‘My colonial! that was rippin’, mum!’ he said.

CHAPTER XXV.

Harry took French leave in McMahon’s stable.  He saddled Click, Mac’s favourite hack, mounted him, and started down the dusty Yarraman road at a gallop.  To Harry that ride was ever afterwards a complete blank.  He started out with his mind full of one thought, an overpowering resolution.  He would seek Chris, he would take her in his arms and defy every fear or scheme or power that might be directed against their love and happiness to part them again.  That was his determination, and, having made it, he rode on blindly, pushing the horse to his best pace.

After passing the Bo Peep the road ran out into treeless open country, slightly undulating.  There were a few trickling rock-strewn creeks to cross, and Harry rushed Click through them like a man riding for his life.  Half an hour’s gallop brought the vehicle in sight, and ten minutes later he came abreast of the buggy and brought his foaming horse to a trot.  ‘Stop!’ he cried; and Summers, much amazed, pulled up his pair.

Harry threw himself from the saddle, leaving the horse his freedom, and, going to the buggy, seized Chris by the hand and drew her down towards him.

‘Chris, I want to speak to you.  You must, you must!’

He helped her from the vehicle.  His attitude was stern and masterful, and Chris yielded with a sense of awe.  Summers regarded the pair for a moment with pursed lips and bent brows; then a grim smile dawned about his mouth, and he touched his horses with the whip and drove slowly away down the road.

Harry and Chris stood upon the plain facing each other, the girl’s hands clasped firmly in those of the man.  Harry was dressed just as he had come from the mine; her neat black frock was marked with the grey dust from his clothes.  He was flushed; his eyes had more of power than of love in them.  She still strove, but felt his strength greater than hers, and her heart beat painfully.  She whispered a pitiful protest when he drew her to his breast and clasped her closely in his irresistible arms.

‘I won’t let you go, my dear love—­I swear I won’t!’ he whispered vehemently.

‘You must.  Oh, why do you make my task so hard?’

‘I won’t let you go from me, Chris.’

She looked into his glowing eyes, and struggled a little, murmuring incoherently.

‘Never, Chris, never!’ he continued.  ‘You love me!  Look into my face an’ deny it if you can.  You can’t!’ he cried, with a flush of triumph.

’I have never denied it, Harry; but I must go.  ‘Tis because I love you—­’

He laughed suddenly with the elation of a conqueror, and stopped her mouth with kisses.

‘You love me, an’ you’d leave me.  Why?  Tell me why, my darling, my dear love!’