She jumped up from her chair, which was close to his bed, and as she did so just touched his hand with hers. It was involuntary on her part, having come of instinct rather than will, and she withdrew herself instantly. The hand she had touched belonged to the arm that was not hurt, and he put it out after her, and caught her by the sleeve as she was retreating. "Oh, Mr. Medlicot, you must not do that; you will hurt yourself if you move in that way."

And so she escaped, and left the room, and did not see him again till the doctor had gone from Gangoil.

The bone had been broken simply as other bones are broken; it was now set, and the sufferer was, of course, told that he must rest. He had suggested that he should be taken home, and the Heathcotes had concurred with the doctor in asserting that no proposition could be more absurd. He had intended to eat his Christmas dinner at Gangoil, and he must now pass his entire Christmas there.

"The sugar can go on very well for ten days," Harry had said. "I'll go over myself and see about the men, and I'll fetch your mother over."

To this, however, Mrs. Heathcote had demurred successfully. "You'll kill yourself, Harry, if you go on like this," she said.

Bender, therefore, was sent in the buggy for the old lady, and at last Harry Heathcote consented to go to bed.

"My belief is, I shall sleep for a week," he said, as he turned in. But he didn't begin his sleep quite at once. "I am very glad I went into Maryborough," he said to his wife, rising up from his pillow. "I've sworn an information against Nokes and two of the Brownbies, and the police will be after them this afternoon. They won't catch Nokes, and they can't convict the other fellows. But it will be something to clear the country of such a fellow, and something also to let them know that detection is possible."

"Do sleep now, dear." she said.

"Yes, I will; I mean to. But look here, Mary; if any of the police should come here, mind you wake me at once. And, Mary, look here; do you know I shouldn't be a bit surprised if that fellow was to be making up to Kate."

Mrs. Heathcote, with some little inward chuckle at her husband's assumed quickness of apprehension, reminded herself that the same idea had occurred to her some time ago. Mrs. Heathcote gave her husband full credit for more than ordinary intelligence in reference to affairs appertaining to the breeding of sheep and the growing of wool, but she did not think highly of his discernment in such an affair as this. She herself had been much quicker. When she first saw Mr. Medlicot, she had felt it a godsend that such a man, with the look of a gentleman, and unmarried, should come into the neighborhood; and, in so feeling, her heart had been entirely with her sister. For herself it mattered nothing who came or did not come, or whether a man were a bachelor, or possessed of a wife and a dozen children. All that a girl had a right to want was a good husband. She was quite satisfied with her own lot in that respect, but she was anxious enough on behalf of Kate. And when a young man did come, who might make matters so pleasant for them, Harry quarreled with him because he was a free-selector. "A free fiddle-stick!" she had once said to Kate—not, however, communicating to her innocent sister the ambition which was already filling her own bosom. "Harry does take things up so—as though people weren't to live, some in one way and some in another! As far as I can see, Mr. Medlicot is a very nice fellow." Kate had remarked that he was "all very well," and nothing more had been said.

But Mrs. Heathcote, in spite of Harry's aversion, had formed her little project—a project which, if then declared, would have filled Harry with dismay. And now the young aristocrat, as he turned himself in his bed, made the suggestion to his wife as though it were all his own!

"I never like to think much of these things beforehand," she said, innocently.

"I don't know about thinking," said Harry; "but a girl might do worse. If it should come up, don't set yourself against it."

"Kate, of course, will please herself," said Mrs. Heathcote. "Now do lie down and rest yourself."

His rest, however, was not of long duration. As he had himself suggested, two policemen reached Gangoil at about three in the afternoon, on their way from Maryborough to Boolabong, in order that they might take Mr. Medlicot's deposition. After Heathcote's departure it had occurred to Sergeant Forrest of the police—and the suggestion, having been transferred from the sergeant to the stipendiary magistrate, was now produced with magisterial sanction— that, after all, there was no evidence against the Brownbies. They had simply interfered to prevent the burning of the grass on their own run, and who could say that they had committed any crime by doing so? If Medlicot had seen Nokes with a lighted branch in his hand, the matter might be different with him; and therefore Medlicot's deposition was taken. He had sworn that he had seen Nokes drag his lighted torch along the ground; he had also seen other horsemen—two or three, as he thought—but could not identify them. Jacko's deposition was also taken as to the man who had been heard and seen in the wool-shed at night. Jacko was ready to swear point-blank that the man was Nokes. The policemen suggested that, as the night was dark, Jacko might as well allow a shade of doubt to appear, thinking that the shade of doubt would add strength to the evidence. But Jacko was not going to be taught what sort of oath he should swear.

