his new character as
knight-errant.

'D'ye mean to call the lady a liar?' he cried hotly.

Jim, who had a real liking for the cheerful young Irishman, evaded the
awkward blow aimed at his head, and stood back, and Ben Kyley saved
further trouble by seizing Tim and hustling him into a corner.

'I'm the on'y man what's permitted to punch the customers in this tent,'
said Ben.

At the same time Mrs. Ben descended upon Aurora and bore her off with a
mighty hug, much as if she were a rebellious infant.

XVII

IT was some time before Jim Done visited Mrs. Kyley's tent again. He bore
Aurora no animosity, he had the kindliest feelings for her, but
recognised that in frequenting the shanty he increased the difficulty of
the situation and prolonged the task he had set himself. A letter had
come to him from Lucy Woodrow--a bright, breezy letter, about Bush-life,
about herself and the youngsters, and a good deal about him. Certainly a
pleasant enough letter, but, considered as a literary production merely,
not deserving of Jim's high appreciation of it. Alter receiving it Jim
sat down in a reverent humour and decided, with the formality of a
meeting carrying a resolution, that Lucy was the only woman in the world
for him, the one possible woman. The resolution practically abolished all
other women so far as he was concerned. He could never think of another
with patience, and his longing for her was so great that it left him
little mind for Ryder, and scarcely any for Aurora. He was eager to pay
Boobyalla another visit, but Mike was deaf to all insinuations, and Jim
consoled himself with pretty imaginative pictures in which Lucy was
vividly represented sitting on the shady veranda at Macdougal's home
stead, spotted with flakes of golden sunshine filtered through the tangle
of vine and creeper. How sweet she was, how gentle, how tender, and yet
brave of heart and keen-witted withal. She had understood him better than
he had understood himself. That was very gratifying; it showed her deep
interest in him, but he did not put it to himself in that bald way. Why
hadn't he taken her up in his arms and kissed her when they parted in the
garden? Every drop of his blood prompted him to it, and something told
him she would not have resented it. He had been a fool. He should have
told her then that he loved her. Of course, it had hardly occurred to him
then that he really did love her, but he was a fool in any case for not
seeing it and