A letter had been despatched to Mr. Windsor’s address, of which his master had knowledge, requesting him to proceed to Sydney upon important business. Accordingly, at an early hour next day he presented himself at the club steps and greeted his employer with a subdued air of satisfaction, as if doubtful how far his recent decided action had met with approval. ‘I am very glad to see you, John,’ said Mr. Neuchamp; ‘I hope Mrs. Windsor is well. I congratulate you both heartily. Yours was a spirited plan, and your success in the carrying out, or rather the carrying off, of my old friend Carry most enviable. I was afraid there might be obstacles. How did you arrange it all? Suppose you walk over to the Domain with me, and tell me all about it.’ Mr. Windsor, much doubting if this were the important business upon which he had been summoned to town, but not unwilling to relate the tale of his victory to so sympathising an auditor as he knew his master to be, thus commenced— ‘You know, sir, I had a tightish ride to get over before I caught the mail. I felt very queer, I tell you, as if I didn’t meet that identical coach I should never get down in time. I was horrid frightened every time I thought about it, there’s no mistake. I saved Ben Bolt as much as I could the first day and bandaged his legs when I got to the stable late at night. I did eighty miles that day, and dursn’t go farther for fear I might crack him at the first burst. I was up with the stars and fed him. I didn’t sleep much, you’re sure, and at three in the morning I was off for a hundred mile ride! and that heat, _a man’s life_! Mine wouldn’t have mattered much afterwards, if I’d lost. I didn’t feel gay just then, and I thought Ben Bolt walked out rather stiff. However, he put his ears back, and switched his tail sideways, as I mounted. That was a good sign. It was all plains, of course, soft, sandy road—couldn’t be beat for smoothness, and firm, too. I kept him going in a steady hand-gallop, pulling him up only now and again during the forenoon. In the middle of the day I stopped for three good hours, gave him a middling feed—not too much, and got a little water; but he got a real good strapping. I stood over the feller doing it, and gave him half-a-crown. ‘I’d done fifty miles between three and eleven—I wasn’t going fast, you see—but of course the second fifty makes all the difference. I began to be afraid he was too big. The feed at Rainbar was awfully good, you know, sir; but as luck would have it, I’d given him some stiffish days after the farthest out cattle, and that had hardened him a bit. ‘About two o’clock I cleared out again; saddled him myself; saw that his back was all right, and felt his legs, which were as cool and clean as if he hadn’t gone a yard. I had the second fifty to do before twelve at night. That was the time the coach passed, and hardly waited a moment, either.