"My word!" he said. "Didn't I see his leg move? You go away."

Armed with these depositions, the two constables went on to Boolabong in search of Nokes, and of Nokes only, much to the chagrin of Harry, who declared that the police would never really bestir themselves in a squatter's cause. "As for Nokes, he'll be out of Queensland by this time to-morrow."



CHAPTER XI.

SERGEANT FORREST.

The Brownbie party returned, after their midnight raid, in great discomfiture to Boolabong. Their leader, Jerry, was burned about his hands and face in a disagreeable and unsightly manner. Joe had hardly made good that character for "fighting it out to the end" for which he was apt to claim credit. Boscobel was altogether disconcerted by his fall. And Nokes, who had certainly shown no aptitude for the fray, was abused by them all as having caused their retreat by his cowardice; while Sing Sing, the runaway cook, who knew that he had forfeited his wages at Gangoil, was forced to turn over in his heathenish mind the ill effects of joining the losing side. "You big fool, Bos," he said more than once to his friend the woodsman, who had lured him away from the comforts of Gangoil. "I'll punch your head, John, if you don't hold your row," Boscobel would reply. But Sing Sing went on with his reproaches, and, before they had reached Boolabong, Boscobel had punched the Chinaman's head.

"You're not coming in here," Jerry said to Nokes, when they reached the yard gate.

"Who wants to come in? I suppose you're not going to send a fellow on without a bit of grub after such a night's work?"

"Give him some bread and meat, Jack, and let him go on. There'll be somebody here after him before long. He can't hurt us; but I don't want people to think that we are so fond of him that we can't do without harboring him here. Georgie, you'll go too, if you take my advice. That young cur will send the police here as sure as my name is Brownbie, and, if they once get hold of you, they'll have a great many things to talk to you about."

Georgie grumbled when he heard this, but he knew that the advice given him was good, and he did not attempt to enter the house. So Nokes and he vanished, away into the bush together—as such men do vanish—wandering forth to live as the wild beasts live. It was still a dark night when they went, and the remainder of the party took themselves to their beds.

On the following afternoon they were lying about the house, sometimes sleeping, and sometimes waking up to smoke, when the two policemen, who had already been at Gangoil, appeared in the yard. These men were dressed in flat caps, with short blue jackets, hunting breeches, and long black boots—very unlike any policemen in the old country, and much more picturesque. They leisurely tied their horses up, as though they had been in the habit of making weekly visits to the place, and walked round to the veranda.

"Well, Mr. Brownbie, and how are you?" said the sergeant to the old man.

The head of the family was gracious, and declared himself to be pretty well, considering all things. He called the sergeant by his name, and asked the men whether they'd take a bit of something to eat. Joe also was courteous, and, after a little delay in getting a key from his brother, brought out the jar of spirits, which, in the bush, is regarded as the best sign known of thorough good-breeding. The sergeant said that he didn't mind if he did; and the other man, of course, followed his officer's example.

So far every thing was comfortable, and the constables seemed in no hurry to allude to disagreeable subjects. They condescended to eat a bit of cold meat before they proceeded to business. And at last the matter to be discussed was first introduced by one of the Brownbie family.

"I suppose you've heard that there was a scrimmage here last night," said Joe. The Brownbie party present consisted of the old man, Joe and Jack Brownbie, and Boscobel, Jerry keeping himself in the background because of his disfigurement. The sergeant, as he swallowed his food, acknowledged that he had heard something about it. "And that's what brings you here," continued Joe.

"There ain't nothing wrong here," said old Brownbie.

