"By the light of day I saw that the stranger was a young man of prepossessing appearance. He explained that he was a Hungarian, and had only been in Australia a month. From what I could gather he was travelling to some new country that had lately been taken up further to the north-west. When crossing the river, which, by reason of the floods, was very much congested, the waters had separated him from his party and had washed his horse from under him. He was carried mile after mile battling for life, spent half a day in a tree, which was eventually washed from under him, was borne out into the main stream, and, but for our timely assistance, would soon have been a dead man.
"I hope I am not wearying you?
"Well, day after day the flood continued, and for more than a week our chance guest was compelled to remain with us. Then the waters fell as quickly as they had risen, and when the safety of the track was once more assured, he decided to resume his journey.
"The night before he left us we were sitting round the fire listening to Yadeski's music. As was his custom, he wandered from air to air, seemingly unconscious of our presence.
"The stranger listened with his eyes full of an insatiable hunger.
"From gentlest pianissimo the music rose to a wild, fierce note of despair. An unearthly pathos seized the instrument—an inexplicable, yet intense longing, a vague desire for something unattainable, took possession of us. Then the music ceased abruptly, the spell was broken, and the younger man, springing to his feet, cried, in a voice tremulous with excitement,—
"'Oh, where, tell me where you learned that dreadful air?'
"The musician did not answer, but sat gazing into the fire. Shaking him by the shoulder, the younger man repeated his question till, as one in a dream, Yadeski muttered,—
"'Many years ago, far from here. What does it matter?'
"'Matter! Why, man, it was that air that brought me out here; it was that cursed air that killed my——' But he stopped, and leaned against the wall.