, and is humblygrateful for punishment that would knock the hide off an old manhippopotamus. '

'Look here, you won't disappoint poor Brummy the Nut, ' pleaded Mike, withmock gravity. 

The deputation of two returned after another conference. 

'How would you take it, ' asked the first speaker--. 'mind, we're justasking, being anxious to bring about a friendly meeting--how would youtake it if our man gave you a bit of a clip over the ear?'

This was put as a reasonable possibility, and as a simple and pleasantmethod of establishing a casus belli that might satisfy Done's ridiculouspunctilio. 

'I'd take it very badly, ' said Jim warmly, 'and probably knock your man'sconfounded head off his shoulders with this pick-handle. '

''Twouldn't be done unfriendly, ' said the second man in a hurt tone. 

'Why doesn't your man show himself?'

'They guessed his beauty would prejudice you, ' said the Prodigal. 'Youmight have conscientious scruples, and refuse to do anything to mar soperfect a specimen of Nature's handiwork. '

One of the strangers beckoned, and his party advanced with theirchampion. Done gazed wonderingly at the man they brought against him. Brummy the Nut was perhaps five feet nine inches in height, but walked inthe stooping attitude of a person under a burden, his long arms swingingin a manner that strengthened the hint of gorilla in his broad, batteredface; he dragged his feet as if the ball and chain were still at hisheels, and, despite the enormous strength suggested by his massive limbsand great trunk, bore himself with a childish meekness in ludicrouscontrast with his sinister appearance. All that long years in a convicthell could do to rob a man of the grace of humanity and harden him topain and labour had been done for Brummy the Nut. The Nut favoured Jim, Mike, and the Prodigal each with a duck of the head and a movement of hishand towards the forehead. 

'This is our man, Brummy the Nut, ' said the party's spokesman. 

'Well, Brummy, I won't fight you, ' replied Done. Brummy ducked his headagain, and muttered something in a husky voice about being 'proud to heya fr'en'ly go with any gent ez is a gent. '

'He's a gentleman amateur like yourself, ' said the spokesman persuasively'and a fairer fighter never stripped. '

'Oh, make tracks!' retorted Burton with some impatience. 'We're tired. Set your man-eater at a red-gum butt or a bull--something in his class. '

'It's very disappointing after coming so far to oblige you. '

'You didn't receive a pressing invitation from any body here, ' said Jim. 

'Any other day, ' ventured the Nut deferentially in his small, hoarsevoice, intelligible only at intervals. 'Way o' friendship--noill-feelin's--gent ez is a gent--no 'arm did. '

'I'll not fight you at any time, ' Done replied. 'You see, Brummy, myfriend hesitates to raise false hopes in your heart, ' said the Prodigal. 'He might promise to punch the hair and hide off you at some future date, and then disappoint all your tender, joyful anticipations; but he's not aman of that sort: he tells you straight he wouldn't attempt to 'spoilbeauty like yours for all the gilt in the Gravel Pits. '

'Gent don't wanter fight, ' whispered Brummy; 'tha's all right--no 'armdid. ' Brummy was the only man of his party who betrayed no feelingwhatever in the matter. 

There was a further conference, and the spokesman turned to Jim again. 

Brummy claims the championship of Diamond Gully, ' he said. 

'That's no business of mine. He's welcome to claim anything he takes afancy to for me, ' replied Jim. 

'No ill-feelin's----way o' frien'ship, ' said the husky champion; and hemade his curious salutation again, and went shuffling off with hiskeepers, who had the airs of sorely ill-used citizens. 

'Well, ' gasped Jim, 'if this is what a man brings down on himself bywaging a casual battle in his own defence, I'll be careful to keep out offights in the future. '

However, Jim Done was not again called upon to do battle while heremained on Diamond Gully. The reputation he had won was a guaranteeagainst further molestation and Aurora's open and unabashed devotionprevented any approach to serious rivalry. The girl still preserved hermanner of a boon companion in the presence of Mrs. Ben Kyley's customers, but no man of them was given occasion for the ghost of a hope ofsupplanting Jim in her tempestuous heart. She now assumed towards Done anattitude of happy submission; the quizzical insistence on his boyishnesswas abandoned: she acknowledged her master with an exuberant rapture thathad not the faintest suspicion of coyness, and although Jim often blushedunder it, and experienced a great uneasiness in the course of a publicdemonstration, Aurora showed a barbaric disregard for contemporaryopinion. She felt no shame in the presence of her emotions, andconsequently had no impulse to hide them. She beguiled Jim from his workto take long rambles; she devoted herself to him, to the neglect of Mrs. Ben Kyley's patrons. 

Mike Burton was often lonely in his tent, and often Mrs. Kyley stormed atJim, highly vociferous and wildly pantomimic, but good-natured andsympathetic at bottom, for there was a vagabondish harmony between thetwo women that made them fast friends, and caused Mary Kyley to feel ashare in Aurora's happiness. 

The writing of the letter to Lucy Woodrow was now indefinitely postponed, and Jim found himself reluctant to open the box containing Lucy's locket. When his hand fell upon it by chance he put it by hastily, as if it werejust possible that the face in the trinket might force itself upon hisattention. He never lived to understand this fugitive idea, for thethoughts were cast aside just as hastily, and with an absurd touch ofimpatience. 

The young man had given himself up to Aurora's influence. The plenitudeand the ardour of her love carried him along; he felt at times like atwig in a torrent, but the sensation was luxurious, and another joy oflife was with him. He opened wide arms to it. Once again he saw the worldwith new eyes, and for having despised and mistrusted it so found it themore adorable. He squared his shoulders and experienced a curioussensation of physical growth and accrued manhood. Two years ago he mighthave weighed his feelings for Aurora and hers for him, and sought outmotives; to-day he went along the flow of life, unresisting, with aleaping heart, and had he been questioned would have said that not he butthe world had changed. 

Mike Burton watched the development of events in a judicial way, withoutoffering any comment. There had not been a waste month in his life for aslong as he could remember. In spite of his busy days and his Bushbreeding, he had been much in touch with the humanities, and he knew menand women well enough to expect no startling surprises from them; but Jimwas a curiosity. With a certain robustness of character, no littleknowledge, and considerable worldly wisdom in abstract matters, theyounger man yet seemed to bring a boy's mind to bear upon actualities, and excited himself absurdly over matters which, from Mike's patriarchalpoint of view, were merely the expected events of existence--the thingsthat happen to all men, and about which no man need distress himself. Hehad seen a good deal of the women of the camps, and thought he knew thetypes well. He summed up Aurora to his own satisfaction: 'Like aneel--easy to catch, but hard to hold!' Amongst other pleasant qualities, Mike had the comfortable human one of often being wrong in his estimatesof men and women and things. He expected the girl's infatuation to wearitself out quickly, and meanwhile possessed his soul with patience, prospected here and there, tried new claims, and found a few payable andone rich before the summer came again; but he wanted to try the otherrushes, and the winter passed without his having broached the matter toDone. 

Jim was quite ignorant of the fact that he was making unfair demands uponhis mate's loyalty. They were doing well on the whole; the life onDiamond Gully had lost none of its attractiveness--it was still vigorousand eventful. There had been a riot in Forest Creek during May, providinga stirring week, and many alarms and excursions on the part of the minersand the license-hunters. Solo had visited Diamond Gully again, and neatlyvictimized Cootmeyer--a gold-buyer at one of the stores--gagging hisvictim with his own bacon-knife, and imprisoning him in a salt-porkbarrel. The revolutionary feeling in the hearts of the men had increasedin intensity, and the talk about the camp-fires stirred the bad blood tofever-heat. To Done time had gone on wings so swift that he could notmark its flight. Burton, a nomad in blood and breeding, thirsted forchange, and in ordinary circumstances would have rolled his swag and goneon alone long ago; but the liking he had for Jim was the strongestemotion that had crept into his stolid soul, excepting only the affectionhe bore for a certain black-browed boss-cockie's daughter on the Sydneyside, and be found it hard to break away. But Aurora's hold on Jim hadnot weakened so far as he could judge, and the time came at length whenhis restless spirit drove him on. He broke the news to Jim one night asthey lay in their bunks, he smoking, Jim reading. 

'I'm full o' this, old man, ' he said abruptly. 

'Of what?'

'Oh, of Diamond Gully! I reckon it's played out or thereabouts. '

'And we got twelve ounces a man for the last week's work. 

'Not enough, Jimmy. Not more 'n wages, an' men like you 'n me should bein the thickest an' richest of it. I'm gettin' along to-morrow. '

'You mean to say you are going?' Done jerked himself on to his elbow andstared across the tent at his mate. 

'Um--m Mean to try a new rush. '

'Anything wrong, Mike? Have I been getting on your raw lately? You wantto break up this partner ship of ours. '

'My oath, no!' Mike had raised himself eagerly, and was looking at Jim. 

Then you reckoned on having me along?'

'No; I thought maybe you wouldn't care to pad out from here jes' yetawhile. 

'If it rests with me, mate, where you go I go. You've given me a bit of ajolt, old man. '

'You'll come, then?' cried Mike. 

'Why, yes! What should keep me?'

The two men gripped hands, and a few minutes of, silence followed, duringwhich Mike's pipe went out and Jim's book fell to the floor. Both weremore moved than they cared to show. 

'This makes things much more comfortable, ' said Burton presently. 

'Where do we go?'

'To Jim Crow, an' from there we may make tracks to Ballarat. 

'To Ballarat!' The name epitomized all that Done knew of mining life andthe aspirations of the diggers. 

'Yes, Jim. If there's goin' to be fightin', we must be in it. '

'Mike, ' said Jim, breaking the thoughtful silence that followed, 'whatput into your head the mad idea that I would want to break with you? God, man, I'd be a desolate, helpless wastrel without you!'

'Aurora!' said Mike sententiously. 

'Aurora!' Jim sat up abruptly, and then sank slowly back upon his pillowagain. It was very curious, but till this moment no thought of Aurora hadoccurred to him. 

Mike blew out the candle, and it was quite half an hour later when hesaid, speaking as if the conversation had just been dropped: 'You'll goall the same, Jimmy?'

'Yes, ' said Jim, with the emphasis of a man making a resolution. 

XII

AURORA! What would she say? What would she do? It was less the thought ofhis losing Aurora than the picture of her great distress that worriedhim. She would be broken-hearted. And yet go he must, there was noquestion of that; he had not come to Australia to tether himself to awoman's apron strings, even though that woman be the brightest andwinsomest of her sex--excepting one. He smuggled that saving clause in ina cowardly way. He had carefully masked his treachery even to his owneyes, and yet it was treachery that was in his bones. Of course, he mustassure her that they would meet again: they were not necessarily partingfor ever; but even as these thoughts worked in his mind he was notconscious of any anxiety at the prospect of a lasting separation. Jim didnot realize to what extent the passion for Aurora had fastened upon hisblood; he still liked her, there remained a decided tenderness, and hehated the idea of hurting her or causing her grief. This was the betterpart of his liking for the girl, but the vehement selfishness seemed tohave gone from his love, and without a fierce note of selfishness lovebecomes as pale as friendship. She had been a wonder, a revelation, agreat glory; she had become merely an attractive, handsome girl, ratherexuberant in her affection. If Done were our villain we could show himunmanly, ignoble, and vile for all this, but not one voluntary impulsewent to the making of his present attitude; it was a development entirelyforeign to his will, and that much at least must be remembered in thedefence of our hero. 

Mike put off their departure a day. He had intended leaving the tools andcamp-ware with his mate, but now it was necessary to make arrangementswith a teamster to follow them to the new rush with their property. 

Done approached Aurora with great misgivings; he expected a passionatedemonstration. There had been no sign of waning affection on her part; onthe contrary, she had seemed to grow more devoted to him. 

'Burton thinks this field is pretty well worked out, ' said Jim, as apreparatory announcement. 

'Well, I suppose it is, Jimmy. Been panning out badly of late?'

'Not very badly, old girl; but not good enough compared with what we hearof from the other fields. '

She was sitting on the counter, holding his arm, and turned and lookedsharply into his face. 

'You're off?' she said. 

Done nodded his head, and watched her apprehensively. She was notdisturbed; next moment there was merriment in the eyes turned up to himfrom where her head nestled on his breast. 

'Mike thinks we are wasting valuable time here. '

And you are, too. Good luck go wid you, ma bouchal' She kissed the pointof his chin. 

'You don't mind, Aurora?' He had come in shivering with apprehension atthe prospect of a passionate outburst, knowing the possibilities of herfervid temperament, and now experienced some sense of disappointment atfinding her unmoved. 

'Mind, darlin'? Cud I expect to be keepin' you here all the days of yourlife? Where are you going?'

'To the new diggin's, Jim Crow. '

'It's a wild field, they tell me, Jimmy. No fighting, mind. Leastwise, none for other girls. '

'We start early in the morning. '

'I'll be up to throw an old shoe after you. '

'I came to say good-bye to-night. '

'Good-bye, is it?' She flashed upon him, her face crimsoned, and a look, half fearful, half angry, glowed in her splendid eyes. But the feelingwas only momentary; laughter rippled into her cheeks again, and she woundher arms about his neck. 'Good-bye?' she said. 'And isn't it breakin'your heart you are to be sayin' good-bye to me?'

Done clasped her closer, and kissed her, stirred by her warmth and herbeauty. 

'Ah, my dear, dear boy, you may say good-bye to me a thousand times ifyou'll cure the sting with such kisses, ' she said softly. 

When Jim returned to their tent he found Burton already abed. Mikecontinued to read his paper, smoking placidly, but he was feeling nolittle concern. He had feared the result of that last interview withAurora, and now waited the word from Done, who seated himself on his bunkand unlaced his boots in silence. 

'She took it without a whimper, ' he said presently. 

'No!'

'She didn't speak a word or raise a finger to keep me. '

'Well, I'm blowed!' Burton was openly delighted; not so Done, who, trueto the contrariness of poor human nature, was apparently quite depressed. 

Jim Crow, maddest of fields, like Tarrangower, which came later, resortof the most turbulent spirits, and a favourite centre with runawayconvicts, gold-robbers, and the riffraff of the rushes, was still youngwhen Burton and Done went, hastening down the hills on to the lead, withthe thin but turbulent stream of diggers, but its character was alreadyformed. Here the revolver was counted among the necessities of life, andalthough the main body of the diggers, as on all the other fields, weresober, industrious, and decent men, there was so strong a leaven ofdare-devils and so varied an admixture of rogues and vagabonds that JimCrow quickly won itself an unenviable reputation on all the rushes, fromBuninyong to Bendigo, and, rich as it was, diggers found it as difficultto keep their gold as to win it. The Jim Crow ranges were within anhour's flight, and offered splendid cover for the members of Coleman'sgang, or the friends of Black Douglas, or any other rapscallion whopreferred stealing gold to seeking it. 

On the day of their arrival at Jim Crow the mates pegged out a claim andpitched their tent, which Mike had added to his swag. With the help ofMrs. Ben Kyley, they had succeeded in depositing the larger part of theirearnings at Diamond Gully in a Melbourne bank, and now they were hamperedwith no great responsibility in the way of riches. That night Jim andMike walked over the field, through the clustering tents, and Jimdiscovered that what he had taken for a wild life at Diamond Gully waspeace itself compared with the devilment and disorder of a new field. JimCrow had opened well, the first discoveries were enormously rich, and therestless diggers were pouring in from all quarters, and glare andconfusion and a babel of music and tongues rioted in the camp. Here, again, Jim was struck with the untamed boyishness of the miners; theirlevity was that of coarse, healthy children. 'Is it civilization that ischoking gaiety out of the souls of men?' he asked himself. 

Done had a curious experience on the following day. He had gone to thetent to light the fire, boil the billy, and prepare the mid-day meal, andwas carrying water from a convenient spring, when, in passing the tent oftheir nearest neighbours, twin brothers named Peetree, the firstprospectors of Jim Crow, he was startled by a furious yell, more like thehowl of a madman than the cry of a sentient creature. Jim turned andlooked about. There was nobody within sight from whom the amazing soundcould have come, but as he stood the cry was repeated. Done set down hisbilly, and, approaching the tent, peeped in. There was nobody there, butagain the wild cry rang out. He looked under the bunks, and then walkedround the tent, but discovered nothing to explain the mystery. He pauseddubiously, suspecting a trick, when for the fourth time he heard themarrow-chilling scream, and this time so near that he sprang aside inreal alarm. Against the side of the tent, chocked to prevent its rolling, was a barrel, brought to Jim Crow by the Peetrees to be cut into twopuddling-tubs, no doubt. Jim examined it suspiciously. 

'Le' me out, yer swines! le' me out!' cried a shrill old voice, followingthe words with a long dolorous howl, not unlike that of a moonstruck cur. 

'Who the devil are you?' asked Done. 'What are you doing in there?'

His words only served to enrage the man in the cask; he had a paroxysm oflinguistic fury, and curses spouted from the bunghole a geyser ofprofanity. 

'I'll be the death o' you when I get loose!' screamed the prisoner. Another long-drawn yell followed, and then sounds as of a terriblestruggle going on inside, with occasional cries and curses. 

Done was greatly perplexed, but there was, he thought, only one courseopen to him. A fellow-creature was pent in the barrel, and it wasmanifestly his duty to go to the rescue. He had seized the Peetrees' axewith the intention of knocking in the head of the cask, when a warningshout from the direction of the lead caused him to desist. One of thePeetree brothers was running up from their claim. He arrived angry andbreathless. 

'What in thunder 're you up to?' he panted. 

'There's a man in that barrel, ' answered Jim. 

'Well, I'm likely to know all about that, ain't I? Drop that axe andmooch along after your own business. '

'I don't know, ' said Done, 'but it seems to me that this is almost anyman's business. You're not at liberty to keep a fellow-creature cooped ina barrel at your own pleasure, even on Jim Crow. '

'That's just so, but the man in there's my father, which makes adif'rence, perhaps. '

'Your father? Are you keeping the old man in pickle?'

'No; we're keeping him outer mischief, an' that ought to be enough foryou. '

'Of course, I don't want to interfere with your family arrangements, butthis is a bit out of the ordinary, and you'll admit my action was onlynatural. ' Jim picked up his billy and crossed to his own tent, the man inthe barrel breaking into fresh clamour, and calling down Heaven'svengeance on his son's head through the bunghole. 

'Shut up, you infernal ole idiot!' cried the dutiful son. While Done wasbusy over the fire, Peetree junior drove the bung into the barrel, andthen rejoined our hero. 

'Naturally, you wouldn't understan', ' he said, jerking his thumb towardsthe barrel, 'but the ole man's such a dashed nuisance when he's on wegotter do somethin' with him. ' The tone was apologetic. 

'I dare say you are quite justified, ' Jim answered. 'A man doesn't keephis father in a barrel for mere amusement. '

'No, he don't ordinary, does he?' answered the native gravely. 'Fact is, the dad goes on a tear now 'n again, an' we pen him up to sober off. Wecan look after him all right after knocking off, but if we was to let himloose while we was at work he'd go pourin' Bill Mooney's fork-lightnin'gin into him till he had his bluchers full o' snakes 'an the whole leadswarmin' with fantods. So when he starts to work up a jamboree we pulloff his boots an' tuck him in the tub, fastens the head, an' leave himtill he's willin' to think better of it. '

'Well, that's bringing up a father in the way he should go, ' laughed Jim. 'I apologize for attempting to break into your inebriates' retreat. '

'Inebriates' retreat!' A wide grin slowly developed on Peetree's gauntface. 'That's a first name for it, ' he said. 'Hanged if we don't have itpainted up!'

'A sign of some kind is necessary. But isn't the old man likely tosuffocate with that bung in?'

'Not he; there's heaps o' breathin' in the cask. That bung's just to gaghim awhile. '

That evening after tea the two sons, with old Peetree under guard betweenthem, joined the mates at their fire. Harry, Jim's friend of themorning's adventure, was about twenty-eight, tall and bony, with theshoulder stoop of a hard worker. Con and the father had the same generalpeculiarities. The three were identical in height and complexion, and intheir mannerism and tricks of speech; but to-night the old man had avacant, helpless expression, and seemed for the greater part of the timeunconscious of the company he was in, and looked furtively about him intothe night, muttering strangely to himself, and picking eagerly at hisshirt-sleeves. The sons pressed their father to a sitting position, andthen seated themselves one on each side, mounting guard. 

'See, we got him loose again, ' said Harry. 

'He's milder to-night, ' answered Done. 'What's the matter with him?'

'Only a touch o' the jims. He's liable to howl a bit now 'n again, butdon't mind him. He's all right. Ain't you, dad?' He gave the old man'shead an affectionate push. 

'Once he takes to smoke he's comin' round, ' said Con Peetree, making avain attempt to induce the old man to draw at his pipe. 

'There ain't a finer ole tough walkin' when he's off the licker, ' saidthe elder proudly, 'an' not a better miner-ever lived. '

Done watched the group with keen delight. The young men's respect fortheir bibulous parent was quite sincere, their care of him was markedwith a rough but unmistakable liking. The conversation turned upon thecharacteristics of the lead at Jim Crow, and drifted to the inevitablesubject, the development of the agitation for the emancipation of theminers and the doings and sayings of the insurgent party at Ballarat, andevery now and again Peetree senior would whisper ambiguously: 'Thereain't such a thing ez a drop of gin? No, of course not. '

Once Harry drew a small flask from his pocket, poured a little spiritinto a pannikin, and gave it to the old man. 'Hair off his dog, youknow, ' he said. And two or three times Con made an effort to induce hisfather to take a whiff of smoke, but old Peetree shook his headdisgustedly, and returned to his mutterings and the picking of imaginarytarantulas off his sleeves. 

In the morning Jim noticed that the wards 'Inebrits' Retreet' had beenprinted on the barrel with pipeclay. 

The good luck that had marked their initial effort on Diamond Gullyfollowed the mates to Jim Crow. They struck the wash-dirt in their firstclaim, and Jim, in sinking through the alluvial, stuck his pick into thelargest nugget he had yet seen, a lump of rugged gold, pure and clean, which Mike estimated to be worth four hundred pounds. It glowed in thesunlight with the lustre of a live ember, and, gazing upon it, Donetrembled again with the vehement joy that thrills in the veins of theleast avaricious digger at the sight of such a find. 

'If there's a large family o' these we're made men, ' said Burton, fondling the nugget. 

'Unless some of Douglas's men take a fancy to them when we've unearthedthem. '

'Or Solo chips in an' lifts the pile. We must keep it dark till thisfield sobers up a bit. '

The tub of dirt taken from the bottom of their hole--that is, the deepestpart of the strata of alluvial deposit, to which the best of the goldalmost in variably gravitates--was extremely rich. The dregs in the tub, after all the clay and dirt had been washed away, blazed with coarsepieces, and Done carried away at least five hundred pounds' worth innuggets wrapped in his gray jumper. The coarse gold was picked out of thewashed gravel, and then the remainder of the stuff was put through thecradle, the slides of which captured and retained the smaller gold, witha certain amount of sand, and this was washed again in the tin dish, thelast grains of base material being got rid of by shaking the gold on asheet of paper after it had been thoroughly dried, and blowing with themouth, a process at which the diggers became so expert that very littleof even the finest gold-dust was lost in the operation. 

The mates finished their third day's work on Jim Crow, wet to the hips, smeared from top to toe with yellow clay, dog-weary, but quite jubilant. They were as well satisfied with their next day's work, and the next. They had succeeded in keeping the knowledge of their big find tothemselves; but returning to their camp one night about a week later, Done was amazed to find the earthen floor of the tent dug up to a depthof about a foot. Burton grinned. 

'Someone's bottomed a shicer to-night, ' he said. 

'What's the meaning of this?' asked Done. 

'We've had a little visit from some damn scoundrel who thought we'd buriedour gold here. Must 'a' taken us for a pair o' Johnnie-come-latelies. '

At that moment a shot rang out on the night air, and sounds of angryvoices and scuffling came from the direction of the Peetrees' tent. 

'By the Lord Harry, they've nabbed him!' said Mike. 'Come along!'

They found Con Peetree holding a man down with a persuasive revolver, while Harry, with a burning match sheltered in his palm, examined thecaptive. 

'Cot him diggin' in our tent. He broke 'way, but I've winged him, ' saidHarry. 

'He gave us a look in, too, ' said Mike. 

'Lose any stuff?'

'Not a colour. '

'Same here; but we can't let him go scot-free. That kink in the calfcounts for nothing, and handin' him over to the beaks means too muchworry. Here, give's a light, Burton. '

Mike struck a match, and, taking the thief by the ear, Harry Peetree drewa knife. 

'Good God!' cried Jim, 'you don't mean to--' Jim's intervention was toolate to help the prostrate man; Peetree had already slashed off the lobeof his left ear. He threw the fragment in the man's face. 

'Now scoot!' he said, 'an' don't show yer ugly chiv on Jim Crow again, 'ryou'll catch a fatal dose o' lead. 

The crippled thief limped away without a word, pressing a palm to hisstreaming ear. 

'That seemed an infernally brutal thing to do, ' said Jim to his mate, when they were discussing the incident. 

'Not a bit of it, ' answered Burton. 'We've got to mark his sort, an' abrand like that's known every where. A bloke with an ear stripped offcan't pretend to be a honest man here; he's got to be either a trooper orone of Her Majesty's commissioners. '

'But you weren't at all bitter about Solo. '

'Solo ain't a tent-robber; he generally robs the people who rob us. Atent-robber is the meanest kind of hound that runs. '

Jim was grateful for this lesson in diggers' ethics, and went peacefullyto sleep on it, having by this time acquired complete confidence inBurton's hiding-place. 

When the mates had more gold than they could carry in their belts withcomfort, and trustworthy gold-buyers were not available, choosing asuitable hour long after midnight, Burton dug a hole near the tent, Jimkeeping careful watch the while to make sure they were not observed. Thegold was placed in a pan, and buried in this hole, and after that thecamp-fire was built on the spot, and kept burning day and night. It neveroccurred to anyone to look under the fire for hidden gold. 

Their first claim was nearly worked out, and the two young men were busybelow digging out the last of the wash-dirt, when a voice calling downthe shaft caused both picks to be suspended simultaneously, and the mateslooked curiously into each other's faces in the dim candle-light. 

Hello below, there!'

'Aurora!' said Mike. 

Jim went up the rope suspended in the shaft hand over hand. Aurora wasstanding by the windlass smiling down at him. The girl was remarkablywell dressed. The gown she wore was too florid, perhaps, for that sicklyrefinement which abhors colour, but it suited her tall figure and herhale and exuberant good looks. As he came up the shaft the picture shemade standing in the sunlight, with a background of sun-splashed, vari-coloured tips, and one drowsing gum-tree fringed with the gold andpurple of young growth, gave him a thrill of joy, so vivid she seemed, sofresh. She had occupied his mind little since the departure from DiamondGully; but seeing her again so radiant, he was glad through and through, and laughed with pure delight when she met him at the shaft's mouth witha kiss. Once upon his feet, he clasped her in his arms. Her walk alongthe lead had attracted a good deal of attention, and the embrace was thesignal for a sympathetic cheer from the miners about, and the men whirledtheir hats in the air. 

'Arrah! Won't ye sarve the bla'gards all alike, darlin'?' cried a youngfellow on the left. 

Aurora bowed low, and scattered kisses over the field with both hands, winning another cheer. Jim watched her with pride. After all, she it waswho stood as his goddess of gaiety in the twelve months of absolutelyhappy life that had marked the reaction from the brutal stupidity andsourness of that other existence. He owed her much gratitude, muchtenderness. He kissed her again almost reverently. 

'Did you think I was never coming, Jimmy?' she asked softly. 

Jim practised the virtue of equivocation. It had never occurred to himthat she would come, but he would rather have bitten a piece off histongue than have said so just then. 

'So you made up your mind to follow the moment I told you I was going?'he said. 

'What else? Could I have bid you good-bye so glibly? Could you havewalked off with a smile and a kiss, and never a word of coming again?'

'Darling, I can never want to lose you. '

'Whist' no words fer the future!' she said, reverting to her whimsicalbrogue. 'We're weak mortals, an' every one iv us is born again wid thenew sun. I'd not have ye bind the strange man ye may be to-morrow widoaths, an' I won't bind the unknown colleen I may be for the likes ivye. '

'But to-day?'

'To-day? To-day I love you with a big, big heart!' she said, with deepfeeling. 'Kiss me!'

'Knock off!' cried Burton, whose head appeared suddenly at the mouth ofthe shaft. 'I reckoned you'd had time to get through with that. '

'Och! we've been a long time gittin' through wid it, an' we're notthrough yet, ' said Aurora, shaking Mike warmly by the hand. 'You may haveone for yourself--there. ' She placed her finger on a dimple, and Mikekissed her gallantly enough. 'Ah!' she sighed, 'you love another. Thekiss betrays you. '

Something that might have been a blush, had the deep tan of his skinpermitted such a thing, warmed Burton's cheek. 

'And where's Mrs. Ben?' he asked. 

'Somewhere about the field. '

'They are with you?' said Jim. 

'To be sure; and the whole business--bakery, laundry, and lightrefreshments--has followed at my skirt with proper humility. '

'They pitch tents here?'

'Ben and Mary are now seeking a good business site. '

'Adjacent to a hollow tree?'

'The same bein' a convanyint haunt fer Mary Kyley's familiar evilshpirits. '

Done laughed, giving Aurora a one-armed, parenthetical hug. 'Theywouldn't part with you, then?'

'They would not, nor I with them. Dan's been as good as a mother to me. But how is the luck, boys?'

'Great, ' answered Mike. 'We dropped on a patch here. '

'Come and see us cradle the last tubful, and I'll give you the prettiestbit in the hopper, ' said Jim. 

'Not a colour! The heart nugget you gave me long ago has worn tenderplaces all over me. ' She tugged at the thin ribbon about her neck. 'I'llcarry no more. '

Done did not press the point, although he knew that she took gifts ofquaintly-shaped nuggets from the other men with the indifference of aqueen accepting tribute. 

Mrs. Ben Kyley greeted the mates with noisy joviality when they met, andBen took his pipe from his mouth, and said he was 'right down blarstedglad, ' which amounted to quite a demonstration, coming from him. Withintwo days the tents were up, and Mrs. Kyley's business was resumed, andwas carried on as at Diamond Gully, and with much the same success. Buthere for some time Ben's services as 'chucker-out' were more inrequisition, spirits being more unruly on Jim Crow. One night he even hadto fight a five-round battle with a riotous young Cousin Jack, in whichengagement Done seconded him by special request. Ben triumphed, but cameout of the contest with a black eye and an inflamed nose of apreposterous size, at which Mary was virtuously indignant. 

