"Being nigh that creek, lad, where the crocodiles is," said Bart. "Ay, you're right. Who could it be?" "One of our old mates." "Nay; no old mate would take all that trouble for us, lad. It's someone Mary's sent to bring us a letter and a bit of news." It was at night in the prison lines that Bart said this, and then he listened wonderingly in the dark, for he heard something like a sob from close to his elbow. "Abel, matey!" he whispered. "Don't talk to me, old lad," came back hoarsely after a time. And then, after a long silence, "Yes, you're right. Poor lass--poor lass!" "Say that again, Abel; say that again," whispered Bart, excitedly. "Poor lass! I've been too hard on her. She didn't get us took." "Thank God!" These were Bart's hoarsely whispered words, choked with emotion; and directly after, as he lay there, Abel Dell felt a great, rough, trembling hand pass across his face and search about him till it reached his own, which it gripped and held with a strong, firm clasp, for there was beneath Bart's rough, husk-like exterior a great deal of the true, loyal, loving material of which English gentlemen are made; and when towards morning those two prisoners fell asleep in their chains, hand was still gripped in hand, while the dreams that brightened the remaining hours of their rest from penal labour were very similar, being of a rough home down beneath Devon's lovely cliffs, where the sea ran sparkling over the clean-washed pebbles, and the handsome face of Mary smiled upon each in turn. "Abel, mate, I'm ready for anything now," said Bart, as they went that morning to their work. "Only say again as you forgive our lass." "Bart, old lad," said Abel, hoarsely, "I've nought to forgive." "Hah!" ejaculated Bart, and then he began to whistle softly as if in the highest of spirits, and looked longingly in the direction of the jungle beside the mud creek; but three days elapsed before they were set to hoe among the coffee bushes again. Bart let his chin go down upon his chest on the morning when the order was given, and the overseer saw it and cracked his whip. "You sulky ruffian!" he cried. "None of your sour looks with me. Get on with you!" He cracked his whip again, and Bart shuffled off, clinking his fetters loudly. "Do keep between us, Abel, lad," he whispered, "or I shall go off and he'll see. Oh, lor', how I do want to laugh!" He restrained his mirth for a time, and they walked on to the end of the plantation and began their task at the opposite end to where they had left off, when the rate at which their hoes were plied was such that they were not long before they began to near the dense jungle, beyond which lay the mangrove swamp and the sea. "I daren't hope, Bart," whispered Abel, so despondently that his companion, in a wildly excited manner, laughed in his face.