and mysterious
reason for Rigden's conduct from beginning to end of this incident, or
rather from the beginning to this present point, which was obviously not
the end at all. Moya would have given almost anything to know what that
reason was; the one thing that she would not give was the inch involved
in asking the question in so many words. And Rigden in his innocence
appreciated her delicacy in not asking.

"I can't explain," he began in rueful apology, and would have gone on to
entreat her to trust him for once. But for some reason the words jammed.
And meanwhile there was an opening which no Bethune could resist.

"Have I asked you for an explanation?"

"No. You've been awfully good about that. You're pretty rough on a
fellow, all the same!"

"I don't think I am at all."

"Oh, yes, you are, Moya!"

For her tongue was beginning to hit him hard.

"You needn't raise your voice, Pelham, just because there's some one
coming."

It was only the Eureka jackeroo (or "Colonial experiencer"), who had the
hardest work on the station, and did it "for his tucker," but so badly
as to justify Rigden in his bargain. It may here be mentioned that the
manager's full name was Pelham Stanislaus Rigden; it was, however, a
subconscious peculiarity of this couple never to address each other by a
mere Christian name. Either they confined themselves to the personal
pronoun, or they made use of expressions which may well be left upon
their lovers' lips. But though scarcely aware of the habitual breach,
they were mutually alive to the rare observance, which was perhaps the
first thing to make Rigden realise the breadth and depth of his offence.
It was with difficulty he could hold his tongue until the jackeroo had
turned his horse adrift and betaken himself to the bachelors' hut
euphemistically yclept "the barracks."

"What have I done," cried Rigden, in low tones, "besides lying as you
heard? That I shall suffer for, to a pretty dead certainty. What else
have I done?"

"Oh, nothing," said Moya impatiently, as though the subject bored her.
In reality she was wondering and wondering why he should have run the
very smallest risk for the sake of a runaway prisoner whom he had
certainly pretended never to have seen before.

"But I can see there's something else," persisted Rigden. "What on earth
is it, darling? After all I did not lie to you!"

"No," cried Moya, downright at last; "you only left me for two mortal
hours alone on thi