We had a discussion, and he got hurt." "Torode!" he said, and knelt hastily, and held his lantern so that the light fell full on the dark face, and peered into it intently, while we stood wondering.
His eyes gleamed like venomous pointed tools.

He stared long and hard.

Then he did a strange thing.

He put his hand under Torode's black moustache and folded it back off his mouth, and drew back himself to arm's length, and stared and stared, and we knew that some strange matter was toward.
And then of a sudden he sprang back with a cry,--great strange cry.
"My God! My God! it is he himself!--Rachel!" and he reeled sideways against the wall.
"Who ?" I asked.

And he looked very strangely at me, and said-- "Your father,--Paul Martel," and I deemed him crazy.
"My poor Rachel!" he groaned.