's fond of you, Mr. Hugh!" she said, "Why don't you ask
her to marry you? See what a good thing it'd be? She's only waitin' to
be asked."

"I'll manage my own affairs, thank you," said Hugh. "It isn't likely I'm
going to ask her now, when I haven't got a penny." He was as miserable
as a man could well be, and was on the point of leaving the station and
going back to the buffalo camp in search of solitude, when an unexpected
incident suddenly brought matters to a climax. A year had slipped by
since William Grant's death, and the glorious Spring came round again;
the river was bank-high with the melting of the mountain-snows, the
English fruit-trees were all blossoming, and the willows a-bud. One day
the mailman left a large handbill, anouncing the Spring race-meeting at
Kiley's, a festival sacred, as a rule, to the Doyles and the Donohoes,
at which no outsider had any earthly chance of winning a race.

In William Grant's time the handbill would have soon reached the
fire-place; he did not countenance running station horses at the local
meetings. Under the new owner things were different. Charlie Gordon was
spoiling for a chance to run Revoke, a back-block purchase, against the
locals, and suggested it in an off-hand sort of way while reading the
circular. Hugh opposed the notion altogether. His opposition apparently
made Miss Grant determined to go on with the scheme, and she gave
Charlie carte blanche in the matter.

When race-day arrived, there was quite a merry party at the homestead.
Carew was making himself very attentive to Ellen Harriott, Mary was
flirting very openly with Charlie Gordon, to Hugh's intense misery; and
it was whispered about the station that the younger brother would be
deposed in favour of the elder.

Hugh did not want to go to the races, but Mary asked him so directly
that he had no option.

It was a typical Australian Spring day. The sky was blue, the air was
fresh, the breeze made great, long, rippling waves in the grass, and
every soul in the place--Mary in particular--seemed determined to enjoy
it to the utmost.

Revoke, the station champion, came in first in his race, and was
promptly disqualified for short weight, but Mary didn't care.

"What is the use of worrying over it?" she said. "It doesn't really
matter."

"I have been done," said the bushman. "Red Mick lent me the lead-cloth,
and helped me saddle up, and I believe he took some lead out while we
were saddling. It never drop