"I understand this prevalence of sympathy for misfortune perfectly, and honor it; yet I have heard a voice since my immurement in this cabin which must belong"—and I whispered the dreaded name—"to Mr. Basil Bainrothe!"
As I spoke I eyed him steadily, and I fancied that his cheek flushed and his eye wavered—that clear and honest eye which had given him a high place in my consideration from the moment I met its' gaze.
"You must have been delirious-like when you conceited you heerd that strange voice," he said, presently.
"I'll send you my passenger-list if you choose, and you can read it over keerfully. I don't think you'll find that name, though, in its kolyums," shaking his head sagaciously.
"Captain Van Dome, do you mean to say there is no such passenger in your ship's list as Basil Bainrothe?" I asked, desperately.
"That's what I mean to say."
"Give me your honor on this point. It is a vital one to me. Your honor!"
He hesitated and looked around. Just at this moment of apparent uncertainty, a slight tap was heard on the ground-glass eye above us that threw a sullen and unwilling light upon the scene of our interview. It seemed to nerve him strangely.
"On my word of honor, as an American seaman, I assure you that the name of Basil Bainrothe is not on the ship's list at this present speaking;" and, as he spoke, he held up his right hand, adding, as he dropped it, doggedly, "Ef the man's on board I don't know it!"
"It is enough—I believe you, Captain Van Dorne. And now I want to ask you, as a parting grace, to convey me yourself to the Astor House, and place my watch" (detaching it from my neck as I spoke) "in the hands of the proprietors as a proof of my honest intentions. For yourself, I shall seek another opportunity."