The night seemed darker than ever; neither moon nor star was to be seen, and Jack had to stop and consider when he got outside. He desired to strike a straight line to the gates; he knew how they lay from the hut, though he had never been over the ground before. To a bushman, however, even without a star to help him, such a task could present no difficulties. He computed the distance at something less than a mile; but in Australia he had gone as the crow flies through league upon league of untrodden scrub. Out there he had enjoyed the reputation of being "a good bushman," and he meant to enjoy it again. But his head was hot with other thoughts, and he was out of practice. Instead of hitting the wall, and following it up to the gates, as he intended, he erred the other way, and came out upon the drive at no great distance from the house. This was a false start, indeed, and a humiliation also; but his thoughts had strayed back to Olivia, and it was as if his feet had followed their lead. He would think of her no more to-night. The drive was undesirable, for obvious reasons; still it was the safest policy to keep to it now, and the chances were that he would meet nobody. Yet he did; a footstep first, and then the striking of a match, came to his ears as he was nearing the gates. He crept under the trees. The match was struck again, and yet again, before it lit. Then Jack came out of hiding, and strode forward without further qualms, for the flame was lighting the cigar and illumining the face of his friend Dalrymple. "Hallo, sir!" began Jack, "I'd given you up." "Why, Jack, is that you? I can't see an inch front of my cigar," said the squatter, as the match burnt itself out on the gravel where it had been thrown. "Yes, it's me; where have you been?" "Where are you going?" "Mine first," said Jack. "All right. I've been talking to Master Hunt. _Now_ where are you going?" "Back to Australia!" Jack waited for an exclamation; for some seconds there was none; then the squatter laughed softly to himself. "I thought as much!" said he. "I knew exactly what the lawyer came to say, for I saw it in his face. Now tell me, and we'll see if I'm right." And it appeared that he was, by the way in which he kept nodding his head as Jack told him all. Meanwhile they had retired under the trees, and by the red end of his cigar the squatter had seen Jack's wideawake; using his cigar as a lantern he had examined the cage of cats; whereon his face would have proved a sufficiently severe commentary had there been any other light for Jack to see it by. "Now," said Dalrymple, "stand tight. _I've_ got something to tell _you_, my boy!" And he told it in the fewest whispered words. Jack was speechless. "Nonsense! I don't believe it," he cried when he found his tongue.