'You, a professional, fighting for diversion like any fool of agentleman!' she said scornfully. 

'Man mus' keep his hand in, ' replied Ben. 

'If you can't attend to your duties without making such a mess ofyourself, you'd better have a month's notice. What was the good of metaking on a pugilist if I'm to have fighting about the placecontinually?'

'Come, come, Mrs. Ben, ' said Jim; 'if you treat him like this when hewins, what would you do if he lost?'

'Divorce him and take up with the Cornishman!' replied the raffishwasherwoman, exploding into Gargantuan laughter. 

Done had often thought of Ryder since the night of the troopers' raid onMrs. Kyley's grog-store, but had seen nothing of him in the meantime. Mike recalled him to his mind again as they were lying out in themoonlight on a Sunday night about two weeks later. 

'Remember the chap that tried to throttle Stony that night in the BlackForest?' he said. 'Saw him on the lead to-day. '

'You did? Ryder was hunting Stony on Diamond Gully. '

'He's gettin' pretty warm, then. Stony's here too. That's his tent abovethe bend to the left. He's a hatter, an' works a lone hand in the shallowground. '

'Then trouble's brewing for Mr. Stony. '

'You seemed to feel for him. Better drop him the word, hadn't you?'

'No. My sympathies are with the other man, and as he means somethingshort of manslaughter, Stony can take his chances. '

It was not long after this that Jim encountered Stony in Mary Kyley'stent. He was drinking alone, and drinking with the feverish haste of aman who deliberately seeks intoxication. He was more tremulous than whenDone first met him, and his face had the colour, and looked as if itmight have the consistency, of putty. The man was an instinctive hater:he lived alone, worked alone, and desired no companionship. Previous tothe gold discoveries he had served for years in the capacity of shepherdon one of the big Australian sheep-runs, and had lived cut off fromcommunion with his kind in the great lone land, absorbing into his bloodthe spirit of solitude that broods in the Bush and in time robs man ofhis gregarious impulses. 

Jim had been in the shanty about an hour, and was standing with his backto the counter; Stony was sitting in the corner, his hands claspedbetween his knees, his eyes fixed upon the floor, unconscious of hissurroundings, when the flap of the tent was lifted, and Ryder stepped in, running a keen, searching eye over the company. Jim saw him start as hisgaze encountered Stony. He paused for a moment, and then slipped backinto darkness, dropping the tent-door after him. Done understood hisintention. 'He will wait, ' he said to himself, and determined to watchevents. Ryder had awakened in him an extraordinary interest. 

Stony sat in a state of abstraction for close upon half an hour, and whenhe arose and left the place Jim followed him. The night was dark, andStony had disappeared, but the young man walked quietly in the directionof the hatter's camp. He could see nothing of either man, and had decidedthat he was mistaken regarding Ryder's intention, when a low butblood-chilling sound--the noise made by a man fighting againststrangulation--broke upon his ear. He had been seeking for this, but theshock unnerved him for a moment. 

XIII

PEERING through the darkness, Done discovered the shadowy figures of twomen. The figures were rigid upon the ground. There was no further sound. The young man approached closely and stood by Ryder, dropping his handupon his shoulder. There was just light enough for him to see a revolversnatched from the belt, or a movement of such suggestiveness, but hefastened on that right arm with a grip to which it succumbed instantly. 

'It is I, Jim Done!' he said. 

'Save me! Save me!' cried Stony in accents of supreme terror. 

'Why do you interfere?' asked Ryder with a ring of anger. 'What interestcan you have in this hound?'

'None, ' replied Jim. 'I followed from the shanty, guessing somethingwould happen. I'm shamefully curious. '

'You are a fool! It might have cost you your life. '

'You certainly do not show any particular respect for human life. ' Jimreleased the other's arm. 

'For Christ's sake don't leave me!' moaned Stony. 'He means murder!'

'I have told you I value this man's life. I tell you again I have nointention of killing him, but I hate him so that the ravenous desire tocrush the soul out of him is hard to resist. There is a story he musttell me; when that is told he may go. If he refuses to tell there is nopower on God's earth to keep me from my vengeance. But he shall tell--thecraven shall tell! There'll be no further mischief done, I promise you. Leave us. '

'For the love of Heaven!' pleaded Stony. 'He'll kill! He'll kill!'

'I have your word, ' said Jim. 

'My word of honour, ' answered Ryder. 

'If it's broken, I swear to help you to your hanging. '

'I tell you, I want this man alive. '

'Good-night!'

'Help!' screamed Stony; but the other's hand was at his throat again. 

'Listen, you foul cur!' Ryder said. 'I mean to spare you, but you musttell--tell all!'

Jim Done turned and walked away, leaving the enemies alone. Next morninghe saw Stony moving about his tent, and experienced a feeling of relief. He had been unable to divest himself of a sense of responsibility for thesafety of the miserable hatter. 

By this time quite a strong friendship had grown up between the threePeetrees and Done and Burton. Joshua Peetree, whom the twins called Josh, with a friendly absence of formalities, was found in his sober moments toshare the moral qualities of his sons, and had the same quiet, deliberative manner of speech, as if every sentence, even those of themost insignificant character, were subjected to two or three successiveprocesses of investigation internally before delivery. Indeed, the menspoke so little en famille that they might have lost ordinary power ofeasy articulation. Speech was hardly necessary between the three; theyunderstood each other by something very like telepathic divination. Atleast, so it appeared to Done, who was puzzled again and again to see theideas of one brother anticipated by the other, and his wishes met withoutany communication, audible or visible, to the third person. Men who havelived together in the Bush for the better part of their lives, cut offfrom other society and outside interest, often develop this quaintinstinct of mutual apprehension. The Peetrees were not unsociable, butwith them conversation was not essential to human intercourse. They werecontent to sit on a log, or spread themselves on the dry grass in companywith friendly diggers, smoking composedly through a whole evening, without contributing more than an approving 'My word!' or 'My colonial!'to the night's debate. Mike was in full sympathy with their neighbours. Like him, they were deeply imbued with the spirit of revolt stirring inthe land, and they were as eager to participate in the struggle that wasto overthrow the rule of the nominees of Downing Street and strangle thehydra of official tyranny; but Done, although his sentiments were just asstrongly on the side of the miners, was too profoundly concerned with theactions and interests of the moment to content himself with the societyof the Peetrees and the discussion of possibilities. He liked them; theywere amusing elements in the varied life around him, but he wanted to seeand to hear. His blood ran too hotly for camp-fire argument. When thetime for fighting came, well and good: none would be more eager than he;but meanwhile love and laughter, play and strife, invited a man, and Jimresponded with the impetuosity of an impish boy just escaped fromparental control. 

The mates continued to do well at Jim Crow, and Jim Done found himselfgrowing tolerably rich without any marked gratification. He could not seewhat more gold could confer upon him. He was now a nightly visitor atMrs. Ben Kyley's tent, but gambled with rather more spirit of late, and, finding himself a much less easy victim to Mary's rum, drank more thanformerly. A certain stage of intoxication--an intoxication of the bloodrather than the senses--threw a roseate glamour over the gaieties of theshanty, and robbed him of that remaining reticence of manner and speechthat would have kept him an observer rather than a participant. 

Police supervision was fitful and weak at Jim Crow, and there were wildnights at Mary Kyley's. Aurora appeared in a new character--that ofpopular musician. Seated with her heels tucked under her on the end ofthe shanty bar, she rattled off lively dance-music on an old violin; or, mounted on an inverted tub, she sang songs of rebellion and devilment toa crowd of diggers warm with rum and rampant with animal spirits. MaryKyley, whose gay heart responded readily to the conviviality of herguests, danced at these times, contesting in breathless jigs and reels, displaying amazing agility and a sort of barbaric frenzy, while the menyelled encouragement and applause, the pannikins circulated, and thesmoke gathered in a cloud along the ridge-pole. Sitting above the crowdin a gay gown, with a splash of artificial red roses in her mass of blackhair, flushed with animation, her eyes beaded with fire, Aurora was astriking queen of the revels, and Done exulted over her, and called herJoy. It was the new name he had given her, Aurora sounding too formidablefor a lover's lips. 

One such night Aurora played them 'The Wearing of the Green, ' breaking inupon a moment of exuberant merriment with the quaint melancholy of themusic. She wrung from the strings a pathetic appeal, and played the crowdinto a sudden reverent silence. They were rebel hearts there to a man, and many exiles from Erin were in the company. The simple tune went righthome to them all. The men sat still, gazing into their pannikins, and bigbearded diggers had a chastened pensiveness that might have been comichad there been any there to laugh at them. Just as suddenly the girlswung into a rollicking dance-step, abandoning her tender mood with aburst of happy laughter; but Tim Carrol, a young new chum; fresh from'the most distressful country, ' sprang to the counter beside her, and, clasping Aurora and her fiddle in a generous hug, kissed the girl on thecheek. 

'Shtop!' he cried. 'Niver another word will ye play till the hold ivthat's gone from us!'

Done, who was standing near, saw the action, saw Aurora laughing in theman's arms, and experienced a revulsion of feeling that turned him giddy, and blurred the lights and the figures about him. He sprang at Carrolsavagely. It seemed to him that what followed occurred in darkness. A fewblows, a scuffle, and then he was torn away. The next moment he foundhimself in Kyley's hands, and Aurora before him, her eyes flashing anger, her white teeth bared, her hands clenched--exactly the termagant she hadappeared on the night she confronted Quigley in her wrath; but to-nighther fury was directed against him. 

'How dare you interfere?' she said. 'How dare you meddle with myaffairs?' She struck herself upon the breast. She blazed with passion. 

'He kissed you!' said Jim. 'I couldn't stand that!'

'And what of me? If I do not object, what then?'

'Aurora!'

'Am I my own mistress? Are my inclinations to count for something?'

Jim had recovered himself. He felt cold, sobered. He shook the hands offhim, 'Your inclinations count for everything!' he said with composure. 'Iacted on impulse. I beg your pardon, Aurora. I'll apologize to Carrol ifhe wishes it. I've had too much rum, Tim; I acted like a fool. '

'Tush, man, 'twas nothin'! You didn't hit me, ' said the Irishmancheerfully. 'Don't shpake iv it. I disarved what I didn't get fer kissin'your sweet, heart, any-how. '

Aurora's anger fell from her suddenly, and she moved away. She played nomore that night, and was markedly subdued in her manner, turning ananxious eye upon Done every now and again, and Jim, to carry off thesituation, was much too free with the liquor and uncommonly friendly witheverybody. 

'You took my temper like a gentleman, Jimmy dear, ' said Aurora, comingbehind him when he sat alone. She was bidding for reconciliation. 

'I ought to have known better, Joy, ' he answered. I was an idiot!'

'No, dear, you were jealous, and that is an easy thing for a woman toforgive. '

'I don't think I was even jealous. '

'Then you should have been!' she said, with a flash of anger. 

'Then, if I should have been, I was jealous--furiously, murderouslyjealous!'

'Sure, how could you blame the poor boy, ' she murmured, winding an armabout his neck, 'wid the love of the dear ould sod hot in the heart ivhim? 'Twasn't a lover's kiss he gave me, darlin', but a patriot's. '

'This is a lover's, Joy!' He kissed her softly. 

All the same, flushed with liquor though he was, he was conscious thathis attack on Carrol had been prompted by a meaner impulse than jealousy, and was more a manifestation of the rum-flown arrogance of a man fightingfor a prize in the possession of which he felt a large conceit. He wasconscious, too, that there was little of a true lover's ardour in thekiss he gave her. But men are deceivers ever, and never so cunning indeceit as when love has slipped from their hearts. To be sure, Jim hadthe grace to be ashamed of all this in certain moods, but acknowledgmentof the sin was not followed by renunciation. Aurora's flash of passionwas probably due to the instinct that warned her of the fading of Done'slove for her. 

Mike took his mate home that night, and had to help him into his bunk, and Jim awoke in the morning with feelings of mistrust and bitterness, acraven consciousness of having been untrue to him self. For a momentthere was a belief that his new life was nothing but a dream. He steppedout into the sunshine with a childish fear upon him, and looked abouthim, breathing deeply, and relief came, but there remained aconsciousness of loss of power. Drink was not for him: he was a hale man, full of vitality; in his normal state his sensibilities were capable ofdrawing the most generous emotions from the events of existence; excessof liquor gave him, in place of that natural gratification, a set offeverish and unreal sensations. He could understand others, from whomNature withheld the joy of life, finding in intoxication a palesubstitute, but for him it was a sacrifice of self, a sacrifice he couldnot afford, for it was only the other day that self had become sweet tohim. How could he exchange his rich reality for the pale, misty, gropingunreality he had become last night--give up the exhilaration he derivedfrom the stir of life and friendly contact with men for the fantastic, fleeting emotions of the reveller in drink, emotions that fly through thedarkened brain like shooting stars, the stir of a blatant egotism, theprickly heat of tiny, aimless joys that never penetrate below the skin!He determined to be content with sobriety for the future. 

This very excellent and virtuous resolution did not keep Done from MaryKyley's tent, however, and he retained his relish for the revels there:the boisterous horseplay of the diggers, the dancing, the gay spirits ofAurora, her beauty and her music. He believed Aurora still loved him, butthe recollection of her appearance that night, and the fury with whichshe had repudiated his right to interfere, contrasted with her attitudeon the occasion when he championed her cause against Quigley, gave himmoments of dubious reflection. Coming up from their claim one evening atsundown after a particularly hard day, the mates found Aurora busy at thefire preparing their tea. They hailed her with shouts of thankfulness andwelcome. She was bare-armed and bare-headed; a snowy-white apron of Mrs. Kyley's covered her frock, and was, if anything, an additional adornmentto her trim figure. The tea was made, and the big billy stood by theembers, while Aurora attended to the grilling of the steak. She made acharming picture, with the firelight on her face and gleaming in herhair, and the men watched her for some minutes in quiet admiration, JoshPeetree being particularly moved by the glamour of domesticity herpresence threw over the camp, and throughout the evening ejaculated afervent 'My colonial!' every time his eyes encountered the girl. 

'Hello!' said Aurora. 'I've invited myself to tea, boys. '

''Pon my soul, you're good to see, ' cried Burton feelingly. 

'That's mighty kind for a man who doesn't waste much breath incompliments. '

This is magnificent!' said Jim. 'Why have you never thought of itbefore?'

'Hear him! Little he knows I'm just here to convince him what a modelwife I'd make. Would you believe it, boys, all the time I've known thevillain it never occurred to him to ask me?'

'I'd ask yer quick enough, b'gosh!' blurted Con. 

Jim blushed. 'She wouldn't have me, ' he cried in self-defence. 

'At laste ye might have given a poor girl the refusal. '

'Take me, then, ' said Jim through the soapsuds. He was washing over abucket. 

'I will not. You know you're safe, anyhow, when there's not priest orparson to be got for love or money. Come, hurry up, there's enough forall, and my contribution is an armful of Mary Kyley's hot scones. '

The butt of a tree lying a few yards from the fire served the diggers astable and on to this Jim lifted Aurora. 

'That's your place, ' he said, 'at the head of the board. '

'No, no!' cried the girl, slipping to the ground again. 'I am mistress. Imean to attend at table. ' She served the men with the manners of a kindlyhostess. 'There's milk for the tea!' she cried. 

'Milk! I haven't seen the colour of it in Australia. Who work themiracle?' said Jim. 

'Mary sent to a station out there by the ranges. She got a quart, and Icabbaged half for my tea-party. '

'You're an angel, Aurora!'

'There!' she laughed; 'and the trouble I've taken to keep it dark. '

'We'll be the envy of the whole field, ' said Mike; and Con uttered acorroborative 'My colonial oath!' that was eloquent of a grateful heart. 

Aurora poured out the tea and buttered the scones, and then, sitting on agin-case with her plate in her lap, ate a good meal in cheeriestfellowship, adding to the felicity of the party with gay badinage andhappy laughter. Aurora's laugh was a delightful thing to hear; it hadnever ceased to give Done a peculiar stir of joyance, whilst awakeningsomething of surprise. It was the laugh of a merry child; its mirth wasstrangely infectious, strangely suggestive of an unsullied soul. Hearingit, Jim turned to her wonderingly, but he had long since acquitted her ofthe suspicion of dissimulation. She was the least self-conscious creatureliving, the least calculating. If she had really set herself the task ofdisplaying to the best advantage the more gentle and womanly side of hernature, she would certainly not have succeeded as well as she did thisevening, moved by one of the thousand vagrant impulses that lent suchvarying colour to her character. Her humour was more subdued, her gaietywas restrained within the limits of an almost conventional decorum. Shehelped the men with a graciousness that was wholly effeminate, and thediggers responded to its influence. 

'Blast me if it don't make a cove feel religious!' was Harry Peetree'ssober comment, after he had lit his pipe and settled his back comfortablyagainst the log. 

The night came while they were still at their meal, and sticks werethrown on the fire to provide light. Other diggers, attracted by the glowand the cheerful atmosphere of the party, sauntered up, and modestlydisposed themselves in the shadows, where they lay smoking. Women of anykind were few on Jim Crow, and a scene like this was sufficient to stirthe deeper feelings of many of the miners, particularly those in whosehearts long absence from hearth and home had served to invest domesticitywith a reverent sentimentality. 

Aurora insisted on washing up, but Josh dried the dishes, while theothers lit their pipes, and, lying on their backs, with knees drawn upand hands clasped under their heads, gave themselves over to quietenjoyment of the night. A big moon was stealing through the tree-tops;the denuded gully still lay in the lower gloom, dotted with camp-firesand illumined tents. But Aurora threw aside her domestic mood with herapron, and reappeared as the enemy of reflection and repose. Throned onher gin-case, where the ruddy light of the wood-fire glowed upon her, shechattered in her delectable brogue for an hour or more, the picture ofanimation. Then came Mary Kyley storming upon the scene. 

'Do I pay a girl the wages of a princess to run a temperance meetingamong my customers?' she cried. 

'Go away, Mother Kyley, an' work yer own ould shebang, ' replied Aurora, 'or else bring me fiddle wid ye, an' give us a step on the turf!'

'Not a step will I. '

'Then I'll lave divil a man in the shanty, dthrunk or dthry!'

Aurora sprang upon her box, and began to sing a rousing nonsensical songof the moment. The chorus was caught up, and swelled in the shadows. Waving her scarf as she had done in the dance-room in Melbourne on thenight when Done first saw her, she sang again, and her clear soprano rangin the gullies like the call of a bird, and brought the miners from theirtents and their arguments. When the song ended half the diggers on JimCrow were gathered about Burton's camp-fire, and the loudest roar ofapplause came from Mary Kyley! Presently somebody out in the crowdcommenced to play a flute, and slid from a few bars of' Home, SweetHome!' into a rollicking jig. Half a dozen strong hands--Jim'sfirst--were laid upon Mrs. Ben, and she was dragged to the front. 

'Dance, alauna machree!' cried Aurora. 

The flute piped higher, a hundred voices took up the cry, and Mary wasconquered. Gathering a bunch of skirts in either hand, the big womancommenced a step. Aurora enlivened it with quaint, melodious Irish cries, the men roared encouragement, and presently Mary Kyley was dancing withheart and soul and every ounce of energy. Dancing was a passion with Mrs. Ben; she experienced a sort of delirium of movement once the swing of themelody took hold of her, and at such moments, despite her uncommon size, the woman became animated with a wild dignity and grace. Now, with headthrown back and face uplifted, her crimson petticoat flashing in thefirelight, she danced like something wild, till she could dance no more, and Done took her in his arms and half carried her to the log, where hefanned her gallantly with his cabbage-tree, while the audience cheeredagain and again. 

Aurora found a partner for a reel in Tim Carrol, and the fun grew warmer, a liberal digger having contributed a keg of rum, which was rolled fromKyley's shanty into the illumined circle. But at this point a man steppedforward from the crowd, and stood where the light fell full upon him, astrongly-built digger of about five foot nine, not yet thirty years ofage, with a powerful face, not handsome, but uncommonly attractive in itsblend of kindliness and rugged force. Done recognised Alfred Lambert, avoice of the disaffected--one of the little band of men who, animatedwith that ardent love of freedom which is bred of tyranny and fed onoppression, were ever busy fanning the embers of discontent, and strivingto work the diggers up to the point at which it would be impossible forthe Government to withhold from the vast majority of the people theirliberties and civil rights. Lambert held up his hand to impose silence. 

'I have a great bit of news, men, ' he said. 'The day before yesterday, atfive in the afternoon, the M'Ivor escort was stuck up on the corduroyroad in the Black Forest, and the gang got away with all the gold. '

This information was greeted with a yell of amazement, in which Jimthought he detected no little exultation. It was the greatest coupexecuted by the gangs since the opening of the goldfields; its magnitudeastounded everybody. 

'The robbers came on the escort suddenly, shot their horses under them, and carried off the whole swag, ' Lambert continued. 

'Whose gang?' 'Who 're suspected?' A score of voices shouted questions. 

'It is believed that the raid was headed by Solo!'

'No, no; Solo goes alone!' cried a foremost miner with absoluteconviction. 

'He has always worked alone before, but it is pretty certain that thisraid was planned and carried out by Solo, and that he had behind him agang of the coolest and most daring robbers in the colony He outwittedthe troopers at every point; they had no more chance with him than somany sheep. The fools had their carbines strapped behind them, as usual. Before they could fire a shot they were at the mercy of the thieves. ' Thecrowd yelled again-a yell of derision. The discomfiture of the trooperswas a source of grim satisfaction. Lambert held up his hand once more. 

'This Solo is a ruffian and a robber. When we say that he stops short ofmurder we say the best we can for him; but the Government that denies tocitizens the rights of men, and enforces laws the people have no voice inmaking through a vicious and brutal constabulary, cannot look to citizensto respect those laws or feel any sympathy with its officers. '

'You're right, old man!' The crowd took advantage of the pause thatfollowed to raise a clamour of fierce words. 

'I have more news for you, ' said the orator. 'The cause of liberty isspreading, deepening, strengthening. We are on the verge of civil war. Latest information from Ballarat, Bendigo, and all the large centresshows that the hour of strenuous resistance, of resistance to the death, has almost come. Even now it may have struck. As I speak, the men ofBallarat may be shedding their blood to rescue our adopted country fromthe foul and foolish rule of that pitiful handful of nominees inMelbourne, the despicable instruments of a far-off power that is asignorant of our needs as it is careless of our sufferings. We arecommanded to stand ready--commanded by God, I believe with all mysoul--and those of us who have the aspirations of men and the spirit oftrue Britons must look to our arms. The commissioners of the variousfields have been particularly venomous in their treatment of the poorerdiggers of late. On all the fields license-hunting has been pushed tosuch an extremity of oppression that only dingoes and Chinamen could bearit. We must fight! Men, no human creature detests bloodshed more than I, but what else can your leaders ask of you but to fight? Every channel ofpeaceful progression is closed to you. You are a great population ofstrong men, the adventurous spirits of the world, and you are held underthe lash by a stupid minority so weak that one free movement of yourlimbs may dash them to perdition. You are asked to confine yourselves topeaceful and legal forms in conducting this agitation, while those whoask you deny you a breath of power, an iota of right, and manifest theirgoodwill by riding you down like wallabies, or rounding you up likescrub-cattle, and tearing from you the scandalous taxes that go to paythe expenses of a robber Government that represents only your enemies. '

The spirit of the crowd had undergone a surprising revolution; the gaietyof a few minutes since had fled from every heart, and Lambert confronteda great crowd, the faces of which glowed whitely in the moonlight, acrowd that broke into vehement cheering and a babel of oaths and yells atevery pause. 

The quoted words were the opening sentences of a speech that lastednearly an hour, and held the diggers by their heart-strings every secondof the time. Done felt himself strongly moved--the vehemence, the lustyeloquence, and the unquestionable honesty of the speaker possessed him. He was filled with a longing for strife; the fighting spirit strongwithin him was up in arms. Like many another in the crowd, he was readyto carve out a republic with a pick-handle, even though a score came toresist him with rifles. 

Lambert spoke of the simple rights of manhood, of the demands of the newdemocracy in the Old World, and the growing belief in the sacred right ofa people to govern themselves according to their light, and finished withan impassioned description of a recent digger-hunt on Forest Creek, inthe course of which a man had been killed. The crowd was slow to departwhen the speech was ended, and broke into knots, the men feverishlydiscussing the great news of the robbery and the possibility of a riotextending over the whole of the rushes. Whilst sitting on the logthinking of what he had heard, Jim saw Aurora approach Lambert. She wasvisibly excited, and offered him an eager hand. 

'Did I do well?' she asked. 

Lambert seized her hand and pressed it warmly. 'Splendidly, my girl, ' hesaid. 'A man couldn't want a better audience. Like a true Irishwoman, you're the twin sister of Liberty, Miss Aurora. '

Done drew Aurora to his side a few minutes later. 'So, ' he said lightly, 'my Joy is a conspiratress. ' 'It's the hard name, me darlin', ' sheanswered, taking his hand between hers. 'I just promised Lambert to havethe half of Jim Crow here to hear him an' I'm afther keepin' me word. '

XIV

THE rising Lambert had anticipated in August did not come off. For a fewdays the country trembled on the verge of civil war, but the blow did notfall. The trouble was averted; the anger remained in men's hearts. Duringthe lovely spring weather that followed Done saw much of the Bush. He andMike spent weeks prospecting about the Jim Crow district. They loiteredaway a few restful days among the ranges, and for the first time Jim sawa wattle-gully in full blaze, a stream of golden bloom sweeping along thecourse of a little mountain creek as far as the eye could see, each treea huge bouquet, the whole mass foaming in the gentle breeze, a rich feastof colour, lit up by a glowing noonday sun, and bordered by the subduedgreen of the mountain gums. The delicate perfume stole up to where themates lay on the side of the range in peaceful enjoyment of the scene, and Done, looking with half-closed eyes, day-dreaming, felt theinspiration that has since driven about twenty-five per cent of thenative-born population of Australia desperately to poesy. 

Beyond and below them stretched the Bush, an ocean of tree-tops, as levelas the windless sea, and over this green expanse shadows of fleecy cloudschased each other. Presently Jim discovered a brown space in thedistance, and detected a thin column of smoke rising on occasions betweenthe vagrant winds. He called Burton's attention, and Mike turnedexperienced eyes in that direction. 

'A settler's clearing, ' he said. 'No; by Jove, it's Macdougal'shomestead!'

'What!' cried Done, sitting up with a jerk. 'Donald Macdougal's station?'

'Yes, Monkey Mack's. ' Burton rose to his feet and looked about him. 'There isn't a doubt, ' he continued. 'That's Boobyalla all right. I wasover the country to the west once with cattle. '

'And since we came to Jim Crow I have been so near. '

''Bout twenty mile as the crow flies. Why, old man, you look all cavedin. '

'I'm greatly surprised. I thought Boobyalla was right away in the wilds. '

A pity this isn't wild enough for you. '

'Yes; but cut off completely from the people. '

'The people have been distributin' themselves a good deal o' late. Boobyalla was far enough out o' the runnin' till the rushes broke out atForest Creek an' Jim Crow. As 'tis, I'll bet my boots the Macdougal's aslonesome down there as a sick sheep. '

'Why do you think that?'

''Cause you can't keep white men on the runs these times; they prefer therushes. Squatter, J. P. , ain't the little god almighty he used to be whenhe held his hands as if they were niggers bought an' paid for. '

Done was silent and thoughtful for a few minutes. The knowledge of hisproximity to Lucy Woodrow awakened mixed feelings, and contrition wasprominent. He had promised to write to her. He remembered how anxious sheseemed to win the promise, and how deep her interest in him had been. Suffused with a melancholy tenderness, he told himself he had neverforgotten her; her image had lived in his heart as in a shrine, screenedperhaps, but only for sanctity's sake. No thought of Aurora stole in todisturb his unconscious hypocrisy. He had an unexpected longing to seeLucy again. 

'Fact is, Mike, ' he said presently, 'there is a ship mate of mine downthere at Macdougal's I should very much like to meet again. What do yousay?'

'I'm on. This shipmate, is she married or single?' Mike accented thethird person feminine. 

'Single. She is teaching Macdougal's youngsters. I had no other friendaboard. ' Aurora obtruded now, and he looked into his mate's face. It wassuspiciously vacant. 'What the devil are you thinking of, Mike?' he saidwith warmth. 

'A friend o' mine, ' answered Mike. 

'Oh!'

'Aurora!'

'The devil you are? It's an infernal impertinence, then, let me tellyou. '

'That Irish girl would tear hair like a mountain cat, ' continued Mikeserenely. 

'You're wrong, Mike, quite wrong, ' said Jim impressively. 'This girlis--well, absolutely different. '

Done found the trip to Boobyalla very much longer than he had expected, but the mates reached the homestead at about two o'clock. The place wasalmost deserted. Two or three wolfish cattle-dogs ran from the huts, andbarked at them in a half hearted kind of way; a black boy shouted fromthe shed, and two gins came to the kitchen door, watching them. On theshady side of the same structure a dilapidated, miserable-looking whiteman of about fifty lay in a drunken sleep, buzzed over by a swarm offlies. The dwelling-house was a wandering weather-board structure withshingle roofs and iron chimneys; a deep veranda, partly latticed, ranround three sides, and ebullient creepers of many kinds swarmed over thehouse at their own wild will. The homestead faced into a big gardenspreading into an orchard, now green and gay with the verdancy and theblooms of spring. 

'Didn't I tell you? Not a white man round but the motherless drunkthere, ' said Mike. 

One of the cattle-dogs had returned to the side of the sleeper, andemployed himself snapping at the greedy flies, yapping impatiently tokeep them from the man's face. 

'No boss sit down there, Mary?' said Mike, addressing the eider of thegins. 

The aborigine grinned cheerfully. 'Boss him bin gone sit down longaPorkpine, ' she said. 'Missus ride by Longabenna. Bill dam drunk, Whitefeller all gone make it hole, catch plenty gold. Gib it 'bacca!'

Burton threw his half-plug of tobacco to the gin; she caught it deftly, the second one snatched, and the two set up a shrill yabbering, likeexcited monkeys. 

'Miss Woodrow?' said Jim interrogatively. 

'Teachy missie longa garden, ' answered the gin, with illustrativepantomime. 

'Better go and hunt her out, ' Mike said. 'I'll find the black boy, andwork him for drinks if possible. '

Done passed through a side-gate into the garden, found his way to themain walk, and looked about him. 

'Well?' called a voice from the veranda. 

