“Cleve, the youngest child, and the only one who survived his parents, was taken to Wolfscliff when he was about three years old. That was the first and last time he ever saw his grand-uncle. Of the tragic fate of Cleve’s father and mother you have heard me tell, Poley.”
“Oh, yes,” answered Mrs. Pole; “they were fatally hurt on the wreck of the Lucy Lee, I remember.”
“And after that, do you know that the aged John Cleve, of Wolfscliff, who sank deeper and deeper into solitary study and reverie, utterly lost sight of his grand-nephew, whom he was contented to think of as at school under the supervision of his guardian, Judge Barrn, or at college, or traveling in Europe, or on his Mississippi plantation, not knowing that the latter was a charred and blasted ruin and desert until the death, in battle, of his last nephew left him without an heir bearing the name of Cleve. Then he instituted inquiries for his grand-nephew, Cleve Stuart, but without the least effect.
“Accident at last revealed Cleve’s residence in New York. Mr. Sam Walling went to Washington on legal business and fell in with a Mr. Steele, of Wolfswalk, the nearest town to Wolfscliff, and, in the course of conversation, mentioned the sage of Wolfscliff and his vain quest for his nephew and heir, Cleve Stuart. Then Mr. Walling gave information, and the West Virginian went back to the mountains with the news the hermit was pining to hear.
“John Cleve immediately wrote the letter inviting Mr. Stuart and myself to come and make our home with him.”
“And you are going?”
“Yes, I told you so. Will you come with us?”
“To the end of the world. To the jumping-off place. And even there, if you should take the leap in the dark, I’ll jump down after you.”
“Dear Poley, I am so glad!”
“And why should I stay behind? And why should I not go? I have nieces and cousins here, to be sure; but they are all doing well. And though I love them, I think I love you more, for you do seem more like a child of my own than any of them do; and you seem to want me more than they can.”