Courtenay be kind enough to describe him?
With pleasure; a tall, lank man, with large
black eyebrows, and bad expression of face.
He had taken the road towards Bendigo.

"Towards Bendigo! The two constables
looked at each other, and a curious look was
exchanged between them. They put their horses
to their mettle that day, but they did not overtake
their man; still they heard on the way that
he was ahead. They tied their weary horses up
that night and pulled up grass for them, not to
lose time in the morning. At a very early hour
they were on the road again, and about ten
o'clock they saw a traveller before them, and
they were sure he was their man. They slackened
their speed that they might overtake him
gradually, and at a convenient spot. They managed
it so well, that at the same moment one was on
each side of him on a lonely part of the road.
He looked into the faces of both, and saw his
fate there. He was about to make a desperate
rush for it, when Griffin seized his bridle, and
Hobbs clapped a revolver to his head.

"'Come quietly with us at once, or you are
a dead man.'

"The wretch let his hands drop helplessly
down while the constables led him off the road
into the bush. When there, Griffin says to him:

"'Do you know this?' holding up the top
of the pipe. The other muttered something.

"'This was found, do you hear, in the frock
of the child you murdered, and worse than
murdered. Move on, and the first sound or
movement you make, you are a corpse.'

"They went on. They were about twenty
miles from Bendigo, but they kept quite in the
bush, to avoid observation and make a short
cut. They had reached the place of our old
encampment long before nightfall, but they
stayed in the scrub until long after the sun
went down. They kept their prisoner sitting
on the ground in front of them. Several times
he had tried to ask them questions, but Griffin,
in a terrible voice, told him to be silent.

"As soon as it became deep dusk, Griffin got
up, put a large piece of wood in their
prisoner's mouth, and secured it by binding his
own handkerchief over his mouth and round
his head. He then bound his arms and hands
very tightly with two saddle-straps, and led
him along, pistol in hand. The fatal hole was
soon found. The wretch made one convulsive
spring backwards, and the noises that he made
in attempting to scream were unearthly. But
there was no escape. Griffin, with superhuman
force, plunged him into the hole, and they listened
with grim pleasure to the splash he made
in the water at the bottom."

"Gracious Heavens!" I exclaimed; "you
don't mean to tell me that you—that they
deliberately murdered a man in that way?"

"I only tell you what occurred, sir," replied
My Orderly (No. 1); "but I don't call it murder.
They threw Cornish's (alias Walsh) saddle and
bridle into the hole, and turned his horse loose.
You may depend upon it, sir, there are few
places that could make such revelations, if
they could speak, as the deep old holes of
Bendigo."

"My good friend," I began, "I am afraid
that——" But just then the loud and wild
corrobberie of black fellows was heard about
two hundred yards off.

"Put fresh caps on your revolvers, men;
they may come down upon us. Any one who
is awake and hears them coming will rouse the
others."

And so, with a brief prayer to Heaven for
those who were far distant, and for protection
throughout the night, I wrapped myself in my
blanket and lay down beside my boy-son (whom
I am training to this life of adventure); nor
was it long before the wild corrobberie chant,
droning in my drowsy ear, grew fainter still, and
then was lost.

THE VIGIL.

THE moon has risen solemnly
   O'er yonder distant height,
No murky clouds have crossed her path,
   Dimming her silver light.
Pure, peaceful, holy, gentle, calm,
   She guards the earth to-night.

Silent and still the cedars spread
   Their branches rough and torn,
And dark and far their shadows fling
   Across the shaven lawn,
Where, tended by a mother's love,
   There rests a sleeping fawn.

Before another sun has set,
   Beneath the cloister's shade,
For ever will the oath be sworn,
   The fatal word be said,
And by the altar's holy shrine
   The sacred promise made.

No more upon these lips of mine
   Shall lover's kiss be pressed:
No more held fast within his arms
   And folded to his breast,
Shall my heart find a hiding-place
   To nestle down and rest.

No one more dear than all beside
   To be my stay through life;
No strong firm arm and steady hand
   To help me in the strife;
No earnest looks of trust and love,
   No tender name of wife!

And I must check the thought as sin
   Which bade my heart rejoice
Whene'er I heard, like some sweet chord,
   The music of his voice,
And knew that he was near me then,
   My own, my love, my choice!

No tiny hands will stroke my cheek,
   And round my neck entwine,
Nor baby smiles, nor baby lips,
   Meet tenderly with mine,
And be beyond expression dear,
   Because a child of thine!

They tell me that rich gifts will come
   Upon me from above,
When through the cloister, dim and still,
   With quiet steps I move,
If I will strive to check and kill
   All thought of earthly love.