adows.
Waving her scarf as she had done in the dance-room in Melbourne on the
night when Done first saw her, she sang again, and her clear soprano rang
in the gullies like the call of a bird, and brought the miners from their
tents and their arguments. When the song ended half the diggers on Jim
Crow were gathered about Burton's camp-fire, and the loudest roar of
applause came from Mary Kyley! Presently somebody out in the crowd
commenced to play a flute, and slid from a few bars of' Home, Sweet
Home!' into a rollicking jig. Half a dozen strong hands--Jim's
first--were laid upon Mrs. Ben, and she was dragged to the front.

'Dance, alauna machree!' cried Aurora.

The flute piped higher, a hundred voices took up the cry, and Mary was
conquered. Gathering a bunch of skirts in either hand, the big woman
commenced a step. Aurora enlivened it with quaint, melodious Irish cries,
the men roared encouragement, and presently Mary Kyley was dancing with
heart and soul and every ounce of energy. Dancing was a passion with Mrs.
Ben; she experienced a sort of delirium of movement once the swing of the
melody took hold of her, and at such moments, despite her uncommon size,
the woman became animated with a wild dignity and grace. Now, with head
thrown back and face uplifted, her crimson petticoat flashing in the
firelight, she danced like something wild, till she could dance no more,
and Done took her in his arms and half carried her to the log, where he
fanned her gallantly with his cabbage-tree, while the audience cheered
again and again.

Aurora found a partner for a reel in Tim Carrol, and the fun grew warmer,
a liberal digger having contributed a keg of rum, which was rolled from
Kyley's shanty into the illumined circle. But at this point a man stepped
forward from the crowd, and stood where the light fell full upon him, a
strongly-built digger of about five foot nine, not yet thirty years of
age, with a powerful face, not handsome, but uncommonly attractive in its
blend of kindliness and rugged force. Done recognised Alfred Lambert, a
voice of the disaffected--one of the little band of men who, animated
with that ardent love of freedom which is bred of tyranny and fed on
oppression, were ever busy fanning the embers of discontent, and striving
to work the diggers up to the point at which it would be impossible for
the Government to withhold from the vast majority of the people their
liberties and civil rights. Lambert held up