“Your friend has not arrived?” I said.
“He will not come till midnight, colonel.”
“When, I am afraid, he will not see you, Nighthawk—you are wanted.”
And I explained my errand. Nighthawk sighed—it was easy to see that he was much disappointed.
“Well, colonel,” he said, in a resigned tone, “I must give up my private business—duty calls. I will be ready in a moment.”
And disappearing, he put out the light—issued forth in rear of the house—mounted a horse concealed in the bushes—and rejoined me in front.
“Swartz will not know what to think,” he said, as we rode rapidly toward the river; “he knows I am the soul of punctuality, and this failure to keep my appointment will much distress him.”
“Distress him, Nighthawk?”
“He will think some harm has happened to me.”
And Mr. Nighthawk smiled so sadly, that I could not refrain from laughter.