CHAPTER III.
THE MISSING MAN.
I find it difficult to write, in my halting fashion, of what mysensations were at that time. God knows what good was in me, and onlyGod and time could bring that good out of me; for I had had nochildhood, and my manhood had been a thing thwarted and blighted.
You have to understand that in a matter of a few days I had lived yearsof an ordinary life; had been in prison, and had escaped; had come nearto death; had found myself buried and done with, and yet enlisted onlife under a new name; and, to crown it all, now come face to face withsomeone who believed in me and trusted me--broken reed though I was tolean upon.
I stood in the dark grounds, holding the girl's hands and looking intoher eyes: and that was a new experience for me. I remembered how someoneelse--dead, and shamefully buried in the precincts of a prison--had heldher hands but a little time before, and had begged that he might helpher. Well, he was past all that now; and I, with my poor record behindme, stood, miraculously enough, in his place. Yet there were things Imust understand, if I would help her at all: I wanted to know why shehad fled from her guardian, and why, in his turn, he had chased herthrough the grounds.
"What were you afraid of?" I asked her gently; and it was pleasant to methat she should forget to take her hands out of mine.
"Of him," she said, with a glance towards the house; and I thought sheshivered. "I wonder if you can understand what I feel, and of what I amafraid?" she went on, looking at me curiously. "I do not even know yourname."
I laughed a little bitterly. "You must indeed be in need of friends ifyou come to me," I answered.
"But my name is John New, and I am a--a friend of Dr. Just."
"Oh!" She shrank away from me with a startled look. "I did notunderstand that."
"I am a friend of Dr. Just," I repeated, "because it happens that I amvery much in his power, and I must be his friend if I would live at all.If that is your case, too, surely we might form some small conspiracytogether against him. You're not fond of the man?" I hazarded.
She shook her head. "I hate him--and I'm afraid of him," she saidvehemently. "And yet I have to look to him for everything in the world."
"Sit down, and tell me about it," I said; and I drew her into thesummer-house, and sat by her side while she talked to me. She was like achild in the ease with which she gave me her confidence; and as Ilistened to her, years seemed to separate me from my prison and from thelife I had led. For this was the first gentle soul with whom I had yetcome in contact.
"You must first tell me," she urged, "why you are in the doctor's power.Who are you? and what have you done, that he should be able to hold youin his hands? You are a man; you're not a weak girl."
It was difficult to answer her. "Well," I began, after a pause, "I didsomething, a long time ago, of which the doctor knows; and he holds thatknowledge over me. That's all I can tell you."
She looked straight into my eyes, and I found, to my relief, that I wasable to look at her with some frankness in return. "I don't believe itwas anything very wrong," she said at last.
"Thank you," I answered, and I prayed that she might never know what mysin had been.
"You see," she went on confidentially, while the shadows grew about us;"I am really all alone in the world, except for Dr. Just, who is myguardian. He was made my guardian by my poor, dear father, who died sometwo years ago; my father believed in the doctor very much. They hadwritten a scientific treatise together--because the doctor is veryclever, and father quite looked up to him. So when he died he leftdirections that I was to be taken care of by the doctor. That was twoyears ago, and I have lived in this house ever since, with one shortinterval."
"And the interval?" I asked.
"We went down to a country house belonging to the doctor--a place inEssex, called Green Barn. It's a gloomy old house--worse than this one;the doctor goes there to shoot."
"But you haven't told me yet why you were running away from him," Ireminded her.
She bent her head, so that I could not see her face. "Lately," she saidin a low voice, "his manner to me has changed. At first he was courteousand kind--he treated me as though I had been his daughter. But now it'sall different; he looks at me in a fashion I understand--and yet don'tunderstand. To-day he tried to put his arm round me, and to kiss me;then when I ran away he ran after me."
I felt that I hated the doctor very cordially; I had an insane desire tobe present if by any chance he should repeat his conduct. I felt mymuscles stiffen as I looked at the girl; in my thoughts I was like someknight of old, ready to do doughty deeds for this fair, pretty girl, whowas so ready to confide in me. I forgot all about who I was, or what hadhappened to me; I had only strangely come out into the world again--intoa world of love.
But the fact that it was a world of love reminded me that I had had arival--another man who had held her hands and looked into her eyes, andpleaded that he might help her. I could not, of course, ask about him,because I held the key to his fate, and that fate intimately concernedmy own safety; but I was consumed with curiosity, nevertheless.Strangely enough, she voiced my thoughts by beginning to speak of him.
