d altered. He knew, too, that Madge was not
the same, and now he could not but wonder whether the great change that
was apparent in her father was attributable to the same source--to the
murder of Oliver Whyte.

Sad and thoughtful as Mr. Frettlby looked, as he came along, a smile
broke over his face as he caught sight of his, daughter.

"My dear Fitzgerald," he said, holding out his hand, "this is indeed a
surprise! When did you come over?"

"About half-an-hour ago," replied Brian, reluctantly, taking the
extended hand of the millionaire. "I came to see Madge, and have a talk
with you."

"Ah! that's right," said the other, putting his arm round his
daughter's waist. "So that's what has brought the roses to your face,
young lady?" he went on, pinching her cheek playfully. "You will stay
to dinner, of course, Fitzgerald?"

"Thank you, no!" answered Brian, hastily, "my dress--"

"Nonsense," interrupted Frettlby, hospitably; "we are not in Melbourne,
and I am sure Madge will excuse your dress. You must stay."

"Yes, do," said Madge, in a beseeching tone, touching his hand lightly.
"I don't see so much of you that I can let you off with half-an-hour's
conversation."

Brian seemed to be making a violent effort.

"Very well," he said in a low voice; "I shall stay."

"And now," said Frettlby, in a brisk tone, as he sat down; "the
important question of dinner being settled, what is it you want to see
me about?--Your station?"

"No," answered Brian, leaning against the verandah post, while Madge
slipped her hand through his arm. "I have sold it."

"Sold it!" echoed Frettlby, aghast. "What for?"

"I felt restless, and wanted a change."

"Ah! a rolling stone," said the millionaire, shaking his head, "gathers
no moss, you know."

"Stones don't roll of their own accord," replied Brian, in a gloomy
tone. "They are impelled by a force over which they have no control."

"Oh, indeed!" said the millionaire, in a joking tone. "And may I ask
what is your propelling force?"

Brian looked at the man's face with such a steady gaze that the
latter's eyes dropped after an uneasy attempt to return it.

"Well," he said impatiently, looking at the two tall young people
standing before him, "what do you want to see me about?"

"Madge has agreed to marry me at once, and I want your consent."

"Impossible!" said Frettlby, curtly.

"There is no such a word as impossible," retorted Brian, coolly,
thinking of the famous remark