Page 248 - for-the-term-of-his-natural-life

‘He is away just now. I am making a boat. Did not Sylvia
tell you?’
‘She told me that he was making one.’
‘Well, I—that is, we—are making it. He will be back again
tonight. Can I do anything for you?’
‘No, thank you. I only wanted to know how he was get-
ting on. I must go soon—if I am to go. Thank you, Mr. Frere.
I am much obliged to you. This is a—he-e—dreadful place
to have visitors, isn’t it?’
‘Never mind,’ said Frere, again, ‘you will be back in Ho-
bart Town in a few days now. We are sure to get picked up
by a ship. But you must cheer up. Have some tea or some-
thing.’
‘No, thank you—I don’t feel well enough to eat. I am
tired.’
Sylvia began to cry.
‘Don’t cry, dear. I shall be better by and by. Oh, I wish Mr.
Dawes was back.’
Maurice Frere went out indignant. This ‘Mr.’ Dawes was
everybody, it seemed, and he was nobody. Let them wait a
little. All that day, working hard to carry out the convict’s
directions, he meditated a thousand plans by which he
could turn the tables. He would accuse Dawes of violence.
He would demand that he should be taken back as an ‘ab-
sconder”. He would insist that the law should take its course,
and that the ‘death’ which was the doom of all who were
caught in the act of escape from a penal settlement should
be enforced. Yet if they got safe to land, the marvellous
courage and ingenuity of the prisoner would tell strongly