I spoke, and they got more courage. I stood up
in the boat, but could see nothing in the dingey. I gave a sign to go on,
and soon we were alongside. In the bottom of the dingey lay a man,
apparently dead, wearing the clothes of a convict. One of the crew gave a
grunt of disgust, the others said nothing. I don't take to men often, and
to convicts precious seldom; but there was a look in this man's face
which the prison clothes couldn't demoralise--a damned pathetic look,
which seemed to say, 'Not guilty.'
"In a minute I was beside him, and found he wasn't dead. Brandy brought
him round a little; but he was a bit gone in the head, and muttered all
the way back to the ship. I had unbuttoned his shirt, and I saw on his
breast a little ivory portrait of a woman. I didn't let the crew see it;
for the fellow, even in his delirium, appeared to know I had exposed the
thing, and drew the linen close in his fingers, and for a long time held
it at his throat."
"What was the woman's face like, Hungerford?" I asked.
He parried, remarking only that she had the face of a lady, and was
handsome.
I pressed him.
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