By Berwen Banks

Its transmission, however, relieved him of much of the uneasiness which

had hung over him, and his usual cheerfulness returned in a great

measure.

Meanwhile, Valmai hoped and longed for the promised letter.

"Why does he not write, I wonder?" was the question continually

uppermost in her thoughts.

The voyage of the Burrawalla was, on the whole, prosperous, although,

towards the end, she was much delayed by adverse winds, so that Sydney

harbour was not reached until the end of the fourth month. A further

and unexpected delay arose from the illness of a passenger who occupied

a berth in Cardo's cabin, and as they were nearing their destination he

died of typhoid fever. Consequently the Burrawalla was put into

quarantine, of course to the great annoyance and inconvenience of all

on board.

"You are not looking well, Mr. Wynne," said the doctor one day.

"Oh, I'm alright," said Cardo, "only impatient to get on shore. I feel

perfectly well. Why, my dear doctor, I have never had a day's illness

in my life, as far as I can remember."

"I can believe that," said the doctor; "and what a splendid sailor you

have been. But still, let me know if you are not feeling well."

It was quite true that Cardo had latterly experienced some sensations

to which he had hitherto been a stranger--frequent headaches and loss

of appetite; but, being of a very hardy temperament, he tried to ignore

the unpleasant symptoms, and waited for the end of the quarantine with

feverish impatience.

When at last they were allowed to land, he was amongst the liveliest

and most energetic of the passengers.

He drove at once to the Wolfington Hotel, to which he had been

recommended by Captain Owen. As he stepped out of the cab, the portico

of the hotel seemed strangely at loggerheads with the rest of the

building, He managed, however, to get safely inside the hall, and,

after engaging a bedroom, followed his conductor up the stairs, though

each step seemed to rise to meet his foot in an unaccountable manner.

"A long sea voyage doesn't suit me, that's certain," he soliloquised,

as he entered the room and busied himself at once with his luggage. He

took off the labels with the intention of substituting fresh ones

addressed to his uncle's farm, deciding not to stay a day longer than

was necessary in Sydney, but to make inquiries at once as to the best

way of getting to Broadstone, Priory Valley. He still fought bravely

against the feeling of lassitude and nausea which oppressed him, and

went down to his lunch with a bold front, although the place seemed

floating around him. But in vain did the odour of the Wallaby soup

ascend to his nostrils; in vain was the roast fowl spread before him.

He scarcely tasted the viands which the attentive waiter continued to

press upon him; and at last, pushing his plate away, he rose from the

table.