Harry’s mind was in a tumult; he tried in vain to compose his faculties, to discover some reason for Miss Chris’s action apart from the dreadful possibility that she had really never cared for him.  Now that he had it from her own lips that she could be nothing to him, he refused to accept the situation.  There were barriers raised between them, he would beat them down; there were mistakes, illusions, he would overcome them; he was strong, he would conquer.  Anything was possible but that she had lied to him, but that her warm loving kisses were false and scheming.  His heart scouted that idea with a blind rage that impelled him to hit out in the darkness.  This spiritual fight tore the man of action, racked him limb from limb.  Oh! to have been able to settle it, bare-armed and abreast of a living antagonist in the child’s play of merely physical strife.  He found tears on his cheek and this weakness amazed him, but his thoughts followed each other quickly, disconnectedly, like those of a drunken man; he went home baffled, but clinging to hope with the tenacity of one who feels that despair means death.

Next morning Harry found himself utterly miserable, but still trusting that time would serve to restore Chris her natural cheerful temperament, and bring home to her again the conviction that she really loved him, and then all would be well.

At about half-past two that afternoon Dick Haddon, in his capacity of faithful squire to the two lovers, visited the mine hot-foot, with news for his friend.  Harry was below, but he hastened to answer the boy’s message.  He had dreamed of a sudden repentance on his sweetheart’s part, and his heart beat fast as Dick beckoned him away from McKnight, who was at the windlass.

‘She’s gone away,’ said the boy eagerly.

‘Chris away?  Where’s she gone?’

‘She’s goin’ to Melbourne—­going fer years an’ years.  Mr. Summers is drivin’ her into Yarraman now.  She left a letter for you with mother.  Thought I’d come an’ tell you, ‘case you might want to go after her.’

‘Gone for good!’ This possibility had not occurred to the young man.  ’She left a letter for me?  Are you sure it’s for me?’

‘Yes, yes; mother’s got it.  If I was you I’d get it at once; an’ I’d—­I’d—­’ Dick was much more excited than Harry; he was eager to spur his friend to action.

‘How long have they been gone?’ asked Harry, as he hastened towards the township.  He felt that this was a crisis, that action was called for, but the news had confused him.  He was fighting with the fear that she was taking this course to avoid him for the reason that his connection with her misfortunes had made him hateful to her.  He burned to read her letter, but he had no mind for heroic schemes or projects.

‘On’y about a quarter of an hour,’ said Dick in answer to his question.  ‘They can’t’ve gone far.’

‘You’re sure she was going to.  Melbourne—­going for good?’