Midnight Webs :: Story Three: Under the Tree-Ferns.

Story Three: Under the Tree-Ferns.

Story 3--Chapter I.

Port Caroline.

A few notes of preparation, a few words of command, and, grouped together in the fore-part of a large barque, bearing the unromantic title of the Sarah Ann, the sailors stood ready to let go the emblem of Hope—the anchor that had held them fast in many a stormy night of peril. The sails flapped and fluttered in that gentle gale; the tall masts swayed here and there as the graceful vessel rose with the grand swell of the Southern Ocean; and then there was a loud rattle as the chain-cable rushed out, while the great anchor plunged down fathoms deep in the bright blue waters; then, down lower and lower, to where bright-scaled fish of rainbow-tinted armour darted over the golden sands of the sunny South. Not the sunny South sung by poets; but the far-off land, where it is midday at our midnight, and the settlers—with many a thought, though, of the old home—shear their sheep, and gather in their harvest, while we sit round the cheery winter’s fire.

After a long and tedious voyage, the vessel had arrived in safety at her destination. There was the bright land, the beautiful bay dotted with vessels at anchor, and the brilliant sun. Ah, who need have felt the heartache at leaving England on a dark and misty morning, when so bright a country was ready to receive him? But it was not home.

There was bustle and excitement amongst the passengers to get ashore; so that it was hard work for Edward Murray, first mate, to have all made snug and shipshape, after the fashion taught in the navy, which he had left to enter the merchant-service. But, by degrees, the hurry gave place to comparative calm, and men leisurely coiled down ropes, and reduced the deck to something like order.

The captain had been rowed ashore almost before they dropped anchor; and at last there was nothing left for the mate to do but patiently await his return, before making arrangements for having the vessel towed closer up into the harbour of Port Caroline.

He leaned over the bulwarks—a handsome ruddy young Englishman of eight-and-twenty; and as he quietly puffed at his cigar, he watched the boats going and coming; noticed the pleasant villas of the merchants, dotted about the high ground behind the bay; gave an eye to the trim sloop-of-war on his right, and then to the blank-looking buildings of the convict station, from whose stony-looking wharves a large cutter was just being rowed out towards the sloop. There was the flash of a bayonet now and then in the stern-sheets, and the white belts and red coats of more than one soldier was plainly observable to the mate, as he gazed on the boat with some display of interest.

As he still leaned over the bulwarks, the boat was seen to reach the sloop-of-war, to stay alongside awhile, and then to return, heavily laden, towards the shore.

“Nice freight that, Ned,” said the second mate. “Old England ought to grow clean in time, sending out such cargoes as she does. I wonder how many they have here. Can’t say I should like to have them for neighbours.”

“Not pleasant, certainly,” said the other; “but here’s the skipper back.”

“I shall not go ashore again till to-morrow morning,” said the captain, coming on deck; “and if either of you want a few hours, settle it between yourselves who’s to go; and the other can see the rest of the passengers’ traps ashore. I shall sail to-morrow evening. We can do the rest of our business when we come back from the bay.”

The captain then went below; and after a short consultation, Edward Murray undertook two or three commissions, stepped into the boat, and was rowed ashore.

Any place looks pleasant after months on shipboard; but in reality, though charming enough from the deck of a ship, there was little to be seen fifty years ago at Port Caroline beyond the houses of a straggling little town, built without regard to regularity, but according to the fancy of the owner of each plot of land. It was busy enough, so far as it went; but there was a grim cold look about the place, made worse by the principal buildings—those connected with the Government convict works; and after making a few purchases, Edward Murray strolled out along the shore to where the white breakers came foaming in to dash upon the sands.

The sloop had apparently discharged her convict freight; and the young man stood and looked at her for a while in deep thought.

He was thinking he should like to command a vessel like that. “But then,” he sighed to himself, “how about Katie?” And he walked on, musing in no unhappy way.

“Now, boys—heel and toe!” shouted a rough voice.

“Hooroar! heel and toe!” was sounded in chorus; and from a turn in the cliff came slowly into sight about five-and-twenty of as ill-looking ruffians as ever walked the face of the earth. They were marching slowly, in a single line, and at the veriest snail’s pace.

There was every description of crime-marked aspect—sullen despair, with boisterous and singing men; but as the slow march continued, one struck up a kind of chant, in which all joined, greatly to the annoyance of a sergeant of foot, who, with four privates, with fixed bayonets, formed the escort.

“It’s all right, sojer!” shouted one. “Heel and toe!”

“Hullo, sailor!” shouted another. “Here, mates; here’s a chap out of that barque. How’s mother country, old ’un?”

“Come; get on, men,” said the sergeant, keeping a sharp look-out for evaders.

The mate did not answer the fellow, but coolly stopped to watch the strange procession pass; for he rightly judged it to be a gang of convicts returning from work.

“I’d give two days and a half for that half cigar you’re smoking, guv’ner,” said one of the convicts to the young sailor.

And then, as the gang moved on, a dark sun-browned fellow came abreast, and observed quietly, as one gentleman might to another:

“Have you another cigar about you, sir?”

Edward Murray started, and then turned on his heel, and walked beside the speaker.

“I really have not another,” he said hastily; “but here’s some tobacco;” and he thrust a large packet he had but an hour before bought into the man’s hand.

“Thanks—thanks!” said the convict. “You can’t think what a treat it will be. I may be able to do you a good turn for it some day, Ned Murray.”

The young man started, and would have spoken to the convict; but the sergeant laid his hand upon his arm.

“Won’t do, sir; I should get into trouble. We wink at a good deal; but we must draw the line somewhere. Now, men, forward!”

Edward Murray drew back, and nodded his acquiescence in the sergeant’s remarks as the gang slowly passed on along the beach; then trying in vain to call to mind who could be the speaker who so well knew his name, he turned to go on board.

“I’ll give it up,” said the young man at last; “it’s beyond me. I’ve a friend more, though, in the world than I thought for. Friend? Hum! Not much cause to be proud of him. Well, it’s better than for a black-looking rascal to say he’ll owe you a grudge. Well,” he continued, as he mounted the side, “I’ll give it up; but I shall most likely know some day.”

And like many another unconscious thinker, Edward Murray was, for the time being, amongst the prophets.

Story 3--Chapter II.

Night at a Convict Station.

“Hullo! What’s wrong?” exclaimed Edward Murray, leaping out of his cot; for he had been awakened by a heavy sound like thunder; and directly after he heard the second mate’s voice calling to him.

“Here, come on deck; there’s a row ashore. Convicts broke loose, or something.”

The young man hastened on deck, as did the captain and the rest of the crew, to find that the night was intensely dark, but that there was a bright display of lights on shore, conspicuous amongst which was a dull heavy glimmer, which, however, soon increased to a glow, and then flames mounted higher and higher, and it became evident that some good-sized building was on fire.

At this moment there was a sudden flash, and the heavy thud of a gun from the sloop, followed by loud cries and shoutings on the beach.

“Hadn’t we better man a boat and go ashore?” said Edward Murray eagerly. “There’s a bad fire, and we might be of some use.”

“Better stay aboard,” said the captain. “That’s part of the prison on fire. Those fiends of convicts have fired the place, and they’re escaping, safe. There, I told you so. That’s not the sort of thing used for putting out fires.”

As he spoke, there came the loud sharp rattle of musketry, and, from the lights on board the sloop, it was evident that the men had been beat to quarters, ready for any emergency. The ports were open, showing the lights within; and a faint glimpse was obtained of a boat being lowered; but soon the noise and shouting ceased, the musketry was heard no more, and only a dull murmuring sound as from a busy crowd came floating across the bay.

But the light of the burning building still shone out strong and lurid, and by means of a night-glass it could be seen that men were busily endeavouring to extinguish the flames. When they shone in a ruddy path across the bay, a boat, too, could now and then be seen for a moment or two, as if some eager party were rowing ashore. Then an hour passed with the lurid flare settling slowly into a bright golden glow, the satiated flames sinking lower and lower, till, the excitement having worn away, first one and then another of the crew slipped down to his hammock, and Edward Murray was about to follow, when a faint sound off the port quarter arrested his steps.

Save where there was still the bright glow from the burning embers, all around was now intensely dark.

“Wasn’t that the rattle of a thole-pin?” said Murray to his companion.

“Didn’t hear it, for my part,” was the brusque reply.

“Then what’s that? Did you hear it then?”

“Yes, I heard that,” was the answer.

And then the two young men crossed the deck and leaned over the side, peering out into the darkness; but seeing nothing for all that, though there was the faint sound of oars dipping slowly, and it was evident that some boat was nearing them.

“Do they mean to board us?” said Murray. “Depend upon it, the man-of-war has boats on the lookout, and they’re rowing with muffled oars, ready to overhaul the escaping party; that is, if any of them have got loose.”

“That’s it, depend upon it,” said the mate. “They’ll hail us directly. They must see our lights.”

There was silence then for a few moments, during which two or three of the crew, attracted also by the noise they had heard, came over to their side. Then came the plash of an oar; and, starting into activity, as if moved by some sudden impulse, Murray shouted:

“Boat ahoy!”

“Ahoy, there!” was the answer.

And then the rowing was heard plainly, as if those who handled the oars had thrown off the secrecy of their movements.

“It’s the man-of-war’s boat,” said the second mate.

“What ship’s that?” was now asked from the darkness, but in anything but the loud hearty hail of a sailor.

“Sarah Ann, port of London,” answered the mate. “Are you from the sloop?”

“Ay, ay,” was the reply.

“Bring a lantern here, and swing over the side,” said Murray uneasily; and one of the anchor-lights was brought, and sent a feeble ray, cutting as it were the dense curtain that hung around. Then the bows of a boat were seen swiftly advancing, and for a moment Murray gazed at its occupants with a mixture of astonishment and terror; but the next instant he had seized one of the capstan-bars, and stood ready.

“Here, Smith, Norris, Jackson, be smart!” he shouted, “or we shall lose the ship. Convicts!”

That last word seemed to electrify the men into action; and as the boat grated against the side of the heavily-laden vessel, just beneath the fore-chains, man after man armed himself with the capstan-bars, and stood ready by the first mate.

The lantern was dashed out directly; and it was evident that men were climbing up the side by means of boat-hooks hitched into the fore-chains. Now followed a struggle—short, sharp, but decisive; for first one and then another convict was knocked back into the boat as he tried to gain a foothold. There was a little shouting, a few oaths; and then, apparently satisfied that the reception was too warm, and that they were fighting against odds, the occupants of the boat shoved off, just as the ship’s crew was reinforced by the captain and men who had gone below.

“That was a narrow escape,” said the captain. “Mr Murray, I sha’n’t forget to mention this to the owners.”

“Suppose we keep a sharp look-out for the rest of the night? They may come back, unless they find some other vessel less on the alert.”

“Oars again,” whispered one of the men.

They listened attentively, and once more could plainly make out the soft smothered dip of oars floating across the water.

Ten minutes passed, and then, as the crew stood with beating hearts waiting for the next assault, there came another hail out of the darkness.

“What ship’s that?”

“Never you mind!” answered the captain roughly. “What boat’s that?”

“First cutter—his Majesty’s ship Theseus,” was the reply. “Heard or seen anything of a boat, or boats, this way?”

“Nearly boarded by one, only we beat them off,” said the captain. “Convicts, weren’t they?”

“Hold hard a minute, and I’ll come on board,” was the answer. “Bows there—in oars, men!” and the boat was heard to thump against the vessel’s counter.

“Keep down there,” shouted the captain, cocking a pistol, “or I fire!”

“Confound you! don’t I tell you we’re friends?” said the same voice.

“Yes, you tell me,” muttered the captain. “Bring a lantern here.”

A light was brought, and swung down, to show the blue shirts of the crew, and the red uniforms of half-a-dozen marines in the stern-sheets; when, apparently satisfied, the captain grumbled an apology.

“All right, my man!” was the laughing response; and a young lieutenant sprang up the side. “And so they nearly took you, did they? Lucky for you that you had so good a look-out. Can’t tell me where they steered for, I suppose? But of course not—too dark. Confound the rascals! They say there’s about half a hundred of them got away—killed a couple of warders, and done the deuce knows what mischief. Good-night!” and he sprang down the side. “If you see any more of them, just burn a blue light, and you shall have a boat’s crew aboard in no time. Give way, my men.”

The oars fell plashing into the sea; and then, save the low regular dip, all was once more silent. The crew, as they kept a sharp look-out, fancied they once heard a loud splash and a faint cry; but there was no repetition of the sounds, though the men listened attentively. The glow by the town faded slowly away, a breeze sprung up, and the stars came peering out, one after another, till, as the sky brightened, the spars and rigging of the sloop-of-war could be dimly seen, her lights just beginning to swing to and fro as the breeze ruffled the waters. But no farther alarm disturbed the Sarah Ann, though one and all the crew kept on deck, in case of another attack.

“Wasn’t there a small schooner off there, about a quarter of a mile?” said the captain suddenly, as he lowered the night-glass, with which he had been carefully searching for enemies.

“To be sure!” said Murray. “Isn’t it there now?”

“Try for yourself,” was the reply.

And the young man carefully swept the offing.

“I can’t make her out,” he said; “but we may see her as day breaks. Perhaps she moved in more under the land.”

“More like those fellows boarded her, and that noise was the captain sent overboard. Well, all I can say, Murray, is, that if they’d got possession here, the best thing they could have done would have been to throw me over; for I could never have faced the owners again.”

Morning broke, but there was no schooner in sight; whereupon the sloop immediately weighed in chase, for the convicts had seized her, cut the cable, and made sail, running none knew whither.

Towards afternoon the captain of the Sarah Ann came on board, after concluding his business with the agents.

“Good luck to you, Murray; make sail, and let’s be off, for I sha’n’t feel as if the old Sally is safe till we’ve left this beautiful spot a hundred knots astern. The poor skipper of that schooner’s ashore there, and he’s half mad, and no wonder.”

The captain made his way below, the anchor was weighed, sail after sail dropped down, and then, with a pleasant breeze astern, the old barque slowly began to force her way through the bright and transparent waters, making the sunlit windows of Port Caroline grow more and more distant, while Edward Murray’s heart gladdened within him, as he thought of the prolonged stay for discharging and loading that would be made in Kaitaka Bay, New Zealand.

Story 3--Chapter III.

Golden Gap.

“‘And I said, if there’s peace in this world to be found’—Go on, Joey, will you?—‘The—he heart that is humble might welcome it here,’” sang and said a sturdy-looking, hard-faced man, with cleanly-shaven chin and upper lip, and a pair of well-trimmed grizzly whiskers. He was somewhat sun-browned, but wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, and in addition, as he strode a very weedy, meditative-looking pony, he carried up a large gingham umbrella.

“Well, Joey!” he continued, apostrophising the pony, which had come to a full stop; “you’re a sensible beast, and it is a beautiful spot, and ‘the heart that is humble’ might truly ‘welcome it here.’ What a paradise! They may well call it Golden Gap! Golden, indeed! A heavenly gilding—no dross here! No more like Battersea Fields than I’m like an archangel. Well, Joey, suppose we meditate, then, for half an hour. You shall chew your herb, and I’ll smoke mine, even if it be not canonical. I don’t like good things to be wasted, as my old mother used to say. Savages smoke, so why should not a parson?”

Slowly dismounting, he closed his umbrella, unbuckled the pony’s bridle, that he might graze, and then, seating himself beneath a huge tree-fern, he filled and lit his pipe, and began to enjoy its fragrance.

For he was seated far up on the side of a mountain, whose exact similitude was on the other side of the valley, so that it seemed as if, in some wild convulsion, Nature had divided one vast eminence, and then clothed the jagged and rugged sides from the point where the glittering, snow-tipped summits peered forth, down to the lovely stream in the valley, with the riches of her wondrous arboretum. The fattest of pastures by the little river, and deepest of arable rich soil; and then, as step by step the mountain rose, everywhere shone forth the glory of the New Zealand foliage, with its fern and palm-like fronds, parasite and creeper, of the most golden greens, and here and there blushing with blossom; while in scores of places tiny silver threads could be seen dashing, plashing, and flashing in the sun-rays, as they descended from the never-exhausted storehouses of ice and snow far above, which glowed in turn, like some wondrous collection of gold and gems.

Some three miles away there shone the sparkling waters of a tiny bay, whose shores, at that distance, could be seen framed in emerald green, as the forest trees grew right down to where the sea could almost lave their roots, and goodly ships have made fast cable or hawser to their trunks. And yet, in all the length and breadth of the glorious vale, stood but one house, sheltered in another tiny valley, running off at right angles; while right up and up, higher and higher, tree, crag, and mossy bank were piled with a profuseness of grandeur that displayed novel beauties at every glance.

“‘And I said, if there’s peace,’—I don’t believe any place could be more lovely, even in this land of beauty,” muttered the traveller, tapping the ashes out of his smoked pipe on to a mossy boulder, and then blowing them carefully away. “Here am I, too, defiling Nature’s beauties with my vile nicotine. But beauty is beauty, Joey; and it only satisfies the eye; and man has a stomach, and bones that ache if they don’t have a bed; so, my gallant steed, we’ll finish our journey to the Moa’s Nest, and see what friend Lee will say to us, and whether he will bestow on thy master, damper, tea, and bacon, and on thee some corn.”

The gallant steed did not even sniff at the prospect of the feed of corn, but submitted, like the well-broken animal he was, to the replacing of his bit; when, arranging his bridle, his master mounted, put up his umbrella again, and then, leaving the pony to pick his way, slowly descended the zigzag track which led to old Martin Lee’s station, known far and wide, from an old Maori tradition, as the Moa’s Nest.

The distance seemed nothing from where he had been seated; but the track wound and doubled so much, from the steepness of the descent, that it was getting towards sundown before the traveller rode up to the long, straggling, wooden building, that had evidently been erected at various times, as the prosperity of its occupant had called for farther increase; when, slowly dismounting, he closed the great umbrella, hung his bridle upon a hook, and stalked in to where the family were at tea, if the substantial meal spread out could be so called.

“God bless all here!” he said heartily, as he brought down the umbrella with a thump; “How’s friend Lee?”

“Right well am I, parson, thank you!” exclaimed a bluff, sturdy-looking farmer. “Won’t you draw up to the log fire?”

There was a merry laugh at these words; for it was midsummer, and the Gap was famed for its hot days and nights.

“And how is the good wife, and my little queen, too?” continued the new-comer, shaking hands with Mrs Lee, a sharp, eager little woman; and then taking their daughter’s blooming face between his hands, to kiss her lovingly, as if she had been his own child. “All well? That’s right! Yours obediently, sir,” he continued, to a tall, dark man of about thirty, who had risen from the table with the others.

“A neighbour of ours, Mr Meadows,” said Mrs Lee; “Mr Anthony Bray.”

“Your servant, sir,” said the new-comer stiffly. “A neighbour, eh? Lives close by—six or eight miles off, I suppose?” And then he muttered to himself, “I know what’s your business.”

