after walking through the woods a considerable distance in perfect silence—for the suddenness of the disaster seemed to have bereft the two friends of speech—tom brixton turned abruptly and said—

“well, fred, we’re in a nice fix now. what is to be our next move in this interesting little game?”

fred westly shook his head with an air of profound perplexity, but said nothing.

“i’ve a good mind,” continued tom, “to return to pine tree diggings, give myself up, and get hanged right off. it would be a good riddance to the world at large, and would relieve me of a vast deal of trouble.”

“there is a touch of selfishness in that speech, tom—don’t you think?—for it would not relieve me of trouble; to say nothing of your poor mother!”

“you’re right, fred. d’you know, it strikes me that i’m a far more selfish and despicable brute than i used to think myself.”

he looked at his companion with a sad sort of smile; nevertheless, there was a certain indefinable ring of sincerity in his tone.

“tom,” said the other, earnestly, “will you wait for me here for a few minutes while i turn aside to pray?”

“certainly, old boy,” answered tom, seating himself on a mossy bank. “you know i cannot join you.”

“i know you can’t, tom. it would be mockery to pray to one in whom you don’t believe; but as i believe in god, the bible, and prayer, you’ll excuse my detaining you, just for—”

“say no more, fred. go; i shall wait here for you.”

a slight shiver ran through brixton’s frame as he sat down, rested his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands.

“god help me!” he exclaimed, under a sudden impulse, “i’ve come down very low, god help me!”

fred soon returned.

“you prayed for guidance, i suppose?” said tom, as his friend sat down beside him.

“i did.”

“well, what is the result?”

“there is no result as yet—except, of course, the calmer state of my mind, now that i have committed our case into our father’s hands.”

“your father’s, you mean.”

“no, i mean our, for he is your father as well as mine, whether you admit it or not. jesus has bought you and paid for you, tom, with his own blood. you are not your own.”

“not my own? bought and paid for!” thought brixton, recalling the scene in which words of somewhat similar import had been addressed to him. “bought and paid for—twice bought! body and soul!” then, aloud, “and what are you going to do now, fred?”

“going to discuss the situation with you.”

“and after you have discussed it, and acted according to our united wisdom, you will say that you have been guided.”

“just so! that is exactly what i will say and believe, for ‘he is faithful who has promised.’”

“and if you make mistakes and go wrong, you will still hold, i suppose, that you have been guided?”

“undoubtedly i will—not guided, indeed, into the mistakes, but guided to what will be best in the long-run, in spite of them.”

“but fred, how can you call guidance in the wrong direction right guidance?”

“why, tom, can you not conceive of a man being guided wrongly as regards some particular end he has in view, and yet that same guidance being right, because leading him to something far better which, perhaps, he has not in view?”

“so that” said tom, with a sceptical laugh, “whether you go right or go wrong, you are sure to come right in the end!”

“just so! ‘all things work together for good to them that love god.’”

“does not that savour of jesuitism, fred, which teaches the detestable doctrine that you may do evil if good is to come of it?”

“not so, tom; because i did not understand you to use the word wrong in the sense of sinful, but in the sense of erroneous—mistaken. if i go in a wrong road, knowing it to be wrong, i sin; but if i go in a wrong road mistakenly, i still count on guidance, though not perhaps to the particular end at which i aimed—nevertheless, guidance to a good end. surely you will admit that no man is perfect?”

“admitted.”

“well, then, imperfection implies mistaken views and ill-directed action, more or less, in every one, so that if we cannot claim to be guided by god except when free from error in thought and act, then there is no such thing as divine guidance at all. surely you don’t hold that!”

“some have held it.”

“yes; ‘the fool hath said in his heart, there is no god,’—some have even gone the length of letting it out of the heart and past the lips. with such we cannot argue; their case admits only of pity and prayer.”

“i agree with you there, fred; but if your views are not jesuitical, they seem to me to be strongly fatalistic. commit one’s way to god, you say; then, shut one’s eyes, drive ahead anyhow, and—the end will be sure to be all right!”

