Yet it was Alfred—straight, virtually, from his sick-bed. As soon as he could stand (which was not for weeks) he had been taken on board the steamer. The voyage, it was hoped, would do him good, and he was bent on going—to find his wife. It did not do him much good; the eyes that swept at last the territory of his father-in-law were the sunken, wistful eyes of a shattered man.
Nothing had been heard of Gladys. Granville, indeed, had written to Bindarra, but there had been no reply. Of this Alfred had not been informed. From the first moments of returning consciousness he had expressed himself strongly against writing at all.
So, as he crossed the corner of the Yelkin Paddock, all he knew was that Gladys had sailed for Australia six months before.
'If she is here, she is here,' he muttered a hundred times; 'and there will have been no warning of my coming to frighten her away. If she is not here—if she were dead'
His eyes dropped upon the bony hand holding the reins.