“Well, I think you’ve made a pretty good guess at the distance,” said the other; “it is seven miles.”

“Great blessing sometimes, but it makes one’s parish too extended to be pleasant. I find it a long journey to visit all my people in the nooks and corners—”

“And Moas’ Nests.”

“Ay, and Moas’ Nests, they get into. Well, I’ve come to ask a bed and a meal, if you’ll give them to me, friend Lee.”

“Always welcome, parson, so long as you don’t come begging,” said the head of the family.

“But I have come begging,” he said, standing with one hand upon his umbrella, and the other stuck under his grey frock coat. “I want a subscription towards our new church; so, if we are not welcome, Joey and I will have to—There, bless me, child, don’t take away my umbrella!” he exclaimed, to the pretty daughter of the household, who, in true patriarchal fashion, was divesting him of his sunshade and hat, and placing him in a chair.

“There, sit down, do!” exclaimed the settler, laughing; “it’s quite a treat to see a fresh face—and I daresay I can buy you off with a crooked sixpence or so. Fall to, man; you look hot and worn.”

“Little overdone, perhaps,” said the visitor. “Phew! bother the flies! How they always seem to settle on you, when a little out of sorts! Scent sickness, I suppose. Thank you, my child; nothing like a cup of tea for refreshment. Why, our Katie looks more blooming than ever, Mrs Lee.”

“Ay, she grows,” said the father; “and we begin to want to see her married and settled, eh, Mr Bray?”

Kate Lee’s face crimsoned, and she darted an appealing look to her mother, one not misinterpreted by the other visitor, who assumed not to have heard his host’s remark.

But farther remark was checked by a boisterous “Hillo!” a horse cantered up to the door, and Edward Murray, flushed and heated, sprang to the ground, to fold Kate Lee in his arms in an instant, and then heartily salute the rest of the family.

“Couldn’t overtake you, Mr Meadows,” said the young sailor, “though I saw your old umbrella bobbing down the valley like a travelling mushroom.”

“There, parson, there’s no best bed for you to-night,” said the settler. “The woman-kind worship this fellow, and you’ll only come off second best.”

“I can be happy anywhere,” said Mr Meadows. “Don’t incommode yourselves for me.”

Meanwhile it needed no interpreter to tell of the intimacy between Edward Murray and Kate Lee. A love the growth of years—the love that had induced him to quit the navy; for he had felt unable to settle when old Lee had left his native town, driven by misfortunes to settle in one of the colonies, New Zealand being his choice, where now, after some years’ hard fight with difficulties, he was living a wealthy, patriarchal life in this pleasant valley.

So Edward Murray had found no difficulty in getting appointed to a trader, which, however little in accordance with his tastes, took him at least once a year to where he could visit the Lees in their new home.

At first, old Lee did not evince much pleasure at the sight of the young man, for he had seen Anthony Bray’s dark visage grow more dark as he tugged at his handkerchief, and then, after a vain attempt at showing his nonchalance, he rose hastily and quitted the place, followed by the eyes of Mr Meadows, who generally contrived to see all, and to interpret things pretty correctly.

And he made few mistakes in the conclusions he had that evening arrived at; for, but that very afternoon, Anthony Bray had, after months of unsuccessful wooing, asked the maiden to be his wife, but only to meet with an unconditional refusal; for Katie Lee possessed a faith not shared by both her parents, and it was with a triumphant joy in her bright eyes that she took her place quietly by Edward Murray’s side, as he told of his long and stormy travels since he met them a year ago.

“And when did you get into the bay?” inquired old Lee.

“Only last night,” said the young man.

“Then you have lost little time,” said Mr Meadows.

“Well, no,” said the other simply. “I wanted to get here, and see what I’ve been thinking about for the last twelve months;” and he turned to Katie, whose eyes met his for an instant, and then fell as her colour heightened.

“Ah! it’s all plain enough what it means, Mr Meadows,” said Mrs Lee. “Martin, there, used to tell me, years ago, that now I was a wife, I must stay at home, and cry ‘clack, clack,’ to the chickens; and now it seems that I’m going to cry ‘clack, clack’ in vain; for one’s chick is going to ran away, when she might be happily settled down here close by, where we could see her.”

Katie’s wandering and troubled look fell upon Mr Meadows, who smiled grimly, as he said, “I’m afraid, ma’am, that your poor mother would have to cry ‘cluck, cluck’ very loudly before you would hear her all these thousand miles away. It’s nature, ma’am, nature. As the old birds mated in the pleasant spring of life, so will the young ones; and God bless them, say I, and may they be happy!”

“Amen!” said old Martin; “there’s no getting over that, wife. All I want is to see some one happy; and I’m afraid it’s rather a mistake when old folks try to manufacture the youngsters’ future. That’s about the best sermon I ever heard from you, Parson Meadows; it was short, and to the point. I’ve been wrong, I know; but then she talked me into it.” And he nodded towards his wife, who rose and left the room, while Kate crept to her father’s side, Edward following Mrs Lee out into the garden, where the long, conversation that ensued must have terminated favourably; for when Kate, who had been anxiously watching for their return, at length followed them out into the bright moonlit space in front of the house, she was encountered by her mother, who whispered two or three words, and then hurried in, having owned herself defeated.

“And where are the young folks?” said old Lee, as she entered.

Mrs Lee made a motion with her hand, and then bustled away to superintend the arrangements for the night, besides receiving deputations of shepherds and stockmen, and acting as her husband’s prime minister, so that he might be left at liberty to entertain his visitors.

“It’s hard to manage matters, parson, when two children want the same apple,” he said.

“Yes, yes,” said the minister; “all you have to do is to give it to the most deserving. There’s a simple straightforwardness about the young sailor I like, though he did compare me to a mushroom.”

“Yes, I like him,” said old Lee; “but then the wife was set on this Bray, because he’s close at hand here. But I think she’s come round, though I know she did hope that time and the long journeys would tire out the other; but he’s true as—”

“The needle to the pole, as he’d say,” laughed the other; “and if he’s that, what more would you have?”

“Who? I? Nothing, nothing. I only want to see the little lass happy. I’m sorry for Bray, though. I suppose he could not bear to see it, for he has gone.”

“Yes, he went long enough ago, scowling furiously. I hope, friend Lee, there will be no unpleasantry between them.”

“O, nonsense!” ejaculated the old settler; and farther converse was stopped by the entrance of the young people.

Story 3--Chapter IV.

Anthony’s Home.

Martin Lee was right; for, half-choked with rage, his neighbour, Anthony Bray, had hurried out into the open, glad to get away from a scene of happiness that tortured and cut him to the heart. What was this sailor—this mate of a ship—that he should be preferred? Kate Lee had never looked on him like that, in spite of all his pleading; her face had never worn those kind smiles, nor been suffused with those rosy blushes at his approach; and it was cruel work for him to have all his hopes dashed to the ground in an instant; now hopeful—the next moment, by the entry of one stranger, plunged into misery and despair.

He hurried away to get his horse, and ride homeward; but after reaching the shed, he felt that it would look strange and unneighbourly to hurry away; so he determined to walk on a little until he grew calmer, then to return and stay till his customary hour, and go, as if nothing unusual were the matter.

“Fine evening, sir,” said a shepherd, returning with his charge.

But Bray heard him not, for the passion he sought to calm down grew hotter as he proceeded; and when at length he turned to retrace his steps, he knew that it would be madness on his part to go back to the house, unless he wished to provoke a quarrel.

The moon was high as he made his way back to where all was peace; the sunset rays still gilding the snowy tops of the mountains right and left; and, save for the occasional tinkle of a sheep-bell, or low of some beast, all was still.

Turning, by preference, from the moonlit turf, he threaded his way slowly amidst the tree-ferns and undergrowth by the pasture-side, till he once more approached the house in time to see Mrs Lee leave Katie and Edward together, when he stood, with burning cheek and knit brow, watching them, and torturing himself for a full hour, when they slowly strolled towards where he stood; and then, with a net-work of rays over them, he gazed upon a picture which seemed to madden him, till, from being cast down, Katie’s face was lifted, so that the moonbeams bathed it for a moment ere Edward Murray’s was bent down, slowly, tenderly, to press a long, loving kiss upon lips that did not shrink from the caress.

He could bear no more; but flinching backwards, as if, like some wild animal, he were preparing himself for a spring, he placed more and more distance between them; and then, forgetting his horse, he turned and fled furiously down the Gap to the little bay, where lay a small schooner. But Bray scarcely heeded the strange visitor, but turning the bend, made his way along the sands for about a mile, where another valley opened, along which he tore, panting and fierce, mile after mile, heedless of the intricacies of the path, till he reached his own dwelling. He took, mechanically, his accustomed round to see that all was safe; listened to the remarks of his men in a dumb, listless fashion; and then, throwing himself into a chair, sat, hour after hour, thinking: now, determining to be revenged—now to act with manly forbearance and fortitude, trying to crush down the misery in his heart—but all in vain, he could only recall, again and again, that moonlit scene; and as the memory of the embrace came upon him, he writhed in his chair, the veins upon his forehead growing knotted and hard, and his face black with passion.

His men had long before retired to their quarters; so that when, late in the night, there was an unusual disturbance amongst the dogs, it should have fallen to his lot to quiet them had he heard them baying; but he heard nothing, saw nothing, till a broad palm was laid upon his mouth, and his chair was dragged fiercely round, so that he was face to face with half a score of fierce, ruffianly-looking fellows, one of whom struck him back as he tried to rise to his feet.

“Keep where you are!” cried the ruffian, with an oath; “and tell us where you keep your powder and things?”

Bray, half-stunned and confused, did not reply to the demand.

“Speak, will you?” cried the fellow, blaspheming furiously as he seized the young man by the throat.

“I have hardly any,” gasped Bray, who was half-suffocated; and then, trembling for his life, he pointed out the few guns and rifles belonging to himself and men, noticing, as he did so, that some of his assailants were well armed, and some provided merely with a knife or axe.

They seized the weapons with almost a savage joy, and took possession of every scrap of lead and powder they could find, using the most horrible threats against Bray and his trembling men, whom they had bound, and dragged into the central room of the hut, if they dared to keep back any portion of their store. Then, after ransacking the place, they took every little thing that possessed value in their eyes, before consulting as to what should be done with their prisoners.

Bray’s heart sank, as he listened to their conference, and he could not for a moment doubt their readiness to perform any deed of blood. He felt that his last hour must be come, for all chance of escape seemed cut off; and, sinking into a sullen, despairing state, he was listening to the muttered appeals of his men, when a thought flashed across him which sent a gleam of ferocious joy into his eyes. The ruffians had come up this valley first, evidently from the schooner he had seen in the bay; their next foray would be up Golden Gap, when the Moa’s Nest must fall into their hands, and he would be revenged for the treatment he had received.

And Katie? He shuddered as his heart asked him that question, and he battled with himself, trying to harden, to steel his feelings against pity. He would be murdered, no doubt; and in his present state of mind he hardly wished to live—but Katie? Heavens! what a fate! He must warn them—put them on their defence. He could have slain Edward Murray—crushed his heel down upon his open English face; but Katie?—the woman? Was he a savage, that he had harboured such thoughts?

He bit his lips fiercely, and his eyes wandered eagerly round the rough-walled room in search of some means of escape; but there were none. And now, one by one, he saw his four men dragged out, the first two to go quietly, but the next moment uttering hoarse cries, shrieks for pity, for help, as if in despair at the fate awaiting them. Then, as a party of the ruffians seized the remaining two, they had taken the alarm, and begun to plead for mercy, promising anything—to show the convicts where there were richer stations—to join them—anything, if their lives were spared; for the strange silence that now prevailed outside the house, told that something dread had been enacted.

“Say a word for as, master; try and get us off! We’ve been good men to you, master—Not yet! give us a minute!” cried one poor wretch; and he struggled so fiercely, that the two men who were holding Bray hurriedly crossed the room, to kick, and help drag the unfortunate man towards the door.

It was for life; it was a moment not to be lost, and, with one bound, Bray reached the door leading into another room; dashed at it, so that it fell from its slight hinges; and then, as the report of a gun rang out, he leaped through the casement, shivering glass and leadwork to atoms, and falling heavily on the other side; but he was up in an instant, gave one glance round to see two of his men swinging in the moonlight from one of the trees, and then, followed by another shot, he rushed into the wood in front, and threaded his way rapidly through the trees, closely followed by his pursuers.

He knew that his only chance of safety was in concealment; for if he trusted to the open, they would run him down, or shoot him like a dog; or he might have made his way round by the shore, and then up Golden Gap, to warn them of the coming danger at the Moa’s Nest. He could only hide himself till the danger was over, and then— He shuddered; for once more he thought of Katie, as he hurried panting along, tripping over roots and creepers, climbing blocks of stone, till the shouts behind ceased, and he paused to take breath, resting upon a fragment of rock, and drawing heavily his laboured breath as the perspiration streamed down his face.

What could he do? How could he warn them? He felt that he must try, even if he did not succeed; though his heart told him that he would be too late, while the moon would show him as an easy mark for his pursuers. He must go, he felt, even if he laid down his life; and he turned to retrace his steps towards the track down the valley, when he stopped short.

Why could he not climb the mountain, and descend into the valley on the other side? It would be a long and arduous task; but then it would be free from enemies. He had never heard of such a feat being done; for it was the custom always to follow the track to the shore, skirt the end of the spur, and then ascend the Gap; but why could not this be possible? He would try, if he died in the attempt; and then, with panting breath, he began slowly to climb the face of the thickly-wooded mountain, finding it grow more steep and difficult as he passed every twenty yards, but fighting his way on—now finding a level spot, now a descent into a little stream-sheltering rift, which glistened in the moonbeams; but ever rising higher, till, having reached a crag by means of a long pendulous vine, he paused to breathe and listen; for a wild shriek, as from some dying despairing soul, had risen to his ear. He shuddered as it was repeated; and then shrank back into the black shade cast by a mass of lava which overhung his head, and listened again; but all was still.

He could not see his homestead from where he rested; for the view was shut out by the trees below him; but he started, for a vivid flash suddenly shot up, and then sank; but only to burst out again. And he ground his teeth, as he knew that they had fired the place, most probably just before leaving it; and in his mind’s eye he could see the wretches filing off, booty-laden, to make their way down the valley to the little bay at the end of the Gap.

There was no time to lose. His was not a fourth of the distance to travel; but the road was fearful, and a cold chilling feeling of despair fell upon him as, in making a spring upwards, he trod upon some loose stones, lost his footing, and fell heavily, rolling down some twenty feet into a rift, where, as he slowly gathered himself together and began to climb once more, the sobs of anguish forced themselves from his breast, and tears of weak misery coursed down his cheeks.

And now, grown more cautious—and knowing that, would he reach the summit, it could only be by husbanding his strength—he climbed on and on, every minute finding the way more arduous, and tangled with the majestic luxuriant growth of the country. Far up to the left he could see the moonbeams glittering on the snowy peaks, while to his right again towered a high mass. Could he but keep to the path that should lead him to the rift between, he might be in time—might warn them; but despair whispered “No” the next moment, as difficulty after difficulty met him at every step.

Rock, loose stone, thorny undergrowth, which tore his clothes and flesh; huge ferns, whose old frond stumps tripped him up again and again; creepers with snake-like branches: all had to be encountered; but the moon gave him a friendly light, and he was enabled to win his way, now faster, now slower, till, leaning again to rest upon a moonlit crag, whence he could look down upon his burning home, he started and shrank back into the darkness; for a faint noise below struck his ear, was repeated again and again, and he knew that he was followed.

His breath came thickly, as he felt how unavailing had been his efforts: but a moment before he had thought that he should win his way to the top, even if he should only be in time to witness a similar destruction to that going on at his feet; but now he felt that he was to be shot down, perhaps dashed into some rift, and stones hurled upon him; and maddened with despair, he sought for a weapon of defence.

Crash! there was the sound of a piece of rock loosened; and then again the rustling sound, plainly borne on the night air, as some one forced his way higher and higher.

What should he do? Wait and close with his adversary unarmed, trying to take him at some disadvantage, or should he toil on and try to outstrip him? The last he felt would be folly; for sooner or later, while passing over some moonlit spot, he would only become a plainer mark for his foe. He would stay and meet him there, beat him back with one of the masses of lava at his feet, if he were seen, or else let him pass on, and then seek out some other way.

The rustling came higher and higher, completely in his track—not loudly, but gently, as if the one who followed were light and active; but there was a sadden flash as from the barrel of a gun; and kneeling down at the edge of a crag, below which the pursuer must come, Bray waited with a couple of large masses ready at his hand, prepared to hurl them down when the opportunity should offer; for after deciding to proceed, he had given up the attempt as vain, and crouched there waiting for his foe.

He knelt in the shade; but the moonbeams lit up all around, and gave a distinctness to every object that was almost equal to that of day.

Nearer and nearer came the sounds; the great fronds were being parted here and there; a long fine stem that had lent him its aid shook and rattled as it was clasped from beneath. In another instant his foe would be within reach; and he raised one of the heavy fragments, poised it, and, as he saw a figure dart beneath, he hurled it down; but only for it to go crashing below, wakening the echoes in the rifts and chasms. The next instant he was dashed back, and a strong hand was upon his throat, a knee upon his chest, and a weapon raised to slay him; when, with a wild cry of despair, Bray forced his feet energetically against the rock, and thrust himself away, so that he held his foe half suspended over the edge of the yawning precipice.

Story 3--Chapter V.

At the Farm.

Mrs Lee was a very unimportant-looking little woman; yet she ruled at home even as Martin Lee ruled abroad; and after the supper that night, when Katie had occasion to attend to sundry maternal orders, there was plenty of free open discussion, in which Parson Meadows was invited to join.

“I’ve no objection to you at all, Edward,” said Mrs Lee, “only that you will go away for a twelvemonth at a time; and if we let you have Katie, you will either carry her off, or else be making her a widow till you return again; and that’s why I have set my face against it.”

“Why can’t you settle down here, my lad?” said old Lee, puffing leisurely at his pipe.

“Ay, and plough the land instead of the ocean,” put in Mr Meadows.

“You are all hard upon me,” said Edward, laughing. “Didn’t I give up the navy?”

“Let him alone,” said old Lee; “he’ll come round in time.”

“To be sure,” said Mr Meadows. “And, after all, my young friend, it’s a pleasant patriarchal life you would lead here—at peace with the world, nature smiling upon you, a glorious climate, and sickness a thing hardly known. Truly, yours would be a pleasant prospect. No need here to lock or bar your doors to keep out the thieves who break through and steal. Indeed, I should envy you if I were a young man—young as he who went out.”

“Ah, poor Bray! I’m afraid he’ll be rather nettled about your coming, Ned. I know Katie gave him no encouragement; but the old lady there took a fancy to him; and now she has turned her coat. Fickle ever!”

Just then Katie returned to take her place in the circle, seating herself by Edward Murray, with the innocent air of one who sought protection at the side of the stronger.