"I hope not, Mr. Brownbie," said the sergeant. "I hope not. We haven't got any thing against you, at any rate." Sergeant Forrest was a graduate of Oxford, the son of an English clergyman, who, having his way to make in the world, had thought that an early fortune would be found in the colonies. He had come out, had failed, had suffered some very hard things, and now, at the age of thirty-five, enjoyed life thoroughly as a sergeant of the colonial police.

"You haven't got any thing against anybody here, I should think?" said Joe.

"If you want to get them as begun it," said Jack, "and them as ought to be took up, you'll go to Gangoil."

"Hold your tongue, Jack," said his brother. "Sergeant Forrest knows where to go better than you can tell him."

Then the sergeant asked a string of questions as to the nature of the fight; who had been hurt; and how badly had any body been hurt; and what other harm had been done. The answers to all these questions were given with a fair amount of truth, except that the little circumstance of the origin of the fire was not explained. Both Boscobel and Joe had seen the torch put down, but it could hardly have been expected that they should have been explicit as to such a detail as that. Nor did they mention the names of either their brother George or Nokes.

"And who was there in the matter?" asked the sergeant.

"There was young Heathcote, and a boy he has got there, and the two chaps as he calls boundary rulers, and Medlicot, the sugar fellow from the mill, and a chap of Medlicot's I never set eyes on before. They must have expected something to be up, or Heathcote would not have been going about at night with a tribe of men like that."

"And who were your party?"

"Well, there were just ourselves, four of us, for Georgie was here, and this fellow Boscobel. Georgie never stays long, and he wouldn't be welcome if he did. He turned up just by chance like, and now he's off again."

"That was all, eh?"

Of course they all knew that the sergeant knew that Nokes had been with them. "Well, then, that wasn't all," said old Brownbie. "Bill Nokes was here, whom Heathcote dismissed ever so long ago, and that Chinese cook of his. He dismissed him too, I suppose. And he dismissed Boscobel here."

"No one can live at Gangoil any time," said Jack. "Every body knows that. He wants to be lord a'mighty over every thing. But he ain't going to be lord a'mighty at Boolabong."

"And he ain't going to burn our grass either," said Joe. "It's like his impudence coming on to our ran and burning every thing before him. He calls hisself a magistrate, but he's not to do just as he pleases because he's a magistrate. I suppose we can swear against him for lighting our grass, sergeant? There isn't one of us that didn't see him do it."

"And where is Nokes?" asked the sergeant, paying no attention to the application made by Mr. Brownbie, junior, for redress to himself.

"Well," said Joe, "Nokes isn't any where about Boolabong."

"He's away with your brother George?"

"I shouldn't wonder," said Joe.

"It's a serious matter lighting a fire, you know," said the sergeant. "A man would have to swing for it."

"Then why isn't young Heathcote to swing?" demanded Jack.

"There is such a thing as intent, you know. When Heathcote lighted the fire, where would the fire have gone if he hadn't kept putting it out as fast as he kept lighting it? On to his own run, not to yours. And where would the other fire have gone which somebody lit, and which nobody put out, if he hadn't been there to stop it? The less you say against Heathcote the better. So Nokes is off, is he?"

"He ain't here, anyways," said Joe. "When the row was over, we wouldn't let him in. We didn't want him about here."

"I dare say not," said the sergeant. "Now let me go and see the spot where the fight was." So the two policemen, with the two young Brownbies, rode away, leaving Boscobel with the old man.

"He knows every thing about it," said old Brownbie.

"If he do," said Boscobel, "it ain't no odds."

"Not a ha'porth of odds," said Jerry, coming out of his hiding-place. "Who cares what he knows? A man may do what he pleases on his own run, I suppose."

"He mayn't light a fire as 'll spread," said the old man.

"Bother! Who's to prove what's in a man's mind? If I'd been Nokes, I'd have staid and seen it out. I'd never be driven about the colony by such a fellow as Heathcote, with all the police in the world to back him."

Sergeant Forrest inspected the ground on which the fire had raged, and the spot on which the men had met; but nothing came of his inspection, and he had not expected that any thing would come of it. He could see exactly where the fire had commenced, and could trace the efforts that had been made to stop it. He did not in the least doubt the way in which it had been lit. But he did very much doubt whether a jury could find Nokes guilty, even if he could catch Nokes. Jacko's evidence was worth nothing, and Mr. Medlicot might be easily mistaken as to what he had seen at a distance in the middle of the night.

