The Overseer’s Story.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 766, 5 November 1886, Page 7

The Overseer’s Story.

A REMINISCENCE OF NEW SOUTH

WALES.

Written for the Mail By Frank Sutton.

* Why am I here V you ask; * and why did I leave such a berth as I had in Sydneyj tospfend my life cattle hunting ani writing station accounts ? Well, since you are an old friend of my brothers in the dear old land of the Maori, I’ll tell you my story, and you can take it back to him with my love. I shall never go back, but hope to lay my bones under one of those old gum trees below the hill yonder.’ And the overseer lit his pipe and told me his story as we rode slowly from the home station for Dubbo. ‘ Late in the year IS— I left Sydney by the night mail for Dubbo, en route to this station, owned then, as now, by my oldchum Fred Gordon, with whom I was to spend a few weeks to see the ways and manners on such a place as his. The journey by rail was quite uninteresting, the principal towns on the line being passed in the night, and the country seen in daylight was only undulating ground covered with stunted gunt trees as far as we could see in either direction.

There being nothing to interest me outside the carriages, I turned my attention to criticising the passengers ; with one exception they were as dull as the scenery. The exception was a young lady, good looking, well dressed, and a clever conversationalist ; hut in spite of her cheerful talk and pleasant manner, I thought I could detect an undercurrent of sadness that never seemed wholly absent. She told me she was a governess engaged by Mrs Gordon, whom she had known previously, and made a alight allusion, to “ better days,” before she had to get her own living. When I said I too was on my way to Timbaroo, she said we might as well introduce ourselves for the present and get the introduction formally done at Dubbo, where she expected to meet Mr Gordon with a conveyance to take her to the station. At Dubbo we found that Gordon had not yet arrived, so we went to the Royal Hotel, a favorite house with squatters, and prepared to make ourselves as comfortable as the heat would permit. The governess, Mrs Rental, was taken under the wing of the landlady, a jolly old party who took great delight in making everyone as jolly as herself. I found some pleasant fellows staying in the house, with whom I soon made friends, and from whom I learnt all the news of the country, - the chief interest being in the movements of a bushranger, who was then “out’’ with but one mate, and who had done some very daring robberies, andso far had succeeded in evading all the police who were trying to run him down. This rascal was said to be a man of education and very refined manners ; in fact, quite a swell bushranger. . He was, on that account, nicknamed The Count, but his real name wa3 supposed to be Gilpin. Hi 3 last exploit was to stick up an inspector of police the day before I arrived in Dubbo. The inspector had been stationed there to look after the Count, hut being more fond of pleasure than duty, had stayed a good deal in town enjoying life in his own way, frequently taking pleasure rides about the country in the company of two ladies, to one of whom he was supposed to he engaged. On this occasion they had gone about ten miles out of the town, and were riding slowly through a bush track, the inspector doubtless thinking howgood it was to be an officer and not always obliged to wear uniform and carry a revolver, when they were met by a gentlemanly-look-in" rider, well mounted, and altogether spie and span, who pulled up, raised his hat to the ladies, and turning to the inspector said, with a truly dandified air, “ Have I the honor of speaking to Inspector B ’ “Yes, I am Inspector B. at your service.” “Thanks, very much—perhaps more than you imagined,” said the stranger £ and, quick as lightning, B. found himself covered by a revolver. The Count, keeping his eye on the astonished 8., apologised to the ladies for the interruption, assured them they had nothing to fear, and politely asked them to hand over their jewellery; ordered B. to give him his money and some of his horse gear. When this had been clone, the Count laughed merrily at poor B.’s discomfiture, and warning him not to travel without arms in future, thanked them all three, and rode away into the bush. Of course B. went back to Dubbo at top speed and sent ous six troopers to find the Count, but they failed. Afterwards B. was disi’ated for neglect of duty, and severely censured for not carrying arms when he knew there were bushrangers in the vicinity. “ So,” said the man who told me these particulars, “ if you mean to ride to Timbaroo you’d better get a revolver aud ammunition, and practice a little before you start. _ The second evening after my arrival Gordon came to the Royal, gave me a hearty welcome, and proposed we should start for the station on the following Monday, so we had two more days to spend in the town, and make our arrangements for the journey, Gordon and Mrs Rental were to travel in the buggy he had driven down in, and ! was tobuy a horse and ride, accompanied by at black boy whom Gordon had with him to look after the horses. This black was a curious fellow—by name Tarpot—his age was altogether uncertain, but his small stature led to'his being spoken of as the boy. Tarpot was always happy and always grinning when awake, and even in his sleep he appeared to have a grin ready for when he should wake. He could sing several white men’s songs, and had a very fine tenor voice with which he often woke the echoes of our journey. On the Saturday Gordon took me to a store to buy a revolver and et ceteras, and asked me to say nothing in reference to the Count before Mrs Rental. . , , . “ I think, my boy,” said he, ‘ it s best tolet you know that we think the Count is arelation of hers who went wrong years ago, although she is not sure. My chief anxiety for this journey is lest we should meet inn* on Monday, and I should be sorry to shoot; the beggar in her sight.” - We started on our journey about four o’clock and travelled at a good pace, Xarporfc riding in front,; and I bringing up the rear on my newly purchased horse, which turned

