idn't
get out the same way I got in, you see--I mean out of the Blind Man's
Block."

"Blind Man's Block! Good God! have you been there? You're lucky to have
got out at all!"

"It wasn't easy. I thought we should never strike a fence, and when we
did I had to follow it for miles before there was a gate or a road. But
the boundary-rider was very kind; he not only gave me the best meal I
ever had in my life; he set me on the road to you."

Indeed the girl was glowing, though dusty and dishevelled from head to
foot. Her splendid colouring had never been more radiant, nor had the
bewildered sergeant ever looked upon such brilliant eyes. But it was a
feverish brilliance, and a glance would have apprised the skilled
observer of a brain in the balance between endurance and suspense.

"What on earth were you doing in Blind Man's Block?" asked Harkness,
suspiciously.

"I'll tell you. I'll tell you something else as well! But first you must
tell me something, Sergeant Harkness."

"I believe you know where he is," quoth the sergeant, softly.

"Do _you_ know _who_ he is?" cried Moya, coming finely to her point.

Harkness stared harder than ever.

"Well, I thought I did--until this afternoon."

"Who did you think it was?"

"Well, there's no harm in saying now. Rightly or wrongly, I only told
Mr. Rigden at the time. But I always thought it was Captain Bovill, the
old bushranger who escaped from Pentridge two or three weeks ago."

"Then you thought wrong," said Moya, boldly.

Nevertheless she held her breath.

"So it seems," growled the sergeant.

"Why does it seem so?"

It was a new voice crying, and one so tremulous that Harkness could
scarcely recognise it as Miss Bethune's.

"I've heard officially----"

"What have you heard?"

"You see we were all informed of Bovill's escape."

"Go on! Go on!"

"So in the same way we've been advised of his death."

"His--death!"

"Steady, Miss Bethune! There--allow me. We'll get in out of the sun; he
won't hear us at this end of the verandah. Here's a chair. That's the
ticket! Now, just one moment."

He returned with something in a glass which Moya thought sickening. But
it did her good. She ceased giggling and weeping by turns and both at
once.

"So he's dead--he's dead! Have you told Mr. Rigden that?"

"No; I'm not seeing much of Mr. Rigden."

"I am glad. I will tell him myself, presently. You will let me, I
suppose?"

"Surely, Miss Bethune. There's no earth