"If you asked me I should say No—I should say, 'Go and marry the man who is more worthy of you than I.'"
"And if I told you that I could never marry that man— never, never; that I should feel it a crime to marry him when my heart and soul belonged to you?"
"Then I would say, 'Go back, Elsie, and wait a year, two years, till you are sure of yourself—till I have made a new life and a new home away from the shadow of old sin, and sorrow, and disgrace.' I should say, 'Give yourself the chance of repenting'".
"And if I gave myself the chance, and if I did not repent, but longed more ardently than now that I might make your happiness as you would make mine, what then?"
"Then I would take you in my arms, and bid you never leave them more."
They crossed the river silently, and he led her to the house. No one was stirring. He lifted her down at the log steps of the verandah. A kangaroo hound barked, and presently a sleepy. Islander came slouching out of the back premises. Blake took Elsie's hand.
"I will leave you now and ride back to Baròlin. I am to be there for a week, making final arrangements. If you wish to communicate with me, that address would find me at once. But we part, Elsie, for ever."
"Do we part?" she cried, with a wild, half tearful laugh. "I will write to you. We shall see."
"Good-bye," he said, afraid of her weakness, tearing himself away lest his presence should influence her against what was best for her future; "Good-bye, my dear love. God bless and keep you."
He mounted Abatos and rode away.
Elsie went straight to Ina's room. Ina was wide awake. It had not occurred to Elsie that her unexpected appearance might give her sister a shock which might be hurtful. Ina gazed at her at first as though she were a ghost. Poor Ina had the look of one who had become used lately to seeing ghosts. She said not one word, did not utter a cry.
"Ina," said Elsie, going to the bed and taking the young
