not the end at all. Moya would have given almost anything to know what that reason was; the one thing that she would not give was the inch involved in asking the question in so many words. And Rigden in his innocence appreciated her delicacy in not asking.
"I can't explain," he began in rueful apology, and would have gone on to entreat her to trust him for once. But for some reason the words jammed. And meanwhile there was an opening which no Bethune could resist.
"Have I asked you for an explanation?"
"No. You've been awfully good about that. You're pretty rough on a fellow, all the same!"
"I don't think I am at all."
"Oh, yes, you are, Moya!"
For her tongue was beginning to hit him hard.
"You needn't raise your voice, Pelham, just because there's some one coming."
It was only the Eureka jackeroo (or "Colonial experiencer"), who had the hardest work on the station, and did it "for his tucker," but so badly as to justify Rigden in his bargain. It may here be mentioned that the manager's full name was Pelham Stanislaus Rigden; it was, however, a subconscious peculiarity of this couple never to address each other by a mere Christian name. Either they confined themselves to the personal pronoun, or they made use of expressions which may well be left upon their lovers' lips. But though scarcely aware of the habitual breach, they were mutually alive to the rare observance, which was perhaps the first thing to make Rigden realise the breadth and depth of his offence. It was with difficulty he could hold his tongue until the jackeroo had turned his horse adrift and betaken himself to the bachelors' hut euphemistically yclept "the barracks."
"What have I done," cried Rigden, in low tones, "besides lying as you heard? That I shall suffer for, to a pretty dead certainty. What else have I done?"
"Oh, nothing," said Moya impatiently, as though the subject bored her. In reality she was wondering and wondering why he should have run the very smallest risk for the sake of a runaway prisoner whom he had certainly pretended never to have seen before.
"But I can see there's something else," persisted Rigden. "What on earth is it, darling? After all I did not lie to you!"
"No," cried Moya, downright at last; "you only left me for two mortal hours alone on this verandah!"
Rigden sprang to his feet.
"Good heavens!" he cried; and little dreamed that he was doubling his enormity.
"So you were unaware of it, were you?"
"Quite!" he vowed naïvely.
"You had forgotten my existence, in fact? Your candour is too charming!"
His candour had already come home to Rigden, and he bitterly deplored it, but there was no retreat from the transparent truth. He therefore braced himself to stand or fall by what he had said, but meanwhile to defend it to the best of his ability.
"You don't know what an interview I had in yonder," he said, jerking a hand towards the store. "And the worst of it is that I can never tell you."
"Ah!"
"God forgive me for forgetting or neglecting you for a single instant!" Rigden exclaimed. "I can only assure you that when I left you I didn't mean to be gone five minutes. You will realise that what I eventually undertook to do for this wretched man made all the difference. It did put you out of my head for the moment; but you speak as though it were going to put you out of my life for all time!"
"For the sake of a man you pretended never to have seen before," murmured Moya, deftly assuming what she burned to know.
"It was no pretence. I didn't recognise him."
"But you do now," pronounced Moya, as one stating a perceptible fact.
"Yes," said Rigden, "I recognise him – now."
There was a pause. Moya broke it softly, a suspicion of sympathy in her voice.
"I am afraid he must have some hold over you."
"He has indeed," said Rigden bitterly; and next moment his heart was leaping, as a flame leaps before the last.
She who loved him was back at his side, she who had flouted him was no more. Her hot hands held both of his. Her quick breath beat upon his face. It was now nearly dark in the verandah, but there was just light enough for him to see the tears shining in her splendid eyes. Rigden was infinitely touched and troubled, but not by this alone. It was her voice that ran into his soul. She was imploring him to tell her all; there must be no secrets between them; let him but tell her the worst and she would stand by him, against all the world if need be, and no matter how bad the worst might be. She was no child. There was nothing he could not tell her, nothing she could not understand and forgive, except his silence. Silence and secrecy were the one unpardonable sin in her eyes. She would even help him to conceal that dreadful man, no matter what the underlying reason might be, or how much she might disagree with it, if only the reason were explained to her once and for all.
It was the one thing that Rigden would not explain.
He entreated her to trust him. His voice broke and the words failed him. But on the crucial point he was firm. And so was she.
"You said you were unreasonable and exacting," he groaned. "I didn't believe it. Now I see that it is true."
"But this is neither one nor the other," cried Moya. "Goodness! If I were never to exact more than your confidence! It's my right. If you refuse – "
"I do refuse it, in this instance, Moya."
"Then here's your ring!"
There was a wrench, a glitter, and something fell hot into his palm.
"I only hope you will think better of this," he said.
"Never!"
"I own that in many ways I have been quite in the wrong – "
"In every way!"
"There you are unreasonable again. I can't help it. I am doing what I honestly believe – "
His voice died away, for a whip was cracking in the darkness, with the muffled beat of unshod hoofs in the heavy sand. They sat together without a word, each waiting for the other to rise first; and thus Theodore found them, though Moya's dress was all he could descry at first.
"That you, Moya? Well, what price the bush? I've been shooting turkeys; they call it sport; but give me crows to-morrow! What, you there too, Rigden? Rum coincidence! Sorry I didn't see you sooner, old chap; but I'm not going to retract about the turkeys."
He disappeared in the direction of the barracks, and Moya held out her hand.
"Lend me that ring," she said. "There's no reason why we should give ourselves away to-night."
"I think the sooner the better," said Rigden.
But he returned the ring.
IV
BETHUNE OF THE HALL
Theodore Bethune was a young man of means, with the brains to add to them, and the energy to use his brains. As the eldest of his family
