"It says," he began translating, that "there's a man called Cameron, who's been nicknamed Lazarus Cameron, because he seemed to be dead and came to life again." He looked hard at the paper, as if needing a few moments to formulate further translation.
"Do go on," said Eliza, with manifest impatience.
"Why now, you're _real_ interested, Miss White." "Anybody would want to know what you're at." "Well, but, considering it's any one so composed as you, Miss White, it's real pleasant to see you so keen." "I'm keen for my work.

I haven't time, like you, to stand here all day." All this time he had been looking at the paper.

"What I've read so far, you see, is what I've told you before as having happened to my knowledge at a place called Turrifs Station." "Is that all ?" "No," and he went on translating.

"'Whether this man was dead or not, he is now alive, but partially deaf and blind; and whether he has ever seen anything of the next world or not, he has now no interest in this one, but spends his whole time praying or preaching, living on crusts, and walking great distances in solitary places.

He has lately appeared in the suburbs of this city' (that is Quebec) 'and seems to be a street-preacher of no ordinary power.'" Harkness stopped with an air of importance.
"Is that all ?" asked Eliza.
He gave her another paper, in English, to read.