“no, i did not say that. with the exception of the first sentence, tom, that is your way of stating the case, not god’s way. if you ask in any given difficulty, ‘what shall i do?’ his word replies, ‘commit thy way unto the lord. trust also in him, and he will bring it to pass.’ if you ask, ‘how am i to know what is best?’ the word again replies, ‘hear, ye deaf; look, ye blind, that you may see.’ surely that is the reverse of shutting the eyes, isn’t it? if you say, ‘how shall i act?’ the word answers, ‘a good man will guide his affairs with discretion.’ that’s not driving ahead anyhow, is it?”

“you may be right,” returned tom, “i hope you are. but, come, what does your wisdom suggest in the present difficulty?”

“the first thing that occurs to me,” replied the other, “is what flinders said, just before we were ordered off by the robbers. ‘keep round by bevan’s gully,’ he said, in the midst of his serio-comic leave-taking; and again he said, ‘bevan’s gully—sharp!’ of course paddy, with his jokes and stammering, has been acting a part all through this business, and i am convinced that he has heard something about bevan’s gully; perhaps an attack on bevan himself, which made him wish to tell us to go there.”

“of course; how stupid of me not to see that before! let’s go at once!” cried tom, starting up in excitement. “undoubtedly he meant that. he must have overheard the villains talk of going there, and we may not be in time to aid them unless we push on.”

“but in what direction does the gully lie?” asked fred, with a puzzled look.

tom returned the look with one of perplexity, for they were now a considerable distance both from bevan’s gully and pine tree diggings, in the midst of an almost unknown wilderness. from the latter place either of the friends could have travelled to the former almost blindfold; but, having by that time lost their exact bearings, they could only guess at the direction.

“i think,” said fred, after looking round and up at the sky for some time, “considering the time we have been travelling, and the position of the sun, that the gully lies over yonder. indeed, i feel almost sure it does.”

he pointed, as he spoke, towards a ridge of rocky ground that cut across the western sky and hid much of the more distant landscape in that direction.

“nonsense, man!” returned tom, sharply, “it lies in precisely the opposite direction. our adventures have turned your brain, i think. come, don’t let us lose time. think of betty; that poor girl may be killed if there is another attack. she was slightly wounded last time. come!”

fred looked quickly in his friend’s face. it was deeply flushed, and his eye sparkled with unwonted fire.

“poor fellow! his case is hopeless; she will never wed him,” thought fred, but he only said, “i, too, would not waste time, but it seems to me we shall lose much if we go in that direction. the longer i study the nature of the ground, and calculate our rate of travelling since we left the diggings, the more am i convinced that our way lies westward.”

“i feel as certain as you do,” replied tom with some asperity, for he began to chafe under the delay. “but if you are determined to go that way you must go by yourself, old boy, for i can’t afford to waste time on a wrong road.”

“nay, if you are so sure, i will give in and follow. lead on,” returned tom’s accommodating friend, with a feeling of mingled surprise and chagrin.

in less than an hour they reached a part of the rocky ridge before mentioned, from which they had a magnificent view of the surrounding country. it was wilderness truly, but such a wilderness of tree and bush, river and lake, cascade and pool, flowering plant and festooned shrub, dense thicket and rolling prairie, backed here and there by cloud-capped hills, as seldom meets the eye or thrills the heart of traveller, except in alpine lands. deep pervading silence marked the hour, for the air was perfectly still, and though the bear, the deer, the wolf, the fox, and a multitude of wild creatures were revelling there in the rich enjoyment of natural life, the vast region, as it were, absorbed and dissipated their voices almost as completely as their persons, so that it seemed but a grand untenanted solitude, just freshly laid out by the hand of the wonder-working creator. every sheet of water, from the pool to the lake, reflected an almost cloudless blue, excepting towards the west, where the sun, by that time beginning to descend, converted all into sheets of liquid gold.

the two friends paused on the top of a knoll, more to recover breath than to gaze on the exquisite scene, for they both felt that they were speeding on a mission that might involve life or death. fred’s enthusiastic admiration, however, would no doubt have found vent in fitting words if he had not at the moment recognised a familiar landmark.

“i knew it!” he cried, eagerly. “look, tom, that is ranger’s hill on the horizon away to the left. it is very faint from distance, but i could not mistake its form.”

