“And don’t you remember the name of that brig? It was the brig Soliman.”
Mrs. Eastman started violently, and turned pale, while the color came like red fire to the face of Harrington.
“Heavens!” exclaimed the pale lady, clasping her hands. “Oh, I hope you are wrong! I hope Lemuel has not been lending himself to such work as this.”
“Wait a minute,” said Harrington, springing up and leaving the room.
He went up-stairs to the chamber of the fugitives. Roux and Antony were sitting near each other, and Tugmutton was reading to them in his usual grandiloquent way.
“Antony,” said Harrington, “what did you say the name of that brig was?”
The fugitive, still lean and haggard, but wonderfully improved in aspect, stared at him with his hollow eyes and skull-like visage for a moment.
“Brig Solomon, Marster Harrington,” he replied, quickly.
“You say you read the name of the brig when you were in the water, before you boarded her?”