e familiar enough later to
its new mistress. Besides the dwelling houses were various huts and
outbuildings. The stock-yards lay on a piece of level ground behind at
the side of the gully, and between the yards and the House stood a
small slab and bark cottage--the Bachelors' Quarters.

Even though glorified by the sunset, it had given Lady Bridget a little
shock to see how crude and--architecturally speaking--unlovely was her
new home. But her Celtic imagination was stirred by the weirdness of
the grey-green gum forest, and of the mournful gidia scrub, framing the
picture.

Then, as dusk crept closer, and the great plain, along which the tired
horses plodded, became one illimitable shadow out of which rose strange
sounds of beasts and eerie night cries of birds, the spell of the
wilderness renewed itself and she felt herself enveloped in world-old
mystery.

She remembered how the lights of the head-station against the forest
blackness had looked like welcoming torches and how she had roused
herself out of her weariness at the last spurt of the equally weary
buggy horses. Then the jolt in the dark over the sliprails, the slow
strain of the wheels up the hill, the cracking of Moongarr Bill's
stock-whip, and the sound of long drawn COO-EES. Also of dogs barking,
of men running forward. Then how Colin had lifted her down and half
carried her into the parlour. She remembered her dazed glance round and
the rushing thought of how she could soften its ugliness. Yet it had
looked welcoming. A log fire blazing, the table spread, a Chinese cook
in baggy blue garments--pigtail flowing; a Malay boy; her bewildered
question--was there no woman in the establishment? Then Colin's
strident call from the veranda--'Mrs Hensor. Where's Mrs Hensor!' And
the appearance presently of Florrie Hensor--youngish, tall, a full
figure; black hair, frizzed and puffed, a showy face, red cheeks,
redder lips, rather sullen, flashing dark eyes--who had received Lady
Bridget almost as if she had been her equal, and of whom the bride had
at once made an enemy by her frigidly haughty response. From the first
moment, Lady Bridget had disliked Mrs Hensor. But she had felt a vague
attraction towards the little yellow-headed, blue-eyed boy clinging to
Mrs Hensor's skirts. As for any uneasiness on the score of Steadbolt's
insolent insinuations, she had absolutely dismissed that from her mind.

Yes--that bridal homecoming--how strange it had seemed! How roug