le.

"Nothing," returned the clergyman, gasping--"a sudden faintness!" The
windows were thrown open, and the chaplain gradually recovered, as he
did in Burgess's parlour, at Port Arthur, seven years ago. "I am liable
to these attacks. A touch of heart disease, I think. I shall have to
rest for a day or so." "Ah, take a spell," said Frere; "you overwork
yourself."

North, sitting, gasping and pale, smiles in a ghastly manner. "I--I
will. If I do not appear for a week, Mrs. Frere, you will know the
reason."

"A week! Surely it will not last so long as that!" exclaims Sylvia.

The ambiguous "it" appears to annoy him, for he flushes painfully,
replying, "Sometimes longer. It is, a--um--uncertain," in a confused and
shame-faced manner, and is luckily relieved by the entry of Jenkins.

"A message from Mr. Troke, sir."

"Troke! What's the matter now?"

"Dawes, sir, 's been violent and assaulted Mr. Troke. Mr. Troke
said you'd left orders to be told at onst of the insubordination of
prisoners."

"Quite right. Where is he?" "In the cells, I think, sir. They had a hard
fight to get him there, I am told, your honour."

"Had they? Give my compliments to Mr. Troke, and tell him that I shall
have the pleasure of breaking Mr. Dawes's spirit to-morrow morning at
nine sharp."

"Maurice," said Sylvia, who had been listening to the conversation in
undisguised alarm, "do me a favour? Do not torment this man."

"What makes you take a fancy to him?" asks her husband, with sudden
unnecessary fierceness.

"Because his is one of the names which have been from my childhood
synonymous with suffering and torture, because whatever wrong he may
have done, his life-long punishment must have in some degree atoned for
it."

She spoke with an eager pity in her face that transfigured it. North,
devouring her with his glance, saw tears in her eyes. "Does this look as
if he had made atonement?" said Frere coarsely, slapping the letter.

"He is a bad man, I know, but--" she passed her hand over her forehead
with the old troubled gesture--"he cannot have been always bad. I think
I have heard some good of him somewhere."

"Nonsense," said Frere, rising decisively. "Your fancies mislead you.
Let me hear you no more. The man is rebellious, and must be lashed back
again to his duty. Come, North, we'll have a nip before you start."

"Mr. North, will not you plead for me?" suddenly cried poor Sylvia, her
self-possession overthrown. "You have a