“Then I am on the right road after all,” said the stranger, with a sigh of relief. “Jack Bowles! He’s just the man I want to see. I have some important business with him. He can accommodate me with a bed and supper, can he not?”
“He can give you some corn bread and venison, but as for a bed, that’s a thing he doesn’t keep in his house. If you happen to have half a dollar in your pocket, however, he will stow you away somewhere. Jack will do almost anything for half a dollar. Why, what’s the matter, sir?”
It was no wonder that Julian asked this question, for the gentleman, who had now advanced quite near to him, took just one glance at his face, and started back as if he had seen some frightful apparition. He pushed his hat back from his forehead, pulled his muffler down from his face, and stared at Julian as if he meant to look him through. The boy was astonished at his behavior, and he would have been still more astonished if he had been able to look far enough into the future to see all that was to grow out of this meeting.
“Boy!” exclaimed the gentleman, in a voice which his agitation rendered almost indistinct, “who are you? What’s your name?”
“Julian Mortimer,” replied our hero.
“Julian! Julian Mortimer!” repeated the man, as if he could scarcely believe his ears. “It cannot be possible. Why, boy, you’re just—ahem! I mean—what a striking resemblance.”
The stranger spoke these last words hurriedly, and then, as if recollecting himself, hastily pulled his hat down over his forehead again, and once more concealed his face with his muffler—all except his eyes, which he kept fastened upon Julian.
“No doubt you think I act very strangely,” he continued, after a moment’s pause, “and perhaps I do, but the truth of the matter is, you look so much like a young friend of mine—a relative, in fact—that for a moment I was almost sure you were he. But, of course, you can’t be, for he is dead—been dead eight years. If you are ready we will go on.”
Julian was forced to be contented with this explanation, but he was not quite satisfied with it. It was made in a bungling, hesitating manner, as if the man were thinking about one thing and talking about another. More than that, the excitement he had exhibited on the first meeting with Julian seemed to increase the longer he looked at him; and now and then he rubbed his gloved hands together as if he were meditating upon something that afforded him infinite pleasure. He continued to watch the boy out of the corner of his eye, and finally inquired: