sudden vehemence, as Frere
paused to look at the bay. "I'm not a cruel man, and never, I believe,
inflicted an unmerited punishment, but since I have been here ten
prisoners have drowned themselves from yonder rock, rather than live
on in their misery. Only three weeks ago, two men, with a wood-cutting
party in the hills, having had some words with the overseer, shook hands
with the gang, and then, hand in hand, flung themselves over the cliff.
It's horrible to think of!"

"They shouldn't get sent here," said practical Frere. "They knew what
they had to expect. Serve 'em right."

"But imagine an innocent man condemned to this place!"

"I can't," said Frere, with a laugh. "Innocent man be hanged! They're
all innocent, if you'd believe their own stories. Hallo! what's that red
light there?"

"Dawes's fire, on Grummet Rock," says Vickers, going in; "the man I told
you about. Come in and have some brandy-and-water, and we'll shut the
door in place."

CHAPTER V. SYLVIA.

"Well," said Frere, as they went in, "you'll be out of it soon. You can
get all ready to start by the end of the month, and I'll bring on Mrs.
Vickers afterwards."

"What is that you say about me?" asked the sprightly Mrs. Vickers from
within. "You wicked men, leaving me alone all this time!"

"Mr. Frere has kindly offered to bring you and Sylvia after us in the
Osprey. I shall, of course, have to take the Ladybird."

"You are most kind, Mr. Frere, really you are," says Mrs. Vickers, a
recollection of her flirtation with a certain young lieutenant, six
years before, tinging her cheeks. "It is really most considerate of
you. Won't it be nice, Sylvia, to go with Mr. Frere and mamma to Hobart
Town?"

"Mr. Frere," says Sylvia, coming from out a corner of the room, "I am
very sorry for what I said just now. Will you forgive me?"

She asked the question in such a prim, old-fashioned way, standing in
front of him, with her golden locks streaming over her shoulders, and
her hands clasped on her black silk apron (Julia Vickers had her own
notions about dressing her daughter), that Frere was again inclined to
laugh.

"Of course I'll forgive you, my dear," he said. "You didn't mean it, I
know."

"Oh, but I did mean it, and that's why I'm sorry. I am a very naughty
girl sometimes, though you wouldn't think so" (this with a charming
consciousness of her own beauty), "especially with Roman history. I
don't think the Romans were half as brave a