a stone's throw," returned Mrs. Protherick.

"What a charming little creature she is, isn't she?"

"Who?" asked Mr. Meekin, as they walked.

"Sylvia. You don't know her! Oh, a dear little thing."

"I have only met Major Vickers at Government House," said Meekin.

"I haven't yet had the pleasure of seeing his daughter."

"A sad thing," said Mrs. Jellicoe. "Quite a romance, if it was not so
sad, you know. His wife, poor Mrs. Vickers."

"Indeed! What of her?" asked Meekin, bestowing a condescending bow on a
passer-by. "Is she an invalid?"

"She is dead, poor soul," returned jolly Mrs. Jellicoe, with a fat sigh.
"You don't mean to say you haven't heard the story, Mr. Meekin?"

"My dear leddies, I have only been in Hobart Town a week, and I have not
heard the story."

"It's about the mutiny, you know, the mutiny at Macquarie Harbour.
The prisoners took the ship, and put Mrs. Vickers and Sylvia ashore
somewhere. Captain Frere was with them, too. The poor things had a
dreadful time, and nearly died. Captain Frere made a boat at last, and
they were picked up by a ship. Poor Mrs. Vickers only lived a few
hours, and little Sylvia--she was only twelve years old then--was quite
light-headed. They thought she wouldn't recover."

"How dreadful! And has she recovered?"

"Oh, yes, she's quite strong now, but her memory's gone."

"Her memory?"

"Yes," struck in Mrs. Protherick, eager to have a share in the
storytelling. "She doesn't remember anything about the three or four
weeks they were ashore--at least, not distinctly."

"It's a great mercy!" interrupted Mrs. Jellicoe, determined to keep the
post of honour. "Who wants her to remember these horrors? From Captain
Frere's account, it was positively awful!"

"You don't say so!" said Mr. Meekin, dabbing his nose with a dainty
handkerchief.

"A 'bolter'--that's what we call an escaped prisoner, Mr.
Meekin--happened to be left behind, and he found them out, and insisted
on sharing the provisions--the wretch! Captain Frere was obliged to
watch him constantly for fear he should murder them. Even in the boat he
tried to run them out to sea and escape. He was one of the worst men
in the Harbour, they say; but you should hear Captain Frere tell the
story."

"And where is he now?" asked Mr. Meekin, with interest.

"Captain Frere?"

"No, the prisoner."

"Oh, goodness, I don't know--at Port Arthur, I think. I know that he was
tried for bolting, and would have been hanged