‘Have they told you I am leaving?’ he asked abruptly.

‘Leaving!’ She was about to take a book from the small table, but did not do so.  She turned from him, and stood with face averted, plucking at the vine tendrils.  ‘At once?’ she asked.

‘Almost.  I fear I have outstayed my welcome.’

‘That is hardly fair.’

‘True, you have been very, very kind.  I can never forget your goodness.’

‘You owe me no gratitude.  After all, I am only governess here.’

’I owe you more than anyone else—­I owe you the happiness Boobyalla could never have given me without you.’

‘You have not told me when you leave.’

‘In a week.’

‘A week!  Oh, that is quite a long time!’ Her voice had become stronger, and she passed down the steps and along the garden walk to the children without having turned her face to him.  It seemed that she could not trust herself.

He watched her closely, pressing his lower lip between finger and thumb, and a mirthless smile curled the corners of his mouth.

To Marcia’s great surprise, her husband insisted on her arranging another party in honour of their guest, and to give their neighbours an opportunity of bidding him good-bye.  To be sure, nothing like the Christmas gathering could be attempted, but the Cargills and two or three other families living within twenty miles were to be invited, and Yarra and Bob Hooke were despatched with the invitations.  Hooke had been a shepherd at the five-mile hut till within three days, when a new hand Mack had employed was sent to take his place, and now Bob was acting rouse-about.  Ryder had heard of this new hand as a man of atrocious ugliness—­in fact, the man had been sent away, Marcia said, because the children were frightened half out of their wits at the sight of him.

Lucy received a letter from Jim Done on the afternoon of the day on which Ryder announced his impending departure.  The letter was not a long one, and it lacked the cheerfulness that had characterized Jim’s previous letters to Lucy.  It told of Burton’s death, of his own injuries and his long sickness, and of Ryder’s gallant conduct.  He was now almost recovered, he said, and by the time she received his letter would be back at Jim Crow with the Peetrees, who had returned and pegged out claims on Blanket Flat, having failed to do anything for themselves at Simpson’s Ranges.  Jim admitted that his mate’s death had been a heavy blow.  ’I had not realized how strong our friendship was,’ he wrote.  ’He was the best man I have known, and I do not think it probable I shall ever make such another friend.’  Done concluded with a fervent wish that he might see her soon.  There was the melancholy and the weakness of an invalid in the letter, and it disturbed Lucy greatly.  She recalled, with a poignant sense of remorse, how little he had been in her mind during the past two months while he lay struggling for life.  She felt that she had done him a wrong, and, scarcely understanding herself, gave way to a flood of tears over the wavering lines, every word of which bore evidence of the enfeebled hand of the convalescent.