LITMIR.BIZ

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that not another soul in Sydney can possibly owe me anything at all. So I came straight to you, without thinking twice about it. Criminal as I have been, and am, my one thought was and is that I deserve some little consideration at your hands."

      "You mean money?"

      "I have not a penny. It would make all the difference to me. And I give you my word, if that is any satisfaction to you, I would be an honest man from this time forth!"

      "You actually ask me to assist a criminal and escaped convict—me, Hilda Bouverie, at my own absolute risk!"

      "I took a risk for you nine years ago, Miss Bouverie; it was all I did take," said Stingaree, "at the concert that made your name."

      "And you rub it in," she told him. "You rub it in!"

      "I am running for my life!" he exclaimed, in answer. "It wouldn't have been necessary—that would have been enough for the Miss Bouverie I knew then. But you are different; you are another being, you are a woman of the world; your heart, your heart is dead and gone!"

      He cut her to it, none the less; he could not have inflicted a deeper wound. The blood leapt to her face and neck; she cried out at the insult, the indignity, the outrage of it all; and crying she darted to the door.

      It was locked.

      She turned on Stingaree.

      "You dared to lock the door—you dared! Give me the key this instant."

      "I refuse."

      "Very well! You have heard my voice; you shall hear it again!"

      Her pale lips made the perfect round, her grand teeth gleamed in the electric light.

      He arrested her, not with violence, but a shrug.

      "I shall jump out of the window and break my neck. They don't take me twice—alive."

      She glared at him in anger and contempt. He meant it. Then let him do it. Her eyes told him all that; but as they flashed, stabbing him, their expression altered, and in a trice her ear was to the keyhole.

      "Something has happened," she whispered, turning a scared face up to him. "I hear your name. They have traced you here. They are coming! Oh! what are we to do?"

      He strode over to the door.

      "If you fear a scandal I can give myself up this moment and explain all."

      He spoke eagerly. The thought was sudden. She rose up, looking in his eyes.

      "No, you shall not," she said. Her hand flew out behind her, and in two seconds the brilliant room had click-clicked into a velvet darkness.

      "Stand like a mouse," she whispered, and he heard her reach the inner door, where she stood like another.

      Steps and voices came along the landing at a quick crescendo.

      "Miss Bouverie! Miss Bouverie! Miss Bouverie!"

      It was his Excellency's own gay voice. And it continued until with much noise Miss Bouverie flung her bedroom door wide open, put on the light within, ran across the boudoir, put on the boudoir light, and stooped to parley through the keyhole.

      "The bushranger Stingaree has been traced to Government House."

      "Good heavens!"

      "One of your windows was seen open."

      "He had not come in through it."

      "Then you were heard raising your voice."

      "That was to my maid. This is all through her. I don't know how to tell you, but she leaves me in the morning. Yes, yes, there was a man, but it was not Stingaree. I saw him myself through coming up early, but I let him go as he had come, to save a fuss."

      "Through the window?"

      "I am so ashamed!"

      "Not a bit, Miss Bouverie. I am ashamed of bothering you. Confound the police!"

      When the voices and steps had died away, Hilda Bouverie turned to Stingaree, her whole face shining, her deep blue eyes alight.

      "There!" said she. "Could you have done that better yourself?"

      "Not half so well."

      "And you thought I could forget!"

      "I thought nothing. I only came to you in my scrape."

      After years of imprisonment he could speak of this life-and-death hazard as a scrape! She looked at him with admiring eyes; her personal triumph had put an end to her indignation.

      "My poor Lea! I wonder how much she has heard? I shall have to tell her nearly all; she can wait for me at Melbourne or Adelaide, and I can pick her up on my voyage home. It will be no joke without her until then. I give her up for your sake!"

      Stingaree hung his head. He was a changed man.

      "And I," he said grimly—not pathetically—"and I am a convict who escaped by violence this afternoon."

      Hilda smiled.

      "I met Mr. Brady the other day," she said, "and I heard of him to-night. He is not going to die!"

      He stared at her unscrupulous radiance.

      "Do you wonder at me?" she said. "Did you never hear that musical people had no morals?"

      And her smile bewitched him more and more.

      "It explains us both!" declared Miss Bouverie. "But do you know what I have kept all these years?" she went on. "Do you know what has been my mascot, what I have had about me whenever I have sung in public, since and including that time at Yallarook? Can't you guess?"

      He could not. She turned her back, he heard some gussets give, and the next moment she was holding a strange trophy in both hands.

      It was a tiny silken bandolier, containing six revolver cartridges, with bullet and cap intact.

      "Can't you guess now?" she gloried.

      "No. I never missed them; they are not like any I ever had."

      "Don't you remember the man who chased you out and misfired at you six times? He was the overseer on the station; his name may come back to me, but his face I shall never forget. He had a revolver in his pocket, but he dared not lower a hand. I took it out of his pocket and was to hand it up to him when I got the chance. Until then I was to keep it under my shawl. That was when I managed to unload every chamber. These are the cartridges I took out, and they have been my mascot ever since."

      She looked years younger than she had seemed even singing in the Town Hall; but the lines deepened on the bushranger's face, and he stepped back from her a pace.

      "So you saved my life," he said. "You had saved my life all the time. And yet I came to ask you to do as much for me as I had done for you!"

      He turned away; his hands were clenched behind his back.

      "I will do more," she cried, "if more could be done by one person for another. Here are jewels." She stripped her neck of its rope of pearls. "And here are notes." She dived into a bureau and thrust a handful upon him. "With these alone you should be able to get to England or America; and if you want more when you get there, write to Hilda Bouverie! As long as she has any, there will be some for you!"

      Tears filled her eyes. The simplicity of her girlhood had come back to the seasoned woman of the world, at once spoiled and satiated with success. This was the other side of the artistic temperament which had enslaved her soul. She would swing from one extreme of wounded and vindictive vanity to this length of lawless nobility; now she could think of none but self, and now not of herself at all. Stingaree glanced toward the window.

      "I can't go yet, I'm afraid."

      "You sha'n't! Why should you?"

      "But I still fear they may not be satisfied downstairs. I am ashamed to ask it—but will you do one

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