If Ranger and his companion had been less intent upon the subject of their conversation, their attention might have been attracted by a suspicious movement, which occasionally agitated the undergrowth not far from where they were seated. It passed, however, unnoticed. It was dark when they closed their conversation and entered into the house. When, however, all was quiet around, the figure of a man might have been seen stealing stealthily away from amidst the thick bush which lay within a few feet of where the two men had been holding converse, and making towards a log-shanty, dimly discernible in the darkness on a piece of rising-ground beyond the circle forming the enclosure of the homestead. It was the abode of the Bartons; and Charles, the younger of the two brothers, was the figure from the wood now to be seen entering the door. The room was unoccupied, John having been sent on business to M’Lean Station, which would prevent his return until next day. Procuring a light, and seating himself at a table, he seemed to be reflecting deeply. His thoughts were inspired by the conversation which had been passing between Ranger and Fellows, and to which it must be confessed he had been an attentive, because an interested, listener. It was while passing through the bush behind the former’s homestead, on his way home, at the close of work for the day, that his attention had been arrested by the mention of a name which caused him to stop, and gradually but quietly to draw as close to the speakers as he felt it would be safe to do. On discovering the nature of the conversation, he did not hesitate remaining concealed, in such a position, however, as would enable him to hear the whole of what was passing. Charles Barton, for some time a silent admirer of Jessie Russell, had been only waiting a favourable opportunity to declare his passion. But Jessie was not a girl who would willingly afford any young man the opportunity so desired, if she had the slightest suspicion that it was being looked for. She was no prude, yet she was not a flirt; and that, in an unsettled region where men were in abundance, whilst the women were few and far between, was saying a great deal in her favour. She had not failed to notice that several times of late Charles was to be seen lounging in the neighbourhood of her father’s shanty, and this had caused her to still more carefully seclude herself from the rough settler’s gaze. Charles was a man with big ideas, but a small soul. The god he worshipped was _self_; and anything that seemed to stand in the way of self must be made to give place by fair means or foul. Scruples he had none, where _self_ was in question. He had learned this evening, for the first time, of the additional difficulty which lay in his path to Jessie Russell’s affections. After long and careful reflection he made up his mind how he would endeavour to get that difficulty "entirely removed."