Going through the fresh air had something to do with it, I daresay.

And then there was no anxiety.

We had played for a big stake and lost.

Now we had to pay and make the best of it.

It was the tenth day (there were no railways then to shorten the journey) when we drove up to the big gate and looked at the high walls and dark, heavy lines of Berrima Gaol, the largest, the most severe, the most dreaded of all the prisons in New South Wales.