She put her hand on his arm, and looking at him with her clear, grey eyes, said--"Yes!" "Thank God for that," said Brian, reverently, and there was again a silence. Then they sat down and talked about their plans, and built castles in the air, after the fashion of lovers. "I wonder what papa will say?" observed Madge, idly twisting her engagement ring round and round. Brian frowned, and a dark look passed over his face. "I suppose I must speak to him about it?" he said at length, reluctantly. "Yes, of course!" she replied, lightly. "It is merely a formality; still, one that must be observed." "And where is Mr. Frettlby?" asked Fitzgerald, rising. "In the billiard-room," she answered, as she followed his example. "No!" she continued, as she saw her father step on to the verandah. "Here he is." Brian had not seen Mark Frettlby for some time, and was astonished at the change which had taken place in his appearance. Formerly, he had been as straight as an arrow, with a stern, fresh-coloured face; but now he had a slight stoop, and his face looked old and withered. His thick, black hair was streaked here and there with white. His eyes alone were unchanged. They were as keen and bright as ever. Brian knew full well how he himself had altered. He knew, too, that Madge was not the same, and now he could not but wonder whether the great change that was apparent in her father was attributable to the same source--to the murder of Oliver Whyte. Sad and thoughtful as Mr. Frettlby looked, as he came along, a smile broke over his face as he caught sight of his daughter. "My dear Fitzgerald," he said, holding out his hand, "this is indeed a surprise! When did you come over?" "About half-an-hour ago," replied Brian, reluctantly, taking the extended hand of the millionaire. "I came to see Madge, and have a talk with you." "Ah! that's right," said the other, putting his arm round his daughter's waist. "So that's what has brought the roses to your face, young lady?" he went on, pinching her cheek playfully. "You will stay to dinner, of course, Fitzgerald?" "Thank you, no!" answered Brian, hastily, "my dress--" "Nonsense," interrupted Frettlby, hospitably; "we are not in Melbourne, and I am sure Madge will excuse your dress. You must stay." "Yes, do," said Madge, in a beseeching tone, touching his hand lightly. "I don't see so much of you that I can let you off with half-an-hour's conversation." Brian seemed to be making a violent effort. "Very well," he said in a low voice; "I shall stay." "And now," said Frettlby, in a brisk tone, as he sat down; "the important question of dinner being settled, what is it you want to see me about?--Your station?" "No," answered Brian, leaning against the verandah post, while Madge slipped her hand through his arm. "I have sold it." "Sold it!" echoed Frettlby, aghast. "What for?" "I felt restless, and wanted a change."