CHAPTER XXXIII
It was not difficult to discover the abiding place of the De Willoughby claimants. The time had come when there were few who did not know who occupied the upper floor of Miss Burford’s house near the Circle. Miss Burford herself had gradually become rather proud of her boarders, and, as the interest in the case increased, felt herself becoming a prominent person.
“If the claim goes through, the De Willoughby family will be very wealthy,” she said, genteelly. “They will return to their Southern home, no doubt, and restore it to its fawmah magnificence. Mr. Rupert De Willoughby will be lawd of the mannah.”
She spent many hours—which she felt to be very aristocratic—in listening to Uncle Matt’s stories of the “old De Willoughby place,” the rice-fields in “South Ca’llina,” and the “thousands of acres of gol’ mines” in the mountains. There was a rich consolation in mere conversation on the subject of glories which had once had veritable substance, and whose magnitude might absolutely increase if fortune was kind. But it was not through inquiry that Latimer discovered the whereabouts of the man who shared his secret. In two days’ time they met face to face on the steps of the Capitol.
Latimer was going down them; big Tom was coming up. The latter was lost in thought on his affairs, and was not looking at such of his fellow-men as passed him. Suddenly he found himself one or two steps below someone who held out a hand and spoke in a low voice.
“De Willoughby!” the stranger exclaimed, and Tom lifted his eyes and looked straight into those of the man he had seen last nineteen years before in the cabin at Blair’s Hollow.
“Do you know me again?” the man asked. “It’s a good many years since we met, and I am not as easy to recognise as you.”
“Yes, I know you,” answered big Tom, grasping the outstretched hand kindly. “I saw you a few days ago and knew you.”