f an earthquake
and the tornado that follows upon it. Then, one day, something happened.

All the men except the Chinamen were out. Moongarr Bill, Ninnis, and
the stockmen on the run, while Maule--a book and a sandwich in his
pocket--had gone herding with Joey Case and one of the extra hands.

A sense of mutual embarrassment had that day driven them apart. He had
been afraid of himself, and she too had felt afraid. During these seven
days she had rushed recklessly on as though impelled by a fatality,
never pausing to consider how near she might be to a precipice.
Whenever possible, she had ridden out with Maule and Ninnis, or with
Maule alone. She found relief from painful thoughts of Colin in the
excitement and emotion with which Maule's society provided her. She
went with him on several occasions behind the tailing-mob, though
ordinarily, she could not endure being at close quarters with cattle.
But it interested her to see Maule ride after and round up the wild
ones that escaped; to watch his splendid horsemanship which had the
flamboyant South-American touch--the suggestion of lariat and lasso and
ornate equipment, the picturesque element lacking in the Bush--all
harmonizing with his deep dark eyes and Southern type of good looks.

To-day, she had preferred to remain at home alone. She had been pulled
up with a startled sense of shock. Last evening when they were walking
together on the veranda he had begun again to make love to her, and in
still more passionate earnest--had held her hands--had tried to kiss
her. She had found herself giving way to the old romantic
intoxication--then had wrenched herself from him only just before the
meeting of lips.

At last, she had realized the strength of the glamour. She fought
against it; nevertheless, in imagination gave herself up to it, as the
opium-smoker or haschisch-eater gives himself up to the insidious
FANTASIA of his drug.

Yes, Bridget thought it was like what she had read of the effects of
some unholy drug--some uncanny form of hypnotism.

For she knew that she did not really love Maule--that her feeling for
him was unwholesome.

There was poison in it acting upon her affection for and trust in her
husband. Maule made subtle insinuations to McKeith's detriment,
injected doubts that rankled. There were no definite charges, though he
would hint sometimes at gossip he had heard in Tunumburra. But he would
convey to her in half words, looks, and tones that he h