The night was wearing on, and early hours were the rule at the Moa’s Nest; so old Lee slowly rose, pipe in hand, and made his customary round, stopping here and there for a few whiffs, till he was satisfied that sheep and cattle were well folded, horses bedded down, dogs loose and watchful; though no enemies were ever dreaded there—the old settler being on the best of terms with neighbour and native.

On returning, he encountered Mr Meadows a few yards from the door.

“The young folks seemed as though they could well spare me, friend Lee,” he said; “so I strolled out to finish my pipe with you. Youth lasts but a while: let them enjoy the happy season. We are getting older than when we first met, ten years ago, friend Lee; and things have prospered with you.”

“Ay,” said the settler; “thank Providence, they have; for it’s a sore job to work early and late, and see the toil all wasted. I’ve prospered well here, parson; and if things go on so, I shall die a rich man. I wish they prospered as well with you.”

“They prosper well enough, Martin Lee. I’ve my own little home, and the people in my district are kind and hospitable when I visit them; and, somehow, this half-civilised sort of existence suits me better than the life at the old home. I have never regretted my large town curacy, and I hope I never shall.”

They stood silent for a few moments.

“Your bonnie English bud is breaking into a fair and sweet-scented rose, Martin Lee,” said Mr Meadows at last.

“What—Katie? Yes, yes, God bless her! But it gets to be a worrying time, parson, when the lads come wooing; and, though I took no heed to it, that young fellow Bray went out looking as if he’d like to make an end of us all.”

“Be charitable, friend Lee—be charitable. The young man was hot and bitter and disappointed; and no wonder. A night’s rest will do him much good, poor lad. Let’s pity, and not condemn.”

“Very well,” said old Lee, smiling; “and now let’s go in.”

They re-entered the house just as Edward Murray exclaimed:

“There, I have it! Been trying to call to mind who he was for days past; but I have it now.”

“And pray, who was he?” said Mr Meadows dryly.

“The head-clerk at Elderby’s; don’t you remember, Mr Lee? He was transported for life for forging a will—John Grant.”

“And what about him?” asked the settler.

“Why, I met him at Port Caroline a few days ago, in a gang of men returning from work, I suppose; and he spoke to me by name. Strange we should meet again.”

“Well, a little, perhaps,” said Mr Meadows. “I remember his case now you name it. But the world is not big enough to hide yourself anywhere. You are sure to encounter some one who knows you, or your relatives. Good-night, and heaven protect you all!”

Story 3--Chapter VI.

The Alarm.

We must now return to the struggle on the brink of the precipice. With the energy of despair, Anthony Bray sought to grapple with his enemy, when the threatening weapon was withdrawn, and a harsh voice, with surprise in its tones, gave utterance to his name.

“What, Wahika!” exclaimed Bray joyfully; and he gazed with wonder in the blue-tinted tattooed face of one of the natives, who had often been upon his premises.

“Thought killed. Men come from sea kill all, and come kill him again for kill you.”

“You thought I was one of the men?”

The New Zealander nodded.

“Where go to now? Come back pah?”

“No, no!” exclaimed Bray, as a bright thought struck him. “I want to go over the hill to the Moa’s Nest. You can show me the best way.”

“Much hard work; but Wahika show;” and, without another word, he plunged down again, with Bray following for a little distance; but, under the impression that the native had misunderstood him in his imperfect knowledge of the tongue, he called to him to stop, and pointed upwards.

The savage smiled at his eagerness, and shook his head, and pointed downward, then drew an imaginary line to the right, and then another, which led in the direction of the hill-top.

Bray nodded, and followed without another word; when, after a few turns and doublings, the guide hit upon the bed of a good-sized stream, and, first on one side, then on the other, led his companion up and up, at a rate which inspired him with the hope that he might even yet be in time. Higher and higher they climbed now, passing in among the trees at the side, and anon climbing over some huge block which arrested their progress, when the guide would stretch out a helping hand, or in some other way assist his less active and panting companion.

The journey was performed in absolute silence, till suddenly the native stopped short, and, facing round, he exclaimed, as if he had at length found out the object in view:

“You go tell at Moa’s Nest men come?”

Bray nodded.

“You think they come Moa’s Nest?” queried the savage.

Bray nodded again.

“Wahika fetch tribe—go to pah;” and he made a movement as if to return.

But Bray pointed forward; and, in obedience, the man led on.

Twice over Bray stopped, panting, thinking that they had reached the summit of the ridge; but there were still higher crags to climb; and on they slowly made their way, often along the edges of dangerous chasms—places where in calmer moments he dare not have set his foot; but, with thoughts concentrated upon his object, he pressed on.

If he could but save Katie, he would be content; and then thought after thought crowded through his brain—thoughts that at another time he would have shuddered at; but now, in this time of temptation, they found a home.

“Hah!” ejaculated the guide suddenly, as he helped his companion to the top of a huge mass of vine-clad rock.

And, looking in the direction pointed out by the savage, he could see, far below them, the home of Martin Lee bathed in the peaceful moonlight, and with nothing to indicate impending danger.

“In time, so far,” exclaimed Bray; and, pointing to the long low buildings that glistened beneath them, the native nodded, and they began rapidly to descend.

What Bray wanted in agility, he tried to supply by daring, and he boldly followed his guide, now leaping, now swinging down by hanging rope-like creeper, and more than once falling heavily; but he was up and on again directly.

And there was need of haste; for slowly and cautiously a band of some thirty men were making their way up towards the peaceful home. Their progress was necessarily slow, from their ignorance of the locality; and they more than once lost ground by searching for a settlement up some pleasant-looking ravine, or it would have been impossible for the warning to have arrived in time to prevent a surprise.

The Moa’s Nest at last, though; and half-a-dozen fierce dogs ran out, raging round Anthony Bray, and hardly kept at bay by Wahika’s club; so that it needed no summons to rouse Martin Lee from his bed, and to bring him to the window.

“What!” he exclaimed, as Anthony Bray told his tale; “a piratical party hanging, burning? Nonsense, man; you have been dreaming!”

“As you will,” cried Bray fiercely; and, stepping back a few steps, he picked up a stone and flung it through Katie’s window.

“Here, Kate!—Miss Lee! wake up! Quick! there’s danger!” he exclaimed.

“He’s mad!” cried old Lee. “Here, stop him! What are you doing? But who’s that? Wahika?”

“Yes; Wahika,” answered the savage. “White men come ship—kill and burn. Open door—here directly!”

“Here, stop, Bray! I beg pardon!” exclaimed the old man excitedly; and in another minute he had opened the door and admitted the new-comers.

Men were aroused, and the dogs called in; and then a hasty council of war was held.

“Sure they are not natives?” said Murray to Bray.

But the latter stood knitting his brow without giving any reply.

“Did you not say, friend Murray, that there were convicts escaped from Port Caroline, and that a schooner had been seized?” said the calm voice of Mr Meadows.

“Yes; but surely they cannot have sailed all round here,” exclaimed Murray.

“Why not, if your vessel could anchor two days since in Kaitaka Bay? I see no impossibility. There could be no other marauding party here, my friend. I don’t like bloodshed; so you must make a show of being prepared with such arms as you have, and then we will parley with them. I will be the ambassador of peace. Perhaps a little tea and tobacco will make them take their departure.”

“They’ll take their departure when they have slain all here, and turned your home into a heap of ashes, as they have mine!” exclaimed Bray fiercely. “If you have any respect for your women and your own lives, you will at once try to put the place in a state of defence.”

Meanwhile Wahika had glided out of the door, and getting into the shadow cast by the trees, made his way quickly down the valley; but not for far. In a short time he returned to announce the coming of the enemy.

Murray had proposed flight as the safest plan; but this had been objected to by old Lee, who vowed that as long as he could lift hand no convict should cross his threshold, or lay finger upon the property he had so hardly earned.

“What should we run to the woods for, Ned Murray? I should have thought a young fellow like you would have been no coward.”

Murray knit his brows; for just then he caught sight of a sneer upon the countenance of Bray.

“I’ve not fought much with men, sir,” he said coolly; “but I have had more than one battle with storms. Perhaps I can play my part here; at least, I shall try.”

“Fighting! No; we must have no fighting, friend Lee,” said Mr Meadows. “I will go out and reason with these beasts of Ephesus, and see what can be done. But I should be prepared; I should be prepared.”

“I mean to be,” said the old man sternly; and he hurriedly took down rifle and fowling-piece from the slings upon the wall, there being sufficient to arm only about half the party; but, fortunately, there was plenty of ammunition; and this was hastily distributed, the one light extinguished, and a heavy chest or two planted against the door.

The party within the building now consisted of twelve; namely, eight men and four women—four of the men being the settler’s shepherds, and two of the trembling women their wives. To make the most of the place, the two doors at the rear were hastily barricaded, the women shut in an inner chamber, and the mattresses and beds dragged out to put in front of the windows.

“Are they well armed, Mr Bray?” said Murray.

But there was no answer until Mr Meadows repeated the question.

“They took what arms there were in my place; several guns and rifles. What they had before, I did not notice. You are surely not going out to them, sir?”

“Indeed I should be much wanting in duty if I refrained at such a time of need,” said Mr Meadows. “I hope my words will have some effect upon them; but at least I will try. Friend Lee, draw back those chests, and let me go.”

“And get knocked on the head,” grumbled the old man grimly, as he forced a bullet down upon the powder in his rifle. “No, parson, stop here; and I think, if what friend Bray tells us be true, you had better take to war this time instead of peace.”

“Take away those chests,” said Mr Meadows peremptorily, to one of the shepherds; and the man drew them away, when stepping out into the moonlight, he walked hastily forward to the advancing party, and was seen, by the friends who were anxiously watching him, to enter the little cluster and disappear.

Story 3--Chapter VII.

Besieged.

A quarter of an hour elapsed, during which no time was lost, but everything possible done to make the place a little less insecure; and then, impatient at Mr Meadow’s non-return, Murray proposed that they should fetch him in.

“How, young man?” said old Lee sternly.

“Try fair means first; and if not so, by force.”

Bray laughed, and Murray turned upon him angrily; but their attention was suddenly taken up by a loud shouting in the direction of the enemy, and they could distinctly see that a struggle was taking place. Directly after, Mr Meadows was seen running towards them.

“Throw open the door!” exclaimed the settler; and it was done just as a shot rang out, and its report went echoing up the sides of the valley, while Mr Meadows was seen to fall.

Without an instant’s pause, Murray bounded out, gun in hand, closely followed by Wahika, who had now returned, just as, with a shout, the convicts came running towards them. But as they reached Mr Meadows, he had risen to his knees, and begun to limp towards the house.

“Not much hurt; but never mind me; get back.”

As he spoke, a couple of shots were fired at the little group, but without effect; and, by being supported on either side, Mr Meadows was enabled to reach the house; the door was rapidly closed, and barricaded; and then he sank into a chair; while, this being different from a surprise, the convicts were seen to pause, and to consult as to the plan of their operations.

“Are you much hurt, parson?” said old Lee gravely.

“No, not much, friend Lee,” was the reply. “I don’t believe the bullet struck me, only some stones driven up when it hit the ground; but it lamed me for the time. There!” he said, as he finished binding his handkerchief round his leg; “I’m ready now, and we must try the strong hand with them. They made me prisoner, but I knocked down my keepers, and escaped. Thanks, friend Murray!” he continued, taking the gun and its appurtenances offered by the young man. “I’m rather out of practice, but I think I can leg and wing a few of the rascals.”

“I think you had better body them!” said old Lee fiercely.

“I don’t,” said Mr Meadows, priming his piece. “But don’t let me interfere with you. Suppose you open the windows on either side the door, my men?” And this being done, he placed a featherbed upon a table, so that it half filled the window, when, resting his piece upon it, he stood ready, his example being followed by the others.

The next instant he took rapid aim, and fired, when a convict, who had been reconnoitring, was seen to drop, and then try to drag himself back to his comrades, who sent a volley at the house in reply.

“There!” said Mr Meadows, coolly reloading; “that was as good as a body-shot, friend Lee. Think I’d aim low, if I were you.”

The old man nodded doubtfully, and smiled; when Murray, observing that the men were dividing into two parties, made towards the back of the house, so as to be on the look-out for an attack in that quarter; and it was well he did so, for six men were creeping up under the shade of the trees.

He fired, and one dropped, leaped up, but fell again, to lie motionless; and the young man felt a cold chill run through him as he knew that he had, for the first time, taken a human life.

On turning to reload, he found himself face to face with Kate; and dark as it was, he could make out the agitation depicted in her countenance.

“Go back,” he said; “go back, darling!” And, for a moment, he pressed her in his arms, when, yielding to his entreaties, she returned to the inner room, just as half a dozen more shots came whistling through door and window.

“Keep watch here,” Murray whispered to one of the shepherds. And the man took his place, while he went to the front, to find that several shots had been exchanged, and that one of the shepherds was bleeding upon the floor.

Just then a tall, burly ruffian rushed forward recklessly, and, shouting to the occupants of the house to give up, if they wished to save their lives, fired another shot, and then turned to join his companions.

“I believe that’s the rascal who wounded our poor friend here,” exclaimed Mr Meadows, firing as he spoke. “No; I’ve missed him! Legs are hard to hit as they run. Fire low, my friends.”

Several of the convicts had fallen, for the besieged kept up a well-sustained fire; and this made the assailants cautious, for they took shelter behind trees and sheds, firing almost at random, but not without effect; for another shepherd was badly hit, and a groan from the inner room told that mischief was done there. And it was so; for, after a few minutes, Mrs Lee, Katie, and one woman came calmly out, Mrs Lee whispering something to her husband; and then, in answer to entreaties that they would go back, they replied that they were as safe in the front room as elsewhere; and, tearing up some linen, proceeded to bandage the wounds of those who were hurt.

Suddenly, a cry made Murray dart to the back, to find the shepherd struggling with a convict, who had forced his way in, thus giving time for a couple more to enter, when a fierce struggle ensued, ending in two of the men being struck down, and the other beating a retreat; but this episode had been fatal, the besieged having been drawn off just as a daring assault was made upon the front.

It was in vain that Mr Meadows fired, and then knocked down two who were rushing in over the broken door. The struggle was short, but very fierce, and one after the other the defenders were beaten down, or back from room to room, till, turning for a moment, on hearing a loud cry for help, Murray saw Bray in the act of passing through a door, and bounding after him, he was in time to see him drag Katie through the window, and disappear.

The next instant he had followed, but receiving a tremendous blow upon the head, he fell heavily to the ground.

That blow was given by what should have been a friend’s hand, but it had an effect that Anthony Bray had not intended. The minute before he had been dragging a timid, yielding girl after him. But now, as in the dim light she saw the dastardly act, a feeling of rage filled Katie’s soul; and, tearing herself away, she flung herself upon her knees, lifting the head of Murray gently, and with her handkerchief binding up a severe wound the young man had received.

The place they were in was a sort of outhouse, which had been added to the side of the building, but without the window being filled up; and as Murray climbed out, the casement had swung to again; and it was well for the moment, for having beaten down the little remaining resistance, the convicts spread through the place, seizing the arms and ransacking cupboard and drawer; while old Lee, beaten down, wounded, looked on with agonised countenance; but not alone, for his wife clung to him, turning a defiant face upon the destroyers of her home.

Two men rushed into the chamber, through which Bray had dragged Katie, and concluding that those of whom they were in search had passed through a door on the other side, they hurried through that, and disappeared, but only to make their way back into the central room.

Meanwhile, overcoming his surprise at the fierce way in which Katie resisted him, Bray caught her in his arms, and drew her towards the outhouse door.

“Foolish girl! it’s for life and liberty! There, I’m stronger than you,” he cried, “and if I must use force, I will. Come quietly, Katie—come. We can reach the horses—mine is there yet—and fly to safety, away from this scene!”

But she struggled fiercely, although the weaker, while he forced her step by step towards the door.

“Little fool!” he hoarsely said. “Would you have us both killed?”

“Yes, yes, coward,” she cried. “Loose me, or I’ll call for help! Edward! Ned! help me!” she cried loudly; and as he lay just beneath the chamber window, he half raised himself, but only to sink back again with exhaustion.

“You’ll have the ruffians upon us, Kate,” hissed Bray; and mad with rage, he tried to lift her from the ground, when she again called out, “Ned! Ned! help me! O, help!”

Startled by this sudden outburst, Bray relaxed his hold sufficiently for Katie to tear herself away, and throw herself upon Murray’s prostrate body, to which she clung.

But Bray was at her side in an instant, trying again to drag her away, but in vain; when, seizing his rival by the throat, he fiercely whispered in the poor girl’s ear, “Come on, or it will be his death!”

“You have killed him now, coward!” cried the girl, vainly tearing at the hand so ruthlessly grasping her lover; when again seizing the opportunity Bray lifted her once more from the floor, and bore her towards the door, but only for there to be a repetition of the fierce struggle; the light, active girl writhing herself free again, calling upon Ned for the help he was powerless to give, he, poor fellow, responding with a groan, as in the shadowy place he could mistily make out what was going on.

Tearing herself away, Katie was again by the side of Murray, when the casement above her head was suddenly thrown open, a couple of streams of flame flashed across the place, and, with a loud cry, Bray sprang through the door at the other end. The moonbeams shone in for an instant, showing the wreaths of smoke curling slowly upward, and all was once more darkness, while Katie knelt, hardly daring to breathe; her hand, too, pressed upon Murray’s lips, lest he should moan, and so betray their whereabouts.

But the next moment her breath was drawn with a sob, for the window swung-to again, and from the rapid beat of footsteps, it was evident that the men who fired had gone round in pursuit of Bray; but apparently in vain, for they soon returned, stopped before the outhouse door, and looked in; but coming from the outer brightness, they saw nothing but the wreathing smoke; and, closing the door violently, hurried on towards the front of the house, where loud talking, and more than once a weak cry for help, fell upon the ears of the poor girl.

Murray had attempted to speak, and then seemed to become inanimate. In her grief, Katie clung to him, calling upon him, in whispers, to speak to her, if but a word, for she felt that he must be dying; and then, forgetful of all but her love, she clasped him fondly, bathing his face with her tears, and kissing him again and again. Then suddenly she started up with affright, for, just above her head, she heard the grating of the casement, as it slowly opened. Then there was a dread pause, broken by the loud talking and quarrelling of the convicts, but a few yards away.

Involuntarily she turned her face towards the open window, trying to pierce the darkness—for the moon had sunk behind the shoulder of the mountain, and in the last few minutes all had become black as night. But she could see nothing, only hear the sound of hard breathing, as some one leaned out into the place where she crouched, cold and paralysed, but with her mind in a state of fearful activity.

But was it fancy? Had her over-wrought imagination conjured up this new terror? No; it was no fancy, for the window was thrust farther back, and the dread seemed greater than she could bear, as just above her she could feel, as it were, that there was a face stretched out towards her.

Story 3--Chapter VIII.

Tried by Fire.

