Trafford looked before him, his eyes fixed sternly, his lips drawn.

Yes, he had been right! She was here, and Norman was with her. His heart was torn with jealousy and rage—and love. For he loved her still. He had had time to think on the outward journey, and the more he thought, the more easy it had become for him to find excuses for Esmeralda. He thought of her, a wild, uncultivated girl, ignorant of the world into which she had been flung by a whim of capricious fortune.

During those weeks spent on the boundless sea in perpetual reverie, in endless brooding, he had learned to realize something of what she had suffered when she discovered that she had been married, as she supposed, for her money alone. He could understand why she had refused to believe that he had grown to love her, and how easily she had believed that he loved Ada Lancing.

He could make excuses for her, but none for Norman. Against Norman his heart surged with a bitter fury and thirst for vengeance.

The journey had tried him a great deal, and he was looking thinner than ever, and haggard and worn. He had avoided his fellow-passengers; had, indeed, scarcely spoken to them, and the weeks of solitude and painful self-communing had given his face an expression of sternness which indicated his grim resolution to follow Esmeralda and Norman, though it were to the other end of the world, and punish the latter.

He sat beside Johnson, the driver, with his arms folded tightly, his brows knit, and Johnson glanced at him now and again, and then whistled softly to his horses. He did not know what to make of him. A question trembled on Trafford’s lips, and at last he put it.

“You say Miss—Howard—this young lady—traveled by your coach some time ago. Was she accompanied by a gentleman?”

Johnson didn’t like being pumped by this stranger with the stern and handsome face.

“Can’t say,” he said, nonchalantly. “She might ha’ been, or she might not. I don’t take partickler notice of my passengers so long as they’ve got their tickets all right; an’ if I did,” he added, “I shouldn’t mouth about ’em to the first stranger as asked me questions.”

A faint flush rose to Trafford’s brow.

“I beg your pardon,” he said. “You are quite right.”

Johnson was a little mollified.

“To tell you the truth, I can’t say,” he said. “She might ha’ been, or she might ha’ been met at the crossing where the scrimmage took place. There was such a flare-up, what with the shoutin’ and the shootin’, that I got ’em mixed in my mind.”

Trafford asked no more questions. Why should he? He felt certain that he should find Esmeralda and Norman together.

When they reached the coaching station where the road to Three Star branched off, Johnson pointed to it.

“That’s your road,” he said.

“Is there no coach, no vehicle, to take me?” asked Trafford.

“Nary one,” said Johnson, coolly. “You’ll have to hire a horse here an’ take yer luggage in front of you, or leave it an’ get some of the Three Star boys to drive over for it.”

Trafford walked into the hut which was dignified by the name of station, and looked round for a horse.

He succeeded in hiring one, and was preparing to start, when Johnson, who had been regarding him curiously, laid a huge hand upon his shoulder.

“Ain’t yer goin’ to have somethin’ to eat an’ drink?” he said, not unkindly, as he looked at the worn face. “It’s a long ride to Three Star, an’ to my knowledge you’ve had neither bite nor sup for a devil of a time.”

Trafford shook his head.

“Well, I say you shall drink, at any rate,” said Johnson, quietly; and he called for a glass of whisky and water.

Trafford drank it, more to please the man than because he acknowledged the need of it, and Johnson, tossing the empty glass to a stable help, said:

“Have you got yer revolver all fixed up? You may need it; there’s some rough characters about, an’ they’re fond of target practice.”

Trafford smiled and touched the revolver in his belt. Johnson eyed the spare but muscular figure clad in the rough and semi-digger clothes which Trafford had procured at Ballarat, and nodded approvingly.

“You’ll do,” he said. “I don’t know what yer business is at Three Star, an’ I don’t want to know, but I’ll bet yer’ll carry it through!” and he held out his paw.

Trafford shook it, and getting into his saddle, rode off. His heart beat fast as he found himself galloping along the Three Star road. Along this road Esmeralda must have often traveled. As he looked round upon the wide-stretching plains with their background of towering hills, the whole place seemed to breathe to him of Esmeralda. He could picture her, a slim and graceful girl, not clad in the costly raiment of a London ball-room, but in the short blue skirt and wide felt hat which she had so often described to him. He could understand how strange and bewildering to her must have been the change from these wild solitudes to the whirlpool of fashionable life; how bitterly she must have contrasted the falseness, the selfishness, the self-seeking of his aristocratic set with the simple natures of the rough but honest and genuine folk with whom she had been brought up.

