THE LOST EARL - - OF ELLAN.

Otago Witness, Issue 2711, 28 February 1906, Page 70

THE LOST EARL - - - OF ELLAN.

A STORY OP AUSTRALIAN LIFE.

By MRS CAMPBELL- PR AED.

PART I.

CHAPTER XI.— AT ACOBARRA. AL- AISBET, as he wae called by mosfc people, without any prefix to the name, \ the . man b,v; whom Oora -GalWaith was rescued, had been one of the pioneers of Northern Australia. Acobarra, his house, or, rather, collection of houses, stood on a hill on the mainland, overlooking the Strait, and his flag, floating from the highest point of the headland, dipped to passing vessels of importance, and was saluted in return. Acobarra — part cattle run, part pearling station — had a life of its own, wnicb, though cut off comparatively speaking from civilisation, was hardly less varied i»iid exciting than the life of the settlement.

When the pearling fleet -was in, white, black, and yellow men congregated in a. little liative quart-ex that ran along the beach, and th& more important of Aisbefe ortws occupied the better-looking cottages further back among the palms. Aisbet was absolute 'ord in his own domain. He was a dead shot, and kept order in rough, but effectual, fashion. The blacks, who on the — /ilder part of that coast ar-e savage cannibals, had begun making raids on his fetation, but now regarded him as "Debildebil," and kept away- The Papuans, whom he occasionally visited, ware friendly, and allowed him. to do a good trade in native products, and he was a power in certain of the islands, where missionaries were sometimes glad of his protection. He iiad himself married the daughter of a missionary, onco a beautiful girl, still a handsome woman, straight as a dart, athletic as a man, and as good a sailor as her husband had in his fleet of pearling luggers. - So, too, was her daughter of 17, who helped her mother in nursing Oora badly, to life again. . But it was now the time fior the pearlers to go out, and Mrs Aisbet always accompanied her husband, practically taking the command of the floating station, and proving that there was no cleverei trader in vhe Timor and Arafurs, .Seas. This year it had been

settled that her daughter should go with her on the cruise.

Susan Galbraith thought it an extvaordmary life for civilised women to lead.. and decided that for her own part she preferred the solitudes of gidya and gum forest and the legendary romance of the bush, to the seething human interest of a Torres Straits settlement. She was a little jarred by the quearness of the Acobarra household, the unconventional Aisbet women, the black and brown servants, the Malays and half castes, the Dutchmen — socalled, rlrat wlk were nvratly Germans— tht beachcorobers and. "shell backs,"' amlall the other strange folk who at this time came about the Acobarra headland. Susan could not appreciate the picturesqueness of her present surroundings, which, however, she was ready to admit would appeal strongly ti her sister were Oora only in a condition to enjoy them. But, alas! since Hal Aisbet carried the poor blistered form on shore wrapped in a sailor's overcoat Oora had lain insensible to all that was going on around, existence for her being only r alternations oi delirium and stupor. Her nervous system had received so severe a shock, and the fever which followed on "those terrible" hours of exposure was of such serious nature, that the doctor, whom Hal Aisbst had fetched over from Thursday Island, declared at first that she could "not recover. But she was still aKve when her father and sister arrived, having taken the first possible steamer north, and every day the flickering Lope grew stronger. Then good Patsy v.ho had remained behind, as che^ and b&r husband could not "both leave Narrawan without a manager, got a bush friend end his wife to take temporary charge of the station and the two elder children, and with her baby came north to her stepdaughter's issistance, Mr Galbraith going back by the return steamei. This familjmigration was necessary, for it would not have done to interfere with Aishet's plans, and though Oora was out of actual danger at the date fixed for their pearlers' departure, she \v?& nevertheless too ill to be moved for some weeks to come. It was therefore arranged that tht Aisbets should iend their house to the Galbraiths until OoTa could be taken couth.

