The convict laughed harshly. "Hell!" he said laconically.
The child trembled. "I'm sorry," she managed to say.
The fierce dark eyes stared at her. "What for?"
"Because--you have to stay here--"
"Well, I'm--" But this time he apparently found no adequate adjective. "If this ain't the rummiest Christmas doll!"
She put out her hand. "Here's something for you, poor man," she said, as steadily as she could. "It's my King George gold piece, date 1762, and belonged to my father who wore it on his watch chain and who is dead. Perhaps they'll let you buy something with it."
He looked at the hand. "If she ain't stickin' out her duke to me, right through the bars. Blamed if she ain't! Looks like a lily! A bally white lily!" he repeated wonderingly. "One of them kind we wonst run acrost when the Cap. turned us adrift on an island, jest to waller in green grass!"
"Don't you want it?" said the child.
He extended a great, coarse hand hesitatingly, as if half-minded to and half-minded not to touch the white finger-tips.
"You ain't afraid?"