“Take comfort, Charles, in that of thought of Tennyson’s, who tells us,
‘That not a moth with vain desire
Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire.’”
The cousins parted. They had no sooner quitted the breakfast-room than Onslow entered. After a hasty meal, he took his sword-belt and military-cap, and walked forth out of the hotel. As he passed Wakeman’s shop, near by, for the sale of books and periodicals, he was attracted by a photograph in a small walnut frame in the window. Stopping to examine it, he uttered an exclamation of surprise, stepped into the shop, and said to Wakeman, “Where did you get that photograph?”
“That was sent here with several others by the photographer. You’ll find his name on the back.”
“I see. What shall I pay you for it?”
“A dollar.”
“There it is.”
Onslow took the picture and left the shop, but did not notice that he was followed by a well-dressed gentleman with a cigar in his mouth. This individual had been for several days watching every passer-by who looked at that photograph. He now followed Onslow to the head-quarters of his regiment; put an inquiry to one of the members of the Captain’s company, and then strolled away as if he had more leisure than he knew what to do with. But no sooner had he turned a corner, than he entered a carriage which was driven off at great speed.
Not an hour had passed when a black man in livery put into Onslow’s hands this note:—