e whole.

But Frank arrived in due time at Toonarbin, and found all there much as
he had left it, save that Mary Hawker had recovered her serenity, and
was standing expecting him, with Charles by her side. Sam asked him,
"Where was Lee?" and Frank, thinking more of other things, said he had
left him at the hut, not thinking it worth while to mention the
circumstance of his having been called out--a circumstance which became
of great significance hereafter; for, though we never found out for
certain who the man was, we came in the end to have strong suspicions.

However, as I said, all clouds had cleared from the Toonarbin
atmosphere, and, after a pleasant meal, Frank, Major and Mrs. Buckley,
Sam, and Charles Hawker, rode home to Baroona under the forest arches,
and reached the house in the gathering twilight.

The boys were staying behind at the stable as the three elders entered
the darkened sitting-room. A figure was in one of the easy chairs by
the fire--a figure which seemed familiar there, though the Major could
not make out who it was until a well-known voice said,--

"Is that you, Buckley?"

It was the Doctor. They both welcomed him warmly home, and waited in
the gloom for him to speak, but only saw that he had bent down his head
over the fire.

"Are you ill, Doctor?" said Mrs. Buckley.

"Sound in wind and limb, my dear madam, but rather sad at heart. We
have had some very severe black fighting, and we have lost a kind old
friend--James Stockbridge."

"Is he wounded, then?" said Mrs. Buckley.

"Dead."

"Dead!"

"Speared in the side. Rolled off his horse, and was gone in five
minutes."

"Oh, poor James!" cried Mrs. Buckley. "He, of all men! The man who was
their champion. To think that he, of all men, should end in that way!"

* * * * *

Charles Hawker rode home that night, and went into the room where his
mother was. She was sitting sewing by the fire, and looked up to
welcome him home.

"Mother," said he, "there is bad news to tell. We have lost a good
friend. James Stockbridge is killed by the blacks on the Macquarrie."

She answered not a word, but buried her face in her hands, and very
shortly rose and left the room. When she was alone, she began moaning
to herself, and saying,--

"Some more fruit of the old cursed tree! If he had never seen me, he
would have died at home, among his old friends, in a ripe, honoured old
age."

Chapter XXVII

THE GOLDEN VINEYARD.

On a s