University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
KEEPING AN APPOINTMENT.

At a little past eleven o'clock on the same night, the city of
Williamsburg seemed definitely to have closed the labors of another
day and retired to rest. The streets were deserted; the windows
of the houses were closed; the lights were extinguished; and a
breeze from the river wandered over the roof-tops like some invisible
spirit of the autumn night.

There was a single exception to this lifeless appearance of the
good borough—a light, which burned steadily in an upper apartment
of the old Raleigh tavern, at that epoch the most famous of
Virginia hostelries. This light resembled a watcher's—some student
was poring over his books, or somebody was dead, or some
one was waited for.

About half-past eleven, the silence of Duke of Gloucester street,
the main thoroughfare of the place, was broken by the foot-falls of
a horse, coming on at a steady walk. The sound approached, and
horse and rider reached the tavern, when the horseman, a tall
person, in a dark suit and riding boots, dismounted. A knock at
the door summoned a sleepy servant.

“Is Mr. Hartright at this tavern?” said the stranger.

“Yes, sir.”

“Take my horse. I will spend the night. See that a chamber is
ready for me in an hour.”

The servant, wide awake now under the influence of the grave
voice, hastened to call the groom, and then the landlord, who received
his guest with many bows, after the fashion of Bonifaces.
His honor would have an apartment? And some supper? The
very best chamber; and, as to supper, he could give him the very
best—.

“No supper—only a chamber,” said the stranger. “Mr. Hartright
is here, and expects me. Announce me. My name is Harley.”

The host bowed low, and went up the narrow staircase. After an
absence of a few minutes he returned, and informed his guest that
Mr. Hartright was waiting for him.

The stranger nodded, and taking a timepiece from his breast,
looked at it. The time was three-quarters past eleven.

“Both are punctual,” he muttered. “Fifteen minutes gained
between Vienna and Williamsburg. It is not too much.”

He knocked at the door pointed out by the host, who preceded
him, carrying a light, and hearing “Come in!” entered. At a step
beyond the threshold, however, he stopped, looking at the person
who awaited him—Colonel Joshua Hartright. The latter was standing,
cane in hand, beside a table, on which burned a light. His
portly figure, clad in a rich black suit, with an embroidered waistcoat
and profuse ruffles on his breast, threw the plain apartment
quite into the background; and with erect, powdered head, he
looked at the visitor, his expression gloomy, and not very amicable.

He was evidently measuring the appearance of the new comer
with curiosity. What he saw was a man of about thirty, tall, evidently
of great physical strength, and dressed in a somewhat foreign
fashion—more Continental, indeed, than English. The hair, pushed
back from the temples, showed a broad and commanding forehead;
the eyes were dark brown; and the straight nose, thin lips, and
prominent chin conveyed the impression of a person of strong
will. The expression of eyes and lips was melancholy. The look
of the new comer was otherwise calm and steady—an immovable
look. When he came into the room, he walked with his head and
shoulders thrown back, his gaze fixed, his feet planting themselves
firmly at each step. The large stature and deliberate look and
movements of the stranger conveyed, above all else, the impression
of firmness and force; but as marked a fact was his deep melancholy.

He had stopped at the threshold of the room, evidently surprised.
He advanced at once, however, and said:

“I expected to meet my uncle George to-night, sir. Is he unwell?”

“He is dead?” said Colonel Hartright, coldly.

“Dead!”

The word was uttered in a deep, shocked tone—forced from the
speaker's lips, you would have said.

“He died this morning, suddenly, of heart disease.”

The visitor sat down, and Colonel Hartright resumed his own
seat. For some time there was perfect silence in the room.

“So he is dead!” said the stranger, looking at the floor. “I am
more than ever alone.”

“You will probably gain by his death.”

The stranger raised his head, fixing his steady eyes on the speaker.

“Gain!” he said.

“My brother has probably made you his heir—I say probably;
I have not seen his will, and know nothing, but—”

The stranger seemed not to hear the speaker.

“Dead? Is it possible?” he muttered.

“Glenvale is an estate of great value.”

The younger man made a slight movement with his hand, and
said:

“Let us leave this for another time, I beg, sir. I am thinking
now, and can think only of my uncle who loved me. He was nearly
the only human being who did—and my own love for him was
great.”

Colonel Hartright bowed his head in cold assent.

“His last words indicated that he was thinking of you.”

The stranger inclined his head in turn.

“That is natural. He had made an appointment with me to
meet him at this tavern at this hour, to-night, and doubtless recalled
it as he was dying.”

“An appointment?”

“Yes.”

