A few moments elapsed, and a venerable old negro man of stately form and fine features, with a snow-white head and beard, and dressed quite like a gentleman—a sort of an ideal Roman senator carved in ebony, entered the room, bowed, and stood waiting.
"Be so kind as to pack my portmanteau, professor. I go to Richmond by the nights coach."
The "professor" bowed again, and then respectfully inquired:
"Do I attend you, sir?"
"No, professor. I must travel day and night without stopping. Such haste would be too harassing to a man of your age."
The old servitor bowed, and withdrew to obey.
"He," said Ishmael Worth, pointing affectionately to the retreating form of the professor, "is not only my faithful attendant, but my oldest and most esteemed friend."
"He is happy in possessing your esteem and friendship, Mr. Worth, and no doubt he deserves both," said Lyon Berners.
"He deserves much more," murmured Ishmael softly, with one of the old, sweet, thoughtful smiles shining in his eyes.
Then Mr. Berners, who would have liked to linger longer near this sympathizing friend, who was working so zealously in the almost hopeless cause of his imprisoned wife, saw that the young lawyer had many preparations to make for his sudden journey, and but little time to make them in; and so he arose and shook hands with Ishmael Worth, and bade him God-speed in his humane errand, and left the room.