out a splendid traveller. At ten o clock we halted for rest in what shade there was ; the horses were picketted by the buggy, Mrs Rental dozed on the cushions, Gordon and Tarpot stretched themselves under the trees for a spioke, while I took a stroll through the bash to see what strange birds or animals there might be in this new country. I had wandered about half a mile from the others, when I caught a glimpse of a horseman riding slowly some distance from the track, but parallel to it, Thinking it might be the Count preparing to stick us up, I hurried back and told Gordon what I had seen. He said nothing, but kept very wide awake for the rest of our time in the temporary camp. Having lunched on the provisions we carried, we again started about four o’clock, and that night made a bush public house. We were questioned on all sides about the Count, and I remarked that Gordon’s only answer was that he had seen nothing of him. Next day we travelled as before, and more than once Tarpot pointed to horse footmarks on our track, I called Gordon’s attention to them ; he laughed and telegraphed to me to drop the subject. I afterwards learned that the Count had shadowed us all the way, for reasons which you will understand when you hear the end of my story. We arrived at Timbaroo on the fourth day without anything like an adventure. _ I soon began to like station life, and a 3 nothing further transpired concerning the bushrangers, we tired of the subject and almost forgot it. I found Mrs Rental was a believer in spiritualism. On one occasion .she said she should like to revisit her old haunts after death, and, if spirits ever did, hers should. I saw a great deal of her, and the more X saw her the more I liued her. In a short time I found that the usual end of socalled platonic friendships had come to ours, and that I loved her as such a woman deserves to be loved. I think Gordon had noticed it, as he sometimes indulged in a little gentle chaff when we were alone together. When I told him plainly |I wanted to marry his governess and should tell her so the first opportunity, he became grave in an instant and apologised for the chaff. We were smoking and lounging on the verandah at the time ; presently he came across, and standing in front of me said, “ Old man, you will wait three week ; and promise not to let Mrs Rental suspect your intention in the meantime. This will be a favor to me, Ned, and I have good reason for asking it.”. I was surprised at hi 3 earnestness, and hesitated, but remembering how honorable the dear old fellow was I gave the promise. Next morning he said he must muster all the cattle from a distant part of the run, and asked me to ioin his own party, promising some bard riding and not a few adventures. I had previously given up my berth in Sydney and engaged to stay with Gordon to help on the run and -keep, the station books, which of itself gives plenty of'work on a large station like this. Then we started on our mustering expedition. Expecting to be out three nights at least, we took provisions, spare horses, and a shot gun to get what game we might, and to my surprise Gordon took his revolver and brought me mine. Then an exciting time. You see, I was not tnen used to it as I am now, and took great delight in anything approaching an adventure. I had a few spills, which amused the stockmen, and many break-neck gallops ; sometimes with a furious cow in full cha3e. Once I was chased nearly a mile by a lordly young bull, who had his own way of protesting against our intrusion. He was gaining on any tired horse when Gordon shouted, “ Shoot him, or he’ll catch you in no time.” I drew inv revolver and fired twice over my horse’s tail, but missed. I've had plently of practice since, and should not miss now even if it was a cat instead of a bull. Gordon then came up. I heard a pistol shot, and looking back again saw the chase wa3 over, and my pursuer lay dead. I thanked Gordon for the timely shot, but regretted such a splendid animal should be sacrificed; he only laughed, §jand remarked that “ Two better animals would have been in a queer fix in another minute if he had .missed.” The last night we camped out, my friend was restless and troubled. When I questioned him he said : “It’s on your account, you old nuisance; why did you not stick to your desk in Sydney, and not come up here worrying me with your confounded love affairs. Do you still want to marry my governess ?” ' His abruptness surprised me, and nettled me -. too a little, so I answered, “Yes, my boy, and I mean to do it too, very soon.”

