His companion shudders.
"The fishing yawls!" he repeats. "D'ye mean we're to swim for them, guv'nor, through this, in the pitch dark? Why, it's death!"
"Or freedom. Death! Jem, my man, you're worse than an idiot. What's the name you'll give to what we've left behind us? If that's life, we take death, Jem, and be thankful for it."
As he speaks, with a bitterness beyond description, he stoops and fumbles at his leg again. The sharp ears of his companion catch the grating of steel on iron.
"What's that, guv'nor?"
"A file," was the reply.
"Where did you get it from?" asks the other, with undisguised astonishment.
"I made it, Jem," replies his companion, quietly.
"What with?"