University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

In a mile or two more we recovered the road, re
joined the carriage, and soon arrived at Colonel
Robinson's. I found him a fine old gentleman,
whose frank cordiality of manner told me at once
that he was my countryman, bred up in that school
of genuine hospitality and manly courtesy which
was so long flourished in the tide-waters of Virginia.

He met us at the gate, and Balcombe introduced
me by the name of “Draper.” His wife stared,
but he gave her his arm, and as he led her to the
house, spoke a few words in an under tone. As
soon as we entered he said to Colonel Robinson,
“My young friend may have reason to
wish that his presence in this neighbourhood
may not be known for a day or two. It is
of my own head that I have introduced him by
a name not his own. I would tell you the true
one, but that you might inadvertently utter it in
the presence of the servants. I will do so, as soon
as your tongue is familiarized to the name of Draper.

For my part, I have never known him
but by his Christian name, and give him no
other. I have cautioned Bet, and her habitual
silence will secure her from any blunder. So,
Master William, you must learn to answer to your
alias as soon as you can; and you, colonel, must
take my voucher for my friend by such name as I
choose to give him. He shall be known to all
the world for what he is in a day or two.”

“He is welcome by any name,” said the old
man; “and the more so because I infer that his
affairs are critical, and that you take great interest
in them.”

“You are right,” said Balcombe; “and I would
be the most ungrateful of human beings if I did not
make his wrongs my own.”

The evening passed off pleasantly, and I found
myself in the midst of every comfort and every
luxury. The next day was spent in hunting, and
a fine buck was the prize of our toil. Returning
to dinner, a note was handed to the old gentleman,
which he read and gave to Balcombe.

“A note from Montague,” said he, “requesting
an interview on business. Answer it for me,
Balcombe, and ask him to dine with me to-morrow.”

“Has he ever visited you?”

“Never.”

“Then don't invite him now. He is not a desirable
acquaintance.”

“How so? He stands fair, he is in good circumstances,

and is about to marry into a most respectable
and wealthy family. What do you
know of him?”

“More than he would have me know. Besides,
though I wish to see him in this house and
in your presence, I have that to say to him that
I should not like to say under your roof to an invited
guest.”

“But you will not forget, Balcombe, that my
roof protects alike the invited and uninvited.”

“Certainly not. I shall say nothing harsh to
him. I only mean to experiment upon his nerves
with a sort of invisible galvanic fluid. I am anxious
to have you note the effect of what will seem
as harmless as a bit of zinc or copper; but, depend
upon it, the battery I shall bring to bear
upon him would drive an alderman from a lord
mayor's feast. But trust me, colonel, I shall observe
all decorum. Do you know what his business
is?”

“I believe he wishes to buy a tract of land.”

“Then he will be as gracious to me as an old
maid at a wedding. That's all as it should be.
The effect of his discomfiture will be the more
manifest.'

A note was accordingly addressed to Montague,
in Colonel Robinson's name, saying that he would
be happy to see him the next morning at ten
o'clock.

Soon after dinner a tap was heard at the door,
which was opened by the master of the house,

when a strange voice inquired if Mr. Balcombe
was within.

“Yes, sir,” said the colonel; “pray walk in.”

He now entered, ushering in a youth of nearly
my own age, tall, slender, and remarkably handsome.
He was plainly dressed, and soiled with
travel; shy and hesitating in his manner, with a
countenance which bespoke anxiety and mortified
pride. But I had seldom seen a finer face. Its
great fault was too much of feminine beauty,
which predominated over all the marks of fatigue
and exposure. In spite of these, the large dark
blue eyes, the well-defined nose, and a budding lip,
hardly covered with down, made a face, which
altogether, would have been beautiful in a woman.

“That's Mr. Balcombe, sir,” said the colonel.

Balcombe started at this announcement, and
rose, looking at the stranger with a countenance in
which surprise was mingled with an expression of
strange and curious interest. The young man approached
him, and said, modestly, that he wished
to speak with him in private.

“In private?” said Balcombe, with some eagerness
of manner. “Certainly, certainly.”

And so saying, he led the way to another room.
He was absent but a few minutes, when he returned
hastily, holding a large packet in his hand.
His whole air bespoke an excited state of feeling.
His cheek was flushed; his eye was flashing
through the remains of a tear hastily brushed away,
and every feature was working with emotion.

“My dear sir,” said he, “I must beg you to
extend your hospitality to this poor boy. He has
come far to see me, is among total strangers, and
I am persuaded his means are scanty.”

“Surely, Balcombe, you know that you can
command my house.”

“I do; but he does not. He is in affliction, and
needs to be soothed by that kindness which no man
shows with more effect than you. Will you go
with me and speak to him?”

“Certainly.”

They went into the other room. I heard the
form of introduction, but did not distinguish the
name. Then came the frank, kind, cordial tones
of the old man's voice, and all three returned
together.

“You have not dined, James?” said Balcombe.

“I have not,” said the youth; “but I have little
appetite, and am not hungry.”

But the colonel's hand was to the bell, and some
food was soon brought. The young man took a
little, with a dejected air, and then withdrew to a
seat in the corner. Balcombe immediately placed
himself by his side, and in a kind but low voice
conversed with him a long time. The poor lad
seemed to have but little to say; his eyes frequently
filled, and he appeared to command himself
with difficulty. Meantime I conversed with
Colonel Robinson about indifferent matters, until
night came down.

Presently, the short and oft-repeated note of the

whistle was heard, and Balcombe, rising, looked
at me with a quiet smile, and said,

“All is right.”

“What does that mean?” said the colonel.

“It is Keizer,” replied Balcombe.

“And what is he doing here?”

“He waits my bidding.”

“To what effect?”

“That I don't know; but I may have need of
him, and he is in waiting.”

“He is a sharp tool, Balcombe. Are your own
fingers in no danger?”

“None at all. There are some lurking remains
of honesty and pride of character about the fellow;
and to be employed in meritorious service by one
he respects, is an honour he prizes too highly to
throw it away.”

“That may be so. But I hope you will never
have occasion to use him, when it may be to his
interest to betray you.”

“I would trust him,” said Balcombe, “with my
purse and life as soon as any man on earth. Anything
but my reputation; of that he knows neither
the nature nor value.”

“Who and what is he?” said I.

“He is a man of all work. A black Dutchman
(as it is called) from the mountains of Virginia. I
suspect the race is tinctured with the gipsy blood.
They have the complexion, the hair, the eye, the
slight figure, the activity and hardiness of the
gipsy; and this fellow has all their qualities. You

get, colonel, that I have more than once saved
John's life and he mine; and you surely need not
be told how the remembrance of common danger
binds men to each other. I would not advise
other men to trust Keizer. For myself I trust
him entirely. He will serve me at a pinch as no
other man will, and as few other men can. But,
James, you are weary, and should go to rest. I
am busy, and must go to work. So good-night.”