"I bear him no ill-will, sir," said Rex. "I did at first. There was a
time when I could have killed him, but when I had him in my power, I--as
you know--forbore to strike. No, sir, I could not commit murder!"

"Very proper," says Meekin, "very proper indeed." "God will punish him
in His own way, and His own time," continued Rex. "My great sorrow is
for the poor woman. She is in Sydney, I have heard, living respectably,
sir; and my heart bleeds for her." Here Rex heaved a sigh that would
have made his fortune on the boards.

"My poor fellow," said Meekin. "Do you know where she is?"

"I do, sir."

"You might write to her."

John Rex appeared to hesitate, to struggle with himself, and finally to
take a deep resolve. "No, Mr. Meekin, I will not write."

"Why not?"

"You know the orders, sir--the Commandant reads all the letters sent.
Could I write to my poor Sarah what other eyes were to read?" and he
watched the parson slyly.

"N--no, you could not," said Meekin, at last.

"It is true, sir," said Rex, letting his head sink on his breast. The
next day, Meekin, blushing with the consciousness that what he was about
to do was wrong, said to his penitent, "If you will promise to write
nothing that the Commandant might not see, Rex, I will send your letter
to your wife."

"Heaven bless you, sir,". said Rex, and took two days to compose an
epistle which should tell Sarah Purfoy how to act. The letter was
a model of composition in one way. It stated everything clearly and
succinctly. Not a detail that could assist was omitted--not a line that
could embarrass was suffered to remain. John Rex's scheme of six months'
deliberation was set down in the clearest possible manner. He brought
his letter unsealed to Meekin. Meekin looked at it with an interest that
was half suspicion. "Have I your word that there is nothing in this that
might not be read by the Commandant?"

John Rex was a bold man, but at the sight of the deadly thing fluttering
open in the clergyman's hand, his knees knocked together. Strong in his
knowledge of human nature, however, he pursued his desperate plan.
"Read it, sir," he said turning away his face reproachfully. "You are a
gentleman. I can trust you."

"No, Rex," said Meekin, walking loftily into the pitfall; "I do not read
private letters." It was sealed, and John Rex felt as if somebody had
withdrawn a match from a powder barrel.

In a month Mr. Meekin received a letter, beautifully writt