"There is something else that troubles me," she said earnestly. "I haveone friend--a dear, good, loyal fellow; but he has unaccountably goneaway, and I can hear nothing of him."
I felt myself turning hot and cold; I blessed the darkness of thesummer-house. "What was his name?" I asked.
"Gregory Pennington," she answered softly.
"He was my friend before my father died; he followed me here when thedoctor took charge of me. He was afraid of the doctor--not for himself,but on my account; he had a strange idea, and one that I have tried tolaugh at, that the doctor wanted to kill me."
She looked at me with smiling eyes, laughing at such a suggestion; butI, remembering the earnestness of Gregory Pennington's words to the girlon that first occasion of my coming to the house, seemed now to hearthat warning as though it came indeed from the dead. And I could notanswer her.
"That was foolish, wasn't it?" she said, with a little laugh. "But then,I think poor Gregory loves me, and that made him afraid for me. You havebeen in the house here for some days; have you seen nothing of him?"
I was obliged to lie; there was nothing else for it. I shook my head,and lied stoutly. "No," I replied, "I have never seen him."
"It's all so strange," she said, as she got to her feet. "The doctor didnot like him, and had forbidden him the house, in spite of myremonstrances. As he was my friend, Gregory and I used to meet secretlyin these grounds in the evening."
I remembered how I had seen them together; I remembered, with a shudder,all that had happened afterwards. But still I said nothing; for whatcould I say?
"It was all so strange," she went on; and her voice sounded ghostly inthe darkness. I had risen, and was standing opposite to her; I seemed tofeel that the air had grown suddenly very chill. "The last time I sawhim he told me that he would go to the house, and would see my guardian.I did all I could," she proceeded helplessly, "to dissuade him, but hewould not listen. He said he must have an understanding with Dr. Just,and must take me away; although I think I should never have consented tothat, in any case--because, you see, I did not really love him. He hadalways been like a good, kind brother to me, but nothing more."
"And did he go to the house?" I asked, for the want of something betterto say.
She nodded. "I would not go in with him," she replied, "but I saw him gotowards the doctor's study. I went off to my own room."
"And you heard nothing, and saw nothing after that?" I askedbreathlessly.
"Nothing at all," she whispered. "Early the next morning the doctorsent me off to Green Barn, with a woman who is his housekeeper; I onlycame back to-day. I expected a letter from Gregory--even expected to seehim. It's all so funny; it is just as though he had walked into thatstudy--and had disappeared from that time."
"You mustn't think such things as that," I exclaimed hurriedly. "A dozenthings may hav
e happened; he may have been repulsed by the doctor, andso have decided to go away. If he knew you did not love him, he wouldfeel pretty hopeless about the matter."
"That is possible, perhaps," she said. Then, suddenly, she held out herhand to me. "I have one friend at least," she said, "and his name is Mr.John New. It's a curious name, and I shan't forget it. You tell me thatyou are in trouble, too: so that is a bond between us. Good-night!"
I watched her as she flitted away through the garden. Even in my reliefat the thought that she did not love Gregory Pennington, there was thedismal feeling that some day she must learn the truth--the ghastlythought that I stood there, actually in the clothes of the dead man. Thewhole business was a nightmare from beginning to end, in which alone shestood out as something bright, and fair, and unsullied.
We were a curious household. There were one or two rather scared-lookingservants, presided over by a woman to whom the doctor referred always as"Leach"; in fact, he called her by that name when speaking to her. Asshe was destined to play rather an important part in that strangebusiness upon which we were all entering, she deserves a word or two ofdescription.
She must have been about forty years of age, and had once been, andstill was, in a way, astonishingly handsome. She was tall and very dark;she had hair of that blue-black quality that is so rarely seen. Hereyes were as brilliant as those of Dr. Bardolph Just himself, save thatthere was in hers a curious slumbrous quality, quite unlike the sparklein the man's. I may best describe her by saying that she suggested to methat in the very soul of her was something lurking and waiting forexpression--some smouldering fire that a touch or a word might startinto flame.
So far as I could gather, Dr. Just was exceedingly contemptible of her,and treated her with a sort of bitter playfulness. He seemed to take adelight in making her perform the most menial offices; and to me it wasrather pitiful to see the eagerness with which she anticipated his everywish or command. I did not know at that time what bond there was betweenthem; only, whenever I think of them in this later time one scene alwaysrises before my memory.
