uld but leave the spot, that the
body of her husband should soon follow her, and be buried in a
Christian-like manner.

She listened like one who did not comprehend his meaning, and all the
time that he was talking, her eyes were fixed upon the pale face of her
husband, as though she expected each moment to hear his voice, and see
him start to his feet, and open his arms for her protection.

With gentle force we urged her away from the distressing sight, and
when, after long labor, we had gained the bank of the ravine, we found
that the poor woman was nearly unconscious, and hardly capable of
moving.

"Where now?" I asked of Smith, as we carried her along.

"To the hut of Ogleton," he cried; "and then, if I mistake not, we shall
have work before us."

"What kind of work?" asked Fred, who was carrying the rifles, and the
sharp axe of the convict.

"The work of revenge," cried Smith, solemnly.

"I am ready for it," exclaimed Fred, brandishing his rifle; "God only
grant us all strength to perform it."

And as we staggered along the prairie with our burden, the dark clouds
in the east broke away, and revealed the glowing tints of the rising
sun; and a hundred bright-plumed birds darted through the air, awakening
the solitude of that vast plain with their shrill calls, and each cry
seemed to say, "Revenge! revenge!"

CHAPTER VII.

BLACK DARNLEY'S VILLANY.--THE CONVICT STOCKMAN.

A brighter sun never shone upon the barren plains and fertile valleys of
Australia, than that which appeared above the horizon on the morning
after the murder and deed of violence committed by Black Darnley and his
gang of bushrangers. Our party had not closed their eyes in sleep during
the night, yet not one of us felt the least fatigue or desire to rest,
until the woman, who was under our protection, had been placed beneath
the shelter of her father's roof, humble as it was, and removed from all
society and scenes of civilization.

As we supported the unhappy woman towards the habitation of the convict,
and spoke words of encouragement which fell upon listless ears, we
thought of a parent's love, and how strong it must exist in the heart of
that old man, who had grown morose under his wrongs, yet still clung to
the recollection of his child, and fancied her a girl, instead of a
full-grown woman, and the mother of a family.

We had no doubt that her reception by her father would be warm; but we
dreaded to know how he would d