heart to pity these suffering
creatures."

But North, who seemed to have suddenly recalled his soul from some place
where it had been wandering, draws himself aside, and with dry lips
makes shift to say, "I cannot interfere with your husband, madam," and
goes out almost rudely.

"You've made old North quite ill," said Frere, when he by-and-by
returns, hoping by bluff ignoring of roughness on his own part to avoid
reproach from his wife. "He drank half a bottle of brandy to steady
his nerves before he went home, and swung out of the house like one
possessed."

But Sylvia, occupied with her own thoughts, did not reply.

CHAPTER VII. BREAKING A MAN'S SPIRIT.

The insubordination of which Rufus Dawes had been guilty was, in
this instance, insignificant. It was the custom of the newly-fledged
constables of Captain Frere to enter the wards at night, armed with
cutlasses, tramping about, and making a great noise. Mindful of the
report of Pounce, they pulled the men roughly from their hammocks,
examined their persons for concealed tobacco, and compelled them to open
their mouths to see if any was inside. The men in Dawes's gang--to which
Mr. Troke had an especial objection--were often searched more than once
in a night, searched going to work, searched at meals, searched going
to prayers, searched coming out, and this in the roughest manner. Their
sleep broken, and what little self-respect they might yet presume to
retain harried out of them, the objects of this incessant persecution
were ready to turn upon and kill their tormentors.

The great aim of Troke was to catch Dawes tripping, but the leader of
the "Ring" was far too wary. In vain had Troke, eager to sustain his
reputation for sharpness, burst in upon the convict at all times and
seasons. He had found nothing. In vain had he laid traps for him; in
vain had he "planted" figs of tobacco, and attached long threads to
them, waited in a bush hard by, until the pluck at the end of his line
should give token that the fish had bitten. The experienced "old hand"
was too acute for him. Filled with disgust and ambition, he determined
upon an ingenious little trick. He was certain that Dawes possessed
tobacco; the thing was to find it upon him. Now, Rufus Dawes, holding
aloof, as was his custom, from the majority of his companions, had made
one friend--if so mindless and battered an old wreck could be called a
friend--Blind Mooney. Perhaps this oddly-assorted fri