“ Ah !” said he, “ I was in hope that such work as we- have had out here would have cooled you down a little, and I should have been spared the pain of telling you that you cannot marry her anyhow, and that you ; must not ask her either. .1 asked you to wait to gain time to think it out, Now, I can’t in honor tell you the why or wherefore, : but I give you my word as your best friend, j that it cannot be. The only cure I know of for your lovesick ness is a few more weeks of this infernal stock-hunting. .Oar musterking will be over to-morrow, .but there will ; be some gay work in the yards for another i. week, and then if you like you cau go over 1 to Morrison’s to help them. I am going for j. a day or two, but cannot stay longer ; but i you can sec it through. 3 shall miss you, but it’s for your own good, and Mrs Rental’s.” j, I knew he had good reason for what lie j said, but could not bring myself to promise | not to see Mrs Rental before I went to Morrison’s. We got home the next night, the stockmen following with the cattle. : The following day I determined to tell my love to Mrs Rental, and let her decide my : fate. Gordon tried hard to dissuade me, but a man in love doesn’t listen to reason, even from his best friend. I asked. Mrs Rental to accompany me for a ride in the ‘ cool of the evening, when her schoolroom duties were over. It was not without a great deal of persuasion that she at last consented, aud in a glorious cool evening we started out to ride through the bush to. a spot four miles -away, where the best view in all the country 'is to be had. For once I thought little of the scenery, the glorious air, the steelspring” action of my favorite horse, or of any of those things which make a man feel elated when in the saddle Presently my companion said: “ Mr Bishop, you ve had too much riding lately, and you are not enjoying it as you used. I suppose that is

