Adrian's thought leaped forward into coming years. Inez and he together,
always together as the years passed. And between them a son--intuitively
he felt that it would be a son--a successor, taking up their burdens as
they laid them down; bearing their name, their ideals, purposes along,
down the pageant of time.
He paid little heed as they passed through a huddle of huts, tents and
lean-tos on the southern ascent. Though the hour was late, many windows
were light and sounds of revelry came dimly, as though muffled, from
curtain-hid interiors. There was something furtive and ill-omened about
this neighborhood which one sensed rather than perceived. Spear rode
close and touched Adrian's arm.
"Sydney town," he whispered, meaningly. "The hang-out of our convict
citizens from Australia, those eastern toughs and plug-uglies of the
Seventh regiment who came here to feather their nests. Do you know what
they've done? Formed a society called The Hounds. Appropriate, isn't it?
Your friend McTurpin's one of them. Thanks to you, they've lost a
valued member."
"Hounds?" said Adrian. His thought still forged ahead. "Oh, yes, I've
heard about them. They are going to drive out the foreigners.
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