‘What do you mean to do when you land?’ Caldigate asked.

All that had been settled between them very exactly long since.  At a town called Nobble, about three hundred miles west of Sydney, there lived a man, supposed to be knowing in gold, named Crinkett, with whom they had corresponded, and to whom they intended, in the first instance, to apply.  And about twenty miles beyond Nobble were the new and now much reputed Ahalala diggings, at which they purposed to make their first debut.  It had been decided that they would go direct from Melbourne to Nobble,—­not round by Sydney so as to see more of the world, and thus spend more money,—­but by the direct route, taking the railway to Albury and the coaches, which they were informed were running between Albury and Nobble.  And it had also been determined that they would spend but two nights in Melbourne,—­’just to get their things washed,’—­so keen had they been in their determination to begin their work.  But on all these matters there had been no discussion now for a month, nor even an allusion to them.

‘What do you mean to do when we land?’ Caldigate asked on that last day.

’I thought all that was settled.  But I suppose you are going to change everything?’

’I am going to change nothing.  Only you seem to have got into such a way of life that I didn’t know whether you would be prepared for serious work.’

‘I shall be as well prepared as you are, I don’t doubt,’ said Dick.  ’I have no impediment of any kind.’

’I certainly have none.  Then we will start by the first train on Wednesday morning for Albury.  We must have our heavy things sent round by sea to Sydney, and get them from there as best we can.  When we are a little fixed, one of us can run down to Sydney.’

And so it was settled, without any real confidence between them, but in conformity with their previous arrangements.

It was on the evening of the same day, after they had sighted Cape Otway, that Mrs. Smith and Caldigate began their last conversation on board the Goldfinder,—­a conversation which lasted, with one or two interruptions, late into the night.

‘So we have come to the end of it,’ she said.

‘To the end of what?’

’To the end of all that is pleasant and easy and safe.  Don’t you remember my telling you how I dreaded the finish?  Here I have been fairly comfortable and have in many respects enjoyed it.  I have had you to talk to; and there has been a flavour of old days about it.  What shall I be doing this time to-morrow?’

‘I don’t know your plans.’

’Exactly;—­and I have not told you, because I would not have you bothered with me when I land.  You have enough on your own hands; and if I were to be a burden to you now it might be a serious trouble.  I am afraid poor Mr. Shand objects to me.’

‘You don’t think that would stand in my way?’

’It stands in mine.  Of course, with your pride and your obstinacy you would tell Mr. Shand to go to—­the devil if he ventured to object to any little delay that might be occasioned by looking after me.  Then Mr. Shand would go—­there, or elsewhere; and all your plans would be broken up, and you would be without a companion.’