Mr. Marcy came into the topic. “Yes; and the plan nearly proved successful. If you will think, you will see how much he had in his favor. Audacious criminals of his type are close calculators.”
“Where could he have meant to go, with Gerald, too?” inquired Saxton.
“He knew what he was about. I fancy he expected to rejoin those fellows first, at the mill they tell us of. Beyond that I can’t judge. He believed he had enough time, and that all was going right.”
“O, he’s a wonder, and no mistake!” exclaimed Philip.
“Not at all,” returned Mr. Saxton. “He is just exactly his sort of rascal, as Hilliard told you. But his race is run, I fancy, especially since Knoxport and Chantico are no longer resorts for him. Let us hope another scamp is to be shut away from New York and elsewhere for some years of his life, at least, by what I heard of this Wheelwright affair.” He was silent a moment, reflecting on Jennison and Gerald. Then looking up at Philip, with an expression in his eyes and voice that is not easily described, he said, “Touchtone, I can’t say now—any more than I have been able to say it before—what I feel about you—how I thank you! Gerald’s coming back has saved my happiness, and you have saved Gerald—from I know not what. In every thing and every moment I can see—not by what you say about yourself—you have been a sort of a hero. You don’t like praise to your face? I sha’n’t bore you with it. But if I can only keep you with Gerald here for the rest of your life and his, and find him growing up just like such a friend as you, that is all I want now. I’ll talk of that with you, though, later.”
They kept on sitting there together, in the light of the new rising moon and the gentle glow of the wood fire until there came a knock at the door. Philip went out into the hall.
“If you please, sir,” asked the man standing there, “are you young Mr. Touchtone?”
“I am.”
“You don’t recognize me. I am one of the officers in charge of that man Jennison down at the court-house.”
“Yes; what of it?”