About nine o’clock in the evening marked by the occurrence of the events narrated in the last chapter, General Grant was informed that a young man, who refused to give his name, requested five minutes’ private conversation with him. Somewhat surprised at this demand, the General followed the servant into an apartment used by Charles Leicester as a study, and desired that the person might be shown in; in another moment a tall, swarthy young fellow, dressed in the garb usually worn by the lower classes in Venice, made his appearance. As soon as the servant had quitted the room, the stranger presented a note to the General, saying, “If you will read that, sir, you will perceive the object of my visit, and learn the necessity which forces me to intrude upon you at such an untimely hour.”
The note, which was written in a delicate but somewhat illegible female hand, ran as follows:—
“A dying woman implores you, sir, to visit her; not for her own sake, for her hope rests in God and not in man, but for the sake of one who must be dearest to you in the world—your daughter. The writer has information to impart to you which may save you and her from years of deepest misery. The bearer of this note will conduct you safely to one who again implores you by all you hold sacred not to neglect this summons, or delay returning with the messenger, lest you should arrive too late. The writer pledges her word, the word of one about to enter upon eternity, that you shall return safely.”
“This is a very strange note,” observed General Grant, suspiciously eyeing the young man, who stood awaiting his decision; “how am I to know that this is not some cunningly devised scheme, dangerous to my life or liberty?”
“I swear to you that you may safely trust me,” replied the stranger eagerly; “adopt what precautions you will, leave your money, or aught that is of value, at home—take pistols with you, and if you see any signs of treachery, shoot me through the head. I could tell you that which would render you as eager to accompany me as you now appear unwilling to do so, but I have promised to leave her to explain the affair as seems to her best—she is my sister, and dying; if you delay you will arrive too late.”
“You are an Englishman, I presume?” inquired the General, still undecided.
“I am so,” was the reply, “and have served my country on board a man-of-war.”
“A sailor! what was your captain’s name, and what ship did you belong to?” demanded the General.
“‘The Prometheus’—Captain Manvers,” was the concise answer.
“Were you in her during the year 18——?” continued his questioner, and receiving a reply in the affirmative, added, “Where were you stationed then?”