CHAPTER XXIV

HARRY awaited the approach of evening with burning impatience, and his
heart was lighter than it had been for weeks. He thought that now the
distraction induced by her father's danger, his arrest and his death, and
the subsequent trials had departed, he would find her with a clear mind
and responsive to his love, and it would be his pride and joy to teach
her to forget her troubles and to make her happy. Harry, who up to the
time of meeting Chris after his return to Waddy, had been even more
unromantic and lacking in poetry than the average bush native, had, under
the influence of his passion, evolved a strong vein of both romance and
poesy; and the sudden development of this unknown side of his nature
induced novel sensations. He thought of his previous self almost as a
stranger, for whom he felt some sentiment of pity not untouched with
contempt, and even when hope was feeblest he hugged his love and brooded
over it secretly with the devotion of a tender girl.

He was at the trysting-place a quarter of an hour before the time
appointed, but Christina was already there. Her greeting chilled and
subdued him. He went towards her, smiling, elate, with eager arms,
calling her name; she put him back with extended hands.

'No, no, Harry; not that,' she said, and he noticed in her voice the
strength of some resolution, the firmness that had jarred upon him when
last they met.

'Not that!' he repeated. Chris, you love me. For God's sake say it! You
have said it. You told me so, an' it was true--oh, my darling, it was
true!