t probable I shall ever make such
another friend.' Done concluded with a fervent wish that he might see her
soon. There was the melancholy and the weakness of an invalid in the
letter, and it disturbed Lucy greatly. She recalled, with a poignant
sense of remorse, how little he had been in her mind during the past two
months while he lay struggling for life. She felt that she had done him a
wrong, and, scarcely understanding herself, gave way to a flood of tears
over the wavering lines, every word of which bore evidence of the
enfeebled hand of the convalescent.

Later she told Ryder of the letter, and of Done's return to Jim Crow.

'And you did not tell me of his injuries,' she said reproachfully.

'I could not find it in my heart to spoil your Christmas,' he said. 'He
was getting on famously when I left Ballarat, and he has a magnificent
constitution. I knew he was safe, but felt that you would be certain to
worry. You see, it is best.'

'I cannot think so. You were silent because you feared to speak of your
own splendid bravery.'

'Believe me, no. It was nothing to pick up a wounded man and carry him to
safety. I was silent to spare you.'

'I am grateful for your kind intentions, and more than grateful for what
you have done for him. To Mr. Done I owe my life, and I feel that a
service done to him is something for which I, too, am much beholden.'

'And for a life that is precious to you I would--' He ceased suddenly,
but was careful that she should understand him well.

'A life that was precious to her!' The phrase seemed to have an
extraordinary significance. Were the words a test? Her heart beat
quickly; for a moment she looked into his eyes. It was as if his whole
soul burned in them. Her face paled, a faint cry broke on her lips, and
she moved back with faltering feet. He dropped his extended hands with a
hopeless gesture, and turned from her. A footstep was heard in the
passage.

The party was fixed for the third evening prior to the date of Ryder's
departure, and it was a great success. All the resources of a
well-appointed station were brought into play for the gratification of
the guests. The night was warm; the company were gathered in the big
drawing the French window of which opened on to the wide veranda. Lucy
was at the piano, providing an accompaniment, and the Sydneyside girl was
singing an ardent love song. Yarra paused before Ryder with a tray, on
which was a cool drink. In the act of liftin