Silently the friends clasped hands, and George said in low tones: 'Keep a bright look-out for me, Terence; I shall not be long in following you.' Colonel Cranstoun overheard the remark as he came up with outstretched hand; but he merely smiled and said: 'Good-bye, George. Don't bear malice. I am only doing my duty, you know.' George shook hands cordially enough with him, and with another grip of his chum's hard fist jumped aboard the tug, which immediately cast off. For some time young Haughton watched his friend, who had climbed into the rigging and was waving frantically; but when the frigate came up to the wind and Terence was no longer visible, he flung himself down upon a coil of rope and bitterly reviled his own hard lot. Presently he rose again and gazed seawards over the heaving Pacific. The fine frigate, under a cloud of canvas, was already far distant. With longing eyes George looked after her, and, as she skimmed away upon the starboard tack, leaned over the taffrail and gave himself up to gloomy meditation. The rough-and-tumble motion of the tug suited the turbulent thoughts which filled George's mind, but as the little vessel passed back through the Heads and came suddenly to an even keel, as suddenly did the unwilling passenger realise that, while every moment was bearing Terence nearer to the goal of their hopes, he himself, balked and trapped, was being sent ignominiously home like a bale of damaged goods. He turned and began to pace the deck with quick, decided steps. He would not, he could not, go home. On that point he was determined. Right or wrong, he had made his choice and would abide by it. Besides, there was Terence to be thought of; Terence, who so willingly had sacrificed a paying occupation to follow the fortunes of his friend, and who now was left in the lurch by this unkind trick of fate. No; by hook or by crook he must get to New Zealand. But how? There was the rub. 'What ship is that?' he asked a sailor, pointing to a smart brig anchored about half a mile from the quay, and flying the 'Blue Peter.' 'The _Stella_, sir,' the man answered, 'and a handy craft she is. She sails at six o'clock to-morrow morning for Chatham Island, with stores for the prisoners there.' George's heart gave a great leap, and the sailor, greatly to his surprise, received half a crown for this very trifling piece of information. But it was by no means trifling to George, whose despondency evaporated like dew in the sunshine, as he told himself that, come what might in the way of opposition, he would sail in that brig and somehow reach New Zealand. For in the Chatham Islands, some three hundred miles east of their coast, the New Zealand Government had established a penal settlement for Maoris, at which ships occasionally called with provisions and other necessaries. And of this fortunate circumstance George then and there made up his mind to take the fullest advantage.