"Yes, old boy, I do," he replied. "I was thinking of her then--I am always thinking of her. I wonder if she married that fellow Hawker?"
"I fear there's but little doubt of it," I said. "Try to forget her, James; you'll make all your life unhappy if you don't."
He laughed.
"That's all very well, Jeff, but it's easier said than done. Do you hear that? There are cattle down the gully!"
There was some noise in the air beside the evening rustle of the south wind among the tree-tops. Now it sounded like a far-off hubbub of waters, now swelled up harmonious, like the booming of cathedral bells across some rich old English valley on a still summer's afternoon.
"I'll tell you what I think it is, old Jeff; it's some new chums going to cross the watershed, and look for new country to the south. Let us go down to meet them; they will come down by the river yonder."
All doubt about what the newcomers were was solved before we reached the river; so we sat and watched the scene so venerable and ancient--the patriarchs moving into the desert, to find new pasture-ground.
First came the cattle lowing loudly, then horsemen, six or seven in number, and last, four drays came crawling up the pass.
Suddenly James dashed forward with a shout, and when I came up with him, wondering, I found myself shaking hands, talking and laughing, with Major Buckley and Tom Troubridge.
They told us all the news as we rode with them to the drays, where sat Mrs. Buckley,--a noble, happy matron, laughing at her son, as he toddled about busy gathering sticks for the fire. Beside her sat Mary, looking sad and worn, with her child on her lap, and poor old Miss Thornton, glancing uneasily round.