He turned quickly. Within a few feet of him, in the space between thevines where the steps led up to the doorway, a little dark-eyed girl ofabout seven, the miniature of Mrs. Macdougal, peeped round her skirts atthe stranger. Lucy did not recognise Jim in a moment. 

'Lucy!' he said. 

'Jim!' Her face crimsoned; she sprang down the steps, extending twohands. 

He took both in his, and looked at her. She had changed andstrengthened--he could see that. Evidently she had lived much in the sun;the pallor had gone from her face, and it had warmed to a tenderolive-brown, pure and soft, deepening to a ruddier tint on the cheeks. She was much stouter, too, and carried herself with more character. Therewas a swing in her movements, hinting at hearty exercises in the open. She was looking at him, and saw a wonderful difference. There was ashort, thick, youthful beard upon his chin, a slight moustache upon hislip, both heightening the Grecian quality of his face; his tan had takena deeper tone; he was the picture of health and strength, she thought. 

Done saw that she was greatly disturbed, and regretted having come uponher so suddenly. There was no questioning her delight; her colour cameand went half a dozen times as they stood thus, hand in hand; her eyeswere misty with tears, but she laughed through all. 

'Well?' he queried. 

'Oh, I am so glad to see you--so very glad!'

'And is it to be Jim and Lucy still?'

'Yes, to be sure. How changed you are! Come, come, sit down and talk. Talk till my senses come back to me. I am bushed!' She laughed a littlehysterically. 

'I have startled you. '

'No, no, it's pure gladness--it is indeed. It was good of you to come. '

'You are changed, too. Have you stood to your determination to be happy?'

'I am not unhappy. ' She had seated herself beside him, and passed an armabout the shy child, of whom little more than one dark eye was visible, peeping at Jim from the other side, and yet that one eye recalledhumorous impressions of Mrs. Donald Macdougal of Boobyalla. He expectedto see it start revolving coquettishly. 

'You are stronger. You have grown, ' he said. 

'Yes, I ride a lot with the children. It is good for me. I love it. Thislife agrees with me well. But it is not only a change in you, it is atransformation. Why, you can laugh!'

'Come, come! I could always laugh. '

She shook her head. 'Not convincingly. You love the new land? You haveprospered?'

'Yes, ' he answered, 'I have had a wonderful spell of life. '

'And the people--you find you can like them?'

The question gave him rather a shock; he had to think a moment to recallher optimistic advice and his old frame of mind. 

'Like is too feeble a word, ' he said presently. 'The thought of themwarms my heart. '

'Ah, that is good!' She clasped his hand impulsively. 'That is best ofall. I was afraid you might cling to your mistrust, and shut the kindlypeople out of your life. '

'Before it was the people shut me out. '

'Are you sure?'

He had never doubted, now the question set him wondering for a minute. Helooked at her again. Certainly she had developed observation, acuteness. Or had he? Once more he wondered. He watched her with new interest. Shewas not so pretty as she had seemed on the Francis Cadman; theethereality was gone, but Done liked her the better for it. He felt hiswhole physical being to be in sympathy with vital things, and, after all, how often the poets, in their rhapsodies on spirituelle and unearthlywomen, were merely rapturously apostrophizing the evidences ofdissolution! He met her now without a doubt in his heart, with a soulfree to respond to his natural emotions, and she filled him with delight. Unconsciously he was wooing her--not with words, but with accents moreeloquent, and the girl felt it instinctively, with a sense of triumph. 

'I can't take my eyes off you, ' he said. 'In what are you so different?'

She smiled pleasantly. 'I am dreadfully sunburnt; I am no longer thin; Ido not brood. '

'No, no; it is a difference of spirit. Where is that constraint we felt?'

'The constraint was wholly with you. ' She blushed again. 

The kissing episode had been recalled to both. He laughed gaily, feelingvery comfortable, quite forgetful of his mate. 

'Yes, I was certainly a humourless, gloomy young fool he said. 

'Only an unhappy boy, ' she murmured, 'and my wonderful hero. ' She, too, spoke as if it were a matter of long years ago, when she was a silly slipof a girl. 

'And is there no hero now?'

'I have found no other. '

'Ah, that is something! Do you still pray for the old one, Lucy?'

'But you have no faith in prayers. '

'I may have in the prayer. '

'Well, then, I do. You see, you can never be wholly undeserving in myeyes. ' With Lucy, as with many girls in whom gratitude is the precursorof love, most of the sentiments due to the kindling affection werecredited to gratitude. 

'You have not blamed me for neglecting to write. '

'No; I have had no anxiety for some time. I knew where you were and howyou were. '

'You knew!'

'I knew that you had made friends, that you were on pay dirt at DiamondGully, and that the good Australian sunshine had warmed your heart. ' Shesmiled mysteriously. 

'Ah, I know, ' he said after a moment's thought--'Ryder. '

'Yes, Mr. Walter Ryder. He wrote me that he had come across you atDiamond Gully. He seemed quite interested in you. '

'And I am interested by him. He is a peculiar personality. '

'Yes, so flippant; and behind it all you seem to feel somethingiron-like, strong and impenetrable. '

Flippant! Ryder had appealed to Jim as anything but a flippant character. 

'He is a man of good family. He came to Australia seeking change andadventure. He is rich--very. He did Mr. Macdougal some service, and wesaw a good deal of him in Melbourne. Mrs. Macdougal thinks he is an earlat least, and has woven quite a romance about him. She will be glad tosee you. '

Done's mind had flown to Burton's estimate of Ryder, and Lucy's evidentadmiration of, him gave him a little uneasiness. 

'Is Mrs. Macdougal of Boobyalla quite well?' he asked. 

'Quite. But you must not laugh at her. One gets to like her. '

'If one is quite determined. '

'Whether or no, ' persisted Lucy. 'One would care for nobody if one wereresolved to see only the bad points. '

'That serves me right. The little girl is very like her. '

'Eva is my boon companion, my confidante, my guide, philosopher, andfriend--aren't you, dear?'

'My oath!' said the child in a grave, sweet voice. Jim started at theincongruous expression, and looked inquiringly at Lucy. 

'Your teaching?'

'How dare you? No; that is the teaching of rouseabouts and gins. I amtrying to unteach it. Poor kiddies! I found them queer, wild, little Bushanimals, with no childish companions, so I became a child myself, and weare the best mates in the world. The other is a boy, a monkey and a rip, but we are civilizing together. Do you know the funniest things in theworld? Children like these and half-grown dogs. I discovered that atBoobyalla. '

'The world is a pretty good sort of place, after all eh?'

'Yes. ' She did not wonder at its seeming so very delightful to her justthen. 'But you do not tell me. Talk, talk! I want your Australianhistory. '

He talked, describing his life, pleased with his own fluency, and not alittle surprised at it. In half an hour she knew his story since the dayhe left the Francis Cadman, with certain judicious reservations andemendations. Aurora's name did not appear once in the narrative. Thissuppression was quite instinctive? Lucy told something of her existenceon the station, and they chatted cheerfully of the people on shipboardand the incidents of the voyage, avoiding only the most sensationalincident of all--the rescue from the sea. 

'Dear me I' cried Lucy; 'I am playing the hostess badly. I have offeredyou nothing, and you must have had a long tramp. '

'And I've forgotten poor Burton. '

'Go, bring him while I get tea. I must know your mate. Of course youdrink tea? Here everybody drinks tea at all hours. '

Jim found Mike admiring a wonderful big bay horse, the astounding virtuesof which stimulated the black boy to an incoherent flow of yabber. 

'Don't mind me, ' said Burton. 'I've had a drink an' a sleep, and I'veseen the loveliest animal that was ever lapped in horse-hide. Look athim!'

'We were chatting away in there, and I forgot you, old man. But comealong; we are to have tea and grub on the veranda. '

'Not me!' Mike looked wildly for a way of escape. 

'Here, here! but you must, Mike--I promised. '

'There's a dirty trick to serve 'a man!' Burton was genuinely alarmed. 'Yarding him up with a mob of old women! I'm hanged if I do it!'

'There's no mob. There's only one, and she's young and pleasant. Comealong, I'll stand by you. '

'Gi' me your solemn oath you'll break away as soon as possible. '

'I do, I do. '

Mike was led on to the veranda and introduced to Lucy, who gave him apleasant welcome. He placed his hat by his chair, drank his tea quietly, said very little and ate less, flipped his fingers once or twice at thelittle girl in a friendly way, looked quite imperturbable, and all thetime was painfully ill at ease, and raging inwardly at Jim's delay. WhenLucy left them in quest of fruit, he turned furiously on his mate. 

'What's that she says about staying?'

'She wants us to take a shakedown in one of the huts for to-night. Mrs. Macdougal will be home before dark. She wishes to see me. '

'By the big blue Bunyip, if you stay I'll bush you in the next scrubbygully, an' leave you to do a three days' perish!' Mike's tribulation waspitiful, but Jim laughed derisively. 

Done did not accept Lucy's invitation, however. To tell the truth, although it would have been a great pleasure to remain near the girl, hehad no desire to meet Mrs. Macdougal. He made suitable excuses. Mike saidit would require smart travelling to bring them to the camp where theirtools and swags were left, and, having shaken hands with Lucy, saunteredaway. 

'You will come again?' said the girl to Jim. 

'Yes, if I have the chance; but Burton is the Bush man. I could neverfind you without his help. '

'In any case you will write?'

'I am bound to. '

They parted with a handshake, but fingers unclasped reluctantly and witha clinging appeal. 

Done and Burton, on returning to Jim Crow, found that Harry Peetree, quietly prospecting in the vicinity of the rush, had opened up a newgully. The 'find' was kept dark pending Mike's return, and when thePeetrees had secured their ground, the mates were given the pick of thelead. The discovery leaked out as soon as the friends started operations, and a little rush from the original field followed. Jim was now a mileand a half from Mrs. Kyley's shanty, and derived some satisfaction fromthat fact. His feelings towards Aurora had undergone another change. Lucy's image loomed to the almost total eclipse of that of her rival, andyet he could not spend ten minutes in the company of the girl at theshanty without being won by her buoyant spirits and the kindliness of hersoul. He had some dread of growing to hate Aurora now that Lucy hadreestablished herself--a dread founded more on some familiarity withpopular fiction than on a knowledge of his own heart. 

Christmas came, and there was a rough attempt to celebrate it on JimCrow, an attempt by which Mrs. Ben Kyley profited largely, as she andAurora were kept working at high pressure for two days, making Christmaspuddings, for which the diggers cheerfully paid half a guinea apiece. Rich plum-pudding, hearty eating, and heavy drinking, the properconcomitants to an English Christmas as the miners understood it, werenot compatible with merriment during an Australian Christmas-tune, withthe glass at one hundred degrees in the shade; but triflingconsiderations of that kind were not allowed to interfere with theuproarious festivities at Jim Crow. January passed quietly. The dirt atOne Tree Gully proved highly remunerative, and the mates worked hard. Done had discovered an object beyond the rapturous enjoyment of themoment, and showed himself more anxious to win gold. He was living acomparatively quiet life, and the locket containing Lucy Woodrow'spicture was restored to its rightful place next his heart. There was atime when the thought of such an act of flagrant and foolishsentimentality would have made him groan aloud. 

One night in the following March, returning to their tent from theshanty, where he had left Burton deep in a game of euchre, Jim wasstartled to see a stream of light flash momentarily across the canvaswall. His first thought was of thieves, and, drawing his revolver, hestole noiselessly to the entrance and peeped in. He saw the figure of aman seated at the head of Mike's bed. On the small table between the twobunks at the end of the tent was a lighted candle, which the man wasscreening with his hat. Before the intruder the small tin-box in whichDone's few heirlooms and papers were stored lay open, and the man wasabsorbed in its contents. 

'If you stir a hand I'll fire!' said Jim, presenting his revolver. 

Instinctively the other smothered the light, but after that he sat quitestill. 

'I can see you distinctly, ' said Jim, 'and I'm a fair shot!'

There was silence for a moment, the thief making no attempt to escape. 

'I am going to light the candle, ' said a voice. 

'Light it, then; but no tricks! I'll shoot to kill!'

XV

A MATCH was struck, and in its glow Done recognised his visitor. It wasRyder. The latter lit the candle, and then turned towards Jim. He wasquite composed, apparently. Not so Done; the revelation amazed him. Thehand containing the revolver sank to his side. He stood for some momentsawaiting an explanation. None was offered. 

'Is Mr. Walter Ryder a tent thief?' he asked bitterly. 

Ryder shook his head. 'No, ' he said. 

'It looks strangely like it. '

'It does. '

'And I purpose raising the camp, and submitting the matter to the men. '

'You won't do that. '

'Why not?'

'Because I can satisfy you that I have a very excellent excuse for beinghere and for prying into your affairs. '

'I'll wait two minutes for that. '

'It won't take one, Jim. I am your brother, Richard Done!'

The revolver dropped from Jim's hand. He did not speak; every particle ofhim thrilled with intense emotion. For half a minute he stood rooted, speechless, and then he strode forward and seated himself on the bunk, staring closely into Ryder's face by the dim light of the candle. 

'You will want proof?' said Ryder. 

Jim shook his head. Ryder's declaration, abrupt and dramatic as it was, had struck him with absolute conviction. He was amazed, but he did notdoubt. He understood now the origin of the deep impression this man hadmade upon him. 

'That is proof enough, ' he said, laying a trembling hand upon theminiature of his mother upon the table. 

'Almost, ' answered Ryder, 'but not enough. We are both very like poormother. '

'We are very like each other. ' Jim's faculties were stunned for the time;there was a dreamlike unreality in their positions. 

Ryder nodded. 'We are. '

'It must have been that and your resemblance to my mother impressed me. Iwas impressed without consciousness of the reason. '

'Miss Woodrow noticed the resemblance, and when I heard your name andyour age I thought it very likely that you were my brother. When I sawyou that night in the shanty I was almost convinced. These satisfied me. 'He indicated the scattered articles upon the table. 

Jim made no demonstration; he sat with his eyes fixed upon the miniature, still dazed by the blow. There was something in his had--something hewished to know, but his ideas were all out of control. The thoughtcentred with a shock. 

'Good God, no!' he cried, clutching Ryder with a nerveless hand. 'Theyhanged my brother!'

Ryder's face was perfectly bloodless; it looked cold. He shook his headslowly. 

'I was condemned to be hanged. They altered it to transportation forlife. '

'But they all believed--'

'Mother must have known. It would have made little difference. The horrorof it was a little greater than the horror of hanging. It probably gaveher no comfort. '

'She died of it all. ' Jim spoke without volition. 'Yes, ' responded Ryderdully. 'She was the kind of woman who would. I was transported, and forall those years I lived in hell. '

'For murder!' said Jim sharply. 

Ryder shook his head again. His voice was quite even. 'I did no murder. There was no murder done. '

'The body--what of the body?'

'There was none. The man for whose murder I was condemned still lives. Stony is the man!'

'Stony!' Jim peered into the other's face again. 'Stony!' he cried. 'It'snot possible. You are lying. It's utterly incredible. Stony! Then thisexplains?' He did not doubt even while the words of unbelief were on hislips. 

'This explains. My coming upon you that night in the Black Forest was notso extraordinary as it seemed. I was following you both. I had been toMelbourne on Stony's track, having caught a glimpse of him one night atBallarat. I ascertained that he had started for Forest Creek. MeanwhileMrs. Macdougal and Miss Woodrow had told me of you. It was reasonable toassume that you also had started for the field everybody was talking of. At our first meeting I did not see you: I was too deeply interested inMr. Stony. '

'Stony was not the name. '

'Stony is an assumed name. Cannon is his real name--Peter Cannon. '

'That is the name. But I cannot understand. My head fails me. I amutterly bewildered!'

'You'll hear Stony's story? He is in his tent. '

'Not now. You have overwhelmed: me. For God's sake, give me time tostraighten things out!'

Jim sat in silence for some minutes, but the excitement lingered. Hedrifted into questions, and plied the other like a cross-examining lawyereager to trap a witness; but Ryder knew every detail of the familyhistory. He told Jim of a birthmark on his own body. He described thefurnishing of the home in Chisley much as it remained within Jim'smemory. 

'You have not mentioned our sister, ' he said. 

'She killed herself. ' Jim spoke with blunt brutality. He had no energyfor equivocation. 

Ryder accepted this piece of news in the spirit of a man steeled to thekeenest strokes of Fate. 

'She was a beautiful girl, ' he said. 'I remember I loved her dearly. '

'You speak as if it were fifty years ago. '

'I have been in hell since, I tell you. '

Jim looked closely into his brother's face again, but it baffled him; itbetrayed no more feeling than a stone. 

'Why have you divulged this now?' he asked. 

'You forced it from me. I did not expect you to return. I saw you playingcards at the shanty. But it is as well. I should have told you later. '

'There is something behind?'

'Much; but till you have heard Stony tell his part I shall say no more. And for the present let this be our secret. '

'Burton may come in at any moment. '

'Good-night, then. '

'No; I'll go with you. I cannot face Mike in this condition. He wouldthink me mad. '

'To Stony's tent?'

'If you like. In Heaven's name, man, why are you so cold? Why am I like astunned brute? We are brothers. We may shake hands. '

Ryder made no advance. 'Better hear the story out, ' he said. 

It was a two-mile walk from where Jim and Mike were now camped to Stony'stent, and the hour was midnight. The two men walked in silence, Jim withhis head bowed, racked with nervous excitement, his mind running frompoint to point, grasping nothing wholly, seeing nothing clearly, theother erect and calm. When the tent was reached Ryder enteredunceremoniously, and, striking a match, looked about him for a candle. There was a slush-lamp on a box by the bunk, and this he lit. Jim sawStony start up in bed, and stare at the intruder with a look of mortalterror. 

'I have brought you a visitor, ' said Ryder. 

The apprehension faded from the hatter's face when he Jim. 

'A nice hour!' he grumbled. 

'I have not studied your convenience, ' answered Ryder. 'Here is the manto whom you are to tell the story of Richard Done and Peter Cannon. Tellit briefly, as you told it to me. '

Ryder seated himself on a block near the tent entrance, his back halfturned to the others, and neither spoke nor moved throughout thenarration. Stony looked from one to the other, and then commenced hisstory. He told it in a monotonous voice, with a dull face and eyes heavywith drink. 

'We were always enemies, Dick Done and I--enemies as boys at school atChisley, fighting over everything, picking at each other from morn tillnight. As young chaps we remained enemies. It seemed as if God or thedevil had sent us to plague each other. Our enmity grew with us. Inmanhood we were as bitter as death. Then the woman came. We both wantedher. It was just natural of us to get set on the same girl. She likedhim--she didn't care a snap of her fingers for me; but I didn't give up. I followed her, plagued her, persecuted her, and hated Done worse thanpoison. With all my soul I hated him! Of course, we quarrelled over her, and Done went so far as to talk of killing. He didn't mean it, perhaps, but it told against him later. One bright night I came on him and hersitting on Harry's Crag. 'Twasn't an accident. I'd been told they'd gonedown to the sea, and I followed. I interfered, furious at heart, butmaking a show of civility, knowing that would madden him. He was soon upin arms. He tried to drive me off, struck me. I used my stick, and wefought there and then--fought like madmen on the cliff edge, two hundredfeet above the sea. The girl, frightened almost to death, ran away. Donegot my stick from me, and we fought with our hands. He could beat me atthat game, and at length struck me a blow that stunned me; then he leftme lying there, and went after the girl. '

Stony paused for a moment, and, drawing a bottle from the back of hisbunk, took a long drink. Then his eyes wandered to Ryder again, and hewent on:

'When I came to I was alone. I crept a little further from the edge ofthe cliff, and lay down again. I was pretty badly knocked about; my nosewas bleeding freely. Presently, moving my hand, I struck a knife--hisknife! It was closed. I opened it, looking at the long blade. The ideahad already formed in my mind. I smeared the blade with blood, anddropped the knife, open as it was, over the cliff, being careful that itshould fall on the ledge about twenty feet below. Then I smeared bloodupon the brink, tore a scrap from my coat, and left it there, throwingthe coat with the hat into the sea. I was never seen in Chisley again. Iwalked all that night. In London I read of the arrest of Done on a chargeof murder. They had found my hat and my coat and the knife. The girl hadtold her story. Done was condemned to death; and then I stowed away in anAustralian boat, and was allowed to work my passage out I thought RichardDone had been hanged till I saw him that night at the camp in the Bush. The man sitting there is Richard Done. '

Stony fell back upon his grimy pillow again, and was silent; his eyeswere fixed upon Ryder, but at that moment he had more to fear from Jim, who looked down upon him, fierce with disgust, his fingers itching to beat the thin neck of the brute. 

'Let us get out of this!' he gasped. 

'Have you no questions to ask?' said Ryder quietly. 

'None, none! And when I think of what this dog has brought upon me andmine I feel murderous. '

Ryder left the tent without another word, and Jim followed him. As theywalked away, Done was stirred with deep sympathy for his companion. Ryder's reiteration of the words, 'I have been in hell!' recurred to him. He felt that there were years of suffering and a fathomless hatred behindthe phrase, and his blood ran hotly. 

'I wonder you have not killed that man!' he blurted after a few minutes'silence. 'I regret ever having raised a hand to prevent it. '

'I needed him, ' answered Ryder. 

'You intend to establish your innocence?'

For the first time that night a smile moved Ryder's stark lips--a hard, mirthless smile. 

'No, ' he said; 'where's the use?'

'How is it you are free?' asked Jim with surprise. This view had notoccurred to him before. 

They were standing between the stunted and twisted gums. The Bush herewas spare and dwarfed, and the moonlight shone clearly upon Ryder's face. 

'I am an escaped convict!' he replied

A bitter curse leapt from Done's tongue. He felt himself bound to thisman by a common wrong, a wrong that had clouded with misery the greaterpart of their two lives. 

'You may be retaken, ' he said. 

'I may, but I do not think it likely. '

At that moment recollection flashed upon Jim. He recalled the adventurewith Long Aleck in the Bourke Street bar, and the robbery of Brigalow, the gold-buyer, at Diamond Gully. His hand was upon Ryder again: he gazedat him with a new apprehension. 

'Sit, ' he said. Ryder seated himself on a stump by the side of the youngman, and Jim continued:

'You say Miss Woodrow noticed a strong resemblance between us. Othershave remarked it. '

'I am not surprised. There is no difference in our faces but that whichyears have made. '

'It was in Melbourne on the night of my arrival. I was attacked in a barby a man who mistook me for Solo. '

The brothers looked into each other's eyes for some little time, Jimanxiously, Ryder with no appearance of concern in his strong, handsomeface. 

'I am the man they call Solo. '

'Solo the robber!' Instinctively Jim had moved back from the other, butRyder took no notice of the action. 

'My boy, ' he said, 'there are two kinds of men--the active criminal andthe passive. I am fairly active. '

'But the blind folly of it--here, where fortunes are made so easily!'

'Are they? You have had a bit of luck. There are thousands on the rusheswho do not make tucker. In any case I could not afford to place myselfdirectly under the supervision of the troopers. Not that I had any weakdesire to earn an honest living, by the way. '

'What are you hoping for? Where is it all leading?' Jim felt an emotionof despair. 

'Perhaps you would rather hear no more to-night. '

'I must hear all. For God's sake, speak!'

'I have been in hell. For fifteen years I remained in the convictprisons. It might have been fifteen centuries, an eternity. Everythingbeyond is so distant that my youth seems a mere dot in the perspective. '

Ryder was talking in a clear, even, unemotional voice. 

'I cannot hope to give you anything approaching a true idea of the horrorof that life. I know I can only faintly comprehend it myself now. Takenfrom happiness, a comparative boy, I was plunged into a state of absolutetorment, an existence of brutalizing labour, ceaseless cruelty, andblackest infamy. I herded with men who had degenerated from criminalsinto brutes under the influence of the infamous system. Those fifteenyears served to burn out of me most of the fine emotions and sentimentson which civilized men pride themselves, and then, during the blackestyear of all, a wild craving to preserve something of humanity arosewithin me. That was my salvation. I had always before me the hope ofescape. I fought now cease to retain some qualities of clean manhood, that I might appear amongst fellow as a man, and not like one of thelowering monsters by whom I was surrounded--men upon whose every featureand limb were stamped the repulsive brands of the lag. During that firstperiod I maintained an attitude of fierce revolt, then, recognising myhelplessness, I brought cunning into play, and practised dissimulationnight and day. This saved me in some measure, but the ghastly lifecontinued year after year, and I was thirty-eight before a reasonablechance of escape presented itself. My plans had been perfected, and whenthe opportunity came I seized it, with the resolution of a man for whomthere was only one alternative to liberty--death. '

Jim never took his eyes from Ryder's; he sat as if fascinated by theivory-pale face of his companion. 

'I had one friend in Hobart Town, a freed convict named Wainewright. Heprovided me with the clothes of a gentleman. The beard I wore, and whichhas since served me as a disguise in my many enterprises, was given to mein the first place by Wainewright. To perfect that beard and destroyevery semblance of artificiality, I had worked at it for three years inthe cunning, patient way old prisoners toil at such a task. Wainewrighthelped me to get to the mainland, and I was safe, with a forgedticket-of-leave in my pocket in case the marks of the chains should bediscovered by prying official eyes. '

'Did you make any effort to live honestly?' asked Jim. 

'Almost my first action on reaching the neighbour hood of Melbourne wasto bail-up a prominent resident, whom I robbed. That act afforded meabsolute joy. He was a decent, orderly citizen, a pillar of the State, apowerful upholder of the law. No robbery I have since committed has givenme quite the same delight. I stole then because I needed money. I rob nowbecause I am a keen sportsman, and that is the particular sport I affect. Possibly you would not appreciate the pleasure of the game; you have nothad the humbug of the world eaten out of your heart with live flame. Having wilfully exposed itself to me, and translated my respect for itinto a magnificent hatred, society cannot reasonably expect to find medocile. I prey upon society. '

'It will avenge itself. '

'True, it may. Robbery under arms is a hanging matter, but I havegraduated in a marvellous school for cunning, and have perfectconfidence. '

'Yet you place yourself in my hands. What can the ties of blood count forbetween us two? For as long as I can remember I've thought of you only assomething evil hovering over the door, silencing the home, darkeninglife. '

'I counted on finding in you a mind not wholly at variance with my own. What those two women told me gave me some insight into your character. Iperceived that at least the flame had scorched the bloom from your soul. '

'Here I am a new man. I have known happiness, I have tasted love, andmade friends with good men. Here I can live!'

Ryder looked at him closely. 'You must tell me of your life, ' he said--'the life in Chisley after my supposed hanging. No, no; not now. Go toyour tent and sleep. '

'Sleep! I shall not sleep. '

'Think over what I have told you. '

'There is more behind?' 'There may be. '

'You think I will join you?'

'In my present career? No. For the time being, let us say no more. I neednot ask you to be silent. Meet me here to-morrow night at nine. While youare thinking, bear always in mind the fact that Peter Cannon is there'--he pointed in the direction of Stony's tent--' a living man. Good-night. '

The reminder was well timed; pity stirred warmly in Jim's heart again, and he offered his hand. 

'So long, ' he said, dropping into the vernacular of mateship. 

Ryder took his hand with no demonstration of emotion. 'So long, ' hereplied. 

XVI

BURTON found his mate gloomy and taciturn all next day, a condition soremarkable in Done that it gave Mike some little concern, but he made nocomment; and Jim was too absorbed in the strange, new development in hislife to discover his friend's uneasiness. Ryder's story brought Jim'syouthful sufferings back to him with painful vividness; it awakened someanimosities he had thought dead, and he recognised, though shrinking fromthe idea with actual terror, in Ryder's attitude towards his kind theframe of mind into which he was drifting when he broke away from Chisleyand its associations. Remembering well his own heart up to the time whenhuman interests and sympathies began to awaken kindred emotions withinhim, he understood that the resemblance between himself and his brotherwas as close on the moral side as it was on the physical, but with Ryderthe demoralizing influences had worked their utmost. How like theirsufferings had been! differing only in degree; but his own sufferingslooked pale and fanciful now beside those of his brother. His afflictionswere of the spirit only. He and Ryder were of a supersensitive race andevery soul-pang he endured had been augmented a thousand times in hisbrother's case, and driven in by the prison cell, the leg-irons, theloathsome associations, the animalizing toil in the quarries--the lash!Jim had heard enough of the infamy of the system to understand, if notthe worst, sufficient to make his skin creep at the thought of it. Herealized to what state of heart and mind Ryder had been driven, knowinghow he himself had developed under the stress of comparatively trivialwrongs, and the whole man ached with sympathy. It required a strongeffort to restrain his inclination to tears, a weakness of the flesh hehad surprised in himself before now. 

And Ryder had suffered all this, knowing himself to be guiltless of thecrime of which he was convicted. Stony was there in his tent. If Jim hadknown where to find his brother he would have gone to him in the morning, prompted by the generous affection that had sprung in his heart, feelingthat Ryder might be won over by new friendships and new interests. Itseemed to him that the wholesome effects worked in his case might berepeated in that of his brother, forgetting their disparity in years. Thechange had come to him while he was yet little more than a boy; Ryder wasa man in middle life, and no longer capable of youth's savingenthusiasms. 

Jim was early for the appointment, but Ryder was already at therendezvous, seated on the log, smoking, and apparently deriving placidenjoyment from his cigar. The young man's greeting was warm, but theelder showed no emotion. If any liking for Jim existed in him it wascarefully hidden away. Throughout their previous meeting he had bornehimself with seriousness, as if something of importance to him were atstake; to-night he was in a wholly different humour, more like the manwho had encountered Jim in Mary Kyley's bar. 

'Are we to consider the relationship established?' he said. 

'I am quite convinced, ' answered Jim. 'I have not doubted it from themoment you declared yourself. '

'You are much too confiding, my boy. As an impostor I might have gatheredall these details from the real Richard Done. '

'With what object?'

'Well, I have an object, an ulterior motive. I want you to share a largefortune with me. '

Jim laughed. 'You may pick up a large family of brothers on those terms, 'he said. 

'You will do. Is it a bargain?'

'What is this fortune? Where is it? How was it come by?'

'The fortune is mainly in virgin gold; it is in an untried alluvialfield. '

'If the field is untried, how do you know the gold is in it?'

'I put it there. '

Jim looked at Ryder sharply. 'You have not answered one of my questions, 'he said. 'How was the gold come by?'

'There's no objection on that score, ' Ryder answered lightly. 'It wascome by dishonestly, every grain of it. '

'To me that is a serious objection. I am an honest man, my instincts areall for fair dealing, and I believe, as a simple everyday workingprinciple, honesty is the best policy. '

'Honesty is not a policy, my boy: it is a misfortune. '

'Why do you wish to share your loot with me?'

