Hommy-beg scratched his tousled head and made no answer at first, and the Bishop repeated the question.
"We're all taking sorrow for you, my lord," said Hommy, and then he stopped.
"What is it?" the Bishop repeated.
"And right sorry I am to bring his message."
The Bishop's pale face took an ashy gray, but his manner was still calm.
"What did the Deemster send you to say, Hommy?"
"The Dempster—bad cess to him, and no disrespec'—he sent me to tell you that they're after stripping the canvas off, and, behould ye, it's an ould sail, and they're knowing it by its number, and what fishing-boat it came out of, and all to that."
"Where did the sailcloth come from?" asked the Bishop, and his deep eyes were fixed on Hommy.
"It's an ould—well, the fact is—to tell you not a word of a lie—aw, my lord, what matter—what if it is—"
"Where?" said the Bishop calmly, though his lips whitened and quivered.