It was on a morning soon after I had arrived at the house, and thedoctor was in a ferocious mood. Everything had gone wrong, and I hadseen the woman Leach, who ordinarily waited behind his chair, and byquick signs directed the servants what to do, cower under the lash ofhis words more than once. It happened to be at the breakfast table, andI was seated at one end, facing the doctor. It was the morning afterthat memorable night when I had talked with the girl Debora in thegrounds; and now she sat on my right hand, at one side of the table,between the doctor and myself.
Absurd as the suggestion is, it almost seemed to me that the doctor wasstriking a balance between the two women for the mortification of themboth. He pressed dishes upon the girl, with suave compliments at onemoment, and in the next turned to Leach behind him with what was almosta coarse threat.
"Why the devil don't you wait on your young mistress?" he snapped. "Whatdo you think I keep you here for? What do I pay you for?"
He turned to the table again, and, looking down the length of it, I sawthe woman swiftly clench and unclench her hands behind him, as thoughshe would have struck him. And if ever I saw murder in a face I saw itthen; yet she looked not at the doctor, but at the bowed head of thegirl beside me.
"Come--move--stir yourself!" cried the man, bringing down his fist witha bang on the table beside him. "Don't wait for the servants to carrythings; carry them yourself. Take this dish to your mistress--MissDebora Matchwick."
It was the first time I had heard the girl's name in full; but I tookbut little notice of it then, so interested was I in watching the littlescene that was going forward. While the doctor sat looking at the girl,I saw the woman behind him draw herself up, and I saw her nostrilsdilate; then she seemed to swoop to the table, and to catch up the dishhe had indicated. She moved round slowly to where the girl sat, andpurposely handed the dish from the wrong side. And down came BardolphJust's fist again on the table.
"The other side, you jade!" he roared; and with a glance at him shemoved round, and presented it to the girl in the proper fashion. And theface that bent above the fair hair of the girl was the face of adevil--of a soul in torment.
"I want nothing, thank you," said Debora in a low voice.
"Come, my dear child, we shall have you pining away to a shadow if youdon't eat," broke in the doctor, with a mocking smile. "Is it possiblethat you are fretting over something--hungering for someone? We musthave a private talk about this after breakfast; you must confide yourtroubles to me. And may I ask," he went on, with bitter politeness, ashe turned to the other woman, "may I ask why you are standing in thatabsurd attitude, when your mistress tells you she wants nothing?"
The woman Leach turned away abruptly, and set down the dish. Debora hadrisen from the table, as if to make her escape, and the other woman,after a quick glance at her, was preparing to go from the room also. Buther humiliation was not yet completed; the doctor called her back.
"Wait, Leach," he said, and she stopped on the instant. "You are in atempestuous humour this morning, and that sort of humour must bequelled. Ring the bell."
She gave a quick, nervous glance at him, and then walked across the roomand rang the bell. She waited, with her eyes cast on the ground, until aservant came in, carrying in his hand a pair of shoes. The doctor turnedround in his chair, and the man carrying the shoes dropped on one knee,as if to put them on. But Bardolph Just waved him aside.
"You needn't trouble; get up," he said; and the man rose from his knees,looking a little bewildered. "Leach, come here!"
The woman stood still for a moment, and then walked slowly across thefloor, till she stood in front of him. He pointed to the shoes at hisfeet, and smiled; and I, who had risen in my place, stood helplessly,waiting to see what would happen.
It took her quite a long time to get to her knees, but she did it atlast, and began to put on the shoes. All this time the man-servant stoodgaping, not knowing whether to go or stay. Debora, too, had paused atthe door, in amazement at the scene. And in that oppressive silence thewoman Leach fastened the shoes with fingers that seemed clumsy enoughfor that work. Nor were the doctor's words likely to mend her confusion.
"You're precious slow, I must say! What's the matter with you? are yougetting past your work? You know what happens to people who are nolonger fit to work, don't you? We have to cast them out into the street,to make a living as best they can--or to die. There--that'll do; you'vebeen long enough to fasten a dozen pairs of shoes."
I think he struck her with his foot as she was rising from her knees,but of that I cannot be sure. I know that she turned away abruptly, butnot before I had had time to see that those great eyes of hers wereblinded with tears. Yet her gait, as she went from the room, was asstately as ever.
But perhaps the strangest being in that strange house at that time wasWilliam Capper. He wandered like a lost spirit, and one never knew quitewhere he would appear. Knowing what I did as to what had become of thedead man, this man who looked for him and waited for him was as a ghostthat would not be laid. More than that, he was a ghost who mightsuddenly spring into live flesh and blood, and tell what he knew.