All this happened on Christmas-day. At about nine o'clock the same evening the two constables re-appeared at Gangoil, and asked for hospitality for the night. This was a matter of course, and also the reproduction of the Christmas dinner. Mrs. Medlicot was now there, and her son, with his collar-bone set, had been allowed to come out on to the veranda. The house had already been supposed to be full, but room, as a matter of course, was made for Sergeant Forrest and his man. "It's a queer sort of Christmas we've all been having, Mr. Heathcote," said the sergeant, as the remnant of a real English plum- pudding was put between him and his man by Mrs. Growler.

"A little hotter than it is at home, eh?"

"Indeed it is. You must have had it hot last night, Sir."

"Very hot, sergeant. We had to work uncommonly hard to do it as well as we did."

"It was not a nice Christmas game, Sir, was it?"

"Eh, me!" said Mrs. Medlicot. "There's nae Christmas games or ony games here at all, except just worrying and harrying, like sae many dogs at each other's throats."

"And you think nothing more can be done?" Harry asked.

"I don't think we shall catch the men. When they get out backward, it's very hard to trace them. He's got a horse of his own with him, and he'll be beyond reach of the police by this time to-morrow. Indeed, he's beyond their reach now. However, you'll have got rid of him."

"But there are others as bad as he left behind. I wouldn't trust that fellow Boscobel a yard."

"He won't stir, Sir. He belongs to this country, and does not want to leave it. And when a thing has been tried like that and has failed, the fellows don't try it again. They are cowed like by their own failure. I don't think you need fear fire from the Boolabong side again this summer."

After this the sergeant and his man discreetly allowed themselves to be put to bed in the back cottage; for in truth, when they arrived, things had come to such a pass at Gangoil that the two additional visitors were hardly welcome. But hospitality in the bush can be stayed by no such considerations as that. Let their employments or enjoyments on hand be what they may, every thing must yield to the entertainment of strangers. The two constables were in want of their Christmas dinner, and it was given to them with no grudging hand.

As to Nokes, we may say that he has never since appeared in the neighborhood of Gangoil, and that none thereabouts ever knew what was his fate. Men such as he wander away from one colony into the next, passing from one station to another, or sleeping on the ground, till they become as desolate and savage as solitary animals. And at last they die in the bush, creeping, we may suppose, into hidden nooks, as the beasts do when the hour of death comes on them.



CHAPTER XII.

CONCLUSION.

The constables had started from Gangoil, on their way to Boolabong, a little after four, and from that time till he was made to get out of bed for his dinner Harry Heathcote was allowed to sleep. He had richly earned his rest by his work, and he lay motionless, without a sound, in the broad daylight, with his arm under his head, dreaming, no doubt, of some happy squatting land, in which there were no free- selectors, no fires, no rebellious servants, no floods, no droughts, no wild dogs to worry the lambs, no grass seeds to get into the fleeces, and in which the price of wool stood steady at two shillings and sixpence a pound. His wife from time to time came into the room, shading the light from his eyes, protecting him from the flies, and administering in her soft way to what she thought might be his comforts. His sleep was of the kind which no light, nor even flies, can interrupt. Once or twice she stooped down and kissed his brow, but he was altogether unconscious of her caress.

During this time old Mrs. Medlicot arrived; but her coming did not awake the sleeper, though it was by no means made in silence. The old woman sobbed and cried over her son, at the same time expressing her thankfulness that he should have turned up in the forest so exactly at the proper moment, evidently taking part in the conviction that her Giles had saved Gangoil and all its sheep. And then there were all the necessary arrangements to be made for the night, in accordance with which almost every body had to give up his or her bed and sleep somewhere else. But nothing disturbed Harry. For the present he was allowed to occupy his own room, and he enjoyed the privilege.