'Seventy or eighty thousand ounces of gold is not easily accounted fornor easily disposed of by a guest of the Queen who is on leave without aticket that will bear the closest investigation. You could dispose of itsafely enough. '

'And if I were asked to account for it?'

'That is provided for. I have discovered a field within a day's journeythat nobody else knows of--that nobody else is likely to know of. You andI go there, we work it for a few months, and the gold I have mentioned isto be represented as the result of our labours if it becomes necessary tomake explanations. A few thousand ounces in nuggets which might 'by someunhappy chance be recognised by previous owners we shall batter intoslugs and reserve for sale in other lands. '

And then?'

'Then all that life in London and Paris means to men with greatfortunes. ' Ryder was smiling as he spoke. 'Then to seize and enjoy allthat smug respectability is willing to give to the wealthy, and much thatit is unwilling to give, but which it shall be our pleasure to take. Thento exact our revenge for all we have endured at the hands of society bymaking it in some measure the slave to minister to our needs and ourdesires. I positively tremble, my brother, when I think of the littlemischief one man can work; but with money and ingenuity, combined withdevotion to purpose, we may succeed in accomplishing quite a decentvengeance. '

'I have no desire for revenge upon society. '

'To be sure, you have not sat through the long black night in, a coldcell with the rats, a wet rag thrown over your lacerated back, the chainseating into your flesh like the nibbling of tiny teeth, thinking of thegood people who rule England, sitting at their blazing fires or smilinground the laden tables. '

'No, thank God!'

'If you had you might appreciate the subtle delight of sinning againstyour enemies. I am going back to England to devote what arts I know, whatcunning I have, and what attractions I can assume, to the gratificationof the only passion left me. When I think of the fair daughters and thefair sons of the comfortable middle class, Jim, I have exquisite hopes. 'Ryder rolled the cigar between his fingers, and smiled at his brother ina gentle, kindly way. 'If I can bring an honoured son of reputableparents to taste the joys of the hulks and feel the caresses of theleaded cat, I shall, I feel, be almost reconciled to my past. They talkof stopping transportation and abolishing the system. I never cease topray that the system may be spared to us. If it is done away with beforeI have gratified the magnificent malice I have stored up in this breast, morsel by morsel, hoarding it with the greed of a miser, I am afraid Ishall lose my faith in a just Providence. '

'This is simply hideous exclaimed Jim. 'But you are joking. You speakwithout bitterness. 

'I speak without bitterness because I would not waste any jot of it. Whenmy moments come (and I have had a few) I desire to experience the perfectemotion. Revenge is only sweet when it opens the flood-gates of a pent-uphatred. '

'Richard!' cried the young man, 'for God's sake put this black evil outof your heart! Here is a clean world--come into it, take part in it withthe good men. Your soul is poisoned--purge it. Open your eyes to thesun. I'll help you!'

Ryder placed his cigar on the log beside him, and turning back the leftwrist of the silk undershirt he wore, struck a match, and showed Jim abroad red wheal encircling the arm like the scar of a deep burn. 

'Would you like to see my ankle?' he said. 'Or my back? It's a prettysight. I am a hunted man. But if I were not, I would not consent tosacrifice my exquisite desires merely because the sun shines and girlsare merry. '

'But I have been happy. I'll have none of this ugly gospel of hatred andrevenge. '

'Happy! Because you are free for a moment; because you are not treatedquite as a pariah because that black-eyed houri down at the shanty smilesat you? You'll sicken of this presently. I tell you you must come back toyour healthy hatred. The spirit of revolt is in your blood; the contemptis with you. I shall win you over. '

Never! Never!'

'Happy! Son of a mother tortured to death by a Christian people; brotherof the girl driven to suicide by hate; brother of the man whom societyset in hell. ' Ryder's voice was low and musical, and his words were moredreadful than curses. 'You have not told me all, ' he continued. 'Sitdown, man--tell me of your life at home there. '

Jim demurred, but Ryder led him on to the narrative, and eventually hedescribed his past, and as he talked of the old troubles andtribulations, his former prejudices awoke, and something of the earlyhatred and disdain. Ryder, quick to detect the effect of the revival ofhis boyish grievances, kept the young man's thoughts on the more painfulfeatures of the story, and worked upon his feelings guilefully probinghis soul, finding his weaknesses with an unerring touch, prompted, nodoubt, by his knowledge of Richard Done, the man he had been, whoseyouthful character he found faithfully reflected here. 

'You'll come with me?' said Ryder. 

'No, I couldn't do it, ' answered Jim. 'Your idea of vengeance strikes meonly as the dream of a madman. '

'But you'll think it over?'

'You don't suppose a man can get this sort of thing out of his mind in aday. '

'Remember, I bind you to nothing, and there is a big fortune at stake. '

Got by crime. '

'By open, honest daylight robbery. '

Jim looked at his brother with a feeling of despair; he recognised theutter hopelessness of argument based on accepted ideas of right andwrong. In disputing he felt like a child blowing bubbles against a stonewall. Ryder's attitude implied that he had tested everything in the fireof a terrible experience. 

'Man, man!' cried Done, 'how can you hope to beat the world?'

'For four years I have beaten it. And I am appreciated. The Government ofVictoria has just raised the price of my head to one thousand pounds. '

'Why not leave the country at once?'

'As soon as you are ready. '

'Impossible. I will not go. '

'I remain until you change your mind, unless, in the meantime, some safeand convenient means of transporting my hard-earned gold presents itself. I have an alternative scheme, but it means greater risks, and, besides, Ifind I am still capable of the preposterous folly of liking. I like you. '

'Then give up this brutal scheme, join with me, make an effort to workthe poison out of your blood, to revive a clean, honest interest inexistence, and I'll stand by you through thick and thin, against the lawand all your enemies, while I've a heart-beat left in me. It's worth theeffort, Dick; the world is fair, men are decent, and women are sweet. '

Ryder sat nursing a foot, smiling a smile of kindly interest. 'My boy, 'he said, 'you have the ardent sentimentality of a good mother'spink-cheeked cub of nineteen. Has it occurred to you that I have run avery great risk in being seen for five minutes in your company? Your nameis Done, and you made the name rather familiar along Forest Creek; we arealike, as you have noted, and although Richard Done, the escaped convict, is not much thought of at this date, it is certain that hearing your nameawakened recollection amongst the old Vandemonians in the police here, and they have probably run the rule over you more than once. If I were tojoin with you, they'd clap the darbies on me within a week. '

Jim spread his hands in a gesture of despair. 'I have been mistaken forSolo once; that risk must always follow you, ' he said. 

'I am prepared; but the Government shall never pay their thousand poundsfor a live man. I appear as little as possible in the diggings in thisguise, however. You did not know me as the chief performer in that littlecomedy with Brigalow on Diamond Gully. You did not recognise me in thedark man who talked with you and Burton while the madcap from Kyley's wasleading the troopers a merry dance along the lead. By the way, I admireyour taste in women, Jim. She's a fine, unshamed barbarian, this Aurora. '

The subject was distasteful to Jim. He put it aside hastily. 'If I workedwith you in this scheme for disposing of the gold you would run the samerisk, ' he said. 

'No; I need not appear in the matter. The field I speak of, which isprobably very rich in itself, is so situated that we might work it for ayear without being discovered. Meanwhile, by making frequent trips toBallarat and Bendigo, you could sell a great deal of my gold along withsuch as we may earn. Then I should sail for England, taking with me asmuch gold as I could safely handle, leaving you to sell more, andeventually join me with the remainder. In this way we can, if we choose, rid ourselves of three hundred thousand pounds' worth without attractingany particular attention. '

'You reckoned on finding me greedy for gold. '

'I reckoned more on finding you willing to seize an opportunity ofexacting from society some return for death, torture, and infamy!'

'There was a time when you might have prevailed. '

'That time may come again. It needs only a new grievance--the law tobruise you, the women to betray. '

Jim shook his head. He felt the disc of Lucy's locket pressing againsthis breast under his folded arms. 'I cannot believe it, ' he said. 

The other was silent for some moments, and Jim watched him with troubledeyes. None of the cruelty and the viciousness to which Ryder had givenutterance found expression in his features, which were marked withsensitive lines and some refinement. Done thought of Brummy the Nut, andit seemed to him little short of miraculous that this man had been ableto come through similar experiences and yet show no evidence of it in hisface. Ryder arose and moved away a few paces. 

'If you go from here to another field, ' he said, 'leave word for me atone of the stores. '

'Are you going?'

'I may not leave Jim Crow for a few days. '

'You have something in hand?'

'Meaning some robbery? No; it is possible Solo has made a dramaticdisappearance from contemporaneous history. '

You'll drop the game? Good! Good!'

'It all depends. I have the gold I need, but the sporting instinct may betoo strong for me. Just now there is other work in view. Be assured, myintentions are not honourable, however. We shall meet again. Myproposition may appeal to you later. You will not forget it. '

'Put it out of your head, ' said Jim appealingly. 'Leave the country, takethe gold if you must, live luxuriously if you care to, but dig out ofyour heart this devilish malice against people who have done you noconscious wrong. Do this for your own sake; the course you have decidedupon is one of desolation and despair. '

'Least of all did I expect to find my brother a pulpiteer and a moralistwith all the popular faith in the domestic virtues, and the quaintconviction that misery dogs the sinner, ' said Ryder dryly. 

'I have used no cant, ' answered Jim, 'and I said nothing of sin orvirtue. I don't ask you to trust God, but to trust man. Be at peace withyour kind!'

'And this is the man they called the Hermit on board the Francis Cadman!'

'Yes; and I was wretched aboard simply because I met the free and heartymen around me in a spirit of sullenness and suspicion. But my sickmisanthropy was not proof against the heart-quickening sunshine and thegrand enthusiasm of those fine sane men. '

'Evidently your philosophy sprang from a disordered liver. Thesea-voyage, in stimulating that, cured you of your cherished beliefs. Another trip would probably make a devout Wesleyan of you, ' said Ryderbanteringly. 'Now, my liver is a perfect instrument, and you couldn'talter a single opinion of mine with a long course of antibilioustreatment. In defiance of all Sunday-school precedents, I can be cheerfulthough wicked, and, having attained the splendid isolation of perfectselfishness, my happiness is not dependent on the gaiety or gloom of thecrowd, My boy, you might remember that your experience is not so wide asto justify you in asking mankind at large to accept you as the touchstonefor all human emotions. Good-bye. '

Jim gripped his brother's hand and held it. 'Good bye!' he said. 'I wishI could do something for you, but you leave me helpless. '

Ryder went off with a laugh, and a moment later his voice came backthrough the trees--a light, musical baritone, singing an Irish love-song, and Jim, listening, troubled in spirit, wondered how much of the true manhe had been permitted to see. 

Throughout the quiet months that followed Done lived a sober, methodicallife. He saw no more of his brother while they remained on the Jim Crowdiggings, but thought of him constantly, dreading to hear of some furtherdaring escapade on the part of Solo, fearing more the possibility of hiscapture. Burton was perplexed by the note of gravity that had developedin his mate, until he made an accidental discovery of Lucy Woodrow'slocket, and then he thought he understood all, especially as Jim's visitsto Kyley's shanty were comparatively rare of late. Meanwhile, Jim hadwritten once to Lucy, but had received no answer--a fact that did notdisturb him, however, as the postal service on the fields and in the Bushwas extremely erratic. He was quite satisfied now that he had been inlove with his shipmate all the time, but it was not easy to account forAurora. Certainly he had been very fond of her: he was fond of her still, and could not bring himself to regret having known her. He stroveresolutely to refrain from applying conventional standards of judgment, with which, he assured himself, he had no sympathy, but littleuneasinesses and awkward moments would obtrude. It was difficult tomaintain the fine idea of rationalism. 'I won't have you bind the strangeman you may be to-morrow with oaths, ' Aurora had said; yet it was evidentthe change in him was a source of great distress to her. 

'I haven't seen you for a fortnight, Jim, ' she said one evening, with atinge of reproach that she was striving to repress. 

'No, ' he said shortly. 

'And absence hasn't made you particularly fond. '

He was leaning on the counter, and took her hand between his own, but wassilent. 

'At least, you don't lie to me, ' she continued. 

Jim did not plume himself on that; he knew in his heart that if he hadnot lied it was because a thoroughly satisfactory fiction had notpresented itself. He kissed her knuckles, which, in itself was a lie ofinference. Aurora pulled her hand away, and robbed him of his oneresource. He felt abashed and defenceless without it. He thrust his handsin his pockets, and turned his shoulders to her, gazing moodily on thefloor, having a dawning sense of the differences that may suddenlyafflict two hearts that have beat as one, realizing that the ardentaffection of yesterday and yesterday's kisses count for nothing in thepresent estrangement. He could, not essay the role of friendship: it wasas if they were strangers without a single affinity. 

'The fact is, Aurora, ' he said desperately, 'I'm a good deal changed. I've experienced a great shock lately, and it has pulled me up short. '

'And the woman?'

He turned upon her again with genuine surprise. 'The woman! The woman!'he cried. 'It has nothing to do with a woman. Upon my soul, no! Somethinghas been revealed to me that has hit me hard. I don't get over it easily;it clings in my mind. If I could tell you, old girl, you'd sympathize;but I can't--the secret is not my own. ' He spoke with emotion, andAurora, watching him sharply, was touched. She put a hand on his arm. 

'Not another word, Jimmy, ' she said. 'I won't bother you. Sure, ' shecontinued lightly, we weemin 're niver contint wid the throubles of theday. We're that curious we must be wonderin' how much more's comin'. Wemay boast iv bein' sensible an' sthrong, but we're alwiz pushin' ourtentacles out to feel the sorrow iv to-morrow. I reckoned you'd be hatin'me in a week, ma bouchal. '

Done felt himself justified in kissing her there and then, but the kisspartook a good deal of the nature of a benediction. 

This explanation did not serve to restore confidence; the constraintremained, and increased with time. Jim noted its effect on Aurora withsome misgiving. His appearance in the tent was the signal for a displayof boisterous animation on her part. If she had been depressed before, she suddenly became gay; if she had been animated, she became jubilant. She sang, and joked, and danced, and played, with an excess of jocositythat jarred him painfully. He gave her credit for uncommon intelligence, and undoubtedly she had been educated above the position in life she wascontent to occupy. Why should she resort to the shallow and obvioussubterfuges of the most foolish and frivolous of her sex? He had noperception of the extent of her sufferings, and would not, in any case, have understood how independent are the workings of the head and theheart of a loving woman. On such occasions she flirted audaciously withthe miners, and her blood burned in her veins because Done showed nodisposition to be moved by it. 

Tim Carrol imagined himself to be the specially favoured man, and wasAurora's most devoted slave, and the girl played upon his big, affectionate heart, with no object but to awaken in Done a sparkle of therecent fire. One night Aurora danced with him through a lively reel, andat its conclusion, in a spirit of mirthless mischief, put up her redmouth to be kissed. Not for all the powers of good and evil would Timhave foregone that delight. He kissed her, but this time Done offered noobjection. Indeed, he gave no indication of having seen what was passing, although in reality he had been watching Aurora, impressed with the ideathat she was drinking. Never since the first night he met her had sheseemed to him to be under the influence of drink, and he admitted tohimself that he might have been mistaken then, and was probably deceivednow by the fervour of her character. 

Done's indifference struck a chill to the girl's heart. She went back toher place silent, but feeling within her the stirring of a tempest. Aquarter of an hour later she confronted Jim as he stood talking withHarry Peetree. For a moment she looked into his face, and all eyes wereupon her. Then she struck him in the mouth with her right hand, and hereyes, cheeks, and whole being seemed to blaze into passion at the samemoment. 

'I have something belonging to you. Is it that you are waiting for?' Shethrew the small nugget in his face with her other hand. 

The gold cut his temple, but he did not flinch; his eyes met hers withoutpassion; his cultivated power of control helped him now. Taking out ahandkerchief, he wiped the blood from his eye, and then, picking up thenugget, offered it to her. 

'Aurora, ' he said, 'you know in your heart that is a lie. '

His quietness made her action ridiculous, whatever his intention may havebeen, and the girl felt it with an access of frenzy; but at this pointTim Carrol felt himself called upon to intervene in his new character asknight-errant. 

'D'ye mean to call the lady a liar?' he cried hotly. 

Jim, who had a real liking for the cheerful young Irishman, evaded theawkward blow aimed at his head, and stood back, and Ben Kyley savedfurther trouble by seizing Tim and hustling him into a corner. 

'I'm the on'y man what's permitted to punch the customers in this tent, 'said Ben. 

At the same time Mrs. Ben descended upon Aurora and bore her off with amighty hug, much as if she were a rebellious infant. 

XVII

IT was some time before Jim Done visited Mrs. Kyley's tent again. He boreAurora no animosity, he had the kindliest feelings for her, butrecognised that in frequenting the shanty he increased the difficulty ofthe situation and prolonged the task he had set himself. A letter hadcome to him from Lucy Woodrow--a bright, breezy letter, about Bush-life, about herself and the youngsters, and a good deal about him. Certainly apleasant enough letter, but, considered as a literary production merely, not deserving of Jim's high appreciation of it. Alter receiving it Jimsat down in a reverent humour and decided, with the formality of ameeting carrying a resolution, that Lucy was the only woman in the worldfor him, the one possible woman. The resolution practically abolished allother women so far as he was concerned. He could never think of anotherwith patience, and his longing for her was so great that it left himlittle mind for Ryder, and scarcely any for Aurora. He was eager to payBoobyalla another visit, but Mike was deaf to all insinuations, and Jimconsoled himself with pretty imaginative pictures in which Lucy wasvividly represented sitting on the shady veranda at Macdougal's homestead, spotted with flakes of golden sunshine filtered through the tangleof vine and creeper. How sweet she was, how gentle, how tender, and yetbrave of heart and keen-witted withal. She had understood him better thanhe had understood himself. That was very gratifying; it showed her deepinterest in him, but he did not put it to himself in that bald way. Whyhadn't he taken her up in his arms and kissed her when they parted in thegarden? Every drop of his blood prompted him to it, and something toldhim she would not have resented it. He had been a fool. He should havetold her then that he loved her. Of course, it had hardly occurred to himthen that he really did love her, but he was a fool in any case for notseeing it and understanding it. 

Burton and the Peetrees had resolved to try a new rush before Done calledat the shanty again. 

'I have come to say goodbye, Mrs. Ben, ' he said to the big washerwoman, 'and to thank you for a thousand kindnesses. '

'Thank me for nothing!' cried Mrs. Kyley. 'Is it true you are off on thewallaby again?'

'We shall start for Simpson's Ranges in the morning. '

'It is so long since we've seen you that you won't mind if we don't breakour hearts at parting. ' She glanced towards Aurora, who had turned herback to them. 

'That's the least I expect of you, Mrs. Ben. '

'Well, you're not a bad lad, though inconstant. Give me a kiss, and goodluck go with you. Be a man, ' she added in a whisper. 'Say a few kindwords to the poor girl. ' She nodded towards Aurora. 

'I came wishing to. '

'You ruffian!' she said aloud; 'and you pretending you cared a copperdump about Mother Kyley. She pushed him towards Aurora, and rolled fromthe tent with one of her great gusts of laughter. 

'I'm off, Joy!' said Done. 

She turned and looked at him. She was in one of her quiet humours. If shehad felt much grief, it had left little impression upon her. She wasneatly dressed and looking very fresh and girlish to-day. 

'I heard you were going, ' she answered. 

'Joy!' He put out an open hand. 'Let us part friends; I'm fond of you--Iam, upon my soul!'

She caught his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her breast. 'I waswondering if you would come to see me before leaving. '

'Ah, that's better, ' he said. 'I'd be pretty miserable if I went thinkingI'd left you an enemy, because--because--' He had a heart full ofgratitude and big, generous emotions towards her, and could not expresshimself. 'God bless you, Joy! he murmured, kissing her hair. 'Don't thinkme an utterly selfish kind of brute, dear. '

'I haven't one ill thought of you, Jimmy. Didn't I woo you with everytrick I know, but with my whole heart, too, for all that? It's been afair deal, old man. '

'I'll never cease to wish you happiness, and I'll always regret anytrouble I may have caused you. '

'Regret nothing--nothing! You've been a big joy to me, and you bore mytantrums like a brick. I'm sorry I struck you, Jimmy. ' She drew his headdown and kissed the scar over his right eye. 

'There was another blow here. ' He touched his left cheek, and she kissedthat too, but she was showing no sign of sentimentality. Her attitude wasthat of a good friend, and in this pose she was delightful, Jim thought. 

'We are certain to meet again, Joy, ' he said. 'If ever I could doanything for you, would you ask me?'

She looked into his eyes for a moment. 'Yes, ' she answered, 'beforeanyone else in the world. '

'That's good. You're one of the best, Joy. We go to Simpson's Ranges, butmay find our way down to Ballarat in the course of a few months if thingsdon't pan out well. '

'When you hear of anyone coming this way, you'll send a message, Jim?'

They were interrupted by three or four diggers, and in the course of halfan hour the tent filled. Aurora was very charming that night, verygracious, very like the Aurora who supervised their open-air tea thenight of Lambert's big speech, but less buoyant. Jim felt her soft touchupon him many times, and watched her with curiosity. She had retainedthis peculiar quality of provoking faint wonder. He felt that he had notknown her thoroughly, and drifted into the building of the suitablefuture for her with many 'ifs' and 'buts. '

'I am going, Joy, ' he whispered later. 

'Not here, ' she said, taking his arm. 'Outside. '

They passed out together, and stood by the big tree in which Mrs. Ben'sstock was hidden. 

'Good-bye!' he said. 

'It's hard!' She put her hands upon his shoulders, and her voicetrembled. 'I've been pretty badly in love, Jimmy. Remember that inkindness, Won't you? It seems to excuse a good deal. It might even excusea poor colleen makin' the fool an' all iv herself. ' The brogue soundeddeeply pathetic. 'A kiss, ' she whispered quickly. 'One of the old kisses, dear. '

As he bent down to her his cheek crushed a tear on hers, and he wastouched deeply. The kiss was long and tender; as the kiss of a man forwhom there was only one woman in the world, and she not the one beingkissed, it was emphatically successful. It drew a deep sigh from poorAurora, and thrilled Jim with not a little of the old rapture. 

'Good-bye!' she said; but her fingers clung to him. 

'Good-bye!' he repeated, taking her hands in his. 

'Have you the little heart of gold?' she asked. 

'It's here. ' He drew it from his pocket. 

'Give it back to me. '

He pressed it into her hand, kissed her cheek, and hurried away. Aurorastood for some minutes turning the nugget over and over in her fingers;then she moved to the shanty door and looked in, but turned away with amuttered exclamation, and went to the entrance of the back tent. 

'You'll have to attend to those brutes in there, ' she said to Mary Kyley. 'I've had as much as I can stand for one night. ' She threw herself uponher bed, and hid her face in the pillow. 

'Has he gone, dear?' asked Mrs. Kyley, laying a big but gentle hand uponthe girl. 

Aurora nodded her bead in the pillow, and after looking at her in silencefor a moment, Mary went in to attend to her customers, shaking her headsadly as she went. When she peeped into the back tent again an hour laterAurora still lay face downwards upon the bed. 

'Are you asleep, Aurora?' whispered Mrs. Ben. 'No!' answered the girlfiercely. 'For God's sake, don't bother me!'

Mrs. Ben went away again, sadder than before. 

'Oh, the men, the men!' murmured the wise woman. 'To think of the goodwomen wasted on them, and the chits they're often wasted on!'

Jim Done enjoyed the tramp to Simpson's Ranges. The weather was fine, thecountry was picturesque, and the company highly congenial. He liked thePeetrees better in his present mood, and his interest in the popularmovement that was to culminate at Eureka was deepening daily. He had evenaddressed a small meeting of miners on the subject of the rights of thepeople, and he was no pusillanimous reformer. He declared the diggers hadreached that point at which toleration meant meanness of spirit. Thethought of civil war was appalling, but not so much so as the degradationof a nation in which the manhood plodded meekly under the whip, likedriven cattle yoked to their load. 

The men carried small swags, having entrusted their tools and tents toteamsters, and, travelled quietly, taking four days to accomplish thejourney. The route lay through trackless country. As yet few parties fromForest Creek had set out for Simpson's Ranges, and Jim and his friendsencountered no other travellers until they were approaching the new rush, and then the road assumed the familiar characteristics, and the noisy, boisterous troops went gaily by. These might have been the identical menwho tramped to Diamond Gully through the Black Forest, so much did theyresemble the former in their joyousness and their wild exuberance of wordand action, and in their manner of conveying their belongings too, and intheir frank good-fellowship. But by this time Jim was an experiencedAntipodean, and knew that in such circumstances men always behave much inthe same way, and that dignity is the first oppressive observance to beabandoned immediately man breaks loose from the restraints of society. The novelty had gone from the rushes, but not the charm. The sight of thecourageous, healthy, happy gold-seekers swinging by struck sympatheticchords in his own heart. He had kindred impulses, and was by far the mostjubilant of his party, the Bush-bred Australians being the leastdemonstrative of all the men on the track. 

On the morning of the fourth day Jim encountered a face he knew amongst aparty of five travelling with a waggon. 

'Hullo, Phil Ryan!' he said. 

Phil advanced with a puzzled expression on his face, that presently gaveway to a broad grin. 

'The Hermit!' he cried, and, seizing Jim's hand, he shook it witheffusive heartiness. One might think he had occasion to remember Done formany kindnesses, whereas the ignominious beating the Hermit had given himon the Francis Cadman was all he had to be grateful for. 

'I've given up trying to be a hermit, ' said Jim. 'There was nothing init. '

'Begor, I'm that glad!' said Phil, and he certainly looked radiant. 'Butyou're th' changed man, Done. I hardly knew you wid th' amiable shmile. Have things been goin' rare an' good?'

'They have, Ryan. I'm a made man. ' Jim meant the expression to be takenin a spiritual rather than a pecuniary sense. 

It's hearin', ' said Phil. 'My soul, but it's th' great land, man! I've hadmore gold through me hands these twelve munts than I iver dramed ivbefore. But it don't shtick, ' he added ruefully, glancing at his hornypalms. 

'And the others--have you heard of them?'

'We broke up into twos an' twos whin we come near Geelong, fer fear ivbeing nailed by th' police fer disertion. Jorgensen's made his pile overbe Buniyong; an' Tommy th' Tit--him what seconded me in th' bit iv acontention we had aboard--have been rootin' out nuggets be th' tubful atBallarat, an' talkin' fight and devilment t' th' min iv nights in th'intherests iv peace an' humanity an' good gover'mint. Be th' same token, there's goin' t' be no ind iv sin an' throuble down there, an' I'd besorry to be missin' it. '

'He's no true digger who'll stand out when the time comes, Ryan. '

'Thrue fer you, man. Och! it's a lovely land fer a gravyince, an' I'llniver lave it. ' He looked Jim up and down again. 'It's put th' good heartin you, Done. ' Jim nodded smilingly. 'D'ye be hearin' iv th' little ladyfrom off the ship?' continued Phil, as if following a natural sequence. 

'Yes, ' answered Jim, his cheeks warming a little. 'She is with Mrs. Macdougal at Boobyalla, just beyond Jim Crow, and is well and cheerful. '

'Good agin!' Ryan sighed heavily as he resumed his swag. 'It's th' on'ything I'm lamentin' here, th' mighty scarcity iv fine wimmin, ' he said. 

'They'll be bringing them out by the ship-load presently, old man. '

'Th' sooner th' quicker. Manewhoile I haven't seen th' taste iv one fersivin munts. So long to you! We'll be meetin' on the new rush?'

'Yes. So long and good luck!'

Phil hastened on to overtake his mates, and Jim, looking after him, wondered that he had ever been anything but good friends with this man, whose lovable, ugly face radiated geniality as a diamond reflects light. 

Simpson's Ranges at first sight was a repetition of the other fields Jimhad seen. The scene was one of intense excitement. No experience preparedthe ordinary miner to take the possibilities of a new field in aphilosophical spirit. The impetuosity, the bustling hurry, and theclamour that had so impressed him at Forest Creek were repeated here. Everywhere over a space of some fifty acres tents were being unfurled andcarts and waggons unloaded in the midst of chaotic disorder. The feverisheagerness of new arrivals to peg out their claims on a rich leadaccounted for much of the tumult. Those already in possession of goldenholes were working like fiends to exhaust their present claims, andsecure others before the land was pegged out all along the lead and thewhizzing of windlasses and the monotonous cries of the workers added theusual character to the prevailing clamour. 

Storekeepers who had dumped their stocks down in the open air weredesperately busy, serving profane customers, or running up hastystructures over their goods. Newcomers were pouring in like visitors to afair, shouting as they came, and of all the people Jim could see, MikeBurton and the Peetrees alone were prepared to take things calmly. Forhis own part, he had again proof of his susceptibility to the humours ofthe crowd; the excitement of the scene communicated itself to him; hewanted to add to the noise and the movement without acknowledging anysensible reason for doing so. 

'Me an' Mike 'll get up the lead an' spike a claim while you boys rig thetent, ' said Josh. 

The mates had brought one tent to serve them, pending the arrival oftheir other belongings. It had been resolved that the five men shouldwork on shares during their stay at Simpson's Ranges, and Mike andPeetree senior secured the land to which the party was entitled under itslicenses. 

'She's well in on the lead all right, ' said Josh, commenting on theirclaim that evening after tea, 'an' if we don't hit it rich I'm aDutchman. '

Josh's opinion proved correct in the main. Mike cut the wash-dirt on thefollowing evening, and after sinking in it to the depth of two feet, washed a prospect that promised the party an excellent return for theirlabour. So far Jim Done had every reason to be grateful for his luck; andthe diggers were nearly all implicit believers in luck; a faith they heldto be justified by the scores of instances recited of good fortunefollowing individuals through extraordinary conditions, when lessfavoured men all around them were not earning enough to satisfy thestorekeepers. 

Although the various Victorian rushes were much alike in generalcharacter, some peculiarity attached to each of them. Jim Crow was famousfor its vigorous and varied rascality; Simpson's Ranges became notoriousas the most reckless gambling-field in the country. Card-playing was therecreation the diggers most indulged in here, if we except a decidedpenchant for Chow-baiting. Done found that already the gamblingpropensity had impressed itself on the lead, and the luckiest man onSimpson's was a short, fat, complacent Yankee, who refused to handle pickor shovel because, as he said to Done, it might spoil his hand. Jim didnot doubt that hands so slick in the manipulation of cards were worth allthe care Mr. Levi Long devoted to them. Jim became rather interested inLong. The man was an amusing blackguard, and took the 'gruellings' thatoccasional manual lapses led him into with a placidity that amountedalmost to quiet enjoyment, and tickled Done's sense of humour immensely. 

