At last, shortly before the mid-day meal, she caught sight of the old-fashioned trap turning in by the distant gate. She saw that it contained three people, and ran to meet it, in the hope that Jack having been acquitted, her father was bringing him home. As the vehicle came nearer, Rachel made out one of the trio to be a woman. She wondered who this third person could be. She was not left long in doubt. "Here, Rachel, lass," called out the farmer, jovially, "your cousin is a free man again; and here is a lady to see you." "Bithiah!" gasped Rachel, turning white. She was too much startled to express her amazement. "Ioé," said the girl, jumping down and throwing her arms round Rachel's neck; "but not Bithiah any more. I am Tera of Koiau. Call me so." "You are not dead!" "Dead!" cried Jack, with a joyful laugh, "not she! Tera's still flesh and blood, and as pretty as ever. Don't look so scared, Cousin Rachel. She's no ghost." "You mustn't faint, lass," said Carwell, with rough good nature. "Tera is here, to stay until she marries Jack. Take her into the house, and set her at the table. She'll eat well, I warrant," and the farmer led away the horse with a jolly laugh. "What does it all mean?" asked Rachel, still astonished. She was not a weak girl, else she would have fainted at the sudden re-appearance of Tera. "It's a long story," cried Finland. "Tera will tell it to you." Rachel turned and kissed her cousin. "Oh, Jack, I'm so glad you are free. I thought they would---- Oh, never mind; what does it all matter now? But as Tera is alive, who is the dead girl we buried?" "A gipsy called Zara." "And who killed her?" "No one knows. That's a new job for Chard. Come, Rachel, take us inside, I'm as hungry as a beach-comber. And Tera looks as though she could eat a bit, too." "Come in, dear," said Rachel, drawing Tera towards the house; "I am simply dying to hear what all this means." Shortly afterwards, in accordance with the manner of the sex, the two girls retired to Rachel's room to exchange confidences. Jack was left alone, and stood on the front door-step, whistling. He was in the highest spirits, and no wonder. Was he not acquitted of a dangerous charge, engaged to marry Tera with the full consent of his uncle, part owner of a ship after his own heart, and shortly sailing for the South Seas, which he loved far more than his native land? The future was bright and assured, and Finland, although not as a rule devotionally inclined, breathed a prayer of thankfulness for his good fortune. There was but one thing doubtful in his mind. Would his uncle give him the money he required? As he debated the question, Farmer Carwell came round the corner of the house, ready for dinner. Jack, who was prompt in all his actions, broached the subject there and then. "Uncle," he said, as the old man took a seat in his armchair, "about this five hundred--can you let me have it?"