"Now then, Reginald Morris, my name is Allen Winter. I am going to have it out with you," said a tall, handsome man, fully six feet in his socks and broad in proportion, as he closed the cabin door, and stood with his back to it.

Reg had been lounging on his bunk, deep in his own thoughts, when he was disturbed by the abrupt entrance of his fellow-passenger, and the above good-humoured demand. Reg got up from his bunk, and faced him without speaking.

"You've shared my cabin since we left Naples, three days ago. Not a word have you spoken. You have done nothing but mope about, and look as miserable as a boiled owl. I say again, I won't have it, for you are infecting me with your low spirits," said Winter.

Reg looked at him with curiosity, but still answered nothing, so that Winter began to show signs of annoyance.

"Hang it all! can't you speak, man? I can box, shoot, fence, fight, or anything you like. I don't think I am a bad sort of fellow myself, and it's because I know you are a good sort that I feel so annoyed to see you moping."

"I am much obliged to you for the compliment; still I fancy I can do what I please," said Reg, quietly.

The other showed no signs of resentment, but continued smiling at him as he rattled off the following, "You are in trouble, I know. You have had a severe blow lately. There was a woman in it, and she's dead. You loved that woman; her name was Amy, and the man who came between you was a certain Wyck. You are an Australian, and have plenty of money. You are seeking revenge, and your instrument of vengeance is in your breast pocket. These are details I have gathered from what I have seen of you, or what I have heard you mutter in your sleep; and knowing this much I am curious to know more."

"You are quite an up-to-date detective, sir," said Reg, frankly."Ah! then you acknowledge that I have hit the mark."

"But pray, sir, are there not enough people on board to amuse you without the need of exercising your powers on me. I am in trouble, I acknowledge, but I prefer keeping my troubles to myself," answered Reg, really angry this time.

"I apologise, Morris, if I have been abrupt, but really I did not mean to be so. It is strange that though there are over two hundred passengers on board, I have not seen a face I care about but yours, and when I see you fretting away I feel for you, for I have gone through the mill, and know what it is."

"What do you mean?" said Reg, growing interested.

"Let me tell you my history. I was born in Victoria. My father died when I was fifteen, and left me to look after my mother, who was a confirmed invalid. She died twelve months later, and I was left alone. While walking down Collins Street one day I had an adventure which changed the course of my career. A carriage and pair of flash horses were being driven by, the coachman lounging on the box holding the reins carelessly, when a tram-car rounded the corner at a good pace. The horses gave a bound, the sudden shock sent the coachman off his box, and away they galloped. They turned one corner, and then another safely, and I was able by cutting through a cross street to come up with them. Well I was always a handy youngster, and as they dashed by me I made a run for the back of the carriage, caught one of the springs, scrambled on the top of the carriage, and reached the box, only to find the reins hanging round the pole beyond my grasp; but it did not take me long to slip along the pole, pick them up, and get back to the box. I, like most Australians can handle the ribbons, but it took me all my time to pull those horses up in time to avoid a collision. I didn't think much of the feat, in fact I rather liked the fun of it, but the old gentleman inside, who was the only occupant, chose to think differently, and when the coachman came up in a cab, in which he had been following us, not much hurt, the old gentleman made me get in beside him.

"'What's your name?' he asked.

"'Allen Winter,' said I.

"Then he asked me my history. I told him that I was an orphan and had to work for my living. Well, to make this long story short, I have never had to work since, for he gave me twelve months at the Scotch College in Melbourne, and during my holidays he died, leaving me the whole of his fortune. He was an old bachelor, and his money was well invested, so I have now an income of a thousand a year. I have been over every inch of Australia; I know the Colonies well, and I have been round the world twice."

"But you have not explained your interest in me," said Reg.

"No, I thought I would keep that to the last," he said, his voice growing sadder. "I never was much of a Society man, for although I have been through a lot, I never feel at home amongst fashionable folk, and Australian Society is rotten—I don't like it. But I chanced to be thrown into contact with a young girl, with whom I fell madly in love, and whom I endowed, as every man in love does, with all the virtues. I courted her for two years, and she professed to return my devotion. Now, her mother had a great fondness for Society ways and fads, and we were not the best of friends in consequence, but I thought we loved each other too well for that defect in my character to make any difference. The wedding-day was at last fixed. I had presented her with funds to buy her trousseau, as they were not at all well off, when a young sprig of English nobility visited the Colonies, and became acquainted with them. The mother played her cards well, for that cursed snob married my girl under my very nose, and used the trousseau I had provided. She sent me a letter, in which she stated she had never loved me as I deserved to be loved, and that she would offend her mother if she refused the Englishman."