'Man who drifts down the stream o' life in a painted barge on the broadof his back among the Persian rugs, with a fat cigar in his teeth, an'all his favourite drinks within reach, has gotter strike a snag now 'nagin, ' said Long. 'The question's just this--is it wuth it?'

'I can't understand why a tired man like you takes the trouble to shave, 'Jim said to him one night. 

'Ever been tarred 'n feathered in your busy career, Mr. Done?' answeredLong. 

Never. '

'If you had you'd realize that the onpleasantest thing that kin happen toa man this side o' the great hot finish is to get his chin whiskers fullo' tar. In my native town tarring the man you disagreed with was afavourite amusement. '

'But there is no tar here. '

'Well, no; but I guess this has become instinctive. ' He passed a handover his fat, smooth face. 

Chow-baiting was a later development. The Chinese and Mongolians cameearly to Victorian rushes, and remained long. They were neverdiscoverers, never pioneers, but, following quickly upon the heels of thewhite prospectors, they frequently succeeded in securing the richestclaims in the alluvial beds, and from the first they were hated with aninstinctive racial hatred, that became inveterate when the whites foundin Sin Fat a rival antagonistic in all his tastes and views, in most ofhis virtues, and in all his pet vices, bar one. The Chows wereindustrious diggers; they worked with ant-like assiduity from daylight todark, and often long after that were to be seen at their holes, toilingby the light of lanterns. 

They had vices of their own, and not nice ones, but they gave way to onlyone of the amiable little social weaknesses in which the Europeansindulged, and displayed the overpowering passion for gambling that hassince become characteristic of the China-men in all their Australiancamps. They had no other amusement, and desired no leisure; they weresqualid in their habits, and herded like animals; they were barren ofaspirations, and their industry was brutish (though of a kind stillbelauded), since it left no leisure for humanizing exercises, no room forsweetness and light. They were law-abiding, but that was not a virtue tocommend itself to the Victorian diggers at this date, and they were onlylaw-abiding because of their slavish instincts and their lack ofcourageous attributes. The antipathy bred then survives in the thirdgeneration of Australians, but is less demonstrative now that laws havebeen enacted in accordance with the racial instinct. 

The Pagans had secured a big stretch of the field close to the claimpegged out by Mike and Josh Peetree, and they were thought to havepossession of the most profitable part of the alluvial deposit, butworked their claims with great caution, and were as secretive as so manymopokes, so that the whites really had no idea what their ground waslike, excepting such as the experienced miners could gather from thegeneral trend of the richer wash dirt. Extraordinary stories of thesuccess of the Chinese were in circulation, and provoked strenuousprofanity and exceeding bitterness in the Europeans, Particularly inthose whose luck was not good. There was already talk of a white risingto drive the heathen from the field, and Done found his mates entirely insympathy with the common sentiment; to him; also the Celestials becameexceedingly repellent as he grew more familiar with their habits andmanners, although he was opposed to making differences of race an excusefor wholesale robbery. 

The Chinese camp was strictly apart from that of the whites, and therewas no intercourse between the two parties, Levi Long being the only manwho seemed attracted to the squalid huts into which the Mongolians packedthemselves by some process mysterious to the Caucasian understanding. Menin whom gambling was an absorbing passion could never be whollyobjectionable to a man of his peculiar principles; but he came back fromhis third visit to their camp with his hands sunk to the bottoms of hispockets and a troubled look on his smooth countenance. 

'They've sprung a new game on me down there, ' he said to a crowd in theshanty, nodding his head back. 'I thought I'd picked up something aboutit, an' it's cost me every bit o' glitter I had on me to demonstrate tomy entire satisfaction that I was quite wrong. I haven't got a scaleleft. I'm feelin' like a little boy who's been tryin' to teach his gran'mother all about eggs. '

'Fantan?' said Burton. 

'Somethin' o' that character an' complexion. Boys, I begin to think thatp'r'aps after all we're doin' wrong in submittin' to the encroachments o'the alien. '

Hear, hear!' shouted half a dozen voices. 

'It strikes me that the inferior race that can skin Levi Long to his peltin a gamble is providin' no fit associates for guileless an' confidin'children o' the Occident, like yourselves, f'r instance. '

Long's professional pride was hurt; the idea of being beaten at his ownbusiness by a pack of unlettered Asiatics made him sad. 'It kinderdestroys a man's faith in himself he said. As a result of his eloquencethe miners knotted windlass-ropes together, and stole down upon theChinese camp in the small and early hours of morning. There were twentymen on each cable, and one lot kept to the right of the camp, the otherto the left, and, going noiselessly, they dragged the ropes through thefrail huts and kennels in which the Mongols were sleeping, mowing themdown as if they had been houses of cards, and towing an occasionalscreaming Chow out of the ruins, rolled in his filthy bedding. The wholecamp of huddled shanties was razed to the ground in about two minutes, and the diggers drew off, without having given any clue to the cause ofthe disaster, leaving the heathen raging in the darkness. 

At about six o'clock Jim Done and his mates were awakened and broughtpell-mell from their bunks by the sound of a great commotion coming fromthe direction of the Chinese camp. They saw the Chinamen gathered nearthe ruins of their dwellings, evidently in a state of tremendousexcitement. A number of them were jumping about, gesticulating wildly, and uttering shrill cries, while half a dozen or so, armed with stoutsticks, were energetically beating an object that lay upon the ground. 

'By thunder! it's a man they're murdering!' cried Jim. 

Mike and the Peetrees laughed aloud. 'Not a bit of it, ' said Burton. 'They're only bastin' their Joss!'

'What's that?'

'They're beatin' their god. They keep a few of them little pottery orwooden gods round, an' if things don't go quite as well as they thinkthey ought to go, they up an' take it out o' the god just then on thejob, by knocking splinters off him. '

'They argue that Joss ain't been attendin' to his part o' the contract, 'said Harry Peetree, 'an' they belt him for neglectin' his business. Saw alot o' them blow up a big Joss at Bendigo 'cause their dirt was pannin'out badly. '

By this time the Europeans were all up and out, enjoying the spectacle, and Simpson's Ranges echoed their laughter, it being assumed that theCelestials' gods were being punished for the sins of those diggers whohad wrecked the camp. Jim and Con joined a few curious men saunteringdown to take a nearer view of the ceremony. 

'Wha' for?' Con asked one grave Chow who was looking on. 

'Welly much bad Joss!' answered the Celestial composedly. 'Let um earthshake-shake, all sem this, knockum poo' Chinaman's house down. '

A favourite way of tormenting the Chows was to rob them of theirpigtails. A Mongolian's pride in his pigtail is very great, and his griefover the loss of it seems to be tinged with a superstitious fear. As soonas the diggers were made aware of this they vied with each other inreaving Sin Fat and hi brethren of their cherished adornments, and therape of the lock was a daily occurrence at Simpson Ranges. No Red Indianwas ever prouder of his trophy of scalps than the diggers were of theircollection of tails, and the woe that fell upon the de spoiled Asiaticswas most profound, but touched no sympathetic chords in the calloushearts of the miners. 

It is not to be assumed that the Chows bore all their afflictions likelambs. They had methods of their own of getting even, and were efficienttent thieves, and peculiarly expert in the art of rifling tips, althoughthis was not proved against them until the eleventh hour. They foughtback on occasions, and one morning a big Californian was found near theirclaims, beaten almost to death. Evidently the digger had deserved hisfate, and had been caught stealing wash-dirt from Sin Fat's tips; but hisdenials were readily and gladly accepted by the whites, and anotherexcellent reason for demolishing the Chows was registered in the minds ofthe men. 

Being up just after daybreak one morning, or not yet having gone to bunk, Levi Long was the unsuspected witness of acts of Chinese iniquity thatbrought about the climax of the anti-Chinese agitation. There was nowater-supply at Simpson's Ranges, and the wash-dirt had to be carted fourmiles to the river at Carisbrook, to be puddled and washed. This morningthe Chinamen were busy bright and early, carting their wash away; but theCelestials, always frugal, to save as much as possible the expense ofdrays, each carried two hide-bags of dirt suspended on a bamboo, andfollowed the loaded carts through the diggings with the peculiar trotthey always adopted when bearing burdens. What Long noticed was thatevery now and again, when passing the tips on the claims of theEuropeans, the sly Celestials dug their shovels into the wash-dirt, andthrew a few shovelfuls on to their own loads or into the bags theycarried. Keeping himself in concealment, Levi quietly awakened a few ofthe diggers, and drew their attention to what was going on. The Chinamenchattered noisily as they passed, and the movements of the crowd wereevidently artfully designed to cover the depredations of the thieves. 

Within a quarter of an hour every white man on the field knew what hadbeen going on, and now the miners thought they understood the motive ofthe Chows in always carting their dirt away in the gray hours of morning, before the too-confiding Europeans were up and about. This was the laststraw. A meeting was held very quietly, and, to Done's astonishment, hismate took an active part in the proceedings. 

'The lepers have got to change their spots, I guess, ' said Long. 'Is thatunderstood, men?'

'You bet!' answered a prominent digger, and the crowd uttered a unanimous'Hear, hear!' that left no room for doubt. 

'Then, get ready!' cried Mike. 'Every man get a pick-handle. There's tobe no killin'. We'll drive 'em out like sheep. If the troopers interfere, unhorse them, an' bolt the nags. Meet here again as quick's you can. '

The miners scattered, and within half an hour the whole body of the whitediggers marched upon the Chinamen remaining on the claims. 

XVIII

THE Chinese, most of whom were on the surface, viewed the approach of theenemy with great uneasiness, but did not anticipate the worst Evidentlythey trembled only for their tails, and a few took to their claims likestartled rabbits. The others stood watching the advance, jabberingexcitedly, with the volubility of so many monkeys. 

'Wha' for? wha' for?' cried the foremost, when confronted by theEuropeans. 

'This here's an eviction, I reckon, ' drawled Long. 

'Go!' said Burton, pointing threateningly. 

'Away with the lepers!' yelled the men. 

The Chows understood monosyllables, and began to expostulate in pigeonEnglish. 

'Charge!' cried Long, and the drive commenced in earnest. 

Keeping a solid front, the whites drove the yellow men before them alongthe lead. Those below were dragged to the surface, and their movementswere accelerated by prods from the pick and presently the whole mass wasgoing at a run across the field, the Chinese in front, flying, as theythought, for their lives, the whites following, and the howls of thepursued and the yells of the pursuers united to make an uproarunprecedented on Simpson's Ranges. 

'The troopers!' The warning voices came from the left, and the fullstrength of the force on Simpson's came riding gallantly from thatdirection, between white men and yellow. 

'Pull 'em down!' cried Mike, 'but do no damage. '

'Halt there!' ordered the sergeant, rising in his stirrups, but the crowdtook little account of him and his four gallant followers. It swarmedround them for a moment, plucked the five men from their saddles, andpassed on, leaving the troopers sprawling on the ground, and drivingtheir horses before them with the terrified Celestials. 

The chase continued all the way to Carisbrook, and for a mile or sobeyond; but at the river, where the main body of Chinese was overtaken, there was a brief but vigorous fight. The Chinese used their shovels andsticks and stones, and what other weapons presented themselves, indefence of their property, and for about five minutes the hand-to-handconflict raged with a rattle of pick-handles, a thud, thud, thud of busyclubs, oaths in good round English, and a squeaking and yelling in shrillChinese, and then the Chows, overborne by numbers, backed, broke, andfled, and the hunt was continued. In two hours' time there was not aChinaman in sight, and virtuous Europeans were busy washing the goldengravel left near the river, satisfying their consciences when theypinched that only even handed justice had been done in robbing therobbers. 

Five weeks passed before the Chinese went creeping back to Simpson'sRanges, and by this time the diggers were engrossed in more importantaffairs, and offered no serious opposition. It seemed that the troublewas rapidly coming to a head at Ballarat. Wearying of the effort tosecure reform by peaceful agitation, the men were arming themselves asbest they could. The lawful endeavours of the miners had resulted only inspurring their enemies to greater activity in oppression, and blunderingand brutal officials had chosen the moment when the agitation was at itsheight to institute one of the most strenuous and tyrannicallicense-hunting expeditions that had been inflicted upon the miners ofBallarat. Diggers were brutally man-handled; in some cases their clotheswere torn from their backs, in others they were insulted and beaten bythe troopers. The hunt was manifestly an organized and deliberate effortto display the contempt officialdom felt for the men and their cause. Blood ran hotly; there were casual skirmishes between the people and thepolice, who, while serving as the zealous and willing instruments ofoppression, offered the diggers absolutely no protection from the thievesand ruffians infesting the fields. 

Arrangements had been made to convey the news of a general rising to themen at Simpson's Ranges in time to enable them to reach the disturbedcentre before the outbreak of hostilities, and on a Friday morning, shortly after midnight, Jim Done, Mike Burton, and the three Peetrees setoff together. They left their tents as they stood, and carrying only ablue blanket apiece and such arms as they possessed, started on theirlong tramp to Ballarat as gaily as if bent upon a pleasure excursion. They slept in the Bush on Friday night, and reached the AustralianEldorado on Saturday at about noon. Approaching the field from the north, they were bailed up on the edge of wide lagoon fringed with gum-trees andscrub by a party of men on horseback. 

'Halt!' cried the leader. 

'What's the matter now?' said Mike. 

'I demand all arms and ammunition you may have about you. '

'Then I'm hanged if you'll get them!'

'For the use of the forces of the republic of Victoria, ' continued theleader. 

But we're goin' to join the rebels. '

'That's all right. You'll be given arms in the stockade. Peter Lalor hasbeen elected chief of the insurgents. I have his warrant here for myaction. Arms are badly needed. We can take no chances. '

The mates conferred, and after examining the warrant signed by the rebelleader, resolved to comply with the demand. 

'Has there been any fighting?' asked Jim. 

'A bit of a shindy with the swaddies in Warrenheip Gully, and an attackon the troopers at the Gravel Pits. Nothing really serious. The Imperialtroops were drawn up under arms at our big meeting on Bakery Hill on the29th. The flag has been floated, the men have taken the oath under it, and are now drilling within the stockade on Eureka. '

'We are none too soon. '

'Not a moment. '

The five men had only their revolvers and a stock of cartridges; thesethey handed over to the emissary of the 'republican forces, ' andcontinued their journey with eager feet, greatly elated. Ballarat was atthis time the centre of the feverish interest the Victorian golddiscoveries had excited throughout the world. Men were digging fortunesout of the prodigal earth with a turn of the hand. The Gravel Pits, Golden Point, Bakery Hill, Specimen Hill, Canadian Hill, White Hills, White Flat, and half a dozen other local rushes, were in the height oftheir amazing prosperity; economists were gravely considering thepossibility of this tremendous output reducing gold to the status of abase metal, and Main Road seethed with life. 

Done's experiences on Forest Creek and at Jim Crow and Simpson's Rangeshad not prepared him for the stormy exuberance of Ballarat. This was thelargest, most populous, and most prosperous of all the fields. In alittle over two years' time the population of a large town had overrunthe Bush, swept the trees from the face of the earth, and had dug at andtorn and tortured the wide fields till the landscape resembled a greatcemetery where thousands of open graves yawned in advance of a mightysacrifice. The work of devastation climbed up the hills, overthrowingthem piece by piece, and through the debacle the sloven creeks, filledwith yellow slurry, and thrown out of their natural courses a score oftimes by the ravishers, wound their painful way. Tents, glowing whitelyunder the bright sun, dotted the flats, and gathered into villages ofcanvas on the sides of the hills. Here and there a flag fluttered in thebreeze, and men were everywhere--men remarkably alike in type, strong, bearded, sun burnt, their digger's garb as monotonous as a uniform, butpicturesque and easy. Evidently little work was going forward. Theexcitement of the revolt was at its height, a sense of the imminentclimax was in the air, and the men were gathered in knots and meetingsdiscussing the position. 

As Jim and his friends came in by Specimen Hill, they saw bodies oftroopers being moved as if in drill at the camp on their left. Theseoperations were watched by hundreds of diggers. Further on they saw themassed red coats of swaddies, and heard the faint rattle of kettle-drums. The British flag floated over the camp. A mounted officer in crimson andgold passed them, riding at a gallop, and the sound of a gunshot struckupon their ears, a sharp note of war. 

Main Road and Plank Road were well-defined streets of tents and stores. The great majority of the dwellings and places of business were of canvasstill, but here and there a pretentious weatherboard hotel, iron-roofed, stood proudly eminent, luring the diggers with a flaring topical sign. Here again the way was crowded with blue-shirted men, smoking, talking, gesticulating, never a coat nor a petticoat amongst them. There were agood many women in Ballarat in '54, but nearly all miners' wives, littlewas seen of them where the men assembled. Jim noted yet again juvenilelevity of the diggers. 

The situation was serious enough in all conscience, but the greatmajority of the miners refused to see it in that light. They had enduredmuch; they felt that it was necessary to assert their rights as men, butthe consciousness of their wrongs was borne down in a measure by thelight-heartedness that follows great good fortune. Under the influence ofa digger-drive or the stimulus of an impassioned speech they could feelkeenly; but the sun shone upon them, the virgin gold glowed in theirhands, the riot of devil-me-care existence, unchecked by socialrestraints, called them, and bitterness could not live in their hearts. They danced, and sang, and roared, and were glad, who two or three hoursearlier might have offered their lives freely to avenge a slight or tomark their sense of a gross injustice. 

Jim and his friends were served with a rough dinner at one of the hotels. The waiter, an old Frenchman, told them that bands sent out by theinsurgent leader were taking levies on all hands. 

'Some gather at Eureka. Ze fight mus' be soon, ' he said; 'but zecrowd--ah, zey laugh, zey drink, zey dance wis ze fiddle, zey will notbelieve! Et ces a great pity, but zey haff not ze--what, ah?--zeexperience. '

'Are many coming in from the other fields?' asked Jim. 

The Frenchman shook his head. 'Et ees expect zey will come; but the mensay always, "Oh, et will go over!" Ze soldier say not so: they are ver'bitter. My friend, the blow come soon; I go to the army of the republicthis to-night. '

'The men are rolling up all right, ' said a digger at another table. 'They're rallying them at Creswick again, and on the other fields. We'llhave an army of thousands in a week. '

'A week!' cried the waiter. 'My soul! in two day more et will all be upwiss ze republic, suppose zey are not here!'

'That Frenchman's an all-fired skite, ' said the digger disgustedly. 'Theswaddies don't like the job: they won't strike. We'll have the making ofthe fight, and we'll call time when it suits us. '

'All the same, ' commented Mike later, 'the Frenchman's got the safestgrip o' things, it seems to me. '

In the streets the watchword of the most serious of the diggers was 'Rollup!' and the friends heard it passing from lip to lip. They did not lackcompany on their way to Eureka, but Done experienced a keendisappointment in the absence of deep and genuine emotion amongst themain body of the men. The popular impression was that there would be nofighting; it was thought that the demonstration Lalor and his men weremaking would have the effect of bringing the powers to reason, and thisopinion was held in spite of past bitter experience of the stupidimmobility of the Legislative Council in Melbourne. 

The five friends were challenged at the stockade, and on expressing theirwish to be enlisted were marched before an officer of the rebel forcesand sworn in. Standing under the blue Australian flag, with its fivesilver stars, they took Peter Lalor's oath: 'We swear by the SouthernCross to stand truly by each other, and fight to defend our rights andliberties. '

There was really no stockade in the military sense. The enclosure waslittle more than a drill-ground fenced with rough slabs. These slabs, afew logs, and two or three drays, represented all that had been attemptedin the nature of a barricade, and could not have been expected by theleast experienced of the insurgent leaders to offer any seriousimpediment to a charge of regulars. Two or three small companies of menwere being drilled within the limited space, and Done and Burton wereattached to one of these and the three Peetrees to another. At this pointJim was again sadly disillusioned. He was given no weapon but a pike--ashort, not too sharp, blade of iron secured to a pole about five feetlong. Pikes were the only arms the men of his company possessed, and ablacksmith, who had his smithy within the stockade, was hard at workmanufacturing the primitive weapons. One small company was armed withrifles, and another with pistols, but ammunition was so scarce that thesecould be of no great value in the event of an early attack. 

Done estimated that there were about two hundred and fifty men within thestockade. He heard that there had been many more, but that the volunteershad returned to their camps on the surrounding fields to make furtherpreparations, believing that there was no likelihood of an earlyencounter. There was much confusion on Eureka, and Jim could not see howthe men were to benefit from the simple drill in which they were beinginstructed with great assiduity. The site chosen was an old miningground, and the field was broken with holes and piles of dirt, renderingproper formation impossible; and although the leaders were serious andearnest men, the bulk of the rank and file preserved a spirit of carelesslevity, and were like big boys playing a game. 

The rebel leader addressed the men during the afternoon, and Jim listenedto him with deep interest. Peter Lalor was a young Irishman, not yetthirty-five, not far short of six feet in height, and splendidlyproportioned; keen-eyed, too, with regular features and a resolute, convincing air. There was a note of domination in the man's character, and he was certainly the strongest personality in the republicanmovement. He pleaded for zeal in the sacred cause for which they mightpresently be called upon to shed their hearts' blood, and although hislanguage was as simple as the diggers' speech, there was a warmth in hismanner that stirred the men, and a whole-hearted conviction pointed everyphrase; but even while his rebels were gathered under arms and drillingbehind a palisade within a short distance of the regular troops sent tosuppress the expected out break on Ballarat, Lalor did not expect theauthorities to take the initiative. 

As night fell fires were lit within the stockade. A slaughtered bullocklay on its skin, near the smithy, and from this the rebels who remainedon Eureka cut steaks, and they cooked their own rough meal. It wasSaturday, and a number of the diggers left the encampment to participatein the gaieties peculiar to the evening in the Main Road dancing-boothsand in the pubs and shanty bars. As yet, so backward were thepreparations, there was only the feeblest attempt at military disciplinein the stockade, and the password was common property. A few zealousrecruits continued their drilling by the light of the fires, and thesmith toiled nobly at his pikes. His hammer rang a spirited tattoo on theanvil till far into the Sunday morning, and he and his grimy but tirelessboy helper made a dramatic picture against the night in the glow of theiropen forge. The rebels played and sang, and there was a little skylarkingamongst the younger men; but Done and his companions, wearied by theirlong tramp and the drilling, had spread their blankets on the ground, andmade themselves as comfortable as possible, Jim watching the antics ofthe rebels through half-closed eyes, the others smoking thoughtfully. 

'Well, ole man, what d'yer think of it?' said Josh. 

'I don't like it, ' answered Jim, feeling himself addressed. 

'Mus' say there ain't a very desperate air about the business so far. '

'Why doesn't Paisely attack?' continued Done. 'He must know what's goingon here. There's nothing to hinder him knowing as much of the rebels'business as Lalor himself, so far as I can see. Why doesn't he come on?'

'You might join me in a little prayer that he won't, ' said Mike. 'Whatsort o' chance 're we goin' to have if he drops in on us here with hismounted men?'

'Mighty poor, and you can bet the Colonel knows it. Unless he's afraid ofprecipitating a general rising, he'll charge down here and wipe thisplace out. '

'If there should be any fightin', gi' me a call, won't you?' said Harry, with a yawn. 

The others laughed and took the hint. Slowly the fires faded, and theencampment sank into stillness and silence, save for the slow movementsof the sentinels and the clang of the smith's hammer. The night had beenwarm, the early hours of Sunday morning were cold, but the men were allaccustomed to camping in the open, and, huddling together, they sleptsoundly. The lights of Ballarat had flickered out; the whole field lay indarkness. The slow hours stole on, the sentinels were changed, andabsolute quiet descended upon Eureka, for even the heroic blacksmith hadstretched himself by his forge, and was sleeping, with the boy by hisside. 

'The swaddies are on us!'

At about three o'clock that one fierce cry shook the camp into action. The men sprang from the ground; there was an almost simultaneous rushinto position--the pikemen nearest the pickets, the rifle men to theleft, the revolver corps to the right. It was a false alarm, but it gaveJim more confidence in the men, who had shown much better order than hehad expected, and their promptness and determination pleased him. 

'They'll make a good fight of it when the swaddies do come, ' he saidcheerfully, as they settled down in their blankets. 

'My oath!' replied Mike. 'But we were chumps to give up our revolvers. What good can a man do pokin' round in the dark with a blanky spike?'

The men lay with their primitive weapons in their hands. There was alittle growling and cursing and once more the encampment was given overto sleep. 

Jim Done awoke as the grayness of dawn was creeping through thenight--awoke with an idea that he was sleeping under the gum-trees. Therewas a vague belief in his head that he and his mates were on the wallaby, but where they were going to, he was too sleepy to decide. A slightdrizzle was falling, but he curled himself in his blanket, and disposedhimself to sleep again. Then, with the shock of a heavy blow, he heard asharp voice challenging. A gunshot followed. 

This time there was no mistake. The men rushed to their positions, andthe sudden confusion fell as suddenly into order. Jim found himselfstanding with his column, his pike grasped firmly in two hands, withoutquite realizing how it had come about that he was there. Mike was on hisright; on his left was a little wild Irishman, and even in the intenseexcitement of that moment, when he could see the black line of infantrycoming down upon them through the heavy dusk of early dawn, he marked thefierce, semi-conscious jabbering of the Paddy, with an inclination tolaugh aloud. 

'Glory be, they're comin'! they're comin'! they're comin'! Plaze thepigs, I'll have wan! Jist wan 'll satisfy me. Blessed saints, make it thewan that shot O'Keif! Och, they're comin', th' darlin's! Hit home, TimCanty, an' Holy Mary make it the wan that shot Barty O'Keif!'

Jim's eyes were fixed upon the dark mass charging the stockade. Thesoldiers were now not more than sixty yards off, and he could see ahorseman leading. He heard the order to charge, and heard Lalor's sharp, stern reply. There followed a blast of rifles from the stockade, and theshadowy equestrian figure leading the Imperial infantry became blurredand broken in the dusk and the thin rain, and the riderless horse at thehead of the column cantered on, and leapt into the stockade through thesmoke. 

'First blood!' muttered Mike, as the officer fell. 

Finding the attack concentrated on one point of the stockade, Lalorgathered his handful of rifles here, and they met the charge of theregulars with another volley, checking their advance. A volley from thecarbines replied, and the lead whistled into the stockade. A pikeman ranforward a few steps, plunged on his face at Jim's feet, and lay still. 

'Holy Mother, if I can git wan iv them I'll be content--almost!'continued the little Irishman in his fierce monologue. 

'Down, men! Take cover under the logs!' said the captain of the pikes, and Done obeyed with the rest; and crouching there, hearing the crackingof the carbines, the terrible impatience of Canty began to work in hisown blood. He felt himself to be utterly useless; his pike was impotentagainst the carbines of the enemy, and the lust of battle was in him. Heburned for the stress of action, longed for the order to dash upon theenemy. It was difficult to repress the impatience that spurred him tojump to his feet, and, calling his mates to follow to throw himselfagainst, the soldiers. 

That wait under the logs seemed interminable, and meanwhile the riflemenwithin the stockade and the carbineers without exchanged several volleys, and in between there was an indecisive pattering of independent rifles, and Jim saw the vague figures of his comrades falling in the gloom, falling falteringly, without apparent motive. He could not connect thedischarge of the guns with the dropping of the wounded: it was all socold-blooded, so dispassionate. 

'They're not comin'!' cried Canty, whose frenzy would not permit of hiskeeping cover. 'Why don't they come on like min? God sind me wan--jist--'

He fell like a man whose legs had suddenly lost all power, and lay there, his face pressed to the moist earth, and Jim felt the dying man's fingersmoving upon his leg in a trifling way. Presently a hand clutched his own, and he was drawn down. 

'Are you hit badly, old man?' said Done. 

'Mortal! I'm hit mortal bad!' The hand clung desperately, and Jim peeredinto Canty's face, and saw a smear of blood about his mouth. He was shotthrough the breast. 'Mate, ' he said eagerly, 'kill wan fer me! Killwan--if it's only a little wan!'

'I'll do my best, old man. '

'But one fer me, an' fer the good man they murthered. Say "Take that forBarty O'Keif!" when you hit him. '

'So help me God, I will!'

Jim placed Canty well under the cover of the logs, with his head pillowedon a clod. 

'Give me me pike here in the right hand. Good enough!' He lay quite stillnow, and muttered no more, but Jim could see his bright eyes stirring inthe semi-darkness. 

The firing from without was maintained, but the swaddies were in no hurryto cover the patch of ground that lay between them and the stockade, although the insurgents had already almost exhausted their ammunition. Lalor sprang to the top of the barrier, and stood for a moment, turningas if to give an order, but the order was never spoken. A ball struckhim, and he fell into the enclosure, severely wounded. The rebels hadfought bravely so far. While their powder lasted they beat off the wellarmed, well trained regulars, and for twenty minutes held the swaddies atbay across their poor palisade; but at the expiration of that time therewere not two dozen charges left in the stockade, and now the riflemenwere ordered to retreat to the shallow shafts and use them as pits; andpresently the noble 40th finding the resistance broken, was tearing atthe logs and pickets, and at last the pikemen were on their feet and faceto face with the foe. 

The infantry poured into the stockade with fixed bayonets, and againsttheir experience and their efficient weapons the insurgents made a poorshow; but they fought stubbornly, if clumsily, and now Jim found himselffighting in grim earnest. He saw a big Lanky spring at him from the logs, with bayonet set stock to hip, and with a lucky twist of, his pole hebeat down the other's weapon. But the long hafts of the pikes made themmost unwieldy, and in the few seconds that followed Jim stoodcheek-by-jowl with death. Suddenly his eyes encountered the face of Cantyover the left shoulder of the swaddy. The little Irishman had pulledhimself to his feet, his back was to the logs, his pike raised in his twohands. Lurching forward, he plunged the blade into the neck of thesoldier. The Lanky's bayonet dropped from his hand, and he fellbackwards. The haft of the pike striking the ground stopped him for amoment, and then he swung sideways and dropped on to his face; the pikeremaining wedged in his spine, the shaft sprang into the air in a mannerthat was never after quite free of a suggestion of the hideouslyludicrous in Jim's mind. Canty stared for a moment at his fallen enemy, and then, uttering a strange Irish cry of exultation, he fell back acrossthe logs, never to stir again. 

