had given up her own happiness; and bitter flashes of thought would intervene, notwithstanding even the self-contempt and reproach with which she became aware of them. That doubtful complicated matter, most hard and difficult of mortal problems, pressed hard upon Nettie's mind and heart. In former days, when she scornfully denied it to be self-sacrifice, and laboured on, always indomitable, unconscious that what she did was anything more than the simplest duty and necessity, all was well with the dauntless, all-enterprising soul; but growing knowledge of her own heart, of other hearts, cast dark and perplexing shades upon Nettie, as upon all other wayfarers in these complex paths. The effect upon her mind was different from the effect to be expected according to modern sentimental ethics. Nettie had never doubted of the true duty, the true necessity, of her position, till she became conscious of her vast sacrifice. Then a hundred doubts appalled her. Was she so entirely right as she had supposed? Was it best to relieve the helpless hands of Fred and Susan of their natural duties, and bear these burdens for them, and disable herself when her time came from the nobler natural yoke in which her full womanly influence might have told to an extent impossible to it now? These questions made Nettie's head, which knew no fanciful pangs, ache with painful thought, and confused her heart and dimmed her lights when she most needed them to burn brightly. While, at the very time when these doubts assailed her, her sister's repetitions and the rising discontent and agitations of the children, came in to overcloud the whole business in a mist of sick impatience and disgust. Return to Australia was never out of Susan's mind, never absent from her pertinacious foolish lips. Little Freddy harped upon it all day long, and so did his brother and sister. Nettie said nothing, but retired with exasperated weariness upon her own

thoughts sometimes thinking, tired of the conflict, why not give in to them? why not complete the offering, and remove once for all into the region of impossibility, that contradictory longing for another life that still stirred by times in her heart? She had never given expression to this weary inclination to make an end of it, which sometimes assailed her fatigued soul; but this was the condition in which Richard Chatham's visit found her, when that Bushman, breathing of the wilds and the winds, came down the quiet suburban road to St Roque's, and filling the whole little parlour with his beard and his presence, came stumbling into the confined room, where Mrs Fred still lay on the sofa, and Nettie pursued her endless work.

"Sorry to hear of the poor doctor's accident," said the Australian, to whom Fred bore that title. "But he always was a bit of a rover; though it's sad when it comes to that. And so you are thinking of a return to the old colony? Can't do better, I should say-there ain't room in this blessed old country for anything but tax-gatherers and gossips. I can't find enough air to breathe for my part-and what there is, is taxed-leastways the light is, which is all the same. Well, Mrs Rider! say the word, ma'am, and Am at your disposal. I'm not particular for a month or two, so as I get home before next summer; and if you'll only tell me your time, I'll make mine suit, and do the best I can for you all. Miss Nettie's afraid of the voyage, is she? That's a new line for her, I believe. Something taken her fancy in this horrid old box of a place, eh? Ha! ha! but I'll be head-nurse and courier to the party, Miss Nettie, if you trust yourselves to me."

"We don't mean to go back, thank you," said Nettie. "It is only a fancy of Susan's. Nobody ever dreamt of going back. It is much too expensive and troublesome to be done so easily. Now we are here, we mean to stay."

The Bushman looked a little startled, and his lips formed into a whistle of astonishment, which Nettie's resolute little face kept inaudible. "Taken your fancy very much, eh, Miss Nettie ?" said the jocular savage, who fancied raillery of one kind or other the proper style of conversation to address to a young lady. Nettie gave that big hero a flashing sudden glance which silenced him. Mr Chatham once more formed an inaudible whew! with his lips, and looked at Mrs Fred.

"But your heart inclines to the old colony, Miss Susan -I beg your pardon-didn't remember what I was saying at that moment. Somehow you look so much as you used to do, barring the cap," said the Australian, "that one forgets all that has happened. You incline to cross the seas again, Mrs Rider, without thinking of the expense?-and very sensible too. There never was a place like this blessed old country for swallowing up a man's money. You'll save as much in a year in the colony as will take you across.'

"That is what I always say ;— but of course my wishes are little thought of," said Mrs Fred, with a sigh;" of course it's Nettie we have to look to now. If she does not choose, to be sure, it does not matter what I wish. Ah! if I don't look different, I feel differentthings are changed now."

The Bushman gave a puzzled glance, first at one sister and then at the other. It occurred to him that Fred had not been so much of a strength and protection to his family as this speech implied, and that Nettie had been the person whom Mrs Rider had to "look to " even before they left that colony for which she now sighed. But Mrs Fred, in her sorrow and her white cap, was an interesting figure to the eyes which were not much accustomed to look upon womankind. He had no doubt hers was a hard case. Nettie sat opposite, very busy, silent, and resolute, flashing dangerous sudden glances occasionally

at her languid sister and their big visitor. It was confusing to meet those brilliant impatient wrathful eyes; though they were wonderfully bright, they put out the wild man of the woods, and made him feel uncomfortable. He turned with relief to those milder orbs which Mrs Fred buried in her handkerchief. Poor little oppressed woman, dependent upon that little arbitrary sister! The sincerest pity awoke in the Bushman's heart.

