had only come from out Tibbooburra way. She kept her eyes on him kindly,
knowing that he would speak in time. They were alone, for most of the
people of Wadgery were away at a picnic. There is always one moment when
a man who has a secret, good or bad, fatal or otherwise, feels that he
must tell it or die. And Mr. Jones told Vic, and she said what she
could, though she knew that a grasp of her firm hands was better than any
words; and she was equally sure in her own mind that word and grasp would
be of no avail in the end.

She saw that the beginning of the end had come as she looked at him
staring at the ledger, yet exactly why she could not tell. She knew that
he had been making a fight since he had been book-keeper, and that now he
felt that he had lost. She guessed also that he had heard what O'Fallen
said to her, and what she had replied.

"You ought not to have offended him," she tried to say severely.

"It had to come," he said with a dry, crackling laugh, and he fastened
his eye-glass in his eye. "I wasn't made for this. I could only do one
thing, and--" He laughed that peculiar laugh again, got down from the
stool, and held out his hand to her.

"What do you intend?" she said. "I'm going, of course. Good-bye!"
"But not at once?" she said very kindly.

"Perhaps not just at once," he answered with a strange smile.

She did not know what to say or do; there are puzzling moments even for a
wise woman, and there is nothing wiser than that.