hy, that a girl just out of school
brought the rain to his eyes?" He laughed a little bitterly, and then
went on: "Poor Barbara! She mustn't know while I'm alive. Stretch out,
my nag; we've a long road to travel to-night."

This was Edward Golding, the brother whom Barbara thought was still in
prison at Sydney under another name, serving a term of ten years for
manslaughter. If she had read the papers more carefully she would have
known that he had been released two years before his time was up. It
was eight years since she had seen him. Twice since then she had gone to
visit him, but he would not see her. Bad as he had been, his desire was
still strong that the family name should not be publicly reviled. At
his trial his real name had not been made known; and at his request his
sister sent him no letters. Going into gaol a reckless man he came out
a constitutional criminal; with the natural instinct for crime greater
than the instinct for morality. He turned bushranger for one day, to get
money to take him out of the country; but having once entered the lists
he left them no more, and, playing at deadly joust with the law, soon
became known as Roadmaster, the most noted bushranger since the days of
Captain Starlight.

It was forgery on the name of his father's oldest friend that had driven
him from England. He had the choice of leaving his native land for ever
or going to prison, and he chose the former. The sorrow of the crime
killed his mother. From Adelaide, where he and Barbara had made their
new home, he wandered to the far interior and afterwards to Sydney;
then came his imprisonment on a charge of manslaughter, and now he was
free-but what a freedom!

With the name of Roadmaster often heard at Wandenong, Barbara Golding's
heart had no warning instinct of who the bushranger was. She thought
only and continuously of the day when her brother should be released,
to begin the race of life again with her. She had yet to learn in what
manner they come to the finish who make a false start.

Louis Bachelor, again in his place Rahway, tried to drive away his
guesses at the truth by his beloved science. When sleep would not come
at night he rose and worked in his laboratory; and the sailors of many
a passing vessel saw the light of his lamp in the dim hours before dawn,
and spoke of fever in the port of Rahway. Nor did they speak without
reason; fever was preparing a victim for the sacrifice at Rahway, and
Louis Bachel