f losing
them all so soon, but Mrs. Buckley pointed out her father's state gently
to her, and asked her to think what she would do when he was gone. Miss
Thornton said she had made up her mind to go wherever Mary went, if it
were to the other end of the earth.

Scarcely more than a week had passed when another messenger came to old
John Thornton, and one so peremptory that he rose and followed it in the
dead of night.

It was two months yet before the major intended to sail, and long before
they had passed Mary and Miss Thornton had determined to cast in their
lot with the others, and cross the sea towards a more hopeful land.

_III.--The New World_

A new heaven, and a new earth. All creation is new and strange. The
trees, the graceful shrubs, the bright-coloured flowers, ay, the very
grass itself, are of species unknown in Europe, while flaming lories and
brilliant paroquets fly whistling through the gloomy forest, and
overhead countless cockatoos wheel and scream in noisy joy, as we may
see the gulls do in England.

We are in Australia, three hundred and fifty miles south of Sydney, on
the great watershed which divides the Belloury from the Maryburnong.

As the sun was going down, James Stockbridge and I, Geoffry Hamlyn,
reined up our horses and gazed down the long gully at our feet. For five
days we had been passing from run to run, making inquiries about some
cattle we had lost, and were now fifty long miles from home.

At this time Stockbridge and I had been settled in our new home about
two years, and were beginning to get comfortable and settled. We had had
but little trouble with the blacks, and having taken possession of a
fine piece of country, were flourishing and well-to-do. I dismounted to
set right some strap or other, and stood looking at the prospect, glad
to ease my legs for a time, cramped with many hours' riding.

Stockbridge sat immovable and silent as a statue, and I saw that his
heart travelled farther than his eye could reach.

"Jim," said I, "I wonder what is going on at Drumston now?"

"I wonder," he said softly.

"Jim," I began again, "do you ever think of poor little Mary now?"

"Yes, old boy, I do," he replied. "I was thinking of her then--I am
always thinking of her. I wonder if she married that fellow Hawker?"

"I fear there's but little doubt of it," I said. "Try to forget her,
James; you'll make all your life unhappy if you don't."

He laughed.

"That's all very wel