“Nay, it was but the eyes that seemed familiar. Doubtless there are many like them of Saxon blue, blighted by the undue levity of a disordered brain. The fellow, most like, has been a wild thing, little better than a beast. Saw you ever such a growth of hair on head and chin?”
“No, it ill becomes the youthful face—the face—” Vytal paused and fell again to thinking.
“The face,” echoed Marlowe, looking over to the sleeper. “Perchance we saw it before the man left England, before he came hither a year ago to meet his doom.”
“It is probable,” allowed Vytal; “if, indeed, we saw the face at all.”
CHAPTER XII
“That, like a fox in midst of harvest time,
Doth prey upon my flocks of passengers.”
—Marlowe, in Tamburlaine.