The fight at the logs was brief, but fierce. Finding the pikes uselessfor thrusting, many of the diggers clubbed them. Following this example, Jim swept a second soldier off his feet, and was laying about him withall his strength, when a cavalryman drove his horse at the stockade, andcame over almost on top of him, slashing wildly right and left as hecame. The soldier's sword struck Done on the left side of the head, inflicting a wound extending from the neck almost to the crown. Jim fellagainst the horse, clinging weakly to his pike, feeling the hot bloodrolling down his neck. He saw the sword raised again, but at that instanta revolver flashed over his shoulder, and the mounted man dived forward, rolled on the neck of his horse, and slid slowly to the ground--dead. Jimturned and recognised the pale face of his brother in the dim light ofmorning, but at the same instant was struck again, and fell with a bulletin his shoulder. 

Wat Ryder uttered a fierce oath, and sprang at the bridle of theriderless horse. With the rein over his arm, he knelt by Jim's side, andendeavoured to rouse him. The infantry were now all within the stockade, pressing forward, firing amongst the scattered insurgents and into theholes where the riflemen were, and the cavalry and mounted troopers werepursuing the rebels, cutting them down ruthlessly. 

Ryder succeeded in getting Jim to his feet, and he clung limply to thehorse's mane, only dimly conscious of what was happening. 

'For God's sake, make an effort, Jim!' cried Ryder. 'Here, up with you, stranger! I'll give the boy a lift, ' said an insurgent, suddenlyappearing from a hiding-place amongst the logs. 

Ryder vaulted to the back of the horse, and, with the assistance of LeviLong, for it was the American who had intervened, soon had Jim in thesaddle. A few blows from Long's pike started the nag, and Ryder rushedhim blindly at the slabs of the stockade, and the powerful animalblundered through. A shot from an infantryman, intended for the riders, struck the charger, and he plunged forward, snorting with pain, andbolted madly across the broken ground of Eureka, and Ryder, clinging tothe unconscious man with one arm, made no attempt to check or regulatetheir dangerous flight. 

XIX

IT was now almost day; the fighting was over. A smart shower had fallenduring the struggle, and the wet pipeclay within the stockade was strewnwith dead and wounded diggers, and along the line of attack taken by thethree companies of infantry wounded and dead soldiers lay scattered, their red coats dotting the white ground with curious blotches of colour, the figures of the men still vague and indefinite in the mist and thefeeble light of the dawning day. A wounded soldier near the logs writhedin his agony, with worm-like movements terrible to see. Confusionremained within the stockade. The killing was ended, but the prisonerswere to be collected and guarded. Many of the insurgents had escaped, some by hiding in the claims, others by making a run for the surroundingdiggings. A few brave friends who had hidden Peter Lalor under slabssloped against a log succeeded in carrying the wounded leader away underthe noses of the soldiers, and he escaped. 

The fight had not lasted half an hour, and by the time the people ofBallarat fully realized what was happening it was too late to give helpto the devoted few within the stockade; and the men gathered as near theminiature battlefield as they were permitted to go, with white faces, awed and penitent, many feeling the keenest pangs of remorse, knowing howbitterly the earnest souls had paid for their neglect. 

One woman had made her way into the stockade within a few minutes of thefiring of the last shot. She passed unnoticed in the confusion; her facewas hidden in a shawl, and she went quickly amongst the fallen rebels. Some of the wounded men lay in puddles--these she helped; but it wasevident that she was seeking someone she knew as she passed from one toanother, peering into their faces, seeking to identify them in the feeblelight. 

This was Aurora Griffiths, and she was seeking Jim Done, cherishing anagonized hope that she might not find him. One wounded man draggedhimself to a puddle to satisfy his craving for drink, and died with hisface in the thick water; another, a mere boy, was sitting with his backto a log, staring with a puzzled expression at the gory fingers he haddipped in his wound. Presently, coming to a man lying face downward wherethe soldiers had broken through, Aurora uttered a sharp cry. The figurewas familiar. Quickly she turned the face to, the light. It was pale andbloodless; the only disfigurement was a small purple wound in a slightdepression near the temple, but the man was dead. 

'It's Mike!' murmured Aurora. She knelt in the mud; her trembling handsought his heart. 'Dead!' she cried. She looked about her in terror, then, rising to her feet, she ran to others lying near. They werestrangers. 'Thank God!' she cried--' thank God!' Aurora returned toMike's side, and, kneeling there, gazed upon him with streaming eyes. Burton's face had assumed a Spartan dignity in death. 'Poor, poor boy!'she said, and with her fingers upon his eyelids she whispered a prayerfor his soul. It was long since she had minded to pray for her own, butthe dead are so helpless. They invite even the intercession of thefaithless. 

A soldier touched her on the shoulder. 

'You'll have to get out of this, miss, ' he said. Glancing at the deadface, he corrected himself, and called her Mrs. 

Aurora went with him. She looked closely at the prisoners as they passed, but Jim Done was not amongst them. Beyond the cordon of troopers she wasliberated, and returned wearily to Mrs. Kyley's tent, for the Kyleys hadshifted their prosperous business to the vicinity of Bakery Hill a monthbefore. At the tent-door she was met by Mary. 

'He is not amongst the dead, thank God!' said Aurora, 'and he's not withthe prisoners. Jim is safe, but poor Mike Burton--'

'Wounded, is he?'

'Dead. Shot through the head. '

Mrs. Kyley threw up her hands. 'My God!' she said. 'The poor lad! Oh, Aurora, my dear girl, it's a bad, bad business!' The tears were tricklingdown Mrs. Ben's plump cheeks. 

'Why, Mary, what else has happened?'

Mrs. Kyley had set her large bulk before the girl, barring the door. 

'You'd better not go in yet awhile, Joy darling. '

'What is it--is it Ben?'

'No, no, it's not Ben, but someone is in there who is hurt pretty badly. '

Somebody I know?' Aurora clutched Mary Kyley's arm, and stared into herface with a sudden new fear. 

'Yes, deary, somebody you know. '

It's Jim!'

Mary Kyley nodded her bead, and mopped her tears. 'Yes, it's Jimmy Done. '

Aurora paled to her eyes, her lips tightened to thin purple lines acrossher white teeth, and she fought with Mary for a moment, seeking to makeher way into the tent; but Mrs. Kyley was a powerful woman, and in hergrasp, when she was really determined, Aurora was as a mere child. 

'For God's sake, let me see him!' said the young woman. 

'You mustn't be a fool, Aurora, ' the washerwoman said firmly. 'I can'tlet you go blundering in on to a sick man--and this one is a very sickman. '

'He's dying!'

'No, no; he'll not die easily--he's tough stuff; but he's got two uglywounds, and we'll have to handle him fine and gently. Pull yourself up, Aurora dear. ' She wound her strong arms fondly about the girl and kissedher cheek, and, with a restraining arm still about her, led her into thetent. 

Jim Done lay on Mary Kyley's comfortable white bed. His face was ghastly. Aurora uttered a little cry of pain and terror at the sight of him. Therewas blood upon the sheets and the pillows, and Wat Ryder, working in hisshirt-sleeves, was deftly closing a gaping scalp wound with horsehairstitches. 

Ryder had carried Jim straight to Kyley's tent, and Mrs. Ben received thewounded man with open arms. 

'We may be followed, ' he said. 'I've brought him out of the thick of it. Keep watch, please, and give me warning if you see anything of thetroopers. May I use your bed?'

'My bed! Yes, and my blood and bones if they're any good to you. '

'Your eyes can do me better service. I'm a done man if the police lay ahand on me, and Jim here needs attention. '

'Then, go to work with an easy mind. '

So Mary kept watch while Ryder worked over Jim with the quickness anddecision of a surgeon. It was not the first time by many that he haddealt with ugly wounds. 

'Don't neglect the watch, ' he said, a minute after Aurora's entrance. 

Mary looked at Aurora. The girl was now apparently quite composed; shehad cast aside the shawl, and was hastily tying on an apron. So Mrs. Kyley slipped out again, quite reassured. 

'It would be better, perhaps, if I held his head, ' said Aurora. 

'Yes, ' answered Ryder shortly. 

She seated herself on the bed, and took Done's head between her hands, raising it, and Ryder continued his work rapidly. No further words werespoken till the scalp wound was stitched, and Aurora, gazing into theseemingly lifeless face of the patient, had a strange feeling ofinsensibility, as if all her emotions were numbed for the time. There wasnot a tremor in her fingers; she felt that under the influence thatpossessed her she could have suffered any trial without a cry. 

'Now hunt up anything that will do for bandages, ' said the man. 

She lowered Jim's head gently to the pillow again, and made haste toobey, while Ryder examined the bullet-wound. He showed her how to tearthe material, and then bandaged the patient's head. 

'I was assistant in a hospital for a time, ' he said, in explanation ofhis masterly work, but he did not say that it was a gaol hospital inwhich he had gathered his experience. 

Aurora watched the man's hands. They were extraordinary hands, long andvery narrow--wonderfully capable they seemed. They inspired her withcomplete faith. He was feeling for the ball in Jim's shoulder. She helpedhim to turn the young man upon his face, and the slim, dexterous fingersprobed the flesh above the shoulder-blades. 

'Ah!' he said, with a sigh of relief; and taking his knife, he cutboldly, and, behold--the bullet! It was like a feat of legerdemain. Thiscut was washed with fluid from a small bottle on the table, smartlystitched, and then, after the wound in front had been treated, theshoulder was firmly bandaged, and Ryder seemed satisfied. He was none toosoon, for at that moment Mary Kyley darted in. 

'Half a dozen troopers are coming along the hill, ' she said. 

'Bluff them!' said Ryder quickly. 'If they insist on searching, swear theboy was hurt at a blast. Cover his shoulders. Show no surprise in anyalteration in my appearance. I am a customer. ' 'He snatched his coat andrevolver, and sprang into the next tent. '

At that moment the sound of horses' hoofs was heard on the gravel, and avoice cried 'Halt!' Mrs. Kyley's broad figure filled the doorway. 

'How many of those blackguard rebels are you hiding in your tent, MotherKyley?' said the sergeant. 

'Is that you, Sergeant Wallis? Was there ever so attentive an admirer?You'd follow me to the world's end for the love you have of me. I've adozen rebels inside. Come and be introduced. '

A tall bearded digger with a loaf of bread under his arm had slouchedfrom the business tent, and stood watching the scene with incurious eyes. 

'Who the devil are you, and where did you spend last night, my man?' saidthe trooper. 

'I'm a party by the name of Smith, Ephraim Smith--called Eph. I spentlast night in my bunk, bein' too damn drunk to join the boys down there, worse luck!'

'Your license, Mr. Ephraim Smith. '

The license was handed up, and found correct. 'You had too muchdiscretion to burn your license with the rest of the seditiousblackguards, at any rate, Mr. Smith. '

As it happens. '

'And your ruffianly husband, Mrs. Kyley?'

'I haven't such a thing about me; but if you mean Ben Kyley, ' said Mary, 'come down in your private capacity, sergeant, and put the question tohim in the same gentlemanly way. I'll hold your coat and see you get fairplay, if I have to referee the argument myself. '

'Where is Kyley, you harridan?'

'He went out an hour ago to watch the murder and manslaughter going ondown at Eureka, Sergeant Wallis, and if you miscall me again, youVandemonian pig-stealer, I'll drag you from your horse and drown you in atub of suds!'

Wallis struck his horse with his open hand, and rode away, followed byhis men, laughing back at the seemingly furious Mrs. Kyley, whose assumedanger, however, suddenly gave place to a broad grin as they passed fromsight, and she winked a mischievous aside at the bearded digger. 

'My oath, but that's a beautiful beard you have, ' she said. 'I've a mindto see how it would suit me. '

'Get a doctor to Done as quickly as you can. There are several among thediggers who'll stand by you, ' said Ryder, disregarding Mary's levity. 'You'll look after him? You can draw on me for money to any amount. '

'I'll look after the poor boy, and I won't draw on you for a sixpence. '

'He's with good friends, I know. '

'He is. There's a girl in there who would work the fingers off her twohands to serve him. '

'I will call again when I can, and as often as I can, but I'm in nolittle danger myself. 

I understand. You were one of Lalor's men. ' Ryder nodded. That idea wouldsuit him very well. 

Then, if it wasn't that I love the boy in there, I'd do it for your sakeas a good man and true, ' continued Mary. 

Ryder gave a few directions as to the treatment of the patient and thenturned and sauntered away, carrying the loaf under his arm. Maryreentered the tent, and found Aurora, very pale but apparently quitecalm, busying herself about the patient. She had removed all the bloodarticles, and they lay in a heap on the floor. These Mrs. Kyley wouldhave gathered up, but the girl interfered. 

'No, no, ' she said, 'leave it to me--leave it all to me! I must work--Imust be busy! If I stopped now my heart would break. Look at him!'

'My God! it is very like death, ' whispered Mrs. Kyley. 

It was not easy to get a doctor in Ballarat that day. Ben was entrustedwith the mission, and warned to proceed cautiously. He found the doctorsin urgent demand. There were wounded men hidden away in many places, andthe authorities had obtained a monopoly of the services of the practisingphysicians. At ten o'clock that night Ben led a young Scotchman namedClusky in triumph to the tent. Clusky had qualified but gold on therushes had proved more attractive than the wearisome hunt for fees in aScottish villages and on Ballarat Dr. Clusky was a working miner. 

'He's the third to-day, ' Clusky said to Mary, 'and the worst--by far theworst. No fool did that, though, ' he continued, referring to thebandaging of the shoulder, as he rapidly removed the linen. 'The damageis not so very great here, after all, ' he said a moment later; 'butthere's no blood to spare left in his veins, poor devil!'

The doctor refused to interfere with Ryder's stitching in the scalpwound, and gave a long prescription and much advice, and Jim was left tothe tender mercies of Aurora, Mary, and Ben. Ryder called every night fora week, and then, having received a favourable verdict from the doctor, disappeared, his disappearance being satisfactorily accounted for by theearnest inquiries of a police officer who called upon Ben a few dayslater. Meantime, Harry Peetree, who had remained in Ballarat to try anddiscover the whereabouts of Jim and Mike, hunted the Kyleys out, andlearned the truth. He left a message for Jim, and then followed hisfather and brother, who had made for Simpson's Ranges again immediatelyafter their escape from the stockade. But ere this, and long before JimDone was again conscious of the world about him, poor Mike Burton hadbeen buried with the rest of the slain insurgents in a common grave. 

Fever supervened on Jim Done's injuries, and December passed as he layhelpless in Mary Kyley's tent, babbling of Chisley, of life on theFrancis Cadman, and of Diamond Gully and Boobyalla. The injury to hishead proved the most serious wound, and there were moments when despairfilled the heart of Aurora; but she nursed him with a devotion thatoverlooked nothing, and Mrs. Kyley, and Ben, and the business were allsacrificed to the patient's needs. Mrs. Kyley and Ben made the sacrificegladly, the former because of the big soft heart she hid under herformidable bulk, and Ben because gall and wormwood were sweet comparedwith the bitterness he felt in being one of the many whose neglect hadcontributed to the sacrifice of the rebels in the stockade. Business waspractically suspended in the shanty while Done lay in the adjoining tent, only peaceful drinkers being permitted to refresh themselves with Mary'swonderful rum. Mrs. Ben, too, was indefatigable in her care of thewounded man; but Aurora was jealous of her labour of love, and Mary wassometimes compelled to force her to take rest, and to go out in the openair and make some effort to drive the pallor from her cheeks. 

Aurora's beauty was entirely the beauty of perfect health and finevitality; under the influence of her long labours and the wearing anxietyshe endured her good looks faded. She was apparently years older than shehad seemed a month before. 

'Your prettiness is all dying out of you, dear, ' said Mary; 'you mustrest yourself, you must go into the air and let the roses freshen again, or the boy won't look at you when he wakes. '

''Twill all come back fast enough when he is well, ' Aurora would answer;and it was into her pale face that Jim gazed with a long look ofchildlike gravity when he opened his eyes to consciousness. She detectedthe light of reason in his gaze, and her fingers clasped his hand. Fromher face his eyes went slowly round the apartment, lingering with anintent look on familiar objects, and then they went to the roof, and forfully twenty minutes he watched the glowing patch where a sunbeam struckthe canvas cover, and there was in his face something of the wonder of acreature born into a new world. Aurora was very grave: she did not smile, her heart felt no elation--it was numb and old. Jim had a perplexingsensation of feathery lightness; he felt like a frail snowflake in anunsubstantial world. The bed under him was a bed of gossamer, if notwholly visionary. He might fall through at any moment, and if he did hemight go on falling endlessly, a pinch of down in a bottomless abyss. Hetried to close his fingers on Aurora's strong hand. He knew she wasthere, and she was real, substantial, although something of the wannessof this mysterious world was about her. 

'Joy, ' he whispered. She bent her head to him. 'Where--what--' Herelapsed with a sigh. After all, it did not matter. 

'You have been very ill, Jimmy, ' she said. 

His eyes moved to her face again, and he tried to nod, but found thatthat was too much trouble too. It was too much trouble to pretend tounderstand even. Aurora would hold him and prevent his floating out intothe fantastical, fairy atmosphere. It seemed right and natural that sheshould be there. He had quite expected it. But had he? The train ofthought was too laborious: he abandoned it. Joy gave him something todrink. She poured it into his mouth, and it ran down his throat. It wasgood, wonderfully good--nectar, surely. Had he been told it was water hewould have resented the lie with as much energy as he was capable ofputting into any thought, and that was just the thin, silken line, nextto none at all. As a matter of fact, Joy had given him nothing but water. It seemed to add to his weight, to give some little quality of substanceto his being. He thought he might thank her with a pressure of hisfingers presently, but the necessary power did not come, and he driftedinto sleep. 

XX

THE Christmas of 1854 was the gayest ever known at Boobyalla; never hadMrs. Donald Macdougal been so prodigal, never had such lavish hospitalitybeen dispensed under Macdougal's roof-tree, and the squatter wore a dourand anxious look as he saw the liquor flowing, and heard the music, andthe laughter, and the clatter of dishes, and found himself in collisionwith his wife's guests in all the passages and windings of his large, wandering homestead. Macdougal, who, in addition to his sobriquet ofMonkey Mack, was known as Old Dint-the-Tin by the sundowners, shearers, and miscellaneous swagmen to whom he sold pints of flour out of apannikin dinted in to shorten the measure, was not miserly in hisdealings with his wife and his children. He was reputed to be mean enoughto steal the buttons off a shepherd's shirt for his own use, and yetpermitted his wife to indulge in all the extravagances of purple and finelinen, and paid, if not cheerfully--for it was not in his nature to becheerful over anything--at least without open complaint, for socialindulgences that ate up a large part of the results of his miraculouseconomies in station management, and a sedulous penuriousness ineverything beyond his wife, his children, and his few favourite horses. 

But on this occasion Mrs. Macdougal had outdone herself, and had exceededall her previous efforts to shine as a generous hostess. Her aim had beento make Boobyalla the centre of attraction for thirty miles roundthroughout the merry Yuletide, and for nearly two weeks Donald had goneabout with an air of lively trepidation, due to an idea that he was beingbrought precipitately to ruin by all this wasteful and ridiculous excess. When Mrs. Macdougal's guests came upon her lord and master laboriouslycasting up sums with a stab of carpenter's pencil on bits of waste-paper, or smooth chips, or even on the walls, they understood perfectly that hewas satisfying himself, with accurate calculations, that the shamefulincrease in the household expenses their presence entailed had notdragged him over the jealously guarded margin between income andexpenditure. 

Mrs. Macdougal's guests did not mind Macdougal in the least, however; theeccentricities of Old Dint-the-Tin were well known to the neighbouringsquatters, and from their point of view, as visitors at Boobyalla onpleasure bent, he did not count. They bumped against him in the darkpassages of his absurdly disjointed house, and found him on occasions inthe drawing-room and the dining-room, but nothing was done or left undoneout of consideration for his feelings. If they were content to talk aboutsheep and cattle, he would converse with them, and he was even capable ofenthusiasm on the subject of horses, but evidently had no interests apartfrom these matters. Nobody outside the family circle had known him toaddress more than half a dozen words to his wife at one time, and hisaverage remark contained one monosyllable. He behaved a good deal like astranger towards his own children. Occasionally he went so far as toplace a hand on a curly head, with an uncouth show of interest, or to saya few words of kindness; but it was done diffidently, and a closeobserver might have detected in the man a sensitive shrinking from theidea of bringing his misshapen figure and weird ugliness into contrastwith the peculiar beauty of the youngsters. The only human creature aboutBoobyalla in whose company he seemed to be quite at home was Yarra, thehalf-caste aboriginal boy, scandalously reputed in the neighbourhood--notwithout excellent reason, it must be admitted--to be his own son. 

We have seen Donald Macdougal, J. P. , as he appeared in Melbourne, butthat was on one of the few very special occasions when he condescended to'dress up. ' At home on Boobyalla his usual attire comprised a heavy pairof water-tights, old trousers, much the worse for wear more senses thanone, hanging in great folds, a dark gray jumper tucked into the trousers, and a battered felt hat, pulled, after long service, into the shape of alimp cone. The only concession to 'company manners' Mack would make wasin drawing on a despised black coat over his collarless jumper. 

In addition to the peculiarities already mentioned, Donald Macdougal hadan extraordinary trick of chewing his tongue, and a most disconcertinghabit of allowing his trousers to drift down, wrinkle after wrinkle, tillchance strangers fell into an agony of apprehension, and then suddenlyrecovering them with a with a convulsion of his body that was entirelyinstinctive. 

And yet nobody with a pinch of brains ever made the mistake of supposingDonald Macdougal to be a fool. Old Dint-the-Tin was a wealthy man, andhad made his fortune out of the land by exercising a shrewdness that wasthe envy of half the squatters in the colony, and had no apparent desirein life but to go on increasing that fortune in the same way, althoughthere were some who credited him with a great if secret satisfaction inseeing his wife outdo the wives of his neighbours in the social graces, asatisfaction superior to the gratification he derived from adding to hisgreat accumulation in the Bank of New South Wales. 

Mrs. Macdougal spent a merry Christmas, if not a New Year. She wasextremely fond of company, particularly the company of young people, andthat amiable trait was indulged to the utmost. She had drawn her guestsfrom far and wide, and the most superior people amongst the 'squatocracy'had not hesitated to accept her invitations, although there were a fewwho in her absence occasionally referred to her as the cow-girl, to showthey had no intention of forgetting the fact that she was once dairymaidto Mrs. Martin Cargill at Longabeena. But society at this stage could notvery well afford to be punctilious in the matter of parentage andpedigree, and Mrs. Mack derived no little satisfaction from the mysterysurrounding her birth. Her father had carried her to Longabeena, a childjust able to toddle; he described himself as a widower, and asked forwork, and it was given him, but a week later he disappeared, leavinglittle Marcia, and the Cargills never heard of him again. 

This Mrs. Macdougal found ever so much nicer than having prosaic parentswho could be produced at any moment; it left a wide field for theimagination, and Marcia was free to think herself a misplaced princess, or, at the very least, the daughter of a distressed earl. Naturally, being a sentimental soul, she provided herself with a sufficientlyromantic history up to the moment of the disappearance of her nondescriptpapa; and if she could not substantiate it, there was much satisfactionin knowing that no body could disprove it. That she had been christenedwith an aristocratic and poetical name like Marcia she held to beconvincing testimony of her inherent gentility. 

Not a little of the extra merriment of Mrs. Macdougal's Christmas and thehappiness of her New Year was due to the fortunate circumstance that shehad a lion to present to her guests in the person of the HonourableWalter Ryder. It was Marcia herself who insisted upon giving Mr. WalterRyder the title of quality; he merely implied that at the most he was aman of good family, eccentric enough to prefer the rough-and-readyAustralian life to the methodical weariness of the social order 'athome'; and when his hostess laughingly insisted on not being deceived byhis plebeian pretensions, he gallantly submitted. 

'Give me what title you please, Mrs. Macdougal, ' he said; 'you are myqueen. '

Mr. Ryder had done Macdougal of Boobyalla a great service in rescuing himand his sovereigns from the revolver and the predatory fingers of DanColeman and one of his gang, and was always welcome to Boobyalla. To besure, Macdougal was not to be expected to know how much Coleman had beenpaid for providing Walter Ryder with this opportunity of ingratiatinghimself with a prominent squatter, the proprietor of a large sheep-run. The Honourable Walter arrived at the station a week before Christmas, riding a fine gray horse, and carrying with him the paraphernalia of agentleman. His clothing was cut in the latest possible London style, andhe was splendidly equipped. He lamented the one thing Australia could notproduce, a satisfactory valet. 

'My profound objection to democracy as a principle arises from the factthat the levelling process destroys our perfect valets, ' he told Mrs. Macdougal. 

'Oh yes, it does, does it not?' she answered brightly. Possibly it was toprovide for his deficiency in this respect that after a few days'residence on Boobyalla Mr. Ryder was at no little expense and trouble towin the good graces of Yarra, the half-caste. Yarra was a remarkablyclever tracker, and uncommonly cute for his years; but within a fortnightthe new comer had secured so powerful an influence over him that the boyhad confided to one of the gins:

'That plurry pfeller good man him. Mine die alonga that pfeller!' meaningthat he would cheer fully have given his life for Ryder, which was agreat deal, coming from the child of an undemonstrative race. 

Yarra had been ordered by Mrs. Macdougal to consider himself Mr. Ryder'sservant during the latter's stay at Boobyalla, and as there was always adanger of a man of the Honourable Walter's inexperience being bushed ifhe rode alone, Yarra followed him on many of his long rides into theranges, and helped him to explore the gorges and secret recesses of theheavily-timbered hills; but as a rule Mrs. Macdougal accompanied theEnglishman, and then Yarra's services were not required. On occasionsMiss Lucy Woodrow made a third, riding a hardy little chestnut mare hermistress had placed at her disposal. 

These parties were usually very merry, for Lucy had been transformed intoquite a daring Bush-rider, and Mrs. Macdougal, accustomed to the use ofmany horses since her babyhood, could sit anything in reason with theease with which she reclined in her invalid chair when her languishingmood was upon her; while Ryder, to repeat Monkey Mack's compliment, rode'like a cattle thief. '

Ryder's horsemanship and his interest in horses formed something like abond of sympathy between him and his host, too. Macdougal never walked ahundred yards from his own door; he rode every where, and rode hardalways. Mike Burton's description of him was quite accurate in thisrespect. He no sooner got across a good horse, or behind one, than heseemed to become possessed with a sort of frenzy of speed, and rode anddrove like a madman. He had killed many horses, and once a fine animaldied under him, leaving him about fifty miles from home, with one pint inhis water-bag and he was nearly dead himself when at length he succeededin dragging his misshapen limbs to one of the huts on the run. When Ryderfirst saw Mack on a galloping horse he was reminded of a goat-ridingmonkey he had seen at a fair in his youth, and had a convulsivedisposition to laughter; but he learned to respect the horseman whopushed a spirited animal through timber at a speed that an ordinary riderrarely indulged in on an open road. 

The Honourable Walter was at some little trouble to win the good gracesof his host; he admired his horses with unaffected enthusiasm, particularly Wallaroo, the beautiful bay entire that had excited Mike'sadmiration, reputedly the fastest animal in the colony, and Macdougal'spride and joy. He even consented to be educated on the points of cattle, and to absorb useful information in homeopathic doses about the variousbreeds of sheep; but Mack never at any time seemed grateful to Ryder forhis kindly condescension, and the affliction under the influence of whichMack indulged in strange and disconcerting gymnastics with his tonguerendered conversation with him something of an ordeal, even to a man ofRyder's insensitive character. Mack's tongue seemed to become too largefor his mouth at times, and then he obtruded it, rolled it first in onecheek and then in the other, chewed it, and finished with an amazinggulp, implying that the troublesome organ was at length effectuallydisposed of. 

'He's been like that as long as I've known him, and I met him first onthe Liverpool Plains in New South twenty years ago, ' said Martin Cargillof Longabeena to Ryder. 'He seems exactly the same man now as then. '

'Yet these little peculiarities did not make him impossible in the eyesof the fair, ' answered Ryder. 'He has a charming wife. '

'Oh yes but he had heaps of gold. '

'Enough to gild that dome on his back!'

'And a girl had not many opportunities of picking and choosing in theBush here ten years ago. '

'Besides, the sex is so compassionate, Mr. Cargill; the ladies love usfor our imperfections. '

'Have you been dearly loved, Mr. Ryder?' asked an impudent Sydneysidegirl of nineteen. 

'No, no!' laughed Ryder; 'my opportunities have neglected me terribly!'

Conversation sometimes ran in this vein even at Boobyalla, and when itdid Ryder was responsible for much confusion of thought. Conversation inthe main dealt with riding-trips, dancing-parties, the stirring incidentsof the goldfields, and that prolific subject in all societies and at alltimes--scandal. Mrs. Macdougal would have been thunderstruck to know thatshe and her British lion provided the choicest morsels for discussion forsome days prior to the breaking up of the party. 

The Honourable Walter Ryder had been a great social success; he hadintroduced an absolutely foreign element into the Bush party. His pose ofthe cynical, dashing, amiable aristocrat, with a cheerful contempt forall aristocratic pretensions, was admirably sustained. His readygood-fellowship pleased the men; his good looks, his facility in adoptinga deep interest in his companion for the moment, and his flow of spirits, delighted the women; and yet it not infrequently happened that hisconversation was designed more for his own edification than for theentertainment of his hearers. It seemed to Lucy Woodrow that the man onlyhalf concealed a sort of mephistophelian contempt for the people towardswhom he still contrived to maintain a semblance of cordiality. 

The interesting Englishman was certainly very attentive to Mrs. Macdougal, and Mrs. Macdougal was certainly very much flattered anddisturbed by his attentions. The gossip that had sprung up, from whichthe principals, and Lucy, Mr. And Mrs. Cargill, and Macdougal alone wereexcluded, was, to some extent, founded on fact, and the guests left thehouse reluctantly, confident that interesting mischief was brewing atBoobyalla. 

For all this, Ryder's attitude towards Marcia in the presence of herguests had been merely a piquant travesty of that of an adorer. He hadoffered her gallant homage with a humorous reservation. Perhaps he hadreckoned on a keener sense of humour than the guests were possessed of. At any rate, they preferred to put a rather serious construction on allthey saw. But Mrs. Macdougal alone had good reason for regarding her lionin a serious light; she alone saw him in his other guise, that of thepassionate man whose passions burnt behind a cold face--pale as if withthe pallor of a prison that could never leave it, handsome with a qualityof suggestive beauty most certain to appeal to a simple, romantic woman. Already Walter Ryder had infused a new strain into Marcia Macdougal'scharacter--terror, the terror that is akin to love, had endowed her witha womanly gravity. Though the other guests had been gone a fortnight ormore, Ryder still remained at Boobyalla. 