It might have been but for a few seconds, but the suspense was agonising. Katie felt no fear for herself then: her fear was lest he should be discovered who had been ready to die in her defence—who had been so cruelly smitten down—he to whom, but a few hours before, she had plighted herself, owning to her love, and, for the first time, daring to respond to his kisses. But was it a few hours ago? Was it not years since, or at some time far back in the past, that those happy moments were? Or was this some wild dream—that he, the young, the bright, the true, who had treasured her love for years, and come these thousands of miles to see her—to claim her—was dying in her arms?

The stillness around them was awful; the darkness more and more intense. Cold as marble, gazing upwards ever at this invisible terror that she knew was there, would it not be better almost to cry out, she thought, and bring down others, so as to end the harrowing suspense that seemed to madden her?

But poor Ned—poor, helpless Ned! If he were not already dead—if he had not even now escaped from the arms that held him so tightly, they would slay him without mercy. No; she must remain silent. Would he move, or even mutter? Her heart gave a bound, for at that moment there was a slight motion in the form she clasped, and this made her turn her head from its strained, unnatural position, so that her cheek fell gently upon Murray’s, and then she clung to him cold and motionless, but with strained ears, as she felt that the time for discovery had come. The casement shook a little; there was a rustling noise, as of some one slowly climbing out; a heavy foot was placed upon her soft, yielding arm, then another, and the pain was sharp, but almost welcome, for it seemed to numb her mental agony. Yet no sigh escaped her lips; she only felt that the time to die had come, and a simple old prayer was being mentally repeated for pardon for those who, if not already cruelly slain, were in deadly peril—for herself and for him she so dearly loved.

Then the pressure was removed, there was a staggering step, such as might be that of a wounded man. With closed eyes, and a heavily throbbing heart, she heard a hand run along the wall, the wooden click, the door open and softly close, and then all was silent in the shed.

Silence there, but noise and confusion in the house: shouting, and more than one attempt apparently to obtain order, but all heard in a confused way, for a strange, deathly feeling of sickness had come upon the poor girl, her senses were reeling, there was a loud singing noise at her ears, and, though her name seemed to be uttered again and again, yet she could not respond, and soon all was blank.

How long that time of utter nothingness lasted, she could not tell; but she woke again to a strange feeling of oppression and misery; her breath came thick and short, and she could not recall where she was. It was as if her intellect had received some fearful stroke which had robbed her of her reflective powers. But thought came suddenly, and she knew all.

A bitter sob rose to her lips, and she could have cried for help, but in dread she checked that cry, and her heart beat triumphantly, for a voice, whose breath touched her cheek, whispered her name, and she knew that he lived.

“Katie, darling, Katie,” was whispered again—“water!”

Water! How could she get it? The spring was on the other side of the house, and the men were in the front; she could hear them still talking loudly over their plunder. If she went, they would seize her. If she appealed to them for help, they would rob him of what little life remained. What could she do? She could do nothing, she told herself despairingly—nothing but wait, and perhaps the wretches would go.

But it was not dark now. A dull light seemed to play through the window above their heads, as turning, she knew that it was smoke that she could see; and, starting to her feet, she found that, at the height of her lips, it was so dense that she could not breathe.

Was there to be no end to the perils of that fearful night? Was death to come in another and more terrible form? After escaping massacre at the hand of their ruthless enemies, were they to meet death by the lingering torture of fire?

The dread of this new alternative roused Katie into action. This was a peril that could be battled with, and they could escape if the men in front would but go. She whispered a few words to Murray, and he answered calmly and sensibly. She told him not to fear.

“Only for you,” he murmured; and for a brief moment all was still.

Then, starting once more into action, Katie asked him if he could rise, and he tried to do so, but only to fall back despairingly, when, creeping to the door, she softly lifted the latch, and pushed it a little open, so as to breathe once more the pure night air. She dared not open it far, for the voices were loud, and close at hand; but though she could not see the speakers, she could make out the reflection of their work in the bright glow lighting up the palm-like foliage around. And now a fierce, low, crackling noise fell upon her ears, and she crept back hastily to where Murray lay, seized him in her arms, and tried to drag him towards the door, but in vain. She could only move him a few inches at a time, so perfectly helpless was he.

“It is of no use, darling,” he whispered. “Go, glide out of the door, and make for the woods; you may escape. I cannot move; pray go; for my sake—for my sake, love!”

“Go—go—where?” murmured the trembling girl, as she still tried to move him.

“To the woods—hide somewhere—the place is on fire!” he gasped; “and God in heaven give me strength, for I cannot help her!”

“Hush, Ned, hush!” she whispered; “we shall be heard. Now try—try once more;” and she dragged at him with all her strength, so that he lay in the middle of the shed.

“No, no; I shall only draw you back to destruction,” he faintly said. “Never mind me. Escape, darling. You know the paths, and can hide, or make your way to where you can get help. Don’t stay. Look, look!” he whispered.

“I see,” she murmured.

And as she spoke, a bright tongue of flame began to lick the shingles of the roof, gilding them with its fierce fiery slaver, till first one and then another began to glow; and sparks and flakes fell from them, illumining the interior of the shed; while soon an opening appeared, through which the flames rushed careering out, the heat the while becoming insupportable.

“Katie, dear,” sighed the wounded man, “would you add torture to my death?”

“No, no,” she sobbed, as she dragged him nearer the door. “Are we not one?” And she sank exhausted by his side, to lay her face upon his arm. “Ned, my own Ned! pray—pray to heaven that our death may come quickly, and that we may wake soon where there is peace. I can do no more.”

As her simple words fell upon his ear, a loud demoniac drunken shout rose from outside, apparently close by the door; and from the trampling, mingled with the roar of the flames, it was evident that the ruffians were taking their departure.

Nerving himself for a last effort, Murray half lifted himself into a sitting position, fell back, struggled up again; and Katie rose to her knees.

“Try again—again,” he gasped; for he felt that she would not leave him; and together they struggled almost to the door, when, half-suffocated, the young man fell back once more. “Now go; leave me. You can escape yet, Katie,” he gasped. “O, if I had strength!”

But for answer he felt the two soft clinging arms round his neck, and a choking voice breathed two words in his ear:

“Forever!”

But the dread of the impending death seemed to give strength—the strength he had prayed for; and straggling a few inches at a time, with the red-hot embers gathering where they had lain but a few minutes before, and the flames crawling and dancing round the side of the house, Murray, now hardly aided by the fainting girl, contrived to reach the door, with one hand to thrust it back, so that a rush of air darted in, driving from them the smoke, as he uttered a loud cry for help.

The cry was heard; and they were seen for an instant ere the cloud of smoke wrapped them again in its folds. Two men darted forward to seize the prize, one of them, however, being daunted by the threatening roof, which, ruddy and golden, seemed ready to fall; while the other seized Katie’s dress in his hands to drag her out; but so tightly did she cling to Murray, that he was drawn forward and half raised before sinking back into the cloud of falling sparks and smoke.

Story 3--Chapter IX.

Cutting off the Retreat.

Old Martin Lee saw with anxious solicitude Edward Murray rush after Bray; then the closing door hid them from his sight; and with renewed energy he clutched his gun, and struck fiercely at the first assailant that presented himself, shivering the stock to pieces, and laying the man motionless at his feet. But the barrel made no insignificant weapon; and he fought, as did Mr Meadows, fiercely, though in vain; the odds were too great, even though they were ably seconded by the shepherds. Through the beaten-down door the convicts rushed; and in a few moments the defenders were trampled under foot, and lay on the now deeply-crimsoned floor, the women being dragged out of the house into the front.

Then followed the scene of ruin and confusion previously enacted in the next valley. Food was obtained, the shepherd’s weeping wife being compelled to provide it, and then it was devoured by the red-handed crew. Wine, spirits, all were seized, and a mad debauch ensued; the ruffians, for the most part, having been deprived of such indulgences for years. But, soon satiated, the eager search for arms and ammunition was continued; men loading themselves, too, with much more plunder than they could bear away.

As for the dead, they lay unnoticed, the wounded receiving but little better treatment, till at last the moon slowly dipped behind the western ridge of hills, causing a deep shadow to creep along the Gap, and up the opposite slope, when, with an oath at the coming darkness, one ruffian thrust a light against some curtains, which caught fire in an instant. The flame ran up to the dry, boarded ceiling, and in a few minutes it became plain that the settler’s pleasant home must become a heap of ruins.

“What are you doing of?” shouted one convict to another, who, regardless of the flames, dragged out two bodies, in which there seemed to be some trace of life. But the man did not answer, and when the other attempted to hinder him, struck the ruffian to the ground in an instant.

But the next moment he was on his feet, knife in hand, and sprang at his assailant; but only to go down again, as if the fist that struck the blow had been so much lead.

He lay for a few moments, half-stunned, and then rose, slowly muttering, and shaking his head, while the other, in answer, apparently, to the mute appeals of the women, half-dragged, half-carried the wounded men out of reach of the rapidly increasing flames.

The man did it, though, in a coarse, rough, brutal way, as if afraid that he might lose caste in the eyes of his companions; and then, after bestowing a contemptuous kick on each, he rejoined his party, loaded himself with such booty as he had secured, and the motley group began to make preparations for returning down the valley.

“Here, carry this!” exclaimed a fellow, seizing one of the women by the arm; but she broke from him to dart to one of the prostrate forms, and lift its head into her lap. The ruffian was at her side the next instant, though, trying to drag her away; but as she resisted, he struck her to the ground, and hurried to join the others.

Poor Mrs Lee sank to the earth, with a wail of misery, and remained motionless; but the other woman, the shepherd’s wife, took the load pointed out to her, and followed her captors, trembling, and apparently half beside herself.

The flames had by this time wrapped the greater part of the house; and the convicts were passing the lean-to, shingle-roofed outbuilding at the end, when there rang forth a wild, despairing cry; and, dropping his load, as his companions were arrested, the same man who had dragged out the wounded, sprang forward and caught Katie in his arms, and bore her senseless from the flames, just as, with a fierce rush, the wind came careering up the valley, and dark clouds began to gather over head, as if betokening a storm.

“Now, then; we’ve more than we can carry now!” shouted the one who seemed to be the leader; and then, burdened as they were with plunder and three wounded men who could not walk without assistance, they slowly made their way to the bright little bay where they had left the schooner moored, to find her struggling, as it were, with the wind; and as they came well in sight they saw her break away, and in spite of the efforts of those left on board she ran on the bar at the mouth of the little harbour, where, it being now low water, a tremendous surf was running, the huge waves leaping over her and sweeping the decks in an instant. Twice she seemed lifted as if to be borne clear of the sands, but only to be dashed down again, the masts going at the second shock; and then, as if lightened, she lifted again, seemed to shake herself, and plunged, stern forward, farther on to the sand-bars, to lie rolling and wallowing in the midst of the fierce waters—a hopeless wreck.

Ten minutes had been sufficient time to effect the ruin; when seeing their retreat cut off so suddenly, the convicts stood upon the shore, with their ill-gotten booty, staring at one another, and apparently bewildered, till the one who had assumed the leadership promptly gave his orders, which the men sullenly obeyed, and followed him back towards the Moa’s Nest.

Story 3--Chapter X.

Amid the Ashes.

Edward Murray sank back exhausted, as Katie was snatched from his arms; but the desire for life was yet strong in him, and he tried to force his way along, just as the fierce wind sweeping up the valley drove back the flame and smoke from the doorway, giving him again the breath of life, as he was on the point of suffocation. But he was now scorching; and the little sense left told him that his last moments were at hand, when he felt his extended arms seized, and he was forced from the flaming building, to lie almost insensible for a while, till his eyes unclosed upon the tattooed face of Wahika, the savage lying beside him, until the convicts had turned a ridge of the gap. Then, lifting him in his arms, the native bore the young man a hundred yards into the shade of the trees behind the desolated farm, and scooping water in a broad leaf, poured the cold grateful fluid over his scorched face, and gave him some to drink.

Then he disappeared, but to return after a short time with the body of the poor old settler—Mrs Lee helping him with his burden—which they laid reverently down; when Wahika again took his departure, to help in one of the shepherds who was much injured, but able to lend some aid.

The savage was apparently unhurt, and he busied himself in the dark shadowy dell, where they lay concealed watching the reflection of the fire, by applying cooling leaves to wound and bruise, and bandaging them after the rude surgical fashion of his tribe. He did all, too, in a quiet fashion, with hands as soft and gentle as a woman’s, while the sufferers lay in a stunned, helpless state, hardly seeming to realise the horrors of the past night. For the dawn was fast approaching, and as the glow from the burning building slowly sank, far above their heads upon the icy summit of the mountain appeared the first gilding of the rising sun, making the snowy pinnacles to flash and sparkle in the glorious light of another day.

The savage can live where the European would starve; and Wahika soon contrived some food for the three who were in his charge; but when, feeling somewhat revived, Murray would have sought the ruins, Wahika restrained him, laying his hand upon his arm, and listening with bent head and distended nostrils, before gliding silently away to return before many minutes had elapsed, to whisper in his broken English the words, “Come back.”

At the same time he pointed down the valley, before helping the wounded shepherd farther back into the little ravine in which they lay, to where the concealment was better; then going forward, once more he crept from tree to tree, till he could peer down from behind a crag, and see the ruffianly crew, trooping back from the bay to the farm, stand in consultation for a few minutes, when one of their number pointing higher up the valley, they resumed their irregular march.

But there was a stoppage directly, and some confusion, and the sharp-eyed savage saw that one of the women, whom he soon made out to be Katie, had fallen, and that some arrangements were being made to carry her, when a fresh start was made, the poor girl having sunk down, partly from exhaustion, partly overcome by emotion at the sight which greeted her.

Wahika started then, for a few yards below him he heard an agonising exclamation, and he leaped down just in time to throw himself upon Murray, as he was rising to hurry to what must have been instant death.

“No good—no good! Stop; and Wahika get tribe to come and—”

He stopped; but there was a strange look in his eye as he brandished his club, and then held the young man back amongst the leaves, for his strength was but feeble as compared with that of the savage.

“Wahika friend—tribe friends,” he said after awhile, during which they had watched the convicts till they disappeared; and they were then about to return to the little ravine, when a low cry, as of some one in distress, smote upon their ears, apparently from the direction of the smouldering house, for they could not see it from where they stood.

There being apparently now no reason for concealment, the convicts being far up in a bend of the Gap, Murray slowly followed the savage down till they could peer through the leaves, when the former uttered a hearty “Thank heaven!” for, kneeling amongst the ashes, his face buried in his hands, and his whole frame shaken by the sobs which burst from his breast, was Mr Meadows, weeping like a child, and uttering disjointed words, as he mourned for the destruction that had come upon this peaceful home.

He did not hear their approach, for he was praying so fervently for those whom he had every reason to suppose dead, that Murray had stiffly knelt by his side and touched him ere he started to his feet; but only to kneel again and embrace his wounded companion as though he had been a son.

“Thank heaven! thank heaven!” he exclaimed fervently; “I thought you were there,”—and he pointed to the smouldering heap close by. “Has any one else escaped? Two of the women are there,”—and he pointed up the valley.

“And one is poor;”—Murray was too weak to overcome his emotion; he could not utter the name.

“I feared so—I feared so,” sighed Mr Meadows. “And her mother? Safe? Thank Providence! but let us get away from here; they may come back, and then there will be no mercy. Heaven bless you, my son!” he exclaimed fervently and gratefully to Wahika; for, seeing a gaping wound still bleeding upon the old man’s forehead, he had soaked a piece of native mat in the spring hard by, and begun tenderly to bind it up. “And you are a savage!” muttered Mr Meadows half to himself. “How can I preach to such as you, to leave your simple faith, when your white brethren do such deeds as these? No, no!” he cried; “not brethren, but the outcasts of our civilisation, let loose to raven and destroy. Thanks, thanks, my son; heaven bless you! Let us go now, friend Murray, and see those who are saved.”

The distance was but short; but, in pain from their injuries, they proceeded but slowly, Wahika stopping and looking back from time to time till they came up to him.

They had to pass the body of poor old Martin Lee; and here Mr Meadows paused, knelt down, took one stiffened hand, kissed it, and then softly replaced it by the old man’s side.

“Cut down like the wheat, and gathered into the heavenly garner. A true, blunt, honest Englishman, and a dear friend, Edward Murray.”

A tear or two fell upon the face of the inanimate form, as the old minister bent his head over him for a few moments, and then he rose.

“He looks at peace, friend Edward. Would that we could have saved him! I am weak now,” he said, wiping his eyes in a simple undisguised fashion; “but I do not see why I should feel ashamed. Let us go on.”

It was a sad meeting between the widow and the clergyman; but there seemed no time for tears. Katie was in the hands of the convicts, and how was she to be saved?

There was little said that the savage could not comprehend, though he was not so ready at expressing himself; but he said simply, and with an earnestness which bespoke his feeling.

“Wahika go fetch bright flower back; but Wahika only one—men kill, and bright flower of Moa’s Nest not saved.”

“Yes,” said Mr Meadows, “it would be madness to go alone; we must have help and strength. You, Edward Murray, must seek friends in one direction; and, with heaven’s help, I will see poor Lee’s wife into safety, and bring friends from elsewhere to fall upon the rear of these Philistines. Perhaps, too, our dark friend can bring up some aid. Which way will you go, Murray?”

The young man gazed almost reproachfully in his face for a few moments; and then pointed up the valley, in the direction taken by the convicts.

Mr Meadows then turned to Wahika.

“And which way go you, friend?”

“Wahika go with white friend here,” was the reply.

“Almost too daring to be of any avail,” mused Mr Meadows. “Then it is to me alone falls the task of bringing up help.”

They stayed that day in the little ravine, trying to recruit their strength. There was but little difficulty in securing some provisions, for the convicts had been prodigal in the midst of plenty, and there were tokens of their waste in all directions. There were the lowing unmilked kine too, asking to be relieved of their abundance, and eggs in plenty. A little search also placed weapons in the hands of Murray; but Mr Meadows declined to accept the gun offered him by Wahika.

“No,” he said; “I dropped mine when I climbed through the window, and escaped through the outhouse, and I trust I may never have to take one again in hand. I shall not need it—at least, at present, for my duty is to retreat and summon aid.”

That night a grave, hastily scooped out by Wahika, received the body of poor old Martin Lee; and an hour afterwards Mrs Lee was mounted upon Joey, who came from the field where he was grazing at his master’s call, and accompanied by the savage and Edward Murray, Mr Meadows took hold of the bridle and led the way.

At the end of a few hundred yards, the track began to ascend the side of the valley, and Murray stopped.

“Send help as soon as you can, sir,” he said; “and heaven speed you!”

“Heaven speed you too!” said the old man fervently. “It is a desperate hazard you go upon; but I dare not say stay. Break a branch once and again to show your track, and remember that you can do no more now than watch the enemy. You are weak and unable to cope with one, even; so bear in mind that your best way of helping her we love is by stratagem.”

Murray took the cold hand of Mrs Lee, and tried in choking tones to say a word or two of comfort; but she rested the other hand upon his shoulder, and whispered the one word, “Katie!”

