ation of trouble.

"We are all friends here," I said, at length, "and are willing to do
your bidding. See, here is your father; and do you think he would stand
unmoved in the presence of a man who had wronged you. You must surely
recollect my face. Look at me closely."

"Ah, I do remember you now," she cried.

"That's right," I said, encouragingly. "I thought you would know the man
you had leaned upon and talked with on the night--"

Before I had a chance to finish my remarks, with a wild, mad cry, she
sprang forward, and, with a movement like lightning, drew my bowie
knife, which was stuck in a belt around my waist, and had not Smith
intercepted the blow I should not now be writing sketches about my
adventures.

In spite of his interference, however, the knife, sharp as a razor and
ground to a point like a needle, fell upon my unprotected forehead and
opened a gash two inches long, almost penetrating the brain. The hot
blood blinded me for a moment as it gushed from the wound. I staggered
back from the unexpected attack, but before the mad woman had an
opportunity to repeat the blow, my faithful friend was by my side, and
had wrenched the steel from her hand.

"Ha, ha!" she shrieked; "blood!--blood!--his blood flows freely, and I
avenge my own wrongs. Look at him bleed!--'twas my hand that struck him,
and now he'll die like a dog. I triumph--I--I--"

She could say no more, but fell back in convulsions. Smith caught her in
his strong arms, and was about to bear her into the house, when he was
interrupted by what appeared like so many apparitions.

Mounted upon strong, well-trained horses, were a dozen of the mounted
police of Melbourne, who, during our interview with the convict's
daughter, had stolen upon us unperceived, and had formed a circle in
which we were the centre, to prevent an escape had we been so disposed.
So quiet had they ridden, that it seemed as though they had sprung from
the ground at the command of some genii of the lamp.

We did not form a very prepossessing group, and, at first, much less
suspicious people than police officers would have imagined that
something was wrong.

"Hello!" cried the man who appeared to command the squad, riding towards
us; "what have we here--a wounded man and a dead woman. Whose work is
this?"

"We can explain this to those having authority to ask," cried Fred,
carelessly throwing his rifle across his arm; yet it was done in such a
manner that the officer re