y he was about to throw himself, which was to
know further that that generosity would be curbed by judgment, and to
reflect that he was least likely to be deprived of a horse whose
whereabouts was known only to himself. There was but one lighted room
when he eventually stole upon the house; it had a veranda to itself; and
in the bright frame of the French windows, which stood open, sat the
Bishop with his Bible on his knees.

"Yes, I know you," said he, putting his marker in the place as Stingaree
entered, boots in one hand and something else in the other. "I thought
we should meet again. Do you mind putting that thing back in your
pocket?"

[Illustration: Stingaree knocked in vain.]

"Will you promise not to call a soul?"

"Oh, dear, yes."

"You weren't expecting me, were you?" cried Stingaree, suspiciously.

"I've been expecting you for months," returned the Bishop. "You knew my
address, but I hadn't yours. We were bound to meet again."

Stingaree smiled as he took his revolver by the barrel and carried it
across the room to Dr. Methuen.

"What's that for? I don't want it; put it in your own pocket. At least I
can trust you not to take my life in cold blood."

The Bishop seemed nettled and annoyed. Stingaree loved him.

"I don't come to take anything, much less life," he said. "I come to
save it; if it is not too late."

"To save life--here?"

"In your house."

"But whom do you know of my household?"

"Mrs. Melvin. I have had the honor of meeting her twice, though each
time she was unaware of the dishonor of meeting me. The last time I
promised to try to save her unhappy son from himself. I found him
waiting to waylay the coach, told him who I was, and had ten minutes to
try to cure him in. He wouldn't listen to reason; insult ran like water
off his back. I did my best to show him what a life it was he longed to
lead, and how much more there was in it than a loaded revolver. He
wouldn't take my word for it, however, so I put him out of harm's way,
up in a tree; and when the coach came along I gave him as brutal an
exhibition of the art of bushranging as I could without spilling blood.
I promise you it was for no other reason. What did I want with watches?
What were a few pounds to me? I dropped the lot that the lad might
know."

The Bishop started to his gaitered legs.

"And he's actually innocent all the time?"

"Of the deed, as the babe unborn."

"Then why in the wide world----"

Dr. Methue