n which Mahony, whose address was in the outer darkness,
repeated his thanks and withdrew.

He found Jerry's lodging, paid the bill, and took the boy back to St.
Kilda--a shy slip of a lad in his early teens, with the colouring and
complexion that ran in the family. John's coachman, who had shown
himself not indisposed--for a substantial sum, paid in advance--to keep
watch over house and grounds, was installed in an outbuilding, and next
day at noon, after personally aiding Sarah, who was all a-tremble at
the prospect of the bush journey, to pack her own and the children's
clothes, Mahony turned the key in the door of the darkened house. But a
couple of weeks ago it had been a proud and happy home. Now it had no
more virtue left in it than a crab's empty shell.

He had fumed on first learning of Jerry's superfluous presence; but
before they had gone far he saw that he would have fared ill indeed,
had Jerry not been there. Sarah, too agitated that morning to touch a
bite of food, was seized, not an hour out, with sickness and fainting.
There she sat, her eyes closed, her salts to her nose or feebly sipping
brandy, unable to lift a finger to help with the children. The younger
of the two slept most of the way hotly and heavily on Mahony's knee;
but the boy, a regular pest, was never for a moment still. In vain did
his youthful uncle pinch his leg each time he wriggled to the floor. It
was not till a fierce-looking digger opposite took out a jack-knife and
threatened to saw off both his feet if he stirred again, to cut out his
tongue if he put another question that, scarlet with fear, little
Johnny was tamed. Altogether it was a nightmare of a journey, and
Mahony groaned with relief when, lamps having for some time twinkled
past, the coach drew up, and Hempel and Long Jim stepped forward with
their lanterns. Sarah could hardly stand. The children, wrathful at
being wakened from their sleep, kicked and screamed.

Chapter VI

For the first time in her young married life, Polly felt vexed with her
husband.

"Oh, he shouldn't have done that... no, really he shouldn't!" she
murmured; and the hand with the letter in it drooped to her lap.

She had been doing a little surreptitious baking in Richard's absence,
and without a doubt was hot and tired. The tears rose to her eyes.
Deserting her pastry-board she retreated behind the woodstack and sat
down on the chopping-block; and then, for some minutes, the sky was
blott