He lay inert like a big puppet and there was something unnatural about his position.

My instinct told me that he was dead.

I did not ride on the coach that Monday. I stayed in the house with Felicity. I took her out of that room of many evil memories and made her lie on my bed. It was wide enough for the two of us and she was in no state to be left alone.

She was numb; she stared ahead of her and there was a glazed look in her eyes. I began to fear for her reason.

The days that followed now seem rather vague in my mind. There was much coming and going. The body of William Granville was taken away. He was shot through the head.

Officials rode out from Sydney and a great many questions were asked.

How had he fallen? they wanted to know.

He had leaned against the balcony and it had given way.

I felt calm. Felicity had not told me what had happened and I was afraid to ask her. I felt she would break into hysteria and I did not know what she would say if she did. I had a niggling fear in my mind that she had come to the end of her endurance and possibly had fired the fatal shot. I could well understand that. I had been ready to shoot him myself. There is a limit beyond which even the meekest person cannot be goaded.

What I wanted more than anything was to get away from this place. And I wanted to take Felicity with me. Whatever had happened was over. I wanted to soothe her, comfort her. I understood so clearly what she had suffered.

The theory was that the bushrangers had been prowling around. The Pickering story was discussed in great detail, and the bushrangers were in everyone's mind.

I said that the dead man had come to my room earlier that evening and had said he thought he had heard prowlers whom he suspected might be bushrangers.

That was true enough.

It was confirmed that he had been constantly watchful for bushrangers after the Pickering affair. Everybody was.

It was believed that he had heard strangers outside and had taken the gun and gone to the balcony. It was a fact that the balcony was in need of repair. One stave had been missing for months. It was easy to see how it happened. He had dashed out with his gun, forgetting the wood of the balcony was rotting; he had leaned against it and in falling had shot himself. Then the gun had been knocked out of his hand and so was found a few feet away from him.

It was another tragedy of the outback.

I believed that at home there would have been more enquiries into the matter. Here life was cheaper. People were pioneering, making a new country, and the risks that entailed were numerous. Death was not such a rare occurrence.

Mrs. Maken told how we had all been given guns after the bushranging outrage at the Pickerings'. Mr. Granville, she knew, was very anxious not to leave the women unprotected.

"The bushrangers have a lot to answer for," said one of the officials.

But I was not sure that they had to answer for William Granville's death.

I said I wanted to get away as soon as possible. Mrs. Granville was in a state of shock, from which I feared she would not recover until we left this house of tragedy.

But first there was the ordeal of the funeral to be faced.

There was a small cemetery just outside the township and his grave was close to that of Mrs. Pickering, who had died after her ordeal with the bushrangers.

We stood round it— Felicity. Mrs. Maken, myself and several of the men. A number of people came in from miles around to witness the burial. Much sympathy was shown to Felicity, and I watched her anxiously, wondering whether she was going to lose that calm and betray her real feelings.

It was quite unlike the funerals at home—no glorious trappings, no ceremonial black-clad undertakers, and elaborately caparisoned horses. We had tried to find as much black as we could but there was no way we could get new clothes.

"Poor soul," said one of the women spectators. "I'd like to murder those bushrangers. When they find them they'll be lynched, I can tell you. That poor Mrs. Pickering... what she suffered! And now Mr. Granville."

Our silence was construed as grief, and we went back to the house in the buggy, with Slim driving us. as he did on our arrival.

It transpired that William Granville had borrowed heavily on the strength of having married a woman of fortune. His debts would have to be met. and this could only be done by the sale of his property after which there would be very little left. Felicity agreed listlessly to all that was suggested and was glad that the matter could pass out of her hands. She told me she wanted nothing of her late husband's estate. All she wanted to do was get away, and for things to be as though this had never happened.

I had packed our things and made the arrangements.

Felicity would not stay in the house alone; nor would she go to the township. When I went in I had to leave her some little way off. She could not bear the condolences which were offered her. She was in a highly nervous state.

I made the bookings on the coach for a Wednesday which was eleven days after the death of William Granville.

Felicity was exhausted and for that I was grateful because it meant she slept heavily at night. I used to sit by the window watching her and trying not to imagine all that she must have endured in that room.

The balcony had been repaired. I went into the room once. It seemed evil to me because I knew something of what had happened there. I shuddered as I looked at the brownish curtains at the french

windows which opened onto the balcony, the big cupboard, the dressing table and the two chairs. My eyes came to rest on the bed and I shivered again.

I stepped out onto the balcony and looked down. The new staves shone brightly among the old ones.

How had it happened? I wondered. Perhaps Felicity would tell me one day.

I should never ask her.

There was a menace in this place and it was centred in this room. This was where Felicity had suffered her ultimate humiliation.

I felt myself turn cold. There was a tingling sensation in my scalp. Was this what was called one's hair standing on end?

I was not alone.

I swung round, clutching the balcony just as he may have done. I fully expected to see him standing there with that lustful grin on his face.

