“Forever and forever, farewell Cassius.
If we do meet again, why we shall smile;
If not, why then, this parting was well made.”—Julius Cæsar.
Samuel had received his orders to admit Mr. Bertram Sylvester to his uncle’s room, at whatever hour of the day or night he chose to make his appearance. But evening wore away and finally the night, before his well-known face was seen at the door. Proceeding at once to the apartment occupied by Mr. Sylvester, he anxiously knocked. The door was opened immediately.
“Ah, Bertram, I have been expecting you all night.” And from the haggard appearance of both men, it was evident that neither of them had slept.
“I have sat down but twice since I left you, and then only in conveyances. I have been obliged to go to Brooklyn, to—”
“But you have found him?”
“Yes, I found him.”
His uncle glanced inquiringly at his hands; they were empty.
“I shall have to sit down,” said Bertram; his brow was very gloomy, his words came hesitatingly. “I had rather have knocked my head against the wall, than have disappointed you,” he murmured after a moment’s pause. “But when I did find him, it was too late.”
“Too late!” The tone in which this simple phrase was uttered was indescribable. Bertram slowly nodded his head.