“The shadows are the warnings, Mark, and the wise man never neglects a warning.”
“He who sees thunder in every dark cloud above him, is but the fool of his own fears,” said Mark, rudely, and walked towards the window. “Is that anything like your friend, Talbot?” added he, as he beheld the dark outline of a figure, which seemed standing, intently looking up at the window.
“The very fellow!” cried Talbot; for at the moment a passing gleam of light fell upon the figure, and marked it out distinctly.
“There is something about him I can half recognize myself,” said Mark; “but he is so muffled up with great-coat and cravat, I cannot clearly distinguish him.”
“Indeed! Do, for heaven's sake, think of where you saw him, and when, Mark; for I own my anxiety about him is more than common.”
“I'll soon find out for you,” said Mark, suddenly seizing his hat;—but at the same instant the door opened, and a waiter appeared.
“There's a gentleman below stairs, Mr. Talbot, would be glad to speak a few words with you.”
Talbot motioned, by an almost imperceptible gesture, that Mark should retire into the adjoining room; and then, approaching the waiter, asked, in a low cautious voice, if the stranger were known to him.
“No, sir—never saw him before. He seems like one from the country: Mr. Crossley says he's from the south.”
“Show him up,” said Talbot, hurriedly; and, as the waiter left the room, he seated himself in his chair, in an attitude of well-assumed carelessness and ease. This was scarcely done, when the stranger entered, and closed the door behind him.