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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

She remained with the bit of
paper in her hands for what seemed a long while, while we waited. Then
her eyes were slowly lifted to our faces.
"That was Philip Henley," she said soberly.
"You are sure?"
"There is no possibility of mistake; the description is almost
photographic and the clothing I remember well."
"Your husband, madam?" asked the Lieutenant, as I remained silent.
"Yes; legally my husband, although he had driven me from him by
dissipation and neglect. I--I cannot tell you the wretched story now."
"Nor do I ask it," he hastened to assure her. "What is it, Mapes?"
A blue-jacket stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand lifted in
salute.
"The _Saline_, sir, is alongside, and hailing us. The boatswain sent
me, sir."
We followed the two on deck, and, after one glance about, I led her
around the bulge of the cabin to the narrow deck space astern. The
boat in which we had escaped had been hoisted into its davits, and we
halted in its shadow. The sea was gently rolling in great crested
waves, with no land visible except Cosmos Island. The most of our crew
must have been busy forward, as only three or four hung over the port
rail in idle curiosity. The two vessels moved side by side, separated
by a narrow stretch of green water, a thin vapor of smoke visible.


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