Wylie received this last observation with a look of contempt for the mind that could put so trivial a question in so great an emergency.
"Are you quite sure poor Hudson is dead?" asked Wardlaw, in a low voice.
"Dead! Don't I tell you I saw him die!" said Wylie, trembling all of a sudden.
He took a glass of brandy, and sent it flying down his throat.
"Leave the paper with me," said Arthur, languidly, "and tell Penfold I'll crawl to the office to-morrow. You can meet me there; I shall see nobody else."
Wylie called next day at the office, and was received by Penfold, who had now learned the cause of Arthur's grief, and ushered the visitor in to him with looks of benevolent concern. Arthur was seated like a lunatic, pale and motionless; on the table before him was a roast fowl and a salad, which he had forgotten to eat. His mind appeared to alternate between love and fraud; for, as soon as he saw Wylie, he gave himself a sort of shake and handed Wylie the log and the papers.
"Examine them; they agree better with each other now."
Wylie examined the log, and started with surprise and superstitious terror. "Why, Hiram's ghost has been here at work!" said he. "It is his very handwriting."
"Hush!" said Wardlaw; "not so loud. Will it do?"
"The writing will do first-rate; but any one can see this log has never been to sea."