.
Then, branching off at right angles, it dived into the bush--in this
case a scantly wooded, uneven plain, burnt tobacco-brown and hard as
iron.

Here went no one but himself. He and the mare were the sole living
creatures in what, for its stillness, might have been a painted
landscape. Not a breath of air stirred the weeping grey-green foliage
of the gums; nor was there any bird-life to rustle the leaves, or peck,
or chirrup. Did he draw rein, the silence was so intense that he could
almost hear it.

On striking the outlying boundary of Dandaloo, he dismounted to slip a
rail. After that he was in and out of the saddle, his way leading
through numerous gateless paddocks before it brought him up to the
homestead.

This, a low white wooden building, overspread by a broad verandah--from
a distance it looked like an elongated mushroom--stood on a hill. At
the end, the road had run alongside a well-stocked fruit and
flower-garden; but the hillside itself, except for a gravelled walk in
front of the house, was uncultivated--was given over to dead thistles
and brown weeds.

Fastening his bridle to a post, Mahony unstrapped his bag of
necessaries and stepped on to the verandah. A row of French windows
stood open; but flexible green sun-blinds hid the rooms from view. The
front door was a French window, too, differing from the rest only in
its size. There was neither bell nor knocker. While he was rapping with
the knuckles on the panel, one of the blinds was pushed aside and Mrs.
Glendinning came out.

She was still in hat and riding-habit; had herself, she said, reached
home but half an hour ago. Summoning a station-hand to attend to the
horse, she raised a blind and ushered Mahony into the dining-room,
where she had been sitting at lunch, alone at the head of a large
table. A Chinaman brought fresh plates, and Mahony was invited to draw
up his chair. He had an appetite after his ride; the room was cool and
dark; there were no flies.

Throughout the meal, the lady kept up a running fire of talk--the
graceful chitchat that sits so well on pretty lips. She spoke of the
coming Races; of the last Government House Ball; of the untimely death
of Governor Hotham. To Mahony she instinctively turned a different side
out, from that which had captured Polly. With all her well-bred ease,
there was a womanly deference in her manner, a readiness to be swayed,
to stand corrected. The riding-dress set off her figure; and her
delicat