As he rode on, the scenery grew more beautiful and seemed to him still more eloquent of her presence; seemed, in its loveliness, to be part and parcel of the beautiful girl whom he had held in his hands but to let slip and lose forever. He was so touched by his thoughts, that once or twice he found himself breathing her name softly and sadly. The horse was a good one, and carried him quite easily; he paid little attention to his way, so absorbed was he in his reverie, and when he suddenly found himself at a part of the road from which forks branched right and left, he pulled up, realizing that he had forgotten the precise directions which Johnson had given him.

He was in a dilemma. It would be night before very long, and it behooved him to reach the camp without delay. He looked from right to left with a puzzled frown; then it struck him that he would let the horse choose; no doubt it had often traveled the road before. The horse, after a moment’s hesitation, chose the left fork—and the wrong one.

Trafford rode on and found the road rougher than the one he had left, and more winding. After a time it dwindled to a mere track; but Trafford had no serious misgivings, for he thought that there would not be any very great traffic between Three Star and the station, and he trusted, in this case wrongly, to his horse. But presently the horse stopped and looked vaguely from side to side, as a horse will do when it wonders what its master would be at.

Trafford did not like to turn back, for he was as uncertain about the other road as he was concerning this, and it occurred to him that the track must lead somewhere, so he put the horse to a trot and rode on. After covering some miles, the track mounted a hill to escape a torrent, and then, to Trafford’s disappointment, dipped down again toward the valley.

Half-way down he pulled up to consider. The solitude was intense, and, to a man fresh from the crowds of England, somewhat awe-inspiring. The mountains towered above him, the torrent roared in the valley below, a bird rose from the undergrowth and darted upward with a shrill cry.

As he sat upon his horse and gazed round him, he thought of his past life and all its follies. What was human ambition and all its vexing vanities worth in this vast solitude? He thought of Esmeralda, and his heart ached for his wife as only a strong man’s can ache. If she were only by his side now, to share with him the mystic beauty of this scene, the solitude would then be transformed to a paradise like to that in which our forefather and foremother moved and loved.

As the reflection lingered in his mind, he heard the soft thud, thud of horses’ feet. It came so softly as to seem rather a part of his waking dreams than reality. He sat motionless for a moment or two; then he remembered the driver’s warning, and, dismounting from his horse, cautiously drew it behind a projecting rock, and watched and listened.

He had been sitting motionless so long that it was not likely the new-comer would be aware of his presence. As he leaned against the saddle, he wondered who this sharer of his solitude could be. The thud, thud came nearer, and presently, in the clear evening air, Trafford saw emerging from behind a clump of trees the horse and rider. He did not move a muscle—not even when he saw that the rider was a woman.

He did not move or cry out even when he saw that the woman was Esmeralda.

As a matter of fact, he did not believe his eyes. He had eaten nothing since the morning; his nerves were overstrained; the solitude had wrought its influence upon him. In simple truth, he thought that he was looking upon a vision of the imagination—a vision called up by the aching longing in his heart, by his nervous and overwrought condition.

Vision or reality, she was passing before him. He could see the exquisite outline of her profile, could catch the glimpse of the red-gold hair that hung in tangled confusion upon her shoulders.

She was dressed in the short skirt and blue blouse in which he had pictured her all the way along. She looked weary, and there was something of anxiety figured in the graceful, drooping form.

She was riding down the slope and away from him. In another moment or two she would have disappeared. With a sob he stretched out his arms toward her and breathed her name, but so softly that the still air carried it only a few yards.

Then suddenly the reality of her presence began to dawn upon him. He started upright, with his hand upon the saddle, ready to spring upon the horse and follow her; but as he did so he heard the thud of another horse coming from the direction in which she was going, and he stood stock-still and waited, his heart beating so fast that it seemed as if about to leap from his bosom.

The sound came nearer, and it was evident that Esmeralda, if indeed it was she, heard it also, for she pulled up her horse and raised her head in a listening and expectant attitude.

After a moment or two, which seemed an age to Trafford, a horseman came in sight, saw Esmeralda, and pulled up his animal almost upon its haunches. Trafford saw the two regard each other for a moment, then the horseman sprung from his saddle, and rushing forward, caught Esmeralda as she seemed about to fall, and Trafford heard her voice exclaim with joy, a world of joy and relief:

“Norman!”

Trafford stood motionless as a stone, then he reeled, and, as he clutched the bridle, uttered a cry of rage and anguish.

He was right; he had found them together.

Esmeralda and Norman heard the cry, and both turned their heads in his direction, but he was completely hidden behind the rocks, and they saw nothing of him.

“Quick! Mount, Esmeralda!” said Norman. “Be brave, dear girl!” and he put her in the saddle and gained his own. Holding her bridle, he led her away at a hard gallop, leaving the solitary figure dazed and rendered incapable of movement by the paroxysm of wounded love and furious jealousy which possessed him as by a devil.

Norman and Esmeralda rode on for some time in compulsory silence, then, when they heard no sound of pursuers, Esmeralda turned to him:

“Norman! You here?” she panted.

