er, she
ran between Harold's knees, and there tossed her head and glared at me.
He lifted her on his lap, and she drew his arm round her in defence.
Eustace said he spoilt her, but he still held her, and, as she dropped
asleep against his breast, Eustace related, almost in a tone of
complaint, that she had cared for no one else ever since the time she
had been lost in the Bush, and Harold had found her, after three days,
in the last stage of exhaustion, since which time she had had neither
eyes, ears, nor allegiance for any other creature, but that she must be
taught something, and made into a lady.

Harold gazed down on her with his strange, soft, melancholy smile,
somehow seeming to vex Eustace, who accused him of not caring how rough
and uncultivated she was, nor himself either.

"We leave the polish to you," said Harold.

"Why, yes," said Eustace, simpering, "my uncle Smith gave me the first
advantages in Sydney, and everyone knew my father was 'a gentleman.'"

Harold bit the hair that hung over his lip, and I guessed, what I
afterwards found to be the truth, that his stepfather was no small
trial to him; being, in fact, an unprosperous tutor and hanger-on on
some nobleman's family, finally sent out by his patrons in despair, to
keep school in Sydney.

Poor Ambrose had died of lock-jaw from a cut from an axe very soon
after his emancipation, just as his energy was getting the farm into
order, and making things look well with the family, and, after a year
or two, Alice, deceived by the man's air and manners, and hoping to
secure education for her son, had married, and the effect had been
that, while Harold was provoked into fierce insubordination, Eustace
became imbued with a tuft-hunting spirit, a great contrast to what
might have been expected from his antecedents.

I cannot tell whether I found this out the first evening, or only
gradually discovered it, with much besides. I only remember that when
at last Harold carried Dora upstairs fast asleep, and my maid Colman
and I had undressed her and put her into a little bed in a room opening
out of mine, I went to rest, feeling rejoiced that the suspense was
over and I knew the worst. I felt rather as if I had a magnificent
wild beast in the house; and yet there was a wonderful attraction,
partly from the drawing of kindred blood, and partly from the strength
and sweetness of Harold's own face, and, aunt-like, I could not help
feeling proud, of having such a g