His impatience to be gone was so marked that the
conscientious official looked more than once suspiciously at his
passport.
Mr. Phineas Hackett, of Boston, U.S., Marchand (so self-described in
the Livre des Voyageurs at Chamounix), made up his mind that he saw
before him the hero of some gigantic forgery, or a fraudulent bankrupt
on a large scale; but, just as he had fixed on the astute question which
was to drive the first wedge into the mystery, Guy turned in his quick
walk and met him full. I doubt if he even saw the smooth-shaven, eager
face at his elbow; but he was thinking again of the lost letter, and the
savage glare in his eyes made the heart of the "earnest inquirer" quiver
under his black satin waistcoat. "D----d hard knot, that," he muttered,
disconsolately, and retreated with great loss, to writhe during the rest
of the passage in an orgasm of unsatisfied curiosity.
The weather looked worse every moment as the wild north wind came
roaring from seaward with a challenge to the vessels that lay tossing
within the jetty to come forth and meet him. The waste-pipe of the
_Sea-gull_ screamed out shrilly in answer; and the brave old ship,
shaking the foam from her bows after every plunge, as her namesake might
do from its breast-feathers, steamed out right in the teeth of the gale.
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