and ran to his sister.

"Hil dear, what is the matter?--mother?" For answer she threw her arms
about her brother's neck, and sobbing out told him all.

"And Janet--fits of hysterics?"

"Yes; I don't understand her, Nic. Mother can't leave her. What shall
you do?"

"Go in to them!" said Nic firmly; and giving his sister a push toward
the house, he ran back to where the two men stood growling at each other
and the horse impatiently stamping as it stood between them and tugged
to get away.

"Here you, Brookes," cried Nic imperiously, "tell me how it happened."

"He was as nasty as nasty, because the blacks--" began old Sam.

"Silence!" roared Nic. "I did not speak to you." Old Sam started in
amazement, for it seemed to be a strong man speaking, not a boy.

"Now you, Brookes."

Brookes told the same tale he had told Mr Dillon when he rode over to
Wattles Station, embellishing it with cuts--that is to say, showing his
wounds.

"No chopper would make a place like that!" cried Nic fiercely. "I don't
believe a word of it, you brute. It's a lie."

"So it is, Master Nic," cried Sam, showing his teeth. "He give it to
the poor fellow brutal."

"Tell me, then--all you know. Quick, man, quick!"

"Oh, if father had been at home!" as soon as he had heard the old man's
tale. Then snatching the rein, he threw it over Sorrel's head, touched
the beautiful little creature's sides and went off at a gallop.

"Who's that?" cried Janet, starting up wildly as the hoofs were heard
beating on the turf.

"Nic!" cried her sister, running to the window to look out. "He has
gone off at a gallop."

"Gone!" cried Mrs Braydon--"and at a time like this!"

"He has galloped off. I know: he has gone over to save that poor
fellow."

Janet uttered a low sigh, and as Mrs Braydon turned to her wonderingly
the poor girl fainted away.

Meanwhile, urged now as he had never been urged before, by voice and
heel, Sorrel forgot his long morning's ride, and stretching out like a
greyhound skimmed over the soft turf like a swallow in its flight.

Nic rode on with his heart a prey to varying emotions. He knew
perfectly well that the convict's fate would be that of all unruly
assigned servants. He had heard it from old Sam again and again,--how
that if Jack did not behave well, he was sent by his master to another
station, where he would have so many dozen lashes of the
cat-o'-nine-tails and be sent back; while another time Joe, wh