The doctor seemed as disconcerted by his presence as I was, and yet hemade no effort to get rid of the man. Capper wandered about the houseand about the grounds just as he pleased, while those peering eyes ofhis seemed always to be searching for his master. But it happened that,as Debora had been sent away on the very morning following the death ofpoor Gregory Pennington, and had only returned now, she had not yet comein contact with the man Capper. I found myself wondering what wouldhappen when she did.
She was destined to meet him under curious circumstances. On thatmorning which had seen the degradation of the woman Leach before usall, Dr. Bardolph Just called me into that room that was half study andhalf surgery, and told me quite abruptly that he wanted me to go downinto London for him. I suppose my startled face told its own tale, forhe laughed a little contemptuou
sly.
"Do you imagine anyone will be seeking you, or even expecting to findyou above ground?" he asked. "Can't you get into your mind the idea thatNorton Hyde is dead and buried in his own prison, and that anotherman--John New--has come alive in his place? People only look for whatthey expect to find, my dear John New; you are as safe as though by amiracle you had changed your features. I merely want you to go down intoHolborn, to inquire about a certain scientific book which was promisedto be sent to me and has not arrived. If it has not already been sent,you can bring it back with you."
He gave me the address, and money wherewith to travel; and I felt myheart sink at the prospect of going down, in this bare-faced fashion,into the great world. In my heart of hearts I determined that I wouldnot go; the book might arrive in my absence, and the doctor might forgetthat he had sent me at all. So I made a feint of going, but in realitydid not pass beyond the grounds.
It was a slumbrous day in early summer, and the grounds being very wideand extensive, I had rather an enjoyable forenoon of it. I determinedthat I would calculate to a nicety how long it should have taken me toget down to Holborn and back again, allowing a margin for accidentaldelays. Then I would put in an appearance at the house, and tell thedoctor that I had reached the shop, only to find that the book had beensent off.
It may have been some sentimental feeling that carried my feet in thedirection of that dark and half-ruined summer-house; or, as I thinknow, some direct Providence guiding me. Believing that it would bedeserted, and that I might kill time there with some comfort, I wasmaking straight for it among the tangled grasses and dead leaves of thegarden, when I stopped, and drew away from it. For I had heard voices.
I make no attempt to excuse my conduct; I only urge that at that time Iwas surrounded by mysteries, and by trickery of every sort, and that Iwas, moreover, in hiding, in peril of my liberty. All the world might beconspiring against me--above all, those in this house, with oneexception, might be only too glad to give me up to justice. I wasfighting for myself; I make no excuse that I crept near to thesummer-house, and listened. More than that, I looked in, for through achink of the ruined boarding at the back of it I could see clearly allthat happened.
Debora Matchwick was seated in a corner, drawn up tense and still, withher hands gripping the seat on either side of her; and in the doorway,with his arms folded, completely blocking her way of escape, stood thedoctor.
It would seem that I had arrived at the very moment the man haddiscovered her, for his first words referred to the previous day.Whatever other words I had heard had been but a mere skirmishing beforethe actual battle began.
"I lost you in this direction yesterday, Debora," said the man; "youmanaged to elude me rather cleverly. What makes you afraid of me?"
"I--I'm not afraid of you," she said, with more bravery than she seemedto feel.
He laughed at her, showing his white teeth. "You're very much afraid ofme," he corrected her. "And yet you have no reason to be; we shouldnever be afraid of those who love us."
"You are my guardian, and you were my father's friend," she saidquietly. "Beyond that guardianship you have nothing to do with me, and Iwill not----"
"You talk like a child, and you have a child's knowledge of the world,"he broke in roughly. "I that am a man can teach you, as only a man canteach a woman, what life and the world hold for her. Prudishly you stepaside; with false modesty you refuse to look at facts as they are. Youare a child no longer, in the ordinary sense of things; and I am a manthat loves you. Your father liked me----"
"To my everlasting sorrow, he did!" she exclaimed passionately.
"And he would have approved of the arrangement. Above all things, themanagement of your extremely troublesome affairs are in my hands, and ifyou belonged to me the whole thing would be solidified. I have greatpower in regard to your fortune now; I should have greater powers then."
"It's the fortune that tempts you!" she exclaimed, starting to her feet."God forgive me for saying it, but my father must have been mad when hemade up his mind to place me in your care. I hate you--but I'm notafraid of you. I hate you!"
