I saw Martha; and conversed with her for a few minutes. My poor sister had also passed a sleepless night; and, like myself, was in great distress of mind. Her affliction was even greater than mine: for she had never, like me, been separated from her mother. The physician's fears were too soon realised. Before the day passed, he pronounced his patient to be under a dangerous attack of brain fever--a disease that, in New South Wales, does not trifle long with its victims. That night the sufferings of my unhappy mother ceased--I hope, for ever. For all that had passed, I felt sincere sorrow at her loss. For years had I been anticipating an exquisite pleasure--in sometime finding my relatives and providing them with a good home. I had found my mother at last, only to give me a fresh sorrow--and then behold her a corpse! If this narrative had been a work of fiction, I should perhaps have shaped it in a different fashion. I should have told how all my long-cherished anticipations had been happily realised. In dealing with fiction, we can command, even fate, to fulfil our desires; but in a narrative of real adventures, we must deal with fate as it has presented itself, however much it may be opposed to our ideas of dramatic justice. There are moments, generally met in affliction, when the most incredulous man may become the slave of superstition. Such was the case with myself, at that crisis, when sorrow for the loss of my mother, was strong upon me. I began to fancy that my presence boded death to every acquaintance or friend, with whom I chanced to come in contact. Memory brought before me, the fate of Hiram, on our "prospecting" expedition in California, as also the melancholy end of the unfortunate Richard Guinane. My truest friend, Stormy Jack, had met a violent death, soon after coming to reside with me; and now, immediately after finding my mother, I had to follow her remains to the grave! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Soon after we had buried our mother, I consulted Martha, as to what we should do. I was still desirous of returning to Liverpool; and, of course, taking my sister along with me. I proposed that we should start, without further loss of time. "I am sorry you are not pleased with the colony," said she. "I know you would be, if you were to stay here a little longer. Then you would never wish to return." "Do not think me so foolish," I answered, "as to believe that I have come to this place with the intention of remaining; and wish to leave it, without giving it a fair trial. I came here on business, that is now accomplished; and why should I stay longer, when business calls me elsewhere?" "Rowland, my brother!" cried Martha, commencing to weep. "Why will you _go_ and forsake me?"