University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
Who is the Stranger?

THE traveller was dangerously wounded,
yet Frederic Farley had no doubts of
his recovery.

`You must be quiet,' said the young practitioner,
`else the consequence of your misfortune
may be more serious than we imagine.'

`I put myself under your charge,' said the
traveller; `do with me as you like.'

He had seen enough of Frederic to be
convinced of his skill and judgment, and to
feel perfectly safe in his hands.

The young man colored slightly at the
compliment, and warned the stranger not to
place such reliance in his science as to think
no care was to be taken on his own part,
during his confinement from his wound.

After Frederic had made every necessary
arrangement for the comfort of his guest, the
latter begged of him one more favor.

`If it is not asking too much'—said the
traveller.

`Do not fear,' returned Frederic, `I am
ready to do anything for you in my power.'

`I reside for the present in Boston,' said
the traveller, `and would like to send there
to-night. Will you allow me to write a letter?'
he asked with a smile.

`Indeed!'

`Only three lines,' pursued the traveller.

Frederic brought a desk to the stranger's
bedside, and placed paper, pens and ink before
him. With an effort so strong that the
young doctor was alarmed, the wounded man
laid his right hand upon the desk and took
the pen. He wrote no more than a dozen
words, then, having signed his name he requested
Frederic to fold the latter.

`You can look at the signature,' said the
traveller.

Frederic glanced at the page, which he
perceived was written in French, and ran
his eye along to the signature.—

`Gustavus Burnam.'

It was the name of one Frederic already
knew by reputation, but whom he had never
seen before; and he could scarcely realize
that the fortunate adventurer who had lately
arrived at Boston, and was creating such a
sensation in the first society of that sober
town, was the inmate of his humble cottage.

`Gustavus Barnum!' he repeated, glancing
in surprise at his guest then turning his
eye upon the name again, `Am I mistaken?
You are the Barnum who has excited the
curiosity and wonder of the Yankees to a
degree—'

`You flatter me,' interrupted the stranger.
`There was some talk about me, it is true,
when I first arrived, but it was only because
the good people of Boston wanted something
to talk about. But that is all over with now.'

`Not quite, I should judge,' returned
Frederic, smiling, `for it was only yesterday
that I saw an article in one of the papers
which dwelt upon the originality and independence
of character of the princely Gustavus
Barnum.'

`All folly,' said Barnum with a smile.
`Because I am not like most people—but a
little eccentric perhaps—there are those foolish
enough to speculate about me, and look
upon my plain, straight forward course of
life as mysterious. It's all folly. Will you
have the goodness to pass me a pen?'

And Barnum with the greatest sang froid
imaginable, superscribed the letter. Frederic
had folded and handed it him again.

`If you can find a man to carry that to its
address to night,' said he, `I will reward
him handsomely and be obliged to you.”

Frederic, after calling his mother and giving
her a formal introduction to his guest,
left the house to send the letter to its address.

Mrs. Farley felt highly gratified to think
that her humble cottage was honored with
the presence of so remarkable an individual,
and her motherly pride was flattered to
have that individual an acquaintance and a
patient of her, son. Then how her eye sparkled
with delight, when she heard Burnam
speak of Frederick in terms of commendation
and respect!

`Oh! you do not know him yet!' she exclaimed.
`I am his mother, and may be
deceived,'—she had not the least idea that
she was, however—`but I am sure you must
like him better as you become acquainted
with him. He is too generous; that's his
greatest fault.'

`An amiable fault,' said Burnam, `if it is
one.'

`He will never allow that he is so himself,'
pursued Mrs. Farley; and she added, with a
smile of pride, `but you shall judge for
yourself, Mr. Burnam.'

At a glance Burnam read the character of
the lady before him, and saw her in all her
motherly vanity, simplicity, and kindness of
heart, as plainly as if he had known her for
years.

In a short time Frederick returned, and
his mother left the room.

`Mr. Farley,' said Burnam, `if I have
been rightly informed, there is a Mr. Acton
living at no great distance from here.'

`Henry P. Acton—'

`The same. I have heard of him, and
would like to know him. Although I don't
want it to get noised about that I am here,
if you could manage to induce Mr. Acton—
with whom you are acquainted, of course—'

`Certainly'

`If you can induce him to call here and
see a wounded traveler—you understand—
you would do me a great favor.'

`There would not be the least difficulty
in doing so—or even in getting the whole
neighborhood to flock here, if I were to mention
your name.'