Bardolph Just stepped forward quickly, and took her prisoner in hisarms. I had made a sudden movement, recklessly enough, to run round thesummer-house and spring upon the man, as I heard her give a littlegasping cry, when there came a strange interruption; and it came fromoutside and from inside the summer-house almost at the same moment.
I had heard the doctor say, over and over again, with a sort of savagetriumph, as he held her, "You shall love me! You shall love me! Youshall love me!" and I had made that movement of which I speak, whenthere broke in the sound of someone singing, in a high querulous voice,and that someone was moving towards the summer-house. The girl heardthe sound, and she broke away from the man who held her; she seemedliterally to shriek out a name--
"Capper!"
All the rest happened in a flash. Scarcely knowing what I did, I ranround and confronted them all--and that, too, at the moment that thegirl, breaking from the summer-house, ran swiftly to where the littlegrey-headed old man was emerging from the trees. In her agitation sheflung herself at his feet, and caught at his hands, and cried out herquestion:
"Capper, dear, good Capper!--where's your master?"
We stood there in silence, waiting to see what would happen. For bothBardolph Just and myself could have answered the question, but what wasthe man Capper about to say? This was just such a crisis as I had beenexpecting and fearing; it seemed hours before the little grey-hairedman, who had been looking down at her in a bewildered fashion, made anyreply.
"I don't--don't know," he said, and he smiled round upon us ratherfoolishly, I thought.
"But, Capper--you remember me, Capper; I was your master's friend," wenton the girl despairingly. "You remember that Mr. Pennington came to thishouse--oh!--oh, a week ago!"
She had risen to her feet, and was staring into his eyes. He put a handover those eyes for a moment, and seemed to ponder something; then helooked up, and slowly shook his head. "I can't--I can't remember," hesaid. "Something has gone from me--here"--he laid the hand upon hisforehead--"and I can't remember."
The doctor drew a deep breath, and took a step towards the girl; of mehe seemed to take but little notice. "Don't worry the man, Debora," hesaid in a gentle tone; "I can't make him out myself, sometimes. Why heshould remain here, where his master is not, I cannot understand."
Both Just and the girl spoke of the old man in hushed tones, as theymight have spoken of someone who was ill. But Capper himself stoodlooking smilingly from one face to the other, as if his eyes wouldquestion them concerning this mystery in which he was involved.
"Has he been here ever since--since Mr. Pennington disappeared?" askedthe girl.
"I don't know what you're talking about," retorted the doctor, with aperplexed frown. "Disappeared? How could Gregory Pennington disappear? Irefused to allow him to come here; I have seen nothing of him for sometime."
I knew, of course, that the doctor was keeping from her the knowledge ofthe unfortunate young man's suicide--I realised that that knowledge mustbe kept from her, for my sake as well, unless disaster was to fall uponme. But the girl was looking at Bardolph Just keenly, and I wondered howhe could meet her eyes as calmly as he did.
"The night before I went to Green Barn with Leach," she said slowly, "Iwas in these grounds with Gregory. And that night he went into the houseto see you."
"To see me?" The doctor twisted about from one to the other of us inapparent perplexity. "To see me? I haven't seen the young man formonths."
"Then what, in the name of all that's wonderful, is Capper doing here?"demanded Debora, pointing to that strange, smiling creature, who seemedthe least interested of any of us.
For a moment even the doctor was nonplussed, for that was a question towhich there seemed to be no possible answer--or, at least, no answerthat should prove satisfactory. It was, indeed, the strangest scene, tous, at least, who understood the true inwardness of it: tha
t littlegrey-haired man, who might carry locked up in his numbed brain somethingthat presently should leak out; the girl demanding to know the reason ofhis presence there; and the doctor and myself with the full knowledge ofwhat had really happened, and of where Gregory Pennington lay hidden.
Bardolph Just, however, was the last man to be placed at a disadvantagefor any length of time. In a moment or two he laughed easily, andshrugged his shoulders. "'Pon my word, I don't know!" he replied, inreference to the girl's question. "I can make neither head nor tail ofhim; but as his master is not here, I scarcely care to turn him out intothe world in his present condition."
"What's the matter with him?" asked Debora. "I never saw him like thisbefore."
"Can't say," retorted the doctor quickly. "But I should judge him tohave had a stroke of some kind. At all events, Debora, I don't want youto think that I'm a brute; and as Gregory Pennington was a friend ofyours--I should say, is a friend of yours--the old man shall stay hereuntil--until his master returns."
