Then, as I saw, I clasped my head between my hands, and fell back—staring.
A grizzled man with an honest, open face, a middle-aged man whose homely features were lighted by a pair of kindly blue eyes, just now round with astonishment.
"Lord!—Mr. Peter!" he exclaimed.
"Adam!" I groaned. "Oh, God forgive me, it's Adam!"
"Lord! Mr. Peter," said he again, "you sure give me a turn, Sir! But what's the matter wi' you, sir? Come, Mr. Peter, never stare so wild like—come, sir, what is it?"
"Tell me—quick!" said I, catching his hand in mine, "you have been here many times before of late?"
"Why—yes, Mr. Peter, but—"
"Quick!" said I; "on one occasion she took you into the cottage yonder and showed you a book—you looked at it over her shoulder?"
"Yes, sir—but—"
"What sort of book was it?"