ill-used, but she understood him--she loved him, she believed in
him, in the blind unreasoning way a woman, be she old or young, rich
or poor, wise or foolish, gentle or simple, does believe in the man she
loves. And the old grandmother saw, and shook her head. She did not mind
cattle-duffing--it was but levying a fair toll on the rich squatter as
he passed. Sly grog-selling was hardly a crime; so few people passed it
would have been waste of money to take out a licence, more especially
since there was no one to ask whether they had one or not. But Gentleman
Jim, whom the boys had taken to bringing home with them of late, was
another matter altogether, and she looked on anxiously when she saw the
impression he had made on her son's pretty daughter.

"I dunno," she said, anxiously to her husband, "whether the gal's all
there; sometimes I think she ain't, but anyhow, she's sweet and pretty
an' loving, an' he's an out-an'-out scamp, drat him!"

But the old man would not interfere. He was a little afraid of Gentleman
Jim; besides he was useful to him--he was getting old, and the grandsons
were not much help; they took after their mother, and privately old
Durham thought his son's wife had been more than half a fool, so he
encouraged Gentleman Jim; and now came information that Macartney would
be camping here to-morrow with a mob ready for the southern market, and
here was the man again. The cards too prophesied disaster, shuffle them
as she would.

Gentleman Jim swore at the cards and at the old woman in no measured
terms, and then he laughed, and gathered them up in his hands.

"Here, Nell, Nell!--the cards are clean against us, your Gran says--come
and cut, like a good girl."

Nellie rose willingly enough, but the old woman said scornfully, "Nell,
Nell, she ain't got no luck at all. Three times I tried her fortune, and
three times it came, 'tears, tears, tears'--never naught else for Nell
but tears."

"Never mind, mother, better luck this time, eh, Nell?" and the girl took
the cards, and smiled trustingly up into his face.

"Cut, Nell."

She cut the nine of spades, and the old woman groaned. "Disaster, sure
as fate; let Macartney's mob alone, I tell you."

"Cut again, Nell."

She shuffled them carefully, the other four watching her with eager,
anxious eyes, while the man at her side looked on with tolerant scorn.
And then she cut--the ace of spades. Her grandmother threw up her hands.
"Death, I tell you--deat