rning romantic! When he got back, he found Dawes stretched upon the
brushwood, with Sylvia sitting near him.

"He is better," said Mrs. Vickers, disdaining to refer to the scene of
the morning. "Sit down and have something to eat, Mr. Frere."

"Are you better?" asked Frere, abruptly.

To his surprise, the convict answered quite civilly, "I shall be strong
again in a day or two, and then I can help you, sir."

"Help me? How?" "To build a hut here for the ladies. And we'll live here
all our lives, and never go back to the sheds any more."

"He has been wandering a little," said Mrs. Vickers. "Poor fellow, he
seems quite well behaved."

The convict began to sing a little German song, and to beat the refrain
with his hand. Frere looked at him with curiosity. "I wonder what the
story of that man's life has been," he said. "A queer one, I'll be
bound."

Sylvia looked up at him with a forgiving smile. "I'll ask him when he
gets well," she said, "and if you are good, I'll tell you, Mr. Frere."

Frere accepted the proffered friendship. "I am a great brute, Sylvia,
sometimes, ain't I?" he said, "but I don't mean it."

"You are," returned Sylvia, frankly, "but let's shake hands, and be
friends. It's no use quarrelling when there are only four of us, is it?"
And in this way was Rufus Dawes admitted a member of the family circle.

Within a week from the night on which he had seen the smoke of Frere's
fire, the convict had recovered his strength, and had become an
important personage. The distrust with which he had been at first viewed
had worn off, and he was no longer an outcast, to be shunned and pointed
at, or to be referred to in whispers. He had abandoned his rough manner,
and no longer threatened or complained, and though at times a profound
melancholy would oppress him, his spirits were more even than those of
Frere, who was often moody, sullen, and overbearing. Rufus Dawes was no
longer the brutalized wretch who had plunged into the dark waters of the
bay to escape a life he loathed, and had alternately cursed and wept
in the solitudes of the forests. He was an active member of society--a
society of four--and he began to regain an air of independence and
authority. This change had been wrought by the influence of little
Sylvia. Recovered from the weakness consequent upon this terrible
journey, Rufus Dawes had experienced for the first time in six years
the soothing power of kindness. He had now an object to live fo