upon his shoulder, he almost forgot the cold that
froze him, and the hunger that gnawed him.

So two more days passed, and yet no sail. On the tenth day after
their departure from Macquarie Harbour they came to the end of their
provisions. The salt water had spoiled the goat-meat, and soaked the
bread into a nauseous paste. The sea was still running high, and the
wind, having veered to the north, was blowing with increased violence.
The long low line of coast that stretched upon their left hand was at
times obscured by a blue mist. The water was the colour of mud, and
the sky threatened rain. The wretched craft to which they had entrusted
themselves was leaking in four places. If caught in one of the frequent
storms which ravaged that iron-bound coast, she could not live an hour.
The two men, wearied, hungry, and cold, almost hoped for the end to come
quickly. To add to their distress, the child was seized with fever.
She was hot and cold by turns, and in the intervals of moaning talked
deliriously. Rufus Dawes, holding her in his arms, watched the suffering
he was unable to alleviate with a savage despair at his heart. Was she
to die after all?

So another day and night passed, and the eleventh morning saw the boat
yet alive, rolling in the trough of the same deserted sea. The four
exiles lay in her almost without breath.

All at once Dawes uttered a cry, and, seizing the sheet, put the clumsy
craft about. "A sail! a sail!" he cried. "Do you not see her?"

Frere's hungry eyes ranged the dull water in vain.

"There is no sail, fool!" he said. "You mock us!"

The boat, no longer following the line of the coast, was running nearly
due south, straight into the great Southern Ocean. Frere tried to wrest
the thong from the hand of the convict, and bring the boat back to her
course. "Are you mad?" he asked, in fretful terror, "to run us out to
sea?"

"Sit down!" returned the other, with a menacing gesture, and staring
across the grey water. "I tell you I see a sail!"

Frere, overawed by the strange light which gleamed in the eyes of his
companion, shifted sulkily back to his place. "Have your own way,"
he said, "madman! It serves me right for putting off to sea in such a
devil's craft as this!"

After all, what did it matter? As well be drowned in mid-ocean as in
sight of land.

The long day wore out, and no sail appeared. The wind freshened towards
evening, and the boat, plunging clumsily on the long brown waves,