The transcendent minutes passed, and presently found them sitting under their sloping rock, talking with some measure of sense and self-possession. Both heads were uncovered, and, as Anthony had anticipated, gloves were not required. The saffron sky had hardly a vestige of colour left, stars were out overhead, the gorge at their feet might have been the valley of death itself, so impenetrably deep and dark it looked, with the steep, black hills heaving out of it. Through the delicate air came a faint chime from far away behind them, the clock at the post office striking nine.

"Ought we not to go?" whispered Jenny.

"No, darling. We couldn't go if we tried. On the other side it would be too dark to see a step; we should only lose ourselves. We must wait for the moon."

"It won't be long, will it?"

"About half an hour. Aren't you content to sit here with me? We shall be home before eleven."

She was quite content. Her head was not high enough to reach his shoulder—it rested on his breast; he tucked away his beard that it might not tickle her face. His own face he laid on her brown hair, or stroked that hair with a big, soft hand. His arm supported her little frame; it was so little and so light that he was afraid to hug it much, for fear he should crush it.

"What a ridiculous mite it is!" he murmured. "If you are tired, Jenny, I can carry you home quite easily."

She said she was not tired.

"But you have been tired, my poor little girl! When I think of what you have been doing, all this hot summer, while I have been loafing around and amusing myself——! However, that won't happen again."

"And yet you never came to the tea-room to see how I was getting on—not for such a long, long time!"

"And don't you know why that was? Mary found me going, and scolded me for it, because she said it was compromising you. It was for fear that I might do that—that only—that I kept away. Whereby, you see, I have always treated you like a lady—from the very beginning. Oh, Jenny, that was an unkind thing to say!"

"But how was I to know? And you were so far above me——"

He put his hand over her mouth.

"But still I do think," she proceeded, when the impediment was removed, "I do think it was cheek and impudence to make so sure. It's like a Sultan and his slave—like Ahasuerus and Esther. And I never did run after you—you know I never, never did!"

Her voice was smothered in his moustache.

"Poor little mite! No more it did! It was the very pink and pattern of all that was proper. And yet I knew it—I knew it, Jenny, just as certainly as if you had said, 'I love you' in so many words."

"You had no business to know it—and you couldn't."

"I could and did. You shouldn't have eyes so clear that one can see your heart through them." He kissed the lids down over them, and held them shut for a space. "And you are not ashamed of it, are you?"

"I should have been ashamed if I had known it before, but I'm not now." She stole an arm round his bent neck. "But you won't hold me cheap by-and-by, because I gave myself away so easily, and was so far be——"

Again he laid his hand over her mouth. "I can't very well do it now," he said gravely, "but when I am your husband, and you say things like that to me, I shall simply smack you, Jenny."

He lifted her into a sitting posture, and fumbled in all his pockets.

"Oh, here it is," drawing forth the ring he had purchased in Melbourne. "You can't see it by this light, but it's the very nicest I could find. Neat, but not gaudy, you know. It has a pearl in it, threaded on a gold wire because it's so big, as white and pure as your own dear little soul. Yes, I got it on purpose—so you see how sure I was of getting you. Don't let its poor little pride be hurt. You couldn't have helped it, you know, anyhow; because, if you hadn't given yourself, I should have taken you as a matter of course, as the giant took Tom Thumb."

"I don't think you would," said Jenny.

"You don't? Well, perhaps not I believe you are a match for any giant, you little epitome of pluck! By-and-by we'll see. In the meantime let me put this on your finger, and tell me if it's the right fit."

He put it on, and it was exactly the right fit.

"There! By whatever means I have got you, you are mine from this moment—signed, sealed, and delivered." He lifted the little hand, and kissed the ring reverently. "Till death us do part."

She kissed it after him, and then flung herself on his breast, where he held her, closely and in silence, until the moon rose and gave them light enough to find their way home.

After all, it was past eleven before they arrived; for the right track was difficult to find while the moon was shut off from it by the tall scrub, and its many pitfalls had to be encountered with care. Hand in hand, and cautious step by step, the affianced lovers came down from their mount of transfiguration, and could hardly believe their ears when, still high above the town, they counted the chimes that told them they had been more than three hours together.

"Never mind," said Anthony. "In for a penny, in for a pound. And we shall be able to give a good account of ourselves when we do get back."

"Shall you give an account to-night?" she asked.

"Certainly. In the first place, to justify this expedition; in the second, to prove my right to take you home to-morrow, and otherwise to control the situation. Isn't that what you wish?"

She assented with a pressure of his hand. "When I see my aunt's face—when I see them all knocked backwards by the shock—then perhaps I shall believe in the miracle of being engaged to you," she said. And he replied with truth, that if she didn't believe it now, it was not his fault.

The aunt's face it was which met them at the bank door. Mrs. Rogerson believed that a deliberate assignation had been planned—and that on a Sunday, when respectable young folks should have been at church—and was properly concerned and scandalised. At the same time she was deeply interested and flattered by the fact that it was Mr. Churchill who thus took liberties with her household; and she felt there were mysteries to be unravelled before she could decide upon any course of action. She fell upon Jenny first, and her voice was a decided reprimand.

