Bax said this so abruptly that his friend started, and for a few seconds was silent. Then, with a laugh, he replied--

"Well, Bax, you've a blunt way of broaching a subject, but, now that you put the thing to me, I feel inclined to believe that I am. You're a sharper fellow than I gave you credit for, to have found me out so soon."

"It needs but little sharpness to guess that when two young folk are thrown much together and find each other agreeable, they're likely to fall in love."

Bax's voice sank to its deepest tones; he felt that his hopes had now received their deathblow, and in spite of himself he faltered. With a mighty effort he crushed down the feeling, and continued in a tone of forced gaiety--

"Come, I'm rejoiced at your good luck, my boy; she's one of a thousand, Guy."

"So she is," said Guy, "but I'm not so sure of my good luck as you seem to be; for I have not yet ventured to speak to her on the subject of love."

"No?" exclaimed Bax in surprise, "that's strange."

"Why so?" said Guy.

"Because you've had lots of time and opportunity, lad."

"True," said Guy, "I have had enough of both, but some folk are not so bold and prompt as others in this curious matter of love."

"Ah, very true," observed Bax, "some men do take more time than others, and yet it seems to me that there has been time enough for a sharp fellow like you to have settled that question. However, I've no doubt myself of the fact that she loves you, Guy, and I do call that uncommon good luck."

"Well, it may seem a vain thing to say, but I do fancy that she likes me a bit," said the other, in a half jocular tone.

The two friends refrained from mentioning the name of the fair one. The heart and mind of each was filled with one object, but each felt a strange disinclination to mention her name.

"But it seems to me," continued Guy, "that instead of wanting to tell me something, as you said, when you brought me out for a walk in this dreary waste of furze and sand at such a time of night, your real object was to pump me!"

"Not so," replied Bax, in a tone so deep and sad as to surprise his friend; "I brought you here because the lonely place accords with my feelings to-night. I have made up my mind to go to Australia."

Guy stopped abruptly. "You jest, Bax," said he.

"I am in earnest," replied the other, "and since I have forced myself into your confidence, I think it but fair to give you mine. The cause of my going is love! Yes, Guy, I too am in love, but alas! my love is not returned; it is hopeless."

"Say not so," began Guy, earnestly; but his companion went on without noticing the interruption.

"The case is a peculiar one," said he. "I have known the sweet girl long enough to know that she does not love me, and that she _does_ love another man. Moreover, _I_ love that man too. He is my friend; so, the long and the short of it is, I'm going to up-anchor, away to the gold-fields, and leave the coast clear to him."

"This must not be, Bax; you may be wrong in supposing your case hopeless. May I ask her name?"

"Forgive me, Guy, I _must_ not mention it," said Bax.

It is not necessary to weary the reader with the variety of arguments with which Guy plied his friend in order to turn him from his purpose, as they wandered slowly over the sandhills together. He was unsuccessful in his efforts to arouse hope in the bosom of his friend, or to induce him to suspend his determination for a time. Nor was he more fortunate in attempting to make Bax say who was the friend--for whom he was about to make so great a sacrifice,--little suspecting that it was himself!

"Now," said Bax, after having firmly resisted his companion's utmost efforts, "I want you to leave me here alone. I may seem to you to be obstinate and ungracious to-night" (he stopped and seized Guy's hand), "but, believe me, I am not so. My heart is terribly down, and you know I'm a rough matter-of-fact fellow, not given to be sentimental, so I can't speak to you as I would wish on this subject; but wherever I may go in this world, I will never cease to pray for G.o.d's blessing on you and yours, Guy."

"I like to hear you say that, Bax," returned the other; "it will rejoice my heart to think that love for me will be the means of taking you often to the throne of G.o.d."

"You're a good fellow, Guy; perhaps what you have often said to me has not been thrown away as much as you suppose. Come, now, instead of you having to urge the subject on me, I'll ask you to give me a text.

Supposing that you and I were parting _to-night_ for the last time, and that I were going off to Australia _to-morrow_, what would you say to me in the way of advice and encouragement?"

Guy paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then said, "Delight thyself in the Lord, trust also in Him, and He will give thee the desires of thine heart."

"Thank 'ee, lad, I'll not forget the words," said Bax, wringing his friend's hand.

"Perhaps I'll think of another and more suitable text when the time for parting really comes," said Guy, sadly. "Good-night, Bax; mind you come up to the cottage to-morrow, and let me know your plans."

"I shall be busy to-morrow, but I'll write," said Bax, as his friend left him. "Ay," he added, "there goes a real Christian, and a true-hearted friend. Ah's me! I'll never see him more!"

Bax wandered slowly and without aim over the dark waste for some time.

Almost unintentionally he followed the path that led past the Checkers of the Hope. A solitary light burned in one of the lower windows of the old inn, but no sound of revelry issued from its doors. Leaving it behind him, Bax soon found himself standing within a few yards of the tombstone of the ill-fated Mary whose name he bore.

"Poor thing, 'twas a sad fate!" he murmured, as he contemplated the grave of the murdered girl, who had been a cousin of his own grandfather. "Poor Mary, you're at rest now, which is more than I am."

For some minutes Bax stood gazing dreamily at the grave which was barely visible in the faint light afforded by a few stars that shone through the cloudy sky. Suddenly he started, and every fibre of his strong frame was shaken with horror as he beheld the surface of the grave move, and saw, or fancied he saw, a dim figure raise itself partially from the earth.

Bax was no coward in any sense of that word. Many brave men there are who, although quite fearless in regard to danger and death, are the most arrant cowards in the matter of superst.i.tion, and could be made to flee before a mere fancy. But our hero was not one of these. His mind was strong, like his body, and well balanced. He stood his ground and prepared to face the matter out. He would indeed have been more than human if such an unexpected sight, in such circ.u.mstances, had failed to horrify him, but the effect of the shock soon pa.s.sed away.

"Who comes here to disturb me?" said a weak voice that evidently belonged to this ghost.

"Hallo! Jeph, is that you?" exclaimed Bax, springing forward and gazing into the old man's face.

"Ay, it's me, and I'm sorry you've found me out, for I like to be let alone in my grief."

"Why, Jeph, you don't need to be testy with your friend. I'll quit ye this moment if you bid me; but I think you might find a warmer and more fitting bed for your old bones than poor Mary Bax's grave. Come, let me help you up."

Bax said this so kindly, that old Jeph's temporary anger at having been discovered pa.s.sed away.

"Well, well," said he, "the only two people who have found me out are the two I like best, so it don't much matter."

"Indeed," exclaimed the young man in surprise, "who is number two, Jeph?"

"Tommy Bogey. He found me here on the night when Long Orrick was chased by Supple Jim."

"Strange, he never told me about it," said Bax.

"'Cause I told him to hold his tongue," replied Jeph, "and Tommy's a good fellow and knows how to shut his mouth w'en a friend asks him to-- as I now ask you, Bax, for I don't want people know that I come here every night."

"What! do you come here _every_ night?" cried Bax in surprise.

"Ay, every night, fair weather and foul; I've been used to both for a long time now, and I'm too tough to be easily damaged."

"But why do you this, Jeph? You are not mad! If you were, I could understand it."

"No matter, no matter," said the old man, turning to gaze at the tombstone before quitting the place. "Some people are fond of having secrets. I've got one, and I like to keep it."

"Well, I won't try to pump it out of you, my old friend. Moreover, I haven't got too much time to spare. I meant to go straight to your house to-night, Jeph, to tell you that I'm off to Australia to-morrow by peep o' day."

"Australia!" exclaimed Jeph, with a perplexed look in his old face.