Commodore Junk — page 65: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

58 COMMODORE JUNK. all at once there was a stoppage, for another figure was seen coming from the direction of Torcross, and the moon shining full upon the face showed plainly who it was. There was no question of identity, for that evening, after more than his customary modicum of wine, Captain James Armstrong—whose journey had been postponed—had snubbed his young wife cruelly, quarrelled with his cousin Humphrey, who had been there to dine, and then left the house, deter- mined to go down to Mary Dell’s solitary cottage. “T’m a fool,’ he said ; “1 haven’t been firm enough with the handsome cat. She scratched. Well, cats have claws, and when I have taught her how to purr nicely she'll keep {hem always sheathed. I'll bring her to her senses to-night, once and for all. ‘ Who the devil’s this?” muttered the captain. ‘Humph! sailor on the tramp to Plymouth. Well, he won’t know me. I won’t turn back.” He strode on a dozen yards and then stopped short, as the figure before him had stopped a few moments before; and then a change came over the aspect of the captain. Huis knees shook, hix face turned wet, and his throat grew dry. It was horrible ; but there could be no mistake, * Abel Dell!” he cried, hoarsely, as he leaped at the idea that the brother had returned in spirit, to save his sister from all harm. “ Out of my path!” rang forth in answer, the voice being loud, imperious, and fierce; and then, in a tone of intense hatred and suppressed passion, the one word—“ Dog!” As the last word rang out there was a whistling as of a stick passing through the air, a tremendous thud, and the captain fell headlong upon the rocky ground. Then there was utter silence as the young sailor placed one foot upon the prostrate man’s chest, stamped upon it Gomicbooks —_]