I noticed that Capper kept close beside the girl as she moved awaytowards the house; he looked up at her trustingly, as a child might havedone who wanted a guide. As they walked away together, Bardolph Juststepped forward and laid a hand on the girl's arm. I heard what he saiddistinctly.
"I have not said my last word, by any means," he said in his smoothvoice; "nor is this the end."
"It is the end so far as I am concerned," she retorted, withoutslackening her pace. "You shall be my guardian no longer; I'll arrangesomething, so that I can get out into the world and live for myself andin my own fashion."
"We'll see about that," he retorted, between his teeth. "Go to yourroom, and remain there."
She gave him a glance of contempt, that had yet in it some spice offear, as she turned away and made for the house, with old Cappertrotting dog-like beside her. Then the doctor turned to me, and althoughI saw that there were certain white spots coming and going at the edgesof his nostrils and on his cheek bones, he yet spoke calmlyenough--indeed, a little amusedly.
"What do you think of that for pretty defiance?" he asked; then, sinkinghis voice to a lower tone, and taking a step nearer to me, he wenton--"She's getting suspicious about that boy; and the madman who's goneoff with her now is likely to cause trouble. I don't know what to dowith him, but I shall have to devise something. Don't forget, my friend,that if the worst comes to the worst you're in the same boat with me--orin a worse boat. I've only cheated the authorities for your sake; I canplead human sympathy and kindliness, and all sorts of things--which youcan't."
"Is that a threat?" I demanded, for now my gratitude was being fastswallowed up in a growing dislike of the man.
"Yes, and no," he replied, with a faint smile. "I'm only suggesting thatyou will find it wise, whatever happens, to fight on my side, and onmine only. I think you understand?"
I answered nothing; I followed him, sullenly enough, to the house. Bythat time I had quite forgotten the errand on which I had been sent, andwhich I had made no effort to accomplish; only when we were near to thehouse he turned quickly, and startled me by referring to it.
"By the way, you had your journey for nothing," he said. "The bookarrived while you were gone. Did you meet with any adventures?"
"None at all," I answered curtly.
I was destined for another adventure, and a more alarming one, thatnight. There was no ceremony used in the doctor's house, and he made noattempt to dress for dinner. For that matter, I had not as yet seen anyguests, and the doctor, on one or two occasions at least, had had hismeals carried up to his study. So far as dinner was concerned, itusually happened that in the recesses of the house someone clanged adismal bell at the time the food was actually put upon the table, and Iwould go down, either to sit alone, or to find the doctor awaiting me.You will remember that the girl Debora had been away for the whole ofthat eventful week.
The dining-room was dimly lighted by a big, shaded lamp, standing on thecentre of the table; so that when I went in on this night, and lookedabout me, I could see figures seated, but could not clearly distinguishfaces. The doctor I saw in his usual place, stooping forward into thelight of the lamp to sup at his soup; I saw the bent head of the girl atone side of the table. I moved round the table to reach my place, and asI did so saw that another man was seated opposite the girl, so making afourth. I could not see his face, as it was in shadow. I wondered who hemight be.
The doctor bent forward, so as to look round the lamp at me, called me(God be praised for it!) by that new name he had given me--
"John New, let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Harvey Scoffold."
I sat frozen in my chair, keeping my face in shadow, and wondering whatI should do. For I knew the man--had known him intimately on thoseoccasions when I had broken out of my uncle's house at night, and hadgone on wild excursions. I saw him glance towards me; I knew that heknew my history, and what had become of me; and I wondered how soon hewas to start up in his place, and cry out who I was, and demand to knowwho lay buried in my place. I left my soup untasted, and sat upright,keeping my face above the light cast by the lamp.
"Mr. Harvey Scoffold is an old friend of mine," said Bardolph Just,"although we have not met for some time. A worthy fellow--though he doesnot take quite so deep an interest in the serious things of life as Ido."
"Not I," exclaimed the other man, squaring his shoulders, and givingvent to a hearty laugh that rang through the room. "I'm a verybutterfly, if a large one; and life's the biggest joke that ever Itasted. I hope our new friend is of the same order?"
I mumbled something unintelligible, and, after looking at me intentlyfor a moment, he turned and began to speak to his host. I think I hadjust decided that I had better feign illness, and get up and make a runfor dear life, when he staggered us all by a question, put in hishearty, careless fashion.
"By the way," he said, looking from the doctor to the girl, and backagain, "what's become of that youngster I used to see here--GregoryPennington? I took quite a fancy to the boy. Does anyone know where heis?"