"Did you care for her very much?" asked Reg.

"Except my mother, she was the only woman I ever loved, and when she threw me over it nearly killed me."

"She married this man?"

"Yes; and her mother had the cheek to ask me to the wedding, but, needless to say, I did not go. I very nearly went to the devil instead."

"Now, just listen to me. Suppose that man had come between you two, and, after separating you, had jilted and deserted the girl, and was directly the cause of her death, what would you have done then?" said Reg, excitedly.

Winter did not reply at once. He guessed instantly that Reg was referring to his own case.

"What would you have done?" asked Reg, again, impatiently.

"I think I should have shot him dead, or marked him for life," he answered, deliberately.

"Winter, shake hands. You are a man," said Reg, jumping off his bunk. "I apologise for my previous rudeness."

"Accepted, with pleasure," said Winter, cordially; and the two men shook hands.

Reg thereupon unfolded to him his whole history, which the reader knows. Winter listened attentively and, when he had finished, stood like a man dazed with horror. For the second time he put out his hand, and gripped Reg's hand with a grip that spoke volumes of sympathetic help. For a minute or two there was silence between the two men, which Winter broke by saying:

"Morris, I am an Australian. I know the Colonies well. You will let me join you?"

"Thanks, Winter; but I live for nothing but revenge.""Then I will join you. You swore an oath to devote all your time and money to vengeance upon this man who has so foully wronged you. Let me swear too that I will join you. I will go with you, and the same spirit that animates you shall animate me too."

There was no mistaking the genuineness of the appeal, and Reg frankly gave him his hand. From that day they were "Reg" and "Hal" to each other, and Wyck had two determined men on his track, the one endowed with all the shrewdness of a keen detective, possessing also a thorough knowledge of Australian life and habits; the other of strong determination and obstinate will that no obstacles would foil. Both awkward customers to deal with, and whose bitter enmity no man could afford to despise.

From that day they were observed by all the passengers to be close friends, and they showed very plainly how little they wished to be disturbed by, or to come into contact with, the other passengers. Now it happened that, although there was a large number of passengers, eligible young men were scarce, and when two of the best-looking young fellows on board gave it to be clearly understood that they intended keeping aloof from the general company it naturally caused a little sensation.

"I can't understand them two gents. They be always together, always talk, talk; and when anybody speaks to them they appear offended. It's a shame they ain't more sociable, 'specially as my gals is fond of gentleman's company."

Both Reg and Hal overheard this remark from a stout, florid lady, who with her two daughters was starting on a tour through Australia. She was the wife of Samuel Lewis, cheesemonger, of Drury Lane: they had noticed a label on one of her boxes.

"I feel sorry for her and her daughters, don't you, Reg?" said Hal.

"I've not noticed them, old chap," he answered, indifferently.

"Look here, my boy. You must enliven up a bit. It's no use fretting. You can do nothing till you get to Adelaide, so let's have a bit of fun."

"I'll come round in time, old chap. I have felt better every day since meeting you."

"Yes, and I mean you to feel better still; but come away, here's that confounded old Tickell coming, he's dead set on us," as they dodged round some deck-chairs.

"Ha, gentlemen, here you are! I am so glad to see you. Would you try one of my cigars; they are really a first-class brand. No; you don't smoke cigars, eh? Sorry for that. Prefer a pipe, eh? Well, that's a nice one you are smoking, and it seems to colour well. Splendid thing, a meerschaum. I always smoke cherry-wood myself; see, this is one. I have some more down below like it. Would you care for one? I assure you they are something special; and this tobacco's simply—"

"Yes, yes," said Hal, stopping him abruptly. "I am sure all you say is quite correct, but we do not require anything to-day, and, moreover, we are engaged—"

"But, my dear sir, you know on board ship people are—"

"Supposed to mind their own business," said Hal, exasperated with the man's importunity.

"Yes, exactly, my dear sir, but when—"

"Look, Mr. Tickell, there's Mrs. Morgan beckoning to you," said Reg.

