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164 at me? When my eye meets his I feel like a coward; and instead of having only done an act of retribution, that I have committed a cold-blooded murder—no: not cold blooded: for it was the work only of a moment, and that moment one of desperation: and yet, for years, I have thought such a time might come." He grasped Slinger's hand in his agony, and entreated him for mercy's sake not to leave him, as he looked at Mr. Robberson and found him still gazing upon him; but the expression of those eyes was gone: they stared with a glassy, fixed, and unmeaning look, that yet struck more terror into the heart of the dying bushranger than would have the angry glare of a wild beast; he quailed, and his whole frame shuddered as he gathered himself together, uttering ejaculations which died away into a low moaning. Then the body of Robberson was removed out of the hut, for he was dead; and in a few short hours that of the bushranger lay beside it stark and stiff—death had done its work. The one, raised by fortuitous circumstances as far above the position in society for which he was qualified; as the other had sunk below his natural sphere, had found their level at last.

"This is melancholy work," Dodge exclaimed, resting on his spade whilst digging a grave on the ensuing morning for the bushranger. "I have had to turn my hand to all sorts of things, but this I like the least of any. I've tried my hand at it before today. Yes," he said, in reply to an inquiring look from Slinger, and with a trembling voice, "the last body I