one of the pleasures you sometimes say have ' palled on you.” “ No,” I answered, “ it has not; but I am going to ask you something, which if you deny me will destroy my appreciation of pleasure for ever.” She made no answer, and we just then reached the top of the hill and pulled up. I got off and stood beside her horse ; looking up in her face, I said, “ Helen, you know I love you, do you not ?” A slight assent showed she had expected my declaration ; women always know when it's coming. “ Then,” said I, “ do you return my love, and will you be my wife ?” No answer : but I saw tears in her eyes, and that sho trembled in her saddle, though in her face no look that I could interpret favorably. I waited in silence ;. presently she said,"“ Ned, I have dreaded this moment, yet knew it mnst come, aud it took all my courage to come with you this evening, for, loving you as I do, with all my heart, I have not the resolution to say no, and dare nob say yes. Let us return now; trust, me as you love me, and in a day or two we will come here again, and I will tell you what it is that ’ , - Here she broke down, and lifting ray hand from her horse’s neck, she made a sign for me to remount. The grief and trouble in her dear face made me obey without a word. I felt staggered, and wanted to get by myself to think it out. Next moment I saw her going down the hill at full speed. :. she. was a splendid rider ; I’ve seen some riding in New Zealand, but I never saw such a horsewoman as Helen. I thought her horse had bolted, till I saw her use the whip on him.. I followed, and soon was by her side, racing like mad towards home, leaping fallen timber, up hill and down at the same break-neck pace. I begged her to pull up. Her answer was. to drop the reins on her horse’s neck and give him another cut with her whip. For three miles we rode like the wind, then she pulled up and said quietly, “ Forgive me, Mr Bishop, you must have thought me mad, and but for that gallop I think I should be. It has calmed me down a bit, and now I will not frighten you again.” And this quiet, often melancholy, governess—who was kindness itself to every living thing—when she noticed how the horses were sweating, said, “ Poor fellows, they have had to pay for my foolishness. We must tell Mr Gordon we have had a kangaroo hunt.” I took the horses to the stables, and while taking off the saddles, Gordon came up to me and said, “ I see you have spoken to her.” “ Yes,” said I, “ and cannot understand her at all.” He looked grave and. pained, then giving me his hand to shake said —“ Bishop, this is a sad, sad business ; but whatever comes of it remember I am your old chum.” Then he walked quickly into the house. I -could not understand my old friend’s manner; but, coupled with the strange answer Mr 3 Rental had giving me, it caused me great anxiety. 13eing in no humor to meet tlie folks in the house, I lit ray pipe and strolled across the paddocks, trying to think, but failing dismally. I reached the track by which travellers from Dubbo would pass to the house, and was leaning over a gate in a brown study, when I heard the rapid approach of a horse. In this clear atmosphere you can hear sounds from an immense distance. Presently the horseman came by at a gallop, and to my surprise I saw he wore the uniform of the mounted police, and was fully armed. Seeing me, he pulled up, aud asked if I belonged to the station. “Yes,” I answered, “what ill wind brings you here? My name is Bishop ; 1 am Gordon s overseer, so you may speak out.” , “ Then,” said he, “please tell Mr Gordon that the Count is out witti several followers, and has done some bad work thirty miles from here. I am going on to Morrison’s to warn them. We don’t know what their next move will be, so warnings will be sent to all the stations.” Declining my invitation to refresh himself and horse, he rode rapidly away, and I went back to the house with his message. To my surprise Gordon said he expected as much, and after discussing our chances of preventing a surprise, and a yarn about bushrangers generally, we retired for the night. Next morning I had to go out on the run, expecting to be at home early in the evening, but my horse's falling lame delayed me till midnight. The evening following. Mrs Rental again consented to ride out with me, and when we reached the spot where I had told my love, she pulled up and said, * Come round and stand as you did before. I did so without a word. Then she continued: ‘ Ned, (I shall call you as I always think of you-by your first name) this may be our last talk alone. Two nights since I gave you a puzzling answer; now, I will explain it, though in doing so I must revive old and pamful memories, and tell you a dismal history. “ When I was sixteen I married for love ; and after two happy years a great grief came to me. My husband lost heavily by specutions—some commercial and some sporting. Then the old story was repeated—crime and disgrace. He was sent to Darlinghurst for three years. When his time was up he wrote me a letter, full of love and tenderness for me, but with bitterness and hatred to all mankind. I .saw him twice in gaol-; the last time he begged me not to come again, as the sight of me but added a pang to his. remorse. I have never heard of or seen him since, and I know not if he be living or dead. My love for him died long ago of neglect and hardship, and now, as I told you, I love you and you only, with all my soul; but, Ned dear, how can I consent to be yours, not knowing if I be wife or widow. This is. a hard, matter-of-fact way of talking this thing over, but the confidence was due to you. W hat can I say to comfort you, my love, when I so sorely need comfort myself. I can only hope that in time you my forget me ; and if I have ever done anything to mislead you, forgive me.” , . . She ceased, and for a while I stood, feeling stunned and helpless, and my legs shook under me. TheD I said, “Helen, ray love for you will never die. I shall wait and watch over you, though it may be from a distance. I ask for one promise. If you are sick or in trouble, or want help in any form, call on me, and I will sacrifice anything and everything, if need be, to aid you.” For answer she stooped down and gave me a burning, passionate kiss on my forehead. The remembrance of that moment haunts me now by night and day. In the lonely camp,

in the bush ; in days of excitement and danger, in the wild rush aud skurry of cattle-hunting, as in the quiet winter evening, smoking by the fireside. I have never for a minute forgotten the look of abiding love and trust on the face of her, who, to me, was and ever will be the ideal perfect woman.

