would never stoop to it.

He scarcely argued the matter explicitly with himself: it was settled in
Angria's presence by his instinctive repulsion. But it was not in a boy
like Desmond, young, strong, high spirited, tamely to fold his hands
before adverse fate. He had three days: it would go hard with him if he
did not make good use of them. He felt a glow of thankfulness that the
first step, and that a difficult one, had been taken, providentially, as
it seemed, the very night before this crisis in his fate. His future plan
had already outlined itself; it was necessary first to gain over his
companions in captivity; that done, he hoped within the short period
allowed him to break prison and turn his back forever on this place of
horror.

It seemed to his eager impatience that that day would never end. It was
November, and the beginning of the cold season, and the work of the
dockyard, being urgent, was carried on all day without the usual break
during the hot middle hours, so that he found no opportunity of
consulting his fellows. Further, the foremen of the yard were specially
active. The Pirate had been for some time fearful lest the capture of
Suwarndrug should prove to be the prelude to an assault upon his stronger
fort and headquarters at Gheria, and to meet the danger he had had nine
new vessels laid down. Three of them had been finished, but the work had
been much interrupted by the rains, and the delay in the completion of
the remaining six had irritated him. He had visited his displeasure upon
the foremen. After his interview with Desmond he summoned them to his
presence and threatened them with such dire punishment if the work was
not more rapidly pushed on, that they had used the lash more furiously
and with even less discrimination than ever. Consequently when Desmond
met his companions in the shed at night he found them all in desperate
indignation and rage. He had seen nothing more of Diggle; he must strike
while the iron was hot.

When they were locked in, and all was quiet outside, the prisoners gave
vent, each in his own way, to their feelings. For a time Desmond
listened, taking no part in their lamentation and cursing. But when the
tide of impotent fury ebbed, and there was a lull, he said quietly:

"Are my brothers dogs that, suffering these things, they merely whine?"

The quiet level tones, so strangely contrasting with the tones of
fierceness and hate that were still ringing in the e