The Aishets were gone at last, and a wondrous quietude had fallen on Aeobarra. I The fla? had been hauled down from the flagstaff op the hill ; the laggard pearling boats of the pearlers irere re longer visible, even as white specks on the sea. It was afternoon, and Siu-an Galbraith, worn out with nursing and relieved by the knowledge that Patsy- was there to share I her responsibilities, rested in t-he verandah, jmd realised how intensely seething to racked nerves was the sense of lull that "now pervaded the head station. Oora was sleeping. Ind _ Patsy, who had only arrived the previous day, was watching by her bedside. Oora iiad seemed to brighten at the sight of her stepmother's homely face, but had passed a disturbed night, in j which she had again seemd to be goiny ! through the tenors and emotions of her time on tho raft, somewhat scandalising { pooi Patsy, who had not b^en prepared for these* unconventional developments. To Susan there was comfort inexpressible in Patsy "6 familiar .vays and kindly voice, with the blend of Australian twang amd Insh brogue. The Aisbets had been good nature itself, but then ideas and interests were foreign U her own. Hal Aisbet and his wife seem-ed most at home among brown and black people, and their talk was all of pearling and packing shell, of tons of copra and casks of coco oil ; of testing for "rich patches," of the chances of shell being worm-eaten, of fishing and divings in various lagoons ; of the perils of tho docp and the commerce of the ■South Sens ;of barter and of purchase ; of where trey would take in supplies of yam and feiro and turtle and freeh pork, of miseionarie*: and chiefs, and native women and waders — all of whom appeared to be Mrs Aishet's closest friends. In short, of many things which sounded as strange to Susan's -ears as the Polynesian dialect that Mrs Aisbet, her husband, and daughter talked freely. And, apart from the \ares of Ocra's illness, poor Susan was racked with anxiety about hei own unhappy love affair. For no word had come m her of, or from, Wolfe. She supposed that he had gone up to the Yellaroi, and had no notion that be had been on board the Quetta. Being painfully assured of the loss of her other relatives, Susan shrank from the harrowing details of the wreck, and she had been in too close attendance upon Oora to pay heed to casual visitors from Thursday Island or to any gossip of the Settlement which came through them. Moreover, Wolfe's name was not down in the list of those lost or saved, for he had only gone on board the Quetta at Cooktown, and had not been entered in the second class passenger list. Besides, he was in much the same critical state as Oora from fever and exposure on the raft, and consequently, with the exception of Flash Sam, who for reasons of his, own was not communicative, no one at Thursday Island had any clue as to his identity. Susan, as she leaned back in her canvas chair, worn and wraith like, gave the suggestion of a tired angel clad in white muslin and incongruous black ribbons — ribbons worn as a sign of mourning for her uncle and aunt. The oval of her face seemed to have elongated j her skin was pnJlid and transparent ; her hair, simply parted and le&s elaborately dressed than issual, ape-ared to have lost vitality ; and her soft blue eyes had a scared look. In truth, she had been very much frightened while watching at Oora's bedside. &he had never before nursed anyone m the grip of fever, and Oora had raved of terrible things ; it- was no wonder that Patsy felt shocked and astonished. In her delirium she had seemed to be going through experiences so revolting to Susan that she had wondered how Oora could have come out of them alive. As Oom raved Susan understood that the girl was being caught down again among that mass of drowning people, that she w.ts again struggling for life, struck at by boot-ed feet and frantic hands. It had been evident that again Oora felt herself sucked into the relentless swirl and eddy <ni the

