addressee,
while, as the centre of Birralong gossip, he yearned to fathom the
secret of its source, even at the cost of opening it. During all the
years which had elapsed since Slaughter first came upon the scene the
struggle had gone on, and still the mystery was unsolved and the riddle
unread. Never had an occasion offered itself when anything could be
learned from an outside source, and Slaughter himself was too cold and
isolated an individual to be melted into confidence.

To those who gave any thought to the matter it was evident that, save
for the unexpected appearance of outside information, the mystery of
Slaughter's existence prior to his arrival at the Three-mile would
remain unsolved, just as the chilling demeanour with which he surrounded
himself would remain unpenetrated. But in Birralong, as in other parts
of the world, it was the unexpected that happened.

The township one day was profoundly moved by the information, which
passed with the rapidity which is only possible for gossip in a small
community, that the schoolmaster had been struck down and lay dying. No
one was especially surprised at that, for every one knew that he was
suffering from a lung complaint which had not yielded to the influence
of the pure, dry air of the district, and so was bound to carry him off
sooner or later; for, as a travelling medical man had once observed, the
consumptive who did not get well in the eucalyptus-scented air of inland
Australia deserved to die, if only for the perversity of refusing
Nature's kindliest aid! A ruptured blood-vessel certainly assisted in
the collapse of Godson, but it was not even that which so astounded
Birralong.

The sick man, knowing himself to be at death's door, had called for one
thing, pleaded for one thing, prayed for one thing, and that the
presence of Cold-blood Slaughter.

For some time the combined population of Birralong wondered, until,
indeed, Ailleen rushed down from the cottage, where her father lay, to
the roadway in front of the school, where the inhabitants of the
township stood, and taunted them with being heartless cowards and
listless fools to ignore the pleadings of a dying man.

"If you're not man enough to do what he asks," she said fiercely to
Marmot, "you're postmaster, so do your duty and deliver that;" and she
flung at the abashed storekeeper a letter addressed to Slaughter.

Without waiting for his answer, she swung round and ran back to the
cottage, and the