the cave was at once his storehouse and larder, and that
the two hollowed rocks formed his kitchen.

Having thus made preparations for supper, he ascended a pathway which
led to the highest point of the rock. His fetters compelled him to take
short steps, and, as he walked, he winced as though the iron bit him.
A handkerchief or strip of cloth was twisted round his left ankle; on
which the circlet had chafed a sore. Painfully and slowly, he gained his
destination, and flinging himself on the ground, gazed around him. The
afternoon had been stormy, and the rays of the setting sun shone redly
on the turbid and rushing waters of the bay. On the right lay Sarah
Island; on the left the bleak shore of the opposite and the tall peak of
the Frenchman's Cap; while the storm hung sullenly over the barren hills
to the eastward. Below him appeared the only sign of life. A brig was
being towed up the harbour by two convict-manned boats.

The sight of this brig seemed to rouse in the mind of the solitary of
the rock a strain of reflection, for, sinking his chin upon his hand,
he fixed his eyes on the incoming vessel, and immersed himself in moody
thought. More than an hour had passed, yet he did not move. The ship
anchored, the boats detached themselves from her sides, the sun sank,
and the bay was plunged in gloom. Lights began to twinkle along the
shore of the settlement. The little fire died, and the water in the iron
pot grew cold; yet the watcher on the rock did not stir. With his eyes
staring into the gloom, and fixed steadily on the vessel, he lay along
the barren cliff of his lonely prison as motionless as the rock on which
he had stretched himself.

This solitary man was Rufus Dawes.

CHAPTER III. A SOCIAL EVENING.

In the house of Major Vickers, Commandant of Macquarie Harbour, there
was, on this evening of December 3rd, unusual gaiety.

Lieutenant Maurice Frere, late in command at Maria Island, had
unexpectedly come down with news from head-quarters. The Ladybird,
Government schooner, visited the settlement on ordinary occasions twice
a year, and such visits were looked forward to with no little eagerness
by the settlers. To the convicts the arrival of the Ladybird meant
arrival of new faces, intelligence of old comrades, news of how the
world, from which they were exiled, was progressing. When the Ladybird
arrived, the chained and toil-worn felons felt that they were yet human,
that the universe was not bo