But the first effect, startling though it was, passed away immediately; nothing could have withstood the gentle pleading entreaty that lurked in all the face lines; an expression childish and girlish. The stranger gazed for a moment only on the man sitting bolt upright now in his chair, his hands clutching the arms, and then went quickly forward.
"You are Edward Morgan?" he said, encouragingly. "My uncle told me you would come some day." The deep, indrawn breath that had made the new master's figure rigid for the moment escaped back slowly between the parted lips. He was ashamed that he should have been so startled.
"Yes," he said, presently, "I am Edward Morgan. And you are——"
"Gerald Morgan. But I must say good-bye now. I have a matter of upmost importance to conclude." He smiled again, returned to the shelves and this time without hesitation selected a volume and passed out toward the dining-room.
A faint odor of burning material attracted Edward's attention. He looked for his cigar; it lay upon the matting, in a circle as large as his hat. He must have sat there watching the door for fifteen minutes after the singular visitor had passed through. He stamped out the creeping circle of fire and rang the bell. The octoroon entered and stood waiting, her eyes cast down.
"A young man came here a few minutes since and went out through that door," said he, with difficulty suppressing his excitement: "who is he?"
She looked to him astonished.
"Why, that was Mr. Gerald, sir. Don't you know of him? Mr. Gerald Morgan?"
"Absolutely nothing. I have never seen him before nor heard of him—no mention of him has been made in my presence." The woman was clearly amazed.
"Is it possible! Your uncle never wrote you about Gerald Morgan—the lawyers have never told you?"