I remounted, and we rode slowly and sadly home. I went straight to Gordon and told him my story. He said, “My boy, I would have saved you this grief, but could not; I would have saved her, and could not. But, as I said to you I will say to her, whatever happens I will try to be your best friend.”

While we were talking, we heard a strange footstep coming through the house, and a trooper walked into the room, and saluting, said:

“ I am come to warn you that the Count is out again. He has stuck up several travelling parties and one station, and we think his next raid will be on you.” We told him of the warning we had already received. He asked what so-rt of man he wa3 who had spoken to me. I gave the best description I could, not forgetting the gentlemanly manner and speech. “ Then,” said the trooper, “ that was the Count himself. None of our men have been this way; but why he should give you warning is beyond me. No doubt he has been reeonnoitering, and has some deep game to play. Next morniug tlie trooper went on to Morrison's and ascertained that the Count had not been there, so we had no doubt that it was he who had given us first warning. The work on a station must be done, bushrangers notwithstanding We kept a watch day and night, keeping.the men about the house as much as possible. Many days passed, and we began to relax our vigilance somewhat, although we all carried revolvers, and kept the larger firearms handy in the house. We let the women know about it, and they too had to stay about home, instead of taking their usual walks and rides about the country. During this time we learnt by the newspapers which came by our fortnightly mail, that the Count had shot a trooper who attempted to take him singlehanded. The trooper met the Count unexpectedly on a lonely bush track, covered him with his revolver and called on him to surrender. The Count only smiled at him, saying, “ Don’t shoot, trooper; put up your weapon and ride on. I will not oblige you by surrendering, aud I know you have not the nerve to shoot me where I sit, as you know I’ve never killed a man yet ” (which was quite true). The trooper gave him ten seconds to put up hi 3 hands, then fired, the ball passing through the Count’s hat. The Count then drew a revolver, aud his first and the trooper’s second shot were fired almost simultaneously. The trooper fell mortally wounded, and the Count was but slightly hurt. He attended his antagonist as well as he could, then rode to a stockman's hut and sent him out to the trooper’s assistance, himself going off without being recognised. His reluctance to shoot the trooper, and his extraordinary pluck ii*i facing his fire gained him many sympathisers. Had that unfortunate trooper’s aim been true, I sho lid now be a happy man, Helen would have been my loving wife, and we two would have drifted through a calm and happy life, away in this sunny land. Now I go my solitary way—gray before my time, as vou see me—my only hope “ That the reaper Death, as he gathers his sheaves Will hasten the hour of our meeting there.” (You remember my sister’s favorite song, “ Ruby,” at home, away in New Zealand ?) Often I am tempted to pray that the good old horse, who carries me so faithfully and well through dangerous country, and dodges so smartly the wild charge of the angry cattle, may one day forget his cunning and let me die the death I covet so much. Or, that in the yards, when our lives are in our hands, as the hill cattle get mad towards the end of a long day’s drafting, I may miss my chance, and die in sight of the quiet grave that now holds my love in its cold depths. A warm summer evening—the Sunday calm over everything; Mrs Gordon, her children, and Mrs Rental sitting on the verandah, Gordon and I were lying on the lawn, smoking. There had been a long silence ; we were all enjoying the dolce far niente, which you get to perfection in this country. Gordon presently broke the spell by remarking: “If I were sure the Count and his gang were safe, I should go to Dubbo next week for a fly round. I want to do some business, too.” Before anyone could reply, one of the boundary riders came through the house, walked quickly up to Gordon, saying : “ Beg pardon, sir, but my mate is very bad. I want to ask your advice, and get some medicine for him at Once.” I saw by the man’s ' face that it was a blind, but made no sign. Gordon got up quickly and said “ Come inside, Jack, and tell me what’s the matter,” and they went in. I lay still, wondering what had come to Jack that he came so unceremoniously through the house. Mrs Rental said, “ Jack has forgotten his usual good manners or else his mate must be very ill.” Then Gordon came out and said' 1 very calmly “ Wife of mine and Mrs Rental, you must go into the library with the children and stay there. The Count is on his way here and we mean to fight him. Jack has just brought the news ; he gave them the slip and came by a short cut. He kissed his wife and children and gave Helen a warm hand shake. She then came a,cro3s to me and said in a whisper, “This will be a bad night’s work, Ned. Keep cool and trust in God.”

