The flush deck was without wells. The gentleman appealed to shook his head in reply, coughed as only a Dutchman can cough, and raising his hand from the bowl of his pipe, went through precisely the same mysterious ceremonial as the Master. Both advanced towards it, when, by the light of the lantern, Wood beheld, in the countenance of the stranger, the well-remembered and stern features of Rowland. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. He looked at it eagerly, but made no movement to take it. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. ” “You know, Mr.
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