“Or death!” muttered Murray in an undertone, and they parted.

Story 3--Chapter XI.

In Pursuit.

Edward Murray knew well enough the truth of the old clergyman’s remarks as he slowly followed Wahika back to the ruined farm, where the savage filled his pouch with such necessaries as he had collected together, intimating his wish that Murray should do the same; and then, once more, they started.

Wahika led, always smoothing the way for his companion; and he pounced from time to time, with every demonstration of satisfaction, upon some object of utility or provision that had been cast aside by the convicts on their march. Such as he could, he carried; the unnecessary things he concealed by the side of the track, taking every step forward with caution, lest too great a display of precipitancy should bring them suddenly upon the halting-place of their enemy.

At last Murray stumbled, and then fell heavily, for exhausted nature could do no more.

Wahika assisted him to a place that he had selected as secure; and then, in spite of Katie’s peril, Nature would have her way, and for some hours, Edward Murray slept, to wake stiff and sore, but refreshed. The wound on his head, too, was not so painful; and he lay for a while in the darkness wondering how he should proceed. The only thing he could decide upon was that they should endeavour to find out the convicts’ plan, and then try, by stratagem, to deliver their prisoners.

He touched the savage upon the shoulder, and he was upon his feet in a moment, bringing food from his pouch, and milk from a bottle; and then, feeling stronger and more fit to encounter the dangers before him, the young man examined, and, for the first time, loaded his gun, the savage nodding approval.

He would then have proceeded, but for the more wary guide, who lifted his finger towards the dark tops of the mountains, above which the stars still glistened, and in his broken English pointed out the advisability of waiting for day.

And it was well that they waited; for within a mile of them, high up in an almost inaccessible rift in the mountain side, the convicts had made their camp, two of their number being left below to act as sentinels; and had Murray proceeded, the chances were that he must have fallen in with them, and perhaps have been taken by surprise.

But as day broke, the native led the way cautiously, till from certain signs he felt convinced that the enemy was near; and motioning Murray to wait, he glided on silently, returning in a short time to conduct the young man with the utmost caution to the side of a rift, when he started, for within fifty yards of him, coolly smoking and talking, sat a couple of the convicts.

His start did not pass unheard, and the men glanced in their direction; but Wahika had chosen a well-sheltered spot, and after a few minutes’ anxious peering about, they were apparently satisfied, and resumed their seats upon a block of stone.

A motion of the savage’s hand made Murray draw back behind a dense mass of foliage; and then, from his knowledge of the country, intuitively guessing where the party would be, he led his companion for some distance back, and began climbing slowly up and up a way that seemed almost impracticable; the savage uttering more than one half-suppressed exclamation of surprise on finding that the vines and rope-like creepers were, in more than one place, broken away, as though some one had lately passed in that direction; for he did not recall that, a few hours before, he had given an invaluable lesson to another in the art of scaling these natural fortresses. The marks though were unnoticed by Murray, who climbed on and on, till compelled to rest; and then once more on till they reached a point where they could creep to the edge of a precipice; and peering between the fern-leaves, gazed down into a cuplike chasm, where, to the number of twenty or so, the convicts were gathered, some eating, some smoking and drinking, and so near that their voices could be plainly heard.

The savage laughed his satisfaction at the success of his quest; and then, clutching his companion by the shoulder, drew him back behind a screen of foliage; for his quick ear had caught the sound of rustling branches, then a slip as of some one descending from above; a stone fell too, struck the shelf where they had stood but a moment before, rebounded, and plunged down into the leafy sea far beneath.

The savage grasped his club, and his eyes glistened, while the click-click of Murray’s gunlock told that he too was prepared; but club and gun were lowered when, the next moment, the pale and scared face of Anthony Bray cautiously appeared from amidst the leaves, which he parted with the barrel of the gun he carried; and then, apparently knowing of the proximity of the convicts, he crawled to the edge of the precipice, and lay there watching them, till he uttered a cry of terror as Wahika glided to his side, and laid his hand upon his arm.

The next instant he had caught sight of Murray, and as the young men’s eyes met, Bray read in the stern glance that his treachery was known. Their greeting was sullen. There was no brotherly grasp of the hand, as between two men meeting after being engaged in the same cause, and escaping from a fearful death. But they knew that this was no time for personal enmity, and Murray was the first to speak.

“We are bound on the same mission, Mr Bray, and cannot afford to slight each other’s aid; but, by heaven, if I see the slightest offer of treachery again, I will shoot you as I would a dog. Your purpose here makes me forget the past; but look well to the future.”

Bray muttered a few words, and then Murray crept once more to the edge of the precipice, and looked down. He was so near that he could have thrown a stone amongst the party; and his heart beat tumultuously as he saw Katie sitting, clinging tightly to a woman by her side, and apparently weeping bitterly. He was so near that it seemed quite possible, as a last resource, that they might lie there in concealment, and with careful aim shoot down the wretches one by one; but his better feelings revolted against such a plan. No, they must use stratagem, and that too as soon as the night fell; for it seemed that it would be practicable to elude the convicts’ vigilance, and to take the prisoners from amongst them.

He crept back to Bray and Wahika, and told them his conclusions; when the former seemed almost to resent the proposal, as if it would afford him no pleasure should success attend their efforts; but Wahika muttered “Good,” and beckoning to them to follow, led them by a steep and rugged path amongst the ferns, over the next shoulder of the hill, and round to where they could look down into the chasm from the other side.

So dense was the undergrowth, and so precipitous were the rocks, that the convicts appeared to consider themselves in complete safety; for save at the foot of the ravine, no watch was kept, and the young men followed the savage carefully from crag to crag, until they lay in a chasm where they could even overhear the conversation of the ruffians; while more than once a stifled sob from the women made Murray’s heart to burn within him.

They were now so close that it seemed almost impossible for them not to be discovered; but hour after hour wore on, during which long consultations were held amongst the more earnest of the men, though the greater part seemed to give themselves wholly up to the riot and drunkenness they considered themselves to have earned. But it seemed that they were of divided counsels; some being for making the present their stronghold, and setting pursuit at defiance, while they made raids in different directions; others being for proceeding along the coast until they could seize another vessel, and cruise from place to place.

At this juncture, Bray saw Murray’s hands playing with the lock of his gun, with whose barrel he covered one of the men whom he saw go up to Katie where she sat; but his aspect of rage gave place to one of surprise as he recognised the face of the convict, and saw that his object was only to press food upon her, which, however, she waved away.

Had they, then, one friend in the camp? It seemed so; for upon a couple of others approaching the poor girl, the first man sturdily bade them go back, and on their refusal, placed himself before them, laughing at their threats, whereupon they drew back; but a cold shudder ran through Murray’s frame as one of the ruffians coarsely told the poor girl’s defender to wait until night.

Story 3--Chapter XII.

Rescue.

“To wait until night!” Those words kept repeating themselves, as Murray lay there concealed, within but a few yards of Katie, and yet unable to warn her of help being so near.

From time to time Wahika pressed upon him food, and he took it mechanically; for he knew his dire need of strength, and trembled for his weakness when the time should come for the struggle which he knew must be impending.

The sun passed down behind the opposite ridge and still the men lay about, drinking and smoking. Apparently trusting entirely to the security of their position, no guard was now kept, for Murray had recognised the two men from the entrance of the ravine, who had rejoined the party below early in the evening, and at length the darkness came on, for this night the moon was clouded. But the light dresses of Katie and her companion were still discernible, and hour after hour wore on, the only change being that Wahika had glided down like a serpent, after divesting himself of his blanket; and then, slowly and cautiously, each in his inmost heart dreading some foul blow, Murray and Bray followed, till they lay crouching beneath the leaves, so close that not a whisper could have been uttered unheard. Inch by inch they had lowered themselves, trembling as each leaf rustled, and moving only when the conversation was at its loudest.

Could they have stood erect, half a dozen steps would have placed them beside Katie, who, stupefied with grief, still clung to her fellow-captive, save at such times as a rough voice summoned the woman away to bear spirits or a light from one to the other; and at last, when she was returning from such an errand, her progress was arrested, and Murray and Wahika rose to their knees, for they felt that the time for action had come.

The night was dark, but figures crossing the chasm could be distinctly made out, and there was no need for Wahika’s pointing finger, for Murray had already made out two men gently creeping towards the sitting figure in her light garments, and another making his way from an opposite direction. Enemies all, they seemed; but it was not so, for the next moment there was the sound of cursing, and a fierce straggle, in the midst of which Katie felt herself roughly clasped, and half carried towards the dense foliage on one side, and before she could check herself, gave vent to a sharp cry.

The cry was nearly proving fatal; for though, at first sight, the three new-comers had been mistaken in the darkness for a portion of their own party, the convicts had now taken the alarm, and with furious shouts they sought each man his weapon.

As they sprang forward, Bray had furiously thrust Murray back, so that he tripped and fell; but recovering himself quickly, he leaped to Katie’s side, and his voice reassured her.

“This way,” he whispered; but it seemed too late. On three sides there were enemies; but Wahika seized the poor girl’s arm, and forced her towards the unthreatened side, dashing the foliage apart; and, more from the boldness of the act than the force of their attack, the young men were left free to follow, Katie’s dress guiding them, as the savage drew her rapidly after him, while to the convicts the escape seemed almost incredible. Had they pursued, all efforts on the part of the fugitives would have been vain; but feeling assured that they were attacked by a strong party, they were content for a while to fire at random in the direction taken by their enemies, who were thus enabled to make some little progress before pursuit was attempted.

Using almost superhuman exertions, Murray at last reached Katie’s side, panted out a few words of encouragement, and tried to hurry her on; but now the savage stopped short, listened attentively for a few moments, and then turned in another direction, choosing a more arduous upward path, helping to drag the half-fainting girl from crag to crag, but not for far, since it was evident now that the convicts had recovered from their surprise, and were spreading in all directions in pursuit, encouraging each other with shouts as they pressed on.

Twice the fleeing party had to double back, for it seemed that they were being headed; but Wahika was inexhaustible in his knowledge of the ground; and at last he reached once more one of the many little mountain streams, trickling down a steep chasm, whose sides were too precipitous to be scaled; and telling Murray to go first with the trembling girl, he laid his hand on Bray’s arm.

“They go—we stop fight,” he whispered; but Bray refused.

“Why should not Mr Murray stay, and fight for his lady-love?” he said bitterly.

“No, no, no! Keep with me,” whispered Katie, clinging to Murray’s arm.

Smothering his resentment, Murray slowly, and hardly able to press on himself, helped his tottering charge up the gully. Slow, cruel work, with Bray lingering behind, so as to keep them in sight, and the faithful savage covering their retreat. So far, the convicts had not hit upon the gully; and if they did find out their route, it was a place that two determined men could have held against a score. But though Murray made every effort he was but human; his wound had been a tremendous drain upon his system; and at the end of half a mile of incessant climbing, he sank at Katie’s feet with a groan, saying, “I can go no farther.”

“Mr Bray,” he said huskily, “I am dead beat. You must take my place; but while power is left me to lift my gun, no one shall pass here!”

Bray leaped to Katie’s side in an instant; but she held out her hands to keep him at bay. Murray pressed the poor girl hard to leave him.

“Wahika would protect you,” he said earnestly; “and after a while I could follow.”

“Would you leave me?” she whispered.

Murray did not respond; and they waited, listening to the distant shouts—now nearer, and echoing, as if close at hand, then growing more and more faint, when the hearts of the pursued would rise; but only for their spirits to be again damped; for once more it was evident that the enemy were nearing.

It was an agonising time as they sat there, feeling, as it were, that Death, with black and outspread wings, was swooping here and there—now nearer, so that they could almost feel the dull flap of his wings; now farther away. Murray implored his companion to escape.

The answer was ever the same:

“No;” and the question repeated, “Would he go?”—a question that he could not answer. And once more they relapsed into silence, save when the savage mattered a few words, or stole gently down a little way towards the mouth of the gully.

Once Wahika was gone for so long a time, that Katie glanced uneasily at Bray, who followed the savage down, returned, followed him again, and again returned, to stand thoughtfully listening; while Edward Murray seemed to read his thoughts respecting his helplessness, and the little difficulty he would have in ridding himself of a rival.

Could he but tear Katie away, and flee with her higher up the gully, the convicts, upon reaching the spot where they now were, would find the wounded and half-helpless man; and once there were no Edward Murray, Katie might relent—that was, if they escaped.

The young man sighed to himself as he pretty correctly rendered the thoughts of Anthony Bray; and he could not help feeling that he would rather see her free and the wife of Bray, than that she should again fall into the hands of their merciless enemies.

Twice over some movement on the part of Bray made the poor girl cling closer to Murray—more in the character of protector than protected; for a terrible fear came over her that Bray would slay the almost helpless foe to his desires, and then compel her to follow him; and she told herself that she would die first.

“Why does he not return?” she muttered, as she tried to pierce the obscurity below, in her efforts to catch sight of the savage. But fully an hour passed, during which time they could still hear the occasional shout or response of the convicts, as they vainly sought the fugitives. The more eagerly, too, that the freedom from attack had taught them the weakness of the rescuing party.

Suddenly Bray started, and raised his piece; for a figure was seen to rise from some bushes just below them. But a second glance told him that it was Wahika, who had been watching at the mouth of the golly.

“Morning soon—then find,” he said curtly. “Now try get up higher.”

Drinking deeply of the limpid water near at hand, Murray rose to his feet, and, assisted by the others, he managed to scale the rocky barrier. The darkness was intense; but cautiously leading, the savage pressed back the branches, removed heavy stones, and pioneered the way, until he stopped short almost in a cavern, so shut in was the gorge; and then, helping Katie to a place where the trickling water did not reach, he whispered them to sit and rest, setting them the example himself, but without giving any explanation.

As the day approached, for a time the darkness seemed to increase; and they sat on, with strained ears, listening for the signs that should tell of pursuit. Twice only a faint cry came echoing up the chasm; otherwise all was silent.

Murray, as he lay on the stones, was filled with despair, as he thought of his weakness, and the distrust existing in their little camp; and as he tried in vain to look assuringly at Katie, he more than once asked himself how it would end.

Story 3--Chapter XIII.

Wahika’s Stronghold.

The reason for Wahika’s last halt was plainly enough marked now that day had dawned. They were in a cul-de-sac—a natural fortress, which it must now be their aim to defend against attack. Assault could come but from below, along the narrow winding way of the bed of the stream, up which their assailants, should they trace the little party, would have to climb slowly and arduously, exposed to their fire; and would their ammunition but hold out, Murray felt that those would indeed be daring foes who would force their way up, step by step, along the narrow path.

Could Bray have been trusted, Murray would have felt comparatively safe; but he could not avoid recalling the night of the fire, the cruel blow so treacherously dealt; and it was but rarely that the eyes of the young men met.

Bray, too, had his thoughts upon their position. In spite of his rage, he knew that he would fight to the death in Katie’s defence; but it was gall and bitterness to him to see the gentle care she bestowed upon his rival; and more than once, with a vengeful curse, he turned from them to make his way lower down the gully, and sit there brooding over his wrongs.

No sunshine fell where the fugitives sat; but the heights around grew radiant; and poor Katie shuddered as they reminded her of her bright and peaceful home, over which so fearful a change had been brought.

Feeling the impossibility of making farther progress, Murray was surprised to see Wahika, after a little reconnoitring, begin to climb the face of the precipice, finding foothold in tiny crevices, and grasping at tufts of grass, till he had surmounted an almost perpendicular portion of the face of the rock. But his object soon became plain: some thirty feet up there appeared to be a shelf and a dark opening, but so full of verdure that it was impossible to make out its extent; and here, it seemed, that the savage intended to make his stronghold, for, having reached the shelf, he drew out his knife, and, in a very short time, from the hanging creepers had woven a kind of rough rope, sufficiently strong to bear the weight of his companions; and this he at length let down.

Katie shrank from it at first; but a whisper from Murray sufficed. The loop made was passed over her, so that she was seated within it; a couple of handkerchiefs bound her securely, lest her courage should fail; and then the young men watched her, trembling, as Wahika stood striding on the crag above, his brow knit, and the muscles upon his arms standing out like knotted cords, as he, by sheer strength, hand-over-hand, drew up the frightened girl.

Twice Murray, his heart beating rapidly, stood with outstretched hands to break her fall; for it seemed that Wahika had over-rated his powers, and that he must be drawn over the edge. But slowly and steadily he hauled up his rough cord, Katie swinging to and fro, and clinging with closed eyes the while, till by an effort the savage drew her to the edge; and the next instant she was in safety.

In a few minutes the rope was lowered; and Murray tied to it the guns and such provisions as still remained; and when, once more, the rope descended, Bray seized it, and half drawn, half climbing, reached the top, just as a shout from below told that not only had the gully been discovered, but that he had been seen.

The next instant a bullet flattened itself against the stone, a little below the edge, and fell at Murray’s feet, while the rocks above echoed and re-echoed the report with a roll as of thunder.

Wahika would have lowered the line again; but Bray held to it, and kept him back; for the temptation was strong upon him to leave Murray to his fate. They had there, where he was, the arms and provisions; and it was impossible for the convicts to reach them. Help must come sooner or later; and then there was the future. Should he not be successful in winning Katie, he would be revenged, and he would not have the agony of seeing her in his rival’s arms. The temptation was strong, and he yielded to it. Murray might die. But Wahika, too, was strong, and heedless of a couple more shots fired, he struggled hard for the rope, sending Bray back upon the precipice, so that it seemed that both must fall; but by an effort Bray recovered himself, and the savage was forced back; when, with a harsh cry, he loosened his hold of the rope, and darted to Katie, whose agitation had alarmed him, for she had seemed as if about to leap down to her lover.

But if such had been her intention, Wahika restrained her, pulling her down into shelter; and, seizing his gun, he took rapid aim, fired; and one of the convicts who was about to fire at Murray bounded into the air, and then fell into the little trickling stream.

Imitating his example, Bray too fired; and another man sank into a sitting posture, and then crawled into the shelter of the rocks; while half-a-dozen shots fired at the defenders of the gully flattened themselves on the rock, or dislodged little clouds of dust and stones.

Knowing his peril, Murray sank at the first discharge, and behind a mass of rock crouched with anxious heart, waiting for the coming of his executioners. For it seemed to him that, sooner or later, they would dash on, ignorant of the inaccessible mass of rock, and then, in their rage and disappointment, kill him upon the spot.

He smiled bitterly as he thought of this new act of treachery; and as he watched the barrels protruded above his head, he would have felt little surprise had that of Bray covered him; and a thrill of rage ran through him as he thought of his helpless position—weak and unarmed, and waiting for his end.

But would not aid come? The news of such an outrage, as spread by Mr Meadows, must bring the settlers of the whole district down to the destruction of the villainous crew. But would the aid come in time to save Katie?

