“The Osprey.”
A terrible light broke upon Rufus Dawes, and he began to understand how he had again missed his chance. “Who took her?”
“That double-dyed villain, John Rex,” says Frere, giving vent to his passion. “May she sink, and burn, and—”
“Have they gone, then?” cried the miserable man, clutching at his hair with a gesture of hopeless rage.
“Yes; two days ago, and left us here to starve.” Rufus Dawes burst into a laugh so discordant that it made the other shudder. “We'll starve together, Maurice Frere,” said he, “for while you've a crust, I'll share it. If I don't get liberty, at least I'll have revenge!”
The sinister aspect of this famished savage, sitting with his chin on his ragged knees, rocking himself to and fro in the light of the fire, gave Mr. Maurice Frere a new sensation. He felt as might have felt that African hunter who, returning to his camp fire, found a lion there. “Wretch!” said he, shrinking from him, “why should you wish to be revenged on me?”
The convict turned upon him with a snarl. “Take care what you say! I'll have no hard words. Wretch! If I am a wretch, who made me one? If I hate you and myself and the world, who made me hate it? I was born free—as free as you are. Why should I be sent to herd with beasts, and condemned to this slavery, worse than death? Tell me that, Maurice Frere—tell me that!” “I didn't make the laws,” says Frere, “why do you attack me?”
“Because you are what I was. You are FREE! You can do as you please. You can love, you can work, you can think. I can only hate!” He paused as if astonished at himself, and then continued, with a low laugh. “Fine words for a convict, eh! But, never mind, it's all right, Mr. Frere; we're equal now, and I sha'n't die an hour sooner than you, though you are a 'free man'!”
Frere began to think that he was dealing with another madman.
“Die! There's no need to talk of dying,” he said, as soothingly as it was possible for him to say it. “Time enough for that by-and-by.”