er (in which the
expenditure of wax and printing and paper was as large as it could be
made) which informed him that the "Comptroller-General of the Convict
Department had decided that further inquiry concerning the death of the
prisoner named in the margin was unnecessary", and that some gentleman
with an utterly illegible signature "had the honour to be his most
obedient servant".

CHAPTER XXII. GATHERING IN THE THREADS.

Maurice found his favourable expectations of Sydney fully realized. His
notable escape from death at Macquarie Harbour, his alliance with the
daughter of so respected a colonist as Major Vickers, and his reputation
as a convict disciplinarian rendered him a man of note. He received a
vacant magistracy, and became even more noted for hardness of heart and
artfulness of prison knowledge than before. The convict population spoke
of him as "that ---- Frere," and registered vows of vengeance against
him, which he laughed--in his bluffness--to scorn.

One anecdote concerning the method by which he shepherded his flock will
suffice to show his character and his value. It was his custom to visit
the prison-yard at Hyde Park Barracks twice a week. Visitors to convicts
were, of course, armed, and the two pistol-butts that peeped from
Frere's waistcoat attracted many a longing eye. How easy would it be for
some fellow to pluck one forth and shatter the smiling, hateful face of
the noted disciplinarian! Frere, however, brave to rashness, never would
bestow his weapons more safely, but lounged through the yard with his
hands in the pockets of his shooting-coat, and the deadly butts ready to
the hand of anyone bold enough to take them.

One day a man named Kavanagh, a captured absconder, who had openly sworn
in the dock the death of the magistrate, walked quickly up to him as he
was passing through the yard, and snatched a pistol from his belt. The
yard caught its breath, and the attendant warder, hearing the click of
the lock, instinctively turned his head away, so that he might not be
blinded by the flash. But Kavanagh did not fire. At the instant when
his hand was on the pistol, he looked up and met the magnetic glance of
Frere's imperious eyes. An effort, and the spell would have been broken.
A twitch of the finger, and his enemy would have fallen dead. There was
an instant when that twitch of the finger could have been given, but
Kavanagh let that instant pass. The dauntless eye fascinated him. H