to take down the slip panels of the station
fence; another minute, and I had galloped up
to the front entrance at a pace that dashed the
gravel from the trim-kept paths.

The door opened, and a gush of light streamed
upon the darkness, glinting on the sides of the
reeking horse. Mr. Christmas himself—old,
but hale and vigorous as many a younger man
—peered out into the night with an expression
of surprise. In beyond, were the evidences of
calm and refinement. A quiet comfort dwelt in
the little glimpse I had of the room, that settled
upon me even then, rough bushman as I was,
with a pleasing sense. I can recal myself,
bending below the withers of the panting horse,
to peer under the rather low verandah, my dress
wet with perspiration from his heavy sides,
and my hand pressing the moisture from his
shoulder till I heard it fall pattering on the
gravel.

Mr. Christmas thought it was the working
overseer, for he said, "Is that you, Curran?"
and without waiting for a reply, he turned to
place the light upon the table, and then stepped
out to where I was.

"Well, Curran, what is it? I thought you
were at the fire."

"It is not Curran, sir," I replied, "but Ned,
the shepherd. I have come to tell you—"

"Better have your supper first, Ned. You've
had a hard ride, I see. Are the sheep all
right?"

"There is no time for supper. Red Jim!"

I hurriedly told him all I knew. He heard
me to the end without once interrupting, and
then said quickly, " Come in. There is indeed
no time to lose."

I stepped after him across the pleasant room,
where there were seated two ladies reading.

"Ladies," said Mr. Christmas, as gracefully
as though I held the position of a gentleman
rather than that of a servant: "this is Ned
Graham, the shepherd, to whom you remember
sending medicine and comforts during his
illness." The ladies bowed pleasantly as Mr.
Christmas continued, "He is now come to
return your kindness with interest."

They looked at me with some surprise:
principally, I think, because of the emphatic,
distinct way in which the last few words were
spoken. After a pause, the master said, "Amelia,
Emily—I wish to speak to you both for a
moment."

They all three left the room, while I, curious
in such matters, looked at the open books that
were lying on the table. One was Ivanhoe; a
second some French work; and that opposite
the old gentleman's chair, a large family Bible.

In a few minutes I heard Mr. Christmas's
step as he returned with two double-barrelled
guns. There was a rigid expression on his face,
very different to what I had ever seen there
before: not the slightest evidence of faltering
or fear.

"Are you cool, and a good shot?" were the
first words he uttered.

"I am, sir," I replied, confidently. "Are the
guns loaded, and the ladies safe?"

"They are in as safe a position as I can find
for them, Ned, and the guns are loaded with
coarse shot and ball. You had better see if the
powder is well up into the nipples. I am sorry
to say my caps are none of the best. A shot
missed, may be death to us, and to those I
value more than myself. However, we are in
the hands of God."

"What plan do you purpose, Mr. Christmas?"
I asked, earnestly.

"Take half a glass of brandy, and I will tell
you."

He signed to the sideboard, where a decanter
stood. I was about to follow his suggestion,
when he said, "Stay! Don't pass between the
light and the window. Go round the table.
Everything must wear the appearance of peace.
We cannot tell where they are now, and it
would not do to arouse their suspicions."

In a few minutes the light was extinguished,
the door was bolted, and we stepped quietly out
on the little parterre in front.

"Now," said my master, slowly, " there are
only our two selves to defend my home and my
children. My servants are all absent at a bush
fire that was reported this afternoon, and
everything will depend upon our coolness and
determination. We cannot do otherwise than shoot
to kill. The gang will, of course, enter by the
slip panels, for they will not run the risk of
leaving their horses behind. Then, as the
faintest noise can be heard on such a night as
this, they will not hazard the pulling down of the
fence. We will each take up a position behind
the large posts, take sure aim, and fire low. I'll
fire first."

As silently as spectres, we walked across to
the paddock entrance, and stood opposite each
other at the place indicated. With straining
eyes and beating heart, I peered into the obscurity.
Afar, I thought I could see a faint tint on
the sky, like the reflexion of the ruffian's
campfire. The night was terribly silent and oppressive.
There was nothing apparently on which
to exercise the senses but a kind of overpowering
hush. There was a dim hazy curtain across
the sky, and the night was of a black darkness.
I should have thought oftentimes that I was
dreaming, were it not for the patient motionless
figure opposite, and the faint stars.
Inaction under such circumstances is hardly to
be borne, and my thoughts often wandered from
their very intensity. I began to speculate how
long it would take a star to pass some black
ragged patch of cloud, and then I would look
before me and see it dancing on the darkness.
Then the face of Red Jim would grow upon me,
till I saw the hideous features close to where I
stood. Still, no sound broke on the dark
shrouding night. Sometimes I thought, with a
chilly start, that the bushrangers might have
approached the house by some other way, but
up behind me all was quiet.

At last there came a thin faint murmur that
barely caught the ear, and as I listened to know
if it were real, I caught another but better
defined noise that overpowered the first. At
last I detected something that might be the