one in Sydney. It would have been easy to
kill him then and there, and his death, I am told, is sworn among them;
but no one raised a finger. The only man who moved was Rufus Dawes, and
he checked himself instantly. Frere, with a recklessness of which I did
not think him capable, stepped up to this terror of the prison, and ran
his hands lightly down his sides, as is the custom with constables when
"searching" a man. Dawes--who is of a fierce temper--turned crimson
at this and, I thought, would have struck him, but he did not. Frere
then--still unarmed and alone--proceeded to the man, saying, "Do you
think of bolting again, Dawes? Have you made any more boats?"

"You Devil!" said the chained man, in a voice pregnant with such weight
of unborn murder, that the gang winced. "You'll find me one," said
Frere, with a laugh; and, turning to me, continued, in the same jesting
tone, "There's a penitent for you, Mr. North--try your hand on him."

I was speechless at his audacity, and must have shown my disgust in
my face, for he coloured slightly, and as we were leaving the yard, he
endeavoured to excuse himself, by saying that it was no use preaching to
stones, and such doubly-dyed villains as this Dawes were past hope. "I
know the ruffian of old," said he. "He came out in the ship from England
with me, and tried to raise a mutiny on board. He was the man who nearly
murdered my wife. He has never been out of irons--except then and
when he escaped--for the last eighteen years; and as he's three life
sentences, he's like to die in 'em."

A monstrous wretch and criminal, evidently, and yet I feel a strange
sympathy with this outcast.

CHAPTER V. MR. RICHARD DEVINE SURPRISED.

The town house of Mr. Richard Devine was in Clarges Street. Not that the
very modest mansion there situated was the only establishment of which
Richard Devine was master. Mr. John Rex had expensive tastes. He neither
shot nor hunted, so he had no capital invested in Scotch moors or
Leicestershire hunting-boxes. But his stables were the wonder of London,
he owned almost a racing village near Doncaster, kept a yacht at Cowes,
and, in addition to a house in Paris, paid the rent of a villa at
Brompton. He belonged to several clubs of the faster sort, and might
have lived like a prince at any one of them had he been so minded; but
a constant and haunting fear of discovery--which three years of
unquestioned ease and unbridled riot had not dispelled--l