Durham awakened with a sense of oppression.

For the moment he could not recall where he was. It seemed as though some sound had disturbed him, yet before he opened his eyes he realised the utter silence which reigned.

It was the silence which brought back to him where he was. He had fallen asleep as he lay in the hammock chair on the verandah at Waroona Downs.

In his half-awakened state he made an effort to sit up. But he could not move—arms, legs, body were held as though in paralysis. He could only open his eyes.

Before him, in the faint light shed by the down-turned lamp, he saw the figure of a man, leaning slightly forward, clad in the attire of an ordinary bushman—an unbuttoned jacket hanging loosely open over a cotton shirt; tweed trousers secured at the waist by a narrow strap; travel-stained leggings and heavy boots with well-worn spurs dangling at the heels. The head was covered by a soft felt hat pulled forward, shading the upper part of the face, while the lower was hidden by a thick growth of yellow beard. The hair, where it showed under the hat, was fair almost to whiteness and close-cropped. Eyebrows and lashes of the same light hue gave a sinister expression to the eyes.

Durham recognised him at once as the man Eustace had declared called at the bank after office hours.

Mrs. Burke's presentiment had come true! The men from whom he had so lightly offered to protect her had stolen upon him while he slept.

With a frantic plunge he strove to break free, at the same moment opening his mouth to shout a warning. But even as his lips parted, a hand came from behind him and placed a soft muffling substance over his mouth.

"Tie it—tight," the man in front said in a low whisper.

Durham felt the passing of a thong round and round his head. He tried to raise his legs to kick the floor of the verandah, but they were too securely fastened to the sides of the chair. He could move neither hand nor foot. He was as helpless as though he were dead.

The man with the yellow beard bent nearer.

"We'll see you again—later," he whispered. "That's a good horse you were riding—Government property, I think, it was. Well, it has changed owners."

He moved noiselessly away and Durham was left alone. Bracing his muscles, he strained at the cords which bound him, trying to writhe himself free. The chair creaked. In a moment the man with the yellow beard was back.

"If you wriggle for a year you won't get free," he said in a harsh whisper. "But I tell you what you will get; that's a crack on the head to keep you quiet. Do you hear? You lay still, or there'll be an ugly bump on your skull."

He stepped out of sight, and Durham heard the window he had pulled-to quietly pushed open. A rage of mingled anger and jealousy swept over him. Regardless of the threat, he plunged and struggled till the veins in his head were bursting, and he smothered as the muffler over his mouth worked up and covered his nostrils.

Suddenly a sound cut through the night which sent his blood cold.

From within the house there came the wild, terrified shriek of a woman. A hoarse shout blended with it, and then the report of a revolver-shot echoed through the place.

For a few minutes there was silence, deathly, nerve-destroying silence. Durham, trembling with mortification, strained his ears to catch some further sound.

Two shots in quick succession rang out, followed by a rush of scuffling feet, and on the air there came the thud of galloping horses' hoofs.

"They're off, Patsy! The rifle, quick! Quick! Oh, you old fool, be quick! They'll be too far!"

Durham heard the words screamed in a high shrill voice. Thereafter he could only hear the hum of voices dimly.

Presently they came clearer.

"I tell you only two got away, three horses and two men. I saw them. The other's somewhere. Sure I hope I put a bullet through him, and I believed him when he said he was a police inspector. Oh, what a country to come to. To think that the dirty—oh, look out, Patsy! Look out, you old fool!"

The noise of a shot rang through Durham's head as though a pistol had been fired close to his ear. He saw a splinter fly from the verandah post as the bullet glanced off.

"I've hit him! I've hit him! See if he's dead, Patsy. Don't be frightened. I tell you I'll cover him if he moves."

The light spread clear as the lamp was turned up, and Durham heard the slow-moving footsteps of the old man approaching.

"Bedad! It's all tied up he is!"

Quick footsteps came, and as Durham turned his eyes he saw, looking down at him, with her hair flying loose, her cheeks white, and her eyes wild with excitement, Nora Burke.

"What has happened? What does it mean?" she said slowly. "Patsy, get a knife and—no, let me."

She reached and caught hold of the cord tied round Durham's legs.

"Get a knife, Patsy. It is too tight to untie."

Obedient, the old man brought her the table-knife Durham had used at his supper, and with it she cut through some of the cords.

"Can you move now? Oh, it's a gag they put on you!" she exclaimed, as she leaned over him and cut the thong which held the muffler so securely across his mouth.

"Free my arm, and give me the knife," he said, as soon as he could speak. "I will cut quicker."

She placed the knife in his hand when she had slipped the cord twined round his arm. He could scarcely close his fingers on it, so stiff had they become, and he fumbled clumsily before he had cut himself free. Then he rose to his feet and stood unsteadily.

Patsy had vanished; Mrs. Burke watched him from the shadow at the side of the window.

"You saw them?" he exclaimed. "It was you who fired?"

Before she could answer his eye caught sight of something white lying by the chair. He stooped and picked it up. It was what had been used to muffle his cries, and he saw it was a handkerchief.

