Both he and Ellen thought it strange that their mother should insist on that book on a week-night; they never usually read it, save on Sunday evenings.
The morning broke bright and frosty.

Cecil was abroad betimes, and went down the paddock to fetch the horses.

He put them in the stock-yard, and stood for a time close to the stable, talking to a tame black lad, that they employed about the place.
His attention was attracted by a noise of horses' feet.

He looked up and saw about a dozen men riding swiftly and silently across the paddock towards the house.
For an instant he seems to have idly wondered who they were, and have had time to notice a thickset gaudily dressed man, who rode in front of the others, when the kitchen-door was thrown suddenly open, and the old hut-keeper, with his grey hair waving in the wind, run out, crying,--"Save yourself, in God's name, Master Cecil.

The Bushrangers!" Cecil raised his clenched hands in wild despair.