`That would be the trouble—the whole
neighborhood! You see, I want nobody but
Mr. Acton, and him at all hazards. I hear
he has a beautiful wife?'

The features of the wounded man, usually
so stoical and firm, expressed uncommon
interest as Frederick was about to reply,
and his keen eye was fixed upon the young
man's face as if it would have read his
heart.

`His wife is a most amiable woman,' said
Frederick.

`Did you ever hear her maiden name?'
pursued Burnam.

`Maria Irving, I believe,' replied the other.

Burnam's features betrayed no emotion—
but his heart beat quicker than usual.

`Has she children?'

`A son—an only child.'

`Or other relations?'

`A sister, named Edith.'

`She is young, is she not?'

`About eighteen.'

`And beautiful?'

Frederick blushed as he replied, that she
was very fair. He seemed to know that his
patient could read his thoughts, and blushed
more deeply still. Upon which, he warned
Burnam not to over-exert himself talking,
and politely declined answering more questions.

`You should go to sleep,' said he.

`As I am to follow your directions scrupulously,
I shall do so,' said his patient.

He closed his eyes, and in less than two
minutes, Frederick had reason to believe he
was sleeping soundly.

Early on the following morning, a young
man appeared at the cottage, and inquired
for Mr. Burnam. He was a shrewd, active,
intelligent individual, who spoke with a
French accent, and with a plentiful sprinkling
of French words and idioms in his imperfect
English.

`I be his valet de chambre,' said he to
Frederick. `He send for me last night, and
I come for see him.'

Frederick spoke to his patient, and told
him of his visitor.

`Ah! it is Louis, my man,' said Burnam.
`Show him in.'

Louis entered the house, but never removed
his hat until he came into the presence
of his master.

Their conversation was brief, and in the
French tongue, which Burnam spoke fluently.
Louis heard his master's orders with
the most respectful attention, and bowing
low as when he entered, took his leave.

Shortly after this, Frederick left home,
and did not return again until noon. But
Burnam, during this time, was not alone.—

Mrs. Farley had been with him a portion of
the time, and about eleven o'clock he received
a visitor.

This was Mr. Acton. Burnam, who was
sitting in an easy chair, at a window, when
he entered, raised his black, piercing eyes
to his face, and in a moment had scanned
him from head to foot.

Mrs. Farley gave the two individuals an
introduction to each other, and mutual compliments
passed between them. Burnam
was very pale—more so, indeed, than before
his visitor entered—but he betrayed no
agitation.

`I am sorry for your misfortune,' said Mr.
Acton, `although it is owing to it that I have
the pleasure of making your acquaintance.
How many robbers attacked you?'

`Two,' replied Burnam.

And at Mr. Acton's request, he went on
to describe the robbers so minutely, that his
visitor, while he was astonished at his powers
of observation, was satisfied that one of
the highwayman was Gordon.

`Would the wretch had been killed!' tho't
he. `It would be one adder removed from
my path; but as it is, there is not only danger
of being robbed by him myself, but of
having my character ruined through his
treachery. One, you say, was quite young?'
he added, speaking aloud.

`I should judge him to be but little more
than twenty.'

`An accomplice!' thought Mr. Acton.—
`Heaven grant that he knows nothing of
the secret!'

Mr. Acton spent nearly an hour with his
new acquaintance, who exerted himself to
his utmost, without appearing to do so, however,
to please his visitor. In this, Burnam
succeeded so well that Mr. Acton was quite
fascinated, deeming him the most extraordinary
man he ever knew, and feeling much
flattered by the attentions and familiarity of
so remarkable an individual. When they
parted, Mr. Burnam urged his visitor to call
on him again that day, if possible; which
Mr. Acton promised to do.

No less than three times during the day,
was the sick man waited on by Louis, his
valet de chambre, who never remained with
him more than ten minutes at a visit.

Towards evening, Mr. Acton again appeared,
and once more gave himself up to
the fascinating conversation of his new acquaintance.
Burnam seemed to have read
him thoroughly, and to know precisely how
to interest, flatter, and please him. In the
course of their conversation, the sick man
skilfully alluded to Mr. Acton's family, and
without appearing at all anxious or interested
in learning particulars about them, induced
his visitor to dwell upon his domestic
affairs until he had discovered all he wished
to know. Little, indeed, did Mr. Acton
imagine that every word he uttered—aye,
his every look and action—was listened to,
and watched, with eager interest by his new
acquaintance, and weighed and noted down
in his heart among the things to be remembered.
Truly, that Burnam was a strange
and extraordinary man!