"My dear child! where have you been? And do you know what time it is?" Then with a gush, "Oh, Mr. Churchill, this is an unexpected pleasure! Won't you walk in?"

He shook hands and walked in. "I am afraid it's late," he said; "but you must blame me, not Jenny. I took her for a little turn to see if the air would do her headache good, and it got dark before we knew it, and we lost our way. But I knew you would not be anxious, knowing she was with me."

"Oh, no—certainly. Do come in. My husband will be so pleased to see you. You are quite a stranger in these parts."

She led the way to the dining-room, where an entirely new supper had been arranged, on purpose for him, and where he was impressively received by the urbane father and his fluttering daughters.

"Our friends are gone, Jenny," said Clementine, all eyes for the great man. "And Mrs. Simpson was so anxious to see you—to tell you she was going down by Tuesday morning's train instead of to-morrow afternoon."

"Oh!" said Anthony, "that doesn't matter. I am going down myself to-morrow afternoon, and I'll take care of Jenny. I know she is anxious to get home—aren't you, dear?"

It was like an electric shock striking through the room. The eyes of the startled family interrogated each other and Jenny's blushing face.

"Oh, it's quite proper," said Anthony lightly, "since we are engaged people—engaged with the consent of our families, moreover. She could not have a more eligible escort. Is that chicken-pie, Miss Rogerson? May I have some? I came away from Wandooyamba without my dinner, and I am simply ravenous."

The effect of the plain statement was all that Jenny had anticipated. They were so stupefied for the moment that they could only gape and stare, marvelling at the inscrutable ways of Providence and the incalculable caprices of rich men. Perhaps the first sensation was one of personal chagrin, in that the virtue of consistent gentility had gone unrewarded, while the enormity of a tea-room was so unjustly condoned; but personal pride in the prospective connection was the permanent and predominating sentiment. Exclamations, questions, interjections, kisses, hugs, wrapped Jenny as in a whirlwind; while her lover calmly ate his pie and drank his bottled ale, as if it were an old story that interested him no longer. He was not ashamed to ask for a second helping.

"And you never saw her on the platform last night?" said Clem archly, as she waited upon him.

"Good heavens, no! What platform?"

"Our platform. She must have known you were coming—I know she saw you jump out of the carriage—and she never made a sign! And she's never given us the faintest hint at all!"

"That's her native modesty. And there are some things one doesn't talk about, you know—except to one's nearest and dearest."

"Who can be nearer than we?" demanded Mrs. Rogerson, caressing her niece.

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled carelessly. "There's nothing in being mere relatives. I don't tell things to my relatives, and—a—you have not been so very intimate, you know—at least, not since I've known her."

An uncomfortable pause was broken by a protest from Alice, who was given to the saying of things that were better left unsaid. "I'm sure, never—until the tea-room——"

The mention of that bone of strife brought angry blushes to the family cheek, and glares which stopped her from going further.

"Don't speak ill of the tea-room, if you please," he said. "It is the most admirable institution that I know. But for the tea-room I should not have found my pattern wife—should not have known half her good qualities."

Jenny's intimacy with him—years old since eight o'clock—made her fearless of what she said or did, and, as has been intimated before, she was a person of spirit, with a good deal of human nature in her. She moved to his side, laid her hand on his shoulder for a moment, and said, with an ineffable air of self-justification, "He is not ashamed of the tea-room."

"On the contrary, dear, I am proud of it," he responded quickly, touching the little hand.

"Nevertheless," proceeded Jenny, "I will give it up now. It has been a success—I have earned a great deal of money—but I will dispose of it when I go home."

"We needn't talk about these things now," said Anthony, with a slight frown.

"But, my dear sir," the urbane uncle interposed, "I am her natural guardian, don't you see. Joseph is a good boy—a very superior youth, in fact—but he is only a boy. It is my duty, as her nearest male relative, standing in the place of her father, to attend to her affairs at this juncture."

"I merely wanted to say," proceeded Jenny, with an air of resolution, "that I wish to please those who have been so good to me—who have not despised me because of what I did to make a living. I will not wait in the tea-room again—for their sakes; and of course my mother and sister must not work there without me. I will think of something else, that shall not—not be disagreeable to anybody."

"You don't want to think any more, Jenny," said Anthony quietly. "I am going to do the thinking now."

"Still," urged Mrs. Rogerson, with tardy generosity and misguided zeal, "we can't allow you to be saddled with my sister and her children, Mr. Churchill. They must not live on your money."

"They won't," said Jenny.

"I know they won't," said Anthony, "if they are made of the same stuff as you. But please leave all that now, dear. And go to bed, or you will be tired for your journey to-morrow."

On the way to his hotel he confounded the impudence of her relatives in many bad words, and laughed at the notion that she was going to "boss" the family arrangements as heretofore.