"Well!" he said, good-humouredly, "I hope you'll come to be of one mind when Miss Nettie thinks it over again; and you have only to drop me a line to let me know, when your plans are formed; and it will go hard with me, but I'll make mine suit them one way or another. All that I can do for you in the way of outfit or securing your pas sages-or even, if you would allow

me

Here the good fellow paused, afraid to venture any further. Nettie looked up in a sudden blaze, and transfixed him with her eye.

"We have enough for everything we want, thank you," said Nettie, looking through and through his guilty benevolent intentions, and bringing a flush of confusion to his honest cheeks. "When I say I cannot afford anything, I don't mean to ask anybody's assistance, Mr Chatham. We can do very well by ourselves. If it came to be best for the children-or if Susan keeps on wishing it, and gets her own way, as she generally does," said Nettie, with heightened colour, dropping her eyes, and going on at double speed with her work, "I daresay we shall manage it as we did before. But that is my concern. Nobody in the world has anything to do with it but me."

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"Ob, Nettie, dear, you're giving in at last!-do say you'll go! and Mr Chatham promises he'll take care of us on the way," cried Mrs Fred, clasping her hands. They were thin hands, and looked delicate in contrast with her black dress. She was very interesting,

pathetic, and tender to the rough eyes of the bushranger. He thought that imperative little creature opposite, with her brilliant glances, her small head drooping under those heavy braids of hair, her tiny figure and rapid fingers, looked like a little cruel sprite oppressing the melancholy soul. When Nettie rose from the table, goaded into sudden intolerance by that appeal, the climax of the "continual dropping," and threw her work indig nantly on the table, and called Freddy to come directly, and get dressed for his walk, the impression made by her supposed arbitrary and imperious behaviour was not diminished. She went out disdainful, making no reply, and left those two to a private conference. Then Mrs Fred unbosomed her bereaved heart to that sympathetic stranger. She told him how different everything was now -how hard it was to be dependent even on one's sister-how far other wise things might have been, if poor dear Fred had been more prudent: one way or other, all her life through, Susan had been an injured woman. All her desire was to take the children back to the colony before she died. "If Nettie would but yield!" sighed Mrs Fred, clasping her hands.

"Nettie must yield!" cried the Bushranger, full of emotion; and Susan cried a little, and told him

how much the poor dear children wished it; and knew in her fool's heart that she had driven Nettie to the extremest bounds of pa tience, and that a little more persistence and iteration would gain the day.

In the mean time Nettie went out with Freddy-the other two being at school-and took him across the fields for his afternoon walk. The little fellow talked of Australia all the way, with a childish treachery and betrayal of her cause which went to Nettie's heart. She walked by his side, hearing without listening, throbbing all over with secret disgust, impatience, and despair. She too perceived well enough the approaching crisis. She saw that once more all her own resolution

the purpose of her heart-would be overborne by the hopeless pertinacity of the unconvinceable, unreasoning fool. She did not call her sister hard names she recog nised the quality without giving it its appropriate title-and recognised also, with a bitterness of resistance, yet a sense of the inevitable, not to be described, the certain issue of the unequal contest. What chance had the generous little heart, the hasty temper, the quick and vivacious spirit, against that unwearying, unreasoning pertinacity? Once more she must arise, and go forth to the end of the world; and the sacrifice must be final now.

It was a cold night-a hard, clear Christmas night. The cold was everywhere. It was in the sky, clear as it was; it fell in the rays of the stars, bright as they were; it lay on the crisp frost which covered the fields, and in the rags and tatters of snow which hung from the bushes, making them look like iced scarecrows. It was a cold which you would set your teeth against, walk at, buffet with, perhaps swear at; but it was a cold which would not make you bear malice, like an east wind or damp sou'-wester. It was a cold, too, which, when yielding to the proper antidotes of warm fires and warm rooms, left rather a crisp, braced, pleasant feeling behind.

