The Bushranger's Secret

by Mrs. Henry Clarke

CHAPTER XII.

UNDER GREEN BOUGHS.

When Gray came to himself again he was lying on a bank of green herbage under the shadow of a mighty tree. The boughs kept up a pleasant murmuring. Bright-hued birds were flitting to and fro, now in the shadow, now in the sunshine. Through the waving boughs Gray could see a blue sky shining.

It was all so beautiful, so unlike the scene on which his eyes had closed, that he could not believe it to be real. It was a fevered dream, he said to himself; and presently he would awake and see the vast sun-baked plains stretching round him in their awful loneliness, and that thing lying not far off beside the horse.

But the dream lasted! He slept and woke again, and still the trees waved above him and the birds fluttered to and fro. He could even hear now the tinkling of bells not far off, such as oxen wear upon their heads. He lifted himself on his elbow, for he was too weak to rise, and looked round him. As he raised himself he saw a dog lying a few feet off, with its head between its paws, gazing at him with brown intelligent eyes. Gray fell back on the bank. The dog might have been Harding's dog. The sight of him brought back the past again. He remembered all he had done, and the wish rose in him that he had died like Lumley, that—

But the thought was never finished, for at that moment a hand was laid upon his shoulder, a cheery voice sounded in his ears. Gray dropped his hands and looked up with a wild glad cry. It was Harding's self who stood at his side!—thinner, paler, with white streaks in his brown hair that were new to Gray, but Harding's very self.

"Don't speak, don't try to speak, my lad," he said, sitting down by Gray and taking his hand. Gray held that rough brown hand tight, putting his other hand over it, and looking into Harding's face with eyes that could scarce believe the reality of the joy that had come to him. But memory came to cloud the rapture of that first moment.

"I am not fit to touch your hands, Harding," he said in a low voice. But he did not attempt to let go his grasp, and Harding stretched out his other hand and laid it on his shoulder.

"You mustn't talk, old fellow; you've been ill, you know. No, I won't hear anything just now," he added, as Gray attempted to speak; "I'm spokesman just now. Don't you want to know—" He made a sudden, awkward stop, and then continued lamely:

"I'm all right, you see. Got picked up by some friendly black fellows. I'd hurt my leg, you see, and couldn't walk. They carried me with them till I could tell them who I was. I had a touch of fever, and was out of my head for a time; but they nursed me well. I was off my head a while, you see, and they carried me along with 'em. We were crossing a bit of the bush when I got myself again. And I found—" Harding stopped and cast a hasty, commiserating glance at Gray. "Well, I found that map you'd drawn, and the letter on t'other side. It didn't take me long to put two and two together, you know."