casion the picnic to Baròlin Waterfall was to take place. Captain Macpherson went with them as far as the turning to the Gorge. There was an air of depression about the Dell. The Blacks even looked played out after the corroboree, but showed signs of animation in the shifting of their camp and the sharpening of their weapons, preparatory to the forthcoming battle. But, alas! the Iliad of Durundur and Baròlin was not to become history. Lord Horace and Lord Waveryng rushed in laughing, to announce that the two Tommies—Paris and Menelaus—had amicably settled their differences. Menelaus had retired in all the dignity of his chiefdom, consoled for the loss of Helen by a half-bottle of rum, half a ration of flour, tea and sugar, sundry odd fig-ends of tobacco—collected from Lady Waveryng's bounty—and finally a £1 cheque. Lord Horace having accomplished his corroboree, had stepped in to prevent the war. Bessy of the Bean-Tree was to be married that afternoon to Luya Tommy, according to all the rites of her tribe, and Luya Tommy had already given orders at the hut that Bessy's dinner was to be put on the same plate with his.
Lady Waveryng wanted to see the wedding. Here was "copy" not to be lost. She would ransack the store to find a present for the bride, and her wardrobe for a wedding dress. Miss Briggs remonstrated on the score of unsuitability, but to no avail. Bean-Tree Bessy was actually married in a crimson moire skirt, trimmed with black Chantilly lace, which had peeped modestly from under Lady Waveryng's dress in the Royal enclosure at Ascot, and had thus been, so to speak, in very touch with Imperialism personified, to say nothing of the fashion and aristocracy of England—so do extremes of the Empire meet. But Lady Waveryng was not present at the marriage ceremony. For just as they were going up to the camp, there was a confusion and a commotion outside, and Prentiss rushed round to the front verandah, having been the first to hear of the disaster, his face white as death, his knees trembling.
