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Page 46
The outcast seized on the bread and meat with lean, long-nailed
hands that looked like claws. After his first mouthful of the
food, he stopped, considered vacantly with himself, and broke the
bread and meat into two portions. One portion he put into an old
canvas wallet that hung over his shoulder; the other he devoured
voraciously. Steventon questioned him.
"Where do you come from?"
"From the sea."
"Wrecked?"
"Yes."
Steventon turned to Mrs. Crayford.
"There may be some truth in the poor wretch's story," he said. "I
heard something of a strange boat having been cast on the beach
thirty or forty miles higher up the coast. When were you wrecked,
my man?"
The starving creature looked up from his food, and made an effort
to collect his thoughts--to exert his memory. It was not to be
done. He gave up the attempt in despair. His language, when he
spoke, was as wild as his looks.
"I can't tell you," he said. "I can't get the wash of the sea out
of my ears. I can't get the shining stars all night, and the
burning sun all day, out of my brain. When was I wrecked? When
was I first adrift in the boat? When did I get the tiller in my
hand and fight against hunger and sleep? When did the gnawing in
my breast, and the burning in my head, first begin? I have lost
all reckoning of it. I can't think; I can't sleep; I can't get
the wash of the sea out of my ears. What are you baiting me with
questions for? Let me eat!"
Even the sailors pitied him. The sailors asked leave of their
officer to add a little drink to his meal.
"We've got a drop of grog with us, sir, in a bottle. May we give
it to him?"
"Certainly!"
He took the bottle fiercely, as he had taken the food, drank a
little, stopped, and considered with himself again. He held up
the bottle to the light, and, marking how much liquor it
contained, carefully drank half of it only. This done, he put the
bottle in his wallet along with the food.
"Are you saving it up for another time?" said Steventon.
"I'm saving it up," the man answered. "Never mind what for.
That's my secret."
He looked round the boat-house as he made that reply, and noticed
Mrs. Crayford for the first time.
"A woman among you!" he said. "Is she English? Is she young? Let
me look closer at her."
He advanced a few steps toward the table.
"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Crayford," said Steventon.
"I am not afraid," Mrs. Crayford replied. "He frightened me at
first--he interests me now. Let him speak to me if he wishes it!"
He never spoke. He stood, in dead silence, looking long and
anxiously at the beautiful Englishwoman.
"Well?" said Steventon.
He shook his head sadly, and drew back again with a heavy sigh.
"No!" he said to himself, "that's not _her_ face. No! not found
yet."
Mrs. Crayford's interest was strongly excited. She ventured to
speak to him.
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