"I don't account for it, my lord," came the deep voice. "I can't account for myself—much less for my lies."
Far down in those strange eyes Kit caught a gleam. Was it humour?—was it anguish?—what was it? He did not know. The man baffled him. He was groping in the dark and finding—darkness. He was at war with this man, war to the death; and yet, yet, yet, he felt they had something in common. What was it?—a kindred soul?—who should say?
For a long minute Nelson gazed gravely at the other.
"You're mighty strange, Mr. Dark," he said at last.
The man nodded and nodded.
"I'm mighty dark, Mr. Strange," he said—"mighty dark."
III
Nelson turned to the boy.
"Come below," he said.
"My lord," came a voice as out of a fog.