Kate Daly during this time was much disturbed in mind. The reader may remember—Kate, at any rate, remembered well—that, just as the doctor had arrived to set his broken bone, Mr. Medlicot, disabled as he was, had attempted to take her by the arm. He had certainly chosen an odd time for a declaration of love, just the moment in which he ought to have been preparing himself for the manipulation of his fractured limb; but, unless he had meant a declaration of love, surely he would not have seized her by the arm. It was a matter to her of great moment. Oh, of what vital importance! The English girl living in a town, or even in what we call the country, has no need to think of any special man till some special man thinks of her. Men are fairly plentiful, and if one man does not come, another will. And there have probably been men coming and going in some sort since the girl left her school-room and became a young lady. But in the bush the thing is very different. It may be that there is no young man available within fifty miles—no possible lover or future husband, unless Heaven should interfere almost with a miracle. To those to whom lovers are as plentiful as blackberries it may seem indelicate to surmise that the thought of such a want should ever enter a girl's head. I doubt whether the defined idea of any want had ever entered poor Kate's head. But now that the possible lover was there—not only possible, but very probable—and so eligible in many respects, living so close, with a house over his head and a good business; and then so handsome, and, as Kate thought, so complete a gentleman! Of course she turned it much in her mind. She was very happy with Harry Heathcote. There never was a brother-in-law so good! But, after all, what is a brother-in-law, though he be the very best? Kate had already begun to fancy that a house of her own and a husband of her own would be essential to her happiness. But then a man can not be expected to make an offer with a broken collar-bone—certainly can not do so just when the doctor has arrived to set the bone.

Late on in the day, when the doctor had gone, and Medlicot was, according to instructions, sitting out on the veranda in an armchair, and his mother was with him, and while Harry was sleeping as though he never meant to be awake again, Kate managed to say a few words to her sister. It will be understood that the ladies' hands were by no means empty. The Christmas dinner was in course of preparation, and Sing Sing, that villainous Chinese cook, had absconded. Mrs. Growler, no doubt, did her best; but Mrs. Growler was old and slow, and the house was full of guests. It was by no means an idle time; but still Kate found an opportunity to say a word to her sister in the kitchen.

"What do you think of him, Mary?"

To the married sister "him" would naturally mean Harry Heathcote, of whom, as he lay asleep, the young wife thought that he was the very perfection of patriarchal pastoral manliness; but she knew enough of human nature to be aware that the "him" of the moment to her sister was no longer her own husband. "I think he has got his arm broken fighting for Harry, and that we are bound to do the best we can for him."

"Oh yes; that's of course. I'm sure Harry will feel that. He used, you know, to—to—that is, not just to like him, because he is a free-selector."

"They'll drop all that now. Of course they could not be expected to know each other at the first starting. I shouldn't wonder if they became regular friends."

"That would be nice! After all, though you may be so happy at home, it is better to have something like a neighbor. Don't you think so?"

"It depends on who the neighbors are. I don't care much for the Brownbies."

"They are quite different, Mary."

"I like the Medlicots very much."

"I consider he's quite a gentleman," said Kate.

"Of course he's a gentleman. Look here, Kate—I shall be ready to welcome Mr. Medlicot as a brother-in-law, if things should turn out that way."

"I didn't mean that, Mary."

"Did you not? Well, you can mean it if you please, as far as I am concerned. Has he said any thing to you, dear?"

"No."

"Not a word?"

"I don't know what you call a word; not a word of that kind."

"I thought, perhaps—"

"I think he meant it once—this morning."

"I dare say he meant it. And if he meant it this morning, he won't have forgotten his meaning to-morrow."

"There's no reason why he should mean it, you know."

"None in the least, Kate; is there?"

"Now you're laughing at me, Mary. I never used to laugh at you when Harry was coming. I was so glad, and I did every thing I could."

"Yes, you went away and left us in the Botanical Gardens. I remember. But, you see, there are no Botanical Gardens here; and the poor man couldn't walk about if there were."

"I wonder what Harry would say if it were to be so."

"Of course he'd be glad—for your sake."

"But he does so despise free-selectors! And then he used to think that Mr. Medlicot was quite as bad as the Brownbies. I wouldn't marry any one to be despised by you and Harry."

