University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.

“Though I had but two hours' sleep, I was up
betimes to catch a parting glimpse of an interesting
person who need not be named. When I descended
into the great vestibule of this extensive
establishment, I found the door of their parlour
open, and the entry nearly blocked up by band-boxes,
trunks, and all the little paraphernalia of
which you and I are as yet quite ignorant. A carriage
stood at the door; the lady and the old gentleman
sat side by side upon the sofa, the former
in her travelling habit, while the latter held in his
hand a cup of coffee, which he sipped, giving directions
from time to time to the servants. I paid
them the compliments of the morning, not in the
most bland and courtly style, for to tell you the
truth I felt a little inclined to poaching, and the
old gentleman looked to me not unlike a vigilant
and surly gamekeeper; however, he received me
with a welcome, perhaps it was a northern one;
but of that I will tell you more when we get fully
into the enemy's country, as your namesake of

Roanoke would say. My presence seemed to
hurry the old gentleman's coffee down his throat,
hot as it was, and in ten minutes, before I had exchanged
ten words with the lady, all was pronounced
in readiness.

“The old gentleman did not leave her for a moment.
I of course handed her to the carriage,
and took, as I supposed, a last look. I suppose I
must have appeared dolorous enough. The parting
moment came, the last pressure of the hand
was given, the door closed, whip cracked, and the
carriage had gone some time, before I found myself
standing in the middle of the street, my head turned
to one side just far enough to catch a glimpse of Lamar
in his nightgown, half-way out of a three-story
window, laughing with that complacent self-satisfaction
which is peculiar to him. `Half-past four and a
dark stormy morning,' cried he, in true watchman
style. I pulled my hat down over my face, and
walked away from the hotel as fast as my impetuous
blood would drive me; indeed, I felt provoked
at the time. I had not walked far, before I recollected
having felt something in my hand, as if it
had found its way there by accident, while I was
exchanging adieus with my enslaver. I had mechanically,
while abstracted in the street, thrust it
into my waistcoat pocket. I now drew it forth,—
it was a small roll of paper, which you might have
put into a thimble,—I opened it very carefully, in
hope that there might be some even carelessly-scribbled
line, which I could preserve as a memento.

By heavens, Randolph, there was a memento
upon it! and evidently intended for my eye
alone.

“The writing was in pencil, and scarcely legible;
with some difficulty I could make out these words.

“ `The explanation sought by Mr. Chevillere has
not been surreptitiously avoided by me, nor will it
ever be; but if he is wise, he will forget one who
has already extended the influence of her unhappiness
too far.'

“I read these lines over again and again. I
walked round Baltimore as if it had been a hamlet.
It seemed to me that every person whom I met
could read in my countenance something strange
and hurried. At length, however, I found my way
to the breakfast table. Lamar, as my bad luck
would have it, sat almost opposite to me. I do not
think I ever saw him perfectly disagreeable before;
all his remarks seemed to me mal-apropos,
and he is not usually so unfortunate, you know. I
made a hasty breakfast, and hurried out on purpose
to avoid him, but in vain! he was with me in an
instant. `All settled, I suppose, Chevillere,' said he.
`Yes, all is settled for our journey to New-York,'
said I, `except our bills, and that you may attend
to as soon as you please.' I ordered old Cato to
see the luggage on board the steamboat for Philadelphia:
Lamar did the same. `But, Chevillere,'
said he, `you are not going to leave the Kentuckian,'
upon which he set off to summon our new
companion.

“Our next epistle will in all probability be from
Philadelphia or New-York; we shall only stay a
short time in the former place, as we conceive the
other to be the true point from which to make observations.