A wild gloomy sky hung over their heads when they took leave of each other, and their surroundings of rank bushes and stony fields were dreary.
"In four days' time," were Byrne's last words, "the ship will stand in and send a boat on shore if the weather permits.

If not you'll have to make it out on shore the best you can till we come along to take you off." "Right you are, sir," answered Tom, and strode on.

Byrne watched him step out on a narrow path.

In a thick pea-jacket with a pair of pistols in his belt, a cutlass by his side, and a stout cudgel in his hand, he looked a sturdy figure and well able to take care of himself.

He turned round for a moment to wave his hand, giving to Byrne one more view of his honest bronzed face with bushy whiskers.