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own strong self-talking about all that had happened to each of us since we had parted that Sunday morning, on the Matambala beach.

Bishop Curwen had gone home to England to superintend a new Missionary College there; and Mr. Carter was to be Consecrated in his stead, to the great satisfaction of everbody, white and black.

The doctors had forbidden Mr. Wakefield to go to Pombuana that voyage, so he had been left behind, and had come across in a small schooner on his way to Sydney, there to meet Mr. Carter and several boys who were to be Confirmed. How the word reminded me of my terribly backward condition! I who had been first was last. Those whom I had taught were fit to be my teachers. But it was good for me.

I told my friend all about the Minerva, and Captain Will, and Doctor Gray, and Diara's murder, and Stonehenge, and Cookee. If there had been time we should have gone out to see him, but the mail steamer sailed too soon; and Mr. Wakefield said that to remain long in so hot and uncomfortable a place would certainly kill him. So we wrote Cookee a letter, and signed both our names. I also enclosed a couple of notes for the two "Hars." Mr. Wakefield did not like to hold out any false hopes to Cookee about baking matters, but promised to speak to Mr. Carter, saying, that if the old fellow was only a little cleaner, there would be no difficulty, as such a man was much wanted, and yet not easily to be found.

Two days before we sailed we had our names fished," as Cookee had called it; affichés, as I believe the French call it. My name was already upon the books of imported labour, but Mr. Wakefield said that I had been kidnapped with many others, by the two men whose names you know, and whom he implored the French officials to help him in bringing "them” justice, and they said they would, but that they had no power over Englishmen, or something like that.

He told me afterwards that finding me again, and the hope of being instrumental in punishing these lawless scoundrels and traffickers in flesh and blood, lent him new strength, and made him wish to live again.

On the morning the steamer was to sail I helped Mr. Wakefield to finish packing up, and sat on the top of a greedy portmanteau, which had eaten more than it could hold. I then shouldered it, but was disarmed by Sambo, who would not let me do anything which he considered did not become a fine gentleman. Mr. and Mrs. Bang were in the hall to bid us good bye; and inconsistent-like I cried to leave them and Sambo, and even Our Man, who snatched a bag Percy had given me out of my hand, and persisted in carrying it behind me all the way down to the boat, while Sambo pushed the rest of the baggage along before him, in a hand cart. I could not help comparing my departure with my arrival, and once more thanking God, I clasped Percy's arm in mine.

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Good-bye, little Church !" said I, as it peeped out upon us, and was hidden again by a high cliff, which the "conwix" were still busily digging down and shovelling away. I felt compassion for them, condemned to go on for ever with their work in that dull place, after I was gone away to be free and happy. I could scarcely realize that the town was the same; so different did it appear to me as I walked through it with Percy Wakefield.

After a hearty shake of the hand, first with Sambo, and then with Our Man, who told me not to forget him, and to send him a little "W. de P." in a letter now and then, we stepped into the boat and were pulled off to the steamer.

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CHAPTER XLVIII.

"IN THE HOUR OF DEATH."

How I enjoyed the quietness and comfort of life on board the steamer with Percy, especially as I watched the glow coming back to his cheeks, which it began to do directly we got out upon the breezy ocean. He would not let the breeze have the credit of it though, but said it was finding me again. This set me thinking upon what had driven it away; and as I thought I hung my head and felt very hot, and tears came into my eyes.

The steward was amused at me, a passenger, rushing to help him whenever he laid the cloth, but I couldn't help it. When we had got over our sea-sickness-Percy was never much affected-we set to work at correcting some translations of my friend's, who said that he had been able to translate best when he was quite unfit to do anything else-sometimes when his head was throbbing as if it would burst. He had been busy on the Collects, Epistles, and Gospels. The first and the last of these three were very good indeed; but the Epistles he had to give up in despair. He had also composed some hymns which were perfect. Our language had never been used in that way before, and this triumph enticed to his faded cheeks one of their old bright smiles.

Five days brought us to a thick fog, in some part of which, the Captain said, Sydney was to be found. So we went slow, and blew a fog-horn, which when Percy heard, he said with quite a hearty laugh: "The Ambupono are coming!"—it was so exactly like our Pombuana conch.

Suddenly the fog lifted, and revealed the land, just where the Captain expected it to be, from the soundings we had been taking, and which I had watched with the greatest interest.

How intensely did I enjoy everything-everything, great and small! For besides these trifling, yet perfect pleasures, there was the great one, the back ground of them all; that I had taken up again my old life-that, yes, Percy was with me, and that I was not cast off, either by God, whom I had offended, or by my friend, whom I had forsaken.

How can I attempt to describe the impression which Sydney made upon me, who had thought Nouméa a city vast and wonderful? I shall leave it unattempted.

The most wonderful thing, however, of all was what I heard of a quarrel, as to whether they should allow the Bible to be read in the schools or not. Is the Bible a bad book then? In a Christian country I should have thought that the Bible would be read and studied more than any other book—that it would be in the schools no matter what other books might be quarrelled about or put out. This kept me awake at night: the idea of the Bible, which teaches our duty to God and being tambued! If Malagai had been chief of Sydney, I could have understood it, and have gone to sleep; but he was not, and the question gnawed at me like a rat: why should these Christian people try to put the Bible out of their schools? It was very different at Happy Island. But the most extraordinary thing that ever made me wonder, was a man that believed in no God.

man,

I remember, too, a man saying to Mr. Wakefield, a man who evidently did not know I understood English, that there was more done for the blacks than for the whites, and that instead of sending off missionaries to convert blacks at the end of the earth, we ought to send them to the heathen at our own doors. To which Mr. Wakefield answered that the same remark had been made to Bishop Curwen, who had answered it by saying, that the people who gave him money to go and preach the Gospel to the blacks were the very same people who were trying to improve the condition of the whites, and that those

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who refused money for the benefit of the blacks were generally careless about the welfare of the whites: that it was one and the same work carried on by one and the same Spirit.

As Mr. Wakefield's health had so much improved, he consented to take the parish work of a clergyman who was going away for a holiday. This parish was a little way out of Sydney, and he begged of my friend to bring me with him, and to make ourselves at home in his house: which we gladly did. There was a Harmonium there, and I soon picked up my music again; and had often the honour of being asked to play. My friend used generally to ask me to go with him when he went on his visits, for he told me that I should have to do that kind of work some day.

One evening, we were studying together in our comfortable. room, when there came a violent ringing at the bell. Mr. Wakefield went to the door, where I heard an agitated voice. beg of him to come at once to pray with a sick man much troubled in his mind.

"Will you come with me?" said he, when he came in. "If you like," said I; which he evidently did, and we started off together, guided by the woman who had brought the message.

She soon stopped at a small gate, which she opened and bade us walk up the steps, while she went round to open the front door. There was a dim light in the window over the door, but all the rest of the house was dark.

As we went up the narrow staircase, to the sick man's room, we heard cries, and could make out the words: "I have blood upon my soul! O, I have blood, blood, blood, upon my soul!" No sooner had we entered the room and stood beside the bed than the sick man hid his face in the bed-clothes, crying "Murder! Murder!"

The doctor, who was there before us, drew back the clothes and there lay Captain Will!-with agony on his dying face, and, as he said, blood upon his tormented soul.