ly as any of the rough men who had been invited
to meet Dick, and listen to the news after his short absence from the
settlement. In the early dawn, the company broke up, and left the log
building, making, as they went to their several homes, the still,
fragrant air resonant with snatches of ribald song and coarse jest.

Dick threw himself upon a settle and was soon sleeping heavily; but John
staggered out of the noisome atmosphere, and leaned against the
framework of the door. The cool morning breeze fanned his heated brow,
and the twitter of the birds fell on his dulled ears. The stars had
paled, but the moon shone clear in the blue sky, now fast taking on the
gorgeous hues of the dawn. He stood, unconscious of the beauty of scene
and sound around him, till the echoes of his late companions' unhallowed
mirth had died away. Then there came to him, as there always did at such
times, the thought of Ruth. What would she say to see him now? Yet,
deeply though he had fallen, John would have given worlds, if he had
possessed them, to have stood in her presence at that moment with
drooping head, and confessed all his weakness and misery, and begged her
to forgive him, and help him to retrieve the bitter past.

"Oh, Ruth, you took the pledge for my sake, and now, if you were only
here, I'd take it for my own sake and yours too," groaned John.

It was only the fancy of a heated imagination, of course, but just then,
as the first ray of the rising sun glanced through the forest clearing,
and fell at his feet, he felt himself looking down into Ruth's upturned,
pleading eyes; her hand lay on his arm, and her voice said: "For my
sake, John, take it now!" He started, as if from a dream, and looked
round. No apparition melted into morning mist, no human form was yet
stirring, but, with a strange, mingled sense of awe and gladness, John
said:

"Bless you, my Ruthie, I will, for your sake! You shall never have cause
to be ashamed of me again!"

Then he turned indoors, and, throwing himself down beside his brother,
was soon fast asleep.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER VIII.

A HAPPY ENDING.

"YOU skulking good-for-nothing greenhorn! go and beg on the streets if
you will, for I'll never raise my hand to save you from starvation,"
roared Dick Greenwood, when a few hours later John told him he intended
returning to Melbourne.

"I quite believe that, Dick, for you've done your best to bring me to
it," replied John.

Bu