"That's all gone by, my dear," said the wife, feeling that she had to apologize for her husband's prejudices. "Of course one has to find out what people are before one takes them to one's bosom. Mr. Medlicot has acted in the most friendly way about these fires, and I'm sure Harry will never despise him any more."

"He couldn't have done more for a real brother than have his arm broken."

"But you must remember one thing, Kate, Mr. Medlicot is very nice, and like a gentleman, and all that. Bat you never can be quite certain about any man till he speaks out plainly. Don't set your heart upon him till you are quite sure that he has set his upon you."

"Oh no," said Kate, giving her maidenly assurance when it was so much too late! Just at this moment Mrs. Growler came into the kitchen, and Kate's promises and her sister's cautions were for the moment silenced.

"How we're to manage to get the dinner on the table, I for one don't know at all," said Mrs. Growler. "There's Mr. Bates'll be here; that will be six of 'em; and that Mr. Medlicot will want somebody to do every thing for him, because he's been and got hisself smashed. And there's the old lady has just come out from home, and is as particular as any thing. And Mr. Harry himself never thinks of things at all. One pair of hands, and them very old, can't do every thing for every body." All of which was very well understood to mean nothing at all.

Household deficiencies—and, indeed, all deficiencies—are considerable or insignificant in accordance with the aspirations of those concerned. When a man has a regiment of servants in his dining- room, with beautifully cut glass, a forest of flowers, and an iceberg in the middle of his table if the weather be hot, his guests will think themselves ill used and badly fed if aught in the banquet be astray. There must not be a rose leaf ruffled; a failure in the attendance, a falling off in a dish, or a fault in the wine is a crime. But the same guests shall be merry as the evening is long with a leg of mutton and whisky toddy, and will change their own plates, and clear their own table, and think nothing wrong, if from the beginning such has been the intention of the giver of the feast. In spite of Mrs. Growler's prognostications, though the cook had absconded, and the chief guest of the occasion could not cut up his own meat, that Christmas dinner at Gangoil was eaten with great satisfaction.

Harry had been so far triumphant. He had stopped the fire that was intended to ruin him, he had beaten off his enemies on their own ground, and he was no longer oppressed by that sense of desolation which had almost overpowered him.

"We'll give one toast, Mrs. Medlicot," he said, when Mrs. Growler and Kate between them had taken away the relics of the plum-pudding. "Our friends at home!"

The poor lady drank the toast with a sob. "That's vera weel for you, Mr. Heathcote. You're young, and will win your way hame, and see auld friends again, nae doubt; but I'll never see ane of them mair, except those I have here." Nevertheless, the old lady ate her dinner and drank her toddy, and made much of the occasion, going in and out to her son upon the veranda.

Soon after dinner Heathcote, as was his wont, strayed out with his prime minister Bates to consult on the dangers which might be supposed still to threaten his kingdom, and Mrs. Heathcote, with her youngest boy in her lap, sat talking to Mrs. Medlicot in the parlor. Such was not her custom in weather such as this. Kate had been sent out on to the veranda, with special commands to attend to the wants of the sufferer, and Mrs. Heathcote would have followed her had she not remembered her sister's appeal, "I did every thing I could for you."

In those happy days Kate had been very good, and certainly deserved requital for her services. And therefore, when the men had gone out, Mrs. Heathcote, with her guest, remained in the warm room, and went so far as to suggest that at that period of the day the room was preferable to the veranda. Poor Mrs. Medlicot was new to the ways of the bush, and fell into the trap; thus Kate Daly was left alone with her wounded hero.

When told to take him out his glass of wine, and when conscious that no one followed her, she felt herself to have been guilty of some great sin, and was almost tempted to escape. She had asked her sister for help; and this was the help that was forth-coming—help so palpable, so manifest, as to be almost indelicate! Would he think that plans were being made to catch him, now that he was a captive and impotent? The thought that it was possible that such an idea might occur to him was terrible to her. She would rather lose him altogether than feel the stain of such a suggestion on her own conscience. She put the glass of wine down on the little table by his side, and then attempted to withdraw.

"Stay a moment with me," he said. "Where are they all?"

"Mary and your mother are inside. Harry and Mr. Bates have gone across to look at the horses."

