“Oh!” he said, in a hoarse whisper, as the great drops stood out upon his brow. “What did Brime say?”
He shivered, and his voice dropped into a whisper.
“Mr Chris Lisle! He was there that night!”
Volume Three—Chapter Five.
Mr Wimble is in Doubt.
“Want lodgings, sir?” said Reuben Brime taking his short black pipe from his lips, and gazing straight out to sea, as if he thought there was plenty of room for a good long rest out there. Then straightening himself from having a good, thoughtful lean on the cliff rail, where he had been having his evening’s idle after the day’s work done, he turned, and, looking thoughtfully at a youngish man in tweeds, as if he were a plant not growing quite so satisfactorily as could be wished, he said again, in a tone of mild inquiry,—“Lodgings?”
“Yes, lodgings,” said the new-comer shortly.
“Well, I was trying to think of some, sir; and I could have told you of the very thing if something as I had in hand had come up—I mean off.”