As for Bray, he lay there watching the coming on of the convicts, as they now grew more cautious, and darted from stone to stone for protection. Twice he withheld his hand when he might have slain an enemy; for he told himself savagely that it was not for him to stay them from reaching his rival. And then as to Wahika—what was he, that he should oppose his will? There was his home in ruins; but he could build another; his cattle and sheep were uninjured; and here, miles away from another station, and with her friends cut off, Katie must gladly accept of his protection and become his wife; and the past would soon be forgotten. He knew nothing of Mrs Lee’s escape, nor of the sought-for aid; and silent and thoughtful he lay there, almost a spectator of the little siege.

Twice his barrel covered Murray, and he took deadly aim at the young man; but the blenching was not on the sailor’s side. He saw his peril; but he trembled not, but gazed full up at his rival with a calm untroubled mien, almost a smile of contempt upon his lip, when the fierce eyes of his enemy were withdrawn, the barrel of the gun pointed in another direction, and Bray’s conscience told him that he dared not fire.

Meanwhile precipice and crag sent thundering back the echoes of the discharged guns; for every time Wahika, from his more exposed position, showed hand or head, bullet after bullet was sent whistling through the air; but except being struck and bleeding from the rocky splinters, he was but little injured. Not so, though, his enemies; for more than one poor wretch, on rising to fire, from what he conceived to be a place of safety, received his death wound, and staggered down the gully, to fall with a crash over some fragment of rock, and then dye the streamlet with his heart’s blood. Now the strife would seem to cease, and attacker and defender would remain in concealment; but only for the convicts to renew their assault, coming in their rage nearer and nearer, until, but for Wahika’s well-plied gun, they must have reached the spot where Murray lay sheltered by the rock.

He did not want for food; for there was a portion of the provision dropped at his feet; but while the stream trickled close by where he sat, and he could quench his thirst and lave his heated brow, those above him on the rock suffered severely from want of water, as the sun beat down upon their heads, and the stone grew hotter and hotter, till the verdure around them flagged and drooped.

The times of cessation were, if possible, more trying than those of the active firing; for when the enemy was invisible, the dread was always great that they had scaled the sides of the gorge, and would before long reach them by some side-path, or, climbing far above where they lay hid, would hurl down huge stones and crush them as they sought in vain to avoid each ponderous mass. But no such thoughts seemed to trouble Wahika, who, with his gun-barrel commanding the pass, lay there watchful and patient, the barrel at times growing so hot that it seemed within the range of probability that the charge might explode. In his rough way he comprehended to a great extent the cause of the enmity between the young men, and placing Katie in a rift, half chasm, half cavern, behind where he knelt, he kept a double watch, and waited patiently for the help that he, too, felt must soon come. As the heat grew more intense, reflected back as it was from the rocks, but never reaching the hollow where Murray was concealed, the savage picked and chewed leaves to allay his thirst, offering some, too, to the trembling girl behind him.

The shades of evening began at last to fall, and to Murray it was an anxious time, for he rightly guessed that the convicts would take advantage of the obscurity to close up and attack their enemies hand to hand; for since daylight had enabled them to discover the gully by which the fugitives had escaped, every check received had tended to madden them and make them reckless of consequences. Not that they dreaded attack themselves—the country had seemed too sparsely inhabited; therefore as each man fell, his comrades had sworn the most binding oath each to avenge him; and as soon as darkness closed in, they began to creep cautiously from rock to rock, higher up the gully. In spite of their caution, though, they had not made much progress, when a heavy stone was dislodged, and, as if in consequence, a gun was seen to send forth its messenger of death, and the convicts once more halted.

Story 3--Chapter XIV.

Attack and Defence.

It was bitter work sitting there beneath the shelter of that stone, striving with his thoughts; and Edward Murray’s heart sank as the darkness increased, and he reflected on his situation. Yet, in spite of his anxiety of mind, that day’s rest had not been without its good effects. The stiffness had to some extent worn off, and at last, when the night had quite closed in, and the darkness rendered such a proceeding safe, Murray rose, and began to search along the side and face of the precipice for a spot whence he might contrive to scale the crag, and reach the shelf where his companions were concealed.

He moved cautiously, for it struck him that he had heard the sound of approaching enemies in the gully below, though the darkness was too profound for anything to be seen; but though he tried all along to find the spot where Wahika has ascended, it was in vain, and he turned to regain the spot where he had lain, when, almost simultaneously, he heard the rolling down of a dislodged stone, and the sharp crack of a rifle, when a bullet whizzed by his ear, and seemed to strike the spot where he had so lately rested, the loose stones flying in all directions, and then pattering down.

A pang shot through Murray’s breast, as he thought of whose hand must have fired that shot; and then listening for a while for sounds from below, he stepped back to the face of the precipice, eager now to confront the treacherous villain who thus again sought to take his life, after having threatened it twice before during the day. He passed along the face of the rock, stumbling heavily amidst the loose stones; and then his hand encountered something that made his heart leap, and seizing it with both hands, he climbed slowly and painfully, higher and higher, till his feet rested on a loftier ledge; and he stopped, panting, and wondering whose was the hand that had let down the rope. Was it Wahika? or was it a fresh act of treachery on the part of Bray? Was he to climb nearly to the top, and then feel his support suddenly slacken, that he might fall a heavy, helpless mass upon the cruel rocks beneath? He could not help it; he feared that it was so, and for a few moments felt disposed to slide down again. But no! only a few feet above him he knew that Katie needed his protection. He would persevere at all hazards; and once more the rough rope quivered beneath his weight, as slowly he clambered higher and higher, till with a violent effort he got one knee upon the edge, and grasped a tuft of herbage; when, just as a hand was gliding down his arm—that of the savage—there rang from beneath a loud shout—six or eight shots were fired from close at hand—and then, with the aid suddenly withdrawn, Murray’s knee slipped from the edge, and he had only time to loose the slackened rope, and force his bleeding fingers into the crevices of the rock, to save himself from falling.

The darkness was awful; the tension upon his weakened arms such as he could hardly bear; but finding some slight support for his feet, he continued to hang on until he had somewhat recovered from the shock, and then made another effort to save himself. He dared not call for aid, lest he should point out his position to the convicts. But his faint whisper was heard in the dead silence, and in an instant he felt himself clutched, just as his hands were slipping over the stone, and he felt that he must fall.

That grasp stayed him; but, at the same moment, a heavy foot struck at his hands, and it seemed that in the darkness a struggle was going forward upon the ledge. The fragments lying loose were thrown down, and then came a couple more shots, a loud shriek, and then a heavy, sickening fall upon the rocks beneath.

A strange, deathly feeling crept over Edward Murray—a feeling of horror and weakness. His hands seemed to relax, his arms to become powerless; and though a voice he well knew whispered to him in anguished tones to try once more, his attempt was without success. He seemed only to sink lower; one foot slipped from the tuft upon which it had rested, and though he tried hard to regain the hold, it was in vain. He knew that it was Katie who pressed down his hands into the chink where they now rested; but it seemed to him that he was drawing her over with him in his vain efforts; and that in a few more moments, she, as well as himself, would be crushed on the points beneath.

Her encouraging whisper came, close to his ear, to try again. But he was exhausted and helpless, till he felt his arm seized, dragged almost out of the socket, and then he lay motionless upon the ledge, with a hand grasping his on one side, and the sound as of some one panting hard from exertion on the other.

Twice again came the crash and rattle of bullets striking above their heads; but they were too well-sheltered for harm to befall them, now that their enemies were close beneath, evidently trying hard to find some means of ascent, while Katie’s hand trembled as she listened to the corses and threats which defiled the quiet of the night.

As he lay, each moment recovering strength, Murray tried in vain to interpret the meaning of what had taken place in the darkness, for he had not seen the tussle between Wahika and Bray as the latter had furiously sought to thrust his rival from his hold. The intense darkness had prevented his making out the meaning of the sounds he had heard; but when he crept forward, and found out that Murray had nearly reached the ledge, his rage knew no bounds, and, but for Wahika’s devotion, the clinging hold would have been destroyed. The volley from below did the rest; and there, close beneath the cliffs, lay the body of Bray, shot through the heart, and insensible to the farther cruelties practised by the convicts now in revenge for their losses.

The silence upon the ledge, though, soon lent support to Murray’s suspicions; but he said nothing, except whispering to Wahika an inquiry as to the possibility of an escape, but only to learn that there was none.

Another rattling volley startled them; but apparently feeling now that their efforts only ended in waste of ammunition, the convicts ceased firing, and, for the rest of the night, save an occasional whisper, the silence was oppressive. But there was not the agony of spirit Murray had before suffered. Two soft hands were now clasping his; and when all hope of relief was gone, he thought, as they sat there waiting for the day, that they could still die together.

But he was hopeful yet. There was the prospect of help coming through Mr Meadows; and he told his thoughts to the trembling girl.

“But would they find this gully?” was the response, to which he could only speak hopefully.

The sound of Wahika reloading a gun made the young man ask for a piece, which, with the much-lightened horn and pouch, was pushed into his hands, and, with knitted brow, he sat still, waiting for the light, feeling stronger each hour, and determined to give a good account of more than one assailant, before finger should be laid upon the sleeping form at his side.

For now, completely worn out, and feeling herself in comparative security, the poor girl’s head had sunk lower and lower, until it had rested upon her breast, and she slept.

At last, morning again, bright and glowing. Murray felt that if they could only hold the convicts at bay, that would be sufficient. The help must come soon; and if they could avoid farther bloodshed, he should be thankful. But he knew that all must depend upon the actions of their assailants, and he looked about anxiously now, to see the state in which they, the besieged, would be.

Wahika had told him that man could not climb the sides of the gully; but the savage had not allowed for the possibility of one or two daring spirits climbing to a height wherefrom they could command their place of refuge, and render it untenable for any length of time; and it was with no little anxiety that Murray saw that, from the first, faint light, the convicts had been carefully trying the sides, and that now a couple of men were slowly crawling up from crag to crag to a projection similar to that on which the besieged rested, and from which, while finding shelter themselves, they would be able to fire down upon those at the end of the gully.

There was no time for consideration—it was life for life; and having turned to see whether the savage had made out the new danger, Murray took careful aim, fired, and had the mortification of seeing a puff of dust close by one of the convicts’ heads as the bullet struck the stone, while the shot sent by Wahika had no better effect.

A loud shout of derision greeted their failure; and as hands were raised in loading, shot after shot was discharged at the ledge, but also without effect. Wahika was first ready to fire again. Murray’s hand trembled so from excitement that he was long in preparing; and then they took aim again at the uppermost convict, who they found, to their dismay, had gained the shelf, and was reaching down to help his companion, who was toiling patiently after him. Two steps, a strong drawing up of the hands, and he was within reach, so that he could grasp the other, and in another minute destruction would have been certain for the fugitives, when simultaneously Murray and Wahika discharged their pieces, and Katie hid her face in her hands, for there was a strange surging movement in the higher convict, who pulled his companion upward for a few inches, and then seemed to bow forward, gliding over the edge of the precipice, the two falling from crag to crag, full sixty feet, to roll over at last, crushed and helpless, among the ferns and long grass.

A cry of rage followed this defeat; and darting from behind a stone, another man began fiercely to scale the side, climbing actively till he had nearly reached the same height as his companions, and then, escaping a couple of bullets, taking a leap which landed him upon a jutting mass, behind which he glided; but the next moment his gun-barrel was raised, with his cap thereon, by way of signal to his companions, who greeted it with a cheer. Then Murray saw it withdrawn, and an ominous silence followed.

But the suspense was not of long duration; for before Murray or the savage could see sufficient of their enemy to take an aim, a puff of smoke seemed to jet out from the rock, and Murray was conscious of a sharp twinge on the shoulder, a bullet having passed through his coat and grazed the skin. He remained motionless though, his eye glancing along the barrel of his gun, as he waited for a good opportunity for delivering his shot, but in vain. Twice or thrice he saw the motion of a lifted arm, as of one loading his piece, and then again came a shot, and the puff of smoke, only visible as it darted outward, and then gently floated up on the still morning air.

This bullet was wider of the mark, but a dull feeling of despair seized upon Murray, as, leaving his gun, he glided back to where Katie crouched, telling himself that he could not die with her so close at hand, without a farewell.

No words, though, were uttered, as he took the weeping girl to his heart; and then, softly unclasping the arms that tightened round his neck, he left her, whispering the words, “Pray for us!”

As Murray retook his place, another bullet almost instantly struck up the splinters of stone, blinding him for a few minutes, and compelling him to wipe the blood from his face.

It seemed that Wahika was not within sight of their enemy, for no shot had been aimed at him; and now, with a low-muttered exclamation of resentment, he crawled to his companion’s side, and with him watched in vain for an opportunity to fire. They could see again the raised arm above the rock as the ramrod was driven into the piece; then came the puff of smoke, there was a dull thud by Murray’s side, and, springing up with a cry of rage, the savage shook his piece fiercely for an instant in the direction of his foe, and then fell, rolling to the back of the ledge, bleeding profusely.

In spite of his efforts, a despairing groan burst from Murray’s breast as he saw his faithful ally gasping upon the rock, his teeth set with anguish, and the tide of life welling from a wound in his shoulder. But, after the first cry of rage and pain, no sound escaped the savage, and he lay passive; while, between them, Murray and the girl did what they could to stop the effusion of blood, for the bullet had passed completely through his shoulder.

Cheer after cheer had greeted this success, and half-a-dozen shots were fired in a volley at the face of the rock, but only to bring down a shower of stones; and on turning once more to regain his place, to his horror, Murray made out that the convict, elated by his victory, and missing both of his enemies, had climbed a little higher, so as to better command the ledge, forgetful that he was exposing himself to his enemy’s aim.

Just then Murray once more appeared in sight, when the startled wretch dropped to his former position, but not quite in so secure a fashion, for his fall swept down a portion of the foliage that had before concealed him; and as two reports rang out almost as one, Murray had the satisfaction of seeing a hand thrown up, and the convict’s gun fall clattering down into the gully.

Murray loaded again as expeditiously as possible; but seeing that his antagonist was helpless, he refrained from firing another shot, reserving it for the next who should attempt to scale the gully-side, and it was not long before he had an opportunity; but his aim was bad, and he had the misery of seeing another daring fellow climb to the rock, and then coolly shelter himself behind his comrade’s body.

Watching attentively his enemy’s movements, Murray prepared to recharge his piece; but once more his heart sank, for he had sent his last bullet winging its way; and on turning to Wahika, he found that the charge in the savage’s gun was the last that he, too, possessed.

There was nothing for it but to withdraw into such shelter as he could reach—little enough; for the fresh man, more energetic even than his disabled fellow, kept on firing furiously, but without effect; while terribly unnerved by this enforced inactivity, the horrors of thirst now attacked afresh the occupants of the ledge, the wounded savage’s sufferings seeming to be intense, as he turned his dull eyes from one to the other, as if asking the help they could not give.

The sun rose higher and higher; and, save the occasional shout of directions to the man on the rock, the convicts preserved an almost unbroken silence. But, suddenly, Murray saw three or four begin to dart from stone to stone, as if in retreat, and descend the gully; but too unguarded an exposure of himself brought a bullet whizzing by his ear, and he felt, with justice, that those who had gone had probably departed on a foraging expedition, while they were to lie there and die.

“Would no help come? Had there not now been ample time?” he asked himself, as he gazed at poor Katie’s parched white lips. Their thirst was terrible, while their sufferings were like those of Tantalus; for, in full view, they could see the cold water trickle from stone to stone, and drop plashing into the rocky basin beneath their feet.

What should he do? Should he leave her to fall alive into the hands of the convicts, or should he—

He covered his face with his hands and groaned, as the bright scene of the happy home—the rifled nest—came flashing through his memory.

“Don’t heed me, Katie,” he whispered, as he felt his hands drawn away from his face, to be kissed and pressed to a tender throbbing heart. “Don’t heed me. I’m weak and childish with my wounds, and it unmans me to see you in such peril.”

“Hush, hush,” whispered the poor girl; “do not grieve. It cannot be very hard to die—not very. See there, how poor Wahika, who has fought so nobly, seems to bear his fate; for he is going, Ned,” she continued; and she pointed to the glazing eyes and motionless form at their side. “If that poor savage can die so peacefully, cannot we, who have received so much greater light, pass away even as gently as he?”

The young man sighed heavily, as he pressed her again and again to his breast, but he could not speak.

“Will they kill us quickly, Ned?” she went on. “I hope so now; for things seem strange, darling, and I want you to hold me tightly—O, so tightly; for it is as though I were being dragged away; and I can see dear father beckoning to me, and—Yes, yes; I’m coming!” Looking up suddenly in Murray’s face, she kissed him tenderly. “Good-night, father dear!” she murmured; “it was a dream, a troubled dream; and my head, my head—”

The heat had now grown insufferable, and the silence down the gully that of death—so complete, that when, as Katie lay there with her head upon Murray’s breast, she started and laughed a little happy-sounding laugh, it seemed to be repeated from the mountain side.

“There, there!” she muttered gently; “I can sleep now; but it was terrible—yes, it was terrible—such dreams are bad. Poor Ned! his face all crimsoned, and his hands blackened with powder. But he was fighting for me—for me whom he loves—and—Yet did they not kill him?—did they not leave him in the burning—Ned!” she added, starting, as it were, into sensibility again, and gazing at him with terror-stricken eyes, “what was it? What did it mean? Was it real?”

Then she trailed off again into a broken incoherent murmur, now lifting her parched lips to his, then hiding her face in her hands; but these fits of delirium were succeeded by moments of calm.

Hour after hour, Murray crouched there—alone now, he told himself, for poor Katie’s mind seemed to have passed away. She had borne up bravely, but her sufferings had been greater than she could bear; and Murray knew that if the prayed-for help came not soon, there would be nothing for him to do but to meet the bullets ready for his breast, for all would be over, and the tragedy of Golden Gap complete.

Story 3--Chapter XV.

Seeking Aid.

Slowly up the sheep-track toiled the minister’s pony with its sad burden.

Seeing how painful was any attempt at consolation to the stricken woman, Mr Meadows dropped behind, thoughtfully gazing around from time to time, and whenever from a turn of the road there was a view of the rifled hut, pausing to take a long and sorrowful look at the ruins of the once happy home. But not once did he draw the attention of Mrs Lee to the scene.

How he thought of the quiet Eden-like aspect of the place as he had descended that toilsome way; the picturesque house, with its sheep and cattle dotted about; but now, though the scene was the same, and a clump of trees often hid from view the ruined house, yet how changed all seemed to his weary gaze!

Catching the pony’s bridle, when he had regained his place by its side, he began to try and hurry its pace, but without effect. Making, therefore, a virtue of necessity, they trudged slowly on until, with a sigh of relief, the ravine which led over the summit was reached, the view of Golden Gap shut out, and the next valley beginning to open before them.

What should he do? Go from station to station, telling the terrible news, and summoning the settlers to take arms for the purpose of crushing an enemy that might assault each farm in turn, or hurry on to the settlement at Kaitaka Bay, and there spread the alarm?