sinking ship. Again in imagination she I was making bey desperate dive, and rising ~ at the fringe of the human wreckage. Susan seemed to see as Oora had seen, I th& hungry sharks snapping at their nearest prey, and Susan sickened, as Oora i had sickened, at the r«d pollution of the ( sea. . • . Then Oora babbled of the ' black's charm, and clutched an imaginary necklace. . . . Susan knew the aeckiaee well, and the shark's tooth banging from it. ... She wondered what had I become oi it and the charm, and supposed i they must have been lost in th° sea. Oora appeared conscious of its loss, and would, 1 giopo for it with twitching fingers, and I as she groped and murmured, the fever stupor would fall upon her for a while and still her incoherent mutterings. Then when the stupor period passed she -would begin babbling anew — sometimes as if site were holding a conversation with another person, when her voice would deepen, and she would cry in hoarse, broken accents, unlike her own, "Sea witch. . . . Sea witch. . . . Brave little sea witch i" Over and over again she pronounced the words in monotonous parrot call. Then her voice would quaver away, and ehe would -wander off to incidents of her childhood. l«d by some elu# at first meaningless, to the listener. But b3--and-bye Susan, caught .the thread. . . . Oor.i was thinking of Hans Andersen's Sea Maid, and of haw the Sea Maid saved the princ3 from drowning by holding him on her bosom and supporting his head above the water. Susan remembered how, when she and Oora, with lier twin brother Harry, wers little chil dren, scon after their mother's death, their father had been used in the winter evenings to read fairy stories aloud to them, trhe remembered how sb* had loved the Oaelic legends, but Oora had liked Hans Andersen best, while Harry had clamoured for rough tales oi bushrangers diggers, and Xorth American Indians. . . Their brother Harry! As Susan sat by Oora's bed in those lon£ night watches pictures of him iose vividly before Ler mind. As a rule now she fried never to think of Harry, because whenever she did so it made her unhappy. The memory of Harry was like a festering sore which ROgerod her and yet which she could not cure. Oora appeared to have wiped him out of her life ; but she could not. Prom lh« very beginning Harry had been, a cause of affliction to them all. There 'iad always been signs in him of 0 certain moral aberration. As a little fellow he had pilfered from the store, had told lies, and skulked about the men's huts and the blocks" camp, which was forbidden. As he. grew oldei he had consorted with bad vharacters, and had preferred low company •to that of his own class. This had bred bad blood betwen his father and himself, ■ and there was no question that Sir Galbraith had often been unduly harsh to his son. Susan knew, though her father had rever actually confessed it, that ne was sorry nc-w, and that he felt Harry might not have gone so completely wro-ng had he been kinder. It had been part of Mr Galoraith's discipline to keep the boy short of cash. Had Harry received a proper allowance be might not have taken that money from the bank. It came back to Susan how, once when Harry had done something wrong, his father had thrashed him. and locked him up in an empty hut, handcuffing him sc that he should not escape. It was the but wiiere th-s native police had chained up Blade Boney after some depredation committed by his tribe, and when Boney managed to wriggle out of Lis chains and was getting oft into the bush a trooper had shot him. Harry coula never got o\er being treated like a black fellow by his own father. From that tin*.; he had grown hardened ard reckless -till the end camp. Then he had just ran away, find given no sign since of his -existence. That was about 18 months back, during Fusan's last year at tin Sydney boarding H-hoo-1. Her mind* had been distracted by the- excitement of leaving school, and of coming out in Sydney, but the wound vas there all the same, "and she could not forget it. Yet she had almost a horror of Harry ami his misdoings, and would gladly have tlotted ont even the remembrance of him. She could only account for her persistent clinging tc her brother cm the ground of the birth-bond between them — 3, bond which she knew not almost invariably made itself felt in the case 01 bwinb. At all events sh^ had to acknowledge to, herself that the most dread-

