“Thanks—thanks!” said the convict. “You can’t think what a treat it will be. I may be able to do you a good turn for it some day, Ned Murray.”
The young man started, and would have spoken to the convict; but the sergeant laid his hand upon his arm.
“Won’t do, sir; I should get into trouble. We wink at a good deal; but we must draw the line somewhere. Now, men, forward!”
Edward Murray drew back, and nodded his acquiescence in the sergeant’s remarks as the gang slowly passed on along the beach; then trying in vain to call to mind who could be the speaker who so well knew his name, he turned to go on board.
“I’ll give it up,” said the young man at last; “it’s beyond me. I’ve a friend more, though, in the world than I thought for. Friend? Hum! Not much cause to be proud of him. Well, it’s better than for a black-looking rascal to say he’ll owe you a grudge. Well,” he continued, as he mounted the side, “I’ll give it up; but I shall most likely know some day.”
And like many another unconscious thinker, Edward Murray was, for the time being, amongst the prophets.
Story 3--Chapter II.
Night at a Convict Station.
“Hullo! What’s wrong?” exclaimed Edward Murray, leaping out of his cot; for he had been awakened by a heavy sound like thunder; and directly after he heard the second mate’s voice calling to him.