Miss Chris called in at Mrs. Haddon’s home on evening shortly after tea.  She had not been to chapel, and was anxious about her father, who had absented himself from his duties as superintendent of late and whose behaviour had been most extraordinary when she called on him on two or three occasions during the week.  She was afraid of fever, and sought advice from Mrs. Haddon, who unhesitatingly recommended camomile tea.  Then Dick’s ailment was discussed and Chris, much concerned, went and sat by the boy, who cowered over his book, too full to answer her kind inquiries.  She put an arm about him and talked with tender solicitude; she sympathised with him in his troubles, and was angry with all his enemies, more especially the police, whose folly amazed her.  Here a large tear rolled down Dick’s nose and splashed upon the open page, and when she pressed him to tell all he might know and not to suffer abuse and shame to shield some wicked villain, he quite collapsed, and sat with his head sunk upon his arms, sobbing hysterically.  This was so unlike the boy that Christina was quite amazed, and her eyes travelled anxiously to and from Dick’s bowed head and his mother’s distressed face.  Then the women, to give him time to recover himself, sat together talking of other matters—­Harry Hardy mainly—­and Dick, ashamed of his tears, crept away to bury his effeminate sobs amongst the Cape broom in the garden.

Dick had not sat alone more than a minute when he heard a sharp whistle from the back.  It was Jacker Mack’s whistle and at first Dick did not respond, but sat mopping his tears with his sleeves.  The whistle was repeated three or four times, and at length he determined to meet Jacker, thinking there might be some news about the reef in the Mount of Gold.  He passed out through the side gate, and along to the fowl-house at the corner, behind which he expected to find his mate sitting.  But when he reached the corner a pair of strong arms snatched him from the ground, and he was borne away at a rapid pace in the direction of Wilson’s paddock.  His face was crushed against the breast of the man who held him, in such a way that it was impossible for him to utter the slightest sound.

Across the flat in the shallow quarry he was thrown to the ground, and for a moment he caught a glimp of his captor in the darkness, a powerfully built man, wearing a viator cap that covered the whole of his face and head, with the exception of the eyes.

‘Let one yelp out o’ you an’ I’ll crush yer head with a rock!’ whispered the man ferociously.

Dick was blindfolded and gagged, and his arms and legs were tied with rope, his enemy kneeling on him the while and hurting him badly in his brutal haste.

The boy was caught up again and thrown on the man’s shoulder, and the journey was continued at a trot.  He knew when the bush was reached, because here a fence had to be climbed.  He tried to understand what this adventure might mean, but his thoughts were all confused and the gag made breathing so difficult that once or twice he feared he was going to die.