I kissed her and they went in. Gordon and I took each a rifle, besides our revolvers. I then ran across to the men’s huts and roused them up from their after-tea smoke, told them we meant to fight the bushrangers, and saw them armed. There were only three men in the huts, but with Jack the boundary rider, Gordon and myself, we reckoned to hold our own. It was theu nearly dark —no moon that night. We waited half an hour in suspense, then we heard a dog barking in the stable yard—and soon afterwards six horsemen rode up to within three hundred yards of the front door and halted. The Count rode forward and seemed to listen, then he called to his men to follow. They again stopped within a hundred yards from the house and

the Count dismounted and came on by himself. Gordon called out ‘ Stand, or you are a dead man.’ Evidently surprised to find us prepared the bushrangers left their horses and took cover amongst the shrubs. Then followed a minute of dead silence. Gordon, Jack and I were in the big sitting room, one at each of the French windows opening on the verandah. Jack whispered, “The next thing will be a volley and a rush, so we’d best lay low.” We laid flat on our faces, with the doors sufficiently open to let us place our rifles in the opening—only just in time. Six shots from the shrubbery, all striking above us, and a rush towards the house.° When they were within twenty yards we fired, one man killed and two disabled. Then followed a ghastly fight on the verandah. One savage-looking giant made a rush at me, and I saw a knife in his hand, aud in a moment I felt a prick on my breast. Then I heard the crack of a revolyer close to my face, and my antagonist fell dead. I stood leaning against a verandah post for a few moments, sick and dizzy. Turning to look for Gordon, I saw a man running towards the horses, and Gordon on one knee, looking down at a man whose head he was supporting. With his left hand he picked up his revolver and fired two quick shots after the fugitive. He must have missed him, for the next moment he was galloping awav at racing speed. I ran for one of the other horses, calling Jack to follow me, when Gordon called out : “ Not now, Ned there has been enough blood spilt for one night.” I returned to him and asked if he was hit. “ No,” said he, “ but I see you are.” I opened my shirt and found a cut on my chest, which was bleeding a good deal, but I saw it was not serious. Then Gordon said : “Get a cushion for this man’s head; I've shot him, and he can’t last long,”. 1 got the cushion and a glass of brandy, which last the bushranger refused. In a low, gasping voice he said : “Mr Gordon, I thank you for that shot. I earned it to-night. I can’t last long, I know. You know me as the Count, but you don’t know lam James Marshall, who cleared from Sydney after doing a sentence for forgery. Life has been hell to me since that, but I never killed a man till that trooper tried to shoot me in the bush. I gave him every chance, but he was duty struck, and wouldn’t go on as I told him. Remember, I am James Marshall ; it will help to clear up many things that have bee a puzzling iny old friends in Sydney. Prop me up against the verandah post, and I will tell you something more.” We did so, and he turned his head towards the other end of the verandah. Then a frightful scream broke from him, and he pointed wildly to the farther door and said, “Is that a woman lying there ? I gave you warning, as I could not stop my fellows sticking you up. I thought you would at least have sent the women away. Tell me who she is, quick.” Gordon answered. “That is our governess, Mrs Rental.” “ Then,” said he, “ God forgive me ; I have killed my own wife,” He gave a gasp, and fell over dead. I hurried to the farther door. It stood open, and laying across the threshold was Helen. She was dressed in white, as when she left us early in the evening. She was still as death, and as I raised her I saw blood on her dear breast—she was wounded in the throat. I called for help, and Mrs Gordon gave her some brandy. She smiled and gazed lovingly in my face. We lifted her on to a couch. I seemed .stunned with grief, and yet all my wits were about me. I tried to stop the blood with my handkerchief, but she held my hand away. Presently she whispered: “Ned, this is the end of our dream ; my husband lies dying on the verandah. I heard him tell his name. I did not know he was the dreaded Count. I am going fast, and shall meet him in spirit land. £ coulcLaot stay in the library while you were risking your life out here. I saved you, my darling, from that villain’s knife. If I lived 1 might be yours now without shame, but it’s too late. Kiss me, Ned, a last good-bye.” So she died in my arms. What followed that night of horrors I only know by hearsay. Gordon says I had, a fever, but I think I went mad. Comparing dates, I find a blank from that night to three months later, when one Sunday evening Gordon took me to the grave you saw yesterday, and said, “ Ned, old chum, she lies under here ; God re9t her soul. I fell by her grave in a dead faint, and Gordon carried me back to the house. By degrees I recovered sufficiently to resume my wort, but I cannot leave the place where her grave is. Gordon had the old house pulled down, and built his present one. We could none of us live in the old one, after that awful tragedy. One day I had been out on the run from early dawn. I had exchanged by horse at one of the out stations, to have a fresh mount for the journey home. Though quite late in the afternoon, I made a detour which brought me to the spot where Helen had listened to the “ old old story ” from me. I dismounted and sat down to think. I was always thinking of my dead love and brooding over her melancholy fate. A woman young and fair, to me the fairest among women, shot in a fight with bushrangers led by her own husband ; her life sacrified in saving mine, whiie l escaped with a scratch. I sat till I fell into a state of half consciousness and half sleep, how long I cannot tell, when I was awaaened by a low wbinney from the horse. Looking round, I saw it was a clear starlight night. I could hear nothing but tho mysterious far-off sounds of a summer’s night. I did not move, and was again falling into dreamland, when I felt the mystic, unexplained consciousness of some other presence. I rose and looked about me, but could see no living thing hut my horse. “Alone still,” I said aloud, “ and shall be lonely for evermore.” Have you ever fancied, when m a lonely, quiet place, that you heard some familiar voice call your name, and then start to find you were only day-dreaming? That was how I felt then, but a second time I heard my name distinctly, and in the voice of her who filled my thoughts. I roused myself and went towards the horse to remount, when I again heard the voice, and this time it said: “Ned, why do you brood your life away in grief for me. I might be happy now if I could know your grief was over.” Still I saw no one from whom the voice might come, so I asked: “Mysterious voice,

