s left," he said,
fumbling, with trembling fingers, in his pocket. "I wrapped them in one
of the leaves of the book to keep them dry."

The word "book" was a new inspiration. Rufus Dawes seized upon the
English History, which had already done such service, tore out the drier
leaves in the middle of the volume, and carefully added them to the
little heap of touchwood.

"Now, steady!"

The match was struck and lighted. The paper, after a few obstinate
curlings, caught fire, and Frere, blowing the young flame with his
breath, the bark began to burn. He piled upon the fire all that was
combustible, the hides began to shrivel, and a great column of black
smoke rose up over the sea.

"Sylvia!" cried Rufus Dawes. "Sylvia! My darling! You are saved!"

She opened her blue eyes and looked at him, but gave no sign of
recognition. Delirium had hold of her, and in the hour of safety the
child had forgotten her preserver. Rufus Dawes, overcome by this last
cruel stroke of fortune, sat down in the stern of the boat, with the
child in his arms, speechless. Frere, feeding the fire, thought that the
chance he had so longed for had come. With the mother at the point
of death, and the child delirious, who could testify to this hated
convict's skilfulness? No one but Mr. Maurice Frere, and Mr. Maurice
Frere, as Commandant of convicts, could not but give up an "absconder"
to justice.

The ship changed her course, and came towards this strange fire in the
middle of the ocean. The boat, the fore part of her blazing like a pine
torch, could not float above an hour. The little group of the convict
and the child remained motionless. Mrs. Vickers was lying senseless,
ignorant even of the approaching succour.

The ship--a brig, with American colours flying--came within hail of
them. Frere could almost distinguish figures on her deck. He made his
way aft to where Dawes was sitting, unconscious, with the child in his
arms, and stirred him roughly with his foot.

"Go forward," he said, in tones of command, "and give the child to me."

Rufus Dawes raised his head, and, seeing the approaching vessel, awoke
to the consciousness of his duty. With a low laugh, full of unutterable
bitterness, he placed the burden he had borne so tenderly in the arms of
the lieutenant, and moved to the blazing bows.

* * * * *

The brig was close upon them. Her canvas loomed large and dusky,
shadowing the sea. H