old boy, I'm to be
hung to-morrow."

"I know it," I said. "And I came to ask if I could do anything for you."

"Anything you like, old Jeff," he said, with a laugh, "so long as you
don't get me reprieved. I've murdered my own son, Jeff. Do you know
that?"

I answered, "Yes, I know that, George; but you did not know who he was."

"He came at me to take my life," said Hawker. "And I tell you, if I had
guessed who he was, I'd have blown my brains out to save him from the
crime of killing me."

The major came forward, and held out his hand to George Hawker, and
asked him to forgive him; he had been his enemy since they first met.

"Let me tell you, major, I feel more kind and hearty towards you and
Hamlyn for coming to me like this than I've felt towards any man this
twenty years. Time's up, I see. I ain't so much of a coward, am I, Jeff?
Good-bye, old lad, good-bye!"

That was the last we saw of him; the next morning he was executed with
four of his comrades.

* * * * *

After all this, we old folks taking up our residence at Baroona had
agreed to make common house of it. We were very dull at first, but I
remember many pleasant evenings, when we played whist; and Mary Hawker,
in her widow's weeds, sat sewing by the fireside contentedly enough.

But one evening next spring in stalked Tom Troubridge; and, in short, he
took her off with him, and they were married. And I think I never saw a
couple more sincerely attached than she and her husband.

* * * * *

Ravenshoe

"Ravenshoe" was Henry Kingsley's second novel, and it was
published in 1862, when its author was thirty-two years old.
It will always rank with "Geoffry Hamlyn" as Henry Kingsley's
best work. These two books were their author's favourites
among his own novels, and Charles Ravenshoe was one of his two
favourite characters. It has been said that "Ravenshoe" is
"alive--the expression of a man who worked both with heart and
brain," and few would care to dispute that opinion. For study
of character, wide charity of outlook, brilliant descriptive
writing--as, for instance, in the charge at Balaclava, and
real, not mawkish, pathos--as in the hopeless misery of
Charles, invalided, with only eighteen shillings, out of the
army--"Ravenshoe" will always deserve to be read. It is the
work of a writer who was not ashame