His reason told him that this latter would be the slower process, while if he trusted to the settlers in these far-off regions, the news would set them aflame, and they would muster readily. There would be no cumbrous arrangements for the expedition, but each man would seize his piece and mount horse, ready to join the little levy, and help to drive the invader from the neighbourhood of his home—the home which each had won for himself from the wilderness, and which was now in danger from these marauders.

He halted for a while by the side of one of the many streams, pressing upon his companion food and rest beneath the shady foliage, and watched her in the hope that sleep would visit the weeping woman—a short halt being absolutely necessary, on account of the ruggedness of their path, the excessive heat in the ravines, and the distance they had to travel.

Seeing, however, that Mrs Lee’s thoughts were wholly upon bringing rescue to her child, they were soon again upon their way, and before many hours were over, receiving the hearty welcome of a bluff settler, who with his wife and child stood at his door to receive the travellers.

“Glad to see you, Mrs Lee,” he exclaimed. “And where’s Martin? Parson Meadows, too! But what’s wrong? Why, you’ve got a cut on the head there, and—what does it all mean?”

Mr Meadows led him aside, wondering, as he saw Mrs Lee throwing herself sobbing into his wife’s arms. The business was soon explained, and the settler’s hearty English face grew stern and overcast.

“Heaven preserve us!” he muttered. “Poor Martin Lee! and it might have been here first! But are you in earnest, parson? Convicts?—landed? What should they come here for?”

“Spoil!—plunder!—desolation!” replied Mr Meadows.

The settler drew his guest into the house, forced him into a chair, and then dashed out of the room, shouting to a couple of his men. Ten minutes after, two stout well-mounted fellows galloped off in different directions.

“Mr Meadows,” said the settler, returning to where he had left his visitor, “I couldn’t go myself and leave them, or I’d have been one of those to gallop off; but the news will spread fast, and by morning we shall have a gathering here, I hope, that shall crush out these blood-thirsty locusts. Don’t think me unneighbourly that I did not go myself.”

“A man’s first worldly duty is to his wife and children, friend Lawler,” said Mr Meadows. “I blame you not, for we may perchance even yet have to fight for them before help comes.”

“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed the settler; but he took down with nervousness fowling-piece and rifle, and began to wipe and oil them ready for service.

“I’d almost ask you to help in a time of need like this,” he continued, “but for your cloth.”

“Help, friend Lawler! Yes, I’ll help; for I have already turned man of war in defence of the Moa’s Nest, and am afraid that I did some mischief amongst these men you call locusts; but they deserved it all, I fear.”

“Fear, parson!” exclaimed the other. “I would that you had had the scoundrels in a row, so that one bullet would have killed the lot! It would have been the best message of peace you ever sent through the district.”

“But had I not better ride in some other direction to summon help? If you could lend me another horse, I would gladly go: Joey, my pony, is slow, and not suited to the work.”

The settler mused for a few moments.

“You might ride to Black Rock!” he returned. “It will be a dark journey, and a long one; but the Allens would come to a man, and all stanch fellows, who can use a rifle.”

“Put on the saddle, and give me a morsel of bread; for no time should be lost. You will be kind to our poor afflicted sister.”

“Kind!” was the reply, in such a tone that the clergyman smiled gently, and pressed the rough hand extended to him.

Half-an-hour after, he was in the saddle and galloping in the direction of Black Rock.

He was no mean horseman, and mile after mile was left behind, till the darkness and the increasing difficulties of the road compelled him to go more slowly—at a rate, indeed, that but ill accorded with the impatience of his spirit, now that he was in some degree rested and refreshed. For, during the early part of his journey from the Moa’s Nest, he had suffered from a strange feeling of oppression, due to his late sufferings; but this was fast wearing off. And now, troubled in mind about the fate of those he sought to save, he once more pushed on, till the broken ground again compelled him to draw rein.

Long residence, and occasional visits from station to station, had made him pretty familiar with the roads; and as the horse picked its way along the stony part they were passing, he began to calculate how many men could be mustered; how long it would be before help could be afforded; and whether that help would be in time.

He pressed his horse forward as these last thoughts came, until he was again progressing at a long swinging gallop. He had been some three or four times to Black Rock, but not by this road, which was not familiar to him; but, keeping to the track, he pressed on till it seemed to end in a stony wilderness, when he once more had to draw rein; for the rugged path required careful riding. Here the track seemed almost lost; but just in front two valleys opened out, and in his directions his host had told him to take the left—no, the right—no, the left. Was it to the left? His head must be weak and confused, he told himself; for the settler had explained exactly and carefully the route he should follow.

He grew excited as he recalled the importance of his making speed, and at last drew up, pained and troubled. He essayed to go a little way along the valley to the right, but in a doubtful fashion; and, drawing rein at the end of a mile, he rode hastily back, feeling assured that he was wrong; and on reaching the headland that separated the valleys, he urged his steed onward, peering eagerly in advance the while, in search of some tokens of civilised man.

He was angry with himself for the mistake he had made—wasting minutes that might prove to have been of inestimable value; but he felt that he must soon reach the settlement now, since it was situated in the bottom of the valley, and could not be missed even by a traveller by night.

On past long park-like sweeps of rich land, varied by portions where the valley closed in till huge nestling crags, crowned with glorious vegetation, made darker the way he traversed, and seemed threatening to topple over upon the traveller; but still no signs of civilisation: no shepherd’s hut, no folding hurdles, no cattle—all solitary and grand. Twice the idea occurred to him that he must, after all, be wrong; but he rejected or crushed down the thought, and hurried his horse along; for it had begun to show signs of fatigue.

Then Mr Meadows allowed the reins to fall upon the poor beast’s neck, while he tried to think out the best course to pursue.

But little reflection sufficed to make him understand his position—he had been mistaken in the route he was to have pursued. He sighed heavily as he acknowledged his failing; for it was but too true. With Katie Lee in the hands of the convicts, and that young man awaiting the succour he was to bring, he had wandered from the right path, and travelled miles upon miles out of his way.

Story 3--Chapter XVI.

Collecting the Levy.

John Lawler barricaded his place as strongly as he could for the night; and then, with loaded gun and rifle by his side, he awaited the return of the messengers. He felt that there was not much cause for fear; but he determined to watch and wait.

Soon after reaching the hospitable place, Mrs Lee had sunk back in her chair, faint and exhausted.

It was anxious work for the master of the house, watching alone, with the knowledge that a terrible danger might at any time come upon his home. As the darkness came on, sounds, heretofore passed unnoticed, seemed to have an ominous import. Each time a dog barked the watcher started, and tried to pierce the distant gloom, seeing in every tree an enemy, and a lurker behind every bush.

After a while, watching in the silence, he started; for his wife had stolen to his side, begging to be allowed to stay with him, since Mrs Lee slept heavily, and she feared to be alone.

John Lawler tried to persuade her to go; but not energetically. And then the couple watched on, shivering at every sound, until there came, from a distance, the tramp of a horse, at a slow weary pace; and at last one of the settler’s own beasts made its way into the yard, and then into the familiar stable by the side.

Lawler went out, to find that the animal was saddled and bridled; but on leading it into the yard, he found that it halted on one of its forelegs.

“Must have fallen lame,” he muttered; “and Sam has gone on, thinking the poor brute would find its way back.”

Another hour’s watching, and then came again the slow pacing of a horse; but this time there was a man leading it; and upon his coming up, Lawler heard that the horse had stumbled in the dark, fallen, and thrown his rider heavily, the poor fellow having been hardly able to make his way back to the station.

Then came more watching, hour after hour, till daylight began to chase away the dim shadows of night.

John Lawler’s spirits rose as the sun sent its warm rays once more over the brightened earth; but he shuddered as he thought that perhaps that night the home that he had been years in winning from the wilderness might become a blackened ruin.

Hour after hour passed but no gathering party of neighbours clustered round; and though Lawler climbed from time to time the hill behind his house, there was no sign of Sam.

After all these hours, surely, he thought, some neighbours might have come down to his help. Supposing that his place had been attacked, it would have been by this time a heap of blood-stained ashes. His brow knit as he watched, here for enemies, there for friends, with none to meet his eye, and the lines on his brow told the inquietude of his mind. At last, maddened with anxiety, he summoned his wife, had the two lamed beasts and Mr Meadow’s pony brought out, and prepared to mount the two women, and flee farther inland, to where there were friends.

“I’d stop and fight to the last gasp for my bit of property, Nell,” said Lawler to his wife, “if it wasn’t for you and the child.”

“No, no; let’s go,” she replied, as if fearing that he might stay.

The few arrangements being made, the little caravan had prepared to start, when a cheery shout from the men made Lawler shade his eyes, and his heart leapt up as he saw two mounted men, each carrying a gun, come cantering up.

“Hallo!” exclaimed one. “Just off out—pilgrimage to Egypt, eh? And Mrs Lee, too! How are you all? Bad job, though; for we wanted a rest and feed for the horses. S’pose we can have that all the same?”

John Lawler laid his hand upon the saddle of the speaker, and looking wonderingly in his face, he said:

“What! didn’t the news reach you last night?”

“News?” echoed the other.

Lawler drew him down, and whispered in his ear, so that the drooping woman upon the horse should not hear again of the horrors that had devastated her home.

“Good God!” exclaimed the new-comer. “But have you sent out for help?”

“Yes,” said Lawler; “three messengers. One miscarried; and I’ve had no news yet of the others.”

A short conference was held as the new-comers, with darkened brows, learned more fully the state of affairs, and discussed it with John Lawler—earnestly, too, since each had a stake in the district, and knew full well that his might be the next turn to suffer as had suffered the family of Martin Lee.

Five minutes after, Lawler’s wife was clinging to him, begging that, for the child’s sake, he would accompany her to a place of safety; but although torn to the heart, the settler held firm. In a short consultation, it had been decided to let the women proceed, accompanied by Lawler’s crippled man, while the three remained to garrison the little farm, and cover the retreat of the fugitives, agreeing that, if hard pressed, they could but follow them.

“We must stay and help one another,” said Lawler gloomily. “You attend to poor Lee’s wife; we’ll see if we cannot save his child.”

“But could not he stay?” said his wife piteously, as she pointed to the man.

“Would you have your husband turn coward, Nell?” Lawler said gently. “Should we not say that man was contemptible who kept back from us in time of need? Be a woman! There will be help soon; and it would never do now for neighbours to come at my asking, and find me gone. Half an hour ago it was different, and there was good excuse; now there is none.”

Mrs Lawler uttered no complaint; only one sob rose from her breast as she hung on her husband’s neck; and then, with the man leading the horses, the party passed slowly out of sight.

“Heaven be praised!” said one of the new-comers. “One seems free to act now.”

After a little consideration, it was determined that nothing better could be done than for one of the party in turn to act as scout, and watch the ravine leading towards the Gap, the only way by which danger could approach; while the others patiently waited the succour that was expected.

Story 3--Chapter XVII.

The Start.

Hour after hour the little rescuing party waited for further assistance; for sooner or later they well knew that there would be a strong gathering; but night was fast approaching before two horsemen were seen; and of these one, Mr Meadows, had to be lifted from his horse, and then supported into the house.

“Better soon, friends all,” he said feebly. “I’ve been hard tried lately.” And then he sank into a chair, and would have fainted, but for some brandy. “I’ve proved a sorry messenger, friend Lawler,” he said after a pause. “You see, I was a good deal knocked about at the Nest, and I took the wrong track, and was lost; and, but for my horse, I fear there would have been no help through me. I was confused and weak, and not myself; but don’t be hard upon me.”

“I came on with him directly,” said the fresh arrival; “and I’ve sent round in all directions; but it will be some hours before more help can come.”

But still this was a reinforcement; for the settler was well armed, and loaded with ammunition; while, just as it grew dark, there came the sharp “thud, thud” of horses’ hoofs, and Lawler’s first messenger hastily came up with three neighbours, armed, and eager to assist.

“The mare fell lame,” said the man, “before we’d gone three miles; so I turned her loose, and tramped it.”

“And I was cattle-driving,” said one. “And I at the sheep-station,” said another. While the third had been ill in bed; but forgot his pains when the dire news was brought.

Again there was a council of war; and it was decided that nothing better could be done than to wait for daylight and farther reinforcements.

“Don’t you think so, Lawler?” said one of his friends, noticing that the settler looked gloomy and discontented.

“Yes, I think so,” he said. “It’s quite right—quite right; but I could not help thinking of those poor creatures waiting for our help, and wondering, hour after hour, why no aid comes. But we have done our best, neighbours, and I must agree that it would be folly to go on now in the dark, and weak-handed; for I suppose they would still outnumber us, according to Mr Meadows’s account.”

“It’s giving them a few more hours to live,” said one of the last arrivals grimly; “for I’m afraid they will not meet with much mercy.”

“Nor give much,” said another. And then he made a motion to the rest to preserve silence; for Mr Meadows was listening, half shuddering, to the remarks made.

“What do you advise, parson?” said one, who had not yet spoken. “You know most about this sad business. Should we go or stay?”

“Friend Laing,” said Mr Meadows feebly, “I would that you had not asked me that question. With the thoughts of that poor lamb in the clutches of those ravening wolves, my heart says, Go—go at once, and strike to save her. But then reason saith, Would you send these men—fathers of children, dear husbands of loving and anxious wives—to encounter useless peril, and come to ruin and death, for want of a little care? But I think this: the miles are long between this and the Moa’s Nest. Suppose that we proceeded with caution during the dark cool hours, so as to be ready to pursue the task at daybreak? One of your number could stay here, ready to bring on the rest of our friends when they arrive; while, without proceeding to attack, we might draw off the attention of the convicts, as well as succour Edward Murray and the brave savage, who must be faint and weary long ere this—if they still live,” he muttered to himself.

The advice was received with general tokens of satisfaction; but when it came to the question who should stay behind, no man displayed his willingness to undertake that tame part of the duty. One suggested that Mr Meadows would be unable to accompany them; but he did not know the stanch spirit of the old man, who sturdily declared his intention of following.

“This food and rest were all I required,” he said; “and I shall be no hindrance to you. My pony will bear me; and if I should be left behind for a while, I daresay I can overtake you.”

Seeing his determination, lots were drawn as to who should stay; for there was a certain feeling of respect shown by all towards their common friend.

The preparations were soon made, each man carrying a supply of provisions; and then they filed cautiously along the track, keeping ever on the alert, for each man knew that at any time a volley from behind some clump of trees or rocks far overhead, might perhaps empty half the saddles of the little party.

Story 3--Chapter XVIII.

The Avengers’ Way.

Daylight found them standing, dark of face, around the barely cold ashes of the Moa’s Nest; and the stern determination of the party might have been read in their compressed lips and fierce looks, as more than one man mentally registered an oath of the stern vengeance he would take for this cruel desolation of a peaceful home.

A short interval of rest and refreshment, and the horses were stabled in one of the sheds yet standing; arms were examined, and the party began to ascend the Gap, slowly and cautiously, for they knew that unless the convicts had made their way round by the sea, they must be somewhere higher up, amongst these natural fortresses.

It was a very slow rate at which they progressed, for they anxiously searched for and examined every trace left by the convicts, though these were comparatively few, Wahika having previously picked up and hidden the greater part as he followed the ruffianly crew.

But soon these tokens disappeared, and they pressed on higher and higher, watching eagerly for farther signs of their enemy.

Once the foremost man halted, holding up his hand as a sign to those who followed, for there was the distant sound as of a gun; but it reached their ears in a strange, muffled way, as if discharged on the other side of the mountains; and another, which followed soon after, was even less distinct.

“They must be farther up, round the bend,” said one; and on they proceeded, taking advantage of every inequality for concealment. Every man’s rifle was ready to reply to the shot which was expected at any instant; but on they still went, without encountering a foe.

Hour after hour had passed; and at length, heated and wearied, a halt was called by the side of a rapid, babbling stream. Provisions were brought out, and then, for the first time, it was seen that one of the party was missing.

“Where’s the parson?” exclaimed the one who first made the discovery; when, upon comparing notes, it was found that he had not been noticed by any one for some hours.

“Poor old fellow, he could not keep up,” said Lawler. “We shall find him under a tree, resting, when we go back. He was not without food, fortunately, for I saw that he had it, or he would have gone without.”

“I hope no mischief will befall him,” said another; and then they fell to consulting, in cautious tones, as to the next best proceeding; whether to press on farther, or to retrace their steps, and examine some of the ravines, so as to join the strength they hoped by that time to meet approaching from the lower part of the Gap, while, at the same time, they would pick up Mr Meadows.

“I should be for going on,” said Lawler, “only that I think the last plan is the better; for I can’t help thinking they have never come up here. Let’s go back: we’re losing time.”

Following out his suggestion, the men rose, and began, with the same precautions, to retrace their steps, by this time spreading out in a more extended line; while, about the same time, a party of a dozen friends commenced the ascent of the Gap, following the plainly-marked track left by the first detachment.

Story 3--Chapter XIX.

Mr Meadows’s Weakness.

Mr Meadows struggled on, hour after hour, with his companions, only enabled to keep up with them by their exceedingly slow progress; for, from time to time, he would sit for a few minutes while they passed on for some little distance, and then, following the track, he would overtake them at their slow, watchful pace.

He pressed on; sometimes tottering, sometimes resting so long that he had to strive hard to reach the last man. The heat seemed to overcome him; and at last, seating himself by the bright stream, upon whose banks he was, he let five, ten, twenty minutes, an hour slip away, heedless of all save the exhaustion that had enervated him.

Gradually a delicious sleep stole upon him, and then for a while all was blank.

But at length the weary man awoke, and started in pursuit of his companions, reproaching himself for his cruelty in sleeping at an hour like this; though, at the time, his forward progress was but a weary totter from tree to tree, against whose trunks he was often glad to lean his hands.

“It is of no use,” he groaned. “I’m worn out; and until Nature has done her part of restoration, I am helpless as a child.”

He sat down, and rested again, and then rose; for the distant report of a gun fell upon his ear; repeated, too, once or twice; and turning from his companions’ track, he faced towards that side of the Gap from amidst whose craggy fastnesses the sound seemed to proceed.

“I have no strength,” muttered Mr Meadows feebly; “but I have still my eyesight, and I may be able to play the spy. Why are they not here? They have gone on too far; but if they hear the firing, they will soon return.”

He passed through the dense undergrowth, and then stopped short, for he had hit upon a well-marked track, which looked as if the grass had been trampled down by footprints to and fro.

“Strange,” he said, “that it should fall to the weakest of the party to discover this. I’ll go on; but not in the guise of warfare;” and he leaned his gun against a tree, and toiled patiently along the track. No easy task, for it led up and up, along the valley side, higher and higher; each few steps giving a view over the tops of the trees just passed.

“Not the way taken by the gallant young man,” he muttered, “for not one of the branches he was to have broken, has met my eye. It is plain that I have not struck upon his track; but I may be able to report good news to our friends on my return.”

Once more came the faint, muffled sound of a gun; and collecting his fast-flagging energies, Mr Meadows pushed on, until breathless, and with bleeding hands and knees, he stood looking down with astonishment into a little rocky amphitheatre, strewn with provisions and the plunder taken by the convicts from the Moa’s Nest.