whence do you come, and who is it speaking? 1 Then I saw a figure in white, ethereal and strange, but the face was Helen’s, and I knew she had come in spirit to comfort me. I bowed my head and said : “ Dear Helen, your earthly body died in my arms—-your life lost in saving mine. Can i ever cease to grieve?" The spirit answered: “Sorrow no more, dear love, for I am always with you. A few more years, and you will join me in this blest realm of spirits, and our vows shall be reuewed, unmarred by earth’s pains and vicissitudes. Farewell now, for a a while.”

I rushed forward to where I had seen the vision. I must have fainted then. When I awoke a hot sun was scorching me. I looked up and saw Gordon aud one of the men galloping towards me, the latter leading my horse. Gordon lifted me on to my feet and said, “ I didn’t think there was a horse on the station could throw you ; are you. hurt, old boy?” I could not answer, but drank some brandy he offered from his flask; then he helped me into the saddle, saying, “ You are working too hard ; you must have a holiday, or you will be ill again.” Later, I thanked him, but declined the holiday. - Now, how can I leave the place where, by riding a few miles, I may listen to the sweet spirit voice, and perhaps see the angel form, of her who was, and is, the only love of my hopeless life ? For she still comes to me at times, there, on the dear old spot, and when Ido not return at night, they do not now turn out to search for me.” This was the story of the morose, hardfeatured, grey-bearded man, whom I had known but a few years before in New Zealaud as the gayest, jolliest fellow of my set— ' full of life and fun. But now, with never a smile on his wrinkled face, utterly reckless, courting danger and hardship in every form, but still kind and considerate as of old to all with whom he came in contact. A few days before I left Mr Gordon’s station, I spoke to one of the hands about Bishop, and during the conversation he remarked, “ He’s as good an overseer as I've ever worked under, and I’ve reason to know he s as good a friend as a man can have, but he’s always been a bit queer since that fight with the Count’s gang.” It is now six months since I had a letter from Mr Gordon, in which he told me poor Bishop had been killed far out on the run by his horse falling and rolling over him, while hunting cattle on the hills.