ful giief of her life — worse even than the pain of Wolfe's departure from Narrawan .I:3d his subsequent silence — w;is the tragedy of Harry's misdoings. She did not know why she should be thinking so continually of Harry here in this new place, even uhen she was easing Oora's pain by hot fomentations upon the poor scarred body, or laying cloths dipped in ice water on bora's burning head. Perhaps it was because of the number of '"dead-beats" — a 6 they called them up north, who seemed to haunt the settlement — rogues and vagabonds, but most of them gentlemen once. Then the hoarse parrot cry would sound again suddenly from Oora's parched Hps —"Sea Witch! ... Sea Witch! . . . Brave little Sea Witch! . . .' And in laboured gasps — "You're putting your spell upon me . . . looking at me with those green eyes. . . Sea Witch. . . You're making me belong to you. . . Kiss me, Sea Witch. . . Over again and over again, the same burden, repeated in the deep husky whisper with a passionate thrill in it, which struck a ghostly echo in Susan's heart. Often Oora would answer, not in the hoarse travesty of a man's tones, but in her natural voice, whispering, too, broken, passionate assurances that she loved &ompbody, that Fate had given them to each other — that their souls were one, no matter if they drowned together, for most surely some« lu&re and &ome day their lives would be united. . . Then she would cry • out that he should not die — that she "would save him — that God meant her to save him. She had put her charm round his neck. No shark would touch him. Only he must keep still-in her arms —trust himself to her ; cling to her, . The

night would soon be ; over. A boat wouSj pick them lip." '"Eafce" would not Jet theni die now tKat they Tiad found each other. Then would follow pathetic prayeis to heaven for aid, and for strength to Iceep herself awake, so that she miglit not loosen her hold, and let him slip Ixoya her into the sea. Oh, he was shivering, and she had nothing to put over him. The sea was so cold now. She was getting stiff. Her feet were becoming cramped. Merciful God! save her from cramp ' Help her to keep her feet moving ! As hour after hour at int-_- r.ne talked on, sometimes in mei-c- l.:d:slt babble, sometimes almost coherently, Susan began to get a fairly clear idea of the sequence of events. There were tunes when Oora. would raise her voice in poignant ' coo-ees that brought ber father or some of the Aisbets rushing in, if Susan. were the only watcher. Or she would call despairingly for her uncle and aunt, . or 6peak other names which those around - her did not know. Now she would seem to be crying shame, on cowardly men ior , their faintheartedness,'' and would entreat somebody to* pull harder. And now she would make feeble movements with her own arms ' an-cl feet like the" labourecT strokes of some breathless swimmer, an£L aSfer' tTiesa efforts invariably .came' the phase of exhaustion aud stupor. Susan " felt thankful when her father- or one of the Aisbets * relieved her. Yet " there was poignant anxiety mingled witb her relief. She was distressed and astonished at Oora's ravings. They had for hei a curious fascination, but she could not bear that anyone else should hear them, and she tried to prevent fhat as much as possible. Circumstances favoured her in this respect, or perhaps Oora had somedim consciousness that guarded her against too open self-betrayal, for ft was generally in the night, when Susan took the nursing, that sue was most delirious. Fascination for Susan's chief feelings -were of shock and supreme amazement. Here seemed a revelation " of life's most thrillingly sweet realities even under conditions "which spoke appallingly of death. There, in that wild waste of waters, -with dead men and dying women floating by, \\ spar only between herself and drowning, Oora had seemingly given herself up to an extraordinary infatuation for a man whom Susan understood to be a complete stranger. Faced by a horrible fate, she had shown no care for anything but the preservation of this hitherto unknown man. She apparently shielded him in hex" arms ; -warmed him against her breast, had kissed him on the lips, had consecratedherself to him, as it were, body and soul. Susan's own beart-bekte w-ere as she compared her love fay Wolfe =witb , this wild passion at which all the virginal part of her recoiled. Her nature vteis not one -to- invite violent delights. Already she had gone through agonies of shame from the fear that Wolfe "mfehf despise . her for. having allowed -herself to Bare for him too easily. Susan was constitutionally moral and reserved. The accepted conventions of womanhood were to her a' support, and her sister's frequent disregard of them had always jarred upon her. -

