of informal affair born of moonlight rides and
country dances. He had never actually asked her to marry him, but he had
kissed her as he had kissed scores of others, and the girl had at once
taken it for granted that they were to be engaged. It had not
seemed such a bad thing for him at the time. He was fond of her in a
ballroom-and-moonlight-ride kind of way, but there it stopped. Still, it
was not a bad match for him. The girl was a lady, with friends all over
the district. He was rather near the border-line of respectability,
and to marry her would have procured him a position that he had little
chance of reaching otherwise. He had let things drift on, and the girl,
with her fanciful ideas, was, of course, only too ready to fall in with
the suggestion of secrecy; it seemed such a precious secret to her.
So now he was engaged while still up to his neck in debt; but worse
remained behind. In his business he had sums of money for investments
and for settlements of cases passing through his hands; and from time
to time he had, when hard pushed, used his clients' money to pay his own
debts. Beginning with small sums, he had muddled along, meaning to make
all straight out of the first big case he had; and each time he had a
big case the money seemed to be all spent before he earned it. He was
not exactly bankrupt, for he was owed a great deal of money, enough
perhaps to put him straight if he could get it in; but the mountain folk
expected long credit and large reductions, and it was pretty certain
that he would never get even half of what he was owed. Therefore, he
went about his business with a sort of sword of Damocles hanging over
his head--and now the heiress had come, and he had saved her life!

His musings were cut short by a tap at the door; a long, gawky youth,
with a budding moustache, entered and slouched over to a chair. He was
young Isaacstein, son of the Tarrong storekeeper, a would-be sportsman,
would-be gambler, would-be lady-killer, would-be everything, who only
succeeded in making himself a cheap bar-room loafer; but he was quite
satisfied that he was the right thing.

"What's doing, Gav?" he said. "Who's the letter from?"

"Oh, business--business" said Gavan Blake.

"What's doing with you?"

"Doing! By Gad, I'm broke. The old man won't give me a copper. What
about Saturday? Are you going to the Court at Ballarook?"

"Yes. I've got a couple of cases there. And I've just got a letter from
Mrs. Gordo