iety of choice epithets. "Now then, mate, back you
steps agin that wall--and Bill," to the other man, "you just let
daylight in if he so much as stirs a finger."

Hollis leaned up against the wall, stunned for a moment, for the bullet
had smashed one of the bones of his wrist, and torn a gaping wound from
which the blood was trickling down his fingers on to the carpet,
but with the armed bushranger in front of him he realized the utter
hopelessness of his position. Help himself he could not, but he never
thought of himself, he never thought even of the other helpless women
and children; his heart had only room for one thought--Bessie, pretty
dainty Bessie, the belle of the country side. How would she fare at the
hands of ruffians like these? He would die for her gladly, gladly, but
his death could be of no avail. The men had come in now, and he scanned
them one by one, brutal, cruel, convict faces, sullen and lowering; the
only one that showed signs of good humour was that of the leader of the
band, and his good humour was the more terrible as it seemed to prove
how certain he was of them and how utterly they were in his power.

"You will kindly all stand round the room, with your backs to the
wall, so I can take a good look at you, an' you can impress my 'aughty
features on your minds--kids an' all, back you go. I 'm sorry to
inconvenience you, Mrs. Warner, but you must just let the babby cry
a bit. I can't have you a-movin about a-obstructin' my men in the
execution of their dooty."

The baby in the cradle had wakened up at the shot, had cried uneasily,
and now not having been noticed was wailing pitifully, but its mother
dared not move. She stood by the window, the two youngest children
hanging on to her skirts, a strong-minded, capable woman, who had all
her wits about her, but she too saw clearly they were caught in a trap.
She looked across at Hollis, but he could only shake his head. There was
nothing to be done, nothing.

A man stood on guard at each door, while the other four went through the
house; they could hear them yelling and shouting to one another, pulling
the furniture about, and every now and then firing off a shot in simple
devilment, as if to show their prisoners that they had made sure of
their prey and feared no interruption. The baby cried on, and the
sunshine stole gradually up the wall; up and up it crept to the ceiling,
and the clock ticked noisily on the mantelshelf--but there was no
chan