Byand-bye Patsy came round the verandah "from Oora's bedroom, looking worried Hiid puzzled. Patsy did not take any more than Susan to the" Polynesian and Asiatic elements at Acobnrra/ fbc cook was » Kling ; the indoor servants Japanese boys ; the outdooa ones Chinese aud kanakas. Now that the Aisbets had left, except their tw selves and a nursemaid Patsy "had bnought with her from Townsville to miad the baby, there were no white women on thp place. The overseer why. managed the cattle and looked after things generally hvf-.d in a cottage apart, and was unmarried. It was to> far for the ladies of Thursday Island to come visiting, and Patsy wss wishing that they were all back* at Narrawan. Susan saw, however, - that something more than social "and domestic difficulties perplexed her stepmother.

"Oora's asleep," Patsy begat-. "She just woke rap to drink her *Wf lea, and poor ■erough stuff it is that that creature in the dirty turban makes. I'll have to be after getting her something that's got more 1.-ourishment in it. She's that weak, I dare not let her lift her head, but the worst >t the fever is over now, I believe, ™ith that spirit lost, night. My word ! that Wherid me, Su. However Oora could let horself go on like that I'm sure I can't, make out." She locked questiomngly at Susan, due the girl did not answer, and Mrs Galbraith plumped into a cane chair, and fanned herself with a palm leaf. "My goodness ! it does feel nice >to bo quiet after all that racket this morning,"* she said. "I declare I'd sooner live in. the mlAdle of a mob of bullocks at Narrawan than hi?re in a camp of peariers. An<? as for a tribe of good old "bush, blacks — they'd be a treat after these nasty brownishvellow breeds ! The best thing tliey have here is the mangoes !"' Patsy stooped and lielped herself from a basket of the fruit that stood on the floor of the verandah. She attacked the mango in an absent manner, spilling the juice ovci her hands and lap, and then threw ihe fruit away, to be swooped down upon by a crow, while she rubbed herself with her pocket handkerchief. "Beastly things!" ska ejaculated, r.ot making it clear whether the alluded to the crows, the Malas's, or the mangoes. Af f er a paus<; she exclaimed suddenly. "Su. «in you make it out?" "Make out what, Patsy dear?" Susan had grovn very gentle of late. , "Why, make our who the maa is that Oora ivas raving about last- night — that man who s&snis to have been making love to her — or that she was making love to out there in the sea after the wreck. Seems a qnoer time to choose for such blarney, -with the vratev fall of 6hark» and people drowning, all round. . Do yoyv think her rambling could have been all fancy?" " > * " "I can't tell you, Pat.".. . „ - "Girls / don't go on like .that -all out of their own heads/* ' conthme'l" Mrs <sai--braith, sagaciously. "Sure, "I "never liearifc

anything ;s<> .'outrageoTis. Do you think -'/your -poor 3Au£ti-Leiich ;could^rhaTe beea. aware of -what ' Oora was after?" .' I'Aunt Leitcb was drowned directly the ship went down/ answered Susan sadly. Mrs "Galbraith shuddered. -'-""Yes, ye 6, I know. It was awful. I cant bear to think of it. I feel as if I never' wanted to hear the Quetta mentioned -a^ain. But I meant- before that. The man, must have been a saloon passenger. _ .What was his name, do you' know? --."Oora has never spoken hie name. Patsy,' I. wouldn't say anything more about it. Oora will tell us the truth when she comes -to' herself."

' "'Tm not so sure of that. She wouldn't have the face to "own up to Etrch doings if .she \vere in her,riglyt~mind," said Patsy, who had strict Irish views as to propriety. "Have you heard what became of the felrio"w? Was he -saved, too?" ' " 'T don't know." \ . '' ~But didn't your father ask any questions of, anyone?" - : "There has/been nobody to ask ques"tions -of; -Patsy," replied Susan patiently. <">"Gpra Cwas^yv-herself, in^the water, ,as you" kiiow,-when' Mr Aisbet" picked her ;Tip-'J£ : he'd' been, any later, he said, she fmnst. have "goneY" Mrs Aisbet' told me never' seen' anything so dreadfuL as "the. blisters on Oora's body." Mrs Galbraiih shuddered again. : . "They're., bad enough now.» JBut didn't your father make any inquiries over at Thursday Island! - Wasn^t he horrified to hfear'Oora talking in such a -way • about a man."

