“Oh, do! Monsieur Rayon is such a dear man, and tells such amusing stories of ‘Parisien’ society, and he’ll talk to you in English too. Poor man, he is dreadfully troubled with indigestion, and walks in his sleep. One night I was sleeping heavily, as I had taken a little chloral for neuralgia, when my husband saw him in our room, and called out; yet he took no notice, but walked on, out of the ‘French light’ and back to his own quarters, and the next day remembered nothing about it. What a wonderful thing somnambulism is!”
Mat reached the out-station and delivered the horses in good time. Tom thanked him for his ready help, and asked him if he would go again on the following Monday and bring his father back, as there was to be a meeting of importance, at which Parson Tabor would also be present, who with his sound advice would be of great service in discussing the question as to how they could put an end to the encroachments of the “cockatoo squatters,” or small free selectors who, as a gang of useless loafers, infested the run, with suspicious-looking intent.
Mat expressed his readiness to go, and accordingly, when the time approached, prepared to start for Bulinda, but as he could not find the horse he wanted for the journey, he had to put up with an old one that had had a hard week of it after cattle, and in consequence he did not reach the station until midnight.
Having turned his weary beast into the paddock, he entered the house to tell the squire of Tom’s wishes.
Bell was asleep, but came out at once on hearing Mat’s summons, told him in answer to his question that he would be ready to start in the morning with Tabor, bade him get some refreshment, and turn into the empty room next the Frenchman’s.
Mat went off to the sleeping-quarters to which he had been directed; but not finding any light, felt his way to the “bunk,” and turned in, though he did not go to sleep, as he had much to divert his thoughts with regard to a proposition which Tom had made him in connection with his taking charge of the out-station. After he had been in bed but a short time, his train of thoughts was diverted by the sound of whispering; then a match was struck apparently close to him, yet he could see no light. Softly creeping out of bed, he was aware of a glimmer which came through a chink in the log-hut, evidently from a room next his own.
Straining his eye to the crack, he saw a human hand on a table—more he could not see. So feeling about he found a beam, and cautiously drew himself up to where the chink was larger, when just as he was about to apply his eye to the crevice, he heard the whispered but unconnected words, “That—gipsy—to-morrow.” Again straining his eyes, he could indistinctly make out two scrubby heads in the dim light beneath him. Whilst he was thus watching, one of the speakers slightly raised his face. Our forester was certain that he had seen those features before, but to obtain a better view he slightly shifted his position, and in doing so knocked off a piece of harness which had been left hanging on the beam, and which fell with a heavy thud on to the earthen floor.
Instantly the light was extinguished, and dead silence reigned.
Mat quickly let himself down, regained his bunk, and sat there till morning, pistol in hand, and nothing more happened to disturb him through what appeared an endless night. Had Jumper been there to guard him, he might have enjoyed some sleep, but Jumper he had always left to guard the squire’s bedroom at the latter’s request.
When the family were assembled for breakfast next morning, the Frenchman, amongst others, greeted Mat most cordially, and asked him how he had slept after his fatiguing journey, not being aware that he had occupied a different room to that which he was accustomed to use.