omforted.

He was just stepping on board the ferry steamer when Harry raced down, a
little roll of paper in his hand. "Connie forgot to give you this," was
all he had time to say. "It's the only one she has."

Ned opened the little roll to find it a pot-shot photograph of Nellie,
taken in profile as she stood, with her hands clasped, gazing intently
before her, her face sad and stern and beautiful, her figure full of
womanly strength and grace. He lovered it, overjoyed, until the boat
reached the Circular Quay. He kept taking it out and stealing sly peeps
at it as the bus rolled up George-street, Redfern way.

CHAPTER IX.

NED GOES TO HIS FATE.

At the station some of the Sydney unionists wore waiting to see Ned off.
As they loaded him with friendly counsel and encouraged him with
fraternal promises of assistance and compared the threats made in Sydney
during the maritime strike with the expected action of the Government in
Queensland, a newspaper boy came up to them, crowded at the carriage
door.

"Hello, sonny! Whose rose is that?" asked one of the group, for the
little lad carried a rose, red and blowing.

"It's Mr. Hawkinses rose," answered the boy.

"For me!" exclaimed Ned, holding out his hand. "Who is it from?"

"I'm not to say," answered the urchin, slipping away.

The other men laughed. "There must be a young lady interested in you,
Hawkins," said one jocularly; "our Sydney girls always have good eyes for
the right sort of a man." "I wondered why you stayed over last night,
Hawkins," remarked another. "Trust a Queenslander to make himself at home
everywhere," contributed a third. Ned did not answer. He did not hear
them. He knew who sent it.

Then the guard's whistle blew; another moment and the train started,
slowly at first, gradually faster, amid a pattering of good-byes.

"Give him a cheer, lads!" cried one of his friends. "Hip-hip-hurrah!"

"And one for his red rose!" shouted another. "Hip-hip-hurrah!"

"And another for the Queensland bush men! Hip-hip-hurrah!"

Ned leaned over the door as the train drew away, laughing genially at the
cheering and waving his hand to his friends. His eyes, meanwhile, eagerly
searched the platform for a tall, black-clad figure.

He saw her as he was about to abandon hope; she was half concealed by a
pillar, watching him intently. As his eyes drank her in, with a last fond
look that absorbed every line of her face and figure, every shade of her,
even