"He didn't know much about how she talked. It _was nearly always -at night, and I've been talcing the nights till you came. I. tried to keep Dad and the Aisbets out ''of Ooi-a's room when she was excited. And then; Dad " Susan hesitated. , * "' * "Wdl, what else-, Sue? Your Dad would tell me himself, ,so you may as well, now- he's gone." "Father was thinking a great deal about Harry," said Susan, speaking slowly, as though she found the subject painful. "You know he heard something at Thursday. Island."

Mrs Galbraith looked at her step- » -daughter with, quickened interest. "No, I didn't know. Duncan said ".nothing. -^ There wasn't time-^my arriving . only yesterday, and he going away to-day, ' and there . was all the station work to tell him. about. - .We shifted the sheep f rom--the Ten' Mile ; and then some of ' the" cattle Wolfe -helped to get in headed • back--" again - from"- 1 ' the -"Iron Bark -c"ountry. Now,, if/ JWolfe .had, only stopped on as -Duncan.'- wanted, everything' would have all right," and "your dad needn't have brirried -off '-like" this. I "suppose you -; haven't ''heard whether Wolfe, is coming \ back, Su?" ■' : .' i\ . •', '-' "No," Susan 'shortly, and turned _, ~away.^ • ■ 'I „-.-^ ~!_> >v* * ',-"Well,'l always 'said' tliere- was some- . .thing queer about 'Wolfe," observed Patsy, placidly. "It isn't a bit surprised ,Td_ be if he never turned up again at - >Ther* was a pause, during which Susan " kept her face averted, and Patsy seerried,to be weighing matters. * '-"I noticed, that Demean looked mighty troubled last night," she said, "but it didn't strike me that he'd have Hairy on his mind up here. Sure, now I understand the whole thinjr, Sue." • - Susan answered with an effort. ! "Do you really, Patsy? It's more than I do. ' ' V.Why, you see your father's been.iret- ' ting his Heart out these last months over Harry, though he was too proud to let on that he was sore. It was after he lost the track of the boy at Charters Towers, and he's been doing all he could to get on it again. I know he saw Kirby the last time he was down" (Kirby was the local solicitor), "and I believe he told Kirby to offer a reward. He wouldn't say anything to you, because of you and Harry being twins, and knowing how bad you felt about it. And Duncan's that close and stuck up in his opinion, it goes against him io own himself in the wrong. But I could tell my poor old man was blaming himself for having »,been top rough on Harry, thrashing him £ when;he was a iid, and chaining him up «'** -%$ tim e. Sure, I'm .glad • Duncan ' "'.kS3*4 atr ' last-. How , was. it ?, What's the got, Sue? Does he know where . JHarry is jiow ?" . . . . V "M, Pat. "That's the trouble,.' Dad - «nly knows that Harry has been with bad -.companions, and -he- thinks that something ' has happened to him— something dreadful —and that they're keeping it from him/ - . 'But what is it, anyway, that makes him think so?" 1

