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 in his hand and threw it in the fire. As he watched its burning he continued, "Would that I could so easily destroy the records of my life; but it cannot be whilst memory lasts.—Richard Bayley," he said, apostrophising himself, for he was the notorious bush-ranger of whom tales were told enough to appal the stoutest heart,—"Necessity has made you live a brute's life, and it may be even yet you shall die a dog's death." He spoke so loudly in his excitement, that the sleepers were disturbed.

"Halloo! Mate!" said Slinger, seeing him sitting up, "I thought I heard some one talking—I suppose 'twas fancy."

"No:" said Bayley: "not fancy:—I've been dreaming one of my cursed dreams again.—Good night," and Slinger soon slept as soundly as before.

"How do I know," muttered Bayley, looking round "but these very men are here to betray me?—Ah:" he exclaimed, as Hugh's head rolled off the knapsack which he was using as a pillow, "there may be information there," and he drew it towards him and examined the contents. "No! No!" he said as he replaced it, "I do them an injustice, none but honest men with hearts at ease could enjoy such sleep as that;" and he leant over the sleepers and then regained his old position, saying, "When shall I sleep so again?—I who am put up for sale at a price—whose rest is a period of danger—who have been driven from bad to worse—whose enemies are all the world, for friends I have not one in whom to trust:" and he buried his face in his hands. Presently he lay down and fell into a fitful slumber, occasionally starting and muttering strange unmeaning sentences. Once he pronounced the name of "Jarroll," and shortly afterwards said, "the greatest rascal of them all." Then he slept more quietly.

The morning sun shone in brilliancy, and nature's pearls glistened on the trees; for there had been a heavy fog, and