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Out of doors there was a blinding glare, and the heat had drawn the scent out of the unseasoned pine with which Tarrong was mostly built, till the air was filled with a sort of incense. Peggy came in hot and short-tempered.
Her father dead! He could not bear to see her grief, and the thought of it made him determined to get away as quickly as possible. Quietly he awoke his mother, and told her what had happened, and by dawn was well on his way to Tarrong to catch the train to Sydney.
"Better git the bloomin' bullock-dray," growled Dan, quite keen to see this aggregation of luggage; and foreseeing something to talk about for the next three months. "She must ha' come up to start a store, I reckon," said Dan; and off he went to struggle with boxes for the next half-hour or so. Over Mary Grant's experiences at the Tarrong Hotel we will not linger.
A Kickapoo Indian in full war-paint, arriving suddenly in a little English village, could not have created more excitement than she did at Tarrong.
Like an arrow from the bow the young fellow sent his big thoroughbred horse across the paddocks, making a bee line over fences and everything for Tarrong, while Ellen Harriott hurried in to pack up a few things. "Can I help you at all?" said Carew, following her into the house. I'd like to be some use, don't you know; but in this country I seem to be so dashed useless.
On Monday, Hugh, Poss, and Binjie had to go out to an outlying paddock to draft a lot of station-sheep from a mob of travelling-sheep. As this meant a long, hard job, the three breakfasted by candlelight a good old fashion, this, but rather forgotten lately and Blake also turned out for early breakfast, as he wanted to get his drive to Tarrong over while the weather was cool.
He was young Isaacstein, son of the Tarrong storekeeper, a would-be sportsman, would-be gambler, would-be lady-killer, would-be everything, who only succeeded in making himself a cheap bar-room loafer; but he was quite satisfied that he was the right thing. "What's doing, Gav?" he said. "Who's the letter from?" "Oh, business business" said Gavan Blake. "What's doing with you?" "Doing!
I've lost heart over things lately, and it will only harm you if we keep up this pretence of being engaged. Nothing can come of it." "Why not? Why can't we wait?" "Wait! To be stuck in Tarrong all my life among these people, and up to my neck in debt! No, little woman, as soon as ever I can get things squared up, I'm off out of this, and I dare say we'll never see each other again.
"Who is this man?" he said. Peggy had never quite forgiven his domineering at Tarrong, and turned on him with a snap. "This is my 'usband," she said, "Mr. Patrick Henery Considine. Him whose name is put down as Keogh on the marriage stiffykit I give you." Then Blake knew that he had played and lost lost hopelessly, irretrievably. But there was yet something to do to secure his own safety.
She marched into the bar, where Dan, the landlord's son, was sweeping, while Mrs. Connellan, the landlady, was wiping glasses in the midst of a stale fragrance of overnight beer and tobacco-smoke. "I am going to Kuryong," said the young lady, "and I expected to meet Mr. Gordon here. Is he here?" Mrs. Connellan looked at her open-eyed. Such an apparition was not often seen in Tarrong. Mr. and Mrs.
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