was such a one as Braithwaite himself had fixed upon his horse as he flogged it up the hills.
I began to wonder how the young squire had found it in his conscience to recommend such a pair. I wondered less when the woman finally ushered me upstairs to my rooms. These were small and rugged, but eminently snug and clean. In each a good fire blazed cheerfully; my portmanteau was already unstrapped, the table in the sitting-room already laid; and I could not help looking twice at the silver and the
“Do you know what ship?”
“Do we know? No, that’s what you’ve got to tell us!”
“I can’t,” I sighed, too weak to wag my head upon the pillow.
The man went to my cabin door.
“Here’s a go,” said he; “forgotten the name of his blessed ship, he has. Where’s that there paper, Mr. Bowles? There’s just a chance it may be the same.”