“nonsense, fred! you never saw it from this point of view before, and hills change their shape amazingly from different points of view. come along.”

“no, i am too certain to dispute the matter any longer. if you will have it so, we must indeed part here. but oh! tom, don’t be obstinate! why, what has come over you, my dear fellow? don’t you see—”

“i see that evening is drawing on, and that we shall be too late. good-bye! one friendly helping hand will be better to her than none. i know i’m right.”

tom hurried away, and poor fred, after gazing in mingled surprise and grief at his comrade until he disappeared, turned with a heavy sigh and went off in the opposite direction.

“well,” he muttered to himself, as he sped along at a pace that might have made even a red man envious, “we are both of us young and strong, so that we are well able to hold out for a considerable time on such light fare as the shrubs of the wilderness produce, and when tom discovers his mistake he’ll make good use of his long legs to overtake me. i cannot understand his infatuation. but with god’s blessing, all shall yet be well.”

comforting himself with the last reflection, and offering up a heartfelt prayer as he pressed on, fred westly was soon separated from his friend by many a mile of wilderness.

meanwhile tom brixton traversed the land with strides not only of tremendous length, but unusual rapidity. his “infatuation” was not without its appropriate cause. the physical exertions and sufferings which the poor fellow had undergone for so long a period, coupled with the grief, amounting almost to despair, which tormented his brain, had at last culminated in fever; and the flushed face and glittering eyes, which his friend had set down to anxiety about bevan’s pretty daughter, were, in reality, indications of the gathering fires within. so also was the obstinacy. for it must be admitted that the youth’s natural disposition was tainted with that objectionable quality which, when fever, drink, or any other cause of madness operates in any man, is apt to assert itself powerfully.

at first he strode over the ground with terrific energy, thinking only of betty and her father in imminent danger; pausing now and then abruptly to draw his hand across his brow and wonder if he was getting near bevan’s gully. then, as his mind began to wander, he could not resist a tendency to shout.

“what a fool i am!” he muttered, after having done this once or twice. “i suppose anxiety about that dear girl is almost driving me mad. but she can never—never be mine. i’m a thief! a thief! ha! ha–a–a–ah!”

the laugh that followed might have appalled even a red and painted warrior. it did terrify, almost into fits, all the tree and ground squirrels within a mile of him, for these creatures went skurrying off to holes and topmost boughs in wild confusion when they heard it echoing through the woods.

when this fit passed off tom took to thinking again. he strode over hillock, swamp, and plain in silence, save when, at long intervals, he muttered the words, “think, think, thinking. always thinking! can’t stop think, thinking!”

innumerable wild fowl, and many of the smaller animals of the woods, met him in his mad career, and fled from his path, but one of these seemed at last inclined to dispute the path with him.

it was a small brown bear, which creature, although insignificant when compared with the gigantic grizzly, is, nevertheless, far more than a match for the most powerful unarmed man that ever lived. this rugged creature chanced to be rolling sluggishly along as if enjoying an evening saunter at the time when tom approached. the place was dotted with willow bushes, so that when the two met there was not more than a hundred yards between them. the bear saw the man instantly, and rose on its hind legs to do battle. at that moment tom lifted his eyes. throwing up his arms, he uttered a wild yell of surprise, which culminated in a fit of demoniacal laughter. but there was no laughter apparent on poor tom’s flushed and fierce visage, though it issued from his dry lips. without an instant’s hesitation he rushed at the bear with clenched fists. the animal did not await the charge. dropping humbly on its fore-legs, it turned tail and fled, at such a pace that it soon left its pursuer far behind!

just as it disappeared over a distant ridge tom came in sight of a small pond or lakelet covered with reeds, and swarming with ducks and geese, besides a host of plover and other aquatic birds—most of them with outstretched necks, wondering no doubt what all the hubbub could be about. tom incontinently bore down on these, and dashing in among them was soon up to his neck in water!

he remained quiet for a few minutes and deep silence pervaded the scene. then the water began to feel chill. the wretched man crept out and, remembering his errand, resumed his rapid journey. soon the fever burned again with intensified violence, and the power of connected thought began to depart from its victim altogether.