"I almost feel as though I could walk, too."

"You must not think of it yet, Mr. Medlicot. It seems almost a wonder that you shouldn't have to be in bed, and you with your collar-bone broken only last night! I don't know how you can bear it as you do."

"I shall be so glad I broke it, if one thing will come about."

"What thing?" asked Kate, blushing.

"Kate—may I call you Kate?"

"I don't know," she said.

"You know I love you, do you not? You must know it. Dearest Kate, can you love me and be my wife?" His left arm was bound up, and was in a sling, but he put out his right hand to take hers, if she would give it to him. Kate Daly had never had a lover before, and felt the occasion to be trying. She had no doubt about the matter. If it were only proper for her to declare herself, she could swear with a safe conscience that she loved him better than all the world.

"Put your hand here, Kate," he said.

As the request was not exactly for the gift of her hand, she placed it in his.

"May I keep it now?"

She could only whisper something which was quite inaudible, even to him.

"I shall keep it, and think that you are all my own. Stoop down, Kate, and kiss me, if you love me."

She hesitated for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts. She did love him, and was his own; still, to stoop and kiss a man who, if such a thing were to be allowed at all, ought certainly to kiss her! She did not think she could do that. But then she was bound to protect him, wounded and broken as he was, from his own imprudence; and if she did not stoop to him, he would rise to her. She was still in doubt, still standing with her hand in his, half bending over him, but yet half resisting as she bent, when, all suddenly, Harry Heathcote was on the veranda, followed by the two policemen, who had just returned from Boolabong. She was sure that Harry had seen her, and was by no means sure that she had been quick enough in escaping from her lover's hand to have been unnoticed by the policemen also. She fled away as though guilty, and could hardly recover herself sufficiently to assist Mrs. Growler in producing the additional dinner which was required.

The two men were quickly sent to their rest, as has been told before; and Harry, who had in truth seen how close to his friend his sister- in-law had been standing, would, had it been possible, have restored the lovers to their old positions; but they were all now on the veranda, and it was impossible. Kate hung back, half in and half out of the sitting-room, and old Mrs. Medlicot had seated herself close to her son. Harry was lying at full length on a rug, and his wife was sitting over him. Then Giles Medlicot, who was not quite contented with the present condition of affairs, made a little speech.

"Mrs. Heathcote," he said, "I have asked your sister to marry me."

"Dearie me, Giles," said Mrs. Medlicot.

Kate remained no longer half in and half out of the parlor, but retreated altogether and hid herself. Harry turned himself over on the rug, and looked up at his wife, claiming infinite credit in that be had foreseen that such a thing might happen.

"And what answer has she given you?" said Mrs. Heathcote.

"She hasn't given me any answer yet. I wonder what you and Heathcote would say about it?"

"What Kate has to say is much more important," replied the discreet sister.

"I should like it of all things," said Harry, jumping up. "It's always best to be open about these things. When you first came here, I didn't like you. You took a bit of my river frontage—not that it does me any great harm—and then I was angry about that scoundrel Nokes."

"I was wrong about Nokes," said Medlicot, "and have, therefore, had my collar-bone broken. As to the land, you'll forgive my having it if Kate will come and live there?"

"By George! I should think so.—Kate, why don't you come out? Come along, my girl. Medlicot has spoken out openly, and you should answer him in the same fashion." So saying, he dragged her forth, and I fear that, as far as she was concerned, something of the sweetness of her courtship was lost by the publicity with which she was forced to confess her love. "Will you go, Kate, and make sugar down at the mill? I have often thought how bad it would be for Mary and me when you were taken away; but we sha'n't mind it so much if we knew that you are to be near us."

"Speak to him, Kate," said Mrs. Heathcote, with her arm round her sister's waist.

"I think she's minded to have him," said Mrs. Medlicot.

"Tell me, Kate—shall it be so?" pleaded the lover.

She came up to him and leaned over him, and whispered one word which nobody else heard. But they all knew what the word was. And before they separated for the night she was left alone with him, and he got the kiss for which he was asking when the policemen interrupted them.

"That's what I call a happy Christmas," said Harry, as the party finally parted for the night.

THE END.