or rather, bedwards--with Peter's flowers in the carriage beside her--
"that is the extent of my tether in this direction. A christening mug,
and a bit of jewellery on her birthdays--I shall be allowed that;
otherwise I can be of no more use to them than if I were a workhouse
pauper. They are independent of me and of everybody."




CHAPTER XXIII.



The years passed, and the destinies of our friend began to take final
shape. The bread cast upon the waters returned. The chickens came home
to roost.

One winter's morning Captain Guthrie Carey brought his ship into
Hobson's Bay. The agents of his company sent letters to him there. He
took one from the sheaf, and read it carefully--read it four times.
Then he tore it into little pieces and dropped it over the side. The
pilot and the first officer wondered at the concentrated gravity of his
mien, at the faraway look in his cold blue eyes. Yet is was a very
short and simple letter. There were no names inside, and it merely
said:

"I returned by last mail, and am at the above address. I shall be at
home tomorrow afternoon at five. Of course I am seeing nobody, so we
shall be quite undisturbed. Be punctual, if possible."