In his associations with the men on the farm, his disposition and manners had always presented a marked contrast to those which his elder brother displayed. Whilst James was genial, candid, open, and free, ready at conversation, and willing to join the rest of the men in any little arrangement for the general good, or an evening’s amusement, Charles was gloomy, taciturn, and close. He held himself aloof from the rest, as though he thought himself a superior, and was never known to take part in any amusement such as was occasionally indulged in. And it had not failed to be noted, and commented upon, that of late these habits had become even more marked than they were at the first. His brother would frequently rally him, when they were alone together, as to the cause of his misanthropical behaviour, without effect; nor, however lively he might be himself, nor whatever humour he was able to impart to the topics of conversation introduced, it was rare that he succeeded in creating anything beyond the ghost of a smile, or drawing out more than some monosyllabic reply. James, with that easy, good-natured disposition which was characteristic of the man, attributed much of this to his habits as a boy, which manhood had only served to develop; to the death of their father, the break-up of the home, and the disappointment which, up to the present, had attended all the glowing visions they had formed of the fortune to be won in the Land of Gold. Charles had kept as observant an eye as it was possible to do, without exciting unnecessary attention, on the movements of Jessie Russell, but had been unable to discover anything to cause him further uneasiness with regard to the apparent progress of Fellows’ suit. He had been hoping, too, that the result of his letter to England might be to cause the removal of his rival altogether from the present scene of his influence; and this had induced him to refrain from seeking that interview with Jessie which he was so anxious to bring about, until, as he regarded it, the coast was clear for the unimpeded prosecution of his designs. In the event of that reply being much longer delayed, and no action apparent, he felt that it would not be wise to delay his intended interview indefinitely. Happening one evening to be in the neighbourhood of her dwelling, he decided to extend his ramble, on the chance that he might meet with her. She was seated on a bench at the door, busily plying her needle, mending a jacket belonging to her father. "Good evening, Miss Russell," he exclaimed a little nervously, as he advanced with some trepidation to where she was seated. "Is your father at home?" "He has not returned from the field yet," she replied. "Do you want to see him?"