It was a dry piece of gum-tree bark, shrivelled and curled up at the sides, so that the two edges almost met.

At first he put it on the heap that he had turned out of the portmanteaux for destruction.

His grim thought had been to top with this strange memorial of his marriage-night, the funeral pyre he had intended to build.

But again the spasm of emotion contorted his features.

His shoulders shook, and a dry choking sound came from his lips.