"What do 'ee say?" exclaimed Don Lazarillo.
"What a calamity to befall me!" cried Don Christoval, clasping his hands and upturning his face with a look of wretchedness that certainly was not counterfeited.
"Does she eat and drink?" said I.
"A little, just a little," he answered. "I put food in a plate on her knee and leave her, and when I return a little is gone."
"Should she show no signs of mending, shall you persevere in this voyage to Cuba, sir?"
"Certainly," he replied passionately, with a gesture like a blow.
I paused to hear if he had more to say. Finding him silent, I bowed and went on deck. Butler stood at the rail abreast of the skylight. Though his face habitually carried a sulky look, owing to the sour expression into which the extremities of his mouth were curved, his was a face to assure one on the whole that its owner was a good average honest English sailor. I am not of those who believe that the character is to be read in the face: but my own experience is, that I was never yet deceived by a man to whom I had taken a liking because of his face. Yet I admit that many honest souls, many excellent hearts, go through the world with repellent countenances. Hence the unwisdom of judging by the face.
I stepped up to Butler, and looking him in the eyes I exclaimed, "Butler, I believe we have been cheated into the commission of a gallows act by the lies of those two Spaniards down below in the cabin."
His intelligence was sluggish, and he looked at me with a gaze slow of perception.
"I have just seen the lady," said I.