The sailors had taken the key of the Captain’s cabin with them, and by the time Evan and the mate were liberated the crew of the Francis Cadman and all the sailors under contract to the distracted owners of vessels riding idle and helpless on Corio Bay and Hobson’s Bay had disappeared amongst the ti-tree fringing the shore, leaving the ship’s boats afloat.  Five sailors remained aboard—­one, the boatswain, was temporarily disabled; two of the others were sick and bedridden.  Captain Evan stood on the main hatchway and reviewed the situation, and in his manner of expressing himself there remained no trace whatever of the suave autocrat of the cabins.  In less than an hour his voyage had been converted into an utter and ignominious failure.

The journey from the Heads to the river mouth in the wake of the tug-boat Platypus, slow and toil some, set Jim in an itch of impatience.  He was longing to feel land under his feet once more, and was leaning over the side, his awkwardly-packed canvas bag of belongings at his feet, watching the line of Liardit Beach, with its few dingy buildings standing back from the sea, apprehensive lest this, after all, should prove to be Melbourne, his brave city of refuge, when Lucy Woodrow approached him to say farewell.

‘They tell me we are very near our journey’s end,’ she said.  ’I wish to ask you a favour before you go.’

She looked strong and confident, and he was grateful there were to be no tears, having anticipated something like a scene.  She had prepared to land, too, and wore a dark dress he had not seen before, and a quaint little hat that became her well.  He thought her beautiful.  The idea of parting with her hurt now, and his pulse stirred impatiently.  The admiration in his eyes caused a flush to relieve the pale olive of her cheeks.

‘I’ll do anything you ask,’ he said,

’It is a very little thing.  This is Mrs. Macdougal’s address.  I want you to promise to write to me.’

‘I will.’

’Your life in this new land will be active and adventurous, I’m sure, but some day, in one month, or two, or perhaps a year, you will find time to send me a letter to say how you are, and how the strange country pleases you?’

‘You are the only human creature I have met in friendship,’ he said, betrayed into warmth by her unaffected concern.  ’I can never forget you, Lucy.’  He used her Christian name for the first time.

‘Thank you, James,’ she answered simply.

‘No, no—­Jim!  Jim!’ He had been called James only by the parson and the magistrates of Chisley, and he despised the unctuousness that seemed to cling to the name.

‘Thank you, Jim,’ she said, smiling.  ‘You see,’ she continued gravely, ’what you have done for me makes it impossible that I can ever be careless about your welfare.  I shall always want to know where you are, and if you are well and happy.’

‘I’m not used to this sort of thing,’ he stammered.