‘What do they say of me? What is thought?’
‘Tom, what does it matter? You are innocent, and I love you.’
‘My noble heart, God bless you. What does your uncle think?’
‘Time’s up?’ cried a warder.
‘You have sworn it, Tom. Remember!‘
‘I will write, dearest, I swear it, I will write.’
‘Come, my man!’ shouted one of the guard.
‘Remember, Tom!’ I exclaimed.
‘I will write to you,’ were his last words.
I stood watching him as he walked with the other convicts and the guard to the gangway gallery. The excitement and grief of this meeting worked like a fever in me. My breast was violently heaving, my eyes were dry and hot, as though full of fire, my lips parched as though pale and broken with thirst. I stepped over to the deputy-governor and said: