, and having drunk it, he smiled and
lay down to sleep again. Mrs. Vickers and Sylvia, coming out while he
still slept, recognized him as the desperado of the settlement.

"He was the most desperate man we had," said Mrs. Vickers, identifying
herself with her husband. "Oh, what shall we do?"

"He won't do much harm," returned Frere, looking down at the notorious
ruffian with curiosity. "He's as near dead as can be."

Sylvia looked up at him with her clear child's glance. "We mustn't let
him die," said she. "That would be murder." "No, no," returned Frere,
hastily, "no one wants him to die. But what can we do?"

"I'll nurse him!" cried Sylvia.

Frere broke into one of his coarse laughs, the first one that he had
indulged in since the mutiny. "You nurse him! By George, that's a good
one!" The poor little child, weak and excitable, felt the contempt in
the tone, and burst into a passion of sobs. "Why do you insult me, you
wicked man? The poor fellow's ill, and he'll--he'll die, like Mr. Bates.
Oh, mamma, mamma, Let's go away by ourselves."

Frere swore a great oath, and walked away. He went into the little wood
under the cliff, and sat down. He was full of strange thoughts, which he
could not express, and which he had never owned before. The dislike
the child bore to him made him miserable, and yet he took delight in
tormenting her. He was conscious that he had acted the part of a
coward the night before in endeavouring to frighten her, and that the
detestation she bore him was well earned; but he had fully determined to
stake his life in her defence, should the savage who had thus come upon
them out of the desert attempt violence, and he was unreasonably angry
at the pity she had shown. It was not fair to be thus misinterpreted.
But he had done wrong to swear, and more so in quitting them so
abruptly. The consciousness of his wrong-doing, however, only made
him more confirmed in it. His native obstinacy would not allow him to
retract what he had said--even to himself. Walking along, he came to
Bates's grave, and the cross upon it. Here was another evidence of
ill-treatment. She had always preferred Bates. Now that Bates was gone,
she must needs transfer her childish affections to a convict. "Oh," said
Frere to himself, with pleasant recollections of many coarse triumphs in
love-making, "if you were a woman, you little vixen, I'd make you love
me!" When he had said this, he laughed at himself for his folly--he was
tu