It was singular to witness how soon the recluse had once more become an active man of the world, and for a while forgotten his Bible and religious fanaticism.

“Tell me all that has happened,” the convict said, motioning for us three to follow him a short distance from his daughter, so that our conversation could not be overheard by her.

Smith related the strange visit of the hound, and his leading us to the scene of the murder—­our finding his child in an insensible condition—­the story of her wrongs, and our surprise at finding that she was in search of him.  He listened with clinched teeth, and only interrupted the narrative with groans of rage and anguish.  When he knew all, we waited to see what course he would pursue.

To our surprise, he did not speak, but turned away as though about to seek his home.

“Stay one moment,” cried Smith, laying his hand upon his shoulder.

“Well,” cried the convict, impatiently.

“What do you propose to do?” we asked.

“Are you Americans, and ask that question?” he demanded.

“You think of seeking Black Darnley?” Smith continued.

“I do.”

“Alone?”

“Alone.”

“You shall not,” cried Smith, with sudden energy.  “You are no match for him and his gang.”

“My daughter’s injury must be avenged.  I go alone to consummate it.”

“Stay until to-morrow, and we will accompany you,” Fred and myself cried with one accord.

The convict hesitated for a moment, then suddenly extended his hands, and while he wrung ours, promised a compliance.  The next instant he had lifted his daughter in his arms, and was walking with the burden towards his hut.

We saw no more of him until towards night, and then he was in front of the hut cleaning his long, heavy musket.

CHAPTER VIII.

An expedition.—­A fight with bushrangers.—­Death of black Darnley.

“I don’t like the expedition,” said Smith, pettishly, as he saw Fred and myself examining our powder-flasks and counting bullets.

“Then stay here and await our return,” cried Fred, bluntly, looking up from his work.

Smith moved uneasily, muttered something in an under tone, felt the edge of his constant companion, a heavy axe, and then replied,—­

“If you two harum-scarum youngsters are determined to get your throats cut, I don’t see but that I shall have to be near at hand.  But I tell you it is bad business, and none but crazy men would think of penetrating that dark forest in search of bushrangers.”

“You wouldn’t let that old man go alone, would you?” we asked.

“No; but then—­”

He stopped a moment, as though to collect his thoughts, and pettishly exclaimed,—­

“D——­ it, you are going in search of the worst gang on the island.  Black Darnley is equal to all three of us in a personal encounter.”