It had it all its own way at the Garland Ox. That famed public, as it stood with its bare stone walls and unlit windows in the open sky, sheltered only by an old battered yew-tree and a hedge of blackthorn, seemed to offer as yet only a dogged resistance. The cold lay in layers of snow on the roof, meandered in little fretwork and imperfect cobwebs along the window-panes, had fallen in little heaps on the top of the signboard, and even bedabbled the figure of the noble animal represented thereon, giving him the appearance of having been snowballed, and taking away altogether the vernal and festive character which the garland of Lent lilies around his neck was supposed to impress. The fowls and animals had all cowered under the sheds, and the path from the village was as yet silent and solitary, it being too early for the rustics to meet the cold for the sake of the cheer and revelry within. Inside, too, the cold held a sort of neutral ground. A single dip flickered on the table, showing dimly the outline of the large kitchen, though a

VOL. XC.-NO. DLIV.

row of brass candlesticks on the dresser, profusely adorned with holly and laurel, promised that byand-by the tapers would glimmer fair. Christmas eve was only in expectation at the Garland Ox. The fire was banked up with black coal, and the embers beneath glowed only fitfully across the sanded floor, scarcely counteracting the chill from the frosted windows, though now and then shooting forth a light which revealed rows of pewters, clear and highly burnished, hanging from the shelves, and occasionally darted into the depths of the bar, where casks stood, already tapped; and bottles of the vine-leaf design, bearing the labels rum, brandy, &c., and dangling nets of lemons, gave goodly promise of coming joviality. Two individuals sat in the chimney - nook. One was mine host-just such as a host should be, according to the orthodox type, fat, ruddy, short-necked, short-legged, and wheezy. He had gone through the grades of knife-boy and footman ere he attained the dignity of landlord; and a skilful anatomist might perhaps have discovered in his well-fleshed body the different strata belonging to each period. The other was a large and apparently young man, who lay lolling on a bench, and was so disguised by a loose dress, half-sailor, halfnavvy, and by a fur-cap drawn well over his face, that it was hard to see what he was. Between them the hostess-sharp, thin, weasel-likebustled up and down, engaged in what she called righting the hearth. The opinion of the good Sarah Battle relative to a clear fire and a clean hearth is doubtless true and orthodox, though the process by which these are attained is as certainly very disturbing to the domestic economy. It seemed especially so in the present instance, as

3 B

the broom in its sweeps invariably came in contact with mine host's fat legs, and the poker or tongs, or any other implement which required removal, took the same direction, so that he was obliged to be constantly drawing them up or hoisting them round, and sat in a state of harassing defensive warfare. He found little consolation in the stranger, who was silent and unsocial. The Garland Ox had made many overtures without effect, and he was not a man to force his conversation on any guest. At length the stranger began to smoke, and the fragrant fumes of his pipe overcame even the exclusiveness of the host, and forced him to break into colloquy.

"That's fine baccy of yours, sir." The only reply was an outstretched arm with a hairy pouch in it. The Garland Ox accepted the proffer, filled and lit his pipe, puffed, gurgled, gyrated on his stool, choked and puffed again, but at each puff he seemed to abandon the attitude of hostile defence, and to regard all exterior circumstances, including even the eccentric movements of the broom and the flight of missiles, with a most benignant suavity. He was tasting cavendish for the first time.

After a while a loud shuffling of feet and hubbub of voices were heard in the passage.

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Here's the wassailers at last," said mine host, with a loud chuckle; "all the royal family, by Jove."

"Royal family! a pretty royal family," said his helpmate, with scorn-" a set of idle vagabonds all them Dibbles; and a pretty mess they'll make on my sanded floor with their nasty dirty feet."

Presently the door opened, and in rushed twenty or more roughlooking men, some blowing the cold from them, some stamping it out on the floor, and some thrashing it off by beating their arms across their chests. Meantime their leader, with a dark wooden bowl under his arm, had pranced up playfully to the landlord of the Ox, and was shout

The hostess was just in her designation of "vagabonds." The seal of vagabondism was set on the whole party. It bore, perhaps, no visible sign, and yet was as plain as the horn on a rhinoceros. It was common to all. There were patriarch Dibbles, middle-aged Dibbles, and young Dibbles-large Dibbles, middle-sized Dibbles, and small Dibbles; yet all bore the same impress of vagabondism. They breathed it; they walked it; it lurked in every look and in every turn of their loose, shambling gait; vagabondism was evidently a nature hereditary to the Dibbles. There was another trait equally universal

that of ugliness. It was not, however, the scowling low-browed ugliness which looks out garotte, burglary, and murder on the world; but a grotesque and comic ugliness, such as is seen on water-spouts and on the lion-heads of fountains. This ugliness maintained a general likeness throughout, yet had its flights and fancies, and indulged here and there in eccentric touches and variations. The leading feature of the Dibble physiognomy was the nose. In some it had the mangold-wurzel character-coarsely red, warty, and pitted; in some it was slightly fined down to the beetroot standard; in others it took more after the kidney-potato type; but however much toned down or modified, it was always sufficient to identify a Dibble. The other features were worthy of it. The eyes were small and piggy; the mouth large, with loose blubbery lips; the hair was of the lankest and the straightest, tallowy, and of a whitey-brown colour when not grizzled by age.