Lucy Woodrow was deeply interested in Ryder. He treated her as a comrade, an equal, and she could not help noticing the difference in his tonetoward her and that he had adopted towards the others, nor could she helpbeing flattered by the implied compliment. She was exempt from hisraillery. All along he inferred that she understood him, and accepted hisveneer of jocosity and insincerity at its true value. 

'What a hypocrite you are!' she said one afternoon, as they rode in theshadow of the range. The children on their ponies were cantering ahead. 

'I a hypocrite!' he exclaimed. 'Why, I have not pretended to a singlevirtue. '

'No, ' she continued laughingly, 'you are a hypocrite of the other sort. You pretend to be cruel, and callous, and careless of all that's good--acynic and a mocker. But I have found you out: you are really gentle andkind--an amiable hypocrite. '

'Miss Woodrow, you are taking my character away. '

'Pish! the disguise was too thin. Why, the children have penetrated it. So has poor Yarra. They love you! You are brave--you rescued Mr. Macdougal from the Bushrangers. You are generous--you do not try to makehim appear contemptible because of his afflictions, as some of the othershave done. You are gentle--I see it in your bearing towards the littleones. You are kind, and Yarra is devoted to you. '

'And yet I swear there are no wings under my coat. '

'Often, when looking at you, I wonder at your resemblance to Mr Done; andI wonder most when I find you expressing a vein of thought I believed tobe peculiar to him. It makes me think that there is something in commonbetween you, aside from your physical likeness, if only a common wrong, or a common sorrow, that has coloured your characters. '

'It is hard to hide anything from those divine eyes, ' he said gravely. 

'I have guessed rightly?'

'Believe me, if I ever make confession, it shall be to one quick insympathy and merciful in judgment as you are. ' There was a strain of deepemotion in his voice, and as he reached towards her she gave him herhand, and he pressed her slender fingers gently and gratefully, continuing with feeling, and in the manner of one whose superior yearsgave him the privilege: 'Lucy, you are as good as you are beautiful, andin all sincerity I say I have never seen a woman one half as beautiful asyou appear in my eyes at this moment. '

He had given the girl an impression that she was helping him, that hersympathy was precious. In her innocence she was deeply stirred, and yetglad at heart. She was silent for some minutes, and then said:

'Do you know, I think you sometimes underestimate Mrs. Macdougal'ssensibilities. '

'In what manner?'

'I think you hurt her without being conscious of it. Her sense of humouris not keen, and I know she is pained when you least suspect it. '

A ghost of a smile stirred about Ryder's mouth. 'I would not pain her forthe world, ' he said. 'She is a kindly little woman, and her hospitalityis charming; but you must admit she is droll. What are my faults?'

'Forgive me if I seem to be treating you as a pupil. '

'There is no one on earth to whom I would rather go to school. 

'Well, then, you must not laugh at Mrs. Macdougal. 

'But, really, is one expected to take those extravagantly romantic posesseriously?'

'They are meant seriously. '

'The eyes and sighs, the pensive melancholy, the little maladies, themysterious missing family? You must not tell me this is not burlesque. '

'I am sure you know it is not. Mrs. Macdougal has dreamed so muchrubbish, and read so much more, that all this humbug has become part ofher nature, and one has to be a bit of a humbug one's self and humour herout of kindness In her girlhood there was no escape from the lonelinessand stupidity of the Bush but in dreams. 

'My manners have been abominable. I shall mind them now. '

The evening of that day was spent in the garden before the homestead. Theday had been hot--there had been Bush-fires. The smoke hung about, andthe big moon floated like a great round blood-red kite above the range. Ryder was sitting by Mrs. Macdougal on the garden-seat; Lucy played withthe children on the grass till it was their bed time, when the threeromped indoors together. Mrs. Macdougal turned her eyes upon Rydertimidly, expecting the usual change in his demeanour. She had used allher little arts on this man--the foolish, simple devices with which shehad bewitched the captain of the Francis Cadman, and with no more guilein her soul. Suddenly she discovered the danger, but not before he hadturned her comedy into a tragedy. He overawed her, dominated her; shedreaded him, and yet adored him as a splendid hero of romance. 

He moved nearer into the shadow of the honey suckle and seized her hand. 

'Marcia, ' he said in a low voice, 'I can pretend no longer. I am sick ofthe farce of treating you as a child before these people, while all thetime my heart hungers for you. I love you, Marcia!'

'For pity's sake--for pity's sake!' she said, struggling weakly. 

'You know I love you. You have known it all along. Oh, my queen, howcould I help loving you--a rose in this wilderness? Marcia, Marcia, loveme! By God, you shall!' He kissed her again and again. 

She ceased struggling. 'I do love you, ' she said. 'I don't care--I don'tcare; I love you! Oh, how can I help myself? I have been mad, but I loveyou! I don't care; I love you!'

XXI

IT was February, and the Honourable Walter Ryder lingered at thehomestead. He had broached to Macdougal an intention of buying the wholeof the next season's wool-clip at Boobyalla, and carrying it back toEngland with him. He thought it might be a profitable investment. He hadtalked of going, but was pressed to stay; and meanwhile the change inMrs. Macdougal was so marked that Lucy had often commented on it toRyder. A real romance had come into Marcia's life--a terrible one, shethought it--and her poor little foolish dreams were swept away. They hadbeen innocent enough, those fanciful imaginings of hers, and had givenher some joy. This reality filled her with agonies of apprehension. Shewas never free of terror, and found herself studying her husband'simpassive face, wondering what was behind those dull eyes, fearing theworst always. 

Ryder had been most attentive to Lucy Woodrow during the last two orthree weeks. He accompanied her and the children on their daily ride, andhe had taught Lucy to shoot with both fowling-piece and revolver. She wasa good pupil, and enjoyed the sport. Her facility gave her a peculiarpleasure that was sweetened by his praise. He still greeted her withstudied deference, and in his transient moments of melancholy he spokefeelingly of a life's sorrow. 

'There was a wound I thought would never heal, ' he told her one day; 'butthe pain is gone--the memory will go. What cannot a good woman do withthe life of a man? But how few of us learn the potency of these sweet andtender hands until perhaps it is too late!' He bent over her hand, and, turning away, left her abruptly. 

Marcia noticed his marked attentions to Lucy, and complained tremblinglyand with tears. 

'Nonsense!' he said; 'there is nothing in it. It is to divert suspicion. I want the people about to think it is Miss Woodrow I love. They mustnever know it is you, my queen!' He kissed her cheek. 'And you need haveno fear, Marcia. She is devoted to that man Done. '

But at length Ryder announced his intention of leaving. He could put offhis departure no longer than a week, he told Marcia, and a few minuteslater conveyed the news to Lucy. He was sitting in one of the windowswhen she came on to the veranda. 

'Have they told you I am leaving?' he asked abruptly. 

'Leaving!' She was about to take a book from the small table, but did notdo so. She turned from him, and stood with face averted, plucking at thevine tendrils. 'At once?' she asked. 

'Almost. I fear I have outstayed my welcome. '

'That is hardly fair. '

'True, you have been very, very kind. I can never forget your goodness. '

'You owe me no gratitude. After all, I am only governess here. '

'I owe you more than anyone else--I owe you the happiness Boobyalla couldnever have given me without you. '

'You have not told me when you leave. '

'In a week. '

'A week! Oh, that is quite a long time!' Her voice had become stronger, and she passed down the steps and along the garden walk to the childrenwithout having turned her face to him. It seemed that she could not trustherself. 

He watched her closely, pressing his lower lip between finger and thumb, and a mirthless smile curled the corners of his mouth. 

To Marcia's great surprise, her husband insisted on her arranging anotherparty in honour of their guest, and to give their neighbours anopportunity of bidding him good-bye. To be sure, nothing like theChristmas gathering could be attempted, but the Cargills and two or threeother families living within twenty miles were to be invited, and Yarraand Bob Hooke were despatched with the invitations. Hooke had been ashepherd at the five-mile hut till within three days, when a new handMack had employed was sent to take his place, and now Bob was actingrouse-about. Ryder had heard of this new hand as a man of atrociousugliness--in fact, the man had been sent away, Marcia said, because thechildren were frightened half out of their wits at the sight of him. 

Lucy received a letter from Jim Done on the afternoon of the day on whichRyder announced his impending departure. The letter was not a long one, and it lacked the cheerfulness that had characterized Jim's previousletters to Lucy. It told of Burton's death, of his own injuries and hislong sickness, and of Ryder's gallant conduct. He was now almostrecovered, he said, and by the time she received his letter would be backat Jim Crow with the Peetrees, who had returned and pegged out claims onBlanket Flat, having failed to do anything for themselves at Simpson'sRanges. Jim admitted that his mate's death had been a heavy blow. 'I hadnot realized how strong our friendship was, ' he wrote. 'He was the bestman I have known, and I do not think it probable I shall ever make suchanother friend. ' Done concluded with a fervent wish that he might see hersoon. There was the melancholy and the weakness of an invalid in theletter, and it disturbed Lucy greatly. She recalled, with a poignantsense of remorse, how little he had been in her mind during the past twomonths while he lay struggling for life. She felt that she had done him awrong, and, scarcely understanding herself, gave way to a flood of tearsover the wavering lines, every word of which bore evidence of theenfeebled hand of the convalescent. 

Later she told Ryder of the letter, and of Done's return to Jim Crow. 

'And you did not tell me of his injuries, ' she said reproachfully. 

'I could not find it in my heart to spoil your Christmas, ' he said. 'Hewas getting on famously when I left Ballarat, and he has a magnificentconstitution. I knew he was safe, but felt that you would be certain toworry. You see, it is best. '

'I cannot think so. You were silent because you feared to speak of yourown splendid bravery. '

'Believe me, no. It was nothing to pick up a wounded man and carry him tosafety. I was silent to spare you. '

'I am grateful for your kind intentions, and more than grateful for whatyou have done for him. To Mr. Done I owe my life, and I feel that aservice done to him is something for which I, too, am much beholden. '

'And for a life that is precious to you I would--' He ceased suddenly, but was careful that she should understand him well. 

'A life that was precious to her!' The phrase seemed to have anextraordinary significance. Were the words a test? Her heart beatquickly; for a moment she looked into his eyes. It was as if his wholesoul burned in them. Her face paled, a faint cry broke on her lips, andshe moved back with faltering feet. He dropped his extended hands with ahopeless gesture, and turned from her. A footstep was heard in thepassage. 

The party was fixed for the third evening prior to the date of Ryder'sdeparture, and it was a great success. All the resources of awell-appointed station were brought into play for the gratification ofthe guests. The night was warm; the company were gathered in the bigdrawing the French window of which opened on to the wide veranda. Lucywas at the piano, providing an accompaniment, and the Sydneyside girl wassinging an ardent love song. Yarra paused before Ryder with a tray, onwhich was a cool drink. In the act of lifting the glass the latternoticed that a uniformed trooper had suddenly appeared in the doorway. Aturn of the eye satisfied him that there was another at the Frenchwindow. He gave no sign of emotion, but leaned forward and spoke in a lowvoice to Yarra. 

'You remember, Yarra, what I have told you. Trooper fellow come now, maybe. ' He added a few words in the aboriginal tongue. 'Go quick!' hesaid. 

There was a wait of some minutes, during which Ryder sat sipping at hisdrink, apparently entirely unconscious of anything but the singing. Butpresently he knew that he was the third point of a triangle, from theother points of which two regulation revolvers covered him. He satisfiedhimself with a movement of his elbow that his own revolver was in itsplace under his vest. 

'Wat Ryder, alias Solo, I arrest you in the name of the Queen!' Thetrooper from the door had advanced into the room. 'You are my prisoner. Stir a finger, and I'll shoot you where you sit. '

Ryder had shown no disposition to stir; he was still sipping at theglass, the coolest man in the room. The other guests looked unspeakablystupid in their open-mouthed amazement. Ryder saw that another trooperhad taken the sergeant's place at the door, and that the man at theFrench window was now on the inside. 

The first trooper had advanced to within a few feet of Ryder before itseemed to occur to the latter that he was the person addressed. 

'Do you mean me, my man?' he said. 

'I do; and I may tell you hanky-panky won't be healthy for you. We've gotyou cornered. '

Ryder arose quite unruffled, and set down his glass. Looking round uponthe guests, he smiled and said:

'This is another of the possibilities of social life in Victoria. Willyou tell me who I am supposed to be, and what I am supposed to do?'

'You are supposed to take these on for one thing, ' said the trooper, swinging a pair of handcuffs in his left hand. 

'Oh, certainly, if it's in the game. ' Ryder offered his wrists. 

'Behind you, please. '

'To be sure. ' With his clenched fists behind him, Ryder submitted to thehandcuffs, and then, as he stood manacled, his eye fell upon DonaldMacdougal. The squatter was almost at his elbow, leaning against a smalltable, rolling his tongue under his teeth. The eyes of the two men met, and under the bushy brows of Monkey Mack there was a reddish gleam inwhich the Honourable Walter Ryder read a baboon-like malignancy, and in amoment the latter realized that in all his plans and precautions he hadnever made due allowance for the cunning and depth of this extraordinaryman; but his face expressed nothing. 

'Ah--h!' The sergeant gave a sigh of relief as he dropped his pistolhand. 'That's better. '

'Now, ' said Ryder coldly, 'will you tell me if this is a new parlourgame, or are these actual troopers who are a little more idiotic than theaverage?'

Ryder addressed Cargill. He was standing with his back to the piano; thegaping guests formed a semicircle in front of him. Marcia, sitting on acouch, motionless, with cheeks of deadly whiteness, uttered no sound, andher eyes looked like patches of darkness in her icy face. Lucy, standingat the piano, never took her eyes from Ryder. She could see what theothers could not see--the long, thin hands of the prisoner slowly buteasily working themselves out of the grip of the handcuffs. 

'Call it a parlour game if you like, Mr. Solo, but I'm the winner, andI'll trouble you to come with me. '

'Wait a moment. Macdougal, this farce has gone far enough. As your guest, I demand an explanation. '

Macdougal looked at Ryder in silence for a moment, and then said quietly:'They're callin' the new man yonder at the five-mile Brummy the Nut;maybe ye mind him. '

'I do not. I--'

He was interrupted by the report of a revolver out in the darkness. Thetrooper at the French window remained upright for a moment, then fell tohis knees, and then forward upon the carpet. For two or three seconds alleyes but Lucy's and Ryder's were fixed upon the window, and there wasapprehension in every face. Lucy's eyes were upon Ryder's hands; she sawthe handcuff fall from one, saw him swing with a sudden, swift movementof the right arm, and the heavy manacle struck the trooper at his side onthe temple, and the man fell without a groan. Then Ryder made a dash forthe French window, and was gone before a hand could be raised to stayhim. Lucy, who had had some understanding of his plan before he actedupon it, followed him swiftly, closing the windows after him; and shestood there, confronting the people, pale, but with determination in herface and the flash of courage in her eyes. The trooper from the otherside dashed across the room, faltered for a moment, perceiving that timewould be lost in a struggle with the girl, and then turned and rushedback through the door. The suddenness of all this had robbed the majorityof the guests of their wits; they stood as if petrified. The woundedtrooper rose slowly from the floor--it occurred to no one to offer tohelp him--staggered a few steps into the room, and fell again, and layamongst the guests, his blood dyeing the carpet at their feet. Mean whileMarcia had not moved; but now her white face had the expression of onelistening with the intensity of an unspeakable fear for the message ofdeath, and the sergeant in command was groping for the door, still dazedfrom the blow he had received, and almost blinded by the blood flowingfrom his wound. 

Outside two troopers had jumped into their saddles, and were off in hotpursuit of the fugitive, who had galloped out of the thick cover of theorchard on Galah, Ryder's beautiful gray, and was riding at a breakneckpace for the heavily-timbered country to the east. It was a stern chase, and once Trooper Casey came so near to overhauling the gray horse that heventured a revolver shot; but after that the hunted man drew away, andthe troopers lost sight of him in the timber. The pursuit was maintainedfor about an hour, and then the pursuers came upon Galah trotting quietlyback towards Boobyalla, riderless and without a saddle. Imagining thatSolo had been swept from the horse by the limb of a tree, the troopersmade a long search, and while they sought, Yarra--for it was he who hadled the police away on this wild-goose chase--had doubled on hispursuers, and was making a bee-line for the station again on foot. He wasfound in his bed at home two hours later, cowering under the blankets, pretending an overpowering fear of the shooting and the blood. 

Walter Ryder, when he passed through the window, sprang from the veranda, and dashed into the garden. A voice called to him to stand in the name ofthe law, and a revolver bullet clipped his shoulder, but he ran on untilthe thick growth of trees and shrubbery quite covered him, then, turningsharply to the left, he hid in the hollow of an old gum-tree, the creeperovergrowing which offered a perfect screen. From here he uttered themopoke's call, repeating it twice. He had made himself familiar with allthe advantages the garden and orchard offered a hunted man ere he hadbeen a week at Boobyalla. Ryder remained in this hiding-place for sometime. He heard the thunder of Galah's hoofs and the cries of thetroopers. Yarra had timed his break from cover to a second. When thesound of the chase died out in the distance, Solo walked quietly to thecorner of the orchard opposite to that from which the black boy hadstarted, where a horse was standing. This was Wallaroo. The saddle hadbeen hastily thrown on to the entire's back, and the bridle was loopedover a post. Ryder fastened the girths, buckled the bridle securely, and, mounting the horse, walked him to the slip panels, keeping well undercover of the trees. When about a quarter of a mile off, he stirredWallaroo to a canter, but kept to the track thickly seared with newhoof-prints, so that it should be impossible for any but a clever trackerto follow him. After riding for about three miles, he bore to the rightalong the course of a small creek, and made his way into the ranges up adeepening gorge, the sides of which were clothed with heath and scrub, and ribbed thickly with the trunks of tall gums as straight as lances, shooting high into the air, and spreading their branches in the moonlightover two hundred feet above him. He turned from this gorge into anarrower ravine, which widened into a gully. Ryder continued for anotherhalf-mile to where three or four gigantic rocks thrown together formed asort of natural stronghold with a rampart of white gums. Here hedismounted. Having rolled a boulder from a niche in the rocks, he drewout a rope, and with this tethered Wallaroo. Then, after removing the bitfrom his mouth and loosening the girths, he left the horse to graze. 

The niche in the rocks was well stocked with food, and contained a rug, abottle of brandy, several small parcels of ammunition, two revolvers, afew other articles, a miner's 'rig-out, ' and the false beards Ryder hadbeen in the habit of using as disguises. 

Having removed the suit he was wearing, Ryder bathed and dressed thewound in his shoulder as best he could. He put on the digger's clothes, and, wrapping himself in the rug, lay under the sloping rock on a couchof dry bracken, and slept as if in a comfortable bed and at peace withthe world. 

The sun was throwing oblique rays into the heath on the side of the gullywhen Ryder awoke. He found his bridle-arm very stiff and painful, anddressed the wound again. He breakfasted on biscuits and smoked fish, anddrank water flavoured with brandy. The greater part of that day he spentcollecting fodder for Wallaroo, and leading the horse about to thosespots where the grass was most luxuriant. He was waiting with absoluteconfidence and the greatest composure. The vicissitudes of his life hadtaught him patience. 

At about a quarter past ten that night Ryder was sitting on the rug withhis back to the rock, smoking reflectively, when a voice called almost athis elbow:

'Hist! Yarra bin come, boss!'

'Good boy!' Ryder replaced his revolver on a convenient ledge, and asYarra appeared before him, grinning in-the moonlight, he added a fewwords of thanks and of praise in the native tongue. 

'What happen by Boobyalla?'

'Mine bin chase it that feller all day. ' Yarra pointed at Solo, and hiswhite teeth glittered like tiny mirrors. 'Track him longa trooper plentyfar. ' He pointed beyond Boobyalla 'My word, Yarra make it big one damnfool that trooper. ' The thought of the manner in which he had tricked thepolice tickled the black boy, and he emitted a yell of laughter thatstartled the Bush sleepers for a mile round, and filled the trees withmovements and murmurs of complaint. Ryder, knowing the susceptibilitiesof the race, to gratify the boy laughed too. 

'Yarra plenty clever, ' he said. 

'My word! Yarra follow track all away topside Shepherd's Scrub. Go thisway, that way, make much plurry humbug. Say: "This feller gone lame, limpit bad. Some time he creep by scrub, lie down. " Trooper go search itscrub all day, nex' day, nex' day. They catch it that fellar by'n-by. 'Again he pointed at Ryder, and again his laugh echoed in the gorge. 'Minetink it trooper search him scrub plenty long time. Boss tink I go hunt byscrub to-morrow, mine come sit down longa here. '

All of which meant that Yarra had been employed by the troopers to followthe track of Ryder, and had led them as far astray as possible, and leftthem with the impression that the fugitive was wounded and lying inhiding in Shepherd's Scrub, a dense ti-tree growth to the north-east ofBoobyalla, extending for two or three miles. 

Ryder rewarded his accomplice with a nobbler of brandy and a cigar, andthe black sat smoking with a grand air, while the former explained thathe would remain where he was until his arm was in a more serviceablestate, trusting to Yarra to keep him apprised of what was going forward, and to warn him instantly danger threatened. During the last few hoursthe idea of inducing Lucy Woodrow to visit him there in the Bush had beenstirring in Ryder's mind, and he reckoned upon turning his wound to goodadvantage. For the troopers he had the greatest contempt, and hisconfidence in Yarra was absolute. The half-caste remained with him forabout an hour, and then returned into the gorge, and keeping to the bedof the creek picked up his horse, a sober old cattle nag, where he hadleft him at the foot of the range. 

Yarra returned to Wat Ryder early in the forenoon of the following day. The trooper the boy shot at the window was being nursed at Boobyalla, theothers were away beating the scrub. The half-caste brought with him awild duck he had trapped, and set about cooking this in its feathers. Thetwo dined together shortly after mid-day, and the sun was streaming intothe gully, the air was heavy with the odour of wild musk, and the Bushwas as silent as if no life remained in the intense heat. Ryder hadrisen, and was looking at Wallaroo standing with his nose in the shade ofa gum-butt, fighting the avaricious flies with his tail. At that instanta loud report rang along the gully, and Ryder staggered a few paces, andfell with his back to one of the boulders, stunned. A bullet ricochetingfrom the rock had struck him in the neck. Yarra threw himself forward, face downward, at a space between the boulders. He saw a wreath of smokein the gully and a slight movement in the thick growth, and fired twice, but the distance was too great for a revolver. The enemy, whoever he was, was armed with a gun. The half-caste listened for a moment, and his blackeyes searched the gully. Then he heard the beat of a horse's hoofs. Alook of enlightenment came to his face. There was one horseman only; hewas riding at a pace which, in such country, threatened death at everystride. 

The boy looked at Ryder, pointing back in the direction from which theshot had come. 

'That feller mine boss, ' he said, and fear tinged his blackness a slatygray. 

Ryder had slipped to a sitting position--one hand held a blood-stainedhandkerchief to his neck, the other clutched a revolver. He was white tothe lips, but his eyes blazed with life and the passion of a woundedlion. 

XXII

RYDER knew himself to be badly hurt; he realized that he was in adesperate situation, a situation from which it would require all hiscunning to extricate himself. The plans he had formed were abandoned, andeven while suffering the first shock of the wound his mind was busy. Hehad been attacked by one man; his enemy knew he was not alone, and wasnot sure of the effect of his shot, otherwise he would not have fled. Theoutlaw felt that he might rely upon immunity from further attack for sometime, and meanwhile all the strength and energy remaining to him must bedevoted to the task of reaching another refuge. In Macdougal be had metan enemy of a kind he had never before been called upon to deal with. Thesquatter was indefatigable in pursuit of his vengeance, evidently anexpert Bushman, and bent upon dealing retribution with his own hand. WatRyder wasted no time in fruitless lamentation over his folly in nothaving made good his escape while the opportunity offered. Already he hadlost much blood. The muscle on the right side of the neck was badlylacerated. First of all, the wound must be dressed. For years he had beenprepared for an exigency of this sort, and was never without materialsfor the treatment of serious hurts. With Yarra's assistance, the woundwas washed with a lotion, closed as well as possible, and then carefullybandaged, without the waste of a moment. 

Ryder lay with his revolver by his side. He knew perfectly that he mightbe engaged in a life or death struggle at any moment, and was prepared todie by his own hand the instant the fight became hopeless. 

'Go, Yarra; pick up his track; find which way he has gone; come back oneminute. '

He knew there was no occasion to warn the half-caste, in whom theinstincts of his mother's people were paramount. Yarra was a child of theBush; nothing would escape his eye or his ear, and at the same time hewould be as swift and as secret as a snake. 

While the boy was away Ryder wrote a note in pencil addressed to LucyWoodrow. Yarra was back within five minutes. 

'Him Boss belonga me all right. Him run longa gully, catch up horse byole man blackbutt, ride longa gorge same debble chase him, ' reported thehalf-caste. 

'Right, right! Yarra plurry fine feller!' said Ryder. 'Now we go up oversmall spur, down by gorge, sit down little stone cave near big splash. Pretty quick you come back, catch Wallaroo, lead him down to the gorgealong down the creek. Make a track by the bank some time, turn him inpool where black fish sit down, and ride back up creek again, and tiehorse up by big rock same monkey bear. Then to-night you creep down byBoobyalla, knock on Miss Lucy's window, gib Miss Lucy this letter. No oneelse must see. If Miss Lucy say yes, when sun jumps up to-morrow you takeWallaroo down by wattle track, gib her horse, come back sit down by me. Yarra catch hold all that?'

Yarra nodded brightly. 'My word, mine know him all right, ' he said. 

'Yarra always good friend by me?'

'My word!'

The climb over the spur that divided the outlaw's first retreat from thegorge proved a terrible task for the wounded man. For some distance theboy followed him, obliterating his tracks; but before the journey washalf completed Ryder required all the assistance the half-caste couldgive him, and he reached the small cave in the side of the gorge, about amile and a half from its entrance, in an exhausted and feverishcondition. There Yarra gave him drink, and, having made him a comfortablebed, left him with a revolver by his side, and returned for Wallaroo andRyder's belongings. The boy followed the instructions he had receivedfaithfully, and was with the outlaw again before sundown, watching overhim with an interest he had never before felt in any human creature. Ryder knew now that his life depended upon the boy's fidelity, and thatthere was only one other person in the world upon whom he could rely inhis extremity--Jim Done. 

We left Done in a poor condition to help any man--lying in Kyley's tent, enfeebled by sickness, clinging to Aurora's fingers as some sort ofanchorage in a fragile world. When he awoke again Aurora was still by hisside. He grew quite accustomed to waking and finding her there, and inhis waking moments for two or three days he clasped her fingers with analmost infantile helplessness. The first stages of recovery were slow, and in them his chief delight was to lie watching his nurse, scarcelyconscious of anything beyond. He found her very worn, and she looked old. Few of the qualities that had impelled him to call her Joy remained inthis anxious face. She attended to him assiduously; but she was only anurse, nothing of a lover, and presently he found himself wondering ather lack of emotion, fretting for the absent caress with an invalid'spetulance. As his strength returned, Aurora permitted Mary Kyley toassume the larger share of the nursing, and Jim was told what news therewas, excepting the truth about poor Mike. It was Ryder who had informedAurora that Done and his friends were in the stockade, where he had seenthem during the Saturday afternoon. Mary read a letter from the Peetreesinviting Jim to join them at Blanket Flat--where they had taken his andMike's belongings--when he was strong enough to get about. According toMrs. Ryley's version of this letter, Mike was with the Peetrees. 

Eventually Jim was strong enough to sit up for a while, and in the courseof a few days Ben helped him out into the open, and the pure, hotsunshine seemed to pour new life into his veins. It was after this thatDone missed Aurora. Mrs. Ben said she had gone away for a few days torecruit; but eventually, when Jim was hobbling about, she admitted thatshe did not know where the girl had gone, and believed that she might notcome back. 

'But why?' said Jim--' why go away without a word, without giving me achance to thank her for what she has done?'

'Thank her!' said Mary, with some contempt. 'Are you thinking the poorgirl wanted thanks from you?'

'It is strange that she should leave in this way, ' answered Doneimpatiently. 

'There's nothing strange in it, man; it's just natural. You neverunderstood how much that girl cared for you, Jimmy. If you did, perhapsyou would know what it meant for her to be working herself to a ghostover your bed there while you babbled of love to another woman. '

'I did?'

'Did you? Night and day. It was Lucy, Lucy, Lucy--always Lucy. Lucy withthe brown hair and the beautiful eyes--Lucy the pure, and sweet, andgood. Never a word of Joy--never the smallest word of the woman who wasbeating the devil off you, you blackguard!'

'But I was delirious! Surely----'

'True, you were wandering; but it's only when a man's mad or drunk thatone gets the truth out of him about women. "There's not a thought of meleft in his heart, Mary!" said the poor girl. '

'She was wrong--wrong!' he protested. 

'Not a bit, boy! 'Twas the pure girl had all your soul. Heavens! and howyou rubbed it in about her purity and goodness! Mother of us! let a manbe so infernally bad that the very fiend sniffs at him, but he'll bargainwith the impudence of an archangel for the pure girl. '

'And she went away for this?'

'Sure enough. Aurora's the sort to hide her hurts. When she can't fightover them, she'll not cry a whimper. '

'That's true; and I've hurt her deepest of all. '

Mary detected the expression of his face with quick alarm. She had saidtoo much. 

'There, there, Jimmy boy, ' she said anxiously; 'we mustn't be forgettingthat Joy's the strong sort. She'll come again, fresh and rosy and merryas ever--bet your life on it. '

Jim went into the tent that had been his sick-room, and sat for over anhour in deep thought, and his thoughts were all of Aurora. He missedher--missed her at every turn, and in every hour of his convalescence. Asa reward for her love and tenderness, he had afflicted her with thegreatest bitterness her brave heart could bear. His eyes were fixed uponthe floor, and eventually discovered two oval objects half buried in thehard earth. He stooped to pick them up, and found them to be the halvesof the locket that contained Lucy Woodrow's miniature. The case had beenstamped into the floor with the heel of a boot, the pieces were tornapart, and the portrait ground off the ivory on which it was painted. With the fragments of the locket in his hand, Jim pursued a new train ofthought, but there was no comfort in it. He recalled Joy's words: 'Iwon't bind the strange man you may be to-morrow. ' Her love had been toostrong for her philosophy. What of his? Had he ever seriously consideredthe possibilities of a life wholly apart from her? His mind flew to Lucy, but by no effort could he devote his thoughts to either of the women whohad so deeply influenced him. 

