Our mutual astonishment and satisfaction at this extraordinary and unexpected meeting was, I need not say, very great, although I certainly thought I perceived a certain dryness and want of cordiality in Lindsay’s manner towards me.  But for this I made every allowance, believing it to proceed from a doubt of my innocence, if not a conviction of my guilt, in the matter for which I had been transported.  He in short, it seemed to me, could not forget that, in speaking to me, although an old comrade, he was speaking to a convicted felon.  However, notwithstanding this feeling on his part, we talked freely of old stories; and as we were apart from the men, I did not hesitate, amongst other things, to allude to my misfortune, nor to charge the blame of it on Digby.

“Well,” said the sergeant, in reply to my remarks on this subject, “since you have mentioned the matter yourself, Lorimer, I am glad to hear you say so—­that is, to hear you say that you are innocent of that rascally business; for, putting your assertions, so solemnly made, to what my wife says—­for she has some queer stories of that fellow Digby—­I have no doubt now of your innocence.”

“Your wife!” exclaimed I in some amazement.  “In the first place, then, you are married; in the next, how on earth, if I may ask, should she know anything of Digby?”

“Why, man, Susan Blaikie is my wife,” replied the sergeant, laughing; “and she’s not, I take it, half a dozen miles from us at this moment.  I left her safe and sound in my quarters in Liverpool not two hours ago; and right glad will she be to see you, when you can make it convenient to give us a call.  But of that we will speak more hereafter.”

Like two or three other things recorded in this little history, this information gave me much surprise, but, like few of them, much gratification also; as I had feared the worst for poor Susan, seeing that she had been discharged from her situation, as I had no doubt without a character, probably under a suspicion of being concerned with me in the alleged robbery.

By the time I had expressed the surprise and satisfaction which Sergeant Lindsay’s communication had given me, we had reached the house, when all conversation between us of a private nature ceased for the time.

The first business now was to set some refreshment before the men.  This was quickly done; the sergeant, my father, and I taking care of ourselves in a similar way in another apartment.  The next was to take the immediate matter in hand into consideration.  Accordingly, we three formed ourselves into a council of war, and, after some deliberation, came to the following resolutions:—­That we should, soldiers and all, keep closely within doors during the remainder of the afternoon; and that as it was more than probable the bushmen would make their attack that very night, and as it was likely they would know nothing of the military being in the house, seeing that they always kept at a distance during the day, or lay concealed in hidden places, we should take them by surprise; that, for this purpose, we should remain up all night, and place ourselves, with loaded arms, by the windows, and in such other situations as would enable us to see them approaching, without being seen by them.