"Hullo!" exclaimed the latter, suddenly looking up. "I say, what do you think! here is a letter from Parkes, and poor old Denis is dead!"
"Dead?" ejaculated his companion.
"Yes, listen to this,"—reading aloud,—"he was on the ranges one morning, and in trying to save a native child who ran across the line of fire, he was shot through the heart. We are all very much cut up, and as to Miss Denis, the poor girl is so utterly broken-down you would scarcely know her."
"It must have been a fearful shock," said Mr. Lisle. "I'm very sorry for Denis, very. Of course you will go back at once—now!"
"How?" thrown completely off his guard, "why?"
"How? by the Enterprise, which will be here in three days with stores, and why? really, I scarcely expected you to ask me such a question. She——"
"Oh," interrupting quickly, "oh, yes! I quite understand what you mean. Oh, of course, of course!"
After this ensued a rather long silence, and then Mr. Lisle spoke,—
"I now remember rather a strange thing," he said reflectively. "Denis and I were looking over the wall of the new cemetery together one evening, and I recollect his saying, that he wondered how long it would be till the first grave was dug.—Strange that it should be his own!"
"Strange indeed!" acquiesced his companion tranquilly, "but, of course, everything must have a beginning. Here's a Lascar coming up from the pier," he added, rising hastily, and collecting his letters as he spoke, "and we had better be making a start."