Chapter 12 - Page 2

narrative,
regarding him throughout with a painful intensity of gaze; and
since the tale concluded, had sat as in a dream. There was
something very daunting in his look; something to my eyes not
rightly human; the face, lean, and dark, and aged, the mouth
painful, the teeth disclosed in a perpetual rictus; the eyeball
swimming clear of the lids upon a field of blood-shot white. I
could not behold him myself without a jarring irritation, such as,
I believe, is too frequently the uppermost feeling on the sickness
of those dear to us. Others, I could not but remark. were scarce
able to support his neighbourhood - Sir William eviting to be near
him, Mountain dodging his eye, and, when he met it, blenching and
halting in his story. At this appeal, however, my lord appeared to
recover his command upon himself.

"To Albany?" said he, with a good voice.

"Not short of it, at least," replied Sir William. "There is no
safety nearer hand."

"I would be very sweir (11) to return," says my lord. "I am not
afraid - of Indians," he added, with a jerk.

"I wish that I could say so much," returned Sir William, smiling;
"although, if any man durst say it, it should be myself. But you
are to keep in view my responsibility, and that as the voyage has
now become highly dangerous, and your business - if you ever had
any," says he, "brought quite to a conclusion by the distressing
family intelligence you have received, I should be hardly justified
if I even suffered you to proceed, and run the risk of some obloquy
if anything regrettable should follow."

My lord turned to Mountain. "What did he pretend he died of?" he
asked.

"I don't think I understand your honour," said the trader, pausing
like a man very much affected, in the dressing of some cruel frost-
bites.

For a moment my lord seemed at a full stop; and then, with some
irritation, "I ask you what he died of. Surely that's a plain
question," said he.

"Oh! I don't know," said Mountain. "Hastie even never knew. He
seemed to sicken natural, and just pass away."

"There it is, you see!" concluded my lord, turning to Sir William.

"Your lordship is too deep for me," replied Sir William.

"Why," says my lord, "this in a matter of succession; my son's
title may be called in doubt; and the man being supposed to be dead
of nobody can tell what, a great deal of suspicion would be
naturally roused."

"But, God damn me, the man's buried!" cried Sir William.

"I will never believe that," returned my lord, painfully trembling.