It was no longer possible to keep the truth about Mike Burton from theinvalid, and Mary broke the news to him as gently as she could, The shockseemed to stun Jim's sensibilities for a time. As the numbness wore off, a bitter, blind hatred grew in his heart against the men he chose toregard as Mike's murderers, and he had a ferocious longing for vengeance. Again law and order, the forces of society, had intervened to embitterhim. His subsequent sorrow over his mate was deep and lasting. He feltnow that although their friendship had been free of demonstrativeness, ithad been warmed with a generous sincerity. 

Done awakened one day, with some sense of fear, to the knowledge that hewas drifting back into a morbid condition. He found he had bred adisposition to brood over his weakness. The loss of Mike and thedisappearance of Aurora were becoming grievances that he cherished withyouthful unreason. He determined to rejoin the Peetrees at once, and, although far from being his old self physically, began to makepreparations for the return to Jim Crow. 

'There's somethin' I'd like you to be doin' fer me afore you go, mate, 'said Ben Kyley to Jim one evening. 

'Well, you know I'll do it. 

'I reckoned you would. You see, I've been thinkin' of marryin' my wife, an' I'd like you to be bes' man. '

'You've been thinking!' cried Mary. 'No, Jimmy, I've been doing thethinking: Kyley merely agrees. One of these days we're going to build abig hotel in Ballarat, and settle down. It won't be till the rushes pegout, as they're bound to do in time; but certificates of marriage aregetting quite common amongst married people here, and we thought it wouldbe as well to be in the fashion. ' Mrs. Ben laughed boisterously. 

'Well, ' said Jim, smiling, 'a couple who disagree as pleasantly as you docan't go far wrong in marrying. '

'The customers at a decent family hotel would expect it, I think, ' Maryadded soberly. 

'Jonathan Prator married his wife a week 'r two back, an' he's skitin'about it, ' grumbled Ben. 

So Jim remained for the wedding of Mr. And Mrs. Ben Kyley, which wasquite a public ceremony. He was Ben's best man, and he gave the rosybride the prettiest brooches, rings, and bangles he could buy inBallarat, and left, the blushless couple to the enjoyment of theirhoneymoon with his warmest blessing. Mary nearly smothered him in abillowy hug as he was trying to thank them for their goodness. 

'Leave a kind word for my poor girl, ' she said, 'and the minute she comesback I'll write you. '

'Tell her I shall be a miserable devil till I hear of her dancing jigs onMary Kyley's bar counter again, ' said Jim. 'And tell her she wrongs mewhen she says there is nothing of her in this heart of mine. She is anineradicable part of it. '

Done found the Peetrees working a fairly profitable mine at Blanket Flat, a sort of tributary field to Jim Crow, and situated about three milesdistant from the original rush. Harry stood in with Done, and the twopegged out a claim and set to work; but Jim did not derive thesatisfaction he had expected from this return to his friends and hisfamiliar pursuits. His weakness clung to him, and he was subject to painsin the head. His missed Mike more than ever now, and permitted the ideathat he had blasted Aurora's happiness to worry him a good deal. Heremembered the blithe heartiness of the girl in the early days of theiracquaintance, and the image of the pale, worn face he had last seenhaunted him with an abiding reproach. He could not enjoy the life, thescenes, and the companionship that had delighted him, and believed thecapacity would never come back to him. 

He had been on Blanket Flat less than a fortnight when one morning Harrythrust his head into the tent. 

'Blowed if there ain't a lady here to see you, Jim!' he said. 

'A lady?' Jim's first thought was of Aurora. 'Don't you know her?'

He stepped from the tent as he spoke, and was astonished to find that hisvisitor was Lucy Woodrow. She was riding a splendid bay horse, andleading a small, sturdy-looking chestnut, and was dust-stained and tired. Her face was gray with anxiety. She did not smile as he approached her, but held a letter towards him. 

'Read, ' she said. 'He says you will understand. '

'But, Lucy, won't you dismount? You are tired. '

'For pity's sake, waste no time! Read!'

He unfolded the note, and read:

'DEAR MISS WOODROW, 'I am seriously wounded, and lying helpless. My life is in danger. Thereis one man who will save me; there is one woman whom I can trust to go tohim. You are that woman. I appeal to all that is good, kind, and mercifulin you to help me. Believe nothing you have heard. I am the victim ofcircumstances--circumstances of the most terrible kind. Only be thesweet, tender woman you have always seemed to me. Ride to Jim Done atBlanket Flat as soon as possible in the morning; bring him to me. I knowhe will not hesitate when he knows that I am crippled in the Bush, and atthe mercy of my enemies. The boy will explain the rest. 

'Your unfortunate friend, 'WALTER RYDER. '

'The half-caste boy at the station, who knows where Mr. Ryder is hidden, brought that to me, ' Lucy said. 'He met me at a gorge leading into therange this morning with this horse. The boy is to meet us at the mouth ofthe gorge and take us to him. He escaped from Boobyalla when the trooperscame, and hid in the Bush. He was seen and shot in the neck, but foundanother hiding-place, and is waiting for you. You will come?'

She had spoken in a hard, unimpassioned voice, as if repeating a lesson;only her eyes betrayed the intense feeling that possessed her. 

'I will go, ' he answered. 'Hadn't you better have some tea and somethingto eat? It is a long ride. '

'No, no, ' she said; 'we cannot spare a moment. '

'I insist. ' He put up his hands to help her. His words were quiet, buthis tone was masterful. She looked into his face, and obeyed him. 'Betterrest a while now than break down later--and I do not know the way. Harry, ' he called, turning to his mate, 'will you give the horses adrink? You have not pressed them?' he said to Lucy. 

'No; I was afraid, knowing they would have to carry us back. '

'My mate will change the saddles. I must ride the stronger horse. Meanwhile, get something to eat. We have just breakfasted; there is teain the billy. '

He showed neither hurry nor agitation, he displayed no feeling, but, watching him narrowly, Lucy was convinced of his great earnestness, andthe strain of anxiety that had gripped her heart like a band of steelrelaxed. She breathed freely. Part of the burden had gone to him, and hewould bear it. 

Jim felt himself strong again in the face of this great need. Apart fromthe tie of blood, he owed Ryder the best service of which he wascapable--his very life, if need be--but he did not question the matter, even in his own heart, and it was not till Blanket Flat lay four or fivemiles behind them that he sought further information from his companion. They had ridden in silence, Lucy overwrought, thinking only of thewounded man hunted like a beast, perhaps dying in the Bush, Jimendeavouring to decide upon a plan of action. The news had not greatlysurprised him; ever since Ryder's declaration of his identity Done hadforeseen some such possibility. 

'Do you know the reason of the attempt to arrest Ryder?' said Jim, breaking the long silence. 

'The troopers called him Solo. I have heard of a notorious gold robber ofthat name. Mrs. Macdougal says a new shepherd called Brummy recognisedhim. ' She gave Done a concise account of the arrest and Ryder's escape. 'That is Wallaroo you are riding, ' she said in conclusion, 'and Mr. Macdougal is furious over his loss. I believe it was he who shot Mr. Ryder. '

'If Ryder dies, I'll kill Macdougal!'

Lucy turned sharply, and looked at Jim. He had spoken the words in a tonesounding almost casual, curiously incongruous with their grimsignificance. She knew that he meant what he had said, and her heartsank. 

'You would not be so mad, ' she said. 

'Let us push on, ' he replied, disregarding her comment. 

Lucy had experienced no difficulty in finding Jim. Since his visit toBoobyalla she had been three times to Jim Crow with parties on horseback, and knew the country well. 

They reached the mouth of the gorge at about eleven o'clock, and hadridden only about two hundred yards along the bed of the creek, whenYarra arose from a clump of scrub-ferns at Lucy's side. 

'Come longa me, ' he said. 'Boss Ryder plenty sick. '

Yarra had left the outlaw two hours earlier. Ryder was then tossingfeverishly on his rough couch. The small cave in which he lay wassituated some thirty yards up the side of the gorge, and the hot morningsun reached it early, converting it into an oven of stone. The woundedman was suffering acutely; his wound had become a burning agony that hadno longer a limit: the pain of it penetrated his whole being. Soon afterthe black boy's departure Ryder ceased to toss and turn, movement onlyincreasing his torment. He now lay very still on the floor of the cave;his eyes had a feline lustre in the dim light, his face was as white andhollow as that of a corpse, saving for the fever spot that burned ineither cheek. Gradually his mind was drifting from his danger and hissufferings--it was fashioning strange images, mere dreams, butstartlingly realistic. From the first one or two he reverted to sanityand to a fleeting sense of his position, and then the images trooped inagain, the visions reappeared--beautiful visions of coolness, andsweetness, and shade that, it seemed later, only came to tantalize him. He was now a soul in hell, tortured with the sight of clustering greentrees and flowing streams. Through all these dreams one sweet soundprevailed. He recognised it at length: it was the music of fallingwater--beautiful, cold, clear water, falling in thin sheets from the highrock and breaking into snow on the edge of the deep stone basin. Helifted himself upon his hands and listened. Yes, there was a waterfallbelow him, so near that he might almost reach and dip his fingers intoit, and he was set in flame that lapped him round, licking his face, dipping its forked tongue into the hollows of his eyes, penetrating tohis heart, and coursing in all his veins. He was mad to stay there andsuffer, when he might slip from the grip of the fiend, and lave his limbsin the pool and drink from the cascade. Ryder dragged himself from thecave, upsetting the water the half-caste had placed near his bed as hedid so. The water ran over his fingers, but he did not heed it. Outsidehe raised himself to his feet with the help of a tree, and, staggering afew paces down the slope, pitched on his face, cutting his mouth badly onthe stones. The wound in his neck opened, and the blood oozed from thebandages, smearing his hands as he dragged himself along. 

It was like some wild beast with a mortal wound in its breast slowlycrawling to the water to die. Every few yards he thought the stream wasreached and dipping his mouth to drink, cut his lips oh the granite. Hehad come to the level ground banking the creek, and was almost at theedge of the basin, when a figure appeared on the brink of the waterfallabove him. The figure looked hardly human, bent down, watching Ryder'smovements in the attitude of a curious ape. 

Macdougal sprang down the rocks with an agility in keeping with hisapelike appearance, and interposed between the creeping man and thewater. 

Ryder turned aside, and again Macdougal interposed. Three times thishappened, and the squatter had a grin on his small terrier's face; he wasderiving malicious amusement from the bewilderment of the fever-strickenwretch at his feet. In his left hand he held a revolver. 

Ryder raised a hand, and, clutching Monkey Mack, made an effort to regainhis feet. The other helped him, and clinging to his enemy for support, the outlaw looked at Macdougal. The latter thrust his face forward, andagain there was a red gleam under the shadows of his heavy brows. 

'Ye know me, man, ' he said. 

Ryder was staring with eyes in which there was a dawning ofconsciousness, and, steadying him with one hand, the squatter dipped somewater in his hat, and dashed it in the other's face. 

'Ye know me!' he said with fierce eagerness. 'Ye know me! Man, ye mustknow me--Macdougal! Look at me. Ay, ye know me well!'

There was recognition in Ryder's eyes; they were intent upon those of hisfoe, and, clutching him by the shoulder, Macdougal continued:

'Well ye know me, and well ye know what I mean to do by ye. I'm about tokill ye, Mr. Walter Ryder, an' no harm will come to me for the killin'. Man, man, but it's a sweet thing to kill your enemy, an' to be paid wellfor the doin' of it! Ah, I'm right sure ye know me now. I would na' have yedie by another hand, for 'tis me ye wronged most. I know my wrongs, yefoul villain, an' it's in my mind to carry your carrion head to Melbournefor the money they've set upon it. Ye mind me! ye mind me! Good! good!'

Macdougal's face was literally convulsed with the fury of his hate; hespat at Ryder as he spoke, and then, with the swiftness and the strengththat had marked them in health, the outlaw's fingers fastened upon hishairy throat. The long, thin hands clamped themselves upon his neck, andfor a moment Monkey Mack was helpless in the agonies of suffocation. Thenhis left hand pointed the revolver at Ryder's ear; there was a sharpreport, and the outlaw fell limply, and rolled back upon the flatwater-worn rock, his shattered head to the stone, his arms out thrown, his lifeless face turned up to the blue sky. 

XXIII

MONKEY MACK stood for a few seconds gazing down upon the dead man, unconscious of the fact that at the moment his shot was fired LucyWoodrow and Jim Done had come suddenly upon the scene around one of thehuge boulders with which the gorge was strewn. He was recalled to himselfby the exclamation of horror uttered by the girl, and discovered Jim, revolver in hand. Turning, he fled up the right side of the gorge, wherethe timber offered good cover. Jim raised his revolver, and tookdeliberate aim at the flying figure, but Lucy seized his arm and bore itdown, and, clinging to him, she cried:

'No, no! for God's sake, not that!'

Jim tore himself from her with bitter words, and the next moment they sawMacdougal riding furiously along the side of the gorge, swinging hisapparently maddened horse through the thick timber with marvellousdexterity. Done uttered a cry, and ran for the horses, and Lucy followedhim, calling piteously. She saw Jim spring upon Wallaroo and turn hishead down the gully, and, knowing his intention, snatched the revolverfrom Yarra's hand and fired at the stallion. The shot took effect in thehorse's neck, and he plunged forward, throwing Jim heavily, and, rollingon his side, lay half submerged in the water of the creek. 

Done was stunned and shaken by the fall, and it was some minutes beforehe quite recovered. Then, turning upon Lucy in the blind fury that filledhis soul, he said:

'You have saved that foul murderer, and while he lives I swear I'll neverforgive you!'

She made no reply, but followed Jim to Ryder's side, trembling in everylimb, with a bursting pain at her heart and a feeling of utter desolationupon her. Done knelt by the dead outlaw, looking into the white face, andremembered standing as a boy gazing into another dead face wonderfullylike this, the face of his mother. He felt no sorrow; there was room inhis soul only for his black wrath. For some minutes he remained kneeling, with set teeth, his hands clenched, his blood hot with rage. When hearose Lucy was by his side, but her eyes were bent upon the dead man. 

'You stood between me and my brother's murderer, ' he said. 

She looked at him vaguely, as if she had not heard aright, and passed afaltering hand across her eyes. 

'Your brother's murderer?' she said. 

'The man lying there is my brother. For no crimes for no wrong againstman or woman, his life was made a horror to him. And this is the end, butchered by a foul beast. '

'Don't!' she murmured. She put out her hands appealingly, and continuedin a choking voice: 'I can bear no more. All my strength is gone. Forpity's sake, no more, no more!' She turned from him, and, falling to herknees, sank her face upon Ryder's breast, and gave way to a fit ofsobbing that shook her from head to foot. Her attitude was one ofcomplete abandon; one hand lay upon the cheek of the dead outlaw, suggesting an ineffable caress. 

Done sat upon a rock, watching her without understanding. Yarra, who hadstolen near to Ryder's body, crouched upon the rock, staring intently atthe face of his friend. Presently Jim noticed that Lucy was lying inert, and he lifted her to the pool and bathed her forehead with the coolwater. Yarra brought a pannikin and a bottle containing brandy from thecave, and Jim poured a little of the spirit between the girl's lips. Lucyrevived after a few minutes, and lay for a time in the shade before shewas strong enough to walk. 

'I must go, ' she said with a strange listless ness. 

'Take the boy with you, ' Jim answered. 'He will see you safely toBoobyalla. '

'And you?' she asked. 

'There is something for me to do here. '

She looked at the body, and said, 'Yes, yes, of course, ' but the onlyexpression in her face was one of utter weariness. 

He helped her on to the horse. She did not thank him. No words offarewell were spoken, but as the horse moved away he said:

'Contrive to let Yarra bring me a shovel. '

'Yes. '

'At least the brute beast shall not have the price of his head

'No. ' She repeated the word quite mechanically. 'No, no!'

Done returned to his brother. He lifted the body into the shade, andcomposed the limbs, and then seated himself and gave his mind over tobitter reflection. Ryder's face exerted a strong influence upon him. Indeath it had assumed a delicacy almost effeminate. It was the face of asaint and an ascetic. What was most evil in him had been grown in theforcing-house of vice and crime society had set up, and for being thething it had made him society had butchered him like a mad dog. Jimrecognised Monkey Mack only as the instrument of society. His logic maynot have been perfect: his mind was in no state to deal with ethicalnuances; he saw only the ruined life, remembered what Ryder had endured, and, above all, that he had been an innocent man, crushed, tortured, brutalized into an enemy of the law and the existing order. He felthimself capable of taking up his brother's fight. In his heart he wasresolved to seek out Macdougal and kill him. That much must be done. Henever questioned his capability for murder, and it is probable that hadthe chance come to him in cold blood his spirit would have failed him. 

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Yarra returned with pick andshovel, and Jim had already selected the spot for Ryder's resting-place, beside a great boulder above the waterfall. There he started to dig thegrave. 

'Him brother belonga you?' asked Yarra. 

'Yes, ' said Jim. 

'Good feller, ' continued Yarra, and his black eyes gleamed maliciously. 'Boss belonga me kill him. You kill mine Boss?' Perhaps it was theremembrance of the many kicks and cuts he had received at the hands ofMonkey Mack that inspired the impish eagerness in Yarra's face, perhapshis affection for the dead man moved him. 

Jim Done looked at the boy curiously. 'Boss belonga you sit down byBoobyalla?' he asked. 

Yarra shook his head. 'No fear, ' he said. 'Yarra stop 'way pretty quickwhen Boss bin there. '

'Suppose Yarra catch up track of Boss belonga him, come back when sunjump up, tell me. '

'My word! Budgery that! Mine tink it Boss yabber-yabber longa trooper. '

Yarra set off at once, and Done continued his work. He was determinedthat the grave should be deep enough to protect the body froth burrowinganimals, and secret enough to save it from human brutes eager for theprice on Solo's head. This task was not complete when Yarra returned, hiseyes ablaze with excitement. 

'Hell bin jump up, mine tink it!' he cried. 'Boss belonga me sit downthere all right. You come!'

'You know where Macdougal is?'

'My word! Come longa me. '

Jim took up his revolver and followed the half caste, leaving the bodybetween the sheets of bark with which he had fashioned a rude coffin. 

'Boss close up here, ' said Yarra as they scrambled up the side of thegorge, after following the creek for about a quarter of a mile. The boyproceeded with out caution, and presently they came upon a saddled horselying under a big white gum. The animal' neck was broken; evidently ithad collided with the tree when at a gallop. 

'Boss make big smash up here, ' said Yarra. He pointed to a huddled, shapeless heap lying amongst the scrub-ferns at a distance of abouttwenty feet. 

Done stood over the body of Macdougal, and felt for a moment a resentmentagainst the Fates that had robbed him of his revenge. The squatter haddreaded the probability of confederates coming to the assistance of theoutlaw, and his ride for safety had been absolutely desperate. He laywithin a quarter of a mile of the waterfall, and had been killed on thespot. His head was crushed and hideous. Done turned from the sight with ashudder. 

Jim buried Ryder by the light of the moon. He spent the night in thegorge, but slept little, and Yarra, who had all the superstitions of hismother's race, crouched close to the white man, and his teeth chatteredwith fear the whole night through. He had conceived the idea that thespirit of Macdougal had taken possession of the gorge, and for the futurethe place must be a haunt of terror to him. After daybreak, with theboy's assistance, Done hid all traces of the new-made grave, and by thistime he was grateful for the food Yarra brought from the cave. Breakfaststrengthened him greatly. He had eaten nothing for close upon twentyhours, and the exhaustive experiences of that time told heavily upon hisenfeebled frame. As a result of his night's reflection and the judgmentthat had come with cooler blood, he was determined to visit Lucy at thestation. Yesterday's bitterness towards her had been real enough, but heassured himself that it was the effect of the extraordinary excitementworked in his brain by the events of the day. This morning there was uponhim a physical and moral apathy: the reaction left him without interest. The invalid lassitude possessed him again, and he stood over hisbrother's grave for a few minutes, without feeling any recurrence of theresentments that had so recently blazed within him. 

Lucy met him in the garden; she was still pale, but showed no sign ofphysical weakness. 

'I treated you brutally, ' he said abruptly. I am sorry; I was mad withrage. '

'I know; I understood then. You know I am sorry for you. '

'You saved Macdougal for my own sake, not for his, '

'Yes. Innocent or guilty, your brother was an outlaw, Legally, Macdougalwas justified in killing him, but if you kill Macdougal it will bemurder. Ah! that terrible thought has gone from your mind?'

'Yes; Macdougal is dead. '

'Dead!' She caught his hand, and looked into his face with terror. 'Youhave killed him!'

'No. His horse must have collided with a tree as he galloped down thegorge. Yarra found him. '

'Thank God vengeance was not left to you!'

'It is best. I have buried my brother. The whereabouts of his grave mustbe kept secret. '

'Tell me where he lies. ' She spoke with eagerness. 'I swear none shallknow from me!'

Done was impressed by her emotion, and the picture of her sobbing figureprostrate over the body of the outlaw was recalled to his mind. 'Underthe great round boulder above the waterfall to the left, just where theshadow falls at noon, ' he said. 'Better never speak of his death even. Ihave warned Yarra, and I think he will be faithful. '

'You can trust me. ' She paused for a moment falteringly, and thencontinued with an effort and in a low voice: 'I must respect the grave, for in it my heart is buried. More than my heart, ' she continued withpassion--' a part of my very soul. I loved him!' She had made thisconfession, feeling that it was her duty to let Jim know that thetenderness she had felt for him had been swept away in the tide of anoverwhelming love for the other. 

Whatever Done's feelings may have been, neither face nor voice betrayedhim. 'Good-bye, ' he said, and turned away. 

She followed him a few paces, and seized his arm. 

'You are not going with unkindness in your heart?' she pleaded. 

'No, ' he answered. 'I am very sorry for you. '

'I want your friendship always. '

It is yours. '

He held her hands in his, and noticed that there were tears upon hercheeks. He was certainly sorry for her; it was pitiful to think that hernew happiness had been wrecked in this way, but he could not overcome thecoldness that was about him; and so they parted on the spot where a fewmonths earlier Jim had said good-bye with a heart full of love andlonging. 

XXIV

A BITTER time followed with Jim Done. He had rejoined Harry Peetree atBlanket Flat, and continued working there; but his strength returnedslowly, and the joy of life had fled from his heart again, leaving himmore miserable than he had been as a youth in his native village. Inthose days his resentments helped to sustain him; he took pride in thespirit with which he faced the enmity of the people, and not a littlecomfort came to him from the egotism he had cultivated as a refuge fromthe common contempt. Now the fighting spirit was gone all hatred had gonewith it, and his self-confidence had degenerated. For a few weeks afterRyder's death he made a deliberate effort to stir himself into a state ofpassionate revolt, dwelling long upon the barbarous sufferings hisbrother had endured, drawing upon his affection for Mike Burton tostimulate his fading emotions; but he failed to lift himself out of theslough of despond into which he had fallen. 

Jim fled from his nurses too early, and the trials he subsequentlyendured served to retard his restoration. He had pretty good health, without either strength of body or spirit. Half an hour's work at thewindlass wearied him, and this weariness irritated him with a dull, abiding anger. He spent much of his time when not at work lying on hisbunk. The life on the field was not different from that which haddelighted him at Diamond Gully; there was the same cheerfulness amongstthe men, the shanties flared at night, and the diggers roared, andgambled, and drank with no less enthusiasm. He alone was changed. 

These moods and the manner of life he was leading fostered a mostunhealthy habit of introspection. He was for ever examining his emotions. He thought much about Lucy Woodrow, and of the love he had borne her, butwithout sorrow for the loss of her. He tried to account for the fact thatthere was no grief in his heart on Lucy's accounts whilst keeping Aurorajealously in the background. He was unconsciously dishonest to himself inthese self-examinings, and one day this dawned upon him. He laughed overthe discovery, laughed aloud at himself, but the amusement was grim. 

'So, then, it is Aurora I need after all, ' he said in satiricalsoliloquy, 'and my soul has been playing the hypocrite these few weeks. What a marvel of constancy is man! Lucy is lost to me, and secretly thebaffled heart sneaks back to the other love. '

Behind all this was a fretful longing for the past happiness to which thenew country, the new conditions, Aurora Mike, and his own aboundingvitality, had contributed. He shunned the conditions, and was angrybecause the object eluded him. Done, in his sick desire to know himselfceased to be truly himself. Had he been content with the fact that heloved Aurora and needed her--needed her love, her beauty, her finejoyousness and splendid vitality--the rest would have been easy. 

He had written from Ballarat to Mike Burton's family in New South Wales, and at about this time there came a letter from a relative, asking hisassistance in Melbourne to secure the money lying to Burton's credit inthe bank. Jim went to Melbourne, and a quiet trip and the change improvedhim considerably. When he returned again there was a letter from MaryKyley, It was brief:

'DEAR JIMMY, 'We are at Tarrangower. Joy is back with us, well and strong again, andas pretty as a picture; but the mischief is she doesn't forget the boywho isn't fit to kiss the boots she wears--meaning your self, you scamp!'Tisn't a far ride! Maybe you'll come one of these fine Sundays. 

'Your middle-aged friend, 'MARY KYLEY. '

Jim spent nearly three days over that letter, and then determination camesuddenly on top of much contrary argument. He would go. No sooner had hemade up his mind than a consuming eagerness to see Aurora seized him. Allother considerations were lost. He must go at once, take her in his arms, plead with her with all the fervour of his heart, compel her with everyargument love could advance, beseech her with all the humility of theconquered to be his wife. 

Now his love of Lucy appeared as a mere aberration. His overwhelmingeagerness for life, for new faces, scenes, sensations, had whirled himfrom the true path of his happiness. Thank God, it was not too late! Joyalone was his true mate, his true love, the real need of his being, andhe had never loved her as now. The passion came back upon him like adammed torrent. His impatience made his mate open his eyes in gravewonder. 

'I want to reach Tarrangower before noon to' morrow, Harry, ' he said. 'Can it be done?'

'You could cover the distance in 'bout five hours on a decent horse. Butwhat's struck you, ole man?'

'The idea that I've been playing the melancholy fool. I've beenquestioning life, bargaining with it like a suspicious huckster--suspecting, doubting, rejecting, instead of opening wide my arms andtaking the good to me wherever it offered. '

'I dunno what you're drivin' at, Jim; but if it means you're goin' tocheer up I'm all-fired glad to hear it. You've been as miserable as adingo in a springer since Eureka. '

'It means that, Harry. Can we get horses?'

'We--meanin' me too?'

'Yes; you'll come with me? I don't know the lay of the country, and Imust go. '

'Oh, I'll go fast enough. You can get horses from Croker, but they'llcost you a bite. '

This was on Saturday. Jim was in Tarrangower an hour before noon onSundays The first digger they met directed them to Mary Kyley's tent. Mary was busy preparing dinner, but dropped everything, and rushed at thevisitors, half' smothering Jim in a motherly hug. 

'Murder! you're looking peeky and thin, Jimmy!' she cried. 

'Never mind me, Mrs. Ben; I'm all right. Where's Joy?'

'She's gone for a bit of a walk in the sun. '

'Could I find her?'

'Deuce take your impatience! This isn't flattering to me!'

'Harry will comfort you. I want Aurora, and I want her badly. If shedoesn't want me, you'd better have left me to die when I had the goodchance down there at Eureka, Mary Kyley. '

'That's good to hear. On my soul, I like the ring of it! Keep round thebend of the hill to the left. You'll see her among the saplings. '

He found her within a few minutes. Seeing her in the distance, he ranlike a schoolboy, and arrived at her side breathless. She was sitting ona log; her hat was at her feet. She was radiant with health and colouragain. It seemed to him that she had a peculiar affinity with thesunshine. He sank on his knees, seizing her hands, speaking nothing, seeking a verdict in her face. She slipped her hands from his and claspedthem about his neck, and her face sank down to his. 

'Oh, ma bouthal, you have come back to me, ' she murmured. 

'Yes, I've come back, Joy he said hoarsely. 

'And with the true light in eyes. '

'With my soul full of love for you, my Joy. '

'And the other?'

'There is no other! There never was another! There was a childishwaywardness, a summer madness--God knows what! But I know now Joy, thatyou are mistress and master of me, that without you I am worthless. Iwant you, my darling. '

'You have me!--you have me, Jim! Every beat of the heart of me!'

She pressed her face to his, and their first kiss had not the rapture ofthat kiss. In it mingled the old sweet emotions, and new ones born ofsorrow that were sweeter still. 

'I only understood one side of my love for you, ' he said presently. 'Ihad to be taught the rest in a hard school. '

'I knew you would come back to me, sooner or later. You have come soon. '

'You knew?' He looked at her wonderingly for a moment, but the surprisepassed. It only seemed strange that he had not recognised all along howinevitable was his return. 'Now that I have come I go no more, ' he said. 'I cannot spare you from my side. I want the ties. I would clamp you tomy heart with iron if I could. '

'Arrah! 'tis a happy girl I am, Jimmy, ' she whispered. 'Hush! d'ye hearthe song in heart?'

He laughed at the brogue, and pressed his lips amongst her thick hair. 

'I want you for my wife, ' he said. 

She clung to him closely in silence for a moment and then he raised hergently and they walked back to the tent, hand in hand. 

Nearly a year later Mr. And Mrs. Done were in Melbourne together when thePetral sailed for England. Amongst the ship's passengers were Mrs. DonaldMacdougal, her two children, and Lucy Woodrow. Mrs. Macdougal, a wealthyand attractive widow, had sold Boobyalla, and intended to make her homein England. Lucy was still her companion, and, bidding them farewell, Jimwas glad to know that the girl was well and not unhappy. 

Jim and Aurora followed the rushes for some years after their marriage, and when they settled down in a substantial house at Ballarat, Done longregretted the canvas walls and the stir and gaiety of the tented fields. 

By this time Ballarat was a prim town of many churches and strongWesleyan proclivities, and Eureka had been justified by the concession ofnearly all that the diggers fought for. One-armed Peter Lalor was a staidParliamentarian and a stout Constitutionalist now, and the grave in whichMicah Burton and the other rebels lay buried was an honoured spot. But bythis time, too, new interests had been born into Done's life, newexistences had been incorporated with his own, and he had a quaintfellowship with the youngsters, for in his heart remained a sneakingdelight in the folly that is the scorn of fools. There were people whocalled Joy a hoyden at forty, but she retained the invincible soul of thewoman who laughs. 

THE END