Oscar heard the landlord greet him in an undertone, and he also heard the visitor say in a stentorian voice:
"You have a gentleman of the name of Preston stopping with you, I believe?"
"Yes, sir; you'll find him in that parlor, sir," answered the obsequious landlord.
"Why, that must be the captain," thought Oscar. "I did not expect him to come out in all this rain."
The next moment the visitor's form filled the doorway.
He was a man of herculean proportions, and although his hair and mutton-chop whiskers were as white as snow, his face was the picture of robust health, and it was evident from the way he brought his feet down when he walked that he had lost little, if any, of his youthful strength and vigor.
He was a very pleasant-looking man, and Oscar was certain that when he came to know him he should like him.
The visitor looked all about the parlor, giving its solitary occupant merely a casual glance, and said as he turned to go back into the hall:
"I beg your pardon, my lad. I was looking for Mr. Preston, but he doesn't seem to be here."