"I'll tell you all I know. Da<l was orer at Thursday Island, aud went into~a kind of bar place to get a drink. There were some . diggers and bushmen talking and drinking, and one of them was a man called Flash Sam, who used to come and break in horses at our old station, Bundah, till Dad discovered what a bad lot he -was, and sent him off. That was before jour time, Patsy. Harry and I were about 12 ; I remember the row there was because of ;Harry being somehow mixed pp. in it. He was always trying to go to ihe men's huts against Dad's orders. Well, -.Dad- eaid it suddenly struck him that Flash might know something about Hurry, • and <u6 -^ en t W and asked him straight. . ".Flash" Sam < was rather taken .aback, .he . said^.-^and;. blurted, out that he and'^H'arry .liaii'-been^ mates for a- time at ; thej-Diggiiigs. ' Father"- iisked. what diggings, and Flasli Sam prevaricated, and ? c'tSfifradictecT -himself/ and -at" last eaid it *was. at Charters' Towers, and that they ".hail been together after war<3s,i " arid Harry, had left him iii the bush somewhere near -the. Palmer. Oh, Patsy, think of it! Our father's son— -a, Galbraitli— my brother— the mate of a blackguard, like. Flash Sam."

"My deal*, there isn't much good in taking it in that sort of way. It's what a lot of people besides Galbraiths have to put up with in Australia. Sure, my own brother died on the spree in a shanty out West. Anyway, it couldn't have been Lady Susan's blue blood that you're so

, proud of, Su, that came out in Harry. I i expect -he-jbad-A- -big-^drop- in "him" of another colour, and I shouldn't wonder if the thrashings hadn't had something to do with his being a bit crooked. I said that once to Duncan. It was how I got to know what he was feeling himself, and I'd have bitten my tongue out afterwards rather than have rubbed it in like that on the poor old man. But my father, who'd knocked about a good bit and knew something, used to declare that to thrash a boy was the safest way to send him to the devil. You've got to lift up the wrong sort, not beat them down, and .poor Harry seems to have been, the wrong sort from the time he was a kiddie."

Patsy spoke hi her frank way, not meaning to bs unkind, but she added hastily : "Mind you don't repeat that to the old Dad!" v

"Do you think I should !" exclaimed Susan. ""But I believe your father was right. Harry might have been different if he'd had affection instead of harshness. And to have been such a Jad when he ruined his life! It's true) though; he wasn't a' Teal Galbraith. Oh ! I know, I know," she went on miserably. "I know that he drank and boasted and cheated and told lies. I know it all, and I loathe it all, but I can't get away from the fact that he's my twin brother." Susan's enforced calm broke down, and she wept bitterly. Patsy tried* to comfort her, but it was some minutes before she icould "be got to resume ttie story of her father's meeting with Flash Sam. "No, Dai. couldn't get any definite dates lor particulars out, of him. ar t* when he j bad" last seen Harry. Flash Sam grew abusive, and swore he was going to do father , a good turn when father had done Mm such a bad one in turning him off : Bundah, and setting the district against iiim. He said. if he did know what had j become of Harry he'd be even with us by ke«ping us m tenterhooks il he could, and that fathei had been so hard on Hairy that he deserved to suffer himself. Poor old D-Od told me that with tears in nis eyes, Patsy. And I didn't know how to comfort him. 'I felt somewhat like'vlead. \ I don't- know w-iat has 'come oveV me latelj*. I don't seem to feel about the I things", in the way I used."

"Never mind," said Patsy; "one can't feel about things and sit up nights on ;nd for ever sc long and nurse brain fever all at the same time. Don't you, worry at not- feeling, Su, but be thankful that 3 ou don'tr4if you don't," Mrs Galbraith added sharply. <■■ ■ , Susan smiled through hei tears. "3Tou are rather, a comfort. Pat." "Well, go on. What next? It doesn't seem to me "j bit like my old man topnt up with cheek from anybody. Two or three years ago he'd have upped with nis stockwhip on Flas' Sani. I'm not one to worrit, Su, but as you've Begun it I'll tell you that I've been" uneasy _about your father.. He hasn't got his old spunk, and there are signs about' him 1 I don't like. But this may account for them. How long ago was it that he saw Flash Sam ?" "Oh, only a few days/

"I wonder he didn't go t< the Resident ;tnd get the Government people to 'ook up Flash Sam." '

"He did, but Flash Sam. seems to have gone away or hidden" himself," "I'd have made hm spenk," said Mrs Galbraith, savagely.

