Esmeralda and Lord Norman Druce rode toward Three Star Camp. They went in slowly, because his leg was painful and he could scarcely move it; and as they went the young fellow seemed scarcely able to take his eyes from her face. It startled him, this presence of a young girl beautifully clad in a riding-habit of the latest fashion, on a horse of high breeding, with a saddle of the latest make, out here in the wilds of Australia!
And then she was so beautiful! He had never seen a lovelier face.
The excitement of the shot and flight had brought a faint color into her usually ivory-pale complexion. Her eyes shone like stars, the red-gold hair ran in little waves under her hat; the hat with the hole in it, made by the bullet which had been intended for him.
When Norman looked from that face to the hole, something went thrilling warmly through all his veins.
Who was she? The daughter of some rich sheep farmer or successful gold digger? He longed to ask her for all particulars of her birth, parentage—of everything, in fact; but youth is shy, especially in the presence of female loveliness, and Lord Norman was tongue-tied.
Esmeralda was unconscious of his gaze. She was too strong and healthy and unsophisticated for vanity; but she, on her part, felt curious about him, and she glanced at him now and again with frank and fearless interest.
They were riding through a lovely valley upon which the sun shone as it can only shine in Australia; the river ran between its grassy banks, breaking now and again into little cascades as it tumbled over impeding rocks; the mountains, clothed here and there with the brilliant green of trees in all their summer bravery, rose majestically from the plain and towered high against the blue and cloudless sky.
Lord Norman looked around him and drew a long breath; the beauty of the scene, the extraordinary loveliness of the girl by his side, cast a spell over him.
“What a beautiful place!” he said. “And you live near here?”