the girl you profess to love."

She had got rid of his arm some time before this, but their hands were
still joined in the deepening twilight, until at this he dropped hers
suddenly.

"Profess!" he echoed. "Profess, do I? You know better than that, at all
events! Upon my soul I've a good mind to tell you after that, and chance
the consequences!"

His anger charmed her, as the anger of the right man should charm the
right woman. And this time it was she who sought his hand.

"Then tell me now," she whispered. "And you shall see how you have
misjudged me."

It was hard on Moya that he was not listening, for she had used no such
tone towards him these four-and-twenty hours. And listening he was, but
to another sound which reached her also in the pause. It was the thud
and jingle of approaching horsemen. Another minute and the white
trappings of the mounted police showed through the dusk.

"That you, Mr. Rigden?" said a queer voice for the sergeant. "Can you
give us a word, please?"

Rigden had but time to glance at Moya.

"I'll ride on slowly," she said at once; and she rode on the better
part of a mile, leaving the way entirely to her good bush steed. At last
there was quite a thunder of overtaking hoofs, and Rigden reined up
beside her, with the sergeant not far behind. Moya looked round, and the
sergeant was without his men, at tactful range.

"Do they guess anything?" whispered Moya.

"Not they!"

"Sure the others haven't gone on to scour Big Bushy?"

"No, only to cross it on their way back. They've given it up, Moya! The
sergeant's just coming back for dinner."

His tone had been more triumphant before his triumph was certain, but
Moya did not notice this.

"I'm so glad," she whispered, half mischievously, and caught his hand
under cloud of early night.

"Are you?" said Rigden, wistfully. "Then I suppose you'll say you're
glad about something else. You won't be when the time comes! But now
it's all over you shall have your way, Moya; come for a stroll after
dinner, and I'll tell you--every--single--thing!"

X

THE TRUTH BY INCHES

He told her with his back against the gate leading into Butcher-boy.
Moya heard him and stood still. Behind her rose the station pines, and
through the pines peeped hut and house, in shadow below, but with each
particular roof like a clean tablecloth in the glare of the risen moon.
A high light or so showed in the verandah underneath; this was Bethune's
shir