e stay--a moment."

A hum of voices came from the road outside, for the news, flying through
the town, brought everybody out to tell and hear.

With one accord they gathered round the police-station, which was almost
opposite the cottage, and stood in the road discussing the latest phase
of the mystery, the phase which brought into it the note of tragedy.
Then someone remembered the cottage and who was in it, and passed the
word along. The loud voices were hushed as the men, actuated by the
rough sympathy of the bush, quietly moved away so that the sound of
their voices should not reach the woman on whom a fresh blow had fallen.

Bessie, hearing the noise, went out to ascertain the cause. Hearing what
the news was, she rushed back into the cottage and precipitately burst
into the sitting-room. As she opened the door, Harding signed to her to
keep quiet.

"Here is Bessie, Jess. Will you stay with her?" he said.

She drew away from him slowly.

"No, don't go yet," she answered. "Tell me everything. I can hear it
now."

Bessie slipped out of the room and softly closed the door after her.

Mrs. Eustace took the chair Harding placed for her and he sat down by
her.

"Who--did it?" she asked.

"No one knows yet," he answered.

She looked at him quickly.

"Do they think--it was--himself?"

"No; it could not have been."

"I am glad of that," she said. "I have always feared he would. Then
there could have been no doubt. Was he found?"

"Yes. Durham was driving in from Waroona Downs with Brennan. They found
him in the water where the creek crosses the road in the range."

"Drowned?" she asked wonderingly.

"No, not drowned; he had been shot."

She shuddered and gripped his hand.

"They did not----" she began brokenly. "They--it was not because he
was--escaping?"

"They found him," he said gently. "He was lying in the water--the shot
had been fired from behind him."

For a time she sat silent, still holding his hand firmly.

"Where is he now?" she asked presently.

"They brought him in and Durham came across to tell you. Will you----"

"No, no. Oh, no," she interrupted as she shuddered and hid her face in
her hands.

Presently she raised her eyes to his.

"It is better so," she said. "They may find out now that he was
innocent; they would have condemned him had he been taken alive."

He laid a hand on hers without speaking.

With a quick gesture she raised it to her lips.

"Oh, Fred, what a fr