from his intention.
He was trying carefully to retrace his steps, but as he did so he saw
the figure of a man dimly lurching toward him out of the darkness of the
wharf and the crossed yards of the ship. A gleam of hope came over him,
for the emotion of the last few minutes had rudely displaced his pride
and self-love. He would appeal to this stranger, whoever he was; there
was more chance that in this rude locality he would be a belated sailor
or some humbler wayfarer, and the darkness and solitude made him feel
less ashamed. By the last flickering street lamp he could see that he
was a man about his own size, with something of the rolling gait of a
sailor, which was increased by the weight of a traveling portmanteau
he was swinging in his hand. As he approached he evidently detected
Randolph's waiting figure, slackened his speed slightly, and changed his
portmanteau from his right hand to his left as a precaution for defense.
Randolph felt the blood flush his cheek at this significant proof of
his disreputable appearance, but determined to accost him. He scarcely
recognized the sound of his own voice now first breaking the silence for
hours, but he made his appeal. The man listened, made a slight gesture
forward with his disengaged hand, and impelled Randolph slowly up to the
street lamp until it shone on both their faces. Randolph saw a man a
few years his senior, with a slightly trimmed beard on his dark,
weather-beaten cheeks, well-cut features, a quick, observant eye, and a
sailor's upward glance and bearing. The stranger saw a thin, youthful,
anxious, yet refined and handsome face beneath straggling damp curls,
and dark eyes preternaturally bright with suffering. Perhaps his
experienced ear, too, detected some harmony with all this in Randolph's
voice.
"And you want something to eat, a night's lodging, and a chance of work
afterward," the stranger repeated with good-humored deliberation.
"Yes," said Randolph.
"You look it."
Randolph colored faintly.
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