"You are very hungry," he said.
"I am, sir." It is my way—it always was my way, by instinct—ever to meet the brief with brevity, the direct with plainness.
"It is well for you that a low fever has forced you to abstain for the last three days: there would have been danger in yielding to the cravings of your appetite at first. Now you may eat; though still not immoderately."
"I trust I shall not eat long at your expense, sir," was my very clumsily-contrived, unpolished answer.
"No," he said, coolly: "when you have indicated to us the residence of your friends, we can write to them, and you may be restored to home."
"That, I must plainly tell you, it is out of my power to do; being absolutely without home and friends."
The three looked at me: but not distrustfully. I felt there was no suspicion in their glances: there was more of curiosity. I speak particularly of the young ladies. St. John's eyes, though clear enough in a literal sense, in a figurative one were difficult to fathom. He seemed to use them rather as instruments to search other people's thoughts, than as agents to reveal his own: the which combination of keenness and reserve was
