wild beast whom the Gazette had judged not fit to live, had just entered
the witness-box. He was a man of thirty, in the prime of life, with a
torso whose muscular grandeur not even the ill-fitting yellow jacket
could altogether conceal, with strong, embrowned, and nervous hands, an
upright carriage, and a pair of fierce, black eyes that roamed over the
Court hungrily.

Not all the weight of the double irons swaying from the leathern thong
around his massive loins, could mar that elegance of attitude which
comes only from perfect muscular development. Not all the frowning faces
bent upon him could frown an accent of respect into the contemptuous
tones in which he answered to his name, "Rufus Dawes, prisoner of the
Crown".

"Come away, my darling," said Vickers, alarmed at his daughter's
blanched face and eager eyes.

"Wait," she said impatiently, listening for the voice whose owner she
could not see. "Rufus Dawes! Oh, I have heard that name before!"

"You are a prisoner of the Crown at the penal settlement of Port
Arthur?"

"Yes."

"For life?"

"For life."

Sylvia turned to her father with breathless inquiry in her eyes. "Oh,
papa! who is that speaking? I know the name! the voice!"

"That is the man who was with you in the boat, dear," says Vickers
gravely. "The prisoner."

The eager light died out of her eyes, and in its place came a look
of disappointment and pain. "I thought it was a good man," she said,
holding by the edge of the doorway. "It sounded like a good voice."

And then she pressed her hands over her eyes and shuddered. "There,
there," says Vickers soothingly, "don't be afraid, Poppet; he can't hurt
you now."

"No, ha! ha!" says Meekin, with great display of off-hand courage, "the
villain's safe enough now."

The colloquy in the Court went on. "Do you know the prisoners in the
dock?"

"Yes." "Who are they?"

"John Rex, Henry Shiers, James Lesly, and, and--I'm not sure about the
last man." "You are not sure about the last man. Will you swear to the
three others?"

"Yes."

"You remember them well?"

"I was in the chain-gang at Macquarie Harbour with them for three
years." Sylvia, hearing this hideous reason for acquaintance, gave a low
cry, and fell into her father's arms.

"Oh, papa, take me away! I feel as if I was going to remember something
terrible!"

Amid the deep silence that prevailed, the cry of the poor girl was
distinctly audible in the Court, and all heads turned to