CHAPTER XXXIII. A GLIMPSE OF A NEW PATH
Shall I own it that when I once more found myself at liberty, and with means sufficient for the purpose, my first thought was to leave England forever? So far as I was concerned, my country had shown herself anything but a kind mother to me. It was an impulse of patriotism—a vague desire to serve her—had brought me to her shores; and yet my requital had been at first neglect, and at last imprisonment. Had I the very slightest clew to where “my mother” and Raper were, I should inevitably have set out to seek them; but of the track I knew nothing whatever. I ransacked my few letters and papers, amongst which I found the yet undelivered note to the Père Tonsurd; and this I determined to present on that very day. The mere thought of meeting with one to whom I could speak of my kind friends at Linange was a comfort in the midst of all my desolation.
On arriving at his lodgings, however, I learned that he had gone to Richmond; and as suddenly I bethought me of my own visit, the hour for which had already gone by. Determining to repair my fault as well as I could, I set out at once, and by three o'clock in the afternoon arrived at a neat-looking house, standing in a small park that descended to the river, and which, they told me, was Treverton. All I could ascertain of the proprietor was that he was a French gentleman, an émigré, who had lived there for two years, and was popularly known as the “General,” his servants always giving him that title. I presented myself at his door and sent in my card, with the request that I might be admitted to an interview.
Before I could well believe that my message was delivered, the servant returned to say that the General was expecting me since morning, and desired to see me at once. I followed him through two or three rooms till we reached a door covered with green cloth, and which concealed another behind it, on opening which I found myself in a small chamber fitted up like a library, where two gentlemen were seated at a table. One arose as I entered, and in a polite, but somewhat haughty, tone said,—
“You are scarcely as punctual, sir, as I had hoped. Eleven o'clock was, I think, the hour mentioned.”
As the appointment had not been of my seeking, I returned a very cold and half-careless apology for my tardy appearance; but he stopped me quietly, saying,—
“Apparently, then, you have not been informed as to the object of this visit, nor by whom—”
A hasty gesture from the other interrupted his speech, and he stopped short.
“I mean,” added he, “that you are unaware of the reason for which your presence here has been requested.”
“I have not the slightest knowledge of it, sir,” was my reply.