“What was the object of the appointment? I am commissioned
to meet you, and may take my brother's place.”

The stranger shook his head.

“The object of the appointment is wholly unknown to me. My
uncle wrote to me two months since, through my bankers at Liverpool.
I was then at Vienna, where his letter reached me, and have
come to ascertain what you desire me to explain—the object of this
summons.”

“You have travelled far upon a slight invitation.”

“It was not a slight one in my own eyes. It was the utterance
of a wish by one whose wishes were commands with me. I received
the letter, set out travelling post on the next day, took ship in
England, landed at Yorktown in a skiff before the vessel cast
anchor, mounted, and rode hither. I wished to comply with my
uncle's wish—not to disappoint him.”

“You have used diligence,” said Colonel Hartright, stiffly. “My
brother, then, did not explain his object in making this appointment?”

“He did not. I will read a portion of his letter.”

The stranger took from his breast-pocket a Spanish leather case,
drew from it a letter covered with foreign postmarks, unfolded it,
and said:

“Here is the passage.” He then read:—

“You must be tired of Europe, Justin, and I have something to
tell you which you would give all you possess in the world to know.

This something I shall not write; it is possible you might not
come then, and I long to see my boy again. No, you must come.
I will await you at the Raleigh tavern, in Williamsburg, on the
10th September, between eleven and twelve. You will see my
light burning as you enter Gloucester street. Come! I have something
strange to tell you. Did I say that you would give all you
possess in the world to know it? You would give more!”

The stranger folded up the letter, and returned the case to his
pocket.

“A peculiar letter, you perceive, sir. My uncle, however, was a
peculiar person. He was called erratic by some. I confess I
could only see his heart, which never wandered from me, at
least.”

At these grave words Colonel Hartright bowed his head, with a
little less coolness than usual.

“Truly, a peculiar letter, and a peculiar appointment—something
you would give more than all you possess to know! Hum! That's a
mysterious phrase.”

“It is incomprehensible, and yet, as you keep my uncle George's
appointment with me, are you not able to enlighten me?”

“Wholly unable; my brother explained nothing.”

“And yet you are here, sir.”

“By his wish, and solely to repeat to you his last words. I shall
proceed to repeat the words, or message, which I refer to. You
must possess more penetration than I am endowed with to understand
it, as it is as singular and undecipherable as the terms of his
letter. My brother fell a victim to a sudden and unexpected attack
of disease of the heart, to which he was subject. He spoke little,
as his sufferings were great. When he realized that he was dying,
he motioned to me to come close to him. I did so, and he then informed
me that you would be here to-night to keep an appointment
with him. He could count on you, and you would count on him,
he said; but he was dying—I must come in his place.”

The stranger listened intently.

“My brother,” continued Colonel Hartright, “did not live to
inform me of the object of this meeting; he was seized with a
paroxysm which immediately preceded his death. I heard but
few words uttered by him, and will repeat what I heard, as they
evidently concern you. `Tell him,' he said, `that I always loved
him; he need exile himself no longer; he will find—in the Blackwater
Swamp—' My brother expired before finishing the
sentence.”

Colonel Hartright controlled his voice by an effort.

“That was the message,” he said; “that you would find—something—`in

the Blackwater Swamp'—the name, I believe, of the large
tract on your estate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What was my brother's meaning?”

“A useless inquiry, I fancy. He can have had no meaning. He
was delirous.”

“I do not think so. His mind seemed perfectly clear.”

“Then, sir, his secret, if there be a secret, has died with him.
What I am to find in the Blackwater Swamp, I cannot divine; but
I will try to discover my uncle's meaning, if he had a meaning.”

“You will then remain in Virginia? It is a subject upon which
we have had a difference of opinion, but you are past the age when
others have the right to interfere with a gentleman's preferences.”

“Unfortunately.”

“My question, probably, is regarded by you as an intrusion,” said
Colonel Hartright, stiffly.

“Your question, sir?”

“In reference to your future movements—whether you will
remain in Virginia or return to Europe?”

“I shall return to Europe.”

“As you will, sir!”

The stranger inclined his head.

“I prefer travelling,” he said, “but rejoice that I have come in
time to see my uncle's face once more. The blow is heavy. It has
moved me more than I show, perhaps. The funeral will take
place?—”

The firm voice shook a little.

“I must see him again,” he added.

“You may do so,” said Colonel Hartright, rising. “I shall set
out on my return at an early hour. Your horses are doubtless not
here: accept a seat in my coach.”

“With thanks, sir; and now I will no longer detain you.”

The stranger rose, made the elder a bow, and went to his chamber.