He stepped down, for the place appeared to be quite forsaken, and vainly tried to make out the cause of its being untenanted, when, looking round, he started with dismay; for half-seated, half-lying, with his back to the rocks, was the form of a human being, but so disfigured, that it seemed impossible for life to exist in such a ruin. But life was there; for, to the clergyman’s horror, he saw that the man was engaged with a knife in his left hand, slowly and deliberately trying to back off his right at the wrist.

For a few moments, Mr Meadows could not speak; then, hurrying up, he arrested the man, exclaiming, “Surely, friend, that operation cannot be necessary?”

“Let it be—let it be,” was the answer, in a strange, muttering voice, which came from the mutilated face. “It’s a vile hand—a bad hand, stained with crime.”

It required but little effort to wrest the knife from the convict’s hand; and then, binding a handkerchief round the bleeding wrist, Mr Meadows gazed, shuddering, in the man’s face, as his head fell back, and he fainted.

“He cannot live through those injuries,” muttered the clergyman. And leaning forward, he dropped a little brandy from the flask he carried between the man’s lips, when, after a few minutes, he revived, and spoke in a more collected way.

“Is any one there?” he asked.

“Yes; there is one here,” was the reply.

“Come back to finish your work, I suppose?” said the man hoarsely; and he raised his arms, as if to protect his head, but only to drop them directly.

“Where are your companions?”

“Companions—companions?” said the wounded man inquiringly. “Who, then, are you?”

“One of those whom you so much injured.”

“Injured—injured? What does it mean? What’s this red blind over my eyes? Where are we—in the valley? Or—I can’t see—can’t see with my eyes, nor yet with my understanding!” he gasped, apparently struggling hard with his misty, clouded intellect. “Yes, I can—I know now. Where is the girl?”

“Yes; where is the poor girl?” repeated Mr Meadows anxiously; and he again poured a few drops between the poor wretch’s lips.

“Girl! Yes, yes; I saved her. I told young Murray I’d pay him. Lee’s girl, the other woman told me. I knew the Lees once, at home. Yes, at home; and I saved her twice, and they saved her.”

He trailed off into a wild, incoherent string; and in spite of all Mr Meadows’s efforts and anxiety, no farther information could he obtain. He was about to turn and leave the dreadful spectacle, when he felt a light touch upon his arm; and starting round, he saw, standing pale and trembling by his side, a woman whom he hardly recognised as one of the shepherds’ wives he had more than once seen at the Moa’s Nest.

He elicited that she had lain concealed amidst the ferns for many hours past, so overcome with dread, that, though provisions in abundance had been almost within sight, she had not dared to crawl out until she heard a voice she knew to be friendly.

She told, too, how the miserable man at their side had twice acted in defence of Katie and herself; and how, in the midst of a wild struggle and confusion, Katie had been snatched away: when, availing herself of the absence of the convicts in pursuit, the woman had crawled amongst the ferns, and lain there, not daring to more. Then, some time after, she heard the oaths and raging of the men on their return, and the murderous way in which they had set upon their companion, whom they accused of betraying them, leaving him at last, probably for dead.

“And I did not dare to move, sir,” she sobbed; “but had to lie there, listening to his groans, hour after hour, till I prayed that he might die out of his misery, as I felt that I must, or else be driven mad.”

“But where do you think they are now?” said Mr Meadows.

“Somewhere up the valley that runs beside here, sir; and that’s where Miss Katie must have been taken, if they’ve not killed her, for there’s been shooting ever since.”

“Did you not see who snatched her away?”

“No, sir, no; it was all in the night-time, when she was clinging tightly to me, and I was struck down at the same moment.”

“Let us descend from here, my child,” he said; “for there are friends below in the valley, seeking for us.”

He turned to lead his new companion away, but she suddenly exclaimed, “They’re coming again! O, sir, save me—save me!”—and she clung to Mr Meadows, who heard far down below him the rustling and snapping of the trees, as if several people were forcing their way through them. “That’s the way they went,” sobbed the woman; “and they’re coming again.”

Mr Meadows had no doubt as to the truth of what she said; and glancing round, he tried to make out the part of the rocky wall around by which he had descended, but for a while his efforts were fruitless; and he could not leave the woman to search for his path, since at the least effort to unclasp her hands, she clung to him the tighter, imploring him in whispers not to leave her—not to go away.

“No, no; we will go together. Quick! the wretches are upon us, and we shall be taken. Heaven give me strength! What shall I do?”

His tones were anguished, for the crashing through the leaves seemed now to be close at hand; while, as he spoke, the woman fell from him, quite inanimate.

“Must I leave her?” he murmured to himself; and then he stooped and tried to lift her, but it was beyond his strength, and in his despair it seemed to him that he must be already seen. An hour sooner, he would not have cared so much; but, with the information he had gained and the care of this poor creature upon his hands, he felt that he would give anything to escape; for might not this snatching away of Katie mean an act of daring performed by Murray or the savage, and the shots fired, a conflict still going on between them?

The leaves and boughs crashed together, and whoever they were, either friends or foes, were coming ever nearer and nearer.

(Twelve lines of the scan are not readable here.)

The trees could be plainly seen moving now, and Mr Meadows caught a glimpse of an approaching figure. It was only a shadowy glimpse, but exerting his little remaining strength he dragged his companion on her side, forced her down amongst the waving undergrowth, and then crouched himself, gazing with swimming eyes between the strands down into the amphitheatre, and wondering whether, after all, his efforts had not been in vain.

Story 3--Chapter XX.

Friends in Need.

It seemed almost impossible for the convicts not to have seen them, as now, to the number of five, they leaped down and seized the provisions that lay scattered about, hunting out such bottles as remained, and more than once coming so near to Mr Meadows that he hardly dared to breathe. Then they went farther away, first one and then another, contemptuously kicking the body of their late associate.

But it was after they had gathered and tied up a portion of the food that the danger of the hiding couple culminated; for once more drawing near, a convict said:

“Now then, down into the valley once, just for a look about for squalls, and then back again.”

“After breakfast and a bit of ’bacca,” said another, coolly seating himself, when his companions laughed and followed his example.

Mr Meadows shuddered. They were so near, that he felt that they must hear them if they moved; and still he knew that in another few minutes they would trample upon him and the woman in their downward progress. It must be done; the attempt must be made; and after turning and gazing at the convicts, he bent down towards the pale face at his side.

He had no occasion to speak; for he read in her looks that she had heard every sound. He dared not trust himself to state his wishes, but pointed along the track so plainly marked through the long grass, here abundant; and slowly the woman rose to her knees, then, with a slight rustling, to her feet, and began to glide gently away.

Mr Meadows could not watch her, but dared only to keep his eyes fixed upon those of one of the seated convicts, just seen through the leaves; when, to his consternation, he saw him shift his position so as to gaze, as it were, right in his watcher’s face, till, trembling with dread, Mr Meadows’s eyelids sunk, and he knelt there motionless.

When he again unclosed his eyes, the man had ceased to look in his direction; and then, calling up his strength, he slowly backed, inch by inch, upon his hands and knees, till the descending nature of the ground took him below the edge which overhung the depression where the convicts were seated. Then, and then only, he raised himself gradually into a stooping position, listened attentively, and, with beating heart, began softly, step by step, to follow the woman, whose own retreat he tried vainly to hear.

Gradually he set down each foot, lest a sound should follow, holding his breath, and pressing a hand upon his heart to stay its throbbings; when, accelerating his pace, he strode on to overtake the woman, whom he could now see hurrying down from stone to stone, or along the well-marked grassy track, with fear-given wings.

He trembled lest she should miss the track in her fright; but no, she kept to it without deviating, until she reached the spot where Mr Meadows left his gun; and there he overtook her.

What was to be his course? Should they proceed farther up the Gap, or down towards the ruins? Friends should be coming from either way, unless they had returned, and passed downwards, giving up the search so far, until joined by the expected reinforcements.

He was woodman enough, though, from his long residence in the colony, to be able, in a short time, to determine whether his companions had returned. Though the upward tracks were easy to find, no descending footprints could he discover; but a joyful cry was half uttered as twice he came upon a broken twig, which told him of the promise of Edward Murray, and showed that he had passed in that direction.

There needed now but little reflection for Mr Meadows to decide what course would be the best. Up the valley there were certainly friends; down the valley there might be; but it was uncertain.

Turning then to the woman, who had followed him step by step, he pointed upwards; and in silence they moved towards the higher portion of the Gap. But they had hardly traversed a quarter of a mile before she halted, exclaiming:

“I can’t go any farther, sir;” and, without another word, she sank fainting upon the grass.

“Then we must sit and rest, my child, until our friends come,” he said in encouraging tones, which did much towards soothing the woman; and then, opening the wallet slung by his side, he forced her to partake of some refreshment.

They waited patiently as the afternoon wore on, listening for some token of coming friends. Once voices were heard approaching, evidently those of the convicts; but they soon passed away again; and at last came the rustling sound of cautiously advancing footsteps, to right of them, to left of them, and in front, and ever coming nearer and nearer.

“Friends, my child, friends,” said the old man cheerfully.

But the woman looked at him with a troubled anxious gaze, not doubting his word, but distrusting his ability to tell; until, rising suddenly from where they sat, he called loudly, and, from close at hand, the cry was responded to.

“No news, sir—not a bit,” said Lawler; for it was he. “We did not miss you till we got to the top; but perhaps it was as well you stopped behind, and saved yourself fatigue that you could scarcely have borne.”

“Quite as well, John Lawler,” said Mr Meadows, smiling faintly; “but I have not been idle;” and he pointed to the trembling woman behind him.

Lawler gave a low whistle, which was responded to from different quarters; and in a few minutes the party of settlers had collected round, listening eagerly to Mr Meadows’s narration; when it was immediately decided to make their way at once to the track, leaving one of their party to watch for the hoped-for aid, and then proceed to the convicts’ lair, following their trail to where it was evident that some conflict must be going on.

But they had no occasion to weaken their little force. Before they reached the path that led upwards, it was plain that some one was approaching; and, after due precautions, a joyful encounter took place; when, eager and forgetful of fatigue, the now tolerably strong company filed up the track.

It was now so plainly beaten that it was followed quickly; Mr Meadows, who declared himself sufficiently rested, insisting upon being one of the party, lest they should fail for want of guidance; while one of the new-comers was intrusted with the care of the shepherd’s wife.

Well armed and determined, and now outnumbering the enemy, though they knew it not, there seemed every prospect of Justice laying her sword upon the outlaws’ heads.

The depression was reached at last; and men’s brows darkened as they looked upon the scattered plunder; but they paused not; and half-an-hour’s climbing and toiling brought the party to the entrance of the narrow gorge, where they halted to look inquiringly at Mr Meadows.

Marks on grass and mossy stone were plain enough to be seen, though, after a short inspection; and a careful advance was made over the rugged ground, until the leader stopped short, to point out something he had discovered.

Only a trifle; but enough to convince them that they were on the right track; for upon a thorny bush hung a shred, evidently fresh torn from a woman’s dress—a significant fact, when found in one of the wilds far away from a civilised home.

Then, satisfied of the near approach of the conflict, each man looked to his piece, and eagerly scanning every rock and stone in advance, they pressed on, until suddenly the foremost man raised his hand, and pointed to where, far in advance, and high above them, they could see perched up a figure, upon whose bright gun-barrel the sunbeams played and flashed, as, resting upon a stone, he seemed intently gazing at something in advance.

Lawler was acting the part of leader; and he appointed two of the party to watch this one man.

“If he turns to fire, bring him down,” he said sternly.

The attention of the rest of the party was directed to what seemed the end of the gorge; for, right in front, they could now see the upper part of the vast scarped rock, from whose ledge so gallant a defence had been kept up; but it was not until they had advanced another hundred yards, so as to surmount a broad ridge of stone, that they could see the ledge, up which, with their companions eagerly watching their progress, and covering them with their guns, two of the convicts had clambered.

These two had just reached the shelf, so that, in another minute, they would have stood upon it, when the sharp echoing crack of a rifle was heard, almost accompanied by two more; for the man upon the rock high up had suddenly turned, caught sight of the coming danger, and fired. His aim, however, was too rapid to be effectual; while, in answer to the double shot from below, the convict started to his feet, dropped his piece, clutched at the air for a few moments, and then leaped upwards, to fall heavily into the gorge.

The two men who had scaled the rock slipped back, hung by their hands; and then one fell; while the other, with catlike activity, managed to descend unhurt; but only to fall, the next instant, under the volley sent in answer to that of the enemy, who, roused to action by their fellow’s shot, had faced round and fired at their assailants.

Then followed a rapid exchange of firing for some five minutes; but the advantage was all on the side of the settlers, who had the greater part of the cover; and upon a sharp dash being made with clubbed guns, after the convicts had fired, and before they had time to reload, a fierce hand-to-hand struggle ensued, in which more than one settler fell beneath the outlaws’ knives; for they fought desperately, like rats at bay, till, one by one, they were beaten down; till the remainder sullenly threw away their arms, and suffered themselves to be bound.

Story 3--Chapter XXI.

Just in Time.

Immediately after the victory over the convicts, all attention was drawn to the ledge; but not before the wounded had received the needful attention, careful arrangements being made to prevent farther danger.

But there was a manifest repugnance exhibited amongst those present to attempt to mount the ledge, whose silence terrified the men who had but a few minutes before faced death by rifle and knife; but at last, stern and rugged of brow, John Lawler laid down his gun, and, with much difficulty, made his way up to stand upon the ledge, peering forward into the rift for a few moments, and then, stifling the sob which rose from his breast, he turned sorrowfully, and pointed to the rough green rope yet lying by; and, upon its being thrown up, he held one end, while a couple of his companions climbed to his side.

“The savage isn’t dead,” said one, kneeling by Wahika’s side, and laying a hand upon his breast.

Carefully making the rough rope fast round him, they lowered the savage down; when, with the tears dimming their eyes, the three stout-hearted men stood gazing upon the couple before them, till they were reverently lowered down in the same way, to be received in the arms of Mr Meadows, who then knelt anxiously, rose hastily to fetch water and dash it in their faces, and afterwards tried to force some between their teeth.

“No hope, sir,” whispered Lawler sorrowfully, as he watched his proceedings.

“Mr Lawler,” was the stern reply, “it is our duty on this earth never to be too soon disheartened. I have hope here; and I pray heaven that that hope may not be vain.”

In spite of his weakness, Mr Meadows was now unceasing in his efforts to restore animation to those who had been found upon the rocky ledge. For a time, though, all his toil seemed vain. It was a hard battle, too; for he who ministered was more fit to receive ministrations.

At last, though, there was a faint sigh from Katie’s lips; and, soon after, a few muttered, unmeaning words from Murray told that the flame of life still burned feebly.

Wahika, too, with the hardihood of the savage, had, sooner even than his fellow-sufferers, shown that he was ready to fight for the last few sparks of life faintly burning in his breast; though had the rough, surgical aid of the old clergyman been much longer delayed, those sparks must have died out.

“Little flower of Moa’s Nest?” he said at last, in an inquiring whisper, as his eager eyes gazed from face to face.

“Safe, I hope, friend savage,” said Mr Meadows, as he laid a cool, wet hand upon the New Zealander’s fevered brow, when a quiet, satisfied smile flitted over the tattooed face; and he closed his eyes, to wait patiently, as became a warrior, for the fate that was to be his.

“Thank heaven, friend Lawler!” said Mr Meadows, at the end of an hour; “matters are even looking hopeful. I was ready to despair myself at one time; but providentially, I was able to conquer the weakness. Prompt action, John Lawler—prompt action has gained us the day. And now, good men and true, prepare something in the shape of a litter, and let us bear these poor sufferers gently down from this dreadful place before the night falls.”

“Mind! Take care! Here, lean on me, sir,” cried Lawler eagerly; for Mr Meadows had turned deadly pale, and now reeled, and would have fallen but for the friendly arm.

“Thanks. Lawler, thanks,” said Mr Meadows. “I’m afraid that I am very weak. I feel unstrung by what we have gone through; and it only wanted the sight of that poor fellow Bray, carried down—but a few hours ago a strong, healthy man—now so much clay—it only wanted that to completely overcome me.”

In a few minutes, though, Mr Meadows’s brave heart sustained him again; and in spite of all advice to the contrary, he insisted upon superintending the removal of the sufferers, himself adjusting their heads, that the rough journey might not add fresh pangs.

Story 3--Chapter XXII.

The Old Story.

Busy hands and strong soon provided a shelter from the ruins of the Moa’s Nest—the fragments of the schooner playing no inconsiderable part in the rough erection that was prepared for the sufferers; Mr Meadows declaring that it would be madness to yield to the wish of John Lawler, and convey them to his home.

And here, forgetting his own sufferings, the old clergyman fought a long and arduous fight with the fever that had seized his patients, but to be triumphant in the end—“Even though I am no doctor,” he said with a smile.

The hardy savage was the first to recover, and then to follow Mr Meadows about like a dog, never seeming weary of watching to do his bidding, in return for the life he had saved.

But months of weary weakness, and mourning for the father who was slain, succeeded before Katie Lee was again the bright-eyed maiden of old, though she struggled hard to be the stay and solace of her widowed mother.

At last came a day, an eventful day in the lives of two of the characters in this short narrative, when they knelt before Mr Meadows, to listen to his quaint but earnest voice repeating those words addressed to all who, in God’s name, are joined together; while, as they rose, it was for him to gaze at them with bent head and moistened eyes; and the words of fatherly benediction spoken were husky and low.

“But these are no days for tears, my children,” he said, at last; for, indeed, the time had glided swiftly away. And under the management of him who had just reaped the reward of his patient forbearance, the Moa’s Nest, rebuilt, stood once more homelike and prosperous in the smiling valley, with the Gap, more golden and glorious, shining around rich in tokens of harvest, and the flocks and herds so carefully supervised by that stern-looking, tattooed chief, half savage, half-civilised man.

For Wahika clung to Edward Murray, who, tempting the sea no more, had settled in the old pleasant vale, for the dread of so dire an invasion occurring a second time troubled him not; though for long years to come the story was told in the settlers’ homes, through the length and breadth of the three islands, of the gallant defence, the cruel slaughter, and the brave way in which the prisoners had been rescued, and the invaders put to the rout, their ringleaders expiating their crimes at Port Caroline, the residue, few indeed, ending their career in Van Diemen’s Land.

Such is the old story—a story of fifty years since, but fresh yet in the memory of grey-haired men, who listen to the chime of the church-bell, and walk the streets of the busy port that now stands at the mouth of Golden Gap. But a few minutes’ walk will take you to the farm at the foot of the mighty volcanic cliffs, clothed nearly to their icy tops with gorgeous verdure; and, as you gaze upon the scene of peace, the heart seems to say it is impossible that such deeds of violence could have occurred to blur the beauty of the verdant vale, till memory recalls in new settlements scores of scenes as tragical as that at the rifling of the Moa’s Nest.

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