The door was closed when he reached it; and no trace seemed to denote that any visitor had been in that chamber.
He threw on a dressing-gown, hurried down stairs, and found all the doors fast closed and locked as usual at that hour. He opened the front-door, and looked forth,—but no one was to be seen. Bewildered and alarmed, he returned to his bed-chamber, and once more sought his couch. He again fell asleep, in the midst of numerous and conflicting conjectures relative to the incident which had just occurred; and when he awoke two hours afterwards, he was fain to persuade himself that it was all a dream.
He dressed himself, and walked towards the hill. On his arrival at the top, he instinctively cast his eyes upon the name and date carved in the bark of his brother's tree. But how great was his surprise—how ineffable his joy, when he beheld fresh traces of the same hand imprinted on that tree. Beneath the former memento—and still fresh and green, as if they had only been engraved a few hours—were the words—
Eugene.
May 17th, 1838.
"My God!" exclaimed Richard, "it was then no dream!"
He threw himself upon the seat between the two trees and wept abundantly.
CHAPTER XL.
THE SPECULATION.—AN UNWELCOME MEETING.
FIVE months elapsed; and in the middle of October Richard received an invitation to pass a few days at the abode of Count Alteroni.
He contemplated change of scene with unfeigned delight, and lost no time in repairing to Richmond.