are large.'

He laughed, only half comprehending, gauche in the expression of his
deep-hearted satisfaction.

'One thousand square miles, two thirds of it fair grazing country in
good seasons, and will be first-rate when I've worked out my artesian
bore system. Plenty of space there for a woman to swing her petticoats,
in--your riding skirt it'll have to be.'

'There! You see!' she cried. 'COULD one be mean or small in such
conditions? It's glorious, the thought of riding over one thousand
square miles--and tapping Mother Earth for your water supply! It will
be just what I said--a new baptism--a washing in Jordan. But you will
be patient, Colin; promise me that you will be good to me, and not ask
too much--at first.'

There came a note into her voice which intoxicated the man with hope
and joy. But he restrained himself. He would not frighten her again.

'Good to you! Biddy--you know you're sacred to me--I'll do
everything--I'll be as patient as you could wish until you get so used
to me that everything comes naturally. You understand? So long as
you'll trust me and open your heart to me, I'm not afraid that you
won't love me, my dear, in the end.'

'I WANT to love you, Colin.'

She moved a little closer to him and put her hand up, timidly, to his
shoulder. His breath came quickly, but he did not lose his
self-control. He knew that he must go gently with her. She drew her
hand down his coat sleeve and let it rest like a snowflake on his--a
contrast in its smallness and whiteness to the great brown hand
beneath. She looked at that, smiling whimsically, and he saw her smile,
and reddened. But he did not know that she found a pleasure in the
sight of his hand--scrupulously kept, the nails as well trimmed as a
bushman's nails can be, while showing the traces of manual labour.

'How ridiculous they are together!' she said softly 'But I like your
hand, Colin. It's different from the other men's hands.'

He was glad she said 'the other men's,' and not 'the other man's'.
Through all the gusts of passionate tenderness that went out to her,
there was always rankling the thought of 'that other man.'

CHAPTER 3

They had only one more talk, in the real sense, before their marriage,
and that was an unpremeditated but natural outrush of the vague
jealousy which slumbered at the core of McKeith's love. It was on the
last evening, and it made an ineffaceable impression upon him.

They were standing, after dinner