"Where? Ah, yes, I am sorry I must leave you: ta, ta; I'll see you again," and away he skipped to annoy someone else.

"Tickell is a specimen of that irritating species of human kind, the unsnubbable," said Hal.

Various attempts were made to penetrate their reserve, but without success, for they clearly gave everyone to understand that they preferred the company of each other, which did not tend to their popularity on board. Amongst the passengers was a young man who rejoiced in the high-sounding name of Hugh St. John Wilson-Mainwaring, and whose sense of self-importance was as extensive as his appellation. He was the younger son of a bishop, and intended to tour the Colonies at the expense of the inhabitants, feeling satisfied that he had only to make it known that his father was the Bishop of Doseminster to have the door of every aristocrat-loving Australian flung open wide in his honour. His voice had a delightful drawl that attracted the female portion of the passengers, and the little time of each day that was left to him after that which was occupied in the management of this characteristic, the manipulation of his eye-glass, and the exposure of the correct four inches of shirt-cuff, was devoted to the invention of inane practical jokes. He had successfully played "ripping good jokes, don't yer know" on most of the passengers, and one old squatter who was returning with his "missus" after doing England felt highly honoured at being made the butt of such aristocratic ingenuity.

"We must invite him to the station, missus," he said to his wife the evening after that event. "He would be such a catch for our Eliza."

Now Mr. Hugh St. John Wilson-Mainwaring had noticed that Hal and Reg invariably took possession of a couple of the most comfortable chairs on deck, which they placed in a sunny corner while they read, smoked, or talked together, and he determined to have a joke at their expense. He took the ladies into his confidence in his charming, affable way, and the Misses Lewis, especially, were delighted to be made partners in the attempt of a bishop's son to make these two young men who thought so much of themselves look ridiculous.

One afternoon Hal and Reg, coming on deck, found all the chairs occupied, and were compelled to seat themselves in a couple of hammock chairs, ingenious contrivances in which the back is supported in a notch cut for the purpose. Fortune favoured the bishop's hopeful offspring, for they were not only convenient for his purpose, but they occupied a conspicuous position. Reg and Hal were just dozing off, when he seized his opportunity and crawled quietly on his hands and knees behind Reg's chair, and tied a piece of string on to the support. Cautiously, and in the same monkey-like fashion, he returned, paying out his line as he went, and gleefully drew all his lady admirers' attention to his huge joke.

"You'll come down directly, Reg. They've tied a string to your chair," said Hal, in a whisper.

"Right! old chap. We'll see who will have the best joke. If I come down my back will be broken: understand?"

"Rather! Look out, he's got his string taut."

Scarcely had Hal finished when Reg's chair collapsed, and he fell on the broad of his back. Hal jumped up as if startled, and a violent peal of laughter burst out in all directions, but still Reg lay motionless. Hal went to his assistance, and in a scared voice, called out for the doctor. That gentleman happened to be close at hand, and soon a crowd gathered round."My back; it's broken," moaned Reg; and a litter was improvised, and he was carried to the surgery.

"Poor fellow!—How could you do it?—What a shame!—He'll die"—and similar expressions were hurled at the bishop's son, who became seriously alarmed.

When they reached the surgery, the doctor ordered all to leave, except Hal, and began to examine the wounded man.

"Stop," said Reg, pulling himself up. "It's all a joke. Keep it up, doctor."

The doctor was amazed at first, but expressed himself as quite agreeable to join in the plot. Hal left the cabin with a serious face, and met all the anxious enquirers at the door with one stern remark:

"He's dying. I'm going for the Captain."

Mr. Wilson-Mainwaring became seriously alarmed, turned pale, wrung his hands in despair, and gave vent to disjointed appeals and ejaculations. "It was only a joke. Oh! you know it was only a joke. Oh, my poor father! Why did I come? What shall I do?" until they were afraid he would throw himself overboard.

Hal, who had been enjoying his dilemma, now thought the joke had gone far enough, and opening the surgery door, pulled out Reg, smoking his pipe, and looking as if nothing had happened.

The laugh was now turned against Mr. Hugh St. John Wilson-Mainwaring, who disappeared below, and did not venture on deck for several days.

No one after this attempted to interfere with the two friends' mode of passing their time, and they were left undisturbed, and remained engrossed in each other's society. After an eventful voyage the ship arrived in due time at Adelaide.