coach accident. It would give me great pleasure if you would
come and stay here next Saturday, as I suppose you will be passing down
this way to the Court at Ballarook. With best wishes,

Yours truly,
ANNETTE GORDON.

Blake put the letter down and walked about his office for a while in
thought. "Invited to the old station?" he mused. "I must go, of course,
Too good a chance to miss."

"Might have written herself!" he muttered, as he turned the letter over
to see if by chance Miss Grant had written a line anywhere; then, laying
it on one side, he took up carelessly a square business-like envelope,
addressed to him in a scrawly, illiterate fist. The letter that he took
out of it was a strange jewel to repose in so rude a casket. It also
was from Kuryong--from Ellen Harriott, who had taken the precaution of
addressing it in a feigned hand so that the postmaster and postmistress
at Kiley's Crossing, who handled all station letters, would not know
that she was corresponding with Blake. The letter was a great contrast
to Mrs. Gordon's. It was a girl's love letter, a gushing, impulsive
thing, full of vows and endearments; but the only part of it with which
we are concerned ran in this way:--

And so the heiress has arrived at last--and you saved her life! When
you swam with her, didn't you feel that you had the weight of a hundred
thousand sovereigns on your back? For oh, Gavan dear, she is nice, but
she is very stolid! And so you saved her--what luck for you! But you
always have luck, don't you? And don't you think that my love is the
best bit of luck you have ever had! Everyone says you are making a
fortune--hurry up and make it, for I am so anxious to get away out of
this place, and we can have our trip round the world together.

And now I am waiting for next Saturday. Fancy having you in the house
all day long and in the evening! We must slip away somewhere for just a
little while, so that we can have each other all to ourselves. Hugh is
still worrying about some sheep that he thinks are stolen. He is always
worrying about something or other, and now that she has come I suppose
he will be worse than ever. Now goodnight, dearest...

Blake read the letter, and threw it down carelessly on the table; then,
leaning back in his chair, cut up a pipeful of tobacco. He thought
over his position with Ellen Harriott. There was a secret understanding
between them, a sort