“Yes, Esmeralda,” he said, breathlessly. “I’m here. Did you think I should not come after you? Did you think I should not know where you had gone when you took flight?”

Esmeralda sighed.

“Oh, Norman!” she breathed, “but why did you come?”

“I came to clear up this hideous mistake, to take you back,” he said.

“Mistake?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he exclaimed. “But I will tell you all about it, everything, when I have got you to a place of safety, when we have reached Three Star. Tell me what has happened to you. I only reached the camp just before you were carried away, just in time to join in the search for you.”

Esmeralda pushed the hair from her brow with a weary, almost bewildered gesture.

“It all seems like a dream, a horrible dream,” she said; and slowly and with many breaks she gave him an account of her capture, detention in the hut, and escape.

Norman regarded her with wondering admiration.

“Is there any woman in the world so brave as you are, Esmeralda?” he exclaimed. “And you, a slip of a girl—I beg your pardon, dear—managed to get away from a ruffian like that, with a woman to help him! But that was hours ago. Why did you not ride straight to the camp?”

Esmeralda shook her head.

“It would not have been safe,” she said. “They would guess that I should do that, and would have followed and overtaken me. As it was, Simon came back and followed on my track, and I had to break it short by taking the horse up the stream and going into the wood. I lay hid there for hours; twice he passed me almost close, and it was not until I saw him ride back across the hill that I dared venture to make for the camp. Then I lost my way, and have been wandering about for—oh, I do not know how long. Perhaps I must have got in the direction of the hut again, and no doubt that was Simon we heard cry out just now.”

“Then why did he not follow, or fire on us?” said Norman.

“I don’t know,” she said, wearily. “He may have been afraid, seeing you.”

“Or he may have gone back for help,” said Norman. “We must ride on.”

“Won’t you tell me something about—about Lilias?” said Esmeralda in a low and faltering voice.

“Lilias is quite well,” said Norman, with sudden color. “But it is about Trafford I want to tell you.”

“Trafford!”

Her voice was scarcely audible, and it quivered as it spoke the beloved name.

“Yes,” he said. “But I will not tell you any more until you are quite safe, and have rested. You are too overdone and exhausted now. But, Esmeralda, it will all come right.” He laid his hand upon hers. “How glad they will be to see you at the camp! I can’t tell you the state they were in until Varley and I found that scoundrel’s note.”

“What note?” asked Esmeralda.

“The note saying that he held you to ransom, and that he would give you up on payment of two hundred pounds. ‘The fool!’ as Taffy said; ‘we would have given him two thousand, twenty thousand!’ and he laughed. ‘Three Star would willingly pay every penny it possessed to recover its Esmeralda.’”

“I didn’t know that he had made that offer,” said Esmeralda. “Then I need not have escaped, if I had known it; and need not have frightened that poor woman out of her wits. I had only to wait where I was.”

“Yes,” said Norman. “But you’ve got the better of them. Varley will have had his ride for nothing.”

“His ride?”

“Yes. When we found the note we made a collection, and could only scrape up about fifty pounds. Unfortunately, the bank agent had taken all the gold from the camp the day previously. So Varley started off for Wally-Wally to get the balance, and he was to take the two hundred to a place called the Raven Claim to-night. It’s a tremendous ride, and some of the boys are in deadly fear that he won’t do it; but I’ll back Varley. They wanted to surround the place in a body, but I dissuaded them from that course. I felt sure that Simon would take precautions. I was afraid that any attempt to rescue you might place you in danger.”

“Varley! Raven Claim! To-night!” she murmured. “Then he’s going there now?”

Norman nodded, and laughed.

“Yes; and they’ll be sold! You’ll be safe in camp by that time.”

But Esmeralda did not laugh. Instead, she uttered a cry, and pulled up her horse.

“What’s the matter?” asked Norman, whose masculine brain did not move as quickly as Esmeralda’s.

“Don’t you see!” she almost wailed. “He will go there with the money—they will be waiting for him—he will not believe that I have escaped, and think that they mean to trick him. They will set on him for the money! He will be killed! Oh, Varley, Varley!” she panted in broken sentences.

“My God!” said Norman. “I never thought of that! What is to be done?”

“There is only one thing to do,” said Esmeralda. “We must ride for the claim. We must get there before Varley. We must! we must!”

“No—no,” said Norman; “I will go alone. You are not fit—you must stay here or make for the camp.”

Esmeralda laughed hysterically in his face.

“And leave Varley?” she said. “No; I must be there to give myself up. Oh, don’t talk, don’t argue! He may be riding to his death at this very moment! Come, I know the way;” and in a frenzy of love and terror she struck her tired horse into a gallop.