house; and I had no time to waste if I wanted to get there dry.
A strong breeze, though only coming in gusts, was blowing; the bank of clouds had surged up high above its former place, and was fast breaking and flying in great trailing masses right in the teeth of the wind, as if to oppose the long, low-lying, stream-like looking clouds that were advancing swiftly from the opposite direction; a low growl of distant thunder would be heard now and then, and a venomous streak of lightning dart zig--zagging across the sky; a grey vapour, too, under the clouds, now fast melting out of sight, told a welcome tale, and I saw with no little pleasure that the drought would soon be broken up.
The letter was as usual interesting to me because penned by her hand and dictated by her mind, though in itself not very much. But there was a postscript, and that did not lack matter, at any rate, for this was what was written in it,--
'Since I began writing, Robert has come in. He has had letters that will oblige him to go home at once. We leave on Friday so as to catch the mail steamer at Melbourne. I may not see you again, but I must--I will--write before we finally start. Good-bye.'
On Friday--this was Tuesday. If I rode day and night I might still be in time, for see her again I would if it were in the bounds of possibility. I started up, indeed, with some vague idea of setting off at once; but if I had really entertained any such notion, the rushing sound of the rain that was now pouring down
