His presence was so sudden and unexpected that I started. Then I looked at him, curiously.
He was a man of about forty, thin, wiry, and with a nose resembling the beak of a bird of prey. His eyes, half buried under bushy eyebrows, twinkled like two stars. His mouth was large and smiling; his expression exceedingly benignant. From the face I passed to the costume. The worthy was clad in severe black, with a clerical white cravat: wore a black beaver hat of the “stove-pipe” order; and presented the appearance of a pious and peaceable civilian—almost that of a clergyman, smiling benignantly upon all around him.
Stuart uttered an exclamation of satisfaction.
“Ah! Nighthawk, here you are!” he said.
And turning to me he introduced the new comer as “Mr. Nighthawk, one of my ‘private friends,’ and true as steel.”
Mr. Nighthawk bowed with an air of smiling respect—of benignant sweetness.
“I am glad to know you, colonel, and hope I may have an opportunity of being of service to you some day,” he said.
The voice was low, soft, and accorded with the mild expression of the countenance.
“Well, what news, Nighthawk?” asked Stuart; “experience tells me that you have something of importance to communicate?”
“Ah, general!”