It was good advice, and I took it. He increased his pace to a brisk walk, and presently turned down a narrow passage, which brought him to a sort of small, triangular green, planted with shrubs and trees. I followed, and we sat down on one of the benches. "Are you quite mad, Tom?" "Not mad a bit," laughed Tom. "I say, Charley, did you come to that book-stall to look after me?" "Ay. And it's about the tenth time I have been there." "How the dickens did you find me out?" "Chance one evening took Leah into the neighbourhood, and she happened to see you. I had feared you might be in England." "You had heard of the wreck of the _Vengeance_, I suppose; and that a few of us had escaped. Good old Leah! Did I give her a fright?" We were sitting side by side. Tom had put his pipe out, lest the light should catch the sight of any passing stragglers. We spoke in whispers. It was, perhaps, as safe a place as could be found; nevertheless, I sat upon thorns. Not so Tom. By the few signs that might be gathered--his light voice, his gay laugh, his careless manner--Tom felt as happy and secure as if he had been attending one of her Majesty's levées, in the full glory of scarlet coat and flashing sword-blade. "Do you know, Tom, you have half killed me with terror and apprehension? How could you be so reckless as to come back to London?" "Because the old ship brought me," lightly returned Tom. "I suppose a vessel picked you up--and the comrades who escaped with you?" "It picked two of us up. The other three died." "What, in the boat?" He nodded. "In the open boat at sea." "How did you manage to escape? I thought convicts were too well looked after." "So they are, under ordinary circumstances. Shipwrecks form the exception. I'll give you the history, Charley." "Make it brief, then. I am upon thorns." Tom laughed, and began: "We were started on that blessed voyage, a cargo of men in irons, and for some time made a fair passage, and thought we must be nearing the other side. Such a crew, that cargo, Charles! Such an awful lot! Villainous wretches, who wore their guilt on their faces, and suffered their deserts; half demons, most of them. A few amongst them were no doubt like me, innocent enough; wrongfully accused and condemned----" "But go on with the narrative, Tom." "I swear I was innocent," he cried, with emotion, heedless of my interruption. "I was wickedly careless, I admit that, but the guilt was another's, not mine. When I put those bills into circulation, Charles, I knew no more they were forged than you did. Don't you believe me?" "I do believe you. I have believed you throughout." "And if the trial had not been hurried on I think it could have been proved. It was hurried on, Charles, and when it was on it was hurried over. I am suffering unjustly." "Yes, Tom. But won't you go on with your story?"