“Be pleased to be seated, gentlemen. The council will open immediately. Each one who loves a good and virtuous king will wish to see these colonies continue loyal. Be seated—I pray you, be seated, gentlemen. The troops shall halt for the night.”
“This is the wandering of insanity!” said Marmaduke: “who will explain this scene.”
“No, sir,” said Edwards firmly, “'tis only the decay of nature; who is answerable for its pitiful condition, remains to be shown.”
“Will the gentlemen dine with us, my son?” said the old stranger, turning to a voice that he both knew and loved. “Order a repast suitable for his Majesty's officers. You know we have the best of game always at command.”
“Who is this man?” asked Marmaduke, in a hurried voice, in which the dawnings of conjecture united with interest to put the question.
“This man,” returned Edwards calmly, his voice, how ever, gradually rising as he proceeded; “this man, sir, whom you behold hid in caverns, and deprived of every-thing that can make life desirable, was once the companion and counsellor of those who ruled your country. This man, whom you see helpless and feeble, was once a warrior, so brave and fearless, that even the intrepid natives gave him the name of the Fire-eater. This man, whom you now see destitute of even the ordinary comfort of a cabin, in which to shelter his head, was once the owner of great riches—and, Judge Temple, he was the rightful proprietor of this very soil on which we stand. This man was the father of———”
“This, then,” cried Marmaduke, with a powerful emotion, “this, then, is the lost Major Effingham!”
“Lost indeed,” said the youth, fixing a piercing eye on the other.
“And you! and you!” continued the Judge, articulating with difficulty.
“I am his grandson.”