"Dad said he didn't want to have a rew in the bar. Besides, some other men came in, and one if them, a bushman or .•» digger,- took off Flash Sam, and be^an asking if he';l seen his mate — the other man's mate. Dad wanted to get hold of Ram again, but there was a lot of shouting and drinking going on, and Dad so id there .cam© some kind of a scrimmasc, and when he looked again Flash Sam and ihe other man had gone off, and were nofc to be found. The bar-keeper didn't even know their names, and there was an end of it. That'? all I caa tell you, Patsy. Dad may find out something more if he stays at Thursday Island to-night, or, perhaps, he won't go down this steaiiVT.'"

"The Milligans can't stop at Narrawan ovci the week, and he must get home, or there'll be auctions on the station," said ■Patsy. "Howtver, I expect something will turn up soon, and I'd sooner he set Kirby to ferret the business out.' for if Flash Sam has to bo paid for his information, it had best be done through a lawyer. Your fathei's idea is to give Harry a fresh ?tflrt in New Zealand or somewhere down south. I'll be thankful when it's done, and tlie poor old chap- lias his mind lased of remorse."

An infant's fretful cry sounded from tlie other end of the house. Mrs Galbraith started up, saying.. "There's baby awake I'll go to Oora, and send the girl to the child." B

She. went round the comer of the verandah again, but presently cam* back, "fbra's sleeping still quite quietly. Now, Su, just you go and take a turn on the beach. It will freshen you up, and you won't feel so down in the mouth."

Susan took the advice, and, putting on her hat, strolled along the shore at the foot of the headland, which eloped gently to th© sea. She left the jetty and the little settlement of huts behind her, and crossed a small rocky point overgrown with jungle, beyond which was a tiny bay and beach of coarse sand, in which some boulders of black rock' were embedded. The end of the point made a natural breakwater, and in its shelter wa6 a. little private bathing place, used by the Aisbet6. The girl seated herself in S-fcbe^ shadow of the rocks above the bathin£ place. "It was getting on in the afternoon, and >'cool breeze had sprung up. The little "port -was- quite .deserted to-day, Hal Aiebet's schooner "and. all the pearling luggers that he ,owned" having gone out, only one lugger anS two or three small fishing amaeke, left for tlie^ use of the station, were moored at the* jetty. Susan found something dreamy and soothing in ! the slow, regular boom of the surf, and I in the whistling sound made by the wind I in the tons of coco palms behind her. The

sea looked peaceful and smiling. Green, islands made emerald patches here and there ; gleams of white sand showed bright against the green. There were beche-de-mer fisheries on some of the islands., and she could see one or two small craft, their sails bellying in. the pleasant south-east monsoon.

Presently Susan noticed that one of the boats was bearing from the direction of Thursday Island towards the Aisbets' jetty. It passed round the rocky point, and Susan saw that a man in the stern of the boat put up a pair of glasses and looked at her. She wondered vaguely if her father had changed his mind about taking a steamer on the morrow, or if any of the pearling party hr.d returned. After a little while she heard a step coming over the neck of the point, and turned with a- startled movement to see a man walking towards her — a short, thick-set person in a neat blue sevge suit, which sat with a jaunty air upon him, fitting his square, burly form with particular trimness. Susan recognised the brown, strong face at once. It was her old Sydney admirer, Lieutenant Brian Cordeaux. She was not wholly unprepared for the sight of him. She knew that the Clytie was cruising somewhere in Polynesian waters, and guessed that Brian had received her note bidding him welcome to Narrawan.

Of course, Susan thought she ought to have -written again after the Quetta disaster, jub the Aisbets told her of how Mr Cordeaux had sailed over to Acobarra before her own arrival there to inquire after Oora, and she had understood from them that he was not at present with his ship, but spending part of his leave in seeing something of bush life on the coast. Evidently he had now returned from his trip. (To be continued.)