Mr Leary turned towards me with a stare of surprise; and for the first time, since being brought upon the ground, did he appear to take any interest in what was passing! "I am the Rolling Stone," I shouted to him, "Tell me, where is my mother?" The murderer smiled, and such a smile! It was the same fiendish expression he had thrown at me, when I last saw him in the boat in Dublin Bay. "Tell me where I can find my mother!" I again asked, nearly frantic with rage. At this moment the slack end of the lazo, that had been passed over the branch and then slung back among the crowd, was instantly seized by a hundred hands. The condemned man seemed not to notice the movement, while, in answer to my question, the malignant expression upon his features became stronger and deeper. "Away!" I cried, scarcely conscious of what I said or did, "Away with him!" Those holding the rope sprang outward from the tree, and up rose Mr Leary. A few faint kicks, and his body hung motionless from the limb of the live oak. An empty sardine box was nailed to the tree, on which the murderer was hanging. Above it was pinned a piece of paper--on which were written the words, "For the orphan." Many miners stepped up to the spot, opened their purses; and slipped a few dollars' worth of gold dust into the box. Their example was followed by Stormy Jack; and from the quantity of yellow dust I saw him drop into the common receptacle, I could tell that his purse must have been three or four ounces lighter, when he came away from the tree! Volume Two, Chapter IV. THE ORPHAN. Shortly after the termination of the melancholy drama, in which I had taken so prominent a part, Stormy Jack and I went to see the child--now left without either father or mother. We found it in the keeping of a young married couple--who had lately arrived from Australia; and who had there been acquainted with its unfortunate mother. They told us, that the murdered woman was the daughter of a respectable shopkeeper in Sydney, that she had run away with Mr Mathews--the name under which Leary had passed in Australia--and that her parents had been very unwilling she should have anything to do with him. She was an only daughter; and had left behind a father and mother sorely grieved at her misconduct. Everybody that knew her had thought her behaviour most singular. They could not comprehend her infatuation in forsaking a good home and kind parents for such a man as Mathews--who, to say nothing of his dissipated habits, was at least twenty years older than herself. Perhaps it was strange, though I had learnt enough to think otherwise. Experience had told me, that such occurrences are far from being uncommon, and that one might almost fancy, that scoundrels like Leary possess some peculiar charm for fascinating women--at least, those of the weaker kind. The orphan was shown to us--a beautiful bright-eyed boy, about a year old; and bearing a marked resemblance to its mother.