while in this condition tom brixton wandered aimlessly about, sometimes walking smartly for a mile or so, at other times sauntering slowly, as if he had no particular object in view, and occasionally breaking into a run at full speed, which usually ended in his falling exhausted on the ground.

at last, as darkness began to overspread the land, he became so worn-out that he flung himself down under a tree, with a hazy impression on his mind that it was time to encamp for the night. the fever was fierce and rapid in its action. first it bereft him of reason and then left him prostrate, without the power to move a limb except with the greatest difficulty.

it was about the hour of noon when his reasoning powers returned, and, strange to say, the first conscious act of his mind was to recall the words “twice bought,” showing that the thought had been powerfully impressed on him before delirium set in. what he had said or done during his ravings he knew not, for memory was a blank, and no human friend had been there to behold or listen. at that time, however, tom did not think very deeply about these words, or, indeed, about anything else. his prostration was so great that he did not care at first to follow out any line of thought or to move a limb. a sensation of absolute rest and total indifference seemed to enchain all his faculties. he did not even know where he was, and did not care, but lay perfectly still, gazing up through the overhanging branches into the bright blue sky, sometimes dozing off into a sleep that almost resembled death, from which he awoke gently, to wonder, perhaps, in an idle way, what had come over him, and then ceasing to wonder before the thought had become well defined.

the first thing that roused him from this condition was a passing thought of betty bevan. he experienced something like a slight shock, and the blood which had begun to stagnate received a new though feeble impulse at its fountain-head, the heart. under the force of it he tried to rise, but could not although he strove manfully. at last, however, he managed to raise himself on one elbow, and looked round with dark and awfully large eyes, while he drew his left hand tremblingly across his pale brow. he observed the trembling fingers and gazed at them inquiringly.

“i—i must have been ill. so weak, too! where am i? the forest—everywhere! what can it all mean? there was a—a thought—what could it—ah! betty—dear girl—that was it. but what of her? danger—yes—in danger. ha! now i have it!”

there came a slight flush on his pale cheeks, and, struggling again with his weakness, he succeeded in getting on his feet, but staggered and fell with a crash that rendered him insensible for a time.

on recovering, his mind was clearer and more capable of continuous thought; but this power only served to show him that he was lost, and that, even if he had known his way to bevan’s gully, his strength was utterly gone, so that he could not render aid to the friends who stood in need of it so sorely.

in the midst of these depressing thoughts an intense desire for food took possession of him, and he gazed around with a sort of wolfish glare, but there was no food within his reach—not even a wild berry.

“i believe that i am dying,” he said at last, with deep solemnity. “god forgive me! twice bought! fred said that jesus had bought my soul before the miners bought my life.”

for some time he lay motionless; then, rousing himself, again began to speak in low, disjointed sentences, among which were words of prayer.

“it is terrible to die here—alone!” he murmured, recovering from one of his silent fits. “oh that mother were here now! dear, dishonoured, but still beloved mother! would that i had a pen to scratch a few words before—stay, i have a pencil.”

he searched his pockets and found the desired implement, but he could not find paper. the lining of his cap occurred to him; it was soft and unfit for his purpose. looking sadly round, he observed that the tree against which he leaned was a silver-stemmed birch, the inner bark of which, he knew, would serve his purpose. with great difficulty he tore off a small sheet of it and began to write, while a little smile of contentment played on his lips.

from time to time weakness compelled him to pause, and more than once he fell asleep in the midst of his labour. heavy labour it was, too, for the nerveless hands almost refused to form the irregular scrawl. still he persevered—till evening. then a burning thirst assailed him, and he looked eagerly round for water, but there was none in view. his eyes lighted up, however, as he listened, for the soft tinkling of a tiny rill filled his ear.

with a desperate effort he got upon his hands and knees, and crept in the direction whence the sound came. he found the rill in a few moments, and, falling on his breast, drank with feelings of intense gratitude in his heart. when satisfied he rose to his knees again and tried to return to his tree, but even while making the effort he sank slowly on his breast, pillowed his head on the wet green moss, and fell into a profound slumber.