“There it is. He left it in the house by accident, last spring.”
She eyed Philip sharply. He bent over it in the candle-light. It was an imperial photograph from a leading New York studio. It is probable that there never was taken a more unmistakable and perfectly satisfactory likeness of the calm, handsome countenance of—Mr. “John A. Belmont.”
Philip was prepared for this certainty. But what was best to be done? Gerald and he, storm-stayed and sheltered under the roof of their enemy and persecutor—liable to be found there by him! They must indeed hurry from this house at the earliest instant. If only Philip had not been so reserved with Mr. and Mrs. Probasco as to the strange and dramatic interference of Belmont in their plans. If he had but given them so much as a hint at the adventure, then there would not now be so much to disclose and explain! Nevertheless, he felt sure he had acted prudently. Many courses occurred to him as he looked at the photograph with his host and hostess on either side of him.
“Have you ever seen him, Mr. Touchtone, down to New York, do you think?” asked Obed, certainly little expecting an affirmative reply.
Philip laid down the picture and turned to the couple, resolved.
“Yes, I have. I began to think so when you were finishing your story, and that’s why I wanted it broken off and this picture kept back. I am sorry to say it, but that man there is an enemy of mine and of Gerald Saxton, or, perhaps, of Gerald’s father. He has given us, unexpectedly, a great deal of trouble since Gerald and I left the Ossokosee. He would be glad, I am sure, to do more if he possibly gets the chance. We met him first as a Mr. Hilliard; and last, he told me to call him Mr. John A. Belmont, of New York. I—I—am a good deal afraid of him.”
Obed and Loreta Probasco stared at Touchtone, and then at each other, in astonishment too deep for more than the shortest of their favorite exclamations.
“I can tell you the whole story presently. You will see. Gerald has known but very little about it; I don’t intend he shall know much more. But, as to the main point, if Mr. Jennison should find us here, I don’t know what might happen. He must not find us. We are in a queer pickle, without any worse troubles. His landing here before we can get away, or his learning that Gerald and I have spent this time in the house with you, would make our fix far worse, I know. We must get to Chantico and Knoxport to-morrow, if the weather will let us even try it. And if this Mr. Belmont—Jennison, I mean—comes here before you hear from me, you must not let him know we were with you or in this neighborhood. After we once meet Gerald’s people it can’t make any difference. More still, after that, it may be, I’d like to have a chance to talk to him myself, bad as he is. But, for the present, he must not hear our names breathed.”
“Well, this is sudden!” Obed ejaculated. “But—”
“Hush,” exclaimed Mrs. Probasco, going softly to the hall. “I thought I heard Gerald speaking. No, he’s all right,” she returned, quickly.