ave
barring our horses. We've got no votes and every law is set against us
and we've no rights and the squatter'd like to throw us all out to make
room for Chinese. There's nothing in front of the bushman now unless the
union gets it for him and they're trying to break up our union, Griffith
and his push, and, by God, they shan't do it. They haven't gaols enough
to hold every good unionist, not if they hang a thousand of us to start
with."

"What does it matter, after all, Ned?" said Nellie, gently. "The Cause
itself gains by everything that makes men think. There'll never be peace
until the squatter goes altogether and the banks and the whole system.
And the squatter can't help it. I abuse him myself but I know he only
does what most of our own class in his place would do."

"Of course he can't help it, Nellie," agreed Ned. "They're mostly
mortgaged up to the neck like the shopkeepers and squeeze us partly to
keep afloat themselves. It's the system, not the squatters personally. A
lot of them are decent enough, taking them off their runs and some are
decent even on their runs. Even the squatters aren't all bad. I don't
wish them any harm individually but just the same we're fighting them and
they're fighting us and what I feel sorest about is that it's just
because the New Unionism is teaching our chaps to think and to be better
and to have ideas that they are trying so hard to down it."

"They don't know any better," repeated Nellie.

"That's what Geisner says, I recollect. I mind how he said they'd try
sending us to prison here in Australia. They're beginning soon."

They were right at the point now.

"There's only one thing I'd like to know first, Nellie."

"What is it, Ned?" she asked, unconsciously, absorbed in her fear for
him.

CHAPTER III.

A WOMAN'S WHIM.

"Nellie!"

It was a husky whisper. His throat was parched, his lips dry, his mouth
also. His heart thumped, thumped, thumped, so that it sickened him. He
shook nervously. His face twitched. He felt burning hot; then deadly
cold. He turned his hat slowly round and round in his trembling fingers.

It was as though he had turned woman. He did not even feel passion. He
dared not look at her. He could feel her there. He did not desire as he
had desired so often to snatch her to him, to crush her in his arms, to
smother her with kisses, to master her. All his strength fled from him in
an indescribable longing.

He had dreamed of this moment,