“Diana, do you realise how I have dreamt of all this, through the long nights in the bush, in the waste places of the Northern Territories, where I wandered seeking gold and forgetfulness and finding neither? In the silence of the native hut, broken by the little birds’ twittering in the darkness, and no other sound but the sighing of the wind--your face was there! Your exquisite memorable features, the glory of your hair, your eyes that smiled and tormented....” He broke off abruptly. “Your uncle ... produce him....” Gordon had peeled his third potato when Diana staggered into the kitchen. They were big potatoes when he started to deal with them. They were very small when he had finished. It was difficult to know where the skin began and ended; he had cut deep to make sure. At the sight of her tragic face he dropped his potato. “Anything wrong?” “Wrong? Everything’s wrong!” she said bitterly. “I’m going to give you your chance. I don’t like your name, Dan, and I’ve changed it. You’re Isaac!” “Who!” he twittered. “You’re Isaac, my uncle Isaac!” He put down the knife, wiped his hands on his apron and went slowly across to her. “I am not your uncle Isaac,” he began. “Take off _that_!” she pointed to the apron. “Put on your coat and come upstairs. Remember, you’re uncle Isaac and that terrible female--where is she?” “How the dickens do I know where she is?” asked the annoyed Gordon. “Wait!” Diana flew up the stairs to the top of the house and in the spare room where she had intended putting the hired man and wife, she found Heloise sitting disconsolately on the edge of the bed, a suspicious wetness about her eyes. When the door was unlocked and flung open, the woman jumped up. “Now, see here, Mrs. Selsbury,” she began in her high voice, “I don’t know the law of this country but you’ve no right to lock me in----” “Do you want me to send for the police?” asked Diana, calm but menacing. “I tell you you’re all wrong, Mrs. Selsbury,” said Heloise with great earnestness. “You’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. That poor fish is your husband.” “I have no husband--fish, flesh, fowl or herring,” said Diana. “I never had a husband,” and then remembering, “I am a widow.” Heloise was momentarily staggered. “You can forget all that has happened to-day,” said Diana speaking a little wildly. “A visitor has come--he is staying in the house ... an old friend of mine ... in fact, I was once engaged to him until he died in the bush.” “Is he here?” asked the startled Heloise. “He is here,” nodded Diana, “and he is remaining. Obviously, I cannot allow him to stay unless I have a chaperone. You are,” she spoke deliberately, “Aunt Lizzie.” Heloise could only look at her. “You’re Aunt Lizzie and your wretched criminal husband, or whatever he is (I can only hope for the best) is Uncle Isaac. Go right down into the kitchen and tell him.”