that his new life was nothing but a dream. He stepped
out into the sunshine with a childish fear upon him, and looked about
him, breathing deeply, and relief came, but there remained a
consciousness of loss of power. Drink was not for him: he was a hale man,
full of vitality; in his normal state his sensibilities were capable of
drawing the most generous emotions from the events of existence; excess
of liquor gave him, in place of that natural gratification, a set of
feverish and unreal sensations. He could understand others, from whom
Nature withheld the joy of life, finding in intoxication a pale
substitute, but for him it was a sacrifice of self, a sacrifice he could
not afford, for it was only the other day that self had become sweet to
him. How could he exchange his rich reality for the pale, misty, groping
unreality he had become last night--give up the exhilaration he derived
from the stir of life and friendly contact with men for the fantastic,
fleeting emotions of the reveller in drink, emotions that fly through the
darkened brain like shooting stars, the stir of a blatant egotism, the
prickly heat of tiny, aimless joys that never penetrate below the skin!
He determined to be content with sobriety for the future.

This very excellent and virtuous resolution did not keep Done from Mary
Kyley's tent, however, and he retained his relish for the revels there:
the boisterous horseplay of the diggers, the dancing, the gay spirits of
Aurora, her beauty and her music. He believed Aurora still loved him, but
the recollection of her appearance that night, and the fury with which
she had repudiated his right to interfere, contrasted with her attitude
on the occasion when he championed her cause against Quigley, gave him
moments of dubious reflection. Coming up from their claim one evening at
sundown after a particularly hard day, the mates found Aurora busy at the
fire preparing their tea. They hailed her with shouts of thankfulness and
welcome. She was bare-armed and bare-headed; a snowy-white apron of Mrs.
Kyley's covered her frock, and was, if anything, an additional adornment
to her trim figure. The tea was made, and the big billy stood by the
embers, while Aurora attended to the grilling of the steak. She made a
charming picture, with the firelight on her face and gleaming in her
hair, and the men watched her for some minutes in quiet admiration, Josh
Peetree being particularly moved by the glamour of domesticity her