d her mistake, and cocked
her rifle. She swiftly trained it on the boar, and fired. It was hit,
but did not fall; and came on. Then another shot rang out from behind
her, and the boar fell so near her that its tusk caught her dress.

Jack Sherman had saved her.

She was very white when she faced him. She could not speak. That night,
however, she spoke very gratefully and almost tenderly.

To something that he said gently to her then about a memory, she
replied: "Tell me now as candidly as if to your own soul, did you feel
at the critical moment that life would be horrible and empty without
me?"

"I thought only of saving you," he said honestly.

"Then I was quite right; you will never have any regret," she said.

"I wonder, ah, I wonder!" he added sorrowfully. But the girl was sure.

The regret was hers; though he never knew that. It is a lonely life on
the dry plains of Nindobar.

DERELICT

He was very drunk; and because of that Victoria Lindley, barmaid at
O'Fallen's, was angry--not at him but at O'Fallen, who had given him the
liquor.

She knew more about him than any one else. The first time she saw him he
was not sober. She had left the bar-room empty; and when she came back
he was there with others who had dropped in, evidently attracted by
his unusual appearance--he wore an eyeglass--and he had been saying
something whimsically audacious to Dicky Merritt, who, slapping him on
the shoulder, had asked him to have a swizzle.

Dicky Merritt had a ripe sense of humour, and he was the first to grin.
This was followed by loud laughs from others, and these laughs went out
where the dust lay a foot thick and soft like precipitated velvet, and
hurrying over the street, waked the Postmaster and roused the Little
Milliner, who at once came to their doors. Catching sight of each other,
they nodded, and blushed, and nodded again; and then the Postmaster,
neglecting the business of the country, went upon his own business into
the private sitting-room of the Little Milliner; for those wandering
laughs from O'Fallen's had done the work set for them by the high
powers.

Over in the hot bar-room the man with the eye-glass was being frankly
"intr'juced" to Dicky Merritt and Company, Limited, by Victoria Lindley,
who, as hostess of this saloon, was, in his eyes, on a footing of
acquaintance. To her he raised his hat with accentuated form, and
murmured his name--"Mr. Jones--Mr. Jones." Forthwith, that there might