‘Look here, Dick,’ said Harry, before parting, ’I owe you an awful lot, my life, p’raps; but for every little thing you do for her I’ll owe you a thousand times more—­a thousand thousand times more.’

Dick’s wise sympathetic eyes looked into his, and the boy nodded gravely.

‘You can swear I’ll stick up fer her,’ he said.

Dick, whilst feeling quite a profound sorrow for Christina Shine, derived no little satisfaction from the position in which he found himself as the champion of oppressed virtue and the leal friend of a devoted young couple, the course of whose true love was running in devious ways.  This was a role he had frequently played in fancy; but it was ever so much more gratifying in serious fact, and he took it up with romantic earnestness, a youthful Don Quixote, heroic in the service of his Dulcinea.

At dinner he favoured his mother with the latest news from the mine and glowing opinions on its prospects; and Mrs. Haddon, more than ever suggestive of roses and apples, beamed across the table upon her wonderful son, perfectly happy in the belief that Frank Hardy would presently be released, that their fortunes were practically made, and that she was the mother of the most astonishing, the cleverest, the bravest, and the handsomest lad that had ever lived.  Dick’s claims to beauty were perhaps a little dubious, but it must be admitted that local opinion, as expressed in local gossip a thousand times a day, went far to justify Mrs. Haddon’s judgment on all the above points.

Dick escaped immediately after dinner, and went straight to Shine’s house.  Fortunately the troopers, in response to information received, were searching a worked-out alluvial flat about a mile off, and Downy was pursuing a delusive clue as far as Cow Flat, so his visit excited no particular attention.

The appearance Chris presented when she admitted him shocked the boy, and stirred his heart with tenderest pity.  Her eyes were deep-set in dark shadows, her cheeks sunken, and there was a peculiar drawn expression about her mouth.  She who had always been a miracle of neatness was negligently dressed, and her beautiful hair hung in pathetic disorder.  She seated herself and drew Dick to her side.

‘Dick,’ she said, ‘I am in great trouble.’

‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘I know—­I’m sorry.’

‘And you are my only friend.’

‘No fear, Harry Hardy’d do anythin’ for you.’

’He cannot, Dick; it is impossible.  He is generous and noble, but he cannot help me.  Dick,’ she drew him closer to her side, and held his hand in hers, ’tell me why you would not speak about the gold-stealers and that crime below.  Was it because of me—­because you wanted to spare me?’

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘God bless you!  God bless you, Dickie!’ she said catching him to her heart and kissing his cheek.  ’I guessed it.  I do not know if it was right, but it was brave and true, and I love you for it.’