was but a child. But you will
remind her, will you not? You will do me justice in her eyes before I
die? You will get her forgiveness for me?"

North could not explain why such an interview as the convict desired was
impossible, and so he promised.

"She is going away in the schooner," said he, concealing the fact of his
own departure. "I will see her before she goes, and tell her."

"God bless you, sir," said poor Dawes. "Now pray with me"; and the
wretched priest mechanically repeated one of the formulae his Church
prescribes.

The next day he told his penitent that Mrs. Frere had forgiven him. This
was a lie. He had not seen her; but what should a lie be to him now?
Lies were needful in the tortuous path he had undertaken to tread.
Yet the deceit he was forced to practise cost him many a pang. He had
succumbed to his passion, and to win the love for which he yearned had
voluntarily abandoned truth and honour; but standing thus alone with
his sin, he despised and hated himself. To deaden remorse and drown
reflection, he had recourse to brandy, and though the fierce excitement
of his hopes and fears steeled him against the stupefying action of the
liquor, he was rendered by it incapable of calm reflection. In certain
nervous conditions our mere physical powers are proof against the
action of alcohol, and though ten times more drunk than the toper, who,
incoherently stammering, reels into the gutter, we can walk erect
and talk with fluency. Indeed, in this artificial exaltation of the
sensibilities, men often display a brilliant wit, and an acuteness of
comprehension, calculated to delight their friends, and terrify their
physicians. North had reached this condition of brain-drunkenness. In
plain terms, he was trembling on the verge of madness.

The days passed swiftly, and Blunt's preparations for sea were
completed. There were two stern cabins in the schooner, one of which
was appropriated to Mrs. Frere, while the other was set apart for North.
Maurice had not attempted to renew his overtures of friendship, and the
chaplain had not spoken. Mindful of Sylvia's last words, he had resolved
not to meet her until fairly embarked upon the voyage which he intended
should link their fortunes together. On the morning of the 19th
December, Blunt declared himself ready to set sail, and in the afternoon
the two passengers came on board.

Rufus Dawes, gazing from his window upon the schooner that lay outside
the reef, thoug