I was looking into the enigmatic eyes of Mrs. Maken.

"Oh," she said, "taking a last look at the place?"

I replied: "The balcony looks firm now." My voice sounded high-pitched and unnatural.

"It was a terrible thing to happen," she said. "Those bushrangers have a lot to answer for."

I nodded.

"It will make changes round here."

"I daresay. What plans have you, Mrs. Maken?"

"I'm to stay till it's all cleared up. The solicitors have asked me to. There's got to be someone here... and as things are with Mrs. Granville..."

"It seems an excellent arrangement. I was thinking of after that."

"I've had an offer from a very nice gentleman in Sydney. Housekeeper and all that."

She was smiling at me complacently.

"I'm glad," I said.

"And you'll go off. Well, it's the best thing for Mrs. Granville. She never took to our ways out here."

She was looking round the room reminiscently, but I could see she was already making plans for her life at the establishment of the nice gentleman in Sydney.

"They'll catch those men," she said. "There's an outcry about it. This makes them more determined than ever. Just think, if Mr. Granville hadn't heard them prowling about he'd be here now. Well, you'll soon be off. You were going on that Monday ... well, then you had to stay for a bit when all this happened. But if it hadn't been for those men..."

I said: "Yes, indeed." I had come back into the room from the balcony and I had to walk past her to get to the door. I kept seeing images of her in that room with Felicity and William Granville.

She looked at me sardonically and I wondered if she read my thoughts.

She was an uncomfortable woman. But on Wednesday we should be on our way.

Our last night. Felicity lay in bed, but she was not asleep.

I sat on a chair watching her. The bed was not really big enough for two and I usually lay on the edge so as not to disturb her.

She had always been fast asleep by the time I retired. I think she was really worn out with fear and emotion. Sometimes I would sit at the window until past midnight looking out and thinking over the time I had spent here. Since the death of William Granville a touch of unreality had crept into everything. When I finally left here I hoped it would become vague in my memory—a nightmare, grotesque, terrifying while it lasted but which faded from memory in daylight and the return to normal life.

That was what I hoped at least.

Felicity's trunks had already gone to Sydney where they would be stored at the docks until her departure for England. My baggage and Felicity's lighter possessions had already gone to the township to be put into the coach when it arrived. All that was left for us to take was one capacious piece of hand luggage each.

I went to the window and sat there. I had no inclination for sleep. I should make up for that when I had left this place.

Felicity spoke to me then. "Why are you sitting at the window, Annalice?"

"I don't feel sleepy. Our last night, Felicity. I feel so relieved that we are going together."

"Oh, Annalice, it was dreadful when you were going without me."

"I know. I had to do it though."

"I understand that."

There was silence for a while, then she said: "It's all over. I can't believe it."

"There is only tomorrow morning. We will leave in good time for the coach."

"And then we shall say goodbye to this place forever."

"Forever. We shall put it right out of our minds."

"Do you think we shall ever be able to do that."

"I'm going to have a jolly good try."

"It's easy for you."

"In time it will be for you."

"I shall never forget, Annalice."

"I suppose the memories will come back. But they will get fainter ... more remote..."

"I don't think they ever will ... not of that night."

"Well, for a time of course ... But when you are away from this place, it'll fade. It will, I promise you."

"Not that night. It is there forever... stamped on my mind. I shall never forget that."

I was silent and she went on: "It wasn't as they said, Annalice."

"No," I replied.

"It wasn't the truth. I have to tell someone. I can't keep it to myself."

"If you have to tell someone it had better be me."

"That night... he came up ... he was laughing to himself. He had drunk a lot of whisky but he was not drunk ... not like he was later. He went out ... I thought he was going to Mrs. Maken. He did, you know, often."

"Yes, I know."

"He was always saying how much better she was than I was... things I can't talk about."

"Then don't."

"I've got to tell you. I think once I have told you I may be able to stop thinking about it... at least not so much."

"Tell me then."

"He was away a long time. I thought he would stay the night. He usually did. I liked that. It was wonderful when he was away. I was grateful to Mrs. Maken for being so much better... at that sort of thing... than I was."

"Oh, Felicity," I cried, "I don't care what brought you out of this... but I'm glad it happened."

"I'm glad, too. It's wicked, but I'm glad he's dead."

"The world is a better place without him and his kind. Let's rejoice he is no longer in it."

She shivered and sat up suddenly, her eyes coming to rest on the door.

I said: "He can't come in. He's dead. You're not afraid of his ghost, are you?"

"I would be in this place. I think one of the eucalyptus trees will turn grey and he'll be in it."

"I wouldn't worry about that. You'll be far away. In time you'll forget this place ever existed."

"Home," she said. "It's like a different world."

"It won't be long now. You could get on a ship and be home very soon. I shall not go yet. I have things to do."

"I know. And I stopped you, didn't I? I want to stay with you, Annalice."

"All right then. We'll be together. It will be exciting. We shall go to Cariba."