s four years was a
long, long time. Before that Harold might take a fancy to someone else,
and leave me free; or he might die, or I might die, or we both might die,
or fly, or cry, or sigh, or do one thing or another, and in the meantime
that was not the only thing to occupy my mind: I had much to contemplate
with joyful anticipation.

Towards the end of February a great shooting and camping party, organized
by grannie, was to take place. Aunt Helen, grannie, Frank Hawden, myself,
and a number of other ladies and gentlemen, were going to have ten days
or a fortnight in tents among the blue hills in the distance, which held
many treasures in the shape of lyrebirds, musk, ferns, and such scenery
as would make the thing perfection. After this auntie and I were to have
our three months' holiday in Sydney, where, with Everard Grey in the
capacity of showman, we were to see everything from Manly to Parramatta,
the Cyclorama to the Zoo, the theatres to the churches, the restaurants
to the jails, and from Anthony Hordern's to Paddy's Market. Who knows
what might happen then? Everard had promised to have my talents tested by
good judges. Might it not be possible for me to attain one of my
ambitions--enter the musical profession? joyful dream! Might I not be able
to yet assist Harold in another way than matrimony?

Yes, life was a pleasant thing to me now. I forgot all my wild
unattainable ambitions in the little pleasures of everyday life. Such a
thing as writing never entered my head. I occasionally dreamt out a
little yarn which, had it appeared on paper, would have brimmed over with
pleasure and love--in fact, have been redolent of life as I found it. It
was nice to live in comfort, and among ladies and gentlemen--people who
knew how to conduct themselves properly, and who paid one every attention
without a bit of fear of being twitted with "laying the jam on".

I ate another fig and apricot, a mulberry or two, and was interrupted in
the perusal of my book by the clatter of galloping hoofs approaching
along the road. I climbed on to the fence to see who it could be who was
coming at such a breakneck pace. He pulled the rein opposite me, and I
recognized a man from Dogtrap. He was in his shirt-sleeves; his horse
was all in a lather, and its scarlet nostrils were wide open, and its
sides heaving rapidly.

"I say, miss, hunt up the men quickly, will you?" he said hurriedly.
"There's a tremenjous fire on Wyambeet, and we're sh