"I am sorry to disturb you—but a word, directly."
"I'm going to deal," returned the Carrier. "It's a crisis."
"It is," said Tackleton. "Come here, man!"
There was that in his pale face which made the other rise immediately, and ask him, in a hurry, what the matter was.
"Hush! John Peerybingle," said Tackleton. "I am sorry for this. I am indeed. I have been afraid of it. I have suspected it from the first."
"What is it?" asked the Carrier, with a frightened aspect.
"Hush! I'll show you, if you'll come with me."
The Carrier accompanied him, without another word. They went across a yard, where the stars were shining; and by a little side door, into Tackleton's own counting-house, where there was a glass window, commanding the ware-room: which was closed for the night. There was no light in the counting-house itself, but there were lamps in the long narrow ware-room; and consequently the window was bright.
"A moment!" said Tackleton. "Can you bear to look through that window, do you think?"
"Why not?" returned the Carrier.