d.

"Oh, I thought--yes, it's a shadow," she said, as she walked to the end
of the verandah and, leaning her hands on the rail, looked away into
the distance.

He turned and followed her, and had one of his hands over hers and his
arm ready to put round her.

"Ailleen, you're all alone now. Let me be your----"

"You are always my friend," she answered softly, but without raising her
eyes, and with a barely perceptible movement away from him.

The arm that was ready was around and restrained her, and her hand he
was clasping was pressed to his breast.

"More than that, Ailleen."

She turned her head quickly, and looked at him with a flash in her eyes
as she disengaged her hand and stepped away.

"It will be less than that," she retorted quickly; and he, shamefaced
and repulsed, stood hesitating what to do--and so failed. "I am
perfectly comfortable here," she went on rapidly, lest he should recover
his wits and renew an attack she knew she could not withstand. "Mrs.
Dickson is very kind, and I've got my horse and all that I want; and
besides, I can do a lot for her, and I'm not like I should be if I
stayed with any one at Birralong."

He stood awkwardly, looking at her now that her eyes were no longer
turned upon him, and wondering, in a dim, uncertain way, whether she was
angered at the overtures he had made, or annoyed because he stopped when
he did. She, half regretting her brusqueness, feared she had offended
him, as he made no apparent effort to speak.

"And you have found gold," she went on, anxious that silence should not
come between them at that moment. "Tell me all about it. Was it in the
creek where they said it was--Boulder Creek, wasn't it?"

"Boulder Creek's down the gully beyond the Flat," he answered
mechanically; for the mistake in locality was one she ought not to have
made, and a young bushman is jealous of the landmarks that he knows.

"Oh, of course. How silly of me! It was Boulder Creek where----"

She stopped in time to avoid a reference to a bygone episode which would
not be too pleasant at that moment.

"Where Dickson threw my stirrup-irons and I made him go in after them,"
he said, finishing the sentence for her, and in a tone of voice which
showed that resentment was slowly taking the place of the uneasiness at
his discomfiture.

"Poor Willy! You always were quarrelling, you two. Why can't you be
friends? I'm sure he is good-natured enough."

Resentment was quickly re-inforc