fast, darling," cried Sibyl; "a little slower, pet."

But pet and darling was past all remonstrances on the part of his
little mistress. He flew on, having clearly made up his mind to run
away from the red flag and the shouting children to the other end of
the earth. In vain Sibyl jerked the reins and pulled and pulled. Her
small face was white as death; her little arms seemed almost wrenched
from their sockets. She kept her seat bravely. Someone driving a
dog-cart was coming to meet her. A voice called--

"Hullo! Stop, for goodness' sake; don't turn the corner. Stop! Stop!"

Sibyl heard the voice. She looked wildly ahead. She had no more power
to stop the nameless pony than the earth has power to pause as it
turns on its axis. The next instant the corner was reached; all seemed
safe, when, with a sudden movement, the pony dashed madly forward, and
Sibyl felt herself falling, she did not know where. There was an
instant of intense and violent pain, stars shone before her eyes, and
then everything was lost in blessed unconsciousness.

CHAPTER XV.

On a certain morning in the middle of July the _Gaika_ with Ogilvie on
board entered the Brisbane River. He had risen early, as was his
custom, and was now standing on deck. The lascars were still busy
washing the deck. He went past them, and leaning over the taffrail
watched the banks of low-lying mangroves which grew on either side of
the river. The sun had just risen, and transformed the scene. Ogilvie
raised his hat, and pushed the hair from his brow. His face had
considerably altered, it looked worn and old. His physical health had
not improved, notwithstanding the supposed benefit of a long sea
voyage.

A man whose friendship he had made on board, and whose name was
Harding, came up just then, and spoke to him.

"Well, Ogilvie," he cried, "we part very soon, but I trust we may meet
again. I shall be returning to England in about three months from now.
When do you propose to go back?"

"I cannot quite tell," answered Ogilvie. "It depends on how soon my
work is over; the sooner the better, as far as I am concerned."

"You don't look too well," said his friend. "Can I get anything for
you, fetch your letters, or anything of that sort?"

"I do not expect letters," was Ogilvie's answer; "there may be one or
two cables. I shall find out at the hotel."

Harding said something further. Ogilvie replied in an abstracted
manner. He was thinking of Sibyl. It see