Instinctively he opened it out, stepped into the full glare of the light and ran his eyes along the edge. At one corner a name, boldly written, showed clear.

"Charles N. Eustace."

He could not repress an exclamation as he read the name.

"What is it?" she cried, as she came over to him.

She gripped his arm as she also read the name.

"Eustace!" she cried. "Eustace—then it was he who——"

She stopped abruptly, staring at him.

"Did you recognise him?" he asked.

"It was dark—I only saw them against the sky. They had their backs to me as they rode off. I mean it was Eustace who robbed the bank."

"When did you come to that conclusion?"

"I said so at first—I told Brennan. Why did you not arrest him? I told Brennan to go in and arrest him when I left, before you arrived."

"Brennan went to do so, Mrs. Burke."

"Then—how could Eustace be here to-night if Brennan arrested him?"

"Brennan did not arrest him. By the time he reached the dining-room at the bank it was empty. Eustace had disappeared. This handkerchief is the first token of him that has come to light since you saw him."

"Disappeared?"

Her eyes opened to their utmost as she uttered the word. It was as though she could speak nothing more, for she stood staring, her clasped hands pressed to her bosom, her dishevelled hair flowing in great masses and framing her face with its dark folds.

"Disappeared—until to-night," he said. "This handkerchief completes the chain of circumstances which points to Eustace as the person mainly concerned in the robbery."

"How sad, oh, how sad, for his poor wife," she exclaimed. "Why is it, Mr. Durham, that the woman always has to suffer while the man goes free?"

"The man will not go free. There is a net spread for him he cannot possibly escape. Tell me, which way did they ride?"

"You are not going after them? You must not do that—you must not face that risk."

"Risk is the pastime of my life, Mrs. Burke. But in this there is no risk. I shall follow their tracks until I find where they are hiding."

"No, no! You must not go. They will hear you coming; they will see you and then—think! You, who have only just escaped them! What mercy would they show?"

"The mercy I would show them," he answered fiercely. "They have stolen the revolver from my belt. Will you lend me the one you have?"

"It is the only one I have. What shall I do if they come back and I am without it?"

"Then I must go without."

He moved away, but before he had gone two steps she was at his side, her hand on his arm, her face turned appealingly to him.

"No, you must not! Mr. Durham, I ask you. Don't go. You may be throwing your life away. They may come back. Don't leave me alone in the place. Don't, please don't. For my sake, for my sake, stay till it is light."

Gently he took her hand in his and lifted it from his arm.

"You who have been so brave to-night, would not have me show cowardice," he said softly. "These scoundrels must not remain at large a moment longer than we can help. There is more now at stake than the bank's money—I shall not rest till they are captured, for only then shall I feel you are safe."

"But you must not go now."

Her disengaged hand was laid gently, caressingly, on his shoulders; her face, showing white amid the tumbled mass of her tresses, was close to his, so close he could feel the faint fanning of her breath and catch the subtle perfume from her hair. The fingers of the hand he held gripped his in a clinging, lingering clasp; the hand on his shoulder pressed firmer; she leaned against him.

"You must not go—you must not—for my sake," she murmured.

The head drooped till the tumbled tresses met the caressing hand; one pale cheek was so close to his he had but to bend his head to touch it with his lips. His arm slipped round her, drawing her soft, yielding form yet closer to him, and over him there swept a wave of emotion which in another moment had carried him away upon its crest, away from duty, away from the prosaic material world, away from everything but the woman he held.

"You must not say that," he said hoarsely. "You must not. You are the last who should try to turn me from my duty."

"Oh, but I cannot—I cannot let you go—it may be to your death. Wait till day comes," she answered. "There are horses in the paddock. Patsy can fetch you one. If you go now you will only wander aimlessly in the dark while they may turn upon you, if they do not get farther and farther away. Stay till the dawn."

"It will not be dawn for many hours."

"Why, what time do you think it is? It is nearly four."

Nearly four! Then he had slept right through the night so soundly that on waking he thought he had only dozed.

"You will not go? Tell me you will not go?" she whispered, and he felt her hands touch him lightly.

He drew back, fearful lest her fascination again overmastered him.

"Show me which way they went," he said brusquely, as he walked to the steps leading down from the verandah.

As he reached them he turned. Mrs. Burke had drawn back into the shadow beyond the open window.

"Will you show me which way they went?" he repeated.

He saw her hide her face in her hands, and the sound of a choked sob came to him. In a moment he was at her side.

She shrank to the wall as he approached, raising her head and shaking back the loose locks which streamed across her face.

"Go!" she exclaimed. "Go! Leave me! What am I that you should care? Only a poor, weak, sad, and lonely woman. Forget——"

"Do not say that," he answered quickly, his voice vibrating with passion. "You—you do not know—I would give my life——"

"I will not give you cause to say I kept you from your duty, Mr. Durham," she went on. "Forget my weakness. I promise you it shall never occur again."

She slipped past him and stood for a moment at the window, just long enough to flash one look of resentment at him before she passed into the room and extinguished the lamp.