contained
boxes of sardines, bottles of pickles, and cans of jam. For now, in
their prosperity, they had advanced somewhat beyond the simple plenty of
the frying-pan. It was a difficult letter to write. Should it be
ecstatic and loving, or cold and severe,--or light, and therefore false?
'My own one, here I am. I have struck gold. Come to me and share it.'
That would have been ecstatic and loving.' 'Tis a hard life this, and
not fit for a woman's weakness. But it must be my life--and therefore
let there be an end of all between us.' That would have been cold and
severe. 'How are you, and what are you doing? Dick and I are shoving
along. It isn't half as nice as on board ship. Hope to see you before
long, and am yours,--just the same as ever.' That would have been light
and false,--keeping the word of promise to the ear but breaking it to
the heart. He could not write either of these. He began by describing
what they had done, and had completed two pages before he had said a
word of their peculiar circumstances in regard to each other. He felt
that his letter was running into mere gossip, and was not such as she
would have a right to expect. If any letter were sent at all, there must
be something more in it than all this. And so, after much thinking of
it, he at last rushed, as it were, into hot words, and ended it as
follows: 'I have put off to the last what I have really got to say. Let
me know what you are doing and what you wish,--and whether you love me.
I have not as yet the power of offering you a home, but I trust that the
time may come.' These last words were false. He knew that they were
false. But the falseness was not of a nature to cause him to be ashamed.
It shames no man to swear that he loves a woman when he has ceased to
love her;--but it does shame him to drop off from the love which he has
promised. He balanced the matter in his mind for a while before he would
send his letter. Then, getting up quickly, he rushed forth, and dropped
it into the post-office box.

The very next day chance brought to Ahalala one who had been a
passenger on board the Goldfinder; and the man, hearing of the success
of Shand and Caldigate came to see them. 'Of course you know,' said the
man, 'what your fellow-passenger is doing down at Sydney?' Dick Shand,
who was present, replied that they had heard nothing of any
fellow-passenger. Caldigate understood at once to whom the allusion was
made, and was silent. 'Look here,' said