“It was red as blood.”
“Aye, and the paint came off on my fingers, but I dried it in the sun; and I have the book now, not in the Owl’s Nest, but in a cupboard of the back kitchen o’ my old house.”
“His likeness was on it.”
“That I can’t say. There is a head of a man.”
“The head of Lord Lamerton.”
“It don’t look like it; the man has black hair and a beard, and his lordship had no beard, and his hair was light brown.”
A shudder came over the captain. Was his last, his firmest anchor to break?
Again, as he had done several times already, he passed his hands over his arms and shoulders and sides, as if peeling off what adhered to him.
“Let me see the book,” he said faintly. “Lead on.”
“I ought to have returned it to Miss Arminell,” said Mrs. Kite; “but I didn’t, because my Tamsine saw it, and said she’d like to read it. She’s mighty fond of what they call a sensational novel.”