saw that look.

The air grew closer and the walls seemed to draw nearer as Jonathan's
voice continued its drowsy tale. The afternoon sun poured in at the
window until it made the little wainscoted parlour like an oven, but
still for me it only lit up one pair of eyes. The voices sounded
more and more like those of a dream; the scratching of pens and
shuffling of feet were, to my ears, as distant murmurs of the sea,
until the coroner's voice called--"Georgio Rhodojani."

Instantly I was wide awake, with every nerve on the stretch. Again I
felt his eyes question me, again my mother's hand tightened upon
mine, as the stranger stood up and in softest, most musical tones
gave his evidence. And the evidence of Georgio Rhodojani, Greek
sailor, as translated by Jacopo Rousapoulos, interpreter, of
Penzance, was this:--

"My name is Georgio Rhodojani. I am a Greek by birth, and have been
a sailor all my life. I was seaman on board the ship which was
wrecked last night on your horrible coast. The ship belonged to
Bristol, and was homeward bound, but I know neither her name nor the
name of her captain."

At this strange opening, amazement fell upon all. For myself, the
wild incongruity of this foreign tongue from lips which I had heard
utter such fluent and flute-like English swallowed up all other
wonder.

After a pause, seeing the marvelling looks of his audience, the
witness quietly explained--