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"Good morning, Mr Lawrence," said Mr Greyquill, making the gentleman a low bow. "I may take it that you're going to the ship[Pg 134] which I am pleased to hear Captain Acton has given you the command of." It was the evening of the next day. Frank Stanhope lay on a couch in a darkened room, a black bandage across his eyes. Erie Landon sat beside him, holding his hand. The pungent odor of ether hung in the air. Out in the dining room old Doctor Allworth, from Bridgetown, was discussing with the specialist things known only to those men of science. "We have heard of her, but not as we could wish, sister," said Captain Acton. "But what have you done to find her, or to hear of her?".
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"Well?" Caleb asked finally. "What about it?" Anson's jaw dropped and he backed fearfully away. "Oh, you'll find that out soon enough," promised Anson. "He told me to tell you that he would do the same thing to you first chance he got." Mr Lawrence looked at the red-headed, monkey-faced, pleading creature, not, in that look designing, it was manifest, to give him the berth; but all on a sudden his face slightly changed, an idea seemed to flash up in him and work in his countenance, just as a light kindled suddenly within a mask made of something transparent might, by the intention of the artist, change its look..
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