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278 believed their decline caused by the climate and confinement of Flinders Island, and were so sure that they could not die so in the new home on their own native land. When they discovered the delusion, they were chilled and disheartened. Yes—they were to die—they must die—they would all die soon. Then why should they till the ground? For whom would the potatoes be grown? What would be the use of a dairy? Why need they trouble about dress—they, the dying ones? Pictures lost their interest. Books were left unopened, or looked at with glazed eyes. They read their fate. In such a mood, they cared for nothing. They lost interest in all about them. Everything seemed to remind them of their end. Was it strange, then, that when temptation came near they fell? When the drink was brought secretly, was it strange that they took it as the Aryans their divine Soma, the drink of the gods, the reliever of sorrow, the life-giver, the joy-friend?

Mr. Clark was spared the grief of seeing the worst. His wife's health was affected by the ill-conditioned quarters allotted to her family. She was removed to Hobart Town for a change, and died there. Her tender-hearted husband returned to Oyster Cove a changed man. He had lost a partner indeed. He strove at first to forget the past, and live for his future. But his future had been bound up with the life of his wife, and the life of his Natives. The first had gone, the second was going. Why should he stay? In a few weeks the melancholy of the Aborigines seemed to fall heavily upon him. He took to his bed of death.

At this stage of the story, Maryann pointed to a ruined hut near which we had walked. It was of slab timber, roughly hewn, and roughly placed, but now falling to decay. The paling sides had gaped open. The brick-nogged enclosure had given way. The windows and doors had been stolen. A luxuriant Macquarie Harbour vine had spread itself over the roof, seeking, but in vain, to bind the ruin together. Native flowers crept into the vine, sheltering their weak stems beneath the strong and hardy climber. "Here," said my weeping companion, "here poor Father died."

After a Little silence, the sad story was resumed. "I attended him," said she, "along with his daughter, night and day. But all the people wanted to do something for him, for all so loved