Sarah Purfoy paused in the doorway to listen, but she could make nothing of the low, uneasy murmuring.

Raising her arm, conspicuous by its white sleeve in the gloom, she beckoned Miles.
"The lantern," she whispered, "bring me the lantern!" He unhooked it from the rope where it swung, and brought it towards her.
At that moment the man in the bunk sat up erect, and twisted himself towards the light.

"Sarah!" he cried, in shrill sharp tones.

"Sarah!" and swooped with a lean arm through the dusk, as though to seize her.
The girl leapt out of the cabin like a panther, struck the lantern